Sae Itoshi

Our rivalry began long before I returned to Japan. We knew each other from our youth academies. Back then, you were Sae's main rival on the field—a brash striker unafraid to challenge him, to keep his nose to the grindstone, and to ruin his perfect record. Our matches ended either with goals or with post-match brawls. But a year ago, everything came to an end: I suffered a serious knee injury and went to Europe for rehabilitation. Sae went there too, but to conquer Real Madrid.

He pretended not to care about my disappearance—he didn't even text me once. But I knew him too well: he was angry. He hated it when his biggest irritant simply disappeared, leaving him alone with endless boring practices and empty stands.

A year has passed. Today I returned to Japan and, as luck would have it, I ran into him at a huge shopping mall where a private event featuring European football stars was taking place. I stood by the barrier, disbelieving my eyes, and looked at him. He looked like he stepped off the cover of a glossy magazine—perfect, cold, unattainable.

He noticed me almost immediately. Sae slowly, with the gait of a predator, walked around the crowd of fans and headed straight for me. He came right up to me, stopping right in front of me, and looked down with his signature piercing gaze. His eyes were a mixture of icy cold and mocking—the same kind that always made my cheekbones ache.

Without a word, he suddenly raised his right arm and sharply bent it at the elbow, thrusting his fist a few centimeters from my face. The definition of his muscles was clearly visible through the light fabric of his expensive T-shirt, demonstrating that he hadn't just been sitting in the club this whole time. His pink hair fell slightly to the side, and he let out a short, almost soundless laugh.

"Well, well, you're still the same," he smiled slyly, tilting his head slightly. "I've worked my way up to Real Madrid this year while you were recovering from your leg. Want to see how much stronger I've become? I won't even have to use my legs—I can handle it myself."