Although Sakura is dying to ask why Kazuha would choose Osaka as the destination for their trip, she knows the girl won’t tell her anyway. The younger girl can be surprisingly stubborn when she wants to, and so they spent most of the four-hour ride on lighthearted conversations that they’ve mastered to perfection during Kazuha’s two-week recovery period. 

Kazuha tells her a story of how once during a tournament when she was a kid, she was taking the deciding penalty kick, and she was so stressed that she didn’t notice her cleat had unlaced, so instead of the ball ending up in the net, it was her shoe. The referee somehow didn’t notice that (Kazuha blamed it on her cleat having a similar color palette to the ball they used) and whistled for a goal.

“Everyone present just burst out laughing. The referee quickly realized his mistake and allowed me to retake the kick, but you should have seen that goalkeeper’s expression when she dodged my cleat flying at her face.” 

Laughing, Sakura imagines precisely that. But her laughter gradually subsides as she notices Kazuha gazing at her with that smitten, lovestruck expression on her face. She clears and looks away, feeling her cheeks pulse with heat.

Throughout the past couple of days, this has become somewhat of a pattern between them, talking until one of them loses herself in the other’s eyes. Then comes the realization, the blushing, and an awkward lull in the conversation until they cool off and act again like nothing has happened. Neither of them addresses those moments, though. Yet Sakura knows that sooner or later, they’ll have to talk about them, and she’s already dreading the day it happens. 

A female’s voice announcing their arrival at the destination interrupts her thoughts. They gather their bags and leave the train. 

Outside, the sun has already set, and a distinct autumn chill permeates the evening air. Neon signs flicker, casting vibrant colors onto the pavement, and the aroma of street food wafts from the stalls.

Sakura wouldn’t mind grabbing some Okonomiyaki, but Kazuha’s walking so fast and with such purpose that she doesn’t even bring up the idea. It’s not exactly how Sakura has imagined this trip to go. She half expected Kazuha to plan this as a sort of…date? Showing her the favorite places she visited as a kid and telling funny stories related to them.

But that’s clearly not happening, and now Sakura is even more confused than she was at the beginning of this impromptu outing. One thing is for certain, though, wherever Kazuha is leading her, she clearly can’t wait to be there already. So Sakura resigns herself to patiently follow her along.

🌸🍃

“We’re here,” Kazuha announces when, after an almost forty-minute walk, their journey comes to a rather anticlimactic end in front of a school’s fence.

That is, until Sakura takes a closer look at the soccer field beyond the fence. The place seems vaguely familiar, as if she had seen it already in a movie or a dream. Then she looks at the pavement beneath their feet and back at the vast green grass, and the pieces of a puzzle finally fall into place, further confirmed by Kazuha’s next words. 

“This is where I fell in love with soccer, thanks to a girl who gave me her ball,” she continues, and Sakura feels her heartbeat quicken with each uttered word. “You know, I may not remember much from that day, but I’ve never forgotten the smile you gave me.”

“Zuha…” Sakur mutters, staring at the girl in complete stupor.

“So when I saw you during the Sendai Cup, I knew right away it was you.”

“You knew? All this time, you knew it was me?”

A nod.

“Come on,” Kazuha says, throwing her bag over the gate. “Let’s play.”

“W-what? Now? Here?” Sakura watches, dumbfounded, as Kazuha climbs the fence and jumps over it.

“Yeah.” The girl looks at her through the fence, smirking. “What? Scared you’ll lose?” 

Sakura frowns, and after throwing her bag over the fence, she starts scaling it. Within seconds, she joins Kazuha on the other side.

“Rock, paper, scissors to see who starts?” she asks as she makes her way towards the field with her bag slung over her shoulder.

“Sure,” Kazuha agrees.

Sakura wins—paper to rock—and takes the ball. Without much effort, she quickly outplays Kazuha. All it takes is one lingering look into Kazuha’s eyes combined with her best charming smile, and the girl instantly loses her focus, turning into a blushing mess. Before she realizes what just happened, Sakura is long gone, scoring the first goal.

“Ah, seriously, Zuha. At least pretend you’re trying.” Sakura flashes her a smug grin.

“That’s not fair. You’re cheating,” Kazuha protests as she takes the ball from the net.

“Me? Cheating?” Sakura fake-gasps, appalled. “How could you accuse me of such a thing? Should we ask for a VAR?”

“Very funny. Fine. I guess all is fair then,” Kazuha says, shedding her leather jacket and throwing it onto her bag on the sidelines. 

She’s left in the same black, snug-fitting sweatshirt she wore in Seoul. And Sakura hates how it accentuates every curve and dip of her muscles in a totally non-distractive way.

“Ready?” The girl asks, dropping the ball to the ground between them.

