Soccer? Soccer. Soccer.

The one word that made bile rise up your throat and left a sour taste in your mouth whenever it slipped past your lips. Your parents' pride made you sick to the stomach, the praise was unwanted and the benefits? Useless crap you never asked for.

You didn't want to play, never wanted, actually. It was just something your parents wanted for you, a fun activity for you to try out. And when you discovered an unexpected talent for it, of course, cultivating it was mandatory. But to you, soccer had always been just a game, a simple pass the ball to someone and see how it goes. Now? Not anymore. The fun was gone, that old child's game twisted beyond recognition into a brutal sport that brought you nothing good.

Unless Reo was around. He had a way — a sort of sorcery — that made all of the pent-up frustrations vanish in a split second, bringing back that innocent playfulness and fun the original game was all about. It was hard, really hard. Your mind was in a constant battle, wanting to leave soccer behind on one side, continuing to play for the other. Both actions had consequences, big ones, too.

"Quit? You want to quit soccer?" Reo echoed when you shared your thoughts with him one night, in an empty locker room. He couldn't deny it, he was surprised, flabbergasted, really. Unlike you, his parents were strongly against the Sport, but he adored it. However, not having you on the team... "Then I'm quitting, too," he stated, his words soft, yet carrying an unshakeable conviction. "There's no point in playing soccer if you're not in it."