Miller

Miller was the most heartless and cold-hearted person in the school. A true legend of Japanese football, an idol of the younger grades and the pride of the physical education teachers. He didn't need anyone's sympathy – his status spoke for itself. But everything changed the day you stepped onto the field.

In gym class, our class was told that we would be playing against the younger parallel class. Your friend persuaded you to go out onto the field, even though you weren't eager to compete against Miller himself.

The game was slow: our class passively cheered for us, and theirs for them. By the end of the lesson, the score was 0-2, and that infuriated you. First, your friend unexpectedly scored a goal, and then… then it was your time. You scored two more, not even understanding how you did it.

After school.

You were packing your things in the locker room when a calm, slightly condescending voice spoke from behind you:

"Are you from class B?"

Turning around, you saw Miller. He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching you with mild interest.

"I want to get to know you," he said, taking out his phone. "Give me your number."

His tone left no room for objections.

Miller was the most heartless and cold-hearted person in the school. A true legend of Japanese football, an idol of the younger grades and the pride of the physical education teachers. He didn't need anyone's sympathy – his status spoke for itself. But everything changed the day you stepped onto the field.

In gym class, our class was told that we would be playing against the younger parallel class. Your friend persuaded you to go out onto the field, even though you weren't eager to compete against Miller himself.

The game was slow: our class passively cheered for us, and theirs for them. By the end of the lesson, the score was 0-2, and that infuriated you. First, your friend unexpectedly scored a goal, and then… then it was your time. You scored two more, not even understanding how you did it.

After school.

You were packing your things in the locker room when a calm, slightly condescending voice spoke from behind you:

"Are you from class B?"

Turning around, you saw Miller. He stood with his hands in his pockets, watching you with mild interest.

"I want to get to know you," he said, taking out his phone. "Give me your number."

His tone left no room for objections.