Sky's Point of View
They say football games are a whole thing in Italy. I say Rain Chen in a football uniform is a whole religion.
There he was—tall, terrifying, and stupidly pretty—gliding across the field like a shadow with cleats. Captain of the team. Eyes cold as marble. Arms folded like he was already bored before the whistle blew. Girls in the stands screamed his name. I screamed too.
But, like, for a different reason.
Because halfway through the second half, things went south.
Fast.
Some guy from the other team—number 17, tall, arrogant, looked like he ironed his ego every morning—body-checked Rain a little too hard. Not even by accident. Full-on shoved him.
Rain didn't fall.
But he stopped playing.
He froze mid-sprint, turned around, and walked back. Not fast. Not loud. Just… silently furious.
Oh no. Oh no no no.
I'd seen that look once before—on the rooftop, when I told him he looked stressed and his jaw twitched like he was trying not to shatter the universe.
He didn't even say anything to the guy.
Just stared.
But somehow, it was worse than yelling.
The other player puffed up. Said something I couldn't hear from the stands.
And Rain snapped.
He didn't punch him. He didn't need to. One shove and the guy went flying. Then Rain stepped forward, eyes locked, aura radiating death, and everyone on the field flinched.
Except me.
Because I was already running.
"Rain!"
He didn't hear me.
Or maybe he did, and he just didn't care.
I scrambled across the grass, sliding between sweaty players and stunned referees. The crowd gasped, probably thinking I was one of those girls trying to tackle the team captain in a love confession gone wrong.
Nope.
Just me, Sky Wang, your neighborhood chaos goblin, on a mission to save a boy from committing public murder.
I reached him just as he grabbed the guy by the collar.
"Rain, stop!"
He didn't.
So I did the only thing I could think of—I grabbed his wrist.
He froze.
The guy whimpered.
Rain looked at me.
I swear time stilled. The wind, the crowd, the referee's whistle—it all disappeared. His eyes, usually so distant and deadpan, found mine. And something flickered.
I tugged gently. "Rain, breathe. You look like you're two seconds away from turning this into a mafia movie."
He blinked.
And dropped the guy.
Just like that.
People stared. I didn't care.
"You okay?" I asked, checking his hands like I had a first-aid kit hidden in my glitter purse.
He didn't answer.
So I did what I always do when I panic: I started yapping.
"I mean, sure, he was a total jerk, but you can't just end his bloodline on a Tuesday afternoon, Rain. Like, sir, this is a football game, not a gladiator arena. You want me to make you hot chocolate? I think you need hot chocolate. With marshmallows. Maybe ten."
Rain blinked.
The corner of his mouth… twitched.
I think it might have been the beginning of a smile. Maybe.
Then I realized we were in the middle of the field, and everyone was watching.
Ren whistled from the sidelines.
"Hey, Captain," he called, grinning. "Want me to get your emotional support girl a jersey?"
Rain exhaled slowly and murmured, "Shut up."
But not to me.
To me, he just looked down—and whispered so soft only I could hear, "Thanks."
I stood there like a very confused jellybean.
Because the Rain Chen who just stared a man into a coma?
He let me touch him.
Let me pull him back from whatever storm he was about to unleash.
I think that should've scared me.
It didn't.
It made me want to stay.