The return journey from the mountain training camp was quiet—eerily so.
Unlike the laughter-filled ride that brought them there days ago, the bus now hummed with the low rumble of tires against asphalt and the soft breathing of sleeping players. Outside, the late afternoon sun filtered through the windows, painting golden stripes across seats, faces, and backpacks.
Dirga had collapsed into his window seat the moment he boarded. The exhaustion wasn't just in his body—it seeped deep into his bones, his soul, his thoughts. He didn't even try to talk. The adrenaline from the tournament games, the high of that final dinner, the warmth of the onsen—all had melted into a gentle drowsiness.
He rested his forehead against the glass. It was warm.
The mountains faded behind them now, replaced by endless roads, utility poles, and signs for small towns. As the world passed by in a blur, Dirga's eyelids drifted shut.
For the first time in a long while, he slept without dreaming.
…
