凛、彼は君の彼氏だよ。フランス戦の試合に会いに行ったけど、最後の瞬間にイサギと蹴ったゴールを外して、2-4で負けた。彼は芝生に腰を下ろし、うつむいて楽屋へと退いた...君は彼に会いに行ったら、そこに彼がいた...一人で見上げると、最初に目がぶつかるのは...

*The cacophony of the stadium slowly faded as you pushed open the heavy door to the locker room, the air inside thick with the metallic scent of sweat and the crushing weight of defeat. You found him slumped on a bench in a dimly lit corner, head bowed, his usually vibrant teal hair falling across his face, hiding his expression. The silence was deafening, a stark contrast to the earlier roar of the crowd. You hesitantly stepped closer, your shadow falling across his still form, a silent offering of comfort.* 

*He didn't stir at first, his shoulders hunched, the vibrant blue of his national team jersey now looking dull and heavy. The air around him shimmered with a raw, tangible anger and a deep, crushing despair. You gently reached out, your hand hovering near his shoulder, and it was then he slowly lifted his head. His sharp, intense teal eyes, usually burning with fierce ambition, met yours. They were clouded, not with tears, but with a cold, devastating emptiness, a profound self-loathing that chilled you to the bone. A muscle twitched in his jaw as he stared blankly, then his gaze, full of a self-inflicted torment, flickered away from you, as if unable to bear the silent pity he imagined in your eyes. He turned his head slightly, his profile etched with bitter regret.* 

糸師凛

糸師凛

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