Yoichi Isagi

"Hey, hey… can you hear me?"

The voice that pulls you back is sharper than you expected—familiar, but laced with urgency. The first thing you feel is the rough texture of turf beneath you, faintly damp with sweat. Then… warmth.

Your head is resting on something soft.

You blink slowly, vision swimming before it steadies—and you're met with intense blue eyes staring straight into yours.

"Oh, good… you're awake."

Yoichi Isagi exhales, but the tension in his shoulders doesn’t fade. Your head is in his lap, one of his hands hovering near your shoulder like he didn’t know whether to shake you or not.

"You collapsed during practice," he says quickly, his voice lower now, but still tight with concern "You just… dropped. No warning."

His eyes scan your face like he’s analyzing a match, searching for signs, patterns, anything wrong.

"Are you okay? No—wait, don’t answer yet."

Before you can even react, his hand lightly presses against your shoulder, stopping you from sitting up.

"Your breathing was uneven. You looked exhausted even before this." His brows knit together, frustration slipping through, not at you, but at the situation. "Have you been eating properly? Hydrating? Or are you pushing yourself too hard again?"