"Kevin?! Why are you here?" her initial shock giving way to confusion. "And why..." she scanned his absurd attire up and down, "...do you look like that?"

  "Camouflage. Had to sneak in," he scratched the back of his head. "I was at a sponsor function, boring to say the least. I couldn't stop thinking about the match. Needed to see it. Needed to see you play."

  He checked his wrist, his watch was hidden under layers of wool. As he dug it out, he winced.

  "Shoot. I have a management meeting in Victoria. Have to be there in two hours. I'm going to have to drive like a maniac to make it."

  Himeko shook her head, the disbelief settling into a strange, warm knot in her chest. "You drove for hours. To watch a preliminary match. And now you have to drive back immediately? You're insane."

  Kevin only shrugged. "Maybe. But I wanted to see the streak in person."

  They stayed in comfortable silence for a little bit, let the situations of both settling in the mind of another. But as the silence stretched, the weight of the last two hours settled back onto Himeko's shoulders. The temporary easiness faded from her eyes. She looked down at the concrete floor.

  "I looked like a fool," she murmured.

  Kevin was surprised at her unconfident self-assessment. Kevin's playful demeanor vanished. His expression changed, becoming intensely focused. He took a step closer.

  "No," he said firmly. "You didn't."

  Himeko looked up, seeing his face. "But I was invisible... Useless to my team."

  "That's because Jiayi Rui is a hard counter," he said, louder now, refusing to let her shrink. "She plays the game differently. She preys on your thinking process, on your assocations."

  He held her eyes. "Do you remember Facility B? The first few weeks?"

  Himeko stayed silent.

  "You only thought about blocking me," he continued. "Every single time. So I just changed the angle and tricked you. Because I always knew exactly what you were going to do."

  He gestured to the court behind them.

  "Same thing earlier. The harder you tried to solve her, the more she saw coming. That's what exploiters do."

  Himeko's fist clenched at her side. She understood perfectly and that was the worst part.

  "Volleyball at the highest level is played in a fog of war," sensing her contemplation, Kevin continued. "You can't let them read your cards. Can't let them track your eyes. Can't let them smell that you want something."

  Himeko looked down at her sneakers. The concrete floor of the tunnel seemed very interesting suddenly. She traced pattern lines of her shoe with her eyes.

  "So... what do I do?" she asked, her voice quiet.

  Kevin blinked, surprised she'd actually asked for his help. Then he rubbed his chin, thinking.

  "Hmmm running more drills clearly doesn't work,'" he chuckled. "You are a work machine already."

  He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, trying and failing to look professorial when he was entirely too handsome for it.

  "I imagine Jiayi's style is like jazz... always improvising. And you are like... I don't know, a standard, realiable sheet of music? And for prodigies like Jiayi, she improvises to any standard music fast. She knows exactly where you will be because logic tells you should be there. And you always do what you should."

  He continued.

  "How about you do something that Himeko Nakamura would never do. Like I don't know... go buy a romance novel with a shirtless dude on the cover? Eat a cheeseburger at 2 AM? Paint a picture of a toilet? If you don't know what you're going to do next, she won't either."

  Himeko stared at him. It sounded absolutely ridiculous, like in hell would she do those things. But then exactly because she wouldn't do those things that it might actually work. The advice itself had come from a man who disguised himself as a geriatric just to watch a prelim game and always got away with his nonsensical shenanigans.

  Kevin opened his mouth to add another example, maybe something about skydiving, when he glanced down at his wrist. His eyes bulged behind the thick lenses.

  "Oh shit."

  "What?"

  "The meeting. I have less than 2 hours."

  Panic seized his features. The cool, philosophical mentor turned instantly to a terrified employee facing a corporate execution: payment cut, forms of self-disciplinary and worst of all, more time with coach for 'private practices'.

  "I gotta go. Like, right now. If I'm late, my agent is going to kill me, resurrect, and kill me again."

  He spun around on his heel.

