Takeshi was lying in bed, still in training clothes, too tired to shower and too wired to sleep. His body ached from the Saitama match—muscles he didn't know he had screaming in protest.
When his phone buzzed with a video call from Elsa, he smiled despite the exhaustion.
Answering: "Hey! You're awake?"
It was 3 PM in Norway. Just after school for her.
Her face appeared on screen. She was in her room, soft afternoon light streaming through the window. She looked... prepared somehow. Makeup done, which was unusual for late afternoon. Sitting at her desk, composed, like she'd arranged herself carefully.
"Of course I'm awake," she said. "Just got home from school."
Pause.
"But you, you look like death."
Him laughing: "Thanks. Feel like it too."
"I watched the match," she said.
The pride in her voice was genuine: "That trivela. Takeshi, that was..."
Her voice caught slightly. "That was Ajax-level. That was US level."
Him grinning despite exhaustion: "You taught me that curve, remember? Age 8. You spent two hours showing me foot positioning."
"And you finally perfected it at the most dramatic moment possible," she said, smiling. "89th minute. Of course you did."
They laughed together—comfortable banter from old partners, the kind that made their shared history feel alive on the screen between them. This is why it hurt. They were still them. But she was becoming someone who watched from 1,500 kilometers away.
Then her face shifted.
"Takeshi... can I be honest?"
"Always."
She took a breath. "I'm proud. So proud of that goal. But I'm also worried. You're burning out. I can see it."
Him: "I'm fine—"
"Don't," she said firmly. "You're talking to me. I've known you since we were 8. You can lie to your coach, your team, maybe even..." She paused, mentioning a name she'd been avoiding. "...Akari. But not to me."
He went quiet. Because she was right.
Sitting up slightly: "Okay. Yeah. I'm exhausted. Completely."
Running his hand through his hair. "Five matches in three weeks. School exams. Family pressure. Media constantly analyzing every mistake. Three matches left and we're still not safe. I don't know how much more I can give."
His voice cracked on the last word.
Elsa's face softened. She didn't interrupt, just listened. He continued: "And everyone's counting on me. Team. Fans. Parents. Akari. If I fail... if we get relegated... I wasted this second chance too."
She leaned forward slightly. "You haven't wasted anything. Look at what you've built. Three years ago you were gone. Disappeared. Now you're scoring 89th minute winners, leading a team fighting relegation with everything they have. That's not wasting. That's living."
"Doesn't feel like living," he said quietly. "Feels like drowning."
Elsa paused. "That's because you're chasing victory. Instead of remembering why you play."
She leaned back. "Remember Ajax camp? Age 8, that first day we played together?"
He nodded. "Yeah. The practice match."
"Do you remember your face?" she asked gently. "You were smiling. The entire time. Even when we lost that scrimmage 4-2."
Him, thinking back: "I was just... happy to be playing."
"Exactly," she said. "Somewhere between then and now, you forgot. Football became about NOT failing. About redemption. Survival. Proving yourself. But that's not why you fell in love with it."
Voice gentle: "You fell in love because it was joy. The ball at your feet. The movement. The creativity. That's what you need to find again."
Takeshi was quiet, absorbing this. "Find joy, not just victory."
"Yeah. Exactly," she said. "Three matches left. Win or lose, make sure you're actually living them. Not just surviving them."
"How do you always know what to say?" he asked.
Her smile was soft, slightly hollow: "Because I know you. Better than almost anyone."
Except her now, she didn't say.
There was a comfortable silence for a moment. Takeshi was thinking about her words. Elsa's fingers were fidgeting off-screen, betraying the calm composure of her face.
She'd been preparing for this conversation for weeks.
Finally: "So..."
Casual tone. Too casual.
"You and Akari."
Takeshi blinked. "Yeah?"
"You're finally dating, right?" she asked.
There it was. The question she needed answered. The confirmation that would close the door forever.
"Yeah," he said, smiling. "Officially."
His smile was genuine, completely oblivious to the weight behind her question.
"Been like three weeks now? Almost four? After the double date with Sato and Yumi."
He was talking normally, happily, not seeing Elsa's hand gripping the edge of her desk off-screen.
"She's really good for me, you know?" he continued. "Grounds me when I'm spiraling. After the Kashiwa loss, after the pressure last week... she was there."
