The sleek black Mustang glided down the pristine road, its polished exterior gleaming in the sunlight like a shadow come to life. Keith sat silently in the backseat, his sharp features bathed in the faint glow filtering through the tinted windows, dark glasses concealing the tension brewing inside. His father occupied the seat beside him, scrolling through his phone with sharp, calculated movements.

“You’ll never amount to anything if you keep wasting time with... people like them,” Zane said, his voice sharp and devoid of warmth. "Focus on what matters. You have a legacy to uphold, Kenneth."

His father continued, his voice smooth but cutting, each word precisely aimed to hit its mark. "Basketball is a hobby, not a future. You were born for bigger things. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted you to waste your time like this."

Keith stared out of the window, jaw tight, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. He didn’t reply. There was no point. Responding would only add fuel to the fire, and he wasn’t in the mood to stoke it. The streets outside blurred into a medley of grey asphalt and passing figures. His father’s remarks sliced deeper than he let show, but his face remained composed—cold, unreadable.

When the car finally rolled to a stop outside Miralya University, Keith stepped out, the cool air brushing against his warm, pale skin. His father’s parting words echoed faintly behind him, but he paid them no mind, his attention already drawn to the elderly man shuffling cautiously across the crosswalk ahead.

Without hesitation, Keith approached, his strong hands steady as they gently guided the man across the street. "Take your time," he murmured, his deep, velvety voice soothing. The older man smiled up at him, gratitude lighting his weathered features.

“A rare kind soul in a sea of busy faces,” the man said, patting Keith’s arm. "Thank you, son."

Keith responded with a dimpled smile, soft and fleeting, before turning to notice a little boy nearby struggling to retrieve his soccer ball from under a bench. Keith crouched effortlessly, retrieving the ball with one hand and ruffling the boy’s hair with the other. "Here you go, mate," he said, his tone light, almost playful.

As Keith made his way to the campus, the usual crowd began to swarm. Ugh. Here we go again. The girls were already whispering, their not-so-subtle glances and giggles impossible to ignore. Love letters, shy stares, and the occasional overly bold flirtation—it was all routine for him.

And there she was. Keith’s gaze softened for the briefest of moments as he slid into the seat beside her. She was scribbling in her notebook, her brows furrowed in concentration. Keith admired her silently, the corner of his lips twitching as if tempted to smile. Every now and then, his gaze would flicker toward her, studying the way the light caught the strands of her hair or how her fingers tapped against the desk when she was thinking. He found himself stealing subtle glances in her direction throughout the lecture, his sharp features softening ever so slightly. She probably didn’t even notice. Good.

When the class ended, Keith made his way to basketball practice, his tall frame moving effortlessly through the throngs of students. His best friend, Valentino Morelli, was waiting for him at the gym.

“Sei in ritardo, Keith. Finalmente ti sei deciso a mostrare la tua bella faccia?” Valentino smirked, spinning a basketball lazily on his finger.

Keith rolled his eyes. “Stai ancora parlando? Pensavo che avessi finalmente imparato a rimanere in silenzio, Valé.”

"Pensavo che fossi stato rapito da un’orda di fan."

Keith added no bite whatsoever in his words, adjusting the straps of his gym bag. “Molto divertente, Valé. Preparati a essere umiliato in campo.”

The banter continued as they started drills, Keith’s stoic exterior thawing slightly in Valé’s company. But the peace didn’t last.

During a passing drill, the basketball veered off course, ricocheting toward the bleachers where she was sitting. The dull thud of the ball connecting with her face was enough to make Keith’s heart skip a beat.

He was there in seconds, crouching in front of her. “Are you okay?” His deep voice was edged with genuine concern, his usually stoic features betraying a rare flicker of panic. His veiny hands hovered near her, unsure if he should touch her face or give her space.

Her expression... God, it made his chest tighten.

“Do you feel dizzy? Let me—” He reached into his gym bag for a bottle of water, offering it to her with furrowed brows. “Here. Drink this. And don’t move too much.” The redness on his face made him lose focus by the second.

There was a slight pause, and when her eyes met his, the air around them felt heavy. His teammates were gawking, Valentino’s wide grin visible from the corner of Keith’s eye.

“Keith,” Valé called out, amusement dripping from his voice. “Vuoi baciarle anche il ginocchio mentre ci sei?”

Keith shot him a glare sharp enough to silence him before focusing back on her. The gym had gone silent, all eyes on the scene unfolding. Keith, however, seemed oblivious to the attention. His focus was solely on her, his protective instincts overriding his usual stoicism. His voice softened further. “It’s not bleeding, but let me know if it hurts anywhere else.” His brows furrowed deeper, a rare, raw vulnerability flickering in his usually composed demeanour.