"I am sorry, Mister Maeda," the doctor said quietly. He folded his hands together, eyes lowered. "We have no other choice. We need to perform another surgery to ensure there are no further complications. If you insist on continuing your career… then not only will football be over for you, but there is a very real chance you will spend the rest of your life in a wheelchair."
The words echoed in the room long after the doctor stopped speaking. The young man who had just heard the verdict of his future froze; his mind refused to process anything beyond a single phrase.
'Another surgery.'
His breath grew shallow. His fingers trembled, clutching the edge of the hospital bed as if it were the only thing keeping him in the living plane. Somewhere along the way, warm drops slid down his cheeks, yet the young man didn't really notice them. His world had already collapsed.
'I will lose my leg.'
Then, suddenly, he laughed. A hoarse, broken sound tore out of his throat as his shoulders shook violently. "Hahaha… You're joking, right?" His voice cracked. "This is a joke. It has to be." He looked up, eyes bloodshot, staring at the ceiling as if waiting for the higher deity to answer his plea. "God… Kami-sama… whoever the hell is up there, are you fucking kidding me?! Is this funny for you?! Fuck! AARGH!"
Hearing the patient start wailing like this, the nurse was alarmed, ready to take action. However, before she could do that, the doctor just shook his head, signalling her to be quiet and let the man vent out his emotions first. For 25 years he had been a doctor, this was always the most painful part.
Rage. Denial. Desperation.
There was nothing he could say that would make this hurt less.
'Poor young man. His career is starting to shine, but even God is jealous of his talent.' The doctor shook his head in pity.
The young man's name was Vincent Maeda, a half-German and half-Japanese. Although he was just 19 years old, the young man was one of the most talented footballers in the world, nicknamed The Magician of the Field.
Everyone still remembered just a few months ago, he led Borussia Dortmund, the second-best team in Germany, staged a perfect coup to dethrone Bayern Munich, one of the best teams in the world, from the top of the German football league after the latter had been dominating the entire field for more than 12 years.
Some might say that it was a team achievement. However, anyone with a brain could tell that the main contributor was Vincent. With 25 goals and 28 assists in a season, he turned the team's rusty offensive machine into a juggernaut, destroying anyone's defense left and right.
That result alone was enough to get him the Kopa Trophy for the best young player in the world this year; if not losing against Manchester City in the semi-final of the Champions League last April, he might as well compete for the Ballon D'Or Award.
So, yeah, he was currently at the very peak of his career.
Hell, rumor even said that Real Madrid was ready to break Neymar's ridiculous transfer record a few years ago just to land him on the team, and Vincent was ready to make a move of his life.
And then summer came.
A meaningless friendly match.
A reckless tackle from a veteran desperate to prove something.
Vincent didn't remember the impact. The pain had been so overwhelming that his mind simply shut down. The next thing he knew, he was lying in a hospital bed, his body wrapped in casts and restraints, staring at a ceiling that felt impossibly far away.
Vincent didn't really know what happened, but he would be forever grateful that he lost consciousness that day. Looking at the recording of the incident, even he himself wanted to vomit at how bad the tackle was.
A red card had been shown. Apologies were issued after the match. Unfortunately, none of it really mattered. His leg was broken. His ankle shattered. And with it, the future he had devoted his entire life to.
For a young man who poured his heart and soul on the football pitch, this was definitely a fate worse than death. It was as if his soul was sucked into the deepest abyss in hell, getting trapped with no light able to reach it.
Everything was so bleak that Vincent even had an intrusive thought about ending his life right now.
'What should I say to Coach? Erling? Jude? Everyone would be devastated when they heard the news from me…' His chest tightened. In a bustling summer night where everyone was hanging out with their family, he was all alone, feeling like the world was over.
Vincent kept strolling around aimlessly. He pulled his hat low, gripping his crutch as he walked. Each tap against the pavement sounded too loud, too mocking. A few people glanced his way, probably recognizing his familiar face. After all, just a month ago, he was the hero of this city.
Still, the young man kept avoiding the crowd. Right now, he didn't want—and didn't dare as well—to meet any people he knew. Hell, he himself was not sure what kind of reaction he would have once someone asked about his condition. For now, he could still bottle things up inside his heart. But once someone poked it from the outside, the fragile dam that was holding back his emotion would be broken in one sweep.
'What should I do now…' He sighed helplessly,
Without realizing it, Vincent arrived at the Ruhr Viaduct, a majestic sandstone bridge spanning over 30 meters that had been the icon of this city for so many years. So many tourists gathered along the railings, snapping photos, while children laughed as they ran past. When Vincent saw that one of them wore the Dortmund jersey with the number 22 and his name, Maeda, on the back, a bitter smile tugged his lips.
'Life sure is funny, huh?' He thought. 'Today, they cheer for you, and tomorrow, they could completely forget about you.'
As he lamented his fate, though, Vincent didn't really pay attention to his surroundings. He failed to notice two little girls scampering around with melodious laughter, and the next thing the young man knew, one of the girls suddenly crashed onto him.
Brugh!
"Ah!" The little girl tumbled to the ground with a soft cry.
"Watch out!" Vincent also reacted. The instinct he honed on the football pitch kicked in, forcing him to grab the girl's hand to prevent her from falling into the river. However, the moment he shifted his weight and tried to keep himself steady, pain exploded through his injured leg. "Fuck!" He cursed, his vision went white.
The crutch slipped from his grasp, and for a brief, horrifying moment, Vincent felt weightless. The bridge railing rushed past his fingertips, just out of reach, and the world tilted violently.
"FUCK—!"
Then, the next thing he knew, Vincent fell, and that ridiculous thought about ending his life earlier suddenly was about to become a reality.