Archive of Our Own

Itoshi Sae, at eighteen, closely reaching the top of his career, chose to turn his back on the boy he once was.

Everyone always said the eldest Itoshi was like a little old man—that’s what Sae remembered. Compared to his peers, he had always been more mature, more obedient. Sae never thought of himself as that different from who he was now, so Itoshi Sae at the age of two must have been incredibly perceptive and understanding. Even when his parents no longer loved him the same way, because they had to pour all their love over his younger brother.

Of course, he wouldn’t believe it. His parents had said both of their sons were cherished equally. He was about to become an older brother, after all, and being an older brother was a role one should take pride in.

But Sae could never forget that moment.

He pulled back the cradle’s canopy and was met with... a round lump of living dumpling with eyes, a nose, a mouth, some strands of hair, and tiny movements. The baby had just opened its eyes, and the adults urged him to greet his little brother, saying the child had the same eyes just like him.

Sae faced himself in the mirror many times before, with curiosity, with familiarity. He remembered and knew his own eyes. And their eyes were nothing alike.

Sae’s eyes were teal, leaning toward green, like the large macarons he once saw in a bakery. But Rin’s teal eyes were split into two halves: a darker tone that faded into an emerald green, the color of peacock tails and ocean waves.

If Sae’s eyes could speak, they would whisper a suggestion, “You should look at me.” But Rin’s eyes wouldn't ask—they commanded, “Look at me!” And everyone obeyed, without doubt or delay.

That explained why people said Rin would steal their parents’ love away, Sae thought. His little brother was special. Rin’s existence itself was a gift, the long-awaited wish of the Itoshi household. Sometimes, Sae wondered—was Rin born because their parents weren’t satisfied with him? And was Rin their last child because he was everything they had ever wished for?

But every time he had that thought, he would catch his brother looking at him, eyes wide and bright like pearls, “Big brother.” And Sae would think, Even if I die, I must protect this child.

It was like an endless battle within himself. No one would ever know how much Sae had struggled all these years. If Rin were simply a divine gift to the Itoshi family, then Sae wished he could have envied him, resented him—perhaps it would have made his guilt easier to bear. But he loved Rin more than anything and wished for the best for him, even when his little brother embodied everything Sae had ever wanted to be—everything he would never be.

Compared to Rin, he would always be lacking something.

Why couldn’t I have been the youngest Itoshi instead?

Because of this jealousy, Sae knew he was a terrible brother. What kind of sibling harbored envy for another? Worse yet, he knew Rin loved also him more than anyone. Rin followed him like a chick trailing after its mother, like a child who needed care and guidance, who trusted Sae to shield him from the world’s cruelty. The child who was treasured by everyone still placed his older brother above all. Sae should have been proud, yet his tongue tasted bitter—like iron.

As expected, Rin grew up to be exceptional and full of potential. Hell, the brat even had talent in football. Even in Sae’s strongest domain, he felt that one day, Rin would surpass him. It was inevitable. Obvious, evident and crystal clear.

(Rin—who had never touched a ball before—effortlessly received Sae’s pass and scored, because Itoshi Rin was brilliant and perfect and outstanding and simply the pride of their family. Of course Rin could do it. Because he was Rin.

The moment the ball hit the net, Sae thought, God, why can’t I be you, Rin?

Even though his world was collapsing behind him, he still patted Rin’s head gently, reassuring the child who had done nothing wrong. And he knew, as he said it, that he was telling the truth.)

There were days when Sae was proud to be Rin’s older brother. When little Rin cried in the middle of the night and only stopped when Sae held him in his arms. When Rin, a little older, clung to Sae’s shirt when they went to an unfamiliar place. When they trained together, and Rin was the one who had to catch up to his pace.

After each training session, Sae would buy them ice cream with his allowance, like a true older brother. Rin would always beam, “I won a prize again, big brother!”

Even luck was on Rin’s side. You have everything, and you leave nothing for me.

At some point, Rin stopped showing off his winnings, so Sae asked, “Did you win again?”

And Rin, ever so obedient, simply nodded. “Yeah,” before tossing the stick away. It drifted along the waves, setting off on a new adventure.

Just like how, one day, Sae would leave Japan for Spain, chasing his dream of becoming the world’s number one striker.

Sae didn’t remember if he had ever won a prize before.