With the goal now behind her back, Sakura takes a defensive stance, knees slightly bent, hips squared, and arms extended. “Bring it on,” she says with a slight waver in her voice that she hopes goes unnoticed by Kazuha.

The corner of Kazuha’s lips lifts in a subtle smirk before she begins her charge at the goal. Sakura moves to block her path, but at the last second, Kazuha swivels around, her back now pressing into Sakura’s chest. Their eyes meet above Kazuha’s shoulder.

Letting out a low chuckle, Kazuha leans back to whisper into Sakura’s ear. “You’re a terrible defender, Miyawaki-san.” 

Sakura’s eyes widen as the ball passes between her legs after Kazuha kicks it with her heel, and then she’s gone, dashing right past her and into the goal.

“That was—”

“Not fair?” Kazuha raises an eyebrow, looking over at her, amused.

“Whatever,” Sakura dismisses and beckons at Kazuha to pass her the ball. “My turn.”

Their game continues, but goal after goal, its initial intensity starts dissipating as Kazuha begins to goof around, playing with the ball and teasing Sakura rather than trying to actually score. Soon, they forget the game completely and just chase each other around, laughing, until they decide they have enough and collapse onto the ground. Laying on the soft, cool grass side by side, they stare at the starless sky above them, waiting for their breaths to even out.

“Why haven’t you told me you remembered me?” Sakura asks, turning her head to look at Kazuha.

But the girl just gives her a doubtful look, like she’s questioning the seriousness of her inquiry, which Sakura doesn’t understand. “What?”

“Sakura, when I told you the story of how we'd met, it literally made you sick.” 

“A-ah…right.” Sakura looks away, remembering that day, and feels somewhat embarrassed by her behavior. 

There was no need to be all that dramatic. But back then, Kazuha was a completely different person in her head—someone distant with unclear intentions, a threat. Now she is...someone Sakura can’t imagine losing...

“I knew you remembered me,” Kazuha continues, her fingers playing with the leaves of grass, “but given your reaction, I figured it was better to pretend I’d forgotten you. I didn’t want to make you feel more uncomfortable than you already were...” her soft voice trails off,  and her hand halts its idle motions. “Or maybe I’m just selfish,” she adds, and a humorless chuckle escapes her lips.

Sakura frowns. “Selfish?”

“Maybe I didn’t tell you, fearing you’d find it too weird, and you’d want nothing to do with me. I was happy when it turned out we could be roommates. I didn’t want to lose that,” Kazuha admits in a small voice. “Are you mad at me?”

Sakura looks into the girl’s eyes, full of genuine worry. 

Like I could ever be mad at you.

She smiles. “No, I’m not mad. But shouldn’t you be mad at me instead? For pretending not to remember?”

“Mad at you? Nah, I could never,” Kazuha dismisses, and the ease with which she says these words makes Sakura’s heart flutter, and she has to turn her gaze back to the sky above.

”I’m wondering, though, why you’ve decided to tell me today?”

“Because lately, it’s been bothering me more and more. I began to feel like I was betraying your trust, and I don’t want that.”

Sakura acknowledges her words with a soft hum.

“Why were you so shocked back then?” Kazuha asks, catching Sakura off guard, but since the girl was honest with her, it’s only fair she repays her with the same.

She sits up, watching Kazuha do so as well. “Before we made our promise of winning the World Cup together, I thought of you as my rival, sort of,” she pauses to gauge the girl’s reaction, and unsurprisingly, she looks confused. “You see, I was obsessed with the idea that you wanted to take my spot on the team. So to find out that it was thanks to me that you’d discovered soccer felt like a punch in the gut. My biggest rival was created by myself? It was worse than Yunjin’s lamest joke.”

“But I would never want to take your spot. I just wanted to play with you and—” Kazuha purses her lips, looking away like something has just occurred to her. “Maybe I should have become a goalkeeper, after all,” she mutters to herself.

Sakura throws her head back in laughter. “Now you’re talking nonsense. Remember that game with Chaewon and Yunjin? I didn’t want to say it then, but you were an awful goalkeeper.”

“But then you wouldn’t—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Sakura says, cutting off her incoming protest. “I no longer think you want to replace me. And I’m glad I get to play next to you.”

She watches how a smile returns to Kazuha’s face, but there’s something different about it. It’s as bright and happy as always, but in Kazuha’s steady eyes, Sakura notices a hint of relief and something else, something she can’t quite define.

“Let’s play one more time before we return, okay? Whoever scores first wins,” Kazuha suggests.

Sakura shrugs. “Fine. Though I’m pretty sure, I know how this will end.” 

She takes the ball, and just as she outplays Kazuha, the girl locks her arms around her waist from behind and lifts her off the ground. 

