Seven years had passed since Takeshi Yamamoto walked into Ajax's facility as an eight-year-old with the world at his feet.
Now he was just another Tokyo high school student shuffling through morning crowds like everyone else.
The route to school was automatic. Same streets. Same convenience store. Same crossing. His brain didn't even need to engage. His legs just carried him forward while his mind stayed somewhere else, or nowhere at all.
Another day. Another normal, forgettable day.
His backpack felt heavy despite being nearly empty. Uniform slightly wrinkled. Hair messy from sleep. Nobody looked at him twice. Nobody recognized him. Nobody cared.
And that was... fine. Actually better than fine. Safe. Comfortable. The exact opposite of those years when his face was everywhere.
Seven years since I came back. Three years since I quit. And I don't even miss it anymore.
Lie, his adult mind whispered, but he pushed it down. Lying was easier.
The gate of Yamada High School appeared. Students everywhere in uniform, backpacks, the mundane chaos of teenage life. On the far side of campus, beyond the gym, he could see the soccer field. Team practicing. The sound of a whistle cutting through morning air.
Takeshi didn't even glance that direction.
Used to be painful. The hunger, the envy, the could've-been crushing down on him. But three years of numbness had worn that down to nothing.
He passed the field every day now. Didn't even feel it anymore.
Which was its own kind of dead.
The classroom was its usual noise. Teacher writing college entrance exam strategies on the board while students stress-ate snacks they weren't supposed to have. Takeshi took his usual seat in the back corner—classic burnout position, nobody bothered him there.
He opened his notebook and started doodling in the margins. Abstract shapes. Nothing meaning anything.
1,095 days since the last system notification.
He'd stopped counting at 1,000, but the number lived in his head anyway. Three years, four months, twenty-three days of absolute silence.
The system didn't disappear. It was still there; he could feel it. Just... dormant. Disappointed maybe. Like it had written him off and moved on to something more promising.
"Isn't that the golden boy of Japanese football?"
Takeshi's pencil paused mid-doodle.
"The soccer guy from middle school?"
Two students three desks over, thinking they were quiet.
"Yeah, he was supposed to be amazing. What happened to him?"
"Heard he just... quit."
"Waste of talent."
He kept drawing. Didn't react. Heard variations of this conversation at least once a week. The narrative was set: the boy who had everything and threw it away. The failed prodigy. The cautionary tale teachers whispered about.
Nobody knew the real reason. Nobody cared enough to find out.
Rooftop at lunch was their usual spot. Four friends, same group since middle school: Takeshi, Akari, Yuki, and Sato.
Sato was rambling about Arsenal's recent match, excited about some new signing. He'd never known about the Ajax camp or Real Madrid or any of it. He was friends with the normal version of Takeshi, the one who just existed, went to school, did homework, and played video games on weekends.
"Did you guys see the Arsenal match yesterday?" Sato asked, mouth full of rice. "That midfielder came on! What's his name... Oliver something?"
Takeshi's chopsticks paused mid-air.
Yuki answered casually, "Oliver, He's actually Takeshi's friend."
Friend.
Not anymore. They hadn't talked in eight months. Before that, sporadic text conversations every few weeks that got shorter and shorter. Oliver had stopped trying to reach out after Takeshi gave one-word responses too many times.
Sato's eyes went wide. "Wait, what? You know him?"
"We went to camp together. A long time ago."
He was downplaying it. The story he'd perfected. "Haven't talked in a while."
Not a lie, technically. Just an incomplete truth.
Akari changed the subject smoothly, something about the school festival planning, and Sato's attention shifted like a puppy distracted by a new toy. She had a way of doing that. Protecting him without making it obvious.
The conversation moved on. School, friends, who was dating who, the upcoming entrance exam pressure everyone was suddenly feeling. Normal teenage stuff that felt like watching life through bulletproof glass. He was there but not there.
Later, when Sato was distracted, arguing with Yuki about something stupid, Akari's voice went quieter.
"Elsa called me yesterday."
Takeshi's hands tightened slightly around his lunch box.
"She's worried about you," Akari continued. "Says you sound... empty on your calls."
Him: "I'm fine."
Her, not accepting it: "No you're not. You haven't been fine in three years."
The accuracy of that hurt in a way he'd forgotten he could hurt.
He pushed it down. "I'm managing."
Akari looked like she wanted to push further, but she didn't. That was the thing about her—she knew when to stop. Knew he needed space but refused to let him disappear completely. She was there. Always there.
In a way that complicated things he'd rather not think about.
After school, Takeshi took the long route home. Not the main street. The back path that led past the high school soccer field.
Not on purpose, he told himself. Just felt like a walk.
He ended up standing behind the fence anyway.
The team was practising. Nothing special—drills, scrimmages, the usual teenage soccer routine. They were okay. Not great, not terrible. The kind of team that would win local tournaments but never advance further. No stars. No prodigies.
He could've been on that field. Should've been on that field. Captain, probably, if his life had gone differently.
Memory hit him like a punch to the throat.
Ajax. Eight years old. That 3v3 match where he'd scored a hat-trick. TIME RELAY is activating for the first time. Elsa's perfect partnership. Marcus's rivalry was born. Real Madrid's card pressed into his hand.
The article is going public.
His parents' faces on that video call, exhausted and desperate.
Grandmother has six months without treatment. Real Madrid will pay for everything.
72-hour deadline.
Him sitting in his room, frozen. Not choosing Real Madrid. Not rejecting them. Just... paralyzed. Unable to move either direction.
By the time he'd unfrozen, Real Madrid had moved on. But grandmother's health hadn't waited. She'd gotten worse. Faster.
His parents couldn't afford treatment. Couldn't find donors. Couldn't save her.
She died three months after his 12th birthday. She survived that long cuz of Erik helped them.
Last thing she'd said to him: "Follow your dreams, Takeshi."
But by then, he'd already quit.
Couldn't even look at a football without feeling it, that crushing weight of choice and consequence and the lie that sometimes doing nothing was the same as being safe.
The system had gone silent after that. it was disappointed. Like, even the supernatural AI tracking his development had given up.
Three years of nothing. Three years of numbness. Three years of being nobody.
One of the players on the field attempted a skill move. Did it wrong—weight off-balance, touch too heavy. Takeshi's hands gripped the fence. Adult knowledge screaming corrections. But he said nothing.
Not my place. I'm nobody now.
His phone buzzed on the walk home.
Message from Elsa: "Monthly check-in! How are you? 😊"
Photo attached: Her in Norway national team U17 gear. She'd made it. Lived the dream they'd talked about during midnight conversations at Ajax.
Another notification in the group chat—one he hadn't responded to in months:
Marcus: "Signed with Borussia Dortmund academy! Dreams coming true! 🔥"
Isabella: "Congratulations! 🎉"
Kwame: "Proud of you, brother"
Oliver: "Welcome to the professional life!"
Everyone was moving forward. Everyone was becoming something.
Takeshi was just... existing.
He started walking faster. Away from the field. Away from the memories. Away from everything that might make him feel.
This is fine. Normal is fine. I don't need football. I don't need the pressure. I don't need—
The world fractured.
First twitch was in his left eye. Then a sharp pain behind his temples. Then the feeling of something tearing open inside his mind.
Takeshi stumbled.
A window appeared in his vision. But wrong. Corrupted. Like the system itself was glitching:
[SYS??M ?????NG]
━━━???━━━━━━━━━━━━
ERR?? - ?? Y?ARS ST?GNANT
H?ST ST?TUS:
Age: 15
Rank: Semi-Professional A
Progress: 0% (3 years)
Passion Level: 2/100
Will to Win: 1/100
????ING: H?ST DYI?G
T?L?NT W?ST?D
SEC??D CH??NCE SQU?ND?R?D
???T ????ING...
??I? IS ???R F?N?L ???NCE
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
No. No no no.
Takeshi stopped walking. Hands shaking. Heart pounding in a way it hadn't in three years.
The window was flickering, struggling to stabilize. Like the system was fighting itself. Fighting him.
First emotion in years, a voice in his head noted distantly. Fear. Panic. Something.
The glitching slowed. The interface fought back online:
[EMERGENCY REBOOT]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
SYSTEM ANALYSIS COMPLETE
Host has abandoned purpose
Wasted second chance
Grandmother died
Dreams abandoned
Friends succeeding without you
Current Path: FAILURE
Projected Future: REGRET
CRITICAL DECISION POINT:
Continue current path → Normal life, eternal regret
Reclaim destiny → Pain, pressure, but PURPOSE
FINAL QUEST OFFERED:
"REDEMPTION ARC"
Accept: YES / NO
Warning: This is your last chance
System will permanently shut down if refused
You will live normal life
You will die with regret
Choose wisely, Takeshi
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Takeshi stood on a random street corner in Tokyo, staring at an interface nobody else could see.
Three years of safety. Three years of numbness. Three years of choosing nothing.
But also three years without pain. Without pressure. Without the crushing expectations that had nearly destroyed him.
Safety had its own weight.
Grandmother's voice: "Follow your dreams."
Elsa's message from this morning: worried about him.
Marcus, Kwame, Isabella, Oliver—all becoming who they were supposed to be.
And Takeshi? Takeshi was wasting away.
I was scared. That was the truth nobody knew. Real Madrid terrified me. So I chose nothing. And lost everything anyway.
Grandmother died. I gave up. For what?
He looked at his reflection in his phone screen. 15 years old. 34 mentally. 49 total years lived.
And wasted both chances.
"Takeshi?"
He spun around.
Akari was standing there, concern written all over her face. She must have followed him from school. Must have seen him stumble.
"You okay? You look pale."
She doesn't know about the system. Doesn't know about Real Madrid or the decision or any of it. Just knows he's special somehow. Just knows he's hurting.
Looking at her, at his phone with Elsa's message still glowing, at the soccer field visible in the distance, at his empty hands that used to control balls like magic—
"Akari... do you think it's too late?"
Confusion crossed her face. "Too late for what?"
His eyes dropped to the system interface hovering only he could see.
"To start over. To try again."
Her expression softened. Understanding without knowing.
"Takeshi... you're fifteen, not dead. Why would you think it's too late?"
The interface flashed. YES or NO. Last chance. Final opportunity. Three years of running collapsing into one moment of choice.
His hand moved. Hesitant. Afraid.
Hovering over YES.
Memory of grandmother: Follow your dreams.
Memory of Elsa: You're not alone.
Memory of himself at 8: I'll do it right this time.
Three years of cowardice.
One moment to change everything.
His finger pressed YES.
The world exploded with light.
[REDEMPTION ARC ACTIVATED]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
WELCOME BACK, DEMON
Quest: Reclaim Your Destiny
Objective: Reach Professional Rank by 18
Time Remaining: 3 Years
Penalty for Failure: None (You've already lost everything)
Reward: EVERYTHING
Current Status:
Rank: Semi-Professional A
Fitness: Poor (3 years decline)
Skills: Rusty but present
TIME RELAY: 35% (unchanged, waiting for you)
Passion: REIGNITING
First Quest: Join a team. Any team.
Time Limit: 30 Days
The system never abandoned you.
You abandoned yourself.
Time to come home, Takeshi.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Akari watched his face transform. Something in his eyes shifted. Something that had been dead for three years flickering back to life like a match catching flame.
"Takeshi?"
He looked at her. Really looked. First time in actual years.
A smile formed on his face. Small. Hesitant. But real.
"I'm coming back," he said quietly. "To everything. Everyone. Everything I threw away."
Akari didn't understand what that meant. But she understood it meant something.
That was enough.
His phone buzzed. Message from Elsa: "I know you're struggling. But I believe in you. Always have. Always will. Come back to us?"
Takeshi typed for the first time in months: "I'm coming back."
Three years wasted. Three years of running. Three years of fear and regret and safety that felt like slow death.
But he was fifteen. Not dead. Not finished.
Just... lost.
And now? Now he was coming home.
The demon of Ajax had been sleeping.
It was time to wake up.
TO BE CONTINUED...