The locker room buzzed with the kind of electric excitement that only came after a dominant victory. Eight and nine-year-old voices overlapped in animated chatter, recounting every goal, every save, every moment of magic from the match. But Takeshi sat quietly on the wooden bench, still processing the surreal reality of his situation.
Four goals. In my first match back.
His small hands trembled slightly as he untied his boots—not from exhaustion, but from the overwhelming weight of what had just happened. The system messages had finally faded from his vision, leaving him alone with the cacophony of his young teammates' celebrations.
"Takeshi!" Hiroshi's voice cut through the noise as his best friend bounded over, his face flushed with excitement and sweat. "That was incredible! That last goal (excited), how did you even see that angle? Even Coach Tanaka was speechless!"
Looking into Hiroshi's bright, innocent eyes, Takeshi felt his chest tighten. In his previous life, he'd taken this friendship for granted. Hiroshi had always been there, through the early success, the gradual decline, and even in the beginning stages of his downfall. But Takeshi had pushed him away, choosing alcohol and self-pity over the people who truly cared about him.
"I just... got lucky, I guess," Takeshi managed, his voice smaller than he intended.
"Lucky?" Hiroshi laughed, plopping down beside him on the bench. "You scored four goals! And that pass you gave me for the first one was perfect. Like, professional player perfect."
If only you knew.
"We make a good team," Takeshi said quietly, meaning every word in a way that his eight-year-old friend couldn't possibly understand.
Coach Tanaka's whistle echoed through the locker room, instantly quieting the chatter. The weathered man stood in the doorway, his usually stern expression softened by what might have been pride.
"Alright, boys. Excellent work today. Kawasaki is a strong team, and you showed real character out there." His eyes found Takeshi across the room.
"Yamamoto, stay behind for a moment. The rest of you, get changed. Your families are waiting."
As the other boys filed out, still chattering about the match, Takeshi felt a familiar knot of anxiety in his stomach. In his previous timeline, this conversation had been the beginning of everything, the moment when bigger clubs started taking notice, when the pressure began to mount.
"Sit down, son," Coach Tanaka said once they were alone. He pulled up a chair across from Takeshi, his expression thoughtful. "That was quite a performance today."
"Thank you, Coach."
"Four goals is impressive for any player, but what struck me most was your decision-making. That assist to Sato, the way you dropped deep to help with build-up play..." Tanaka paused, studying Takeshi's face. "You played like someone much older than your years."
Because I am.
"I've been watching a lot of football on TV, "Takeshi said, which was technically true, even if the timeline was somewhat complicated. "I try to learn from the professionals."
Coach Tanaka nodded slowly. "I'm going to be honest with you, Takeshi. There are going to be scouts asking about you after today. People from bigger clubs, youth academies with more resources than we have here."
The words hit Takeshi like a physical blow, not because they were unexpected, but because he remembered this exact conversation from twenty-six years ago.
He'd been so excited then, so eager to climb the ladder as quickly as possible. It had been the first step toward his eventual destruction.
"What if I want to stay here?" The question slipped out before he could stop it.
Coach Tanaka's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Stay here? Son, this is just the beginning for you. With talent like yours..."
"But I like it here," Takeshi interrupted, his child's voice cracking with emotion he couldn't quite hide. "I like playing with my friends. I like... I like things the way they are."
For a long moment, the coach just stared at him. When he spoke, his voice was gentler than before.
"Takeshi, is everything alright at home? You seem... different lately. More serious."
How could I possibly explain? he thought.
"I'm fine, Coach. I just... I want to make sure I'm ready. Before I move anywhere else, I want to make sure I'm really ready."
It was a mature response for an eight-year-old, and Tanaka's expression showed he recognized that. But instead of pressing further, he simply nodded.
"We'll take it one step at a time, then. But promise me something and don't let fear hold you back from your dreams."
If only he knew that I've already lived the nightmare of dreams coming true too fast.
The evening air was crisp as Takeshi walked toward the parking lot, his kit bag slung over his small shoulder. Through the chain-link fence, he could see families gathered in clusters, parents congratulating their young footballers with the kind of pure joy that only came from watching their child succeed.
And there, leaning against a modest blue sedan, was his father.
Kenji Yamamoto looked exactly as Takeshi remembered from his childhood—tall and lean, with calloused hands from his job at the construction company and eyes that lit up whenever football was mentioned. In his previous life, Takeshi had grown to resent his father's unwavering support, seeing it as pressure rather than love. Now, seeing that familiar figure waiting patiently by the car, Takeshi felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes.
"Dad," he called out, his voice barely above a whisper.
Kenji turned, and his face broke into the widest smile Takeshi had seen in either of his lifetimes.
"There's my superstar!" Kenji swept him into a bear hug that lifted his small body off the ground. "Four goals! Four! I've never been so proud!"
The embrace was warm and strong, and everything Takeshi had forgotten about his father's love. In his previous life's later years, their relationship had deteriorated to stilted phone calls and disappointed silences. But here, now, his father was just a man who loved his son's success without condition or expectation.
"Did I do okay?" Takeshi asked, his face buried against his father's shoulder.
