The stadium lights blazed, casting long, stark shadows across the endless green. Renzo, his wild blue hair bristling, felt the familiar surge of adrenaline. This wasn't just a dream; it was his sanctuary, his proving ground, the only place where he could unleash the instinct that society had tried to cage. Here, the raw calculations and hunger that his parents feared manifested as sheer skill.
"Let's dance, Leo!" Renzo's voice echoed in the vast emptiness.
The man in the FC Barcha kit, Leo, didn't respond with words, only with a shift of weight, a subtle tilt of his head. The ball, which had been resting on his instep, dropped to the turf with a whisper.
And then, he moved.
Renzo reacted instantly, his senses flaring. In this dreamscape, his internal analysis — the thousands of calculations — fired up. He saw the angles, the trajectories, the tiny muscle twitches that predicted Leo's next move. Every lesson, every simulated drill, every moment spent dissecting tapes in his waking life culminated here.
Leo dribbled with an ethereal grace, the ball a mere extension of his foot. It wasn't flashy, not like a freestyle artist, but it was impenetrable. Renzo moved to intercept. He feinted left, then right, trying to force an opening, to predict the unpredictable. His body moved with an electric speed, every muscle finely tuned.
He's shifting his weight to the right, a classic feint! No, he's cutting back! That lean… it's a trap!
Renzo lunged, a desperate, reaching tackle. Leo, with a flick of his ankle so minuscule it was almost imperceptible, nutmegged him. The ball vanished between Renzo's legs, only to reappear on Leo's other side as he surged past.
"Damn it!" Renzo cursed, spinning around, his teal eyes blazing with frustration and exhilaration.
The 1 v 1 was a constant dance of attack and defense. Renzo was a clone, a prodigy who had meticulously studied every dribble, every pass, every shot of this unknown monster. He moved with a similar low center of gravity, a deceptive burst of speed, and a left foot that could carve masterpieces.
Yet, the original was simply on another level.
Renzo tackled again, sliding, stretching, his cleats digging into the dream-turf. Leo simply took another touch, which made the ball float just out of reach, then accelerated, leaving Renzo sprawling in his wake. Renzo scrambled up, his chest heaving. He was being dominated. Not through brute force, but through sheer genius. Leo saw the entire pitch, the entire game, several moves ahead. Renzo was seeing fragments, trying to piece together a puzzle that Leo had already solved.
He pressed harder, his ego screaming. He needed to steal the ball. He needed to devour this perfect version of Leo. This was his training. This was his evolution.
But every time he thought he had Leo trapped, every time he closed the space, the man would find a sliver of an opening, and glide through it as if he were made of light.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity of fruitless pursuit, Renzo stumbled.
His legs ached, and his lungs burned. He collapsed onto the soft grass, defeated, his gaze fixed on the man who stood over him, still effortlessly juggling the ball with his left foot.
He's too good, Renzo thought.
Leo stopped, the ball settling under his feet. He offered a hand. Renzo took it, pulling himself up.
"You're too good, old man," Renzo admitted.
The man smiled, a familiar, humble curve of his lips. "So are you, Renzo."
Renzo scoffed. "Please. You just made me look like a kid out there."
"You ARE a kid," Leo replied, picking up the ball and tucking it under his arm. "You understand the game. You understand my game. Most people just see the goals, the dribbles. You see the thinking behind it. That's rare."
Renzo nodded and asked, "Old man, I've been thinking… about playing center-mid. You know, to control the tempo more. To build plays from deeper."
Leo stopped, turning to face him. "Why?"
Renzo hesitated. "You know… about my problem. The… the thing that happens when I go all out. I don't want to do that again. Not like in Tokyo. If I'm center-mid, maybe I can balance it. Be more… selfless."
Leo still had the same look. "Why?" he asked again, the single word loaded with unspoken meaning.
Renzo shifted his weight. "Because… it's bad for others. It breaks them. My teammates. My opponents. My parents worry. I don't want to be that kind of player."
Leo stared at him for a long moment, then a slow, wry smile spread across his face. "And so is beating your opponents, Renzo. That makes them sad, too. So, are you going to stop winning?"