  Kevin Marvant took off sprinting.

  The sight was absurd. A tall, athletic man dressed as an octogenarian, exploding into a full sprint down a concrete tunnel. The beige cardigan flapped behind him. He held the cane in the air like a relay baton, his heavy boots thundering against the floor.

  Himeko watched him go. The usual irritation she felt toward his antics was absent. Instead, a pang of worry tightened her chest. He had driven all this way for five minutes of conversation and now putting his safety at risk for it.

  "Drive safe, Kevin!" she shouted.

  "I will!" A voice boomed back from the darkness near the exit. "Probably!"

  The air in 'The Gilded Lobster' smelled of brown butter, roasted garlic, and old money.

  Himeko pushed through the heavy wooden door, her sneakers silent on the crimson carpet. The restaurant was a cavern of gleaming mahogany and low, intimate lighting. In the center of it all, a chandelier that looked like a crystal octopus. In one of the lobbies, sat the Port Osea Divers.

  Their table stacked a mountain of cracked crab legs formed a jagged peak in the center. A graveyard of empty oyster shells littered the white tablecloth. Half-empty glasses of pale, bubbling wine stood sweating next to abandoned lemon wedges.

  "Cap! You're late!"

  Jules Moreno, her face flushed with a combination of victory and chardonnay, pointed a crab leg at her. A weapon of celebration.

  "We were worried you got lost in your own thoughts again," Jules grinned, kicking an empty chair out with her foot. "Sit, sit! You missed the first wave, but the shrimp are coming."

  Himeko slid into the seat, dropping her bag by her feet. The noise of her teammates filled the room - chaotic, happy symphony of laughter and clinking forks. Jules shoved a heavy, leather-bound menu into her hands. It was the size of a small tombstone.

  "Order whatever you want," Jules declared grandly. "The bill's on management tonight."

  Across the restaurant, near the velvet ropes of the entrance, Coach Elena Vance was having a different kind of conversation. She stood at the hostess stand, staring down at a slip of paper that was almost as long as her forearm.

  "I am sorry, Madame," the restaurant supervisor said, his voice smooth and condescending. "But is there a problem with the bill?"

  "A problem?" Elena whispered, her finger tracing a number near the bottom. She pushed her glasses up her nose, squinting. "Yes. I believe your printer has made a mistake. It seems to have added an extra zero."

  The supervisor leaned in, inspecting the receipt with the patience of a man who dealt with this every night. He pointed a manicured finger at the subtotal.

  "Two seafood towers, twelve orders of the jumbo prawns, four bottles of the imported Sauvignon Blanc... *bla bla bla bla bla...*," and the list went on. "No, Madame, everything is listed perfectly."

  Elena's face went pale. The management bonus covered thirty percent of team celebration expenses. The number on that paper would cost her a full month's salary. Maybe more. She could feel her bank account screaming.

  She turned, a mechanical smile plastered on her face, and walked back to the table on shaking legs that felt like soggy noodles. She arrived just in time to see Himeko hand her menu back to a waiter.

  "I will have the A5 Wagyu steak," Himeko said, her voice clear and even. "Medium rare."

  Jules choked on a piece of shrimp. "The steak? Himeko, you don't even like red meat! You said it makes you feel sluggish."

  Himeko folded her hands on the table. She looked at the chaos, at the celebration, at the mountain of shells. She thought of a man in a ridiculous cardigan.

  "I want to try something new," Himeko stated simply.

  Elena stared at her captain knowing Wagyu is among the most expensive items. The captain that was most reliable was now turning her back on her.

  The coach's shoulders slumped in defeat. Then, a strange light entered her eyes. A reckless, glorious acceptance of her impending bankruptcy.

  She reached across the table, grabbed the nearest open bottle of white wine by the neck.

  "To trying new things!" Elena roared, tipping the bottle back.

  She began to chug.

  The entire table erupted. "CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!"

