Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The crowd had roared in the stadium, a thunderous sound that seemed endless. The camera flashes lit up the night like fireworks, and the fans’ screams filled the air with an almost tangible energy. Everything indicated that the match between Blue Lock and the U-20 national team had been an unforgettable spectacle.
In front of them stood Japan’s most talented squad of young players, led by Sae Itoshi, Rin’s older brother and an almost legendary figure in football. In a surprising move, Sae had chosen the unpredictable Shidou Ryusei to reinforce the U-20s, turning the match into a personal battle for Rin.
The pitch had been an arena of fire, where every player poured out their soul. Bachira danced with the ball, Nagi turned impossible plays into possible goals, and Barou imposed his presence with relentless ferocity. Isagi, as always, had been the strategist, seeing plays that no one else could.
But it was that final goal, that last moment when Isagi managed to outwit everyone and score the decisive strike, that sealed Blue Lock’s victory. The stadium erupted in a deafening roar. For the others, that was the culmination of all their effort, the result of countless days of hard work. But for Rin, it was nothing more than another void.
When the referee blew the final whistle, Rin did not raise his arms or join in the celebrations. He simply looked down at the ground as sweat dripped from his forehead. His body was exhausted, but his mind even more so.
The locker room was in chaos. Shouts of celebration, jokes, music—all mixed together in an atmosphere of collective euphoria. Rin, however, sat in a corner, his hands still wrapped in bandages and his jersey soaked with sweat. He watched the others without really seeing them.
Sae had been on the field. During the match, he’d faced him head-on. They had exchanged words, glances, and even a few physical jostles. But when it was all over, Sae had dismissed him as always—perhaps it would never be enough. That indifference was more painful than any defeat.
“What more am I supposed to do?”
The thought flashed through his mind like lightning. He had trained harder than anyone, to the point where his muscles ached, yet he received nothing—he didn’t feel the satisfaction he’d always believed would come. His goal had been to destroy that idiot Sae, but instead, there was a kind of hole inside him, one that kept growing no matter how much he tried to fill it.
As the rest of his teammates left the locker room, calling for him to join the interviews and celebrations, Rin stayed behind. He didn’t want to talk to anyone. No one was important, and they never would be—just a bunch of NPCs whom fate had unfortunately made him know.
A knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts. The busty woman who always accompanied Ego stood outside, folder in hand.
— Rin, they’re all waiting for you at the press conference. The reporters want to talk to you.
Rin lifted his gaze slowly and stood up, meeting Anri—yes, that was her name, right?—with an expression that left the assistant bewildered.
— I’m not going.
The woman blinked, surprised.
— You’re not…? Are you sure? It’s important for—
— I said I’m not going.
The firmness in his voice shut down any possibility of discussion. Anri stared at him for a few seconds before shrugging and exiting. Rin was alone again, with the distant sound of the woman’s footsteps fading down the hallway.
He took off his gloves, feeling the stiffness in his fingers after so much exertion. Every movement was slow, almost ritualistic. As he did so, his mind circled back to the same conclusion, one he had been avoiding for some time:
“I don’t want this.”
For the first time, the words resonated in his head with overwhelming clarity. All the time he had devoted to football, all the pressure, the expectations, the competition… everything he had endured was crushing him. It wasn’t enough anymore.
He took a deep breath and stood up, leaving his gloves on the bench. He looked around at the empty locker room and knew he was making a decision that would change his life.
He would never return to this place. He would never go back onto the field. He was done.

Chapter Text

Ego had given us two weeks off to celebrate the victory… well, they won. I ignored Ego’s grandiose speech—and the empty praise from those insignificant NPCs—but I still declared Isagi my rival. How could that insect achieve what I’ve been chasing for years? It makes no sense. Have I been killing myself training and destroying my body for nothing? Pure bullshit.

Yet, now that I think with a clear head, I named Isagi my rival at the worst possible time: just when I’m considering quitting football. I’m also worried about “what comes next.” What will I do if I quit this? I’ve dedicated my entire life to football, never hesitating to crush anyone who got in my way. I have no other hobbies. What will become of me?

