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It didn’t hurt. Not really.
When the tire made contact and his body felt a shock. His bones rattled, his teeth almost fell out. His body was thrown back and he landed on the dirt. Sometimes the dirt was soft from the rain, sometimes scorching hot and full of pricks and pins. And there was another tire on his back. Sometimes it was a pillow, others an added crushing weight. His head always landed first, though, but that didn’t hurt either. Concussions weren’t something he worried about. Things were blurry for a moment or two, maybe three. There was a slight moment where he forgot where he was. His body was tired for a moment, and he was down for a second.
But he got up quickly. He shook his head, slapped it once or twice to stop the blur. Blinked a few times too, just to make sure the blur was gone. The boy either sat up or got on his knees, depending on how he crashed, the tire a heavy weight on his back. There was a second to collect his thoughts, a moment to breathe. Then he looked back to where he was just moments before. The tire was swinging gently from the branch and no one would have thought that it sent him away a couple of feet.
The boy with the headband smiled. He’d done this many times before - to get stronger, firmer, better. The crash wasn’t unfamiliar. That’s why he immediately got up and repeated the action, determined that this time he would catch it.
And it didn’t really hurt.
When he got hit with a soccer ball, again and again. Be it through hissatsu or not. At first hissatsus weren’t needed to make the pain appear, back when Teikoku first stepped on their field. But the more he grew, the more he evolved, the more he trained himself to take worse and worse, it took a lot more to make the pain show itself. When it was time for Teikoku again, he had it all under control. The hissatsus didn’t hurt either. But when Aphrodi shot, he knew it was back to the beginning. His bones rattled, his teeth almost fell out and he definitely passed out. And on the day of the game, he took shot after shot. This time he didn’t pass out, but he kept falling down.
But he got up surely. He took a breath, he saw his team suffering as well. He couldn’t let that continue. The boy collected his thoughts, blinked to remove the blur from his eyes, the ringing from his ears. His body may have been tired, but his spirit wasn’t broken. The game had to be won, the right way to play shown. And he looked at the rivals on the other side of the field, the manipulated children hurting his friends, standing tall and the crowd would think they had already won.
The boy with the headband narrowed his eyes. He’d been hit a million times before - with a tire, normal shots, hissatsus. The impact wasn’t unfamiliar. That’s why he got up. He wouldn’t let his, nor the others’, efforts go to waste. He was determined to stop the shot this time.
And it didn’t hurt. No, really.
When Aliea came with their unfathomable strength. He was down, his limits reached, but he was better off than the others. He was down, he got hurt. But the others got injured. They felt the breaking of bones, the loss of senses for a minute or two, the pain of failure. The boy watched his team, his friends, struggle with their self worth. When Gouenji was kicked off and he saw tears in his eyes. There was a pang in his heart there. But the hurt couldn’t stay long, he couldn’t let it stay long. There were others he had to lead. He had to test his limits with Aliea again and again, a burn in his hands after every match.
But he got up repeatedly. He wiped the sweat, the dirt, the tears away. Blinked several times to keep them at bay actually. Truly, the pain every time someone had to leave wasn’t that bad. He got new people to help him everyday. Even when he got betrayed because he always had his heart open to people, his trusting nature was always on the line. Hiroto, Gran, his team, the match against them, it all felt so much. And Fubuki, another friend got hurt, and was hurting from the start. And the boy looked around after, and people would think it was all falling to shambles.
The boy with the headband held it together. He’d felt helpless several times before - with the second match against Teikoku, before the match against Zeus, through this entire ordeal. This wasn’t completely unfamiliar. That’s why he kept getting up. He couldn’t just stop here, he had to reassure his team that it would get better, that they’d win like before. He was determined to stop this mess.
But, oh. Did it hurt.
When those brown eyes lost their light. When those depths became an endless pit. When they looked at him with no hope, no strength, no fight left. The light brown eyes lost their spark, the aquamarine swayed quietly in the wind, tiredness seen in every strand. Tiredness seen in the whole being. He felt the world crumbling, he felt the air vanishing. When the fastest wind he knew stopped blowing, coming to a standstill before him. When his pillar stood and broke at the same time. When he was left in the shadows after the sun vanished from the horizon.
And he couldn’t get up. He could shake his head, but he wouldn’t come back. He could wipe his tears, but he wouldn’t be there. He could take breaths, but he couldn’t breathe without him. Could blink, but he wouldn’t appear. There was no one there, in the dark, the silence, the still. The boy could do anything, everything, nothing, but he would not return. Even if he went back in time and saw the dying of the light before, he’d be too late there as well. He wouldn’t be there. The boy looked around frantically, and everyone would think he lost his most precious treasure.
The boy with the headband decided to give up. He was never without him before - not when growing up, not during the tournament, not through every milestone they reached. This wasn’t familiar. This wasn’t something he knew. He was a stranger in an unforgivingly foreign place. He couldn’t get up. What was the point of getting up if he failed the one person that mattered the most. He didn’t deserve to continue on after this. Not when he wasn’t here.
Because without him.
It hurt. Immensely.