The locker room was pure chaos. Eight and nine-year-old kids screaming over each other, trying to one-up each other's versions of what just happened out there. Everyone wanted to be the hero of their own story.
But Takeshi? He just sat there on the wooden bench, staring at his muddy cleats like they held the secrets of the universe.
Four goals. Four fucking goals in my first match back.
His hands were shaking as he untied his laces. Not from being tired, hell no. From the weight of everything crashing down on him at once. The system messages had finally disappeared from his vision, leaving him alone with the noise of kids who had no idea they were celebrating with a dead man.
"Takeshi!"
Hiroshi came bouncing over like a hyperactive puppy, his face red and sweaty and absolutely glowing. God, he looked so young. So innocent.
"Dude, that was insane! That last goal, like how the hell did you even see that angle? Coach Tanaka looked like he was gonna have a heart attack!"
Looking into those bright, trusting eyes, Takeshi felt something crack inside his chest.
In my previous life, I threw this away. I threw HIM away.
Hiroshi had been there through everything, the good times, the shit times, even when Takeshi was drowning in bottles and self-pity. This kid had stuck around longer than anyone had a right to. And how had Takeshi repaid him? By pushing him away when things got dark.
"I just... got lucky, I guess," Takeshi mumbled.
"Lucky?!" Hiroshi's voice cracked as he plopped down next to him. "You scored FOUR GOALS! And that pass you gave me... dude, that was like watching Messi or something!"
If only you knew, kid. If only you knew I've been there, done that, and fucked it all up spectacularly.
"We make a good team," Takeshi said quietly, and he meant every single word in a way that would have broken Hiroshi's heart if he understood.
Coach Tanaka's whistle cut through the chaos like a knife.
"Alright, you little monsters, shut it!" The weathered old man stood in the doorway, and for once, he didn't look like he wanted to strangle half the team. "Excellent work today. Kawasaki's no joke, and you showed real heart out there."
His eyes landed on Takeshi, and that familiar knot of anxiety twisted in his stomach.
"Yamamoto, stay behind. The rest of you, get changed. Your families are probably wondering if you got lost."
Here we go. The conversation that started everything last time.
As the other kids filed out, still buzzing about the match, Takeshi felt like he was watching his life replay in slow motion. Coach Tanaka pulled up a plastic chair—the same damn chair—and sat backwards on it.
"So," he said. "Four goals."
"Yes, sir."
"You want to tell me how a kid who could barely hit the broad side of a barn last month suddenly turns into..." He gestured vaguely. "Whatever the hell that was out there?"
Shit. He noticed.
"I've been practicing," Takeshi said, which wasn't technically a lie.
"Practicing what? Reading minds?" Coach shook his head. "Some of those passes... that assist to Sato looked like something you'd see on TV."
Because I've done this before. Because I've played at levels you can't even imagine.
"I watch a lot of football," Takeshi said lamely.
Coach Tanaka studied his face for a long moment. "I'm gonna be straight with you, kid. There were scouts here today. Real scouts, from real clubs. They're gonna want to talk."
The words hit him like a truck. In his original timeline, this moment had been pure excitement. He'd been ready to climb that ladder as fast as possible, consequences be damned.
Now? Now he knew where that ladder led.
"What if I don't want to leave?" The question just slipped out.
Coach's eyebrows shot up. "Don't want to leave? Son, this is your chance. With talent like yours—"
"But I like it here!" The words came out louder than he intended, his kid voice cracking with emotion he couldn't hide. "I like playing with my friends. I like... I like things the way they are."
I like having parents who are alive. I like having a grandmother who still smiles at me. I like not being a broken drunk.
Coach Tanaka's expression softened. "Takeshi, is everything okay at home? You've been... different lately. More serious."
How the hell do I explain that I'm actually thirty-four and just want to hug my family?
"I'm fine, Coach. I just want to make sure I'm ready. Really ready."
