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Chapter 1: The Flame Still Burns
The TV was showing a Brazil match.
The crowd was roaring, the green field gleaming under the floodlights.
Mey sat quietly on the couch, his eyes fixed on the screen.
With every pass, every shot toward the goal, his chest tightened a little more.
> Mey (thought): "Ah… I really miss playing."
Even the sound of the ball slicing through the grass stabbed at his heart.
The movements of the players played in his mind in slow motion.
The field wasn't just a game to him—it was a painting he could read differently from others:
the empty spaces, the passing angles, the weak points of the opponents... all unfolded before his eyes.
But he was no longer out there.
Then, his mother's voice called from the living room.
> Mom: "Mey, get ready, sweetheart. We're going to the hospital. It's time for your checkup."
Mey: "Alright, Mom."
He stood up.
In the corner of his room sat an old soccer ball covered in dust.
Mey looked at it as if seeing an old friend he hadn't met in years.
He ran his fingers over the worn-out stitches.
> Mey: "I've really missed you… The flame inside me still hasn't died."
He gently kicked the ball.
It hit the wall, bounced off, and fell silent.
Mey took a deep breath, then left the house with his mother.
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The hospital corridors were pure white, the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air.
As they entered the doctor's office, his mother squeezed his hand tightly.
> Doctor: "Mey, your test results look good. Your condition is improving. In two months, you might be fully recovered."
His mother's eyes welled up.
> Mom: "Thank God…"
Mey tried to smile, but the emptiness inside him only grew deeper.
> Mey: "So… can I play football again?"
The doctor paused, removing his glasses and placing them on the table.
> Doctor: "That's not for me to decide, Mey. You'll have to learn your own limits. But… right now, your body can handle no more than thirty-five minutes."
The ticking of the clock seemed to stop.
Thirty-five minutes.
For someone who once fought on the field for ninety, it sounded like a verdict.
> Mey (whisper): "I understand…"
His mother stroked his hair, her voice trembling.
> Mom: "Come on, let's go home, son."
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Outside, the air was cool.
Children were playing soccer at the park.
Mey watched in silence, that familiar ache stabbing at his heart.
Every laugh, every kick echoed painfully inside him.
> Mey (thought): "Damn it… Why me?"
Then, suddenly, the ball rolled toward his mother.
Mey reacted instinctively—as if he'd been waiting for this moment all along.
The instant the ball touched his foot, time seemed to slow.
He flicked it into the air and turned, striking a perfect volley.
The ball spun through the air, hit the ground, and silence followed.
For that moment, time had stopped.
Mey took a deep breath, feeling his heartbeat race.
> Mey: "Haah… This feeling… it's perfect."
A young boy ran toward him, eyes shining.
> Boy: "Hey, mister! Are you a football player!? That was amazing!"
Mey smiled softly, though his eyes were still heavy with sorrow.
> Mey: "No… just a street footballer."
The boy's eyes sparkled, but Mey lowered his gaze.
His mother approached.
> Mom: "Mey… are you okay?"
Mey: "Yeah, Mom. Just… a little tired."
She sighed deeply and smiled with pride.
> Mom: "You play so well, Mey. If you were healthy, you could've been a professional… But that's fate."
Mey's expression darkened instantly.
> Mey: "Fate? God? They didn't take it from me! This talent—it's mine! I earned it with my sweat and pain! Don't you dare call it fate!"
His mother stayed silent, tears filling her eyes.
Mey turned away, unable to contain his anger, and walked toward the car.
Neither of them spoke on the drive home.
Mey stared out the window, eyes lost in the passing lights.
Each street lamp reflected pieces of his past—
the field, the rain, the cheers… and the day he suddenly collapsed.
Only the sound of the engine filled the car.
His mother glanced at him from time to time but said nothing.
Because Mey's silence was heavier than words.
> Mey (thought):
"Thirty-five minutes… What can I do with that?
But… maybe that's enough.
Because I won't give up."
He closed his eyes.
For a moment, he saw the field again—
the lights, the scent of grass, the roar of the crowd.
Deep inside his heart, the flame still burned.
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When they got home, Mey went straight to his room.
He sat on his bed and grabbed a worn-out football manga.
Each page he turned fueled the fire inside him.
> Mey (thought): "Damn it! I want to get back on the field already! Damn it… damn it!"
Then he lifted his head.
For a split second, his room disappeared—
replaced by a bright green field.
Crowds, players, grass—all appeared before his eyes.
It was as if he could see the entire field at once.
But it only lasted two seconds.
> Mey: "What's… happening to me? I saw… everything just now?"
He touched his forehead in confusion.
Then his father's voice echoed from downstairs.
> Dad: "Mey! Son, come down for a second!"
Mey: "Ah… coming, Dad."
He walked down the stairs slowly.
His father stood holding a box.
> Mey: "What's that, Dad?"
Dad: "Here. Open it and see."
Mey opened the box.
Inside was a brand-new pair of cleats—
black and silver, shining under the light.
His eyes filled with tears.
> Mey: "Why… why did you buy this for me?"
His father smiled.
> Dad: "The doctor said you're getting better.
So this… is my gift to you."
Mey held the cleats with trembling hands.
He hadn't felt this sensation in so long—
the leather, the smell of grass, the weight of his dreams.
Unable to hold back, he hugged his father tightly.
> Mey: "Thank you, Dad… really, thank you!"
His mother joined them, smiling softly.
The three of them embraced in silence.
> Mey: "I promise… I'll return to the field.
And one day… I'll become the best midfielder there is!"
At that moment, the house filled with hope.
In a small room, a great dream was reborn.
And in Mey's eyes, the flame didn't fade—
it only burned brighter.
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