Chapter Text
“—And who will change Japanese soccer,”
“Is Yoichi Isagi.”
“That goal was yours just as it was mine”
“Go die, Isagi.”
He slumped against the cool tile of the shower, cold water running down on him.
He supposes he should’ve expected this, there’s no way Sae’s praise would actually come to him despite everything. That’s just not who he is, so the fact he allowed himself to believe for once that maybe, just maybe, his brother had finally acknowledged him was so stupid. Tepid.
It was all an illusion. A cruel game he’d allowed himself to play. He was a fool.
Beating his brother had been the only thing keeping him moving forward. It was supposed to be what proved he was still worth something—But now, it felt like nothing.
He felt empty. What was the point if it wasn’t enough? If his brother still turned to Isagi.
Rin exhaled shakily, his chest tight, and thoughts a tangled mess.
Isagi.
The name lodged like a splinter in his mind.
Why Isagi?
Why was it always him? Always the one who seemed to embody everything Rin wasn’t. The one who pulled Sae’s praise, the one who captured the spotlight every damn time. Since when has he gone so low? So low to the point he’s nothing but a side character in someone else’s story.
So lukewarm.
But still… even in his exhaustion, even as the water blurred the edge of his vision, the thought gnawed at him.
He had to beat Isagi. He had to. If not for Sae. If not for the others. But for himself.
At least… That’s how he wanted to feel.
He closed his eyes, letting the water hit his face. The ache in his chest didn't fade,and the fire that once burned so fiercely inside him felt… dull. Tired.
Did it truly matter anymore?
—
The first thing Rin did when they were granted a two-week break was retreat into the solitude of his house.
His phone buzzed more than once from group chats, missed calls, probably stupid celebratory plans—but he flipped it face down and let it vibrate itself into exhaustion.
A break.
It was supposed to be a time to recuperate, to step back and recharge. But for Rin, it felt like a punishment.
The victory over the U-20 team—sure, it was important. But it was empty. He had put everything into that game, only to watch Sae’s attention shift elsewhere.
Speaking of Sae, he couldn’t stop thinking about that last moment with him. It played in his mind on loop, haunted him even.
He poured everything into that match. Every sprint, every calculation, every ounce of hatred sharpened into precision—and still, in the end, Sae’s eyes hadn’t been on him.
“Who will change Japanese soccer, is Yoichi Isagi.”
In his living room, he squeezed the can he forgot he had in his hand too hard causing the juices to pour out and seep onto his hand making it sticky.
He made a face and groaned, quickly moving to not stain the couch any further. God dammit Isagi, how is he such a nuisance when he’s not even here?
After washing his hands he looked at the clock, 6:07 pm.
Two weeks off.
He was supposed to rest, wasn’t he?
So then why was every ounce of his being still screaming to push forward, to get better, better than Isagi, better than the rest of them.
He bit the inside of his cheek, there was no way he was going to waste this break. This was an opportunity, another reason for him to work. He won’t let Isagi or anyone else get ahead of him.
So he goes, to a random soccer field in the evening, the sun low and wind blowing softly.
He came with only his sports bag full with cones, his water, and a ball tucked into his arm.
This is stupid. So, so stupid.
He pushes the thought down and started setting up anyway.
The ball obeyed him, It always did. Tight touches. Clean cuts. Efficient movement.
But something felt off. His feet felt heavier, like it took more effort to run.
Every dribble felt mechanical. Every shot was calculated but empty. The rhythm was wrong. His body moved, but it didn’t burn with intensity like it always did before.
He drove forward and struck.
The ball slammed against the post with a sharp metallic crack and rebounded away.
Rin stood still for a moment.
His chest rose and fell too fast.
This is stupid.
Not because he was training.
But because it felt like he was chasing something that had already slipping out of reach.
He retrieved the ball, set it down again, and forced himself through the cones.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Thirty minutes later, sweat clung to his skin and his breathing turned uneven—irritation coiling tight in his chest.
Something was different.
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and stared at the goal one last time.
It stared back, empty.
After another long second, he shoved the cones back into his bag.
He told himself he was going home because it was getting dark. (like that’s ever stopped him)
Not because something about tonight felt wrong.
—
On the walk back, Rin passed a small park where a kid rode past him on a skateboard, his parents not too far behind him.
the wheels hummed softly against the pavement, not clattering but gliding.
Rin’s eyes tracked the motion for half a second longer than necessary.
The board rolled forward in one continuous line, no wasted movement. The boy leaned, barely shifting his weight, and curved cleanly around a bend.
No resistance.
Rin clicked his tongue and looked away.
Show-off, He thought.
—
It was mid-day.
Rin sat on his bed criss-crossed with his laptop open, munching on an assortment of berries.
He was still home alone so there wasn’t much to do, and in all honestly somehow it felt like there was even less to do on his laptop.
Usually he’d opt to watch a new horror movie or even The Shining of course, but instead, he scrolled.
He was on his fifth strawberry before coming across several videos on his recommended page.
“Salvatore” - ____ ____ performs to Lana Del Rey at ____ __ __
“______ STUNNING in first-place short program”
The thumbnails more beautiful than the last, a perfect off guard extravagant pose. The person surrounded by cold ice with faint lines from their skates with eye catching effects.
He stares, hard.
Figure skating has always been beautiful to him, but his slow descent into madness because of soccer overshadowed his adoration for it.
To many others, people would assume soccer was his first love, but it was far from the truth. He’d already been skating long before he even got a pair of cleats or stepped onto turf.
He’d already experienced the rush after landing his first clean toe loop after many failed attempts, and has even won his first medal before even daring to kick a ball.
To say he misses it is a bit much, his memories blur at the edges whenever trying to remember who exactly taught him or the experience in general.
What he can recall is the feeling of his first ever program. The nerves, his small hands clammy inside thin gloves. Legs trembling beneath stage lights. The music swelling too loudly in his ears—
When he blinks, his back in his room.
He scrolls past the videos.
Then back up to watch because I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to.
Several videos and fruit pieces later there’s an odd feeling in his chest. Short programs to free dances, he took it all in.
He doesn’t want to be corny about it but figure skating truly is something beautiful, especially when you have a deeper understanding of it all.
The clean precise movements, from slow to sharp, each skater danced differently. Soft and angelic to bold and fierce. It was inspiring, he didn’t mean to go down this rabbit hole but he doesn’t complain nonetheless.
After two more videos he turns off his laptop and leans back against his pillows, putting his bowl on his side table.
The feeling in his chest still lingered as he stared at the ceiling. To say Rin loves soccer isn’t exactly accurate, he’s more so obsessed with it. His motivation driven purely by his destructive nature and intense need to destroy Sae and force him to acknowledge him.
Though for the first time he questions how different he would be if he chose a different path, one with sharp blades and a chill that would never leave his body instead of turf burns and obnoxious teammates.