Chapter Text
"I wanna play soccer..."
Isagi Yoichhan was a thirteen-year-old girl who defied every expectation of her peers. While most girls her age were preoccupied with makeup trends or filming TikToks, her heart belonged entirely to soccer. To her, the game was more than a sport; it was art. It was the only thing that made her feel truly alive.
It all started on a quiet afternoon in the living room. Isagi was curled up on the couch, seeking a sense of grounding from Noel—the man she now called "Papa." Noel had turned on a high-stakes professional match. While Isagi was initially indifferent, busying herself with a sketchbook to drown out the noise of her own thoughts, something shifted.
A player on the screen carved through the defense with surgical precision, sending a strike into the top corner of the net. The sheer brilliance of the goal made Isagi’s pencil stall against the paper. She looked up, her gaze locking onto the glowing screen, her breath hitching in her throat.
Noel felt the shift in her energy immediately. He had grown used to the guarded, often distant expression Isagi had carried since her parents passed away years prior. But as she watched the replay, something flickered—something predatory and bright.
"Papa," Isagi whispered, turning to look him straight in the eyes with a clarity he hadn't seen in years. "I want to play. I want to do that."
For the first time, the void in her deep blue eyes was replaced by a sharp, electric spark. Noel felt a lump form in his throat. He reached over, gently patting her head with a proud, supportive smile.
"Of course, Isagi," he replied softly. "If that's your path, I'll help you walk it."
"The ego of a teenager is a volatile thing, Noa. Don't go clogging her brain with sentimental rubbish."
The dry, biting voice cut through the atmosphere like a blade. Standing in the doorway was Ego Jinpachi, looking as lanky and sleep-deprived as ever, nursing a juice box. He adjusted his glasses, his dark eyes scanning the thirteen-year-old on the couch with clinical intensity.
"If she wants to play, she doesn't need a path-minder," Ego stated, pointing a thin finger toward the TV. "She needs to be a monster. Do you have that in you, brat? Or are you just looking for a new way to kill time because you're bored of your drawings?"
Isagi didn't shrink back. At thirteen, she had enough fire to burn. She stared back at Ego, her grip tightening on her sketchbook until the knuckles went white, mirroring his intensity with a chilling focus. Noel chuckled softly, sensing that the "Princess" he knew was about to become the world's greatest headache.
Two weeks into "Project Isagi," Noel and Ego stood on the edge of the private pitch behind their home. The morning mist was still clinging to the grass, and the sun hadn't even fully cleared the horizon.
Noel crossed his arms, leaning against the fence. "She’s going to break, Ego. You’re pushing her into 'Metavision' drills before she’s even mastered the basic volley. Between the sensory deprivation sprints and the tactical puzzles, she’s barely had time to eat. She’s going to hate us by the end of the week."
Ego sucked loudly on his third juice box of the morning, his eyes fixed on the small figure moving through the fog. "Hate is a powerful fuel, Noa. If she can't handle the mental strain now, she’ll be crushed by the world stage later. I expect her to throw a tantrum by noon.It’s the natural biological response for a thirteen-year-old."
Suddenly, a ball burst through the mist, screaming into the back of the net with a violent thwack.
Isagi emerged from the haze, drenched in sweat, her chest heaving. Her hair was a mess, and her knees were stained green and brown. She looked toward them, but she wasn't crying. She was grinning. It was a wide, jagged look of pure, unadulterated joy.
"Again!" she shouted, her voice raspy but determined. "Papa, the defensive patterns in the last set were too easy! mama, I need the sensors set to a higher speed! I can see the gaps before they even open now!"
Ego’s glasses glinted as he lowered his juice box. He looked at Noel, who was staring at his daughter in stunned silence.
"I take it back," Ego muttered, a rare, crooked smirk tugging at his lips. "She’s not going to hate us. She’s going to eat us alive."
The New Normal
The following weeks were a blur of intensity. For years, Isagi had been a quiet, almost ghostly presence in the house, mourning the life she had lost. Now, she was a whirlwind.
5:00 AM: Isagi would jump on Noel’s bed, demanding he work on her off-the-ball movements.
Breakfast: She would corner Ego, debating the efficiency of a 4-3-3 formation while Ego tried to eat his stir-fry in peace.
10:00 PM: Noel would have to physically carry her off the pitch because she refused to stop practicing her direct shots.
Isagi: Papa! I'm fine!
One evening, while Isagi finally slept (clutching a soccer ball like a teddy bear), Noel and Ego sat in the kitchen.
"I haven't seen her this happy since... well, ever," Noel said softly, watching the monitor of the hallway camera.
"She’s not just playing, Ego. She’s breathing it."
Ego adjusted his glasses, looking at the mountain of data Isagi had generated that day.
"She’s a glutton for the struggle. Most kids want the trophy; she wants the evolution. It’s disgusting. It’s terrifying." He paused, his gaze softening by a fraction of a millimeter. "It’s perfect."
Noel chuckled, leaning back. "You created a monster, Ego."
"Quiet, Noa," Ego snapped, though there was no heat in it. "Go buy more electrolyte drinks. Our monster is going to be hungry again at dawn."
//TBC