It had been weeks since he'd left Japan, a world he knew, for this unfamiliar land, this new team. Leonardo Luna, the man who’d scouted him, had promised him a path to greatness, a chance to become the best striker in the world. Sae, always driven, always focused, had readily accepted, leaving behind his parents, his familiar life, and embracing the daunting pressure. But the reality was far harsher than he’d anticipated.

The language barrier was a constant, frustrating hurdle. Spanish words, a foreign symphony, swirled around him, making him feel isolated and lost. He’d picked up snippets, enough to understand the cruel jests, the mocking laughter, the constant reminders that he was an outsider, a ‘Chino’ in their midst.

Today, the taunts had gone beyond words. The playful jabs had morphed into physical aggression. Shoves, clumsy kicks, and now, this. His hair being yanked mercilessly by his teammates. Tears pricked his eyes traced a path down his cheek. He blinked it away, refusing to let his vulnerability become a weakness. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn’t let them see him break. But the tears were only getting worse.

“¡Míralo, está llorando!” a voice sneered, the words a cruel echo in the echoing space. Others joined in, their laughter like a chorus of mocking birds, their words stinging like whips. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the jeers, the taunts that were now laced with a vicious satisfaction.

They were right. He was crying. He was weak. He was alone. The weight of it all – the loneliness, the fear, the constant barrage of discrimination – crashed down on him. The dream, the promise of greatness, felt like a cruel joke. He missed his home, his family and his younger brother, Rin.

He stumbled back, wrestling with a surge of anger, a painful realization. He had been a fool to think he could simply ignore the snide comments, brush it off as a minor hurdle. Sae wiped his eyes, his heart heavy, his spirit bruised.