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Soramiya was supposed to be practicing. Technically. His body stood somewhere around midfield with the rest of the team, but his eyes had been fixed on the bench for so long that even Momochi had stopped trying to call him back to reality.
On that bench sat Alice and Unmei—two “rivals,” at least on paper—discussing training strategies like they were dissecting a private joke meant for no one else. Their heads tilted close, shoulders brushing each time one leaned in to point something out on the tablet between them. From the outside, it looked perfectly harmless: two coaches-in-training obsessing over a friendly match.
To Soramiya, it looked like a slow and steady collapse of his entire emotional stability.
Teikoku and Nagumohara were scheduled to play soon, and apparently, the genius idea of the century was to have their protégés study together. “If we both know each other’s strategies, then the real winner will be the team that adapts best.” Unmei had said proudly.
It sounded noble. Clever. Admirable.
Soramiya wished it had never happened.
Every time Unmei wanted to show Alice something, Alice leaned in way too far, chin practically sinking into Unmei’s shoulder like he’d been waiting for an excuse to get that close. And Unmei didn’t even seem to mind. He even shifted to make space for him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
They were close during meetings, close during breaks, close on the pitch, close off the pitch—close in a way that made Soramiya feel like an intruder in his own friend’s life. Whenever Alice wasn’t clinging to Unmei with that soft little smile of his, Unmei was the one tugging him along by the wrist, or resting a hand on his back, or lowering his voice so only Alice could hear him.
It wasn’t fair. None of it felt fair.
Soramiya didn’t even know what part of it hurt the most. Was it Alice’s constant hovering? Was it the way Unmei lit up whenever he talked to him? Was it how natural they seemed together, like two puzzle pieces finally finding where they belonged?
Or maybe it was the simple, cruel truth that he could never be the one Unmei looked at like that.
Soramiya’s throat tightened. His chest felt hot and heavy, like something molten was slowly leaking inside him. This must be jealousy. Real, ugly, impossible-to-hide jealousy.
He didn’t want to admit it, not even inside his own head. But the longer he watched them, the more the word clung to him like tar.
He wanted to be in Alice’s place. He wanted to be the one Unmei leaned towards without thinking. The one who got praised softly, teased gently, and tugged close during breaks. He wanted to be the person Unmei held without hesitation, the one Unmei’s eyes softened for.
He wanted Unmei’s attention—his admiration—his affection.
On the bench, Alice laughed at something Unmei said, tipping forward until his forehead bumped lightly against Unmei’s cheek. Instead of pulling away, Unmei reached up and steadied him by the waist, smiling like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Soramiya’s heart lurched painfully.
Of course, they were like this. They were lovers. That’s how lovers behaved. It was normal. Rational. Expected.
But knowing that didn’t stop the jealousy. It didn’t stop the sting every time they touched. It didn’t stop his stupid, pathetic hope that maybe—just maybe—Unmei would look up, notice him, and remember he existed.
He knew that hope was useless.
So he kept watching. Torturing himself minute after minute as if he deserved it.
He couldn’t wait for the friendly match to be over. He wanted it done—played, won, forgotten—so Alice could go back to Kanto, where he belonged, far from Nagumohara, far from Unmei, far from Soramiya’s fraying nerves. Distance wouldn’t break them; Soramiya wasn’t naïve enough to believe something that convenient. But at least he wouldn’t have to stomach this sight every single day.
At least he could breathe again. Maybe.
He tore his gaze away just long enough to pretend he was focusing on practice.
But his eyes drifted back almost immediately.
And when he saw Alice leaning in again—closer, always closer—something inside him twisted until he thought he might actually cry.
Soramiya tightened his grip on the ball until his knuckles whitened, the rough leather digging into his palm. His teammates kept practicing as if nothing in the world had changed, but Soramiya barely heard them. His focus stayed locked on the bench across the field, where Alice and Unmei finally seemed to be wrapping up whatever secret little meeting they’d been enjoying.