Thinking back to when he was Rin’s age, Sae doubted he had ever been as talented. The only things he had were experience and independence. But Rin was a raw gem covered in a layer of dirt. What held him back was that Rin only ever followed in Sae’s footsteps. “I’ll be great just behind you, big brother.”

The words made Sae sick, yet proud; ashamed, yet affectionate; furious, yet sorrowful.

Rin didn’t want to outshine him. Rin only pitied him.

Rin admired him. Rin imposed on him.

"Why do you want to play football with me, Rin?"

There were hundreds of answers Sae expected, but he never imagined Rin would say—"Because just the two of us are enough to win. I really love football, but I love you more, nii-san."

Those words only made Sae feel worse.

Admiration, talent, luck, even brotherly love—Rin held everything in his tiny hands. Perhaps because Sae’s hands were too big, the gaps were too wide, and everything he longed for simply slipped away.

The older Rin grew, the more he shone. The more special he became. Sae could call himself Japan’s number one only because Rin allowed it. By instinct, honed over the years, Rin would always take a step back, holding himself back just to remain behind Sae. But no matter how much Rin or the world deceived themselves, Sae knew that someday… Rin would take everything he had ever wanted.

The day Sae left for Spain was approaching. As always, Rin followed his playstyle, and he followed the his own playstyle ahead. Everything was fine.

Yet, as he prepared to board his flight, Sae felt as if his heart was being torn in two. The younger brother he had envied for so long stared at him with eyes full of loss—yet brimming with hope and expectations.

Sae was the one leaving, so why did it feel like the one being left behind was him?

Why did it feel like he was the one being abandoned?

Sae arrived in Spain, beginning a new chapter in his life, leaving all those feelings behind. There, he learned the true weight of being a striker—not by choice. If you wanted to stand in the spotlight, you had to endure the darkness backstage. No one knew. Only those who clawed their way onto the stage understood.

He still remembered being thirteen, holding back the tremor in his voice as he answered his mother's call. "I'm fine. It's great here. Everyone is nice. I'm eating and sleeping well..."

"That's wonderful... Oh, did you know? Rin just won a match."

"Maybe Rin told me about it at some point," Sae deflected, steering the conversation elsewhere. "I met some friends, you know," he scrambled for names, piecing together imaginary stories about friends who didn’t exist. He strained himself just to fabricate shitty stories while his parents were eager to boast about Rin’s achievements. His team had just won first place under his leadership, and—

"Mom, do you remember that friend I told you about?"

She didn’t. Instead, she carried on excitedly, "Do you want to talk to Rin? He misses you—"

He misses you.

The words echoed in Sae’s mind. Something inside him melted, but something else burned. Leave me alone, Rin. Why do you always show up in every conversation, every corner of my life? Would the next thing she says be another accomplishment of Rin’s?

I'm rotting away here, but no one cares if I'm okay.

Because it always has to be about Rin, right? That even with Sae gone, Rin was still thriving, still perfectly fine. But Sae—thirteen years old, all alone in a foreign land—and he was not fine. He had lied. Sometimes, he just wanted to fucking die. The kids here were awful, and no one gave a damn about the Japanese boy who just transferred in. No one cared if he was being bullied or if he was struggling to adjust.

Not even his own country cared. All they wanted was the brilliant Itoshi Sae. No one remembered that beneath all of that, he was just a kid, tormented by homesickness.

"Pobre chico japonés..." He always heard things like that. "Mira, va a llorar."

"Big brother, I hope you're doing well..."

Sae stuffed Rin’s handwritten letters into his drawer. If he wanted to be strong, he couldn’t let words of comfort and longing hold him back. If the world wanted to crush him, then he wouldn’t give it the satisfaction of seeing him fall. Even if it meant changing paths. Sae knew he couldn’t compete for the striker position—his abilities simply weren’t enough. As much as it stung, that was the truth. But... there was still Rin.

Accepting that wasn’t easy. He had a promise to keep, and he wasn’t ready to accept that he would never become the best striker in the world. It had been his dream for over a decade, for god's sake! It took years for him to understand his own limits.

Sae was never meant to be a true striker.

And that pain—oh, that pain—was worse than any punishment imaginable, sharper than a thousand needles piercing through his skin.