I left the Blue Lock facilities late, but finally I could breathe easy. It was a long journey, but I finally made it home. I opened the door without knocking; I knew no one was there—no one wants to live with the defective Itoshi. I get it, I can’t stand myself, either. My parents will arrive tomorrow because Sae is coming, so at least I have tonight to think.

The echo of my footsteps in the empty hallway made me feel even more alone. Every closed door behind me—except mine—was a reminder of how isolated I am. I’m the only one still clinging to this house when everyone else has left and gone on with their lives, and I’m still holding on to crumbs.

I entered my room and tossed my things aside. I changed into more comfortable clothes and curled up in bed in the fetal position. Today didn’t go the way I wanted; well, the only redeeming thing is that the Flow awakened, though now my eyes burn. It’s not enough to complain about. Maybe it’s a side effect. I decided it’d be best to take a walk and clear my head, which feels like it’s going to explode. I stood up with a better attitude, put on a sweatshirt—it gets horribly cold at night—grabbed my phone, and walked out of my room without another word.

When I opened the door, I came face to face with Sae. My peace didn’t even last half an hour. What is he doing here? What do I do now? My parents are supposed to meet him… not me. I was about to knock. We stared at each other without blinking. I stepped aside and let him pass in silence.

I looked at his gaze—it was impenetrable: no reproach, no affection, nothing. Only the certainty that we don’t fit. Every frozen second drilled into my chest. And at that very moment, I knew my brother had given up on me, and that hurt more than any defeat on the field.

He went upstairs without a word, suitcase in hand. I sighed and returned to my room, grabbed some money. Better I go out for dinner; I don’t want to be alone with him.

The loneliness in my room was gentle, almost comforting. But the thought of facing Sae head-on was draining me.

Coming down the stairs, I found him watching TV in the living room. Wasn’t he supposed to be in his room? Looking closer, he still had his suitcase with him. It’s true, all the rooms except mine were locked. Should I tell him or let him sleep on the couch? I quietly made my way to the door.

—“Where are you going?” he asked in a neutral voice.

Why is he treating me like this? Do I answer or ignore him?

—“I’m going for a walk. I’ll be late,” I decided to answer, “the key’s in the kitchen, in the cabinet.”

I noticed his gaze waver for a second on hearing my words, as if he expected me to offer something more than cold information. But there’s nothing to offer, nothing left to say.

With that, I opened the door and left. The air struck my face; I could finally breathe, relieved. Now, where do I go? The store I usually go to closes early today; I decided to just walk to think.

Let’s recap: my brother, who used to love me, no longer does. He’s realized I’m a waste, a mistake, replaceable… It would’ve hurt less if I’d heard it from someone else, but coming from my own blood, the only person I felt comfortable with, protected by—makes me feel even more like a weirdo, like a schizophrenic. It hurts twice as much. Not even my parents achieved that connection. I hold a bit of affection for them, but they’re hardly around. The house feels more mine than theirs, so I arranged it to my liking. I have every right, don’t I?

God, have I reached the stage of fighting over property? Putting that aside… where am I?

I looked up and found myself on the bridge overlooking the sea. I walked to the edge and gazed at the nocturnal horizon while the icy wind hit my face.

—“Beautiful, isn’t it?” I asked.

I used to come here with him when we were kids. But those times will never return.

—“Yes… the sea is beautiful. I… used to come here with my brother when I was a child.”

Numb from the cold, I stepped away. I needed to eat. I entered a small restaurant. People were still laughing, chatting, living like that with those things sticking to them. I watched; maybe I’m the weird one—I can’t understand others. Maybe I should be like normal people: live and not worry about what surrounds us.

I ordered a simple dish. I ate slowly, allowing myself to feel each bite, each texture, as if it were my first taste. The laughter of others echoed in my ears like a distant murmur, disconnected. What am I missing to feel like I belong?

—“What do you think?”

Chapter Text

—What do you think?

I asked, following with my gaze that thing that had been trailing me since the U‑20 match. It’s a disgusting greenish substance, with multiple mouths and tentacles made of the same viscous mass, eyes of all shapes and sizes peeking out from its surface. It’s clinging to me and won’t let go; I feel its putrid fluids spreading across my arms. How foul! My appetite vanished.