  Himeko watched the scene, having a small smile for the coach's overjoy. A few minutes later, a waiter placed a sizzling plate in front of her. The steak was beautiful, perfectly seared, resting in its own juices. She picked up her knife and fork.

  She cut a piece. She chewed it slowly.

  It was rich and tender.

  It was alright.

  The deadbolt of Himeko's apartment door slid home. The sound sealed off the noise of the Port Osea night, leaving her alone in comfortable quiet of her own home. She leaned her back against the cool wood of the door, letting out a long sigh of the tiredness for everything that has happened within the entire day.

  She thought of Coach Elena. The last time Himeko saw her, the coach was slumped in the passenger seat of the team bus, mumbling about interest rates and the ethics of pawning a championship ring. The management had been called in to pay. Management was... surprised. And they had promised to have a long, productive 'work' session with Elena later in the week.

  Himeko pushed herself off the door and padded into her bedroom. She stripped off the Osea kit she'd worn to the restaurant. She pulled an oversized black t-shirt from her drawer. The soft, worn cotton fell to her mid-thigh, a homey comfort.

  She walked into the living room.

  She sank into the deep cushions of her sofa, knees to chest. The room was dimly lit, save for the faint, ambient glow of the city lights filtering through the blinds.

  She reached for the tablet on the coffee table. Her thumb hovered over the VOD app, the small volleyball icon of a familiar routine. Her plan was simple: re-watch the Tarin match. Analyze every mistake. Find the pattern in Jiayi Rui's chaos, understand the logic behind it.

  Her thumb froze.

  Do something that Himeko Nakamura would never do.

  Kevin's voice echoed in her head, annoyingly clear.

  Himeko let out a groan, flopping back against the cushions. She stared at the tablet. Fine.

  She closed the VOD app and opened the e-book store. The screen lit up with decorated rows of new releases: thrillers, historical epics, dense non-fiction. She swiped past them all. She typed 'romance' into the search bar, perhaps her least favourite genre, something Himeko Nakamura would never actively search for.

  The results flooded the screen. An endless scroll of covers, each more ridiculous than the last. Himeko's lip curled in distaste.

  Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

  Her finger stopped on a cover that looked aggressively generic. A man with sharp jawlines, a dreamily indifferent gaze and six-packs of abs that looked like a tray of fresh roasted buns who was clutching a woman in a torn silk dress. They were wet under the night rain and the amount of see-through clearly indicated what age rating this one was.

  The title was written in a swirling, golden font: The Earl and Young Mistress's Perfect Encounter.

  Himeko stared at it. It was absolutely perfect. Perfectly awful.

  She tapped 'Buy'.

  The file downloaded in seconds. She opened the book, propped the tablet against her knees, and began to read.

  For hours, the only light in the apartment was the soft glow of the screen on Himeko's face. The story unfolded in a predictable cascade of heaving bosoms and smoldering glares.

  The main character, a woman named Seraphina, was described as fiery and independent. Yet, within three chapters, she had been tricked, captured, and rescued by an Earl, a brooding man named Oliver who communicated exclusively in grunts and indifferent stares.

  Himeko's brow furrowed. She kept reading.

  Seraphina, despite being warned about the treacherous forest, decided to go for a midnight stroll. She immediately fell into a conveniently placed ditch. Oliver, who "just happened" to be riding his stallion nearby, found her. He pulled her out, called her a fool, and then kissed her senseless.

  Himeko tapped the screen a little too hard, turning the page. The irritation began to build. The girl was an idiot. A gullible, irrational liability who never learned from her mistakes. And the Earl? He was a poser. He was handsome, yes. The book reminded the reader of his chiseled features, his perfect facial every four sentences. But he contributed nothing. He just showed up, looked intense, and solved problems that Seraphina had created with her own foolishness.

  She read on, hate-turning every page. Her frustration grew with every chapter. She found herself muttering to the empty room.

  "Don't go into the abandoned castle, you moron."

  She went into the castle.

  "He literally just lied to you. Don't trust him."