Sae would never, ever, win. He was nothing more than a supporting role, forever overshadowed by the lead actors on stage.

Why can’t it be me?

Why am I never enough?

Sae whispered these questions into the dark, while the world outside lay fast asleep, but the stars never answered him.

That summer, at thirteen, he returned home, keeping a low profile. Rin and their parents came to pick him up, and Sae had warned them in advance—he didn’t want to talk about football. He just wanted a week to rest.

"I missed you so much, big brother," Rin hugged him tightly. The kid had grown a lot—he was already catching up to Sae’s height. "But your eyes look so sad."

"You’re imagining things," Sae brushed it off before Rin could press any further. "Wanna play?"

Rin shook his head. "Are you tired? Did something happen in Spain?" His voice was genuinely worried, and that only made Sae more unsettled.

Sae didn’t answer. Not then, and not for the rest of that morning. Rin, flustered, thought he had done something wrong.

Later, when their parents went out, Sae was enjoying an afternoon cup of tea when Rin approached him, hands trembling, holding two ice cream sticks. After a long moment, Sae reached out and took one, and Rin let out a relieved sigh. Rin didn’t ask why his brother had changed so much since going to Spain, and he didn't voice his opinions anymore.

"Did you win again?" Sae asked, after noticing Rin staring blankly at his ice cream, deep in thought.

"I—no, I just—" Rin hesitated before hastily shoving the ice cream stick back into its wrapper. "Just thinking about something."

Sae almost missed the small "Winner" text printed on the stick. And suddenly, he felt insulted.

"Why did you lie?" he pressed.

Rin’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. His voice wavered. "I... I don’t know. Big brother, did I do something that makes you mad at me?"

Was Sae mad at Rin? There were days it was the truth. There were days, he loved Rin more than anyone else. Somewhere in his mind, Rin’s voice echoed. Sae wanted to ask why Rin even thought that way, but they knew each other too well he didn’t need to ask.

And in the end, he didn’t answer at all. Sae had already spoken little before; now, he barely spoke at all. Expressing his feelings—he didn’t see the point anymore.

Rin dropped his gaze, fidgeting with his fingers. He muttered, so softly it was barely a whisper, like he was afraid to shatter the fragile peace Sae had built that afternoon.

"I won, big brother... but it doesn’t feel good anymore."

Is that really what you feel? Or is it just my emotions affecting your head?

Between reassuring and provoking, Sae—like always—chose to let it slide. It was meaningless. His pulse drummed in his ears, his heartbeat loud and erratic. Rin was saying something, so he tried to listen. Tried.

"... No one passes to me like you do. No one receives my passes like you do, big brother. They're all so—mediocre..." Rin said, shaking his head, frustrated and confused. "No one is like you... The way we play together, it doesn't fit with them. They’re trying to force me to change, but..."

"Then change," Sae cut in, flatly.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," Sae dismissed it. Rin was still too young. Talking about it would only confuse him more.

But the conversation didn’t stop there, no matter how much Sae wished it would. His little brother kept speaking, weaker than ever before. Sae never expected Rin to lose his spark this early. It had barely been that long since he left.

"They say my style doesn’t fit. That I can’t just rely on myself. That I have to pass," Rin paused, his expression tightening, as if he had just uttered something horrifying. "Pass to a bunch of idiots who’ll lose the ball in under two seconds."

For a brief moment, Sae felt a flicker of sympathy for his brother. A brief moment. But then Rin asked, voice small and uncertain, "Without you, big brother... what am I supposed to do?"

And just like that, all fight drained out of Sae.

Rin was lost. This child of the gods was lost, and—he couldn't help it. Sae pulled Rin into a hug.

"Rin, you idiot," the ice melted away. On the surface, he was Itoshi Sae, Japan’s national treasure. Underneath it all, he was still just Itoshi Sae, Rin’s older brother.

"If you want to be the second-best in the world, you can't let anyone drag you down. While I’m gone, the top spot still has to belong to an Itoshi, or are you planning to let some random striker take it from you?"

Rin sniffled, “No, never.”

“Then take my place as Japan’s number one forward. When I return, we’ll become the world’s number one and number two together.”

The two children held that posture for a long time, only letting go when Rin had finally calmed down. Sae thought they were too old for hugging and crying like this—but hey, it was Rin (and Rin was always the special exception) so he let it be.