—You don’t get tired, do you? I’ve been ignoring you like everyone else, but it’s hard when you’re spreading your horrid fluids all over me. At least answer my question, —I said, glaring at my plate. I had stopped eating; that thing had the nerve to plunge its repulsive… limbs? tentacles? whatever they are, into my food.

—Sir, are you okay? —a bored voice asked: the waitress. I glanced at her, noticing her look of disgust.

I lifted my gaze. If she wanted to speak, she had to say it to my face. We stared at each other. She, upon seeing my tense expression, dropped her eyes and straightened her uniform in a hurry; she hitching up her skirt as she smoothed it meticulously.

—Hehe… hello, do you need help with anything? —she said now in a forced sweet tone, inherently coquettish.

My pulse tightened, and I saw a flush on her face. —I don’t need anything, you can go, —I said in a dry voice, speaking to the plate more than to her. I looked at the food and noticed an eye in the substance that had invaded my plate, which now looked like a soup—a truly revolting one. The eye was staring at the waitress; I turned to look at her.

I observed her: her skirt so short it revealed part of her thigh and that exaggerated neckline she took advantage of by leaning even closer to me. Her breath brushed against my face. I felt discomfort boiling in my blood. Calculated femininity. Seriously? How old is she?

—Is there something wrong with your food? —I heard her say, leaned in, she sat beside me as if I’d invited her, invading my sacred personal space—. If you want… I can bring you something better —she added softly, her chest pressed against my arm.

My mind raged: Disgust. That wasn’t innocent insinuation: it was harassment, hidden under the guise of “service,” forcing me to withdraw and pretend courtesy I didn’t feel. I knew it: she was underage, sophisticated and the perfect target for a young adult.

I tried to move her away subtly: I shifted my arm behind me, but she followed, each centimeter closer, each touch a detonation inside me. I breathed and tried to speak calmly:

—Please, step away… if you want to help me, remove this thing from the plate —I pointed at the viscous mass in my food.

The woman didn’t move. She spoke again, but my ears only heard her breathing. My eyes searched for help anywhere, but no one paid attention—they either didn’t notice or simply ignored the situation.

Okay, I tried to handle it politely… and failed. It seemed it would have to be by force.

At that moment the thing expanded toward the woman, and one of its tentacles formed sharp spikes pointed directly at her. Time seemed to stretch. My heart raced: every fiber in my body tightened.

I reacted without thinking: I grabbed the tentacle before it reached the waitress. My hand trembled. Prepared for the pain the spikes would cause me, they never arrived: they simply liquefied in my hand. It felt like touching mud… or decomposed entrails, but it wasn’t that, something different and repugnant. It stuck to my hand as if we belonged, insinuating it penetrated my pores and clung to my skin.

The waitress froze, eyes wide open, paralyzed at the table. Her face, barely lit by the dim light of the restaurant, reflected a mixture of surprise and confusion. She looked at my hand as if seeing a demon.

—Excuse me, —she said, voice trembling—. Did you catch a giant mosquito? —she tried to joke, attempting to break the tension, but her voice betrayed fear—. I’d hate for it to bite me… how embarrassing that would be.

Anger ignited in my chest. My blood boiled.

—What the hell is wrong with you? Dare to say that when this thing almost pierced your head? —I snapped, no softening. Every word a strike aimed at her indifference.

There was a terrible silence. The people in the restaurant stared at me: they only looked at me, ignoring the strange creature at my side that had tried to hurt someone. The world went on, indifferent. That indifference felt like an additional slap.

—Hey, what’s going on? Why all the noise? —someone said irritably, sounded like the owner of the place, a figure heavy with belated authority.

—Kid, what are you doing with my assistant? —his voice boomed across the room—. Leave if you don’t want trouble. Did he do something to you, Sora? —he asked, looking at her reproachfully, as if she were the victim of my “cruelty.”

The waitress lowered her head, trembling. I felt the tension rise.

—I’m sorry, I was leaving —I replied without looking at anyone, I paid slowly, placing the bill carefully and firmly.

