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The first week at his new school had gone by in a blur of introductions, polite smiles, and routine. Isagi Yoichi wasn’t unused to this. His family had moved more times than he could count, each transfer marked by the same awkward cycle of being “the new kid” and trying to fit in.
Still, it didn’t make things easier. Every classroom had its own rhythm, every group of friends already set in their patterns. Isagi spent his lunches quietly, eating at his desk, listening more than talking.
But even while keeping his head down, he noticed one person:Bachira Meguru.
He wasn’t hard to notice. His messy dark hair curled against his forehead, and his sharp, golden eyes seemed to follow something invisible that no one else could see. He often sat alone, humming softly to himself, tapping a pen or spinning a ball under his desk.
What struck Isagi most was not the boy’s eccentricity, but the mysterious emptiness that seemed to surround him. Nobody in the class talked to that boy. Whispers rose whenever that boy walked past. Once, when Isagi asked about him, his classmates told him with lowered voices,
“Don’t talk to him. He’s weird.”
“He’s crazy, you know. Stay away.”
Isagi had nodded at the time, but the words stuck in his throat. Crazy? The boy didn’t look crazy. Lonely, maybe. Sad, even. But not crazy.
It wasn’t until the end of the week that Isagi had a real encounter with him.
The sun was low, painting the street in hues of orange and gold. Isagi walked home with his bag slung over his shoulder, mind drifting, when……
Thud.
Something hard knocked against the side of his head.
“Ow!”
He winced, stumbling, his hand flying up to the sore spot. The culprit rolled to a stop at his feet. A scuffed soccer ball.
“Hey!”
Isagi turned, blinking at the boy jogging toward him. Loose hair bounced with each step, and sure enough, those golden eyes locked on the ball—Bachira Meguru.
“Sorry about that,” Bachira said, a grin tugging at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“That was me. Can I get the ball back?”
Isagi bent, picking it up. For a second, he just looked at it in his hands. The leather was worn, as if it had been played with constantly.
“…Do you like soccer?” Isagi asked before he could stop himself.
Bachira tilted his head, expression flickering into surprise. Then he gave an airy laugh, eyes twinkling in disbelief. “Don’t you think it’s obvious?”
Instead of handing the ball over, Isagi balanced it against his foot and nudged it back lightly. “Well, wanna play?”
The change was instant. Bachira’s whole body seemed to jolt with energy, his eyes lighting up as if someone had just thrown open a door inside him. But then, just as quickly, the spark dimmed. He shifted his weight, gaze sliding away.
“You sure?” the boy mumbled. “If people see you with me, you might regret it.”
Isagi frowned. The words carried a weight, heavy and resigned, as if Bachira had repeated them to himself many times before.
“I don’t care what they say,” Isagi said, firm but gentle. “You don’t seem like a bad person to me.”
The silence stretched, broken only by the breeze and the distant chatter of kids heading home.
Then Isagi set his bag down on the curb, straightened, and smiled. He nudged the ball again, this time with intent.
“So? Let’s play.”
They played until the street grew quiet, the world around them fading into nothing but the rhythm of their game.
Bachira was unbelievably good. His dribbling wasn’t just skillful; it was alive. He moved with a playful fluidity, like he was dancing with the ball, daring it to keep up. Every flick of his foot, every twist of his body, carried a wild unpredictability that forced Isagi to think faster, sharper, if he wanted to keep up.
And yet, it wasn’t frustrating. It was exhilarating.
Bachira laughed when Isagi managed to intercept him, bright and unrestrained, the kind of laugh that seemed to bubble up from somewhere deep inside. Isagi found himself laughing too, their voices carrying down the street.
By the time they finally collapsed onto the grass by the sidewalk, their shirts clung with sweat, hair sticking to their faces, chests heaving.
“…You’re incredible,” Isagi admitted between breaths, eyes wide with genuine admiration.
Bachira grinned, hugging the ball against his stomach. “Heh. You’re not bad yourself, new kid.”
Isagi chuckled softly. But then curiosity gnawed at him. The whispers from his classmates resurfaced in his mind. “…Why do people hate you?”
The question seemed to hit harder than intended. Bachira’s smile faltered, his grip on the ball tightening. He stared down at it, eyes shadowed.
“…Because I’m too obsessed with soccer,” he said at last, voice low. “The team here doesn’t like me. They only play half-heartedly. Ugh. But me, y’know, I wanna shine. I want it to be fun. I wanna win the games!” His voice cracked a little, but he pressed on, “…So they kicked me out.”
He let out a shaky breath, lips twisting into a crooked smile that didn’t hide the pain in his eyes. “And then there’s this monster inside me. This monster in my head. It tells me how to play, pushes me forward. It’s always been with me. People really think I’m crazy for that!”
His words trailed off. For the first time, the boy who had laughed and danced across the pavement looked small, almost fragile.
Isagi sat in silence, letting the weight of it settle. He didn’t fully understand about the monster thing, but he thinks it didn’t really matter.
“That’s not fair,” Isagi said finally, his voice steady. “You don’t deserve that.”
Bachira’s head snapped up, eyes wide.
“We can play together again,” Isagi continued, meeting his gaze with quiet certainty. “And, uh, maybe we can find other soccer clubs outside school? I heard this town has some strong ones. You should get the chance to shine the way you want.”
For a moment, Bachira just stared at him, lips parted, as if the words were too unreal to process. Then his eyes shimmered, and the corners of his mouth lifted into a trembling, almost disbelieving smile.
“…You really mean that?”
“Of course.”
Bachira let out a laugh that wavered as if he might cry, clutching the ball to his chest. “Heh. You’re weird. But we can be weird together, I guess.”
Isagi smiled back, warm and sure. “Good. Then it’s settled.”
And for the first time in years, Bachira Meguru did not feel alone anymore.