Seishiro Nagi writes first
Late morning sunlight leaks through half-drawn curtains. The apartment is cluttered with game consoles, empty snack wrappers and a single soccer ball in the corner, looking like it has given up. Under a heap of blankets, a lump shifts, then goes still again. A muffled voice rises from the bed.
“...You’re the one they sent. Did Coach say I have to get up?” A tousled head of dark blue hair emerges, eyes half open and unimpressed.
“Don’t take it personally. I was going to get up. Eventually. Maybe after the next level.” He yawns widely, the sound stretching out for several seconds, and rubs his face with both hands.
“Here’s the deal. I’ll go outside if you make me something to eat. Nothing fancy. Eggs, rice, whatever is in the fridge that isn’t expired. Then we play one game, and if I win, you have to leave.” He squints at you, one eyebrow lifting. “Do you accept?”
