There used to be a time when Sakura looked forward to training with her dad. She couldn’t wait for it even; it was always the highlight of her day. But that was a long time ago when she was just a little kid. When the grass at the Ajinomoto Stadium seemed to stretch endlessly before her eyes and the distance between the goals felt impossible to cover by her tiny feet.

Her dad would play there with her after his training, letting her score goals as he dramatically threw himself to save her shots that barely passed the goal line. He would then change into her biggest supporter, chanting her name the way she often heard his name being chanted from the stands while she mimicked his goal celebration, running with her arms spread open, as if she was pretending to fly. She even had a replica of his red-blue striped jersey and would point at the club’s crest on her chest like she had seen him do it, though at that time, she had no idea what it meant, or why he did that. 

All she knew was that she wanted to be like her daddy. And he would always tell her that one day she would. That one day, that huge stadium would be full of people chanting her name, and he would be among them.

The carefree phase lasted until she was eight when she began to have proper training with the F.C. Tokyo’s junior team. First with the boys and then with girls, once a girls’ team was created a year later. But even then, her dad would come to her training to cheer for her from the stands. And when he had time, they would still have their one on one practice, though he no longer let her win; something she actually appreciated. She liked the fact that he stopped treating her like a little kid, even though she still very much was one. 

After each failed attempt to outplay him, he would give her advice on what she could have done differently. He was the one to teach her all the dribbling tricks, and how to control the ball. Told her to be proud of that crest on her chest, because although she wasn’t born in Tokyo, this was the best club with the greatest legacy in the league.

She took his words so seriously that when she was eleven and she heard a boy at school trash-talking her beloved club, she just couldn’t let it slide. She got into a scuffle with him and almost broke the boy’s nose while she herself ended up with a bruised lip and a detention. Still, seeing the boy cry with a bloodied nose was a win in her book. Of course, her parents were called in to the principal's office, and she had to apologize to the boy and promise it would never happen again. She did so, albeit begrudgingly.

Back at home, she got the standard lecture from her mom about how disappointed she was with her, how that wasn’t how she had raised her and that violence was never the answer. Her dad nodded along, trying to appear stern, but Sakura looked right through him. After mother sent her back to her room, grounding her for a whole month, her dad came in and said that although he didn’t condone violence, he was still proud of her that she kicked the boy’s , making her grin despite the stinging pain she felt from her cut lip.

It’s one of her fondest memories because that day she felt like no matter what happened, her dad would be always there for her, always on her side. She was certain that the bond they shared born out of their mutual love for soccer would never be broken. He was her first coach, her best friend, her idol and her hero. 

Until that one fateful match when everything changed, and nothing has been the same since.

And although there were times when she was angry with him. When she resented his cold-hearted persona. When she wished his frigid gaze wouldn’t track her every movement, judging, assessing, criticizing. She still believed that as long as they had soccer, the bond they used to share could be still reforged.

That was what she was thinking when she made her promise to him.

I promise I will win the World Cup title… Just please stay…

She wasn’t sure it would work, or whether he would even take her words seriously, but she had no idea what else she could say or do that could prevent him from completely disappearing from her life. So when one day he contacted her suggesting they meet for an extra training session, she couldn’t have been happier. To her, it meant he still believed in her, and more importantly, it gave her a glimmer of hope that perhaps, not everything was lost.

However, her enthusiasm quickly dampened the moment it became clear his callous attitude towards her hasn’t changed one bit, maybe even became worse. Something she didn’t understand, yet felt like she had no other choice but to accept it.

So it would be a lie to say that she still enjoys training with her dad, but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to give up on them either. That glimmer of hope, as faint as it may be, she just can’t let go of it.

“You are late,” her dad’s stern voice echoes in the empty court as Sakura enters. 

They always meet at an indoor soccer court as it’s easier to book for a private training session. Her dad stands in the middle of it, looking up at the LED screen hanging on the wall.

Sakura follows his gaze. The clock displays 6:01 pm. She bites the inside of her cheek. Without a word, she drops to the floor and starts doing push-ups. Sixty, one for each second she was late.

“Faster. We don’t have the whole evening,” her dad drones hoarsely as he walks around her.

Clenching her teeth, she picks up her pace. 

