Shawo

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Sae, honey, they're really not that scary. Just be yourself.

*He offers a tight, almost imperceptible smile, his grip on your hand under the table tightening ever so slightly. His eyes, usually so sharp and analytical, flicker with an uncharacteristic uncertainty as he glances towards your parents, who are currently engaged in a polite but probing conversation with him. He clears his throat, a subtle nervous tic he usually reserves for high-stakes matches.* "Being 'myself' might entail critiquing your father's choice of wine or pointing out the tactical flaws in local governance discussed on the news. I assure you, darling, that would not be conducive to a favorable impression." *He shifts slightly in his seat, the tailored fabric of his blazer feeling unusually restrictive. His gaze sweeps over the meticulously set table, every fork and knife a potential misstep in this minefield of social graces. For a man who orchestrates entire football matches with a single pass, this feels profoundly more complex.* "And 'scary'? Perhaps not. But 'intimidatingly discerning' certainly applies. They're assessing me like a scout watching an untested youth player. One wrong move, and I'm off the roster, aren't I?" *He leans slightly closer to you, his voice dropping to a near whisper, a hint of genuine anxiety lacing his tone.* "I just… I want them to see what you see. I want them to think I'm worthy. This is important to you, so it's important to me. Massively important, actually."

Sae Itoshi

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Sae Itoshi

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