The question hit Renzo like a tackle to the chest. He flinched, his teal eyes widening. Stop winning? Is he serious? Of course, he wouldn't.
"Look," Leo continued, his voice softer, but no less firm. "I know how much you want to be like me. To be great at football, to be humble, to play for the team. And I appreciate that. Truly. But you are not me."
Leo stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on Renzo's shoulder.
"You are not me. If you keep holding your true self back, you are playing handicapped. You are sacrificing your potential for the sake of other people's comfort. That's not humility, Renzo. That's… cowardice."
The word stung. Renzo's jaw clenched. Cowardice? Was that what he had been doing? All this time, trying to fit into a mold, trying to suppress the ego inside him… was it just an excuse?
Just then, Leo looked up, his gaze unfocused, seeing beyond the dream world. "Well, looks like it's morning. You're going to wake up soon." He turned back to Renzo. "Be yourself, Renzo. Don't let anyone else dictate your game."
As Renzo felt the edges of the dream begin to blur, the stadium lights dimming, Leo suddenly yelled out, "Oh! And good luck with your date!"
Renzo, a genuine grin spreading across his face, yelled back into the fading dream, "Thanks, old man!"
****
Renzo awoke with a jolt, the image of Leo-san's challenging smile still vivid in his mind. The scent of freshly cut grass was gone, replaced by the faint, earthy smell of his own room. He blinked, pushing himself up, his limbs feeling strangely heavy, as if he had actually run miles in his sleep.
He glanced at his phone. 8:00 AM. His date with Koyuki was in exactly one hour.
Be yourself. Leo's words echoed. Renzo scoffed, swinging his legs out of bed. Easier said than done, Leo. Some versions of 'myself' tend to cause problems.
He showered quickly.
Then pulled on the clothes he had laid out: a dark grey hoodie, a black bomber jacket over it, and black ripped jeans. He paired them with pristine white sneakers. It wasn't a suit, but it was far from his usual tracksuits or club jerseys. He was dressed up. For Koyuki.
An hour later, Renzo stood in the local park, a small bouquet of white lilies in his hand. The sun was warm, dappling through the cherry blossom trees. He checked his watch for the third time. She's always late.
"Ren! Sorry I'm late!"
He turned. And then, for a brief, fleeting moment, Renzo forgot about everything.
Koyuki Chigiri(Yes, Chigiri's sister, in this fanfic, she will be 2 years older than him), in a light summer dress that fluttered around her knees, was walking towards him. Her red hair, normally tied up, was loose today, framing a face that was both delicate and fiercely expressive. Her red eyes sparkled with energy. She was beautiful. Two years older than him, eighteen today, she radiated a confident, fiery charm that was a perfect counterpoint to his own calm demeanor. She was the older sister of Hyoma Chigiri, his only friend.
"Kuki," he said, his voice softer than usual. He held out the flowers.
"Happy birthday. You look… beautiful."
Koyuki took the bouquet, a hint of a blush on her cheeks, though she quickly recovered, a playful smirk replacing it. "Well, well, someone actually dressed up today. No tracksuits or jerseys for your special girl?"
She poked his arm playfully.
"You said wear something decent," Renzo replied, a rare, genuine smile touching his lips. "I tried my best."
"And you succeeded, surprisingly," she laughed. "Come on, let's go explore Kagoshima."
They spent the day together, wandering through the city. They visited a small, artisan market, bought crepes from a street vendor, and found themselves laughing at silly souvenirs. Koyuki, true to her personality, was boisterous and expressive, pulling Renzo into conversations with shopkeepers and dragging him into photo booths. Renzo, for his part, was calm and observant, enjoying the simple pleasure of her company. He listened more than he spoke, but when he did, Koyuki hung on every word, occasionally teasing him out of his shell.
They ended up on a hill overlooking the city as the afternoon began to wane, the sky a canvas of oranges and purples. Koyuki lay with her head in his lap, gazing up at the vast expanse of fading blue. A comfortable silence settled between them, a rarity in Renzo's otherwise tumultuous internal world.
"It's been a year," Koyuki whispered, almost to herself.
"Yeah," Renzo agreed, his fingers gently tracing patterns on her hair.
"You know," she murmured, looking up at him, her red eyes sparkling with mischief. "You're really lucky I was the one who asked you out first. You were just sitting there, brooding and looking all handsome, practically begging for someone to take you out of your misery."
Renzo let out a soft laugh, a sound that rarely escaped him. It was a real laugh, unforced, unmasked. "That's right," he said, looking down at her, his teal eyes softer than usual. "And thank you, Kuki. For… for dragging me out of my hole."
Koyuki smiled back, her hand reaching up to cup his cheek. Her touch was warm, reassuring. "I told you, Ren. I've always got your back."
Just then, the alarm on Renzo's phone went off, a gentle chime that shattered the peaceful moment. He glanced at the screen.
"I have to pick up Miu," he said.
Koyuki pushed herself up, her usual energetic self returning. "Perfect! Let's go together. I haven't seen Miu-chan in ages."
***
They walked to the elementary school, Renzo with Koyuki chatting animatedly beside him. As soon as Miu spotted Renzo, she shrieked, running over.
"Ren-nii! You came! And Koyuki-neechan!"
Her friends, a gaggle of giggling nine-year-olds, immediately descended upon Renzo, their eyes wide with adoration. "Miu-chan, is that your brother? He's so cool!" "He looks like a movie star!" "Can he pick us up too?"
Renzo, surprisingly, played along. He ruffled hair, offered small, polite smiles, and even signed a couple of notebooks for some reason, much to Koyuki's amusement. She watched him, a knowing smile on her face, seeing through his cool facade, knowing he was secretly enjoying the attention.
After dealing with the wave of kids, they left for home.
Soon they reached Renzo's house, Miu practically bouncing with excitement.
"Miu, go on in," Renzo said. "I'll be right back."
"Bye, Koyuki-neechan!" Miu yelled, already halfway to the door. "I'm back!"
As Miu disappeared inside, Koyuki turned to Renzo, her playful demeanor fading into something more serious. "Walk with me for a bit, Ren."
She led him down the street, away from the house, her expression thoughtful.
"You know," she began, her voice low. "It's been seven months since my brother, Hyoma, started laughing again. Really laughing. Since the day you slapped him and told him to stop being a pussy." She let out a burst of laughter, covering her mouth. "God, I wish I had recorded that! He looked like he was going to kill you."
Renzo's eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise passing through them. He hadn't known the full impact of that brief encounter, that moment when his true, unbridled ego had briefly broken through his self-imposed restraint.
Koyuki stopped, turning fully to face him, her fiery red eyes piercing his.
"But then… why are you holding back, Ren?"
Renzo froze. His calm mask slipped, replaced by a flicker of genuine fear. He knew what she was talking about.
"I know," she continued, her voice soft but firm. "I've known all this time you're trying to be someone you're not. You're trying to be what everyone wants you to be." She paused, then took a deep breath. "A few days ago, I found some old videos. From your past games. In Tokyo."
Renzo's blood ran cold. The videos. The raw, unfiltered footage of him on the pitch. The monster he had tried to bury. He braced himself, expecting the inevitable disgust, the judgment. Would she hate him for being like that? Would she push him away as everyone else had? Like his former teammates, who had openly despised him for his ruthless playstyle?
But then, Koyuki did something completely unexpected. Her eyes, instead of filling with fear or revulsion, lit up. A wide, almost manic grin spread across her face.
"Ren!" she practically shrieked, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her voice full of pure excitement. "You looked so… cool! Oh my God, you looked like a final villain in a sports anime! That indifferent look you gave your opponents after crushing them, just walking past them like they were nothing… Dayum, you looked so fucking hot!"
She kept going, gushing about his dribbles, his shots, the way he moved with an almost cruel elegance, completely devouring everyone on the field. Renzo just stood there, stunned, watching her jump around, her fiery energy radiating outwards.
Then, slowly, a warmth spread through him. A sensation he hadn't felt in years. Acceptance. Not just acceptance, but admiration.
He reached out, pulling her into a tight hug. "Thank you, Kuki," he mumbled into her hair, the words thick with emotion.
She calmed down, hugging him back just as tightly. Her hand patted his back reassuringly.
"I told you, Ren," she whispered. "I've got you."
---xxxx---
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