By the time Sae was sixteen, he had already made a name for himself as a midfielder for RE AL Youth Team. Meanwhile, Rin had lost his sense of self, dissolving into Japan’s ideal of football. He played as an attacking midfielder, still holding onto the dream of becoming the world’s number two forward.

Rin had almost become a version 2.0 of Sae. At least Sae himself knew his abilities were only suited for midfield. But Rin refused to step onto any path without Sae’s footprints—just as he had written in dozens of letters and messages over the years.

That day, the forecast predicted snowfall.

Sae returned to Japan, and they clashed in a fiery match. Rin was too pure, too naïve—to the point of being infuriating. He used his talent foolishly—the talent that Sae knew he himself would never possess—to hold himself back, stubbornly reserving the number one spot for his brother.

A position that, no matter how hard Sae tried, he would never reach—even if he hated to admit.

His little brother was like the moon. When he was young, Sae had thought the moon was close, within reach. But as he grew older, he realized the distance between them was unfathomable—the moon was too vast, and he was too small, unaware that he had always been basking in its glow.

That gentle moonlight—was burning him alive.

Don’t look at me like that. Are you just like them, Rin? Will you refuse to let me rest for even a second?

Four years in a foreign land, Rin’s expectations for him weighed heavier than any burden Japan had ever placed on his shoulders.

Sae knew that once he talked about his new dream (which was nothing more than a dull joke), Rin would explode. And he would do his best to suppress the second explosion—because he was the older brother, and he had to keep a cool head. But eventually, even his mask couldn’t hold when Rin’s disillusioned scream tore through the air:

“Stop it already! This isn’t what I want! I’m the little brother of the number one forward!”

It was just a change—meaningless and carefree. He only wanted to adjust their dream a little. They would still dominate world football. They would still be the strongest brothers in the world. But why couldn’t Rin understand?

Why do you never understand me?

Sae watched as Rin stood tall, his eyes shining with a mix of disappointment and unshakable confidence—the kind of confidence Sae had always wanted him to have. (He realized then that four years was too long, he had missed 1,460 days of watching Rin grow, and this was the price he had to pay.)

Then Rin declared, “The brother standing in front of me right now is not the one I used to dream with…!”

Something inside Sae’s chest cracked open, rising up to sting his eyes. He knew this was the end—either he shattered Rin’s dream (their dream), or Rin would remain trapped in that childish fantasy forever.

Wasn’t Itoshi Sae best at carrying expectations (and disappointing them), no? The exhaustion had long eroded his heart, devouring every ounce of will and childlike joy.

Sae was an outstanding supporting character—playing his role well before stepping off the stage, leaving the spotlight to the protagonist. Then retreating into the darkness, where loneliness ate him alive, left him hollow, and torn him apart.

Even Rin rejected Itoshi Sae. So who else would need him?

Sae stood backlit before Rin, his face obscured by shadows. The snowfall grew heavier, but he felt nothing.

What was he living for, if not to become the world’s number one?

What did Itoshi Sae exist for, if not to be the older brother of Itoshi Rin?

With just one sentence, Rin had erased his worth. How long must he struggle before he had any weight to his existence?

“…You’re too lukewarm.” I don’t want to fight you like this.

“If you beat me, I’ll dream with you again.” Don’t dream because of me…

“But if you lose, wake up.” Change, Rin.

Rin would forever remember that day as the turning point that sent him spiraling into the abyss. But Sae would forever remember how Rin shed his old self—using Sae as a stepping stone. He made sure to be as cruel as possible because, in his experience, the more bitterness one endures, the more spectacularly a caterpillar evolves.

His little brother lost. He crumbled to the ground, curled in on himself, his voice frail:

“If I can’t chase my dream with you, then what’s the point of playing football?”

(“Without you, big brother... what am I supposed to do?”

“Rin, you idiot—”)

Sae had said those words before.

This time, he wouldn't.

Let me be the villain of your life, Rin. Then you can fulfill our childhood dream.

He still remembered his final words to Rin:

“Get lost, Rin. I don’t need you in my life.”

(He did. But he knew, it was Rin who wouldn't need him in his life anymore.)

If they kept entangling themselves in each other’s lives, Rin would turn into another Sae. And that was the worst fate Sae could imagine.

Rin said nothing. Sae left him behind, and Rin walked away.

