Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It began like this: a childish spat, a fight, a boy-genius captivated by a girl’s laughter.

Ai Hoshino was terrible at being normal. She was, for better or for worse, destined for a life of the highest highs and lowest lows. It wasn’t a life she wanted, but even at eleven years old, she understood that she had no say in the matter. Life wasn’t fair. The most she could do was to pick up the pieces and move on.

That day, she went to the soccer field because it was the only place she could be alone. There was a choice in loneliness; she could isolate herself, or the other children will do it for her. She knew which one she preferred. 

The field just a few blocks down from the orphanage was supposed to be a playground, but the plan never went through. The wealthier residents in the area avoided it. Only the group homes took advantage of the two hastily-built goals.

Until now, that is.

When she reached the field, a boy around her age was kicking a soccer ball around. She didn’t recognize him, but he probably wasn’t from the group home; she would’ve noticed if somebody there wore new clothing.

That was her first thought. Then—not out of any particular malice—she noted absently, His haircut is terrible. 

The boy glanced up as if she had said it aloud. Seeing her standing there, he picked up his ball and said, “Who the hell are you?”

She jolted to attention, then nervously tugged her cap down. It had been a while since anybody asked for her name. She almost forgot what it felt like to introduce herself to somebody else.

“My name’s Hoshino,” she muttered. “Ai Hoshino.”

Even her name was a lie. Sometimes, she wondered if this was her mother’s revenge, to curse her so thoroughly that her entire existence hinged on a single teetering falsehood. If it was a reminder of a mother's love, Ai's certainly did a bad job of showing it.

Her mother's love—if it could be called that—had come in the form of a cold apartment. Glass in a bowl of rice. A hard slap instead of a goodnight kiss. Being abandoned had been both a relief and a reprieve. Ai wouldn’t be loved at the orphanage, but she had enough love for a lifetime. She would be perfectly fine without it.

“I recognize you," the boy said, surprisingly. “You’re from the group home. You guys hog this field.”

“Um, well, I guess,” Ai said. “It’s not like we have anywhere else to play—”

“It’s annoying.”

“ . . . What?”

The boy clicked his tongue. “I hate repeating myself. Piss off.”

“Hey,” Ai said indignantly. “You can’t say that! It’s mean and completely uncalled for!”

“I don’t care. Scram, you pest.”

Ai was well-acquainted with indifference, but the boy’s rudeness made the dregs of her temper flare up. Without thinking, she reached out and snatched the soccer ball from his hands.

He froze, clearly taken aback. Then he narrowed his eyes and said, “Give that back.”

“Nope.” Ai held the ball closer. “Not until you apologize.”

Faster than she could almost react, the boy rushed forward to snatch the ball away. Ai stumbled, tripping over her feet as he plowed into her, and fell hard onto the grass as they grappled for control.

“It’s mine, you starry-eyed freak,” he said, scrabbling at her hands. “Let go.”

“You have to say sorry!”

“Shut up and give it!”

Ai didn’t. Red-hot anger rose in her—anger and sorrow and frustration, all emotions that she had seemingly forgotten. Someone like her couldn’t be loved, and that’s alright. Being loved was overrated. Earning their hatred felt so much better.

The boy didn’t hold back. He seized her shirt and pulled her hair. She punched him in the nose. Soon, they were covered in scratches and grass stains, but it was mostly Ai’s victory—she was still clutching the ball when they broke apart. 

“Fine,” the boy spat, rolling off her. “Keep it for all I care.”

Ai stared up at him. His nose was bleeding and his left eye was beginning to swell. She probably wasn’t any better, but his disheveled appearance made her want to laugh.

So she did. She laughed, bright and pure enough that the boy’s fury slipped away from him like water through a sieve.

“You look so dumb,” Ai giggled. “Can’t rich boys handle their own in a fight?”

The boy shook his head slowly. “You’re crazy.”

“So are you, for getting so worked up over nothing,” Ai said. She sat up and set the ball between them, the polyester surface warmed from her skin. “What’s your name?”

“I’m not gonna tell you. ”

“I won’t remember it anyway,” Ai informed him, “since you’re not someone worth remembering.”

The boy scowled. “I’m Sae Itoshi, and I'll be the best striker in the world someday.”

“Sure you will,” Ai said, twirling her finger in a way that meant he was cuckoo. “It’s super easy to talk big, huh? In that case, I’ll be famous, too! Maybe I’ll make it as an actress!”

“And how will you ever get there?” he scoffed. “Scratch your way to it?”

“You're just mad 'cause your nails aren't as long as mine, Sai.”

“It’s Sae, you crazy moron.”

It was a perfectly ordinary name. She almost liked how boring it was, though her tastes usually ran in the opposite direction. 

“I’m Ai,” she said again, because even if it was meaningless, even if it was hypocritical, he might forget her name as many others did, and this boy can’t ever forget. As an afterthought, she added, “You haven’t said sorry yet.”

“I'm not gonna apologize.”

She nudged the ball, letting it roll over to him, and picked up her fallen cap. "There. You can have it back. I don't want a stupid soccer ball, anyway. Now will you say it?”