It used to be one lap… 

“Sakura, you know how I hate tardiness. One extra lap for being late,” he would say with a glare that lacked conviction because back then it felt like he was physically incapable of being upset with her. His lips would then break into a smile, and everything was forgiven…

Now, after she finishes the push-ups and faces him again, she’s afraid he’ll tell her to repeat the set. But he doesn’t. Instead, he says something worse.

“Care to explain what was that fiasco yesterday?”

One would think that after all those years of harsh criticism, she has gotten used to it already, but she hasn’t. It still stings. It’s frustration and disappointment, coiled together and wound tightly around her heart. Not much sadness anymore, which is good. His words no longer squeeze and prickle at her eyes. So at least in that aspect, she grew stronger.

She remains silent, knowing he doesn’t expect any real answer from her.

“How many goals did you score?” he asks.

“Zero,” she says, trying to match the emotionless tone of his voice. 

“And the new eleven?”

She almost rolls her eyes. 

Kazuha has a name. She’s not a freaking Stranger Things character.  

Keeping her composure, she promptly answers, “Two.”

“So do you understand why I’m calling it a fiasco?”

She did in a sense that they haven’t won, but now she knows that’s not exactly what he meant.

“I do,” she mutters.

She hoped her good performance in that match would give her a head-start in the race for the national team spot. Inadvertently, she has given that to Kazuha. A fiasco, indeed.

“Ten laps then the square of pain,” he orders and she starts running.

Done with the laps, she begins the square of pain, her most hated drill. It’s a combination of lots of running, including running through a stepping ladder laid out on the court, and maneuvering the ball between cones set up in a square. She repeats the drill over and over again, until she loses count of it.

“Faster, Sakura. Faster,” her dad’s voice bounces off the walls, ricocheting like stray bullets. 

She tries to run faster, but she feels like she’s about to reach her limit. Her breath becomes labored and legs begin to burn. Yet her dad is unrelenting and doesn’t give her a signal to stop. Instead, he keeps reminding her about how much of a threat Kazuha is to her. 

“She’s stronger than you, Sakura.”

“You need to try harder than that.”

“Remember, she’s already a champion.”

“At this point, you’ll never be able to keep your promise.”

Her foot catches on the ladder and she stumbles, barely stopping herself from falling onto the hard court. Bending over, she rests her hands on her knees, feeling queasy from the exhaustion.

Her dad approaches her, bending over as well so that he can look her in the eyes. “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

She shakes her head, but the movement only worsens the nausea, and so she closes her eyes and tries to calm herself down so that the contents of her stomach wouldn’t end up on the court.

Would Kazuha keep on running? She would, wouldn’t she?

Her palms ball into fists and she shuffles forward about to start running again when her dad’s harsh voice stops her in her tracks. 

“Why didn’t you shoot for the goal when you got that cross?” 

“The defenders… would have blocked it,” she replies from between gasps.

Or the goalkeeper would have saved it.

She wasn’t in a clear position to shoot, passing the ball to Kazuha, who she knew would be behind her, was the best decision she could have made. Or so she thought.

“Would they?” Her dad looks away from her. “I suppose they would if you didn’t know how to shoot to score,” he scoffs.

Chest still heaving, Sakura raises her head and glares at him. She knows he doesn’t mean it. He just says it to piss her off for whatever reason. And it works. 

“Take the ball. You’ll practice shots on goal since clearly, you’ve forgotten how to do it.”

With clenched fists, she marches toward the ball and starts shooting. Top left corner. Top right corner. Middle. Bottom left. Bottom right. Ten times each. Meanwhile, her dad keeps talking, on and on, like an annoying radio host who cannot be turned off. 

“You won’t be even considered for the striker position on the national squad if you just keep passing the ball to her.”

“You have to be selfish, if you want to be ahead of her.”

She wants to tell him to shut up. She’s not stupid. She knows she has to score goals. That’s her job as a striker. But of course, she says nothing. Only hits the ball harder and faster so that when it bounces off the wall that’s behind the goal, the echo of the collision tunes out some of his words.

When the clock strikes 9 pm, the practice is finally over. And all she wants to do is to throw herself onto the court and just lay there in silence until her legs stop feeling like they’ve been set on fire. But instead, she keeps her back straight and tries to control her breathing as much as she can, waiting for her dad to allow her to leave.