The creature on my back, which had recoiled, seemed to shudder in response. I stood without another word. With quick steps, I exited the restaurant.

Outside, the night hit me with its icy silence. I walked angrily through the empty streets, feeling the echo of every word spoken. That woman… or that bitch and her boss. I slipped between streets and corners, trying to shake off the rage and unease.

I took out my phone: almost 11:00. “No wonder it’s colder,” I told myself, my breath heavy and body trembling. I hurriedly started running toward home, trying to forget the episode.

As I ran, the greenish substance reappeared on my arm. This time, its eyes scrutinized me with curiosity. I ignored them. I forced myself to keep going, stepping hard, over the bridge I had walked alone so many times.

Suddenly I stopped dead. The thing had grown, stuck at the edge of the bridge. My body hit the ground, arm rattling from the impact.

—What are you doing? It’s late, I have to go back —I replied, rubbing the point of pain. Damn nonsensical thing.

The creature looked at me, its multiple violet eyes shining in the darkness. There wasn’t a soul around. Only the creak of the wind and the murmur of the sea.

I felt a little fear: what would this thing do to me in the solitude, if it nearly killed that woman? Was it a threat? I thought it could have been stronger, faster.

I reflected: “My life has been shit.” The words hurt even spoken silently. I craved dying in a dramatic way, but the bitter truth was that I’d barely lived.

—Maybe I’ll reincarnate somewhere Sae Itoshi and Yoichi Isagi don’t exist, and I won’t have parents with highly questionable parenting methods… —I murmured bitterly.

No more pills

I knew I depended on them to calm the anxiety, the fear, the insomnia. But today those pills weren’t enough. I fell to my knees, my back against the metal railing of the bridge. I felt that the thing and I were the same mountain of mutual destruction.

I stayed silent, staring at the ground. The Itoshis never lower their gaze, but there were no eyes to see me. I released my pride in anger: let them take it with their balls, I told myself. I took advantage of the silence to listen. The wind? The water? No. I heard the thing whimper, a small almost imperceptible whine, but it was there, mixed with the growing wind.

It was just you and me

I stood, and I managed to feel the wind better, it moved my hair like a tree would its leaves. I approached and asked it.

I stood up, the wind hit my face like centuries of repressed emotions. I clenched my fists, looked up at the night sky —What do you want to do? —I asked the creature. I said it softly, a blend of weariness and determination.

I stepped to the edge of the bridge. The substance stayed behind, staring at the sea. Its form undulated with the rhythm of the waves. I watched it for an instant that lasted an eternity.

For a disgusting creature, it’s good company.

Chapter Text

I walked slowly, without hurry, with that creature—now shriveled—clinging to my entire arm. It was disgusting, but I supposed I'd have to get used to it... she wouldn’t let go. I was the only person walking the deserted streets at night. The spawn whimpered, trying to communicate, but only emitted small, unintelligible grunts.
“Hey, do you have a name or would you prefer to remain ‘Thing’?” I asked the arm, my voice hoarse from exhaustion.

The Thing responded with another plaintive groan. Alright, I took it as a definitive no.
I walked on, breathing the cold air. I felt the streetlights as indifferent witnesses to my fatigue. Every step on the asphalt hurt; every moment was harder than the last. I just wanted to get home.

When I arrived, the lights were off—my welcome. I glanced at the clock: past midnight. “My parents come back tomorrow,” I thought. I hoped they'd be late so I could sleep a little longer...

“Look what you did,” I said, lifting the infected arm. “You ruined my sleep schedule.”
The Thing began to groan again, but this time more forcefully, its tentacles squirming clumsily. It seemed to want to defend itself, but it couldn’t form words—only groaned.

“Shut up,” I ordered. “I’m the only one talking here, and I want total silence when we go inside.”

The door was locked. I stepped toward the mat and nudged it aside with my foot. My hand reached the spare key. Just then, it stretched out and snatched the key, whimpering with tiny pride.

“Hey,” I scolded. “Give it.”

Obediently, it dropped the key into my palm. I closed my fingers firmly around it.
“Thank you,” I murmured dryly. “And don’t make a sound.”

