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The heavy curtains of the Minato condo were drawn tight, sealing out the relentless neon glare of Tokyo. Inside, the world was reduced to suffocating shades of gray.
Itoshi Sae lay motionless on his side, his dull, unfocused eyes fixed on the illuminated screen of his iPad. The digital glow cast sharp, hollow shadows across his sunken cheeks.
On the screen, a highlight reel played on a loop.
It was Rin. His little brother was tearing through defenses, roaring at the sky, healthy, vibrant, and evolving into the exact striker Sae had once yearned to be.
Sae felt a familiar, hollow ache in his chest, but it didn't spark into anger or sadness. It just flattened into nothing.
He wanted to cry—he felt the phantom burn behind his eyelids—but the tears wouldn't come. He was entirely, fundamentally numb.
Spain had emptied him out.
The dazzling lights of Madrid had promised a dream, but the reality was a nightmare that fractured his soul.
The relentless harassment from toxic fans.
The terrifying paranoia of the stalkers and paparazzi tracking his every movement.
The systematic bullying in the locker rooms.
And the violation—the sickening memory of being touched without consent from his own old coach who was supposed to be his protector, an incident he had buried so deep he couldn't even find the words for it.
To regain some semblance of control over a life spinning out of orbit, he had turned his own body into a battlefield. Orthorexia had started as a quest for the perfect athletic diet, but it quickly morphed into a rigid, punishing obsession.
Safe foods. Unsafe foods. Calorie counting. Purging through pure exhaustion.
It was a hidden illness, a rotting secret he guarded fiercely from the world.
The physical toll was evident in the state of his apartment. Cardboard moving boxes, half-taped and long abandoned, gathered like dust bunnies in the corners of the living room. Messy piles of discarded clothes, junk mail, and unwashed training gear littered the floor. Sae hadn’t stepped outside the door in days.
A sharp, rhythmic buzzing vibrated from the nightstand. Sae didn’t even turn his head to look. He already knew what his lock screen looked like. It was a graveyard of unread notifications:
Dabaddie (Manager): 47 missed calls, 14+ texts.
Oliver Aiku: 4 missed calls, 14+ texts.
Sendou Shuto: 2 missed calls, 14+ texts
Shidou Ryusei: 98 missed calls, 14+ texts.
Dozens of unread texts from fellow New Generation 11 members group,
and a few messages from his parents.
They had tried. A few days ago, his manager had actually shown up, banging on the door until Sae finally unlocked it. But Sae had weaponized his tongue, spitting out words so cruel, so detached, that the man had left pale and shaken.
When Aiku and Sendou tried to intervene, Sae shut them down with a calculated, icy malice.
Even Shidou, who usually thrived on Sae’s friction, had finally backed away after Sae looked him dead in the eye and told him he was nothing but a nuisance.
It was entirely intentional. Sae was meticulously burning every bridge he had left. He wanted them to hate him. He needed them to resent him, to think of him as a arrogant, washed-up snob.
Because Sae knew he was reaching the end of his rope. And he figured that if everyone hated him now, then when he finally faded away for good, the grief wouldn't stick. They would forget him faster. They would move on, unburdened by the ghost of the genius who couldn't save himself.
His stomach gave a faint, agonizing growl, a reminder of the starvation he was inflicting on himself. Slowly, purely out of a lingering, robotic instinct to survive the hour, Sae dragged himself out of bed. His limbs felt like lead; his vision swam with black spots as he stood up.
He walked into the kitchen, his bare feet stepping over the clutter on the floor, and pulled open the refrigerator.
The light clicked on, revealing a barren wasteland. There was nothing inside. No meal prep, no fresh water, no sports drinks. Nothing but a single, plastic cup of plain yogurt sitting on the top shelf. Sae picked it up, his pale fingers trembling slightly.
He checked the lid. Expired. It had been past its date for nearly a week.
He stared at the small plastic container, his reflection barely visible in the dark kitchen window.
A week ago, his orthorexia would have panicked at the thought of eating something contaminated or imperfect.
Now? He didn't even have the energy to care.
