Ayataro walked slowly up the narrow path to his house, the weight of the day pressing heavily on his shoulders. The sun had long since set, casting the streets in a dim, melancholic glow. As he reached the front door, he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before pushing it open.
---
"I'm home," he called out, his voice barely above a whisper, a hint of fear lacing his words.
Inside, the air was thick with the acrid smell of cigarette smoke. His father sat in the living room, a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyes fixed on the flickering television. The scowl etched on his face deepened as he turned to look at Ayataro, his gaze icy and piercing.
---
"Where have you been?" his father demanded, his voice harsh and unforgiving.
"I was at practice," Ayataro replied, trying to keep his voice steady. "I stayed late to work on my skills."
His father's eyes narrowed, and he stood up, towering over Ayataro. "You think you're some kind of star? That soccer is going to save you from reality?"
---
Ayataro took a step back, his heart pounding in his chest. "No, sir. I'm just trying to get better."
His father's hand lashed out, striking Ayataro across the face. The force of the blow sent him stumbling back, his vision blurring with tears. "You're nothing but a worthless dreamer," his father spat. "Soccer isn't going to change anything. You're stuck in this miserable life, just like me."
---
Ayataro's mind raced, searching for a response, but he knew it was pointless. Nothing he said would quell his father's anger. He had learned that lesson long ago. The beatings had become a regular occurrence, each one leaving him more bruised and broken than the last.
---
His father grabbed him by the collar, dragging him across the room and throwing him against the wall. The impact knocked the breath out of him, and he crumpled to the floor, gasping for air. "You think you're tough?" his father snarled. "You're weak. Pathetic."
Ayataro curled into a ball, trying to protect himself as the kicks and punches rained down on him. Pain shot through his body with each blow, but he bit back the cries, refusing to give his father the satisfaction of hearing him scream.
---
The beating seemed to last an eternity, each second stretching into an agonizing blur. Finally, his father stepped back, breathing heavily. "Get out of my sight," he growled. "You disgust me."
Ayataro struggled to his feet, his body aching with every movement. He stumbled to his room, slamming the door behind him and collapsing onto his bed. The tears he had held back now flowed freely, each one a silent testament to his pain.
---
He lay there for what felt like hours, his mind drifting back to the soccer field. It was the only place where he felt at peace, where he could escape the brutality of his home life. Soccer was his sanctuary, a world where he could control his destiny, if only for a few fleeting moments.
---
The harsh words and bitter taunts he used were his armor, a way to keep others at a distance. He couldn't afford to let anyone in, to show weakness. Trust was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when every day was a battle for survival.
---
As the night wore on, Ayataro's thoughts turned to his mother. She had left years ago, unable to endure his father's abuse. He remembered her soft voice, her gentle touch, and the way she had always believed in him. She had been his first and greatest supporter, and her absence left a gaping hole in his heart.
---
"I miss you, Mom," he whispered into the darkness. "I wish you were here."
His body ached, but the pain was nothing compared to the emptiness inside him. Soccer was all he had left, the only thing that gave him hope. He would fight with everything he had, not just to prove his father wrong, but to honor the memory of his mother, who had always seen the best in him.
---
The next day, Ayataro arrived at school, his bruises hidden beneath his uniform. He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with his classmates. The facade of arrogance and indifference was firmly in place, but inside, he was struggling to hold himself together.
---
As he walked to the soccer field for practice, he couldn't help but notice Saijo and his friends watching him. There was a look of curiosity and concern in their eyes, but Ayataro ignored it, focusing instead on the ball at his feet. He needed to lose himself in the game, to let the rhythm of the ball soothe his troubled mind.
---
"Hey, Ayataro," Saijo called out, jogging over to him. "How's it going?"
Ayataro glanced up, his eyes cold and guarded. "What do you want?"
"I just wanted to see if you're okay," Saijo said, his voice sincere. "We're teammates now. We should look out for each other."
---
Ayataro's lips curled into a sneer. "I don't need your pity. Just stay out of my way."
Saijo looked taken aback but didn't back down. "It's not pity. We all have our struggles. Maybe we can help each other."
---
For a moment, Ayataro was tempted to let his guard down, to accept the offer of friendship. But the fear and pain were too deeply ingrained. He couldn't risk letting anyone get close. "I don't need help," he snapped. "Just focus on your own game."
Saijo sighed, but he nodded. "Alright. But if you ever need anything, we're here."
---
As Saijo walked away, Ayataro felt a pang of regret. He knew that pushing people away was a defense mechanism, but it was all he knew. Trusting others had only brought him pain and disappointment. Soccer was the one thing he could control, the one thing that made sense in a world of chaos.
---
He threw himself into the practice, his movements sharp and precise. The ball moved with him, an extension of his will. He dribbled past cones, executed flawless passes, and unleashed powerful shots on goal. Each moment on the field was a reprieve from the darkness that haunted him.
---
But even as he played, the memories of his father's abuse lingered, a constant reminder of his reality. He couldn't escape the bruises, both physical and emotional, that marred his spirit. Yet, he refused to let them define him. Soccer was his refuge, his escape, and he would fight with everything he had to protect it.
---
As the sun set and practice came to an end, Ayataro lingered on the field, lost in thought. He knew that the road ahead would be difficult, but he was determined to forge his own path. He would use the pain and anger as fuel, driving him to be the best he could be.
---
That night, as he lay in bed, the tears came once more. He cried for his lost childhood, for the mother he missed, and for the boy he had become. But amidst the tears, there was a flicker of hope. He would survive. He would endure. And one day, he would find a way to break free from the chains that bound him.
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### End of Chapter 41