It was a mature answer for an eight-year-old, and Coach's face showed he knew it.
"Alright," he said finally. "We'll take it slow. But promise me something, never let fear hold you back from your dreams."
Fear? Try experience. Try knowing exactly how badly dreams can fuck you up.
The parking lot was buzzing with families, kids running around with their gear bags, parents trying to corral their little athletes. And there, leaning against their beat-up Honda like he owned the world, was Dad.
Yamamoto looked the same—tired from work, calloused hands, work clothes that had seen better days. But when he spotted Takeshi coming through the gate, his whole face lit up like Christmas morning.
"There's my superstar!"
Dad's arms spread wide, and something inside Takeshi just broke.
He dropped his bag and ran. Straight into those arms, hitting his father hard enough to make the older man stumble backwards.
"Whoa there, champ!" Dad laughed, lifting him clean off the ground. "Save some energy for next match!"
But Takeshi couldn't let go. He buried his face in his father's work shirt, breathing in sawdust and sweat and that smell that was just Dad.
In ten years, this smell will be gone forever. In ten years, you'll be dead and I'll be too drunk to properly mourn you.
"Dad," he whispered, and his voice broke.
"Hey, what's this about?" Dad pulled back, concern creeping into his eyes. "You crying? What happened?"
"Nothing happened," Takeshi said quickly, wiping at his eyes. "I just... I missed you today."
It was a weird thing for a kid to say after being apart for like six hours, and Dad's eyebrows went up.
"Missed me? Son, you saw me at breakfast this morning."
But I haven't really seen you in forever.
"I know. I'm just happy you were here to watch."
Dad's expression went soft. "Takeshi, I wouldn't miss your matches for the world. You know that, right?"
No, I didn't know that. I forgot that. I took it for granted until it was too late.
"I know, Dad."
The drive home should have been normal—just fifteen minutes through their neighborhood, past the 7-Eleven and the park where little kids played. But nothing felt normal when you were living it for the second time, when you knew how precious and temporary everything was.
"So tell me about those goals," Dad said, watching him in the rearview mirror. "The other parents looked like they'd seen a ghost. Mrs. Sato was practically hyperventilating."
"Just got lucky," Takeshi mumbled.
"Lucky, my ass," Dad snorted. "Son, I've been watching you play since you could barely walk. That wasn't luck. That was talent."
Talent I wasted. Talent I pissed away.
"Dad?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I'm good enough? To go pro someday?"
The car got quiet for a moment. In the mirror, Takeshi could see his father's eyes, serious and thoughtful.
"You want the truth?" Dad finally said. "I think you could be something special, Takeshi. Really special. But that's not what matters to me."
"What matters?"
"That you're happy. That you stay a good person. That you remember the people who love you, no matter how high you climb."
Fuck. The words hit like a punch to the gut. In his previous life, success had made him selfish, failure had made him bitter, and by the end, he'd pushed away everyone who'd ever given a damn about him.
Including the man driving this car.
"Dad," he whispered. "I love you."
The Honda jerked slightly as Dad's hands tightened on the wheel. In the mirror, Takeshi saw surprise and something deeper flicker across his father's face.
"I love you too, son," Dad said, his voice thick. "More than you'll ever know."
When they pulled into their driveway, Takeshi's heart nearly stopped. Yellow ribbons tied to the fence posts. Warm light spilling from every window. The sound of voices and laughter floating from inside.
"Dad, what—"
"Your mother might have gotten a little carried away," Dad grinned. "She called everyone after I texted her about the match."
Mom.
The front door flew open before they even reached it, and there she was. Yuki Yamamoto in her cherry blossom apron, flour on her cheek, hair escaping from her messy bun. She looked like home and safety and everything good in the world.
"My champion!" she cried, rushing down the steps with her arms wide.
Takeshi didn't even try to play it cool. He ran straight to her, crashing into her warmth and softness and the smell of her cooking.