He approaches her slowly, and she guesses it’s not because he tries to be menacing, but because that way his limping is less noticeable. That’s also the reason why he never uses a cane, although he most likely should.

“Listen, Sakura.” In a rare gesture of what may be considered affection, he places a hand on her shoulder. “That new girl. She may be your teammate, but you should think of her as your rival. First and foremost. They won’t choose you for the team, if you settle on playing second fiddle to her. Do you understand?”

She nods, holding his gaze. “Yes.”

“What was that? I didn’t hear you?” His hand leaves her shoulder as he brings it to his ear.

“I understand,” she says, more firmly this time.

“Do you?” He takes a step back. “I’m still not convinced.”

She swallows, then says with as much conviction as she can muster, “Nakamura Kazuha is my rival.”

“Better.” Her dad grins, but there’s no mirth behind it, no warmth. “The season starts almost a week from now. You play against the weakest team in the league. Do yourself a favor and score some goals.” With that final piece of advice, he leaves. 

Sakura waits until she can no longer hear his footsteps then takes a heavy, drawn-out breath.

He still cares , she reasons in her head. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be doing all of this…

That man who used to let her score goals. Who chanted her name from the stands. Who couldn’t wait to read about her in his morning newspaper. And who was always on her side. That man is still somewhere there. She knows he is. 

He has to be.

🌸🍃

When Sakura returns home, it’s already 10:00 pm. She’s exhausted and sore, especially her legs are killing her. She barely has enough strength to toe off her sneakers and so she slumps against the corridor wall as she does it. 

“Hey, you’re back,” Kazuha greets her, appearing in the corridor’s entrance.

Sakura winces at the cheerful tone of her voice. She has hoped the girl would be sleeping or at least busy with something in her room by the time she comes back, but no such luck, apparently. The one time she needs her to just stay in her room and work on those damn abs of hers, like she always does at this hour, she of course decides not to do it.

Earlier when she was leaving for practice with her dad, she sneaked out of the apartment without Kazuha noticing her. She felt ridiculous, like a teenager sneaking out from under their parents nose to go to a party. But she was certain that if Kazuha had caught her, she would have assumed she was going to the gym (because where else she would be going with a duffel bag) and would have asked to join her. So leaving unnoticed felt like a better option than coming up with some lie just to refuse her company.

The smile on Kazuha’s face falters as she takes in her presence. But Sakura has no strength in herself to pretend she’s less exhausted than she actually is. Worst case scenario, the girl will assume she’s some kind of gym freak and she doesn’t really care. Besides, wouldn’t Kazuha be like the last person to judge her about intense workout regimes?

“Uhm, I left you some food in the fridge,” the girl says, glancing at the bag by Sakura’s feet. She doesn’t comment on it, though. “Tonkatsu,” she adds instead, pointing with her thumbs behind her as if Sakura has forgotten where the kitchen is.

“Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” Sakura gives her a stilted smile and pushes off the wall.

It’s a blatant lie, of course. She’s famished. But more than anything right now, she just wants to be left alone. 

“Good night,” she throws over her shoulder as she opens the door to her room.

“Good nigh—”

She shuts the door, leaning against them and slides to the floor, her bag dropping next to her with a thud.

She’s your rival… First and foremost…

Her dad’s rant about Kazuha starts flooding her mind. She digs the heels of her palms into her shut eyes like the gesture would help push his voice out of her skull. It doesn’t. And she hates just how much his words affect her. How frustrating this whole situation is and how she’s the one who brought it upon herself. It should have never been this complicated. 

Kazuha becoming her roommate. Kazuha turning out to be her fan. Kazuha with her sincere It was a good game… thanks to you… thanks to your ideas… Kazuha leaving tonkatsu for her in the fridge. Although she didn’t have to. Although no one has asked her to. Kazuha and her impossibly soft eyes and smile and— 

She grabs her bag and flings it across the room. She wants to scream, but she’s too tired even for that and only a stifled grunt escapes her lips.

If her dad saw her right now. If he knew she was living with her “rival” under one roof, eating breakfast with her every morning after they’ve come back from their jog…

She laughs mirthlessly, shaking her head.

He would give up on her, wouldn’t he?

She’s your rival.

Not a teammate. Not a roommate. Certainly not a friend. But a rival.