I inserted the key with difficulty. The lock let out a treacherous squeal. I held my breath.
“Silence,” I whispered as I entered and shut the door.

Inside, the silence was sepulchral. The air was stagnant, suffocating. The creature coiled around my arm; its viscous mass seeped through my shirt and soaked me all the way down to my shoes. Every step toward the stairs became a controlled torture; my nerves vibrated with each creaking board.

Carefully, I climbed step by step. The substance spread: my feet tread upon a floor turned greenish carpet. Cold crept up my ankles, but the sinister presence remained silent—submissive.

I passed Sae’s door without turning my head. Nothing must interrupt this silent mission. When I reached my room, I opened it gently. I inhaled deeply and collapsed into bed.
“Done. Mission accomplished,” I whispered. “Now I’m going to sleep. You—shut up.”

The Thing stayed completely still. I closed my eyes. I felt cold sweat trickle down my back; my breathing slowed and deepened. For the first time in a long while, my body surrendered to rest.

Outside, night continued its reign. A black car with tinted windows appeared in front of the Itoshi house. A dark figure stepped out, paused for a few seconds, turned, and slipped away into the early hours.

Inside, the silence deepened. Sae was still sleeping soundly in her bed. I, in mine, rested... watched over by millions of eyes suspended on the sleeve and the greenish pool forming on the floor around me. Their tiny glimmers shone with each blink, reflecting a silent adoration for my trembling flesh.

Dawn broke the nocturnal mantle. Sae got up as usual: showered, got dressed, came downstairs, grabbed her phone, and swiped without looking. Her cold cereal on the table looked as normal as the harmless silence facing it.

She finished breakfast and stayed on her phone—nothing else to do—and went out for a run, returning at 10. As she walked in, I heard a scream from the second floor:
“AAAAAHHHH, f\*\*\*!”

The scream echoed powerfully, climbing the ceiling, piercing the walls, exploding into a brutal echo. A cry soaked in fear and fury. How much suppressed rage in that single exclamation.

“Did you fall out of bed? Well… it’s about time you woke up,” Sae said sarcastically, seeing the text from Dad saying they were on their way.

Meanwhile, in Rin’s room, I was on the floor, cursing “the Thing” in every language I could think of.

What happened? Well, the moment I opened my eyes after a good sleep, I didn’t expect the first thing I’d see would be a giant eye staring at me, inches from my face.

Now, Rin had gone to brush her teeth and then came downstairs for something to drink. In the kitchen, I saw Sae drinking tea, looking at her phone. I nodded in passing, prepared my cereal, and took it to my room to eat there.

“My parents will be arriving soon,” Sae said.
“That’s good,” I replied in a neutral, rough voice, and kept walking.

As I climbed the stairs, I heard her say I should get ready—“you stink.” I thought: “Yeah, of course… I haven’t changed since last night. Better take a quick shower.”

“I’ll stay h—” I started to say, but stopped when I noticed I was alone. The Thing had disappeared. A relief, I thought.

I started to say, “You stay h—”, but stopped when I realized I was alone. The Thing had disappeared. A relief, I thought.

**In the shower.** I stepped under the hot water. The steam rose in blurry curtains that conspired with my breathing to distort the bathroom’s contours. I closed my eyes as the water pounded my shoulders, trying to carry away the night’s weight. But it was useless—the stench lingered like an indelible echo.

I took the soap in my hands and rubbed it along my arms. Its slippery, slightly sticky texture immediately reminded me of the substance that had infested my arm. Memories of the night began to climb up inside me, weighted and viscous, and that feeling of being heard, of being known and understood. I forced myself to breathe deeply and continued washing.

I focused on cleansing my neck and back, the areas where the mass had climbed so easily. I bent my head to rinse my hair, letting the water wash the gel away. A shiver tingled across my skin: that was the moment I decided I was done. The water scalded against my body, yet it still felt cold.

I turned off the shower, and silence filled the bathroom. Droplets falling from my body traced paths across the floor. I wiped the puddles with a cloth and stepped out.

