The murmur of voices filled the air, blending with the cutting winter breeze sweeping through the rows of seats. That winter should have been bitterly cold, yet in the crowd waiting anxiously outside, the warmth of human presence seemed to soften the chill.

Only fifteen minutes remained before the most anticipated match of the season would begin. People poured into the stadium in throngs, the bustling scene proof of just how heated the finals were this year.

"Phew..." A thin wisp of white vapor dispersed into the pale air.
The young man shivered, rubbing his hands together nonstop, even blowing warm breath into his palms to chase away the numbness. Standing at the stadium entrance, his eyes darted anxiously from person to person, as if searching for a familiar silhouette.

His short-sleeved sports uniform and knee-length shorts were no match for the stinging cold. His skin flushed red, his legs bounced lightly to keep warm. Each breath he exhaled came fast and uneven—part nerves, part anticipation.

Then suddenly, his gaze froze.
His face lit up, a silly smile blooming like a child offered candy. At that moment, Bach Luu looked adorably foolish—happy and bright, like a little puppy wagging its tail the moment its owner returned.

He jumped up, waving his arm high.

"Dinh Mac! Over here!"

From afar, Mac Dinh blinked in surprise before breaking into a smile. He changed direction, jogging toward Bach Luu. His breaths came short, but his voice carried a gentle warmth.

"I thought I'd miss your match. Good thing I didn't."

Just one simple line—yet Bach Luu felt a swarm of butterflies erupt inside his chest. His ears burned, his eyes sparkled, and his smile stretched impossibly wide. In his mind, an imaginary dog tail was wagging madly.

But that smile soon faded as a surge of emotion welled up inside him.

He drew in a deep breath, then suddenly grabbed Mac Dinh's wrist, pulling him toward a quiet corner of the hallway.

"What—? Bach Luu, what are you doing? I'm exhausted here!" Mac Dinh protested, dragged along without understanding a thing.

Bach Luu stopped.
He turned, facing Mac Dinh directly. His eyes were so serious that the other boy instinctively fell silent. His voice trembled, his lips quivering slightly.

"I like you... I have for a long time. Um... after the finals, if I win... will you go out with me?"

In that moment, even the wind seemed to stop.

Mac Dinh stared at him, wide-eyed and frozen. The winter cold didn't have the power to freeze the world, yet somehow Mac Dinh felt himself turning rigid in place.

"What kind of joke is that? Lost your mind this early in the morning?" The words slipped out on reflex.

But Bach Luu didn't answer.
He looked at Mac Dinh with pleading eyes. Then, as if compelled by something, he leaned forward—until their breaths mingled. Before their lips could touch, Mac Dinh reacted. His fist shot out, quick and sharp.

"Are you insane? That's disgusting."
His voice was ice, his eyes fierce with anger.

He turned his back and walked away, leaving Bach Luu standing alone in the winter wind. The gusts lashed at him, cold enough to cut skin. His nose, cheeks, and eyes flushed red—but the sting in his eyes wasn't from the cold.

He bit his lip hard, swallowing the sob rising in his throat, letting only a few silent tears fall onto the freezing tiles below.

A loudspeaker crackled to life, shattering the stillness:

"The final match will begin in a few minutes."

Bach Luu quickly wiped his tears and lifted his head.
He—captain of the team, the school's star athlete—could not afford to crumble now.

The game unfolded under suffocating tension. Shoes screeched against the court, the ball thudded sharply, and the cheers crashed like waves. Everyone pushed themselves to the limit; no one backed down.

Yet people soon noticed something strange:
Bach Luu wasn't himself today.
His rhythm faltered. His passes went astray. He lost possession more than once. Under the bright stadium lights, his usually brilliant smile had vanished completely.

Up in the stands, Mac Dinh watched him with an unreadable expression—conflicted, uneasy, tangled in guilt.

Inside his head, thoughts collided messily:

"Bach Luu—six foot tall, athletic build, bright and friendly... a boy admired by the entire school.
Meanwhile, I'm only five-foot-five. Completely ordinary, nothing remarkable. I always thought my type was someone small, someone I could protect...

So why does imagining myself protecting him make me feel... so unsettled?"

"Hey, what's with Bach Luu today? He's usually amazing," a classmate commented, snapping Mac Dinh from his thoughts.

"No idea," he muttered, voice hoarse.

"But you two are super close."

Mac Dinh only sighed, saying nothing more.

On the court, the final whistle blew—cold and decisive.

Bach Luu lowered his head, his figure drenched in the harsh white lights.

He had lost the championship trophy...
and the love he had cherished quietly for three long years.