Chapter Text
The cheers of the crowd reverberated throughout the stadium, but it all faded into silence as Isagi zeroed in on the ball as it whipped across the field. His breath rasped in his throat like sandpaper, but it was irrelevant to Isagi. After all, he had found his space on the field. He couldn’t lose it now, not when he was about to get to the good part.
In the penalty box, he moved instinctively, as he had a million times before, pivoting and shifting his weight. Though, in that final moment before shooting, his foot planted wrong.
A split-second jolt.
Then intense, fiery pain.
A white-hot snap tore through his knee, igniting his nerves on fire. The world suddenly shifted on its axis as he crumpled like a puppet cut from its strings.
An undignified sound, something that shouldn’t be coming from Isagi Yoichi of all players, escaped his throat. His vision blurred as the overwhelming sound of shrill whistles, heavy footsteps, and teammates shouting his name surrounded him. The medics rushed in, but all Isagi could focus on was the betrayal of his body, his mind, and his dream. It was all folding inward in one brutal collapse.
It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
His career… it couldn’t end so soon…
── .✦
The pain hadn’t been the worst part.
Isagi survived the initial, overwhelming pain and shock of the torn ligament in his knee. He endured the medical scans, the evaluations, and the reassuring tone of his coach declaring, “You’ll be fine. A bit of rest will do the trick.”
It wasn’t even Rin’s sour face and icy tone as he uttered, “Don’t even think about getting weak, or else you’ll never catch up to me, Isagi.”
No. It was probably the silence that came afterwards.
Isagi had never been the type to rest, not since he was a carefree kid who thought football was all sunshine and rainbows, anyways. It felt like his career on Japan’s national team was just beginning. He had just gotten a taste of what he spent dedicating his entire life to. And now, he was benched by his coach.
A week had passed since the injury, Isagi’s apartment had never felt so suffocating, despite the fact that the place was so spacious and modern. The epitome of success, really. Yet, Isagi felt like anything but successful. He sighed wearily as he sank into his leather sofa, but he couldn’t relax. The weight of what had happened sat heavily on his chest. He set his half-empty can of beer on the coffee table with a dull clink and raked a hand through his hair, squeezing briefly at the roots. His gaze drifted dully to his injured left knee, and he absentmindedly rubbed at it. It throbbed sluggishly and miserably, sitting elevated and compressed in a brace atop the sofa’s armrest. Just looking at it made Isagi feel nauseous. He quickly tore his eyes away, his jaw tightening.
His phone buzzed, pulling him away from his thoughts. Another message from his manager. His thumb hovered over the screen, but he didn’t bother to check it. What was the point? He was benched and wouldn’t be able to play for at least another 10 weeks according to the doctors.
He glanced outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of his apartment, gazing at usual vibrancy and the neon lights of Tokyo below. But it wasn’t enough. It never had been. He had never felt more disconnected from it all. And honestly, he felt restless enough to tear the brace off his knee and run into the night to practice a bit.
Obviously, he would never do that. He was a rational thinker.
Obviously…
Instead, he kept the brace on and walked to a nearby park, carrying a soccer ball against his hip. Just a few minutes wouldn’t hurt, would it? He dribbled the ball around, sprinting lightly and working through a few drills. After working up a light sweat, he felt relatively calm enough to return back home, showering before collapsing into his bed.
── .✦
Morning seemed to come far too quickly, and the blaring of his phone shook him from his slumber. Bleary-eyed and hardly awake, he swiped to answer.
“Hel-”
“Isagi! Have you seen the news articles? Are you insane?!” his manager shouted, sharp and panicked.
“Uh… no, I just woke up,” Isagi muttered, rubbing his eyes as he opened social media. Hundreds of tweets bombarded him, all involving pictures taken by some fan of last night’s impromptu practice. “Shit…”
His manager scoffed at that, his voice growing more frantic. “This is a PR nightmare! You’re supposed to be resting after your injury! Now the public thinks management is overworking you! What were you thinking last night?!”
