Chapter Text
“Come ooon,” Yohru whined, his voice high-pitched with desperation as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.
“No.” His response was flat, firm. Miru didn’t even look up from his book, lounging on the couch, totally uninterested.
“Pleeease. Just this once,” Yohru pushed on, walking into the room and flopping beside him. “Just this tiny, one last time and I swear I’ll stop bugging you with this.”
“Get lost,” he shot back, nudging him with his elbow, still glued to his book.
Yohru leaned closer, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If you don’t, I’ll tell mom what you did to her favorite vase.”
Miru froze. Slowly, he turned his head toward him, his brow twitching. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Yohru’s grin widened. “You and I both know I’d sell you out for less on a regular Tuesday. So, let’s save the trouble. Just put the wig on.”
Miru threw his book down, exasperated. “You’re really the worst, you know that? You said I wouldn’t have to sub in for you ever again.”
He shrugged, sitting up with a sigh. “Not my fault the team that beat us failed their doping tests, and we somehow got fished back into the competition. We have to play an extra match now, and you know I’ll lose my scholarship if I don’t play in every game this season.” His eyes softened with that familiar pleading look. “That’s the deal, Lil. At least one full year of participation on the university football team, or I get sent back home. Please, just this once… for your big bro?”
Miru groaned and slumped against the couch. “My big bro’s a jerk who’ll make his little brother play his stupid matches.”
“Yeah, yeah, cry me a river.” Yohru threw the wig and uniform onto his lap. “Now get up and get ready. The match starts in less than two hours, and the coach wants everyone there for the pep talk.”
Miru glared at the uniform, the wig mocking him from its spot. “I hate you.”
Yohru winked, standing up with a grin. “Love you too, lil’ bro. Now hurry up—we can’t afford to be late.”
No one could doubt that Yohru and Miru Yoshikawa were brothers. They looked strikingly alike, sharing the same boyishly pretty features: high cheekbones, slender noses, and wide almond-shaped eyes, framed by long lashes that gave their expressions a youthful softness that made them look a few years younger than their actual ages.
Good looks ran in the family after all : their mother, a French runaway model turned beauty guru with her very own show on television, and father, a handsome Japanese business man who had found his happiness and love all the way across the globe.
Only a slight difference in hair color set them apart—Miru’s mint green locks contrasted with Yohru’s darker shade of apple green, giving the younger brother a more vibrant look while the older had an earthier tone.
Yohru was the elder by a year, already navigating the complexities of college life, while Miru was still tethered to the routines of high school. Despite their closeness in age, they couldn’t have been more different in their passions.
Yohru had always been the ambitious one, and when he discovered his dream university offered a prestigious biology program with a unique curriculum, it was clear he had to attend. However, with how selective the school was, the only way Yohru could secure a spot was through a sports scholarship—football being the obvious choice. The catch? Yohru had little interest in the game.
The irony lay in the fact that both brothers had started playing football together when they were young. However, it quickly became clear that Miru was the one with raw, untapped talent, while Yohru had continued to play more for the company of friends than any real passion.
Miru had always been good at football—too good, really. But that was the problem. It came so easily to him that after a while, it felt boring, almost mechanical. He’d dribble, pass, score, and repeat, yet there was never any real thrill.
There was no fire, no drive, just empty motions. He didn’t hate football, but he couldn’t find the will to push himself further.
Both brothers knew that neither of them would be pursuing football seriously in the future.
And so, both had dropped out of all sports-related activities after middle-school.
So when Yohru needed to uphold his scholarship, it was a no brainer.
Miru became the perfect decoy. With matching appearances, a wig, and a little tweaking of mannerisms, Miru filled in for his older brother in every official match.
The plan was simple: play well enough to maintain the charade, but not so well that it would draw unnecessary attention. And for the most part, it had worked like a charm.
Miru had done a stellar job—nothing too flashy, just enough to appear competent. He'd made a few strategic plays, blending in with the team, and when the time came for their inevitable defeat against the regional powerhouse in the national college tournament, everything seemed to fall into place. The brothers thought they were in the clear.