He didn't open it. He just let his hand drop, the expired yogurt clattering back onto the wire shelf. He closed the fridge door, plunging the kitchen back into darkness.
Sae leaned his forehead against the cold surface of the refrigerator, closing his eyes. The silence of the condo was deafening, broken only by the distant, muffled hum of Tokyo traffic far below.
He was completely alone, exactly as he wanted to be, trapped in a prison of his own making, waiting for the dark to finally swallow him whole.
From afar on his bed, the dull hum of the iPad playing Rin’s match highlights finally cut to black, the battery drained to zero.
The sudden silence in the condo felt heavy, wrapping around Sae like a shroud.
He didn’t care. He had completely lost his passion for football, the one thing that had defined his entire existence.
The sport that used to consume his every waking thought now felt like a foreign language he had forgotten how to speak.
The ball sitting in the corner of his living room was just an object—dead leather gathering dust.
He had tried to find a distractions.
Over the past few weeks, a desperate, hollow instinct to survive had driven him to try other things.
He bought expensive sketchpads and acrylic paints, leaving them scattered on the cluttered floor.
He bought flour, sugar, and baking pans, attempting to bake just to fill the quiet hours with the scent of something warm.
But painting and baking did absolutely nothing to help, nothing help. Standing in front of a canvas, he just stared at the blank white space, unable to feel a single spark of creativity. Standing over a rising loaf of bread, his mind would spiral into a panic over the ingredients, his orthorexia screaming at him before he even took a bite.
Everything felt empty. Hopeless.
Sae sat on the edge of his unmade bed, the air around him stale. He hadn’t showered for days. His skin felt sticky, his hair matted against his forehead, and the heavy scent of neglect hung closely to his body. He lacked the energy to even turn on the faucet.
Slowly, his numb gaze drifted downward.
He pulled up the hem of his oversized shorts and dragged the sleeve of his shirt up his shoulder.
The fresh self-harm scars from yesterday lined his upper thighs and upper arms, a series of jagged, angry red marks slicing through his pale skin.
He had done it in a desperate attempt to feel something—anything to break through the suffocating wall of numbness.
But even the physical pain had faded too quickly, leaving behind nothing but the stinging reminders of his own desperation.
They looked ugly, raw, and completely hidden from the world.
He stared at the marks without a shred of self-pity. He just felt an overwhelming, crushing weight of hopelessness. He was a ghost walking around an expensive Tokyo condo, decaying from the inside out, completely trapped in his own mind.
Sae curled his knees toward his chest, his gaze dropping back to the messy, cluttered floor.
The silence allowed his mind to twist inward, spiraling into a dark loop of crippling self-doubt and insecurity.
He began to fiercely doubt himself, drowning in questions that had no answers.
Why am I like this? Why couldn't I just get better? Why am I so weak?
He remembered how hard he used to try, how strictly he had monitored his exercise routine, and how meticulously he had changed his eating habits. He had sacrificed everything for perfection, yet all that control had done was lock him inside a starving, broken body.
The discipline he once took pride in now felt like the very weapon that had destroyed him.
Amidst the darkness, a sharper, more painful emotion surfaced:
Sae secretly resented Rin. He looked at his little brother—taller, broader, visibly stronger, and fiercely healthy—and felt a bitter sting. Rin was out there thriving, commanding the pitch, while Sae could barely find the energy to stand up.
It felt deeply unfair that the boy who used to chase his shadow had completely outpaced him in vitality.
Yet, that resentment fractured into something softer.
He was genuinely glad Rin had grown up healthy, fiercely wishing that his little brother would never end up broken like him. Sae felt a profound sense of relief that Rin didn't carry the same invisible illness, that Rin's mind wasn't a prison of safe and unsafe foods, and that Rin's skin wasn't marked by desperate, hidden scars.
Sae buried his face in his hands.
He wanted Rin to stay strong. He wanted Rin to be the striker he never could be.
But sitting alone in the suffocating quiet of his condo, the contrast between staying to be there to watch his little brother growing up to be something he couldn't and his own decaying present only made the hopelessness feel absolute.