He watched Unmei rise to his feet, brushing off the back of his pants. “Okay, then I’ll go talk to Professor Kasumisaki,” Unmei said, his voice carrying just enough for Soramiya to catch it. “Think you can handle this here?”
Alice nodded with an easy smile. “Leave it to me. I’ve got everything under control.”
And then, as naturally as if it were simply how they breathed around each other, Unmei leaned down and brushed his fingers against Alice’s cheek. The gesture hit Soramiya like a slap.
His chest tightened. His jaw clenched. He couldn’t tell if he wanted to scream or sink into the ground.
Unmei walked away without noticing a thing.
Soramiya forced himself to look away and return to practice. He jogged back into position, though his steps felt heavy and unsteady, his mood stained pitch-black. He tried to shake off the image of that intimate caress, but it replayed in his mind like a taunt.
Just focus. Just practice. Just breathe.
But something prickled at the back of his neck. A strange, crawling sensation—not quite danger, but unmistakable attention.
He looked up.
And there he was.
Alice, still seated on the bench, stared straight at him with those hollow, sleepless eyes. The kind of look that made Soramiya feel as if the boy were peeling back his skin and examining every raw nerve underneath. Beside him, that damned bunny puppet hung limply in one hand, its big eyes as unsettling as its owner.
Great. Just great. Exactly what he needed.
Soramiya froze, unsure what expression to make, but Alice decided for him. He lifted his hand and motioned for Soramiya to come over. The gesture was small, polite even—yet impossible to refuse.
Soramiya swallowed hard and approached like a man walking toward his own funeral.
“Yes, Alice?” he asked, trying to keep his voice level.
“...You were staring at me,” Alice murmured.
Soramiya nearly dropped the ball.
“W-what?! No! What are you talking about? Absolutely not!”
“Don’t lie,” Alice answered with serene, unnerving certainty. “I’m the only one who noticed.”
Soramiya snapped his mouth shut.
Alice didn’t press the point. He simply shifted his attention toward the field behind Soramiya. Every player was hard at work. Every player except for Soramiya, who stood rooted beside the bench like a statue that had wandered out of place.
Then the bunny puppet’s head tilted toward him. “You’re jealous of Unmei, aren’t you?” it asked in Alice’s soft, eerie ventriloquist tone.
Soramiya felt something short-circuit inside him.
His mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I—I’m not—! He’s just my friend! Of course I’m worried about him!”
Alice didn’t even bother to respond. He just kept watching the field, expression unreadable. That silence alone made Soramiya’s defenses crumble.
A few seconds passed. Then Alice spoke softly, calmly—too calmly.
“...Why don’t you use your feelings to your advantage?”
Soramiya blinked. “What?”
“Emotions can sabotage you,” Alice said, turning his gaze back to him, “but when handled correctly, they can also strengthen you.”
Alice gave him a slow, analytical look, as though measuring exactly how much Soramiya could take before breaking.
“Use the contempt you feel for me,” Alice continued. “Pour it into your training. Let it sharpen you. Use your hatred to beat me. Prove to Unmei that you’re superior to me on the field.” His head tilted slightly, a ghost of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Isn’t that what you want?”
Soramiya’s breath caught.
Was he really that transparent? Was it obvious to everyone—or was Alice just impossibly perceptive? Or worse… was this all part of Unmei’s strategy somehow?
“Why are you telling me this?” Soramiya asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.
Alice didn’t hesitate. “I have no interest in competing with you in that field. It’s a losing battle for your faction.”
Soramiya bristled with a surge of indignation. “Oh, yeah? Well, that remains to be seen!”
Alice’s expression barely changed. “Then give me an interesting game to play.”
Soramiya felt heat crawl up his neck—anger, embarrassment, and the sharp sting of truth. Because Alice was right. Soramiya did want to prove himself. He wanted to win. He wanted to show Unmei he mattered more than some sleep-deprived, creepy strategist with a puppet.
He wanted to beat Alice. To shine brighter than Alice. To be chosen over Alice.
“…I will,” Soramiya said at last, voice low but steady. “Rest assured.”
Alice met his gaze with calm finality.
“Challenge accepted.”