She's real. She's here. She's alive.
"Mom," he sobbed into her shoulder, not giving a damn that he was acting like a baby.
"Oh sweetie, what's wrong?" She immediately went into mom mode, checking his face for injuries. "Are you hurt? Did something happen?"
"Nothing's wrong," he managed between hiccups. "I just love you so much, Mom."
Her eyes went misty. "Oh, my sweet boy. I love you too. So, so much."
The house was packed—neighbors, family friends, teammates and their parents, everyone wanting to congratulate him and hear about the match. But across the crowded room, sitting in her favorite chair by the window, was the person who made his heart stop completely.
Grandma Yamamoto.
Silver hair in a neat bun. Kind eyes behind wire-rim glasses. Hands folded in her lap like she was waiting for him.
In my previous life, she died when I was sixteen. I was too busy training to spend proper time with her.
"Takeshi-kun," she called softly.
He crossed the room like he was walking underwater, everything else fading to background noise. When he reached her chair, he dropped to his knees and took her weathered hands in his.
"Grandma."
"I watched from the window," she said, her voice carrying all the warmth he'd missed for eighteen years. "You played beautifully today. Like you were dancing."
That did it. He buried his face in her hands and cried like his heart was breaking—which it was, but in the best possible way.
"Such big emotions for such a little boy," she murmured, stroking his hair. "Tell Grandma what's wrong."
How do I tell you I've lived twenty-six years without your voice? Without your wisdom? Without your gentle hands fixing everything?
"I just missed you," he said, which was true in ways she couldn't understand.
"Missed me? But I saw you yesterday."
"I know. I just never want to forget how much I love you."
Something flickered in her old eyes—confusion, maybe, at the strange weight in his words.
"You won't forget," she said softly. "Love like this lives in your heart forever."
No, it doesn't. I did forget. I forgot all of you when success went to my head and failure broke my spirit.
The party went late. Mom had made enough food to feed an army. Dad told the same stories about Takeshi's early attempts at football. The neighbors gossiped and laughed and made too much noise.
And it was perfect. Every ordinary, precious moment of it.
When the last guests finally left, Takeshi helped clean up without being asked, carrying dishes and folding chairs with focus that surprised his parents.
"You're being very helpful tonight," Mom observed as they worked together in the kitchen.
"Just want to help."
"You seem different lately," she said gently. "More... I don't know. Thoughtful?"
I'm thirty-four years old trapped in an eight-year-old body, carrying decades of regret.
"I just appreciate this," he said instead. "Having a family. Having people who care."
Mom stopped washing dishes and really looked at him. There was something in his eyes that seemed older than his years.
"Takeshi," she said carefully, "you know we'll always love you, right? No matter what happens with football or anything else. Win or lose, succeed or fail, you're our son first. That never changes."
Those words could have saved me the first time around, if I'd remembered them.
"I know, Mom," he said, meaning it with every fiber of his being. "I won't forget. I promise."
Later, lying in his childhood bed with Star Wars sheets and football cards scattered on his nightstand, Takeshi stared at the ceiling and tried to process the impossible gift he'd been given.
[DAILY QUEST COMPLETE: Family Time]
Spend meaningful time with loved ones
Reward: +1 Mental, Skill [Emotional Resilience Level 1]
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: The Foundation]
Train consistently for one month without missing a session
Reward: +3 Physical, +2 Technical, Skill [Discipline Level 1]
The system notifications appeared in his vision, but for once, he barely cared about stats and rewards. His mind was full of warm hugs, proud smiles, and his grandmother's gentle laughter.
This time will be different, he thought as sleep started pulling him under. This time, I won't lose sight of what really matters.
This time, I'll get it right.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Scouts would call. Pressure would build. The machine would start grinding again.
But tonight? Tonight he was just a boy who loved his family and was loved back.
And this time, he'd never let himself forget what that was worth.
I won't lose you again. Any of you. Not this fucking time.