Sae’s trembling hand slowly reached across the tangled sheets, his pale fingers wrapping around the cold metal of his phone. He pressed the power button, and the screen flared to life, illuminating the dark bedroom with a harsh, unforgiving light.
He began reading through the mountain of unread messages from Oliver Aiku, Sendou Shuto, Shidou Ryusei, and his fellow New Generation 11 members.
He scrolled past the cold but clearly anxious texts from his parents, and finally paused on Rin’s name.
Even his little brother had left a rare, blunt message asking if he was still alive.
Every single messages was filled with genuine concern, desperate questions, and pleas for him to just say something.
As he read their words, Sae felt a crushing weight settle deep inside his chest.
He wasn't entirely invisible to them; they actually cared.
His thumbs hovered uncertainly over the digital keyboard, his mind racing as he tried to construct a simple response—a lie to tell them he was fine, or a truth to tell them he was drowning.
But then, his eyes drifted down to a name that made his breath catch in his throat:
Bunny Iglesias, his ex-lover.
Seeing Bunny's name brought a wave of agonizing memories from Spain.
Bunny had known him before the paparazzi, before the assault, and before the orthorexia completely consumed his life.
They had shared something tender, a quiet romance in a world that demanded Sae be nothing but an unfeeling soccer prodigy.
But Sae had pushed Bunny away too, tearing down their relationship to protect his own ugly secrets. Bunny's message was gentle, filled with a lingering, painful warmth that Sae felt he no longer deserved.
The overwhelming guilt of how he had treated everyone—especially Bunny—suffocated his remaining strength. Sae decided not to answer any of them, his fingers dropping away from the screen.
With a profoundly heavy heart, he turned the phone face down onto the mattress, letting the screen go black.
He couldn't drag them into his darkness, so he chose the only thing he knew how to do: absolute silence.
Sae’s eyes drifted toward the glass doors of the balcony.
Outside, Tokyo was a distant, blurred abstraction, but just behind the pane, a heavy, woven rope hung securely from the concrete overhang. He had tied it there days ago in a silent, methodical trance, a physical manifestation of the dark thoughts that had been anchoring him to the floor.
He tied it there to ended his life, but he didn't understand how he couldn't get himself to do it after seeing his little brother playing with such passion.
He didn't understand why his overdosing didn't work.
He didn't understand why he couldn't just sliced his throat with a knife.
Now, as the overwhelming weight of his unresolved trauma, his starving body, and the crushing guilt of pushing away everyone he loved closed in, Sae decided it was time.
He slowly stood up from the bed, his weak knees trembling under his weight.
He walked toward the balcony doors and pushed them open.
The cool Tokyo air hit his face, a stark contrast to the stagnant, heavy atmosphere of his messy condo. He stepped outside, his bare feet pressing against the cold concrete.
He looked up at the rope and thought only of freedom.
To Sae, this wasn't an act of violence against himself; it felt like a door opening.
He imagined the suffocating numbness finally lifting from his chest. He imagined his mind being cleared of the agonizing calculations of every calorie, the phantom terror of stalkers, and the deep, aching loneliness of isolating himself from Bunny, Rin, and his teammates.
Looking past the railing at the vast gray sky, a sudden, fragile sense of peace washed over him.
He thought that if he stepped off, he might finally get to fly like seagulls in the sky above the sea.
He would be weightless. No longer the broken prodigy, no longer the disappointing brother, no longer the burden.
He could just fly away from everything that had ever hurt him, leaving the dark apartment and the shattered pieces of his life far behind.
The phone inside the dark apartment rang once again, a small, persistent chime echoing against the empty walls and the unopened boxes.
Sae didn't look back. He didn't want anyone to waste another moment of their life worrying about a ghost. In the quiet of his mind, he whispered a final, silent sorry and thank you to Rin, to Bunny, to his teammates, and to everyone who had tried to reach through his walls.
Stepping onto the small chair, he reached for the rope, determined to finally find his freedom.
He paused, his mind drifted back to something.
The heavy curtain of the condo swayed slightly as Sae turned his back on the balcony and the rope.
He decided he didn’t want to end it trapped inside the suffocating gray walls of his apartment.