  She trusted him.

  "Oh, for the love of- HE'S THE VILLAIN'S BROTHER! IT WAS JUST REVEALED TO YOU!"

  Himeko felt her blood pressure rising. The relentless irrationality of the plot was sending her. She finally reached a chapter where Seraphina, after being betrayed by Oliver for the fifth time, decided the best course of action was to forgive him because his eyes held a 'storm of unspoken pain'.

  That was it.

  Himeko clicked off the tablet and turned it face-down on the cushion beside her. She sat in the darkness, sighing. What a complete and utter waste of time. She hadn't learned anything about being unpredictable. She had only learned that she had a very low tolerance for fictional idiots.

  Usually, this was the time she should switch gears. The match against Tarin needed reviewing, and Himeko would typically spend the next hour dissecting the VODs frame by frame until the logic revealed itself.

  But tonight, her brain was not feeling the data. The idea of watching volleyball after all of the new bullshits she has just introduced to herself sounded too much.

  She picked up her phone instead.

  Her thumb hovered over the green icon of the messaging app. She tapped it, opening the chat with Kewkvin145.

  The last message in the log was still the grotesque photoshop of his face on the volleyball from that morning. There was nothing after that. No "I'm leaving," no "On the road," and no "I made it."

  He had left the stadium hours ago. He had sprinted down that tunnel like a madman, claiming he had a two-hour drive to make in record time. The coastal highway between Port Osea and Victoria was notorious: sharp turns, crumbling guardrails, speeding maniacs... if Kevin was one of them too.

  Himeko stared at the timestamp of his last message.

  He was a professional athlete with duties to attend to, he was probably just as busy as she was. He probably arrived safely, busy himself with the sponsors and passed out from all the alcohol when he hit home.

  Yet, Himeko felt concerned. Against her will, she was concerned for someone she swore to never have any business with months ago.

  She tapped the text box. The keyboard slid up.

  Are you alive?

  Too dramatic. She backspaced rapidly.

  Update.

  Too cold. It sounded like a manager asking for a report.

  She stared at the blinking cursor. Why was this difficult? It was a simple safety check. A courtesy between... acquaintances. Friends? People who ate soup together?

  She typed quickly, hitting send before her pride could stop her.

  Himeko: Did you make the meeting?

  The message bubble turned blue. Delivered.

  She waited. The "Read" indicator didn't appear.

  To distract herself from the ticking seconds, Himeko tapped on his profile picture at the top of the screen. It expanded to fill the display.

  It wasn't a professional headshot or a team logo. It was just him, wearing a backwards baseball cap, squinting into the sun with a half-eaten gelato in his hand. The username Kewkvin145 and the lack of a verification checkmark confirmed this was his private alt account, the one for real people, not the press.

  She tapped into his media album.

  Dozens of thumbnails loaded. Himeko found herself scrolling.

  There was Kevin standing in front of a temple in the East, throwing up peace signs with a group of monks who looked surprisingly amused.

  There was Kevin covered in mud, holding a mountain bike over his head to move it past the muddy land, bleeding a bit on his cheek but grinning like it's no problem.

  There was Kevin attempting to surf, caught in a high-definition freeze-frame of falling face-first into a wave.

  She expected to feel that familiar prick of irritation, one she reserved for people who tried too hard to curate a life for an audience. But scrolling through years of uploads, the irritation didn't manifest. He looked... present.

  In every photo, he was throwing himself into the experience with 100% effort. He wasn't posing to look cool; he was out there, living. There was a genuine joy in the way he engaged with the world, a desperate need to consume every moment before it expired.

  Her thumb paused on a photo near the bottom of the feed.

  It was taken from behind. Kevin sat on a concrete sea wall, looking out at a gray, featureless ocean. There was no caption or emojis. Just a wide back against a wide, empty sea.

  Himeko lingered on it.

