After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 25

After I Lost My Memory, My Star Athlete Boyfriend Said We Broke Up Chapter 25

The screen flooded with live comments the second he voiced the question.

[He finally asked. It was never Maren he feared; he feared Camille would feel nothing upon seeing that photo.]

[He would rather she rage, burn with jealousy, scream and fight with him than face her

indifference.]

Camille leaned against the wall beside the floor-to-ceiling windows and tilted her head, considering. “I won’t pretend I felt nothing, but it didn’t consume me.”

“I had no memories of you back then. To me, you were merely a player under contract. Who you chose to be with held no bearing on my life.”

A faint, bitter smile tugged at her mouth as she finished. “Once I learned it was fabricated, I simply thought *Oh, so that’s how it was*. No special reaction at all.”

Killian watched her detached smile. His throat tightened around all the words he couldn’t bring

himself to say.

He fell silent before speaking again. “Then can I court you once more? All I ask is one chance.”

Camille looked at him.

Runway lights stretched beyond the glass, throwing his profile into sharp relief and carving out the line of his brow. His gray-green eyes swirled with tangled emotion, cautiously pleading for a fresh

start.

Comments poured in without pause.

[He asked her! He said he wants to court her again!]

[He said “court”, not “go back to how we were”. He knows the past cannot be restored. He wants to begin from zero.]

[The careful look on his face… Once he reached out and took whatever he wanted. Now he trembles, afraid of rejection just asking for a shot.]

Camille pulled her gaze away and stared toward the darkening skyline outside. “Killian, everything you did before would have enraged the old Camille, left her heartbroken, driven her to argue endlessly with you. But I am not her. I do not love you, so those wounds hold no power over me. Do

“Camille… let’s remain friends.”

Something unclenched inside Camille the moment he said it. A soft smile touched her lips. “This is

how it should have been from the start.”

Comments covered the entire screen as he bowed his head.

[He’s letting go. He’s truly saying goodbye.]

[This long, tangled saga finally reaches a clean end.j

[This part hurts yet brings relief. Both of them move forward. This is the perfect ending.]

Four Years Later, Manchester

The weather cleared unusually in June, and Old Trafford swarmed with fans and media outside the

stadium.

This was the final match of the Premier League season-and Killian’s last home game of his professional career.

He’d announced his retirement earlier that season. The official reason was declining fitness and lingering injuries, but those close to him knew better.

Three years ago, he shifted his focus from top-flight competition to youth academy development. His minutes on the pitch had steadily dwindled since then; retirement was only a natural

conclusion.

Camille sat in a private suite, a cup of tea cooling untouched on the table beside her.

She wore a light gray blazer today. Her hair was shorter than it had been four years before, falling to her shoulders with softly inward-curving ends.

Silas sat beside her. He had shot up considerably, his shoulders broadened. The jersey he wore belonged to the opposing side, his number changed from 23 to 10.

“Ms. Logan, do you think the senior will score today?”

“He will.” Camille’s gaze fixed on the figure warming up on the grass. “If he doesn’t score in his farewell match, all those extra shooting drills over four years will go to waste.”

Silas chuckled and fell quiet.

The match unfolded brilliantly. In the 37th minute, Killian collected a diagonal pass, spun inside

the penalty box, and unleashed a powerful strike into the net.

After scoring, he didn’t drop to his knees or roar as he once had. He simply stood still, smiled

briefly, waved toward the stands, and jogged back to the center circle.

The whole sequence felt quiet, as if completing a practiced routine, yet the stadium roared with applause that lasted nearly a füll minute.

A brief retirement ceremony followed the final whistle.

Killian stood at the center circle to bid farewell to supporters. He lifted the microphone and

delivered standard thanks, then paused, sweeping his gaze across the suite level before settling on

one direction.

“These past four years taught me one thing: you have to keep looking forward.” His voice retained its deep, magnetic timbre, yet carried far more serenity. “Thank you all.”