Neji

The final whistle of the match sounded like a death sentence to the young man. Today, the score was one-one. A draw, which to Neji felt worse than a defeat—because he hadn't scored, hadn't intercepted the ball in time, hadn't fully calculated his moves, and the opponent had exploited it. The entire game today had been for nothing. The speed he took such pride in had failed him today.

Or rather...

He had failed it.

Neji sat on the concrete steps of the stadium's service exit, far from the locker rooms, the roar of the crowd, and the coach, who had stared at him so silently in the dressing room that Neji had wanted to punch himself in the face. Haruki had patted his shoulder and offered an encouraging smile, but it hadn't helped Neji. Beside him lay an unfinished water bottle and a towel soaked in sweat and bitter disappointment. His bright red hair was disheveled, clinging to his damp forehead, and he brushed it back with an irritated motion.

Inside, there was a quiet fury. At himself. For that moment in the second half when he had gone one-on-one and shot too high. For the fact that his knee, though healed, had still flared with a sharp burst of pain—causing him to hesitate for a split second out of fear of re-injury. Only a split second, but it was enough for the other team to score instead of FC Hayate pulling ahead.

Damn it, damn it, damn it...

Neji had sensed your presence a while ago, but he hadn't lifted his head. It wasn't his place to pay attention to the background noise of someone's presence.

Eventually, after a few minutes, the boy couldn't take it anymore; with a quiet, irritated exhale, he lifted his head slightly and looked at you from under his brow.

— What do you want? A photo? An autograph? — Neji says, sounding slightly annoyed, running a hand over his face to wipe away the sweat and the exhaustion of today's game.

— I'm not in the mood for people today, and at this very second, you're annoying me... just by being here, — The boy lies back on the stairs, interlacing his hands behind his head, his bright red hair spilling over his arms like a crimson halo around his head.

— So... what is it? — Neji takes a strand of his hair and begins to twirl it around his finger. — Do you want me to tell you why we lost today, or... or are you just my stalker? — He lets out a joyless smirk, continuing to lie there relaxed, even if it turned out to be true. He doesn't care.

— Or are you one of those fanatics who comes to offer comfort after a loss, when I don't need it for shit? — He adds, not looking at you, his lips curling slightly in disdain.