With a sigh, she gathers herself from the floor slowly, so that she doesn’t strain her sore muscles, and goes to the kitchen to grab a quick snack. When she opens the fridge, her stomach tempts her to eat the delicious looking tonkatsu, but she settles for a Greek yogurt. 

Done with her late supper, she returns to her room and gets ready for bed. Then she sets the alarm clock for half an hour earlier than usual and falls into a light, restless sleep, plagued by vague dreams. She doesn’t remember what they were about, but the anxiety she feels after she wakes up tells her they were nothing pleasant, and it’s probably for the best that she has no recollection of them.

That being said, she doesn’t feel rested at all. Her muscles are still sore and stiff, but she ignores the pain and goes for her morning jog anyway, hoping it’ll at least clear her head and alleviate the uneasiness that squeezes her chest since yesterday. 

And thankfully, the crisp morning air combined with the peaceful atmosphere at the park manage to calm her a little. She feels lighter when she comes back home and even the soreness seems to have waned a bit. But her good mood doesn’t last long, ruined by the appearance of sleepy Kazuha. 

The girl leaves her room when Sakura prepares herself breakfast, pouring milk into a bowl since she ran out of yogurt.

“Hey,” Kazuha mutters drowsily while stretching, causing her crop top to ride up and since her shorts hang low on her waist, way lower than they should, her entire midriff becomes exposed as a result.  

Show off, Sakura thinks to herself just before she hears a drip-drop sound of spilled liquid and feels cold wetness against her feet.

“!” she curses, flinching away from the counter.

She poured over the damn milk.

What the hell is wrong with me?

“Are you okay?” Kazuha springs into action, reaching for the paper towels that stand on the counter.

“I’m fine,” Sakura barks out harshly, startling the younger girl. “It’s just milk. I’ll clean this.” She moves in front of Kazuha and starts ripping out the paper towels then wipes the counter and the floor.

Kazuha’s gaze follows her every move, and she barely holds back herself from snapping at her again, telling her to stop staring. 

“You’ve been out for a jog already?” Kazuha remarks behind her in a small voice as Sakura pours out the excess of milk from the bowl to the sink.

She glances over her shoulder at the girl but when she sees her sad, puppy eyes, she immediately looks back to her bowl with soggy muesli and offers only an affirmative hum as an answer.

Kazuha doesn’t say anything else. Just stands in the middle of the kitchen, maintaining her expression of a kicked puppy that has no idea what to do with themselves.

Sakura considers saying something but doesn’t really know what to say.

‘Hey, you know, my dad wouldn’t approve of our friendship, so it’s best if we just avoid each other’, sounds ridiculous while ‘Could you maybe try and make yourself like, I don’t know, less distracting or something? Thank you’, is just borderline insane. Thus, she remains silent, grabs a spoon and leaves to her room to eat her breakfast in peace.

“No more distractions,” she tells herself as she sits at her desk, eating while re-watching their match with Juventus.

And that’s how her week of ignoring Kazuha as best as she can begins.

She starts going for her morning jog alone like she used to, and she makes it a habit to eat her meals in her room rather than in the kitchen. On the train, she puts on her headphones, blasting music so loud that Kazuha can probably hear it as well. During the training, when they’re asked to exercise in pairs, she always asks Chaewon to be her partner. At the gym, she’s never nowhere near the younger girl. And of course, now she thinks twice before she passes the ball to her, trying to focus more on scoring goals herself.

And Kazuha seems to accept it, or rather adjusts to it. 

She sleeps longer in the mornings and takes her food to her room. She puts on her headphones the moment Sakura puts on hers. She pairs up with Mei for the exercises, and she even changes her workout routine, making it easier for Sakura to avoid her at the gym. 

But Sakura notices also something else. Something she doesn’t want to notice, because it goes against her no distractions rule, yet it’s simply impossible to ignore it. Because Kazuha smiles less. Laughs less. No longer jumps high into the air after she scores a goal and gets lost in thoughts way more often than she used to.

And Sakura doesn’t want to admit to herself that it’s all her fault. That it’s because she went overboard with how cold she has been acting towards the younger girl these past couple of days. Yet she knows it. She knows damn well that she’s the reason why Kazuha’s eyes have dimmed. 

