While Eirene meant business at the meeting… her presence there—so suddenly summoned—cast a quiet ripple.
But her absence elsewhere? That stirred a storm.
That "elsewhere" was the stadium.
And on this day, the second match of the Equinox Series had set fire to the field.
Indra 2 – Zaherra 1.
29 minutes.
No one blinked.
Alethea was practically jumping off her seat, her reactions so vivid she could be mistaken for an actress mid-audition.
She clutched her head as a Zaherran forward missed the post by inches.
Then, hands flung in the air—
"HOLYY!! Is the half gonna be over before 30 minutes or what?! What even is this match?! Such aggression by both sides...!"
Sathvic sat beside her, leaning forward, eyes narrowed in thought.
"They adapted. Indra switched to Zaherra's pace—and now they're returning the favor. Aggression for aggression. Fire with fire."
He didn't even finish his sentence when it happened—
GOAL.
Indra 3 – Zaherra 1.
Half-time... in 32 minutes.
"AHAHAHA! GOAALLLL!!" Alethea jumped so hard her popcorn went flying.
"Okay okay I take it back—this isn't a match, it's a declaration of war!"
---
In the ocean of thunderous applause and flag-waving fans,
One seat held a stillness that didn't belong.
Eucliea.
She wasn't upset about the score.
She wasn't worried about the match.
She was… forgotten.
That's what it felt like.
Phylax—gone.
Eirene—missing.
Neither of them had told her anything.
Not even a simple, "Hey, I'll be at the party office."
Not a whisper of "Don't wait up."
Not even a "wanna come along."
They weren't just friends.
They were her people. Her safe space.
So being left in the dark… it stung.
Not because she didn't trust them—
But because they didn't tell her.
And that was enough to make her chest ache.
She pulled up her Volva screen again. Just to double-check.
Maybe she missed a message.
Maybe they did send something.
Nothing.
She stared at the screen a little longer than she should've.
Then quietly set it down in her lap, palms resting over it, as if covering a secret.
Her eyes shimmered—but no tears fell.
She wouldn't cry. She couldn't.
Not in a stadium full of people.
Still, her silence and sadness in her eyes was loud enough for the little boy next to her to notice.
He tugged at her sleeve with a tiny, frowning face.
"Hey, big sis… it's just a game."
Eucliea blinked.
A soft breath slipped from her lips.
She smiled, barely, like a cloud parting for a moment of sun.
"If only it was just about the game," she whispered.
She patted both cheeks with her hands twice—light, playful.
Then turned to the boy.
"Uhh… wanna go grab something sweet?"
His eyes lit up. And for a second, so did hers.
---
Zorion squinted at the scoreboard like it just robbed him.
"Half-time already? Thirty-two damn minutes?"
He leaned back with a dramatic sigh, fingers drumming on the armrest.
"Of course. The one match where they play like lightning goats, and it had to be the one I banked on for free lunch at the three hour mark."
He looked over at the fancy catering table on the other end of the corridor—unattended, untouched… and most importantly, unbrought.
Because in the Zaherra-Indra Equinox Series, complimentary luxury meals only rolled out during longer matches.
And thirty-two minutes?
That didn't qualify as long.
He stared at the empty space where the silver trays should have arrived, then muttered with the grim acceptance of a man who just lost a lottery ticket in the wind:
"All that elite ticket price and I don't even get to taste the smoked tofu skewers…"
A waiter passed by with a single glass of mint soda.
Zorion narrowed his eyes.
"You better not be serving that as the main course."
---
The Quiet Above the Noise
The stadium's fire had dimmed. For now.
Zorion sat alone in the sleek silence of the VIP box, the glass wall in front of him muting the crowd's thunder into a distant hum.
He stood, slowly.
Walked toward the edge of the glass.
Looked up.
The sky was far too calm for how loud his thoughts were.
"…What's Eirene doing right now?"
His voice was low—one of those questions you throw into the air knowing it won't echo back.
