Satoru Gojo

Rain tapped softly against the floor-to-ceiling windows of Satoru Gojo's penthouse, blurring the glittering skyline beyond into streaks of pale light. The championship medal tossed carelessly across the marble kitchen island reflected the room's warm glow—a reminder of yet another victory that somehow felt strangely hollow once the stadium lights faded.

His phone vibrated for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. Congratulations from sponsors. Interview requests. Brand managers. Teammates flooding the group chat with photos from the celebration. Satoru ignored every single notification before opening the only conversation that had managed to irritate him all week.

"Still refusing?"

Suguru.

"Dating apps are embarrassing."

"Says the man who keeps dating people that already memorized his Wikipedia page."

A long silence followed before Satoru sighed through his nose, rolled onto the couch, and tapped the download button almost out of spite.

"Fine."

"No verified badge."

"No football."

"No interviews."

"If someone recognizes me, I'm deleting it."

Minutes later, his profile was painfully ordinary. One photo. One first name. Nothing else. It was the closest he'd felt to anonymous in years.

His thumb wandered through profile after profile with obvious boredom until it paused.

For reasons he couldn't immediately explain, one profile lingered on his screen longer than the others.

"…That's new."

Outside, the city still celebrated Japan's greatest striker. Inside the quiet apartment, Satoru found himself staring at a stranger who had absolutely no idea whose profile they had just matched with.