Elsa's face remained bright, supportive. "That's wonderful, Takeshi."
She meant it. She absolutely meant it. And it was destroying her.
"She sounds perfect for you."
"She is, I think," he said. Then, uncertain: "Is that weird? To say to you?"
"No! Why would it be?" she asked. Because we're best friends, she thought. Because I want you happy. Even if it kills me. "We're best friends. I want you happy."
"It's just different, you know?" he continued, completely unaware. "Having someone there. Physically. Not just phone calls and texts. Someone I can actually... be with."
The word "physically" landed like a knife.
Elsa nodded, her expression never wavering. "Distance makes everything harder."
"Yeah. Exactly," he said.
Not realizing what he was saying. Not understanding that from her end, it sounded like: I could never be with you because you're too far away. I'm glad I found someone close.
Both true. Both destroying her.
"I think I'm actually in love with her," he said casually, like discussing the weather. "Is that crazy? At 15?"
Elsa's breath caught. He didn't notice through the screen.
She managed: "No. Not crazy. Love doesn't care about age."
I've loved you since I was 8.
He smiled that soft smile—the one she remembered from Ajax, now permanently reserved for someone else.
"Yeah. I guess you're right."
Elsa was checking the time on her screen, sudden urgency in her movements. "Oh, I actually have some work to do."
A lie. She just couldn't hold the mask longer.
"Oh! Yeah, sorry for keeping you," he said, guilt flickering across his face.
"No, this was good. Needed to check on you," she said. "Make sure you're okay."
Both of them knew she meant more than football.
"Thanks for listening. Always," he said.
She smiled, and it trembled slightly at the edges. "Always."
About to end the call. Then he said: "Hey, Els?"
"Yeah?"
"Thanks for being my best friend. Through everything. Ajax, the depression years, now. You're kind of the best."
Her throat tightened.
She said the only thing she could: "Dummy."
Just one word. Soft. Affectionate. All the love she couldn't say packed into that single syllable.
He laughed. "What? Why am I a dummy?"
She couldn't explain that "dummy" meant I loved you first but she loved you better because she was actually there, and now I'm finally letting go, and it breaks me, but I'm doing it because that's what love is.
"Just are," she said instead. "I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Yeah. Good luck with your work."
"You too. Three more matches. Find the joy."
"I will. Promise."
The call ended.
Takeshi set his phone down, smiling. That conversation had actually helped. Find joy, not just victory. Good advice from his best friend. He rolled over, feeling supported, understood, loved.
Within minutes, he was asleep.
On the other side of the world, Elsa sat at her desk in the soft Norwegian afternoon light.
3:24 PM. The sun was already thinking about setting. Everything was normal. Everything was shattered.
She didn't cry. She'd already done that when he first told her about Akari weeks ago. Now there was just the hollow acceptance of something she'd always known was coming.
He was happy.
Someone else made him happy.
That was what mattered.
Even if it wasn't her.
Especially because it wasn't her.
She reached for the carnival teddy bear on her shelf—brown, worn, eight years of holding it. He'd won it for her at Ajax camp. Ring toss game when they were eight. He'd been so proud to give it to her.
She held it against her chest.
Whispering to her empty room: "I loved you first. But she loved you better. Because she was actually there."
The words hung in the air.
1,500 kilometers between them. Might as well be the entire universe.
This was what unrequited love looked like at the end. Not dramatic. Not tragic in some grand way.
Just quiet. Just accepting. Just the realization that some people you love will never love you back, no matter how long you wait, no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you'll support their happiness with someone else.
She opened her homework instead. Life continued. Even when hearts broke. Even when love went nowhere. Even when "dummy" meant "I love you" and he would never, ever know.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her mother: "Dinner in 30 minutes."
She replied: "Okay. Coming."
Standing up, the teddy bear still in her hands. She placed it carefully on her bed, arranging the pillows around it like it was a person.
Tonight she'd sleep holding it again. Maybe for the last time. Maybe she could finally start letting go.
But not yet.
Tonight she'd grieve the dream she'd held since she was eight years old. Tomorrow she could start being happy for him.
Tonight, in the privacy of her Norwegian bedroom while he slept peacefully in Japan, Elsa Bergström allowed herself to feel every ounce of the eight-year-old love she could never give him.
And then she let it go.