I walked toward the sink, each step testing my balance: my body was still trembling. I grabbed a soft towel and dried myself slowly, from neck to ankles. When I reached my shoulders, I paused. The towel’s touch was a minimal refuge, but I pressed on until I was completely dry and tied it around my waist.

A faint glimmer from the mirror caught my attention. I took the comb from the shelf and ran it through my still-wet hair, aligning the strands that fell over my forehead. Then I dropped the comb and approached the mirror, face-on, without hurry.

The reflection was blurred by the steam. I took two more steps, inhaled, and wiped the surface with a fingertip. The image cleared… and then everything exploded.

I saw my brother’s face—he hated my face—same eyes, same features, the same eyelashes. I hate everything, especially my face. When people see me, they can only say that I'm the perfect copy of him, his little brother. Couldn't I be unique, different? Because nobody can recognize my effort—I will always be Sae's shadow. Sae, why don't you love me anymore? I don’t care that you've changed dreams—I only want my Nii-chan.

Chapter Text

The first chime was light, barely a knock at the door. Sae opened it and the first thing framed in the doorway was the silhouette of his parents, dragging suitcases.

“Son,” said Mom, opening her arms with a practiced smile. “How wonderful to see you!”

Sae hugged her stiffly, barely returning the gesture.

“Same here,” he replied in a cold voice.

His father, with a tougher smile, stepped forward.

“I’ve been wanting to see you, too,” he said, leaning in slightly. Sae rolled his eyes, but he hugged him.

“Hi, Dad.”

The adults came into the living room, dropped their suitcases in a corner, and began talking about the trip: trivial details of the weather, traffic, the fatigue. Sae nodded or responded with monosyllables.

“And Rin? Why hasn’t she come down to greet us yet?”

My mother’s voice sounded gentle, but the knife of reproach was hidden right in the “yet.” The Itoshi parents looked at their older son, seeking answers.

“She must be changing… she was just bathing.”

There was a slow silence.

“That’s fine,” said Mother, recovering quickly. “I’d better get lunch ready so we can eat together as a family.”

The sound of her apron brushing against the edge of the table mixed with the monotonous cadence of a pot being moved. While her hand juggled knives and plates, my father spoke unhurriedly about trivialities: the smell of the food, the traffic, some mild joke.

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Minutes later I came out of my room; I heard my own steps sliding down the stairs — each creak was a blow against my head. I descended with irregular slowness; my breathing came in ragged pauses. My hair still wet, letting cold drops fall down my back. Nobody noticed me at first; they orbited in their own family world, too bright for me.

I wanted to retreat, but my shadow had already entered the living room. Then Mom saw me at the end of the hallway.

“Son,” she said, enthusiastic, “come, give your mom a hug.”

I approached without thinking and hugged her awkwardly; the taste of silence was bitter in my mouth.

“Hi, Mom,” I said quietly, without enthusiasm, almost without breath.

She let out a small, incredulous laugh. As if the echo of my greeting were a strange joke.

“Where were you going?” she asked sweetly, insistently.

“I was just going out for a while,” I replied in a distracted voice, not turning to look back. My foot moved in small circles, searching for an exit.

“No, we just got here and it’s time for lunch,” she corrected, guiding me by the arm toward the dining room. “Come, family, to the table.”

We sat down automatically. The tablecloth floated under my hands, soft surfaces that said nothing. The clinking of cutlery, the subtle aroma of cooked rice, the muted sound of glasses on cold porcelain… everything contrasted with the emptiness I felt inside. My parents talked animatedly about the trip with Sae.

“Great play, Sae. I’m really proud of how much you’ve improved,” said my father with a smile and a warm glow.

The comment echoed in me. What about me?

“Thanks,” he replied fleetingly.

“Rin did well too,” said Mom, sweetly.

“Thanks,” my voice came out almost without echo.

“But Sae outdid you,” added Dad, sharply.

The rice tasted like nothing in my mouth.

“Talent isn’t enough, son; there’s effort too,” he said.

My chopsticks moved on their own. There was a brief throb, an impulse in my throat: I am trying. But the sentence drowned inside me.

“You can’t rely on just your talent. Hard work matters too,” Dad repeated.