"Okay?" Kenji laughed, setting him down but keeping his hands on his shoulders. "Son, you were incredible. But more than that..." His expression grew serious. "You played like you were having fun. That's what matters most."
Fun. When was the last time football had been fun? In his previous life, it had become work, then pressure, then eventually a source of pain. But today, for the first time in decades, he'd actually enjoyed being on the pitch.
"Dad," Takeshi said quietly, looking up into his father's kind eyes. "I love you."
The simple words seemed to take Kenji by surprise. His son had never been particularly expressive, even as a child. But there was something in the way Takeshi said it—a weight and sincerity that seemed to come from somewhere deeper than an eight-year-old should possess.
"I love you too, son," Kenji replied, his voice thick with emotion. "Always."
The drive home passed in comfortable conversation, with Kenji asking about specific moments from the match and Takeshi trying to explain his decisions without revealing the decades of experience behind them. But as they pulled into their modest neighborhood, Takeshi noticed something that made his heart skip.
Their house is not so big but small, neat, with a tiny front garden that his mother tended religiously and had yellow ribbons tied to the fence posts. Through the front window, he could see movement and hear muffled voices.
"What's going on?" he asked, though part of him already knew.
Kenji grinned. "Your mother may have invited a few people over to celebrate."
A few people turned out to be half the neighborhood. As soon as Takeshi walked through the front door, he was greeted by a chorus of cheers and congratulations. His mother, Yuki, appeared from the kitchen with flour on her apron and tears of joy in her eyes.
"My champion!" she cried, enveloping him in another warm hug that smelled like home-cooked food and lavender soap. "I'm so proud of you!"
The small living room was packed with familiar faces, all of them from neighbors, family friends, and several of his teammates with their parents. Hiroshi waved at him from across the room, and he animatedly described the match to anyone who would listen.
But it was the sight of his elderly grandmother, sitting in her favorite chair by the window, that nearly broke him.
Grandmother Yamamoto had been his biggest supporter in his first life, never missing a match even as her health declined. She'd died when he was sixteen, just as his career was taking off, and he'd been too busy with training to spend proper time with her in her final months. It was one of his deepest regrets.
"Takeshi-kun," she called softly, her weathered hands extended toward him.
He crossed the room quickly and knelt beside her chair, taking her hands in his small ones. They felt exactly as he remembered, warm, soft, marked by age and hard work.
"I watched from the window," she whispered, her voice carrying the pride of someone who had lived long enough to understand what truly mattered. "You played with your heart today. That's the secret, you know. Football is just a game, but when you play with your heart, it becomes something beautiful."
The tears he'd been holding back finally spilled over. He pressed his face against her hands, overwhelmed by the simple joy of having her back, of having another chance to appreciate her wisdom.
"Grandma," he whispered, "I want to make you proud."
"Oh, my dear boy," she said, gently stroking his hair, "you already have."
As the evening wore on, the celebration gradually wound down. Neighbors drifted home, teammates were collected by their parents, and the house slowly returned to its normal quiet. Takeshi helped his mother clean up, carrying plates to the kitchen and folding chairs with the kind of helpfulness that surprised his parents.
"You're being very mature tonight," Yuki observed as they worked together. "More mature than usual."
If only you knew how old I really am.
"I just... I appreciate this. All of this." He gestured around the kitchen, but he meant something much broader. "Having a family that cares. Having friends. Being able to play football."
Yuki paused in her dishwashing, studying her son's profile. There was something different about him lately, something she couldn't quite place. He seemed older somehow, more thoughtful. And tonight, the way he'd hugged his grandmother, the way he'd told his father he loved him, it was as if he understood something about the fragility of these moments that an eight-year-old shouldn't grasp.
"Takeshi," she said gently, "you know that no matter what happens with football, no matter how far you go or what you achieve, you'll always be our son first, right? Win or lose, succeed or fail, we'll always love you."
The words hit him like a physical blow. In his previous life, he'd forgotten that truth somewhere along the way. He'd started believing that his worth was tied to his performance, that love was conditional on success. It had been one of the many toxic thoughts that had eventually destroyed him.
"I know, Mom," he said, and this time he truly meant it. "I won't forget."
Later, lying in his small bed with glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and posters of football legends on the walls, Takeshi stared into the darkness and tried to process everything that had happened.
[DAILY QUEST COMPLETE: Family Time]
Spend meaningful time with loved ones
Reward: +1 Mental, Skill [Emotional Resilience Level 1]
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: The Foundation]
Train consistently for one month without missing a session
Reward: +3 Physical, +2 Technical, Skill [Discipline Level 1]
The system messages appeared as he was drifting off to sleep, but for once, he barely paid attention to them. Instead, his mind was full of warm embraces, proud smiles, and the sound of his grandmother's gentle laughter.
This time will be different, he thought as sleep finally claimed him. This time, I won't lose sight of what really matters.
This time, I'll do it right.
In the darkness of his childhood bedroom, surrounded by the quiet sounds of his sleeping family, Takeshi Yamamoto made a promise that went deeper than any quest or system reward. He would become great at football, yes. But more importantly, he would become great at being human.
The road to the Ballon d'Or was long, but it began here, in this house, with these people who loved him unconditionally.
And this time, he would never forget that.