Chapter Text
Standing on the other side of the field, Hikaru watches Nankatsu celebrate their exultant triumph, the deafening cheers of the stadium nearly drowning out the familiar cries of defeat coming from his teammates slumped to the ground. Bitterly, Hikaru admits secretly, in the furthest regions of his mind where no one could ever see, that despite how hard he tried, no matter the long hours he spent out on that dirt field blanketed in snow and sweat, kicking over and over until he was certain his legs would fall off at any moment, hard work just couldn’t beat talent no matter how desperately he fought against the age old notion.
Sure, finishing in the semifinals was an amazing feat all on its own, but their aim had always been first place, settling the score with Hyūga after waiting all those years, defeating the unbeatable Tsubasa, and standing at the very top of the nation as the best football team in Japan, anything less had been unacceptable, was unacceptable. After all that work they put in with their rusted, old equipment the community would sometimes donate, all those hours spent outside in pouring rain and sticking snow and cold night and howling wind, the amount of scars they earned from every fall they took or every spiked shoe that pierced through the surface of their skin and dug into the meat underneath, they weren’t able to break past that barrier, Hikaru wasn’t able to break through that barrier just as he wasn’t able to block that final shot that would secure their win. Covered in hideous bruises and abrasions, tears and grime blending into a watercolor painting of the worst design, they just couldn’t do it, they wouldn’t even be the first loser.
The dreadful daze Hikaru was put under like a spell suddenly pulls away, he shakes his head and, while putting on a brave face and viciously stomping the feelings of sorrow and regret from his heart, he squares his shoulders and turns towards his team, the same 10 people that have stood beside him and have shed their own blood, sweat, and tears since elementary school and orders,” Get up everyone! We must give our final thanks to the stand and our supporters!”
They looked up at him with wetted pink eyes, upset and disoriented from the almost earth-shattering misery they found themselves in seconds ago. Giving his friends a warm smile he hoped would dissipate the gloom creeping into the corner of his eyes, they wiped their tears, weakly smiling in return and slapping each other on the back as they helped pull one another up from the stinging, hot grass. They feel strength from Hikaru’s voice and jog together, beaten and battered, but together nonetheless towards the stands where Furano’s most staunch supporters awaited with proud tears and bittersweet grins. Regardless of the loss, the crowd cheers loudly as though they won the whole tournament, Hikaru wonders if they would have shook the stadium if they had.
We would have won, if only I was better, if only…! He irately thought, full of shame and fearsome self-loathing, his mind wandered back to the match with intense fervor, he thought on the positions he gave his teammates and how it should have been more strategic, he thought on how the tackle Takasugi dished out sent Wakamatsu flying, and the thoughts filled his head completely, desperately banging on all sides of his skull that made Hikaru gnash his teeth together behind a firm frown, it took everything he had to not curse the world for its blatant indifference towards their grueling hope.
Standing tall, with pride shining in their wet eyes, they bow and shout with full sincerity their thanks for the people in the crowd who cheered them forward and gave them the confidence to continue their arduous journey for the last four years. Hikaru bows his head still heavy and full of every wrong action that led to this moment in his life when it hit him; this would be the very last time he would be with his friends like this. Out on the field playing their favorite sport full of only their favorite people, their final memory not being of joy in their beliefs bringing them to the top, holding a trophy and taking a picture under a bright sun with even brighter smiles, but rather like this. Their defeat at the hands of the continuously powerful and unbeatable champions, Nankatsu.
Dipping his body to perform a keirei has never felt so humiliating.
Just before Furano leaves the field, Ishizaki approaches Hikaru,” Hey, Matsuyama, you left this.”
Hikaru eyes zero in on the hachimaki, realizing that it must have fallen from his head after that last Drive Shot Tsubasa did to secure their winning goal. Thanking Ishizaki, he took a moment of peace and quiet for himself and stared down at the carefully crafted headband made by the delicate hands of their gentle manager, Yoshiko Fujisawa.
Fujisawa must have had trouble makin' these hachimakis…Sorry, but we didn’t win.
Lost in his thoughts while looking at his hand-made headband, he caught a glimpse of something peculiar at the corner of the cloth, illuminated only by the sunlight hitting it at just the right angle. Bringing the headband closer to his face, he could barely see it, small words stitched in white and only slightly lighter in its shade. With some difficulty, he was able to read the nearly illegible words;
“I love you, Yoshiko.”
A sharp, violent surge of energy flooded into his beaten body forcing Hikaru to bolt off the field and leave his friends behind as they shouted their confusion at his abrupt exit. Rushing forward, he pushes the reporters and interviewers out of his way, shouting a quick, autonomous apology and continues his way up to the stands in a mad dash taking two steps at a time, hoping that Fujisawa may still be there. To his frustration, he doesn’t see her and after confirming with some of the supporters that the managers have already left, leaves just as quickly as he arrived.
Shit!
With gritted teeth, Hikaru races towards the stadium exit, people whizzing past his line of sight in blurs, where he encounters their other manager outside, Machiko Machida, she would know where her best friend ran off too, “Where’s Fujisawa!?”