Sakura lets out a startled yelp. “Hey! You cheater!” she protests, laughing when Kazuha’s own shameless chuckles tickle her ear.

After a short struggle, Kazuha lets go of her and runs towards the ball, but Sakura stops her by grabbing her sweatshirt. Her competitive spirit kicks in, and it all escalates from there. If Kazuha wants to play dirty, then Sakura will give it to her.

They start wrestling, trying to stop each other from reaching the ball. And although it’s playful, and Sakura has tears in her eyes from all the laughing, and so does Kazuha, neither of them is willing to back down and lose their little scuffle. 

All the tugging and pulling while trying to run results in them stumbling over each other’s feet, and before Sakura knows what’s happening, she finds herself lying on the grass with Kazuha straddling her hips.

“I don’t think that’s how you play this game,” Sakura says, out of breath and feeling hot.

She hoped her words would bring some levity to the situation, but Kauzha’s playful expression from just a moment ago is nowhere to be found. Her eyes now dark and piercing, hair mussed, cheeks flushed, and chest heaving. She looks absolutely enthralling, and it sends Sakura’s heartbeat into a frenzy. 

She swallows hard, fingers digging into Kazuha’s thighs, wrinkling the soft fabric of her cargo pants—a wordless plea for Kazuha to do something, anything, just to alleviate that building, aching tension within her. 

“New rules,” Kazuha whispers before she leans in and presses her lips against Sakura’s in a soft, chaste kiss.

It lasts a mere few seconds, and when she pulls back, her eyes are wide, reflecting Sakura’s own surprise. Clearly, she’s not believing what she has just done, and yet she makes no attempt to look or move away. 

And that’s good. That’s perfect, actually, because Sakura doesn’t want her to go anywhere. She just wants more of her pretty, soft lips.

Reaching up, she cradles Kazuha’s cheeks to bring her face closer, this time for a proper kiss. She moves her lips against the girl’s at a steady, unhurried pace, allowing Kazuha to easily follow her lead.

Kazuha’s shaky hands find her waist and rest there idly, warming her through her clothes. In response, Sakura’s right hand seeks the girl’s sweatshirt, grabbing a fistful of the fabric and dragging her further down. 

With a soft moan, Kazuha falls onto her, and Sakura deepens the kiss, her body arching up instinctively. Mind in complete shambles, she runs her fingers over the taunt muscles of Kazuha’s stomach, loving how the girl trembles at her gentle touch. 

It almost feels surreal—like a lucid dream she doesn’t want to wake up from. The sweet taste of Kazuha’s lips, the sharp and soft lines of her body pressing into her, the eagerness with which she welcomes every swipe of Sakura’s tongue against hers. It’s dizzying and intoxicating, and Sakura can’t get enough of it. All the desire and affection she kept sealed off for so long spills forth deep from within her, igniting her body with liquid heat.

And then...she’s harshly cooled off by a spray of cold water as the sprinklers go off. Kazuha recoils from her and jumps to her feet, with Sakura following her suit. They retrieve their bags and run for the fence. Kazuha jumps over first, catching Sakura in her arms when her foot slips on the descent.

“Careful,” Kazuha says, voice husky and lips swollen. 

And as Sakura stares into her blown-out pupils, she realizes, to her utmost horror, that if not for that sudden cold shower, she might have gone all the way. 

What the hell is wrong with me? What if someone saw us? Have I lost my mind entirely? She mentally slaps herself for acting so shamelessly and buries her flushed face into Kazuha’s shoulder. 

“Zuha, I’m sorry I—”

“We should probably get going,” Kazuha cuts off her apology, “if we don’t want to miss the last train.”

Sakura peers up at her, finds the familiar soft smile, and nods. 

They start walking, soon joining the sea of people on the pavement of the main street. The bustling street noise, the roar of passing vehicles, and the chatter of pedestrians fill the silence between them.

Somewhere along the way, their palms end up connected, their fingers loosely intertwined. Sakura isn’t sure who reached out first; maybe they both did at the same time. It doesn’t matter, though. It feels nice, and she doesn’t want to let go. Just like she doesn’t want to think about the kiss or what it means. 

Not now. Not yet.

They’re about to enter the train station when a man’s voice starts calling Kazuha’s name.

“KAZUHAA!”

“Dad?” Kazuha mutters to herself as she turns around.

Sakura lets go of her hand as if it burned her.

A man in his forties runs towards them, wearing a sleek, beige trench coat and a black suit underneath it. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with a well-defined jawline and sharp eyes. His hair is short but thick and a little messy. Deep laugh lines frame his face as he smiles broadly at them.

“I knew it was you!” the man exclaims, elated when he reaches them. Then his gaze drops to the pavement, and he adds under his breath, ponderingly, “Gosh, it’d be embarrassing if it wasn’t you.”

