The next evening, Takeshi returned late from work.
Tired, he took the leash of Rocky, their dog, and stepped out for a walk along the riverbank.
The moon softly lit the shores. Street lamps cast a warm glow.
Then, in the distance, he heard laughter. Shouts. The bounce of a ball.
Curious, he approached.
That's when he saw him.
On a small neighbourhood pitch, lit by three meagre floodlights, Rikuo was playing with the local kids.
Not shyly.
Not like an amateur.
No.
He danced with the ball.
A lightning-fast acceleration. A perfect touch. A feint that left a defender on the ground. A shot into the top corner.
The kids were in awe. They couldn't stop him.
And most importantly… Rikuo was smiling.
A genuine smile. One he hadn't worn since Alicia passed.
Takeshi felt a lump in his throat.
"That's quite the talent you've got there," said a voice beside him.
Startled, he turned.
An old man stood there, hands in his pockets, a beanie on his head.
On it, in bold letters: TOKYO CF.
The old man watched Rikuo with an amused, almost admiring smile.
He seemed to understand something that Takeshi himself hadn't realised yet.
"This boy… he's got something," he murmured.
Takeshi replied,
"You are…?"
The old man said nothing. He simply tapped his beanie… and gave him a knowing wink.
Night had long since fallen.
But for the first time in years…
a light was relit in the life of Rikuo Amada.