That is, until the committee shocked everyone by granting the team another chance, a rare opportunity to re-enter the competition due to a doping scandal involving their opponents.
Suddenly, Yohru’s precarious secret was at risk, and Miru had no choice but to lace up his cleats once more.
Miru sighed as he stared at the football gear laid out in front of him, fished out from the donation box that was set to go in a few days.
“One last time,” he muttered under his breath, not knowing that it wouldn’t, in fact, be his last.
The clock was ticking down, the air thick with tension. Miru could hear the pounding of his own heart in rhythm with his rapid footsteps, the ball at his feet as he sprinted down the field. The opposing team was leading 2-1, but in these last few seconds, Miru had the ball and the perfect opportunity to waste time until the whistle blew for their loss. He could feel the energy surging through him, every step carrying the weight of the game.
But as the defenders closed in, Miru felt himself run faster, move more precisely, his mind already calculating the angles. He had a clear line to the goal. He could see it—see the opening, the perfect moment to strike. He was close, so close. His foot hovered over the ball, ready to shoot. His body felt alive, the exhilaration pushing him forward.
But then, something shifted, bringing him out of the zone he had unknowingly fallen into.
“Pass!” A teammate’s voice called out from the side. Miru glanced briefly in his direction, knowing full well that the boy wasn’t in the best position to score. This was his opportunity to make his team lose. But he could feel the doubt creeping in, twisting around the decision that had seemed so obvious just seconds ago.
Why am I hesitating? he thought, a flash of frustration running through him. His muscles tensed, his body almost moving on its own, preparing to take the shot. He knew he had the skill to lodge the ball into the net —he could tie the game and give them a fighting chance in the shootouts. But just as quickly as that instinct kicked in, he forced himself to stop.
Miru’s foot nudged the ball sideways, sending it toward his teammate.
The boy lunged for the pass but stumbled under pressure, sending a weak kick toward the goal that the goalkeeper easily scooped up. The final whistle blew. The game was over. Miru’s team had lost 2-1.
As the cheers from the opposing side filled the stadium, Miru stood still, staring at the field, his hands resting on his knees as he caught his breath. The last play replayed in his mind, over and over. He could have made that shot. Why did he want to make that shot ?
His body had nearly moved on its own to finish the game, to take the goal. And in that critical moment, if he hadn’t pulled back…? The hesitance, the doubt—it had all crept in at the last second. His feelings toward football had gone cold a long time ago. He didn’t love the sport, didn’t care about winning. So why, in that brief instant, had his heart raced as if he did?
Miru exhaled sharply, brushing the thought away. He didn’t need to think about it. It was done now. His job was over. He’d played his part, upheld the charade, and now it was finally over. Yohru wouldn’t need him anymore, wouldn’t have to keep up the act. They were both free. He’d rid them of this burden, and his brother could focus on his studies, his dreams, without any more deception.
As the rest of the team gathered in a somber huddle, exchanging tired, bittersweet smiles and half-hearted pats on the back for their “participation,” Miru joined them. His face was blank, unreadable, but inside, his mind still churned with those last few seconds on the field. He shoved the feeling down, deep, deciding not to give it any more space in his head.
But as Miru moved to the locker rooms, he didn’t notice the pair of sharp eyes watching him from the stands, in the parts reserved for foreign invitees.
A tall, lean Japanese man stood with his arms crossed, glasses gleaming under the stadium lights, his expression hard and irked. He watched as Miru disappeared into the tunnel, shaking his head as to get rid of any lingering thoughts.
“What a shitty player.” the man muttered under his breath, his voice cold. “No ego, no drive—just another waste of talent.”
With one last glance at the field, the man turned and strode away, his footsteps echoing in the emptying stands. This kid pissed him off too good to let this slip. Wasted talent like that? Unforgivable. He’d tear him down and mold him into something worth being called a player.
Miru leaned back against the couch, his body sinking into the plush cushions, a rare moment of calm as the weekend evening unfolded in a warm haze of laughter and the clinking of glasses. His brother, Yohru, sat across from him, eyes sparkling as he regaled their parents with some amusing college anecdotes.