Nevertheless, whenever she wants to knock on Kazuha’s door in the morning, or stay in the kitchen with her a bit longer. Whenever she wants to ask her whether she’ll practice with her one vs ones to goal, or show her how to use that one machine at the gym. Or whenever she just wants to simply talk to the girl, because maybe, none of this is as serious as she makes it out to be. Whenever she wants to do all that and more, she always imagines her dad standing behind Kazuha’s back and staring at her with disappointment written all over his haggard face. And then he lifts his hand in which he holds Kazuha’s medal, and the golden disk swings ever-so-slightly like a clock’s pendulum. 

Your time is running out, Sakura, he seems to be saying. Are you here to make friends, or keep your promise?

And she knows he’s right, because his time did run out.

So Sakura pushes all these thoughts, wants and urges to the back of her mind and doesn’t dare to act on them, afraid of the kind of consequences they may bring. Afraid of losing sight of what’s the most important. Afraid of her dad giving up on her.

But what comes as a surprise to her is that Kazuha doesn’t seem to give up on her. Not yet, at least.

On the day of their first match of the new season, Sakura finds all the bowls placed on the top shelf out of her reach. She’s certain that Kazuha did that on purpose in hopes of Sakura asking her for help which in turn could maybe spark some longer conversation between them.

It’s such a Kazuha thing to do that Sakura chuckles when she sees it. 

'Hey, um, can we talk? But only if you want to. I’m not insisting.'  She smiles weakly as she imagines Kazuha saying that, all shy and polite.

'I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you.'

She closes the cupboard and mixes her muesli right in the yogurt’s cup. 

🌸🍃

The weakest team in the league isn’t so weak, after all. They’re playing quite well. Especially, their defense does and so, after almost sixty minutes of gameplay, the score remains 0:0.  

But when Sakura notices Chaewon’s glare directed at her, it occurs to her that maybe, it’s not that their opponents play well, but it’s their team who simply plays badly. Or even worse, that it’s her who plays badly, so perhaps, she was justified in her fears. Perhaps, she really isn’t ready for this new season.

For ’s sake, don’t screw this up this time, Chaewon seems to communicate with her eyes when she passes the ball to Sakura.

Calm down and just play the game, she thinks to herself when she takes over the ball and starts running through the middle of the field. 

She easily passes one defender then another one, all the way ignoring Kazuha who runs parallel to her on the left side. 

You have to be selfish, her dad’s voice keeps reminding her in her head.

And so, she’s playing as if this is the previous season. When she was always alone at the front. When she almost became the league’s top scorer, short of only two goals. When Kazuha wasn’t her teammate but was scoring goals somewhere in the Netherlands. F.C. Tokyo became vice champions then. So as long as she tries just a bit harder, as long as she lasts till the very end this time, they can win the title, right?

She takes a shot, and it’s a good attempt. But by now, she has become too predictable in her lone attacks, and the goalkeeper manages to save it. 

If she passed the ball to Kazuha, they would have had a guaranteed goal.

She signals her apology to the girl. She lost count of how many times she has done that already. Kazuha nods and smiles at her, but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. 

They both jog to their half of the field when their coach calls for a substitution.

Sakura wipes her forehead with her arm, waiting for the substitution to conclude when the referee starts whistling at her.

What the hell does he want from me?

She frowns, glancing at the substitution board held by the assistant referee and blanches. One of the two numbers displayed on it is the number nine. 

Another whistle startles her, and she realizes she’s about to get a yellow card for delaying the game. With her head hung low, she quickly makes her way out of the field.

She isn’t used to this, leaving the field thirty minutes before the referee’s final whistle and with no applause to accompany her substitution. The last time a similar situation took place, she was being carried off the field on a stretcher. 

Running his hand across his forehead, their coach doesn’t even spare her a glance when she passes him. She takes her seat on the bench and one of the teammates hands her a water bottle. She’s thankful for the distraction. Drinking the cold water, she swallows her unshed tears.

The formation changes slightly with Kazuha moving more to the middle of the field, becoming the lone center forward, the familiar position Sakura held in the previous season. The position she wanted to usurp for herself today.

The irony of it all almost makes her want to hurl the bottle she holds. But she doesn’t do it. Instead, she squeezes it hard until the plastic bends under the pressure while she’s watching as her worst nightmare becomes her reality, right before her eyes.