For the last time, Sae decided to go outside.
Moving like a shadow, he carefully covered his identity, pulling a dark hoodie low over his face and adjusting a black mask to hide his sunken cheeks.
He looked at his nightstand one last time, where his phone was still buzzing with frantic messages from everyone. He left the phone behind, leaving the digital noise to ring out in the empty room.
He didn’t want the world to pull him back.
Leaving the condo, Sae began to run. His starving, exhausted legs screamed in protest, but the raw adrenaline of a final destination kept him moving. He ran past the concrete maze of Tokyo, heading blindly toward the coast, driven by a sudden, singular yearning for the open water.
When he finally reached the shore, the vast expanse of the sea opened up before him.
He took a little precious time observing the beautiful sea, watching the relentless, rhythmic waves crash against the shoreline.
Above the gray water, seagulls were flying freely in the sky, catching the wind without a single care or burden. Sae stood at the edge, his chest heaving as he stared at them.
Slowly, he took off his shoes, letting his bare feet sink into the damp, cold sand. Looking out at the endless horizon, he thought of nothing but freedom.
He felt that by surrendering himself to the tide, he might finally get to be as beautiful as the ocean, leaving behind the fractured, ruined version of himself.
He wanted to fly freely above the sea like the seagulls, flying away from everything—the trauma in Spain, the orthorexia, the stalkers, and the crushing guilt of his relationships.
Without hesitation, Sae walked straight into the ocean.
The freezing water shocked his ankles, then his knees, but he didn't stop.
He pressed forward. This is so much better. He thought, feeling the heavy pull of the tide against his weak frame.
With every step, the water rose higher—up to his waist, then his chest—as he waded deeper and deeper into the vast, dark blue, waiting for the weightless peace he had chased for so long.
The freezing water pressed hard against Sae’s chest, the heavy pull of the tide dragging his weak body further from the shore. As the ocean rose to his chin, his vision began to blur, and the cold expanse of the sea unlocked a rush of warmth inside his mind.
The darkness of the water gave way to a flood of vivid memories, starting from the very beginning.
He saw the green grass of his childhood home, bright and sunlit. His parents, their gentle voice, their gentle hands, how they said everything will be okay as he slowly fell asleep.
He remembered playing football for the first time, the pure, uncomplicated joy of a ball at his feet before it ever became a burden.
Right beside him was Rin.
He saw his childhood with Rin, a tiny, wide-eyed little brother chasing after him, laughing, completely trusting Sae to guide him. They were healthy, whole, and completely untouched by the weight of the world.
Then, the scenery shifted to Spain, softening into a quiet, hidden sanctuary away from the harsh glare of the paparazzi. He saw Bunny. Sae remembered his old time with Bunny when they were younger, the fragile beauty of a love they tried so hard to protect.
He remembered their first date, sitting on a quiet bench away from the training grounds, sharing a cheap pastry, and their first kiss—a gentle, trembling moment under a streetlamp that had made Sae feel human instead of just a football machine. An innocent love.
The memories flickered faster, bringing forward the people who had refused to give up on him.
He saw his old time with his teammates. He remembered Oliver Aiku and Sendou Shuto laughing in the locker room, trying to drag him out for post-match meals, stubbornly ignoring his icy glares just to keep him included.
He saw Shidou Ryusei, chaotic and loud, challenging him on the pitch with a raw passion that used to make Sae's blood pump with life.
He saw the proud, fiercely competitive faces of the New Generation 11 members, the rivals who pushed him to his absolute limits.
Finally, the rushing images slowed down, settling on one distant, perfect memory.
Sae saw himself as a young boy, standing on a sun-drenched beach, seeing the sea for the first time in his life. He remembered the overwhelming sense of wonder, the feeling that the world was massive, beautiful, and full of endless possibilities.
The cold ocean water closed completely over Sae’s head, swallowing the light.
The vibrant colors of his past dissolved into a deep, heavy quiet before it all went black. The distinct sounds of the crashing waves and the cries of the seagulls slowly faded away into nothingness,
leaving only the weightless, silent freedom he had searched for.