I nodded, not looking at anyone.

“Sae, how long are you going to be home?” asked my mother, in a sweet voice.

“Five days,” he answered.

“So little, son; I thought you’d stay longer,” she replied with a twinge of sadness.

“I’ve got things to do in Spain.”

She sighed, but quickly recovered her smile:

“Kids, let’s go shopping. It’d be nice if you came with us.”

“We’ll spend some time together as a family,” added my father. “Sae, if you can’t go, don’t worry; it must be annoying to have people following you.”

“You couldn’t imagine,” Sae replied, “but I’ll go. I need to buy a few things.”

“It’s nice to walk around together again,” commented Mom with a sparkle in her eyes.

“Do I have to come too?” I asked almost unwillingly.

“Yes,” answered Dad, finishing eating.

That settled the matter.

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The street air greeted us warm. The sky was clear, and the city moved with the slow calm of a Saturday. We got into the car: Dad at the wheel, Sae in the passenger seat, me next to Mom. The backseat smelled of cologne and new fabric, a homey smell that, for a moment, calmed me.

During the ride Mom didn’t stop talking, listing shops, recalling shortcuts, pointing out store windows. Dad responded with some light joke. Sae stared out the window, distant. I listened silently. It’s surprising how the arrival of one person can turn them into movie-parents.

The drive was short. We parked near a mall. We got out of the car and entered the first shopping street: storefronts with seasonal clothing, a fruit stand displaying vivid colors, a shoe store with its characteristic rubber sole thud. My father walked with the slow pace of someone who enjoys being out; my mother tugged at the shopping bag energetically, mentally noting what was still needed. Sae, more covered up, walked next to me, silent.

We hadn’t spoken a word the whole trip.

We walked among racks of shiny clothes and shopping bags full of promises. Dad strolled with easy steps; Mom picked dresses that would stay in the closet until a special event; Sae was behind me, absent. I felt out of place, like an intruder in a film where everyone knew their part except me.

Mom stopped in front of a full-length mirror and tried on a red coat. Dad nodded with patient resignation; his mood was soft, false. I looked at the racks, their colors blending with my emotions—every color invaded by that poisonous silence that pursues me.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Sae was no longer there. I was left alone; I felt that silvery knot of despair.

“Surprise,” I told myself, sarcasm settling into my voice.

I wandered aimlessly among the racks. The clothes seemed ridiculous to me. Then I heard:

“But what a coincidence running into you here, Itoshi Rin.”

I froze the moment I heard an unfamiliar voice say my name; I turned, and there he was, and I was stunned—it wasn’t an ordinary person or something I had seen in Japan, how to explain?

The boy in front of me was not ordinary. A tall young man, hair white as snow, skin pale as porcelain with no imperfection, an exotic beauty, too perfect for this country. He wore a black uniform and black glasses.

I realized I had been staring too long, took a step back, and decided to say something.

“Um, do I know you?” I asked in a neutral tone, alarm hidden.

“No, you don’t know me. But I know you. Man, you played like a monster, I loved it,” he smiled.

Of course he knows me; well, this interaction has already gone on too long.

“Well, I’m off,” I said in a cold voice, turning to leave.

But he caught up with me in one step, put his hand on my shoulder—so soft it hurt.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to seem weird,” his voice murmured, but his smile did not change.

“You’ve already done that,” I replied, pulling away sharply.

The shiver I felt was not physical; it was something in my skin.

“Okay, okay, no contact, got it.”

“What do you want?” I asked, already fed up.

“Nothing, I was just walking by grabbing some sweets and just happened to run into you—what a coincidence,” said the gray-haired guy.

Then realizing I was already walking toward the exit:

“Hey, wait up.”

The stranger ran to stop me just as I had crossed the exit; again he took hold of my arm.

“Sorry, sorry,” he repeated still with that smile. “I just want your autograph, my little one liked your play. Come on, don’t be mean,” he said last, holding a notebook in front of my face. “You wouldn’t be cruel enough to break a child’s heart, right?”

“What’s going on here?” someone asked behind us. We turned and there was Sae, looking at us with neutrality, but in his eyes there was a strange brightness.