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It wasn't the fall what had tore him apart, it wasn't the pain, but what it signified.
Losing the game didn't matter at that point, because losing his gift was what mattered—the possibility to never set foot on a pitch, to never be able to reach the point to where his bangs werent in the way and his legs felt not just the floor beneath them but the air ressistance his speed posed upon it.
His identity, what he was, who Chigiri Hyoma was.
He was lucky he had been gifted talent, but what was he without it?
The so-called genius, the promising ace of Rakosute was now in an ambulance being carried to the nearest hospital, at this point, the knee was numbed down—but his thoughts were not—the joy he had felt mere moments ago, the desire, aspiration to become the best in the world, where was it now?
He was careless—he was dumb, and it had cost him everything. The feeling of his knee giving up, the sharp pain that cut through his body, the humilliation and the shot that he didn't make were everything that clouded his mind,
the pain
the pain
the pain.
It was too sharp that it dipped into dullness, too powerful that it diluted through his whole body, too meaningfull that there was no point in giving it a rhyme or reason—too loud that he couldn't ignore it.
But it didn't matter, it could always be a small injury that would leave him out of comission for a few weeks, after all, he'd been challenging air ressistance ever since he was a kid, if something would ever happen to him, it would have already transpired. He wasn't a kid anymore, he just started high school; how could something bring him down if he hadn't even started to get close to the sun?—
—An ACL tear
Well, he could pull that off, didn't the doctor just tell him that his muscles had developed for running, isnt that a good thing?—
—It happening again, could lead to him never playing footbal again.
What?
That musy be a joke, there is no way that–how could it even happen?
There's no way, he wasn't an average joe, he was the ace—the star, the rising star of the team–he joined a school because of football, he had dedicated his life to polishing his skill, his gift–there was no way, it couldn't be over just yet–his speed, his joy, it was who he was.
Didn't he appear in a newspaper?–the girls, the girls at school used to admired him for it... What would be of him without it? He was promising–he was good, he was a genius, he had his life cut out for this, he had a future, he had... a future so bright that it blinded him to the point it wasnt even visible anymore
Recovery? Rehabilitation? He would push through it, it hurted, but the physical pain was just a manifestation of what he had in front of him–he would be back in no time, ready to give it his all and prove anyone and everyone wrong. He was a genius after all, the faster of them all, and just like a soaring panther, he would take everyone down. Practice was boring, watching other people do what is his thing is boring, but it didn't matter, he was there, waiting for his knee to get back on track.
The weeks passed by and the fear was pushed down along with the pain, he was strong enough, he could pull this of—he did pull it off, his leg was fine, for the most part, and if only he was careful, nothing would ever happen again.
His hair started growing, but when his mom asked if he wanted to get a haircut, he refused.
After weeks of losing control over himself, days where he would lay in bed without being able to do what he loved the most, the only thing that could remind him of his need to take care of himself was his hair.
He wasn't the kind of guy to have long hair, it didn't really suit him, but it was nice to have something to care about after feeling that everything he once cared for was gone—although not gone forever.
He was back.
He was happy.
So he got to the pitch, his cleats against familiar grass, once again wearing the sports uniform instead of the formal one, and his teammates stood close to him, looking and inspecting.
And it wasn't worth mentioning how there were two pair of eyes that hung on him for longer than necessary, and more heavy than any glare he's ever experienced.
Practiced started smoothly, and once the oportunity was there, he started to run.
The air pushed back his hair in a familiar way, the long overgrown bangs stopped bothering his line of view, and the assymetrical face framing pieces were now lost in a mess of his hair that now almost grazed his shoulders.
His legs obeyed him in a familiar way, he was soaring once more, he was back on his game, and joyful as he was, a smile started to form in his lips and—what if it tore again?
He slowed down, only a few meters away from where the sprint had started, two meaningless and useless voices now stalking him... He shouldn't care this much.
After practice the coach reprimanded him, he should get back on his feet and keep playing, the lesion was over, the pain wasn't there and the long months of rehabilitation had already shown their fruits, so... It was his own mind that held him back.
His rushing, unsure mind that only seemed to shut up once his legs matched the pace of his thinking. He couldn't handle it anymore.
He was strong, resilient, it wasnt the pain what he feared but the lost of his identity, what was left of him without his speed? If he could not play soccer again, what would he do with his life..?
Losing himself was the one thing that Chigiri Hyoma would not allow, but for every time he tried to shut down the fire in his heart pushing him to become the best in the world, a new one would spark again... Call it hope, or stupidity, but he wasnt able to shut himself down like he should.
The fire was still there, but he missed practice, his days spent sprinting were now days doing the same exercised he did for his recovery; the love and care once directed to soccer were now disperse between his grades, the leg he had to take care of and the new crimson veil that adorned his face and grew longer each day.
The long hair had certainly gifted him with new, untasteful nicknames, but it had also granted him of another way of grounding himself, another thing to taka care of, another love to flourish so that the one for soccer could perish silently...
It didn't matter, he would be able to estinguish it sooner or later.
"You have been selected to become a certified athlete"
Fuck.
300 people, only one would make it out.
299 careers ended. That sounded nice, didn't it?
This is what he needs.
His speed isn't there for him no longer, he has been degraded to another average-joe, finally, the dream of his could be crushed, and not by himself.
Blue Lock is the perfect excuse, because his carelessness would no longer be the perpretator of his loss, but his incompetence would, something that a used-to-be genius didnt have control over.
Football was fun, but now it was time to grow up.
And thus, Chigiri Hyoma had an excuse to let go.