The small Yoshikawa family, gathered in their living room, felt worlds away from the chaos of the football field. Their mother, a former model with a graceful demeanor, threw her head back in laughter while their father, reserved yet proud, wore a content smile. For once, Miru wasn’t thinking about football, about the deception he and his brother had woven together. He was just… home.
Yohru tossed a crumpled napkin at him, grinning. "Oi, little bro, you’re way too quiet over there. What, my stories aren't good enough for you?"
Miru dodged the napkin, rolling his eyes. "Maybe you’re just not as funny as you think you are."
"That hurts, man. Really," Yohru mocked a pained expression, before cracking up, and Miru couldn’t help but smirk.
Their mother smiled warmly at the exchange. "You boys should spend more time together. It’s nice seeing you both like this."
Before Miru could respond, his father, always a man of few words, suddenly stood up and reached into his pocket. "Oh right, Miru. there’s something for you."
He handed over a neatly folded envelope, the kind that looked a little too formal to be casual mail. Miru raised an eyebrow as he took it, immediately noticing the official emblem of the Japanese Football Union stamped on the front. His heart skipped a beat.
"What's this?" Miru mumbled, more to himself than anyone else.
His father shrugged. "No idea. Came in the mail this morning. Addressed to you."
Yohru leaned over, glancing at the envelope in Miru’s hands. "Ooh, fan mail? Didn't know you had secret admirers, little bro."
Miru ignored the jab, his fingers hesitating for a moment before he tore the envelope open. He quickly scanned the first page, his eyes widening as he processed the content. It was an official invitation. The Japanese Football Union wanted him to participate in a new training program designed to hone the best young talents in Japan.
"Wait… what?" Miru muttered, his mind scrambling to make sense of the situation. Why him? He hadn’t officially played football since middle school. There had to be some mistake. Yohru was the one listed on the university team—Miru was just the ghost behind the scenes.
"What is it?" Yohru asked, catching the change in his brother’s expression.
"It’s… an invitation," Miru said slowly. "From the Japanese Football Federation. They want me to participate in some kind of training program."
Yohru blinked, the humor draining from his face as he realized the gravity of the letter. "You? But…"
"Exactly," Miru cut in, his voice tight. "I’ve never officially played since middle school. This has to be a mistake."
Before anyone could say anything further, something slipped from the envelope—another sheet of paper, folded and tucked behind the official letter. Miru furrowed his brow, picking it up. This one was different. A crude, handwritten note in Japanese, barely legible, but the meaning behind it sent a chill down his spine.
He squinted, trying to decipher the characters, his French more fluent than his Japanese, but he got the gist of it:
"We know the truth. You’re not who they think you are. Either come to Japan and play, or your brother’s little secret gets out, and it won’t end well for either of you."
His blood ran cold.
The paper slipped from his trembling fingers, falling onto the coffee table as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. Someone knew. Someone out there had figured out that Miru had been playing in Yohru’s place, and now they were threatening to expose them both.
"Miru?" Yohru’s voice sounded distant, but his gaze was sharp. "What’s wrong?"
Miru swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the room close in on him. He forced himself to shake his head, though his stomach churned with a sickening mix of fear and confusion.
"Nothing," he lied, voice barely steady. "It’s just… strange."
His father leaned forward, clearly intrigued but not pressing the issue. "Do you want to go? Seems like an opportunity."
An opportunity. That word lingered in Miru’s mind, bitter and twisted. This wasn’t an opportunity—it was a trap. He glanced at Yohru, who was watching him closely now, a flicker of concern hidden behind his usual laid-back expression.
Miru clenched his fists, forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. "I’ll think about it."
As the banter in the room slowly picked up again, Miru felt like a weight had settled on his chest. He couldn’t breathe. His future—no, their future—was no longer in his control. If he didn’t go to Japan, everything would unravel, and his brother’s life, his dream, would be shattered.
But why him? Why now?
Miru stared at the invitation in his hands, feeling more lost than ever.