The new year kicked off with a significant event for Jean's school: the U18 boys’ division match. This wasn't a standalone game, but a continuation of the tournament that began in October last year. The team knew that if they performed well enough to reach the finals, the championship would be decided during the upcoming Easter break. It was a crucial part of their season, and the goal was within reach now.

The pressure was real.

The early morning sky hung heavy with grey clouds, and the tension on the pitch was thick. Jean stood at the sidelines, eyes scanning the opposing team as they lined up until they landed on him.

Elliot.

Wearing the rival school’s colours.

Her jaw tightened. Of course he hadn’t mentioned that.

By the final whistle, her school had secured the win. The team erupted into celebration, teammates shouting and clapping backs, the heady high of victory rising in waves around them.

But Jean’s focus never left the field. Never left him.

She was still vaguely expecting Elliot to disappear the way he'd unexpectedly appeared. Instead, he found her again, strolling over with that same carefree grin, as if the loss didn’t bother him in the slightest.

“Well,” he said, hands casually tucked into the pockets of his windbreaker, “even though I might’ve lost today, seeing you again felt like a win to me.” Elliot said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "You have that effect, you know?"

Jean folded her arms across her chest, unimpressed. Her amber eyes, flecked with gold in the pale light, stayed fixed on him. Strands of chestnut brown hair, loosened by the wind, gently clung to her cheekbones. She didn’t bother brushing them aside.

There was something sharp in the way she held herself, self-assured, slightly aloof, with the posture of someone who had long since stopped trying to impress anyone. Her expression, striking even without effort, hovered somewhere between amusement and suspicion.

“You could’ve told me,” she said, voice steady but edged.

He simply shrugged, that infuriatingly charming smile with one dimple still in place.

"Where's the fun in full disclosure?"

Jean couldn't help the small laugh that escaped her.

"You're an odd one."

"At least I've achieved something today—getting your attention and a laugh. Small victories, eh?" he quipped, his gaze lingering on her, a silent challenge in his words.

The moment hung between them, a fragile connection forming in the aftermath of the game. It was only broken by a sharp, commanding voice that cut through the air like a blade.

"Jean. Meeting. Now."

Julian stood a few metres away, arms crossed, expression granite.

She exhaled, almost annoyed.

“Duty calls.”

Elliot gave a small bow. 

“Perhaps our paths will cross once again.”

She jogged off without another word. Elliot’s gaze lingered on her retreating form until he noticed someone else watching.

Julian.

Still rooted in place. Still watching. His eyes were locked on Elliot, and whatever was in them wasn’t just curiosity.

And more like a predator sizing up its prey.

That look? It was anything but friendly.

Meanwhile, at the team meeting, the atmosphere was a stark contrast to the lingering adrenaline and camaraderie on the field. Coach Leo stood with his arms crossed, his steely gaze sweeping across the players before settling—pointedly—on Jean, the last to arrive.

“Jean,” he said, his voice gravelled but calm. “Why are you always the last one in?”

“Sorry, Coach,” she replied quickly, still catching her breath.

“You ought to stick with Julian a bit more,” Coach Leo continued, his gaze softening slightly as he turned to their steadfast boy captain, Julian. “Maybe some of his discipline and leadership will rub off on you.”

She kept her face neutral. 

“Understood,” she said, though the thought of shadowing Julian felt more like a punishment than a privilege.

Coach Leo’s tone shifted again. Firmer, but not unkind. 

“Still, strong performance out there. Our formation held. Pressure stayed consistent.”

He turned to Julian with a nod. 

“And well done, you kept the line tight. Keep this up, and scout agents will be circling soon enough.”

“Thank you, Coach,” Julian replied, voice even and composed. Satisfaction radiated from him but as always, it was controlled, disciplined. 

Nothing more, nothing less.