“She took a taxi with her mother. Yoshiko…She’s leaving today for America…!” She choked, tears pin pricked at the corner of her eyes, her face saddened at the loss of her best friend who left some minutes ago, and immensely worried, afraid that Yoshiko will never have her feelings returned by the boy standing in front of her.
Knowing that he didn’t have much time left, Hikaru leaves Machida behind, his only goal and focus being on getting to the girl he’s loved since second year. The same girl who’s supported all of his emotional outbursts, his blatant disrespect of his own body’s limits, who’s stayed behind even during late hours in the night just to make sure Hikaru didn’t forget his jacket before going back home. Leaving Omiya Stadium [1], he spots a taxi exiting with a woman and a girl in her school uniform looking somber, upon seeing the girl was actually a teary-eyed Fujisawa in the window, Hikaru pushes himself even harder, sprinting like a wild man towards the car.
Only, playing a brutal match against the best football team in Japan has left Hikaru exhausted and weak, and he trips on the sidewalk after his foot fails to lift higher than he wanted, merely scraping against the gravel, he lands harshly on his side and badly bruises and skins his palms and knees. Sucking in a breath, Hikaru drags his body from the burning pavement as the stinging pain of rubble and dirt cling to his bloody, open wounds. He continues to jog towards the closest airport, sweating and light-headed from the pain thrumming down his legs, the fatigue settling into his bones, and the desperation that against all odds he might make it to Fujisawa on time.
Not once does he stop to catch a breath or slow down, the pain subsiding to a dull throb and his mind clear of any and all thoughts, focused only on the girl of his dreams. After jogging for about 20 minutes, one of Furano’s supporters, Mr. Kushimoto, pulls up to Hikaru and rolls down the window to his teal Toyota Soarer,” Hey kid! I heard ‘bout what’s got you all in a tizzy, hop in! I’ll take ya to the airport on the double!” [2]
Hikaru jumps into the car before Mr. Kushimoto can even finish his sentence, yelling the name of the airport he was certain Fujisawa was heading to. Adjusting the brim of his cap while smirking, Mr. Kushimoto stomps his foot on the gas pedal and tears down the street, scaring the nearby pedestrians with the screech of his car tires as they leave behind streaks of smoke in the air and burnt rubber on the ground. Breaking several traffic laws and giving Hikaru a motion sickness so intense that he’s amazed he hasn't passed out, they make it to Haneda Airport [3] in record time. Yelling a prompt thanks, Hikaru leaps out of the car and smiles as he hears Mr. Kushimoto shouting behind him,” You can do it, Matsuyama!”
Racing through the doors and startling other airport patrons after nearly toppling them over, Hikaru scans the area before moving to the next place he thinks Fujisawa or her mother might be. He kept on doing this, praying that he might spot her in the overflowing sea of people as he scoured each and every area within a short distance until he decided to go to the front desk, doing this any longer was adding time that he was severely short of already. Hikaru heaved himself up to the counter, he saw the woman look up from her desk and take in his appearance, the dried blood on his knees and hands, the grass stains clinging to his already dirty uniform, and his sweat matted hair sticking to his pink forehead as he sucked in air through his open mouth like it would be his last.
He looked like a disaster.
Regardless of his grimy appearance, like a true professional she still greeted him pleasantly and asked if he needed any help, “Hello! Is there anything I can do to help you, young man?”
“Yes, I was wonderin' where the flight to New York was located and when it was set to leave?”
“Of course! Let me check the schedule for flights leaving for the US, this will only take a moment.”
As she typed on the desk computer [4], Hikaru could feel himself becoming dizzy as the adrenaline faded and the full weight of reality began to settle onto his body. He had to harshly grip the counter in front of him to keep steady, almost losing his balance and the world tilting and twisting due to the hypoxia. Each clack of the keyboard as the woman typed whatever in her desk computer made his heart jump to his throat and thrum move from the back of his head to the front, anticipation flooding his veins, ready to run off in whichever direction was fastest to get to Fujisawa.
She stopped typing with a small wince and he felt his heart drop to the bottom of his feet when he saw her smile sadly towards him, pity in her eyes as he felt an unspeakable dread flood his entire body.
“I’m sorry young man, but the last flight towards New York this afternoon has already boarded and will take off any second now. Were you a late arrival? We can try to refund your ticket and find you the earliest flight to the United States in the evening… Sir?”
The woman’s voice felt far away, he could feel the blood rushing to his ears, his heartbeat banging against his skull like a drum as he walked away from the lady who gave up on calling his attention and focused on the next person in line. Hikaru dragged himself towards the large glass windows of the airport that faced the taxiways, each step feeling even more heavy than the last. He stares out at the beautiful, cloudless blue sky while his mouth dries up and bile begins to build in the back of his throat, rich and metallic. An airplane streaks through the sky to a land far away, and he stood there and watched it move further and further away from Japan, away from Tokyo, away from Furano, away from him. Before long, the distinctive shape of a metallike bird turned into a floating white dot, and then, it was gone.
Alone in a crowd of strangers, Matsuyama feels the first tear fall.