  In almost all the photos, he was the focal point. He was surrounded by scenery, or crowds, or events, yet he stood distinct from them. Even when smiling, there was a subtle barrier, a sense that he was performing the role of 'Kevin Marvant' for the world, and he was the only one in on the joke.

  She swiped back up, past the surfing fail and the muddy mountain bike, landing on a picture from what looked like a charity gala.

  Kevin stood in a tuxedo that fit him. He was laughing at something off-screen, his head thrown back, his eyes crinkled at the corners, holding a genuine warmth that no camera flash could replicate.

  Himeko stared at the pixels. She knew he was handsome. The billboards said so. The magazine covers said so. The fans said so.

  But sitting here in the dark, with the light casting on her face, she finally acknowledged the traitorous flutter in her stomach - the realization that she was starting to understand Kevin's appeal. It wasn't the polished MVP in the photo that did it but the memory of the guy in the wig eating spicy noodles, superimposed over this image of perfection.

  She tapped the screen, zooming in slightly on his face. He really had no business looking like that while being such a headache.

  BZZZ-BZZZ.

  The phone vibrated in her hand, startling her a tiny bit.

  A new bubble appeared as she clicked on it.

  Kewkvin145: Alive. Just got in. Sponsors cornered me at the hotel bar. They really tryna posion me (not really its just alcohol but iykyk).

  Kewkvin145: What are you doing up this late? Volleyball much?

  Himeko let out a breath. He made it. The drive didn't kill him.

  She adjusted her position on the sofa, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

  Himeko: No. I'm reading.

  Kewkvin145: Guide books?

  Himeko: A romance novel. The Earl and Young Mistress's Perfect Encounter.

  Kewkvin145: LOL. No way. You? Is it good?

  Himeko: It is garbage. The characters possess zero brain cells. The plot relies on people refusing to communicate basic information. I hate it.

  Kewkvin145: Hahaha. Well, look at the bright side. You tried it. Now you know for a fact that it sucks. If you never opened it, you'd just be guessing.

  Himeko frowned at the screen.

  Kewkvin145: That's my philosophy. Try the weird food. Take the weird drive. Read the bad book. You gotta taste everything to know what you actually like.

  It sounded exhausting. To Himeko, life was about refining a process, not throwing paint at the wall to see what stuck.

  Himeko: Doesn't that make you scattered? If you chase everything, you never stand still long enough to appreciate where you are.

  She watched the screen. The typing bubble appeared, then vanished. Appeared again. Vanished.

  A minute passed.

  Kewkvin145: I suppose so. I'm good at moving. Not so good at stopping.

  Kewkvin145: Maybe I need to slow down a little bit.

  Kewkvin145: Anyway. I want to come to Osea frequently. There's a lot of stuff I wanted to try.

  Kewkvin145: Need a tour guide. Someone that knows the city to her heart.

  Himeko rolled her eyes.

  Himeko: I am a terrible guide. I told you, I live here but I do not go out. I know the gym, the supermarket, and the library. You would be bored.

  Kewkvin145: Perfect.

  Kewkvin145: Then we're on the same page. You need to do new things. I need to see the city. We figure it out together.

  Logic. He was using her own language against her again. It was annoying and manipulative.

  Her thumb hovered over the keyboard. She thought about the empty weekends ahead. She thought about the silence of her apartment.

  Himeko: Fine.

  Himeko: But no stupid stuff, no expensive stuff.

  Kewkvin145: Deal!

  Kewkvin145: Alright, the night really wiped me out. I don't get drunk but I get hit with a sleep coma. I'm crashing.

  Kewkvin145: Night, Himeko. Thanks for checking on me.

  Kewkvin145: ????

  Himeko looked at the cat and heart emoji. It did weird things to her brain and heart. She waited for a long time before sending back her goodnight.

  Himeko: Goodnight, Kevin.

  She watched the status change to "Offline."

  She set the phone down on the coffee table. She stood up to leave the sofa, then came pick up the black cat plushie from the counter, squeezed it once, and took it to the bedroom with her.