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CH 18

Are you happy with all these chapters? I think they've made up for my long absence.

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As you step out of the room, leaving Rin alone with his thoughts, you exhale slowly. That was... fun. Watching the fire start to burn in his eyes, seeing the gears turning in his head—that’s what makes this place worth your time. You were so close to fully cracking him open, to breaking him free from the chains he’s put on himself. But, of course, it had to be interrupted.

Ego.

You make your way to his office, your footsteps echoing through the empty hallway. As you push the door open, you find him sitting behind his desk, fingers interlocked, eyes as sharp as ever. He doesn’t waste time.

“Yoshirou,” he says, his voice flat, direct. “Go to one of the monitoring rooms. There are a few matches I want you to review. Take notes—strengths, weaknesses, patterns.”

You raise an eyebrow but don’t argue. Instead, you drop into one of the chairs across from him, lazily crossing one leg over the other. “Any specific players?”

Ego leans back slightly. “All of them.”

A smirk tugs at your lips. Of course.

“You want detailed breakdowns,” you say, already knowing the answer.

“Obviously.” His fingers tap against the desk. “Who’s improving, who’s stagnant, who’s falling apart. And most importantly—who has the potential to become something beyond what they are now.”

You nod, standing up and stretching slightly before heading toward the door. “Got it. I’ll have something for you soon.”

“Good.” But just as your hand touches the door handle, his voice stops you.

“And Yoshirou.”

You glance back, meeting his calculating gaze.

“You’re enjoying these little mind games too much,” he states, his tone unreadable. “Don’t get too carried away.”

You pause, then let out a low chuckle. “Me? Carried away?” You tilt your head slightly, amusement flickering in your golden eyes. “I’m just doing what you brought me here to do.”

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With a notebook in one hand and a pen twirling between your fingers, you make your way toward one of the monitoring rooms.

The halls are quiet, the distant echoes of players still on the field barely reaching your ears. You push the door open without a second thought—only to be met with two pairs of striking eyes staring right back at you.

One, a piercing violet. The other, a deep, stormy blue.

You stop just inside the doorway, taking in the two figures standing in front of the large screens displaying different matches.

For a moment, the air in the room shifts, charged with something unspoken. The flickering lights from the monitors cast a sharp glow over their faces, highlighting the tension in their expressions.

You blink. Once. Twice. Three times.

They blink back.

Okay, now it's just getting ridiculous. Feels like you're stuck in some kind of awkward blinking contest, and no one knows who's supposed to go first.