The team was deep in practice when Dranred's focus drifted toward a woman speaking with some of his teammates near the dugout. His expression hardened the moment he recognized her.
That face. That voice.
It was her — the vlogger who had once exposed his falling-out with James to the world. The woman who had turned their past into a public scandal, feeding the social media frenzy that nearly ended his career.
"What's she doing here?" he muttered, lowering his glove.
"I heard she's making a feature vlog about our team," Nathan said, coming up beside him. "Something about the national team's rise in the World Cup."
Dranred's jaw tightened. "So she's here to stir up more rumors?"
"Rumors?" Nathan frowned, then snapped his fingers as he remembered. "Oh, right — she's the one who leaked that story about you and James. The whole 'you stole his dream' thing."
Dranred gave a dry, humorless laugh. "Stole his dream? People can believe whatever they want. She didn't know the truth — she never did. I just hate nosy people who act like they do."
He turned to walk away, but a familiar voice stopped him in his tracks.
"I didn't realize you were the type to hold grudges."
Celine's tone was light, almost teasing. She stepped closer, smiling with her usual air of confidence.
"We meet again, Mr. Shooting Star," she said, flashing her camera. "Or should I say… the Fire Ace?"
Dranred's expression darkened. "What are you doing here, Celine? Run out of gossip to chase?"
She chuckled softly. "You're still as defensive as ever. I told you — I was invited here. Your team's making waves, and people want to know the story behind the miracle. I'm here to show the world how a rookie team fought its way to the semi-finals. It'll make a great piece — especially if you make it to the finals."
"That's exactly what we plan to do," Nathan said, stepping in. "But first, we've got to beat Mexico."
"Perfect," Celine replied. "Then maybe, when you're free, I could invite you both for an interview? Fans are dying to know what drives the national team's rising stars. Surely there's someone special behind your success — a source of strength, maybe even inspiration?"
"I don't have time for interviews," Dranred cut in coldly. "You're good at spinning stories, right? Use your imagination. Make something up."
Celine's smile didn't waver. "I'm sure people would love to hear that their hero is actually an arrogant jerk off-camera."
Dranred froze mid-step and turned slowly to face her. For a moment, their eyes locked — his calm but sharp, hers flickering with something unreadable.
"You've already destroyed my reputation once," he said quietly, his voice heavy with restraint. "Twisting the truth is what you're best at, after all."
Celine's lips parted, but no words came out. The smirk faded, replaced by a flash of guilt she couldn't quite hide.
Dranred looked away first, tossed his glove onto the bench, and walked off toward the field — leaving behind only silence and the echo of words that struck deeper than either of them cared to admit.
"Look, Mr. Masterson," Celine said, crossing her arms. "I know I was wrong before, okay? I came here with good intentions. You don't have to be so cold. I was actually going to apologize, but with the way you're acting, you're making it really hard for me to say sorry."
"If you're going to apologize," Dranred said flatly, "just say it. How hard is it to say sorry?" He turned and walked off, leaving Celine standing beside Nathan.
Celine blinked, offended. "What's wrong with him?"
Nathan chuckled. "Maybe next time, just say sorry right away instead of explaining too much. Remember — you're the one who wronged him."
"I know that," Celine sighed. "But he didn't have to be such a jerk about it."
"Maybe he and Rosette had a fight," Nathan said under his breath.
"Rosette?" Celine looked at him sharply.
"His girlfriend," Nathan replied casually. "He's been moody lately. My guess? They had an argument."
"He has a girlfriend?" she blurted, eyes wide.
Nathan grinned. "Surprised?"
"Well, yeah. He's the type who's usually married to his work," Celine said, half to herself.
"I guess you don't know him that well," Nathan replied. "You're quick to judge without trying to understand him first. If you really want that interview, you might try humility for a change. Just apologize, no speeches."
He laughed and started to walk away. "That's the only way you'll get the Fire Ace to talk."
Celine stood frozen for a moment, watching Nathan walk off with that easy grin of his. His words echoed in her head — Just say sorry. No speeches. She exhaled sharply and adjusted the strap of her camera bag.
"Fine," she muttered. "No speeches."
She spotted Dranred a few meters away, sitting alone on the dugout bench. His cap was pulled low, a towel draped around his neck, his expression unreadable as he stared at the glove in his hand.
Celine approached slowly, her footsteps soft against the dirt. When she finally stopped in front of him, he didn't even look up.
"Are you planning to stand there all day?" he asked dryly.
"I might," she said, forcing a small smile. "If that's what it takes to say what I came here for."
Dranred finally glanced up, one eyebrow raised. "And what exactly are you here to say?"
She swallowed, suddenly aware of how small her voice sounded. "I'm sorry."
For a second, silence hung between them. Then Dranred scoffed, his lips curling into a faint, almost disbelieving smile. "That's it? No camera, no headline, no clever spin?"
"I left the camera behind on purpose," Celine replied. "This isn't for the vlog. It's for you." She hesitated, then added quietly, "You didn't deserve what I did back then. I thought I was exposing a story… but all I did was hurt someone who didn't deserve it."
Dranred's expression shifted, the faintest flicker of surprise in his eyes. "You really expect me to just forget everything?"
"No," she said, shaking her head. "I just want you to know that I regret it."
Dranred leaned back, crossing his arms. "You know, people like you make it sound so simple. Say sorry, walk away, and everything's fine."
"It's not fine," Celine admitted, her voice trembling just a little. "And I'm not walking away this time."
That made him look at her — really look at her. There was something in her tone that caught him off guard: honesty. Maybe even guilt.
After a long pause, Dranred sighed and looked down at his glove again. "You picked the worst time to clear your conscience," he murmured. "We're one game away from the finals. I don't need distractions."
"Then don't see it as a distraction," she said softly. "See it as… something that might make peace with the past, so you can focus on what's next."
He glanced up at her again — and this time, there was no anger in his eyes. Just quiet exhaustion.
"You're persistent," he said finally.
"I'm a reporter," she replied with a faint grin. "It's kind of my job."
For the first time, a hint of amusement touched his lips. It was small, fleeting — but it was there.
"Fine," Dranred said, standing up and tossing the towel over his shoulder. "Apology accepted. Just… don't expect me to smile for your next vlog."
"I'll take that," she said, smiling — this time, genuinely.
As Dranred walked away toward the bullpen, Celine stood there, feeling the strange weight lift from her chest. She didn't know if it was forgiveness or just the start of something unfinished, but one thing was certain — she wasn't done with Dranred Masterson. Not yet.