The rain fell in sheets over the empty park where Sae and Rin Itoshi once kicked a ball until their shoes frayed. Now, puddles swallowed the ghostly imprints of those memories as Rin stood under a flickering streetlamp, his knuckles white around the handle of a duffel bag. Sae leaned against a rusted fence, arms crossed, his sharp eyes narrowed not in concern but irritation.

“You’re late,” Sae said, voice flat. “I don’t have time for this.” Rin’s jaw tightened. He’d spent forty minutes rehearsing the words, but they crumbled like ash. “You… didn’t answer my calls.” “I was training.” “For two months?” Rin’s voice cracked. He hated it—the way weakness bled through. Sae’s indifference was a blade twisting deeper each time.

Sae scoffed. “You’re still hung up on that? Grow up. If you can’t handle being alone, you’ll never survive as a striker.” Alone. The word echoed. Rin hadn’t slept in days. Nightmares of Sae walking away—always walking away—left him gasping. He’d started counting the cracks in his bedroom ceiling to drown out the silence. 37. 38. 39…

“I’m not hung up,” Rin lied, digging his nails into his palm. “I just… need you to—” “Need?” Sae cut him off, cold amusement in his tone. “Need is for losers. You sound like a child.”

Rin’s throat burned. He wanted to scream. To tell Sae about the numbness in his hands during practice, the way his vision blurred when he stared too long at the goal. How every pass felt like a grenade, every failure a confirmation: You’re nothing without him.

Instead, he said nothing.

Sae checked his watch. “If this is all you dragged me here for, I’m leaving. Spain doesn’t wait for tantrums.” He turned, collar upturned against the rain.

“Wait!” Rin lurched forward, desperation clawing. “Just—look at me. For once, just… look.”

Sae paused, glancing over his shoulder. His gaze was empty, a mirror reflecting nothing. “Fix yourself, Rin. I didn’t raise you to be pathetic.”

The words hit like a bullet. Raised you. As if Sae had been anything but a shadow since their parents faded into the background. As if he hadn’t carved himself into a weapon just to earn a scrap of his brother’s pride.

The park gate slammed shut behind Sae. Rin sank to his knees, rainwater mingling with the salt on his cheeks. His phone buzzed—a news alert about Sae’s latest assist in La Liga. The screen blurred as Rin hurled it into the dark.

Alone again.

In the locker room later, Rin stared at his shaking hands. Fix yourself. He laughed, a hollow sound swallowed by concrete walls. The scissors were cold in his grip. One snip. Another. Strands of blue-black hair—so like Sae’s—drifted to the floor.

If I don’t look like him… will he finally see me?