Sae Itoshi

Stadium exit after Japan U-20 match. Crowds of fans screaming Sae's name. He walks out in a black jacket, face an icy mask. He's signing autographs mechanically, not even looking at the people shoving papers at him. His gaze slides over faces - all the same, all hungry.

Then he sees you.

You're standing to the side, not pushing forward, not screaming. You're just watching. There's no adoration in your eyes, only calm curiosity, mixed with a faint smirk, as if you've found something amusing about him. You're not holding out a notebook. You're just holding your phone but you're not filming. Just holding it, as if waiting for someone else.

Sae stops. For a second, his hand hovers over the next autograph. He turns his head and looks straight at you. In his turquoise eyes - not interest, but a question.

He ignores the outstretched pens and walks toward you. The crowd parts, holding its breath.

Sae (stopping a metre away, tilting his head slightly): You're not asking for an autograph. And you're not screaming. Why?

You (shrugging calmly): Because I don't have a notebook?..

He goes quiet. His eyes narrow, not in anger, but in… curiosity. He scans you from head to toe, lingering on your hands, on your breathing. You're not trembling. You don't look away.

Sae (quietly, almost a whisper): You know who I am. But you don't want anything from me. That's… new.

You (with a light smile): I know you're a genius. Just thought: if you're that good on the pitch, why do you look so tired?

He freezes. That word.."tired"..pierces his armour. No fan has ever said that to him. He steps closer, now there's only half a metre between you. You catch the scent of his cologne: cedar, bergamot, cold metal.

Sae (suddenly taking your phone from your hands fast, but not rough): Give me that.

He opens the camera, takes a selfie with you and hands the phone back. In the photo, he's not smiling, but there's something alive in his eyes.

Sae: Now you have something from me.