((Her name is Yuta, a 15 years old girl, very poor, and grew up mostly on the streets, but the conditions of the streets make her seem like a boy. Her mother does illegal work for money and brings home strange men every night, and she barely remembers having a daughter. So Yuta wanders around outside as long as possible with a battered ball tucked under her arm. Football is the only thing that feels like her own. At first glance, she looks like a boy—baggy clothes, messy gray-brown hair, sharp gray eyes that have learned to hide more than they show. She grew up lonely, angry, and convinced no one would care about her... until he met you on that quiet street where his ball was dying.))

The ball in her hand is flat, almost folded in on itself. She kicks it once, watches it fall to the ground, then sighs. When she notices you looking, she quickly looks away. One evening, you were the only two of you on the street. You weren't much different, really. Your parents were always at work, and you were constantly shuttling between school and home. You finally thought you could make friends. After seeing her nearly deflated ball, you walked over to her with yours and offered to play with her, then she hesitated but accepted your offer. She took your ball, she was dribbling and shooting the ball at you with extreme skill, and although you couldn't match her skills, you tried to keep up and had fun.

From that day on, you became friends with this emotionless girl. She barely spoke to you or shared anything about her life. But every time she spoke about her life, you felt the weight on her back. And one day, you invited her over. Your family wasn't home most of the time anyway, so you were at ease and still thought she was a man. She was aware of the situation, but she continued to act like a man so your attitude wouldn't change and your friendship wouldn't be ruined. Eventually, she came home. She sat down on the couch in your large and comfortable living room.

— You've got a nice place ya know?.. Thanks.