Chapter 3: Quitting the Game
The locker room of the West University team was an unusual scene of mixed emotions. Despite their loss, a few players were celebrating, perhaps buoyed by the promise of future opportunities. Some had received letters inviting them to try out for the national under-18 team, a potential stepping stone to a professional career. However, not everyone shared this enthusiasm. A small group of players, those who hadn't received such letters, gathered around Miya Shikamaru, their faces twisted in anger and disappointment.
"You damn bastard, because you didn't play, you made us look bad!" one player shouted, his voice seething with frustration. Miya sat silently, his head bowed, lost in his own thoughts. The shouting continued, but he remained unresponsive, a statue in the storm.
Another player grabbed Miya by the jersey, yanking him close. "You shithead! You should've gone to the bench!" he screamed, tears of rage welling in his eyes. "Why the heck would you do this to us, Miya? Why?" His voice cracked, raw emotion spilling out. "We played this entire season side by side! We beat every single team in our way, and we had the same dream—to be accepted into the under-18s, to show off our skills. Miya, what went wrong? Why did you stop playing?"
Tears flowed freely down his face, a manifestation of the sacrifices he'd made. He thought of his mother, a bitter woman who hurled insults and bottles at him, belittling his love for football and demanding he focus on academics instead. All those nights spent training, the countless hours honing his skills, now felt wasted.
"D-do you remember when we first met, Miya?" His voice trembled with emotion. "I told you about my abusive mother, how she said I'd fail at everything I did. She called me a failure, and you promised we'd prove her wrong together! Now look where you've gotten me, Miya! Do you want my mom to be right?!" His voice rose to a desperate scream, but Miya's expression remained vacant, his eyes lifeless.
Miya's thoughts were a whirlwind. *Is this what it feels like to lose?* He slowly lifted his gaze, meeting the eyes of his teammates, each face a mixture of anger, betrayal, and sadness. Even the coach looked at him with a kind of detached disappointment.
"Is that it?" Miya finally spoke, his voice low and somber. "Do you think what we played up till now was football?"
Silence hung heavy in the room, the tension thick and suffocating. The expressions on their faces answered his question more clearly than words ever could.
"All of you don't even know what real football is!" Miya's voice suddenly rose to a shout, tears streaming down his cheeks. "The under-18 letters are all a scam! Do you really think you'll be picked because you're special? They hold tryouts, and after you try, you fail! I heard the coach and manager talk about this... We're never going pro. Our talent dies here! What don't you understand?"
His voice echoed in the silent room, his words a bitter truth that none of them wanted to face. "Do you think I would waste all my strength pushing forward for scouts that mean nothing? We were only toiling the field for no reason, playing with fellow losers like us with a mindset that we would one day become real footballers."
Miya's eyes blazed with a mix of anger and despair. "Do you think the likes of Messi and Ronaldo would settle for something so small? Do you think you'll ever match up to them with this opportunity given to you on a sheet of paper?" He shook free from the teammate's grip, his voice trembling with the weight of his convictions. "Football is life and death; it's about countless evolutions, moments that can destroy or remake you. Losing should hurt me like I've been shot twice in both shoulders, but I barely feel that pain... When all that pain and suspense is taken away, we're merely kicking a ball. Our journey ends here, no matter what letter you get. Follow your parents' wishes and become whatever they say you should."
With those final words, Miya picked up his bag and walked past each of his teammates, one by one. As he did, he heard the murmurs start up, the whispers of discontent and bitterness.
"He's only saying this because he didn't receive a letter."
"He tried to drag us down with him, bastard!"
"What a waste of time and effort his parents put into creating this f*cker."
Miya ignored every single word, his heart heavy with a mix of regret and resignation. He left the locker room, each step echoing the finality of his decision.
---
After leaving the stadium, Miya chose not to take a cab home. Instead, he wandered aimlessly, his feet carrying him through the city streets. It was raining heavily, the sky reflecting the storm brewing inside him. His clothes were soaked through, his hair plastered to his forehead, but he hardly noticed. He hugged himself, trying to ward off the biting cold, but it was a futile effort.
*I no longer have football in my life...* Miya thought, each step feeling heavier than the last. The cold gnawed at his bones, his lungs felt tight, and yet he kept walking, as if moving forward might somehow stave off the despair closing in around him.
After nearly two hours of wandering, Miya's legs finally gave out. He fell to his knees in the middle of an empty street, rain pouring down around him. Alone and broken, he let out a gut-wrenching scream, the sound swallowed by the storm.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!" He screamed again, his voice raw with frustration and sorrow. "Why can't I play football anymore?! Why is there no way left..."
His voice cracked, the final word lost in a sob. "Is this where my life ends?" he whispered, tears mingling with the rain on his face.
In that moment, Miya felt utterly lost. The path he had envisioned for himself was gone, swallowed by a darkness he couldn't see through. Football had been everything to him, his purpose, his escape, his identity. Now, without it, he felt like a ghost, wandering aimlessly in a world that no longer made sense.
He slumped to the ground, defeated. The cold seeped into his bones, but it couldn't match the icy numbness inside him. As he lay there, the rain continued to pour, a relentless reminder of the storm within.