That night, Sae stood outside Rin’s door, hand raised but never knocking, as if forgetting how to knock--until the sky turned white.

They stopped exchanging letters. One day, their family called over video chat, and the conversation shifted to that. Rin scoffed, “There’s texting now anyway. Besides, big brother never wrote back, did he?”

The air turned awkward. Sae hadn’t realized he had never responded to Rin’s letters. He wasn’t the type to be neglectful—so he rummaged through his old papers, hoping to find some kind of proof. So he could tell Rin, You’re wrong. I did reply. Maybe once, or twice, or more.

But all he found were dozens of one-sided letters from Japan.

Big brother must be busy. You never wrote back. If something makes you sad, please tell me. I’ll always be here for you.

But I should’ve been there for you. I’m your big brother. I should’ve been the one listening. I should’ve been the one by your side.

Sae never admitted that whenever he was at his lowest, he would carefully take out those old, faded letters, ink smudged with time—And use his sleeve to wipe his eyes, as if that could soak up anything more than just moisture.

He should have turned back. He should have answered. He should have been braver. But it was too late now, especially after that evening—even if he wanted to, he couldn’t. (He had been afraid. He was always afraid.)

So he let his little brother go. Only by leaving him behind could Rin have a brighter future.

He pretended not to notice that Rin had entered Blue Lock. He only focused on the program’s objective:Japan’s number one forward.

If Rin could trample over 299 nameless strawmen, then Sae’s plan (his new dream) would be halfway complete.

Rin could do it.

The match between Blue Lock and Japan's U-20 team is about to take place, deciding who will represent Japan in the World Cup. To make sure Rin doesn’t get too high and mighty with his pitiful "top 1" ranking in Blue Lock, Sae specifically requested Shidou Ryusei as the trump card for the U-20 team.

Having once experienced loss, Rin believed that putting on a face of utter disillusionment with the concept of "teammates" would allow him to survive on his own—without needing the older brother who had betrayed him. But no matter how strong he acted, there was still a sliver of hope buried deep within his eyes—hope that his brother would finally acknowledge him.

That was the first time Sae met Isagi Yoichi in person. Based on reports from the management team, Isagi was… not particularly outstanding. But if he could invade Rin’s safe zone (and Sae knew his little brother was fiercely territorial), then the boy must have something exceptional.

He had seen the friendly pats on the back, the emotional calls of each other’s names on the field. Rin was opening up—but Sae decided to interfere in that friendship. The last thing he wanted was for Rin to have another "Itoshi Sae"—this time in the form of Isagi Yoichi—to rely on. The Sae-Rin dynamic had already ended badly before. Climbing to the top alone was the only way to make it truly meaningful.

It was better to be alone. (So lonely.)

The play was reaching its climax. Sae lifted Rin high into the sky, showing him the vastness of the world. The light shone brilliantly, blinding him. Rin’s emerald-green eyes shimmered.

"I was wrong..."

This is the world you could have...

"The one who will change the future of Japan’s football..."

Then, he pushed Rin down.

"Isagi Yoichi."

...But not now.

Sae returned to Spain and resumed his routine. His role in this act was over; even he deserved a break. There was no certainty whether Rin would recover or fall apart after the match, but Sae knew his little brother wouldn’t give up.

He would grow to hate me even more. Sae swallowed down a flicker of unease that didn’t belong to him. Itoshi Sae was not affected by trivial emotions.

That first night back in Spain, he dreamed. The dreams dragged him back to childhood memories he thought he had long forgotten.

He dreamed of the taste of ice cream on his tongue, cold and unbearably sweet—one he could never find in Spain. He dreamed of the warmth of the summer heat, of a football rolling across the grass.

When he looked up, Rin was curled up in front of the goalpost, collapsing after hundreds of attempts to perfect his shot. Everything faded to white, and suddenly, Rin turned into his five-year-old self. Rin—no, Sae—Little Sae had to master this shot. Only then would he finally, maybe, be worthy.

He remembered his first year in Spain, waking up in the middle of the night, drowning in his own tears and snots. He was good—good enough—but never the best. He pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, vomiting from overexertion, yet he still couldn't surpass a prodigy who only trained five hours a day.