“Dad, what are you doing here? Weren’t you supposed to be with mom on a business trip in Europe?”

The man looks up, grinning, and Sakura thinks it’s almost uncanny how much his smile reminds her of Kazuha’s. “Well, we’ve managed to strike a deal earlier. We were just driving from the airport when I noticed you. Mom is trying to park the car somewhere. But anyway, what are you doing here? And why is your hair wet?” 

Sakura’s cheeks flare up, and she steps back behind Kazuha. If there ever was a good moment for an earthquake to hit a city, she thinks it’s this moment right now. Not a major earthquake, of course. Just one that would specifically open up the ground beneath her feet so that it could swallow her whole.

“A-ah,” Kazuha stutters, her entire face bright red. “I-it was raining earlier.” 

The man looks up at the cloudless sky, confused.  

“Anyway! Miyawaki-san.” Kazuha moves to stand next to Sakura again before pushing her slightly to the front. “Meet my dad, Nakamura Kaoru.”

“N-nice to meet you, Nakamura-san. I’m Miyawaki Sakura.” Smiling nervously, Sakura bows her head in greeting.

“Miyawaki-san?” Mr. Nakamura echoes, puzzled. “You mean the ‘no dad, you don’t have to get me her autograph because one day I’m going to play right beside her’ Miyawaki-san?”

Kazuha rolls her eyes at the man’s poor impersonation of her voice. “Come on, dad, you know it’s her,” she mumbles, adorably miffed.

Mr. Nakamura laughs boisterously and grabs Sakura’s hands, shaking them. “Nice to finally meet you, Miyawaki-san. You have no idea how much we’ve heard about you. It was always, have you seen Miyawaki-san do this, say that, score a goal, win a match. Miyawaki-san is the best, the prettiest–”

“Dad!” Kazuha interjects her dad’s rambling monologue. 

Sakura can’t help but giggle at how flustered Kazuha is—her face is one huge red tomato.

“Honey, please stop embarrassing our daughter in front of her idol,” a silky, smooth voice chimes in.

A woman wearing a flowing black overcoat emerges from behind Kazuha and goes to stand beside Mr. Nakamura. 

She must be around the same age as her husband, but the charm she exudes is sharper than his easy-going one, almost of magnetic quality. Long, dark hair frames her delicate features, accentuating her softly contoured cheeks and refined nose. She carries herself with a sense of grace and poise, yet her gentle eyes radiate warmth and kindness towards Sakura.

“Mom, thank God,” Kazuha sighs in relief. “Sakura, this is my mom, Nakamura Youko.”

“Sakura, hm?” The woman narrows her eyes, and Kazuha purses her lips, shifting her weight from one leg to the other as she looks away from her mother’s inquisitive gaze. “It’s lovely to meet you, Sakura-chan.” With a tilt of her head, Mrs. Nakamura offers a friendly smile.

Sakura bows again, stuttering her introduction and wondering how on earth, in a city with nearly 3 million people, they somehow end up stumbling into Kazuha’s parents.   

“What brings you two to Osaka?” Kazuha’s mom asks, her eyes shining with subtle mirth. “That’s quite a journey from Tokyo on a training day.”

Kazuha gives an offhand shrug. “W-we just wanted to go on a trip.” 

Mrs. Nakamura raises her perfectly sculpted eyebrow. It’s not even a lie—not entirely, at least—but the woman still seems suspicious about the answer. Though Sakura can’t blame her, really. With the way Kazuha looks and acts, anyone could tell she’s hiding something.

“Anyway, we really have to go if we don’t want to be late for the last train,” Kazuha says, hastily.

“But why would you go? Come home with us. I’ll drive you to the station first thing in the morning,” Mr Nakamura suggests.

“But Sa—I mean, Miyawaki-san—” 

“It’s okay,” Sakura interjects, flashing Kazuha a reassuring smile. “Stay. I can go back alone. It’s not a big deal.”

In fact, maybe that’s just what they need. Some time alone to process everything that happened between them today.

“Nonsense,” Kazuha’s mom protests. “You’re invited as well, Sakura-chan.”

“Of course!” Her husband seconds her enthusiastically. “I’m sure Kazuha will be thrilled to show you her room.” 

“Oh, no, that’s—it’s fine, really. Thank you, but I don’t want to impose on you. You must be tired after your flight. I’ll just—”

“Please stay,” Kazuha says, interrupting Sakura’s panicked rambling. “I’d feel awful letting you travel back alone. After all, it’s me who dragged you here.”

One look into these sad, puppy eyes, and Sakura realizes that being apart from each other now is the furthest thing from Kazuha’s mind.

Sakura's mouth twitches into a crooked smile. “Well, if you insist…”