Mason couldn't stop thinking about the match. The way the players moved, the energy of the crowd, the sheer beauty of the game—it all lingered in his mind like a melody he couldn't shake.
The next day, he found himself drawn back to the electronics shop, where the same match was being replayed. This time, he stayed until the final whistle, his heart racing with every pass and tackle.
When he got home, Emiko noticed the change in him. "You're late," she said, her voice gentle but firm.
"I was watching a football match," Mason admitted, bracing himself for her reaction.
Emiko paused, her expression unreadable. Then she sighed. "Your father loved football," she said softly. "It was his life."
Mason looked at her, surprised. She rarely spoke about his father. "Do you hate it?" he asked.
Emiko shook her head. "I don't hate the game. I hate what it took from us. But if it brings you joy, Mason, then I won't stand in your way."
Mason nodded, feeling a mix of relief and curiosity. "What was he like?" he asked hesitantly.
Emiko put down the knife she was using to chop vegetables and leaned against the counter. "He was passionate," she said. "And talented. But he was also selfish. He chose his dreams over us, and I'll never forgive him for that."
Mason didn't know what to say. He had always imagined his father as a villain, but hearing his mother's words made him realize that the man was more complicated than that.
The next day at school, Mason couldn't stop thinking about the match. During lunch, he sat with his best friend, Jake, who noticed his distracted state.
"You okay, mate?" Jake asked, biting into his sandwich.
"Yeah," Mason said, though his mind was elsewhere. "Do you ever watch football?"
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes. Why?"
"I saw a match yesterday," Mason said. "It was… amazing. I've never seen anything like it."
Jake grinned. "You've been living under a rock, then. Football's massive. You should come to the park with me after school. Some of the lads play there."
Mason hesitated. He had never been interested in sports before, but the memory of the match lingered in his mind. "Alright," he said finally. "I'll come."
After school, Mason followed Jake to the park, where a group of boys were already kicking a ball around. They greeted Jake with nods and smiles, but their expressions turned curious when they saw Mason.
"Who's this?" one of them asked, a tall boy with a scowl.
"This is Mason," Jake said. "He's new to football, so go easy on him."
The tall boy snorted. "We'll see about that."
The game began, and Mason quickly realized how out of his depth he was. He fumbled passes, missed tackles, and struggled to keep up with the pace.
The other boys laughed and teased him, but Jake stuck by his side, offering encouragement.
"Don't worry about them," Jake said. "You'll get the hang of it."
Mason nodded, though his frustration was mounting. He hated feeling incompetent, especially in front of others. But as the game went on, he began to notice small improvements. His touches became more controlled, his movements more deliberate.
By the end of the session, Mason was exhausted but exhilarated. He had scored a goal—a lucky shot that had slipped past the goalkeeper—and the other boys had grudgingly acknowledged his effort.
"Not bad for a beginner," the tall boy said, clapping Mason on the back.
Mason smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment he hadn't felt in a long time.
As he walked home that evening, his legs aching and his clothes damp with sweat, Mason couldn't stop thinking about the game. He had always been an outsider, but for the first time, he felt like he belonged.
When he got home, Emiko was waiting for him. "You're late again," she said, though her tone was more amused than stern.
"I was playing football," Mason said, unable to hide his excitement.
Emiko smiled. "Did you have fun?"
Mason nodded. "Yeah. I think… I think I want to keep playing."
Emiko's smile widened. "Then you should. Just remember, Mason, football is just a game. Don't let it consume you like it did your father."
Mason nodded, though he wasn't sure he fully understood her warning. For now, all he cared about was the thrill of the game and the promise of something more.
The next day, Mason returned to the park, determined to improve. This time, he arrived early and practiced on his own, dribbling around imaginary defenders and shooting at a makeshift goal.
When the other boys arrived, they were surprised to see him already sweating and out of breath.
"You're keen," Jake said with a grin.
"I want to get better," Mason replied simply.
The game that day was more intense. Mason's improved skills didn't go unnoticed, and the tall boy—whose name he learned was Ryan—started passing to him more often. Mason still made mistakes, but he was learning, and the other boys were starting to respect his effort.
After the game, Ryan approached him. "You're not half bad," he said. "If you keep at it, you might be decent."
Mason smiled. "Thanks."
As the weeks went by, Mason became a regular at the park. He practiced every day, often staying long after the others had left. His skills improved rapidly, and he began to feel more confident on the pitch.
One afternoon, as Mason was practicing alone, an older man approached him. He was dressed in a tracksuit and had a whistle around his neck.
"You've got potential," the man said, his voice gruff but kind.
Mason looked up, surprised. "Thanks," he said hesitantly.
"I'm Coach Harris," the man said. "I run a youth team. We could use someone with your drive. Interested?"
Mason's heart raced. A youth team? It sounded like a dream come true. But he hesitated. "I don't have any gear," he admitted.
Coach Harris waved a hand. "We'll figure that out. What's your name, son?"
"Mason. Mason Kai."
Coach Harris nodded. "Well, Mason Kai, if you're serious about football, meet me here tomorrow after school. We'll see what you're made of."
Mason nodded, his mind buzzing with excitement. When he got home, he told Emiko about the offer.
"A youth team?" she asked, her expression thoughtful.
"Yeah," Mason said. "It's a big opportunity."
Emiko smiled. "Then you should take it. Just remember, Mason, football is just a game. Don't let it consume you like it did your father."
Mason nodded, though he wasn't sure he fully understood her warning. For now, all he cared about was the thrill of the game and the promise of something more.
As Mason lay in bed that night, his phone buzzed. It was a message from an unknown number: "You've got potential. Meet me at the park tomorrow after school. - Coach."