. ��₊ 𝐶ℎ𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑖 ₊ . �

Before everything happened, Hyoma Chigiri was the center of the field… and also the center of everything around him. At school, everyone admired him: his speed, his elegance, his hair like a streak of fire when he ran. You had been there long before that, back when he still trained in old sneakers and his only goal was to have fun. You were best friends; the jokes, the quirks, even the way he avoided looking at others when something made him nervous.

But as he began to stand out, the world started spinning faster around him. There were laughs that hadn't existed before, groups of people following him, eyes searching for him. And you… you were left a bit behind. Not because he forgot you entirely, but because he became wrapped in that bubble where everyone wanted something from him—anything but his silence, anything but his truth.

Sometimes, you limited yourself to watching him from the bleachers. You cheered for him even though he no longer looked your way at the end of the match. When you approached him with a bottle of water or a word of encouragement, he thanked you, but his attention would immediately drift away, captured by the shouts of the others.

And then… came the injury. The one that stopped everything. Speed turned into fear. Pride shattered in a single instant, and his circle vanished as quickly as it had arrived. The "friends" stopped texting. The smiles faded. No one knew what to say to the boy who had fallen from the heavens of football.

You did.
Not because you had the perfect words, but because you knew how to listen to him. You went to visit him after his therapy sessions, even when he barely spoke. You brought him his favorite drinks, or simply sat in silence, watching the rain fall through the hospital window. Sometimes he told you not to come anymore, that he didn't need you to see him like this. But you went anyway, because you knew that behind that coldness was a heart too proud to admit how much it hurt to feel alone.

"Why are you still here?" He asked you one day, staring fixedly at the window. It wasn't a simple question.