Isagi just squeezed his eyes shut, rubbing at his temples as he tried to ward off the migraine that was already forming. “I couldn’t stay in my apartment anymore. I’m going crazy,” he admitted, his voice strained. “I should be out there on the field right now, not lazing around.”
Even though Isagi couldn’t see him, he could tell from the soft sigh from the other end that his manager’s expression was softening in pity.
“Isagi, you can’t be practicing right now. You know that.”
“I know.”
“If you can’t relax at home, maybe a chance of scenery will do you good,” his manager suggested gently. “Get out of Tokyo for a while.”
“Maybe,” Isagi replied absently, pressing the heel of his hand against his eyes. He really didn’t want to talk about this right now. “I’ll think about it. Talk to you later,” he muttered before hanging up the phone.
── .✦
By mid-morning, he had managed to eat breakfast and slump back onto the sofa. The sun climbed high enough to spill warmth across the apartment floor, but it couldn’t met the cold ball of restlessness that had festered its way into his limbs. The ball he used last night sat by his door, untouched since last night. Its solitary presence only made him more aware of his own misery.
A soft knock at his door pulled him from his pitiful thoughts.
“Coming,” he called, hauling himself off the sofa and hobbling towards the door. He opened the door to find his mother, Iyo, standing before him, her expression a mix of concern and motherly affection.
“Yocchan! I was so worried about you,” Iyo cooed, practically barging in his apartment.
He just sighed, as he seemed to be doing much more often these days. As much as he loved his mother, he was not in the mood for being fussed over.
“Mom, I’m fine,” he said, shutting the door and sinking back into the sofa.
“I saw those photos of you practicing at the park! And your manager called me! You can’t fool me, mister!” she scolded, crossing her arms.
“Mom…” Isagi groaned, his mood worsening. “I just—“ he stopped, not having the energy for an argument. He pinched between his furrowed brows, his shoulders drooping. “I’m just tired of being stuck in this apartment all day.”
Iyo softened, her expression becoming more sympathetic. “I get it, Yocchan. That’s why I was thinking… do you remember the vacation house we used to go to when you were young? That little cottage in the countryside?” Iyo asked, her smile gentle and encouraging.
Isagi perked up at that, moving to sit upright. Those summers he spent in the countryside were some of his fondest memories. “Yeah, I remember…” he murmured softly, memories of the warm sun and the scent of honeysuckles enveloping him.
Iyo smiled grew warm as handed him a set of keys and a train ticket. “Why don’t you spend some time there? Just like when you were little,” she suggested tenderly. “It’ll give your knee time to heal.”
Isagi stared at the keys and the ticket in his hand for a long moment. The thought of leaving Tokyo, of forgetting about that fateful match, even just for a little while, felt both foreign and freeing.
“Thanks, Mom,” he said quietly, a half-smile gracing his features for the first time since the injury.
“Don’t worry about it,” she laughed softly. “Now, come on, let’s have some tea!”
── .✦
Isagi made his way to the train station later that week, boarding and watching from the train’s window as the city shrunk behind him. Gradually, the city’s overwhelming vibrancy gave way to something much more humble; flowing lakes, rice fields, and small, unassuming towns. He pressed his forehead against the window, exhaling quietly as he let himself truly breathe for the first time in days.
As he sat there, memories of the summers spent at his family’s countryside cottage stirred within his mind. He hadn’t been back since he was eight. He had gotten serious about soccer around that age and decided to attend football camps during summer break instead of spending it in the countryside. Though it had been fifteen long years since then, those sun-drenched summers remained vivid in his mind, from the feeling of blades of dewy grass against his bare ankles and the pure, unspoiled blue of the great summer sky to the sound of honeybees buzzing quietly.
The bees! Isagi had been so fascinated by them as a child.
He suddenly remembered the neighbors, an elderly couple who were beekeepers. They had always treated Isagi so kindly, allowing him to help with the bees (though his attempts had been clumsy with youth), baking him sweet treats, and playing with him.
Mr. Bachira... He hadn’t thought about those days in so long. Did they still keep bees? Were they still alive? The thought of them made Isagi smile, although it was bittersweet.