"Is she okay?"
A pause.
"…Did she… actually change her seat because of me?"
He gave a short, dry laugh. Not out of amusement.
More like disbelief… that he even cared this much.
"She's rich. She can afford to buy a whole row if she wanted to."
A shrug.
"That's the power of money for you…"
His fingers tapped lightly against the glass.
"But… I thought we were kinda like… friends. Yesterday, at least."
He didn't finish the sentence.
He didn't need to.
Because the memory spoke for him.
The Washroom Incident.
A blur of confusion.
Her half-turn. His panic.
The sharp kick and gasp. The door slam.
His voice from outside the stall, stumbling through apologies.
Her silence. Then words. Then silence again.
That weird... awkward moment that somehow lingered even after they walked out.
Zorion exhaled. His breath fogged a tiny spot on the glass.
"…Of course I was a bad first impression."
He sat back down, elbows resting on his knees, eyes unfocused.
His thoughts jumped—Eirene, Zaherra, Indra, Ranch, people, choices.
Nothing stayed still in his mind.
Everything… kept moving.
The match outside would resume soon.
But the real game—
The one inside him—
Had already kicked off.
---
Meanwhile, outside the Zaherran Party Office…
The grand doors creaked open, and Eirene stepped out, heels clicking on polished stone.
Phylax stood leaning against a pillar just a few steps away, arms crossed, eyes calm—until he saw her. He straightened immediately.
They made eye contact.
And both of them spoke at the exact same moment:
"Where's Eucliea?"
A beat of silence.
Their words echoed in the corridor like a slap.
Then—both of their expressions dropped, as if gravity suddenly remembered to pull.
A moment of mutual horror.
Phylax's mouth parted slightly. Eirene squinted in slow realization.
"You didn't tell her?"
"You didn't tell her??"
Another beat.
Eirene pressed two fingers to her forehead, exhaling like someone who had just watched a toddler throw cake at a wedding.
"Okay, okay—I didn't tell either of you because I wanted you two to spend time together. That was literally the point. So why exactly are you here again?"
Phylax, looking like a soldier who accidentally bombed his own camp, rubbed the back of his neck.
"I was doing my job! Following your movements. I figured Eucliea would be with you anyway so… I didn't… text her."
He paused a little.
"…with my Volva."
Eirene blinked slowly.
"And you didn't think of sending any other security personnel because you assumed she was with me?"
A long stare.
She gave herself a forehead slap—light, but purposeful.
"Phylax…"
"Can't say no to that," he admitted, the shame already settling in.
They both went silent again.
Each picturing the same thing.
Eucliea, sitting alone in the stands, not angry… not accusing…
Just hurt.
A silence that wasn't violent—but still loud.
And that made it worse.
---
Eirene crossed one leg over the other, glancing at Phylax through the rearview mirror.
"How much of the match do you think we've missed thanks to the meeting, huh, Loyal Lieutenant?"
Phylax, eyes still on the road, replied coolly.
"Not much. First half should still be going. We'll probably catch the tail end."
Eirene sighed, letting her back sink deeper into the seat.
"Well, yeah… it's only been about an hour since kickoff…" she muttered, lazily flicking her wrist.
A soft shimmer lit up her palm as a sleek, rectangular device projected its interface.
The Volva.
---
Narrator voice:
> The Volva.
The flagship of modern communication technology.
Sleek, fast, and incredibly stable—this device was the pride of developed nations.
Not exactly a smartphone, though it looked like one.
The Volva didn't rely on internet connectivity.
Instead, it ran on a secured, high-speed wired grid that connected entire cities and countries internally—making it ideal for voice calls, text messages, and localized data transfers.
It was the standard in most modern regions like Zaherra and Indra, where the network infrastructure supported such systems.
Unlike smartphones of the past, it wasn't about browsing or scrolling—it was about direct, clear, and reliable communication.
From political leaders to everyday citizens in cities like Ranch, the Volva was as common as a wallet.