Sae gazed at her silently. Then he scrambled to his feet and said, “Not 'til you apologize.”

“What? But you were the one who started it!”

“You stole my ball.”

“You attacked me!”

And so they met.

Maybe—just maybe—it was better that they did. 

Ai Hoshino was eleven years old and was in righteous indignation, righteous, over Sai or Saku or whatever his name was. Never once throughout their entire argument did he say I’m sorry. How hard was it for him to manage that oh-so-simple phrase?

It was a miracle that she was this upset. She usually wouldn’t be—or couldn’t be. There was no use being emotional when nobody cared, so she learned to keep her misery quiet, her anger nonexistent. 

Yet Ai sulked for the rest of the day after running away from the soccer field. Not only was she insulted, snubbed, and demeaned, but the boy also demanded she apologize when he was clearly in the wrong. 

It’s strange. Nobody ever demanded anything of her. They asked, screamed, and wheedled, yes. But demanding a twisted consideration; it required the other person to consider her feelings before wholly discarding them. 

Ai Hoshino could be worse than that. Ai Hoshino was dirty and unfair. Ai Hoshino could also be maddeningly, single-mindedly persistent.

She’ll get an apology out of him no matter what. 

The next day, right after breakfast, she slipped out the back door and ran straight down to the soccer field—easy to get away with since everybody was too busy to pay attention to her. In the end, however, her efforts were in vain; the field was utterly empty.

Disappointed, Ai braced her hands against her knees as she tried to catch her breath. This entire trip might have been for nothing for so many reasons. Maybe yesterday had just been a freak, once-in-a-lifetime coincidence. 

Ai shook her head. This is the only field around, she reasoned, though logic proved otherwise. If he gets so mad over a little ball, he must love soccer, so he’ll come back. He has to.

So Ai waited. She sprawled out on the grass and cloud-watched. When she got hungry, she ate the onigiri stolen from the kitchens. When she grew tired, she curled up and took a short nap.

It was lucky that she did. The person that woke her up was none other than him. 

“Sai!” she said, bolting upright. “You came!”

“It’s Sae, you starry-eyed freak,” he said. His brows furrowed slightly. “How long have you been laying there?”

“Oh, I don’t know . . . maybe a few hours.” Ai shrugged. “Anyway, I still want that apology!”

“You stayed here hours just for that?”

“‘Course I did!”

“That’s a stalker’s behavior,” he said with a perfectly straight face.

“Yeah, right,” Ai huffed. “Now you’re making up excuses. I'm waiting, you know.”

“You wasted your time,” he informed her. “I’m not saying sorry.”

“What?” Ai said, utterly aghast. “But I was here for hours!”

“And whose fault was that?”

“Yours!” She put her hands on her hips. “I’m not leaving ‘til you apologize!”

“You should be apologizing, not me,” Sae said, dropping his soccer ball with a definitive thump. In a cool voice, he added, “And you’re not stealing this again.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ai flashed him a grin and lunged. Deftly, Sae turned, pushing her away as he dribbled passed the ball from one foot to another.

Ai frowned and tried again. He repeated the same maneuver, but this time he kicked the ball between her legs and reached it before she did. 

“Too slow,” he said, and stuck his tongue out at her.

“You jerk,” Ai cried. “You’re doing it on purpose!”

“Not really. I can outplay you with my eyes closed.”

“Then why don’t you?!” 

Sae looked at her like she was stupid. “It's fun seeing you struggle, that’s why.”

Ai wasn't normal, but she behaved as a normal girl would in that instance: she flushed red, stamped her foot, and called him names that the boys in the orphanage inadvertently taught her. Then she tried to go for the ball again, just because. 

Sae Itoshi was mean and sadistic as Ai was dirty and unfair. Ai didn’t get the ball a single time that day, nor did she receive a much-anticipated apology.

So she returned the next day—and the next, and the next.

And so it continued.

Ai Hoshino didn’t think (and that was always the crux of the problem, wasn’t it) she could ever want so badly. Her first lesson had been one of rejection—the only reward for desire was untold pain. Better to be resigned from the beginning; better to choose indolence than hope.

But she was eleven years old, lonely and restless, aching from a place so deep that it hadn’t quite reached her yet. For once, someone faced her head-on, matched her insult for insult, challenge for challenge, breaking her shell of apathy with taunts alone.

Come and take it, if you can, he seemed to say, and therein lay the implication: You can’t. You’re below me. 

It was a taunt. It was temptation. Once she got a taste, she couldn’t go back. 

Ai Hoshino was a greedy girl. Ai Hoshino knew exactly what she wanted. 

So she returned to the same field over and over again, hoping to catch the slightest glimmer of it: of whatever this boy offered, and what answers could be found in a single apology.

“I want you to apologize.” 

“Piss off.”

“How hard can it be? Say it, Saku! So-rry! I am so-rry! ” This Ai said in heavily accented English.

“It’s Sae. Drill that into your brain, moron,” he retorted. “And your English sucks. A five-year-old can speak better than you.”

“They could if they’re Rui,” Ai said with a pout, and blew on her fingers to warm them up. The youngest Itoshi brother was precocious, adorable, and unfortunately worshiped the very ground Sae walