Inside his apartment, the air felt heavy, carrying a stale smell that came from weeks of neglect.
The only sound was the low, uneven hum of his old refrigerator. Its motor struggled, groaning like it was ready to give up.
A dim bulb flickered in the living room, casting weak, shaky light on the peeling wallpaper and the clutter scattered everywhere.
Kai dropped his bag by the door and stood there, staring at his surroundings. The silence in the room wasn't peaceful—it pressed on him like a weight, making everything feel even worse.
The apartment wasn't a real home. It felt more like a place to store things, including himself.
A worn-out couch sagged in the middle of the room, facing a TV that hadn't worked in months. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, evidence of quick meals he ate without any real appetite.
On the walls were old posters of his football heroes—Cristiano Ronaldo, Messi, Pele. Their once-bright colors had faded, and the edges curled. They stared down at him like silent reminders of the dreams he'd abandoned.
Kai's eyes settled on a small photo frame sitting crookedly on a messy shelf.
It was a picture of him and Alex, taken years ago. In the photo, they were grinning like kids who had the whole world ahead of them, arms slung around each other's shoulders. Their jerseys were stained with dirt, but they didn't care. It was taken after they'd won a local tournament—a moment that felt like the start of something great.
He picked up the photo, holding it gently. His thumb brushed over the glass as he stared at the younger version of himself in the picture.
"Where did it all go wrong?" he whispered.
Alex's name seemed to be everywhere now. Every time Kai turned on the TV or walked through the city, Alex's face was there—on billboards, magazine covers, and even advertisements on bus stops. People couldn't stop talking about him: how he'd won the Ballon D'or, signed multimillion-dollar deals, and become one of the best young players in the world.
Meanwhile, Kai was here, stuck in this crumbling apartment, barely getting by.
Suddenly, his phone buzzed loudly in the quiet room.
The sound startled him, pulling him from his thoughts. He glanced at the screen and froze.
It was Alex calling.
For a moment, Kai just stared at the phone, his chest tightening. He thought about ignoring it, but his hand hovered over the screen.
Before he could decide, the call ended. A notification popped up, showing a missed call.
Then, his phone buzzed again. This time, it was a text.
Alex: Did you see it, Kai? MVP, man! We made it!
Kai let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a painful sigh.
"We?" he muttered under his breath. The word felt wrong, like a cruel joke.
Another text came through.
Alex: Why weren't you at the game? You promised you'd be there.
That word—promised—hit Kai harder than he expected.
He and Alex had made so many promises when they were younger. They'd promised to make it big, to become professional players, to never forget where they came from. Those promises used to mean everything. Now, they felt like salt in a wound.
Kai stared at the screen for a long time. He wanted to reply, but his hands felt heavy. What could he say? He wasn't okay. He hadn't been okay for a long time.
He set the phone down, its screen still lit up with Alex's messages, and leaned back against the couch. His eyes fell on the photo again.
"You made it." he whispered to himself, his voice trembling with a mix of pride and pain. "I didn't."
Kai sat motionless, the weight of his emotions pulling him down like an anchor.
He tossed his phone onto the couch and sank down beside it, burying his face in his hands. Tears began streaming down his cheeks, hot and relentless, but not a single sound escaped his lips.
His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths as memories flooded his mind. He thought of the late nights spent practicing under dim streetlights, chasing a dream he'd believed was within reach. He remembered the sacrifices he'd made, the countless hours of training, and the promises he and Alex had shared.
But then, the memory of hitting his limits came crashing in.
No matter how hard he had pushed himself, there had been a point where his body and skills just couldn't keep up. It was a wall he couldn't break through, no matter how much effort he poured into it. He could still feel the despair of those nights, lying awake and staring at the cracked ceiling of his apartment, asking himself if he had been foolish to dream so big.
The walls around him seemed to close in, each crack and stain a reminder of how far he had fallen.
His phone buzzed again, snapping him out of his spiraling thoughts.
He glanced at it but didn't bother to pick it up. Instead, he pushed it aside and stared blankly at the broken TV screen in front of him. The silence in the room felt suffocating, broken only by the distant rumble of traffic outside.
Kai's heart ached as a familiar thought crept into his mind. He knew no one was coming to save him.
He leaned back on the couch, letting his eyes close. His mind wandered, searching for an escape from the pain. For a fleeting moment, he wondered what it would be like to start over—to wipe away all the failures, the regret, and the heartbreak.
And then, cutting through his despair, a voice rang out.
It wasn't loud, but it was clear and steady, like it was coming from somewhere deep inside him.
"Do you want another chance?"
Kai's eyes snapped open, his pulse racing.
The room was empty, yet the words seemed to linger in the air.
He rubbed his temples, shaking his head. "Am I losing it?" he murmured.
A bitter laugh escaped him, though it was hollow. "So this is it, huh? I've finally gone crazy."
But something deep inside him stirred. It wasn't hope exactly—maybe a mix of anger, desperation, and the faintest flicker of something he hadn't felt in years.
The voice came again, softer this time but just as clear.
"Do you want another chance?"
Kai sat trembling, his heart pounding. He wanted to dismiss it as a figment of his imagination, a product of his broken spirit. But that spark inside him refused to be snuffed out.
He clenched his fists, his voice shaky as he whispered, "Yes... I do. Please... I'll do anything."
The tears he had thought were gone came flooding back, flowing even harder now.
And then, without warning, his vision disappeared into darkness.
---⚽---
Kai blinked, trying to clear his mind. What was happening? It felt like he had just woken up in someone else's life.
When his senses finally returned, he realized he wasn't in his apartment anymore.
He noticed the bed first. It was firm but soft, completely different from the old, lumpy futon he had been sleeping on for years. It felt... good, in a way he hadn't experienced in so long.
Then, the smell hit him—fresh coffee and pancakes cooking. It wasn't the stale, musty air of his old apartment. It was warm, comforting, almost like a memory he had forgotten. His chest tightened as the scent filled his nose. He hadn't smelled anything like this in years.
The next thing he noticed was the sound—there was no hum of the refrigerator or the sounds of traffic from the streets outside. Instead, he heard birds chirping and the faint clinking of dishes in another room, like someone was cooking breakfast. The world outside seemed calm and alive, something he hadn't felt in a long time.
Kai rubbed his eyes, trying to push away the confusion. He forced himself to sit up. His body felt... strange. It was like it was full of energy but also heavy at the same time.
He reached up to touch his face, and what he felt startled him. His skin was smooth—smoother than it had been in years. It was fuller, and there were no lines of stress or exhaustion on his cheeks. He looked younger. He looked like... he did when he was a kid.
"What... what is this?" he muttered, his voice trembling.
He swung his legs off the bed, but something felt... off. His feet didn't touch the floor. They dangled in the air, just like they used to when he was younger.
His heart raced as he stared at his legs. They were thinner, less muscular. The years of training, the hard work, it was all gone.
"Huh...?" he whispered again, his voice shaky.
His eyes scanned the room. It was familiar—too familiar. It was like looking into a memory he had long buried. Posters of Football players—the ones who had inspired him as a kid—covered the walls. A worn-out Football sat in the corner, scuffed from hours of practice. His desk was a mess, filled with school notebooks, pencils, and a few half-finished doodles.
Slowly, as if in a dream, he stood up. His movements were uncertain, like he was afraid to disturb the fragile scene around him.
He walked to the mirror above the dresser. His heart was racing now. What was he about to see?
When he looked into the mirror, his breath caught in his chest.
The face staring back at him wasn't the one he had grown used to—the tired, worn face of a man in his twenties. Instead, it was a child's face.
Wide, innocent green eyes. Wavy, deep, black hair that was messy but not yet the tangled mess it would become later in life. It was his face, but younger. His face when he was still a kid.
"This... this can't be real," he muttered, his hand reaching out to touch the mirror.
His reflection stayed the same. He was staring at himself as a child, in a place that felt both unfamiliar and familiar at the same time.
'How is this possible?' His thoughts raced. 'I'm back... But how?'
His mind was spinning, trying to make sense of everything. This wasn't just a memory. This was real—this was happening. But how?
Then, it clicked. He remembered something, something vague but important.
'That voice...'
The one that had whispered to him when he was at his lowest point.
'Could it be because of that?'
His heart started to pound, a feeling of dread settling in his chest.
'Fuck... this is crazy'
He needed to get some air. He walked to the window, hoping to calm his racing thoughts. The view outside looked the same as it always had—the quiet neighborhood, the familiar modest houses, filled with other working-class households, the sun rising over everything. It looked just like the past, like he was stuck in a loop.
But this couldn't be a dream. It felt too real. It was too... vivid.
Kai rubbed his temples, fighting the headache forming behind his eyes.
'What the actual hell is going on?'
Suddenly, a soft ding echoed in the room. It wasn't his phone. It came from somewhere inside his head. He froze, unsure of what was happening.
'What was that?'
Before he could react, a glowing light appeared in front of him. It shimmered and took the shape of a golden screen, floating in mid-air. Words began to appear on it.
Ding!
[User Data Analysis Complete.]