After the dream, Sae found himself fumbling through his nightstand, pulling out the family album his mother had insisted on sending. Rin stood among his trophies and certificates, grinning widely, flashing a victory sign. The kid had worked so hard—Sae could push Rin however he wanted, but… he hadn’t needed to be that harsh.

The word "regret" had always been something Itoshi Sae tried to erase from his dictionary. There was no going back, and no changing the past. He would have to live with the memory of Rin’s tear-filled eyes as his beloved older brother told him he didn’t need him in his life anymore.

But he knew Rin would move on—pushing himself harder than ever before. And Sae would move on too, though he would never forget.

The night was cold. It had been a long time since he last confided in the stars. Now, he wanted to scream but couldn't.

"I'm a terrible brother. Rin is everything to me, and... I chose to hurt him. He loves me so much… I’m his brother, yet I couldn’t love him the right way..." The tears came, more and more, as if a broken faucet had finally been turned on after all these years.

In Rin’s last letter, he promised to update Sae on his upcoming tournaments and share his thoughts on a new football book he had just bought. But no more letters ever arrived.

That same night, Sae gathered all his courage and sat at his desk. By dawn, he had responded to every single one of Rin’s letters without missing a single one. They sat neatly in the drawer, waiting for the day they would be sent. He hoped that day would come soon.

Maybe it was because he had finally written back, but for several nights in a row, Sae kept dreaming about Rin. Regret and shame took turns visiting him. In his dreams, Rin appeared as a child, tugging on his sleeve and asking, "Big brother, do you hate me?"

And each time, he would hug Rin and say, "I’m sorry. I wish I could make it up to you." But Rin would always frown and disappear. This continued for days until, one night, Sae finally understood. He patted Rin’s head and said, "I love you more than anything in the world."

Rin grinned. "I love you the most too, big brother," and just like that, the dreams vanished as suddenly as they had come.

For the last time, he looked at little Rin—following the traces of his teal-colored eyes and chubby cheeks—and wished he had grown up alongside him.

"Goodbye, Rin."

One day, Luna called him to the screening room and casually asked, "That’s your little brother, right? I played against him once, you know?"

Sae didn’t know how to respond. He had already watched that match recording countless times, listening to every single taunt Luna had thrown at Rin. Given Rin’s level at the time, it was natural that he had been mocked. Sae neither supported nor condemned Luna’s actions—he simply understood. After all, he had no right to judge when he was the one who had hurt Rin the most.

On the screen, Rin stood in the Paris X Gen uniform, preparing to face Manshine City—more confident and radiant than ever before.

That was his little brother.

"Looks like the kid’s grown up a lot, huh? Children are so easy to mold," Luna chuckled beside him, completely unconcerned about Rin potentially threatening his position. "Oh? You look happier than usual today."

Sae couldn’t remember the last time someone had said that to him. How long had it been? He watched Rin’s every improvement, gripping the player ID card hanging around his neck. Behind his own ID photo was a picture of the two of them smiling—capturing the happiest moment of his life.

"The kid won. A solid victory. Are you proud, Itoshi?"

Sae sniffed, voice indifferent. "Lukewarm." His eyes, however, were warm, and his pride was impossible to conceal.

Forced into therapy sessions, he had already lost count of how many appointments he had gone to. He had laid out nearly everything in his heart and realized he should have sought help much earlier.

They told him to learn to forgive himself first. Small changes would build into something bigger. Eventually, he would come to accept the envy and resentment he had once directed at Rin. But no matter what, undoubtedly, the regret would haunt him for the rest of his life.

He wasn’t sure if he would ever stop blaming himself for the things he said to Rin. But he was trying, and he figured the journey wouldn’t be so bad. If nothing else, trying was something Itoshi Sae was too familiar with.

The night before the match between Paris X Gen and Bastard München, Sae opened his window and looked outside. The stars seemed more abundant than before.

Without me, you’re still strong.

And without you… turns out, I’m still okay.

You have everything I ever wanted. Talent, luck, looks—all exceptional. Everyone loves you, and as cruel as it is… I can’t bring myself to hate you either.

...

I love you more than anyone else, and…

I’m proud of you.

I’m proud of us.

And if possible, after they won the World Cup, he would… make amends with Rin. That could be the most awkward and embarrassing reunion ever, but also a new beginning.

It would be a long, long time before they could put that past behind them.

But they were still young and had plenty of time.