The evening lights of Shibuya glowed like a river of neon stars, reflecting off the damp pavement after an earlier drizzle. You followed your older brother, Moya, through the bustling streets, weaving through crowds of people with practiced ease. The chatter of passersby mixed with the rhythmic hum of crosswalk signals, but your focus was entirely on the way Moya was hyping up tonight's plans.

"They're not as intimidating as they seem," he said, glancing over his shoulder at you. His tone was lighthearted, but you caught the hint of protectiveness he always carried when it came to you.

"I'm not intimidated," you shot back, adjusting your scarf against the November chill. "I just don't see why you wanted me to come along."

"Because you need to get out more," Moya teased, nudging your shoulder. "And besides, they're fun. You'll like them."

You frowned but didn't argue further. The truth was, you'd been curious about Moya's team, Crazy Raccoon, ever since he started competing professionally. They were rising stars in the Brawl Stars esports scene, and you'd watched enough of their matches to recognize their names. Still, the idea of meeting them in person felt strange, almost like stepping into a world that wasn't yours.

The ramen shop Moya had chosen was a small, cozy spot tucked between two towering buildings. Red noren curtains fluttered above the entrance, and the rich aroma of broth and fresh noodles greeted you as you stepped inside. It was instantly comforting, the kind of place where conversations lingered, and time slowed.

Moya scanned the room and waved to a group seated at a long wooden table near the back. You followed him, your nerves heightening as you approached.

"Y/N!" Moya said, his voice louder than usual. "Meet the team."

Five pairs of eyes turned toward you. Most of them smiled, their faces open and friendly, but one caught your attention immediately. At the far end of the table, a boy in a black hoodie sat hunched over his phone. His head was tilted slightly, dark hair falling across his face, and he didn't look up until Moya's hand clapped down on his shoulder.

"This is Sitetampo," Moya said, a hint of pride in his tone. "Our ace."

Sitetampo glanced up, his eyes meeting yours for the briefest moment. They were dark and sharp, yet there was a softness in them, as though he wasn't entirely present.

"Hey," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the chatter of the shop. Then his gaze dropped back to his phone.

You tried not to let the curt greeting faze you, but Moya leaned closer, his voice low. "Don't take it personally. He's always like that."

You nodded, forcing a polite smile as you took the empty seat beside Moya. The others introduced themselves warmly, and soon the conversation shifted back to the lively banter that seemed to define the team.

The night unfolded in a blur of laughter, clinking chopsticks, and steaming bowls of ramen. The team's energy was infectious, their camaraderie evident in every joke and playful jab. You found yourself smiling more than you expected, though your attention kept drifting to Sitetampo.

He barely spoke, occasionally nodding or offering a one-word reply when addressed. But there was something captivating about the way he carried himself—calm, composed, and entirely unfazed by the chaos around him.

"So, Y/N," one of the guys asked, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Do you play Brawl Stars too, or is that just a Moya thing?"

"Oh, it's definitely a Moya thing," you said with a laugh. "I'm more of a casual gamer. I stick to the easy stuff, like Mario Kart."

"That's a shame," another chimed in. "We could've used a backup for practice."

The table erupted in laughter, but you noticed Sitetampo's lips twitch into a small smile.

"What about you, Sitetampo?" you asked, directing the question to him before you could overthink it. "Were you always this good, or did it take a lot of practice?"

The table quieted slightly as everyone turned to look at him. He glanced up, his eyes meeting yours briefly before he spoke.

"Just practice," he said simply.

"Come on, it's got to be more than that," you teased, leaning forward slightly. "No secret tips? No training montages?"

His lips curved into a faint smile, and for a moment, you thought he might laugh. "Just practice," he repeated, his tone lighter this time.

The others jumped in, ribbing him about his gaming habits, but you noticed the way his eyes lingered on you for a second longer before he turned back to his bowl.

As the night wore on, you found yourself relaxing, the initial awkwardness fading into the background. Moya had gone to the counter to settle the bill, leaving you alone with the team. Most of them were chatting about their next tournament, but Sitetampo had slipped away from the group, standing by the window with his hands in his hoodie pockets.

You hesitated before walking over to him. "Not much of a talker, huh?"

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable. "Not really," he admitted.

You smiled, crossing your arms. "That's okay. I'm pretty good at filling silences."

For a moment, he didn't reply, his gaze drifting to the street outside. Then, to your surprise, he said, "It's not that I don't want to talk. I just don't like saying things that don't matter."

His honesty caught you off guard, and you felt your cheeks warm. "I think that's a good thing," you said softly. "Not a lot of people think that way."

He looked at you then, his eyes searching yours as though trying to decide if you were being sincere. "Thanks," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.

The moment stretched, the noise of the city fading into the background. You found yourself noticing the small details about him—the way his hoodie hung slightly loose on his frame, the faint scar on his knuckles, the way his hair curled at the edges.

Before you could say anything else, Moya's voice cut through the quiet.

"Y/N! Let's go!"

You turned to see him waving you over, his usual carefree grin plastered across his face.

"See you around," Sitetampo said, his voice low but steady.

As you walked away, you glanced over your shoulder, catching one last glimpse of him standing under the neon lights. There was something about him—something you couldn't quite put into words.

The rest of the walk home was filled with Moya's chatter, but your thoughts were elsewhere. You replayed the conversation with Sitetampo in your mind, the way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way his eyes seemed to hold secrets you wanted to uncover.

"Told you they were cool," Moya said, nudging your shoulder.

"Yeah," you murmured, a small smile tugging at your lips. "They're all right."

But even as you said it, your thoughts lingered on one person in particular.