As the captain left, he brushed past Rosette in the hallway without noticing her. She stood frozen by the door, her heartbeat echoing in her ears.
Back inside, the medic leaned closer, pressing a fresh bandage to the wound. Dranred winced — then suddenly caught the medic's wrist, stopping her. His eyes had shifted toward the door.
Rosette was there.
She stood silently, her eyes locked on him — fear and guilt flickering behind them.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. The sound of the crowd outside faded beneath the slow, steady drip of blood hitting the floor.
"What do you think you're doing? The bleeding hasn't even stopped yet," the medic protested as Dranred suddenly stood up and walked toward the door.
Rosette froze when he stopped in front of her. Blood was still trickling down his temple, but he didn't seem to care.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice low. "Didn't I tell you to go back to your seat and just wait? You're trembling, you can't even come near me — so why bother?"
Rosette gripped the hem of her blouse tightly. "I know," she said, her voice barely steady. "But I couldn't help it. I was worried about you."
Dranred sighed, half frustrated, half touched. "There's nothing you can really do. Look at you—"
"I know that!" she snapped softly, meeting his eyes. There it was again — that mix of fear and fierce sincerity. It stung him more than the pain in his head.
"Come here," he said finally, reaching out his hand.
She hesitated for a heartbeat before placing her trembling fingers in his. He guided her inside and sat her down beside him. The medic returned to clean his wound, pressing a new cloth to his forehead.
Rosette looked away, trying to steady her breathing. The sight of blood still made her dizzy, but she stayed.
Then she felt a sudden warmth — Dranred's hand, closing gently over hers. She turned to him, startled.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I need to recharge," he murmured with a small smile, eyes fixed ahead.
"Recharge? What do you think I am, a battery?" she whispered, flustered.
"Just cooperate," he said. Then he nodded toward the medic. "See? It stopped bleeding."
The medic lifted the gauze — the bleeding really had stopped. "Well, I'll be," the medic muttered, half smiling. "Still, I suggest you sit this one out. If that wound reopens, it could get serious."
"Don't worry," Dranred said, glancing at Rosette. "I have my source of energy right here."
Rosette blushed furiously, looking anywhere but at him. The medic chuckled softly before excusing herself, leaving them alone.
For a long while, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the faint echo of the crowd outside — and the quiet rhythm of their breathing, slowly falling in sync.
"I really wanted to look cool today," Dranred said after a long silence, breaking the stillness in the room. "But look how that turned out."
Rosette smiled faintly. "You don't have to try. To your fans, you already are cool — even that injury probably looks cool to them."
Dranred chuckled softly, the sound easing the tension in the air. "You're the first person I've ever heard say an injury looks cool."
"That's not what I meant," she said quickly, flustered. "It's just... when you're out there — like ten years ago, when I saw you play for the first time — you shine. You light up the court. You're... the brightest star out there."
"You're laying it on thick," he teased. "What about James? He's your brother. You can't give me all the compliments."
Rosette shook her head, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "I love watching him play too. He's amazing. Who'd believe he once had an injury bad enough to stop him for years? Watching him out there now — it makes me so proud. So happy." She paused, her voice lowering. "It's just sad you're on opposing teams. If you played together, no one could beat you."
Dranred looked at her for a moment, then said quietly, "Say... if I let James win tonight—"
"He'd never forgive you," she cut in, her tone firm. "I know you're playing for him, but if you throw the game out of pity, he'll only hate you more. He's giving everything he has out there, Red. Don't dishonor that. The Dranred I know doesn't concede."
Dranred's eyes softened. "Do you really believe that?"
"Of course," she said with a small, confident smile. "I wouldn't be standing here if I didn't. Whatever happens tonight... I'll believe in you."
Something in her words lit a spark in him. He stood up suddenly, and she blinked up at him in surprise.
"Then it's settled," he said, his grin returning. "You'd better watch closely — I'll be the brightest star tonight."
Rosette laughed. "I told you, you already are."
"Brighter than you think," he murmured, his gaze lingering on her face. I'm sorry, James, he thought silently. But for this girl, I can't lose tonight. Forgive me later — because this game is mine.
"Let's go back," he said, extending his hand.
Rosette hesitated only a moment before taking it. His grip was firm, warm — grounding. As they walked out together, the noise of the court grew louder, echoing through the halls.
Dranred tightened his hand around hers. In his chest, his heart burned — steady and certain.
This is my last game, he thought. And I'll give it everything I have.
Without Dranred on the court during the last two minutes of the first quarter, the Falcons quickly gained the upper hand. Their lead carried over into the second quarter, as James and Drake unleashed a relentless series of combination attacks.
The Phoenix tried to keep up, never allowing the gap to widen beyond four points, but it was clear they were struggling. Without Dranred's presence, the rhythm of their play faltered.
"Rosette—Dranred," Estelle breathed when she noticed them by the doorway. She saw how Dranred gently guided Rosette back toward the seats, his hand briefly resting on her head in a quiet gesture of comfort before he turned to leave.
Wearing a hooded jacket pulled low over his head, Dranred moved unnoticed by most of the crowd. Only a few sharp-eyed fans caught sight of him and began to whisper. He lingered for a moment, his gaze following Rosette as she sat beside Estelle, then shifted toward the scoreboard.
Four points behind. Two minutes left in the second quarter.
Dranred exhaled slowly, then made his way to the Phoenix bench. The moment he appeared, the crowd's murmurs grew louder, excitement rippling through the stands.
But the coach shook his head. "Not yet," he said firmly. "Save your strength for the second half. We'll need you fresh when it counts."
Dranred only nodded, watching the clock tick down from the sideline. The roar of the game filled the arena — every dribble, every shout echoing in his chest.
He flexed his hand unconsciously, feeling the bandage across his forehead tighten slightly.
Just two more minutes, he thought. Then I'll take it back.