By the time the train arrived at the modest, slightly dilapidated station, the sun was high, and the air smelled faintly of pollen and soil. Isagi carefully stepped onto the platform, mindful of his knee. After all, he didn’t want to prolong his 10-week stay by injuring himself again.
He hoisted his bag over his shoulder and walked down the narrow path he remembered so clearly. When he reached his family’s little cottage, his breath caught. It looked almost exactly as he remembered: the slightly weathered wooden panels that made up the walls, the roof covered with patches of moss, and the dusty porch where Isagi used to play with his toys. Nostalgia seemed to swallow him whole for a moment. Back then, before football, things had seemed so simple.
The Bachiras’ little house seemed to be in good condition. It was slightly more weathered than Isagi remembered, but there was evidence of life, such as light-blue overalls gently drying in the wind on a clothesline.
The clink of a garden rake sounded from the side of the house, and Isagi turned his head, spotting a figure crouched down among the wildflowers, carefully inspecting them. The person looked up, as if sensing his presence. Isagi's sapphire eyes met the curious gaze of a young man. He had to be around Isagi’s age, though something about him felt like a mirror of old Mr. Bachira; eager and slightly wild.
For a second, they just stared at each other, neither sure how to react. Then the young man grinned, amber eyes lighting up in recognition. "Are you Isagi?" His voice was surprisingly soft and melodic, yet there was an almost mischievous edge to it. "I’ve heard stories about you."
Isagi blinked, trying to place the face, but couldn’t. "Uh, yeah. That’s me." He chuckled awkwardly, not sure if he should know the guy. "And you are…?"
“Bachira Meguru." The boy’s grin widened as he stood up, brushing his dirty hands off on his overalls. "I’m the grandson of the beekeeping couple that used to live here. I’m sure you knew them.”
Isagi’s eyes lit up at the mention of the beekeepers. “Oh! You’re their grandson?" Isagi couldn’t help the smile that tugged at his lips. "I remember your grandparents! They were super sweet. They used to let me help with the bees when I was a kid… though I didn’t do much except get stung."
Bachira laughed. He had a cute laugh. The infectious, carefree kind that one couldn’t help but smile upon hearing. "Well, that happens often. Bees can sense when you’re scared, you know~!” he giggled before leaning obnoxiously close with a mock-serious look. “But you’re not here for the bees, right? What brings you back here?”
Isagi chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "I had no idea. I was just coming to visit. A vacation, I guess. I injured my knee in a football match,” he explained
Bachira cocked his head, his gaze darkening as his carefree smile melted into a frown. "Football?" he echoed, his voice low like the sport had somehow personally offended him.
Isagi was taken aback by the sudden change. Did he say something wrong? Was football a taboo subject in rural areas?
"Um! Yeah, I’m a professional footballer, but I’m not just here because of my knee,”Isagi replied, his voice soft. "I’m just… trying to find some peace. These days, everything has been stressful, really.”
Bachira just stared into Isagi’s soul with his big, amber eyes. And then, after a few tense moments, he hummed, bobbing his up and down head eagerly. “I see, I see!” he said, smiling brightly once again. It was like a switch had been flipped. “You just need to have some fun~!”
Isagi blinked, surprised and moderately perturbed by the sudden shift in mood. Bachira had looked so menacing one moment, and then completely happy the next. Was Isagi imagining things?!
“We can play with the bees! They’re fuzzy and wiggly! Then I’ll show you how to harvest honey! And there are some crazy things in these woods I can show you! You might just find your what you’re looking for in the most unexpected ways~!” Bachira giggled, flailing his arms around to gesture rapidly.
Isagi chuckled, still slightly weirded out, but mostly amused. “Show me what you’ve got, Bachira."
"Of course!” Bachira chirped. He held out his hand, and Isagi shook it. It was warm and soft despite the callouses on his fingers and the lingering traces of dirt.
Despite Bachira’s unconventional behavior, Isagi felt an odd sense of connection to him. He was genuinely looking forward to getting to know Bachira. Maybe his manager and mother were right. Perhaps this vacation was just what Isagi needed.