The next morning, Rikuo woke up later than usual. His legs were aching; it had been a long time since he'd played properly. But deep inside, he felt something rare… a mix of exhaustion and happiness.
When he went downstairs to the kitchen, he found his father making coffee.
Takeshi glanced up.
"Looks like you had fun last night."
Rikuo froze.
He hadn't expected his father to have seen him.
"Ah… yeah. Just a bit of football with the neighbours. Nothing huge."
Takeshi smirked.
"Nothing huge… really?"
Rikuo avoided his gaze.
He still struggled to admit that football could make him happy.
When he stepped out of the flat to go buy breakfast, he certainly didn't expect to find someone standing at the entrance of the building.
The old man with the Tokyo CF beanie was there.
Standing.
Calm.
As if he had been waiting for him.
Rikuo blinked, surprised.
"Er… good morning?"
The old man grinned broadly, a mischievous smile revealing a far livelier spirit than his age suggested.
"Ah! The young phenomenon from last night!"
"Huh? Phenomenon? No, no… I was just messing around."
The old man shook his head.
"The kids in the neighbourhood didn't let you touch the ball, did they?" he said with playful irony.
Rikuo winced.
"Well… maybe I played a little…"
The old man burst out laughing.
"My name's Katsuro Senda. Pleasure to meet you, lad."
He held out his hand, and Rikuo shook it out of politeness.
"I'm Rikuo Amada. Nice to meet you."
"Amada… Amada… that name sounds good. The sort you'd remember on the back of a shirt."
Rikuo took a small step back, uncomfortable.
"Mr Senda, if this is about football… I should warn you, I stopped. Ages ago."
The old man raised a finger.
"And yet… your feet haven't stopped, have they? Last night they were shouting: let me play."
Rikuo fell silent.
"Listen, my boy. I'm not here to bother you. I often walk past that pitch in the evenings. I watch the kids play. And yesterday, I saw someone who wasn't playing… he was living."
He tilted his head slightly.
"Meet me tomorrow morning, same place as last night. Not for a match, not for a club, not for any promise. Just… to knock the ball around. If you want."
Rikuo opened his mouth, but the man was already turning away, walking off at an easy, unhurried pace.
"Tomorrow… or not. It's your choice."
Before disappearing around the corner, the old man tapped his Tokyo CF beanie… as if sending a silent message.
Rikuo stood there, unable to tell whether the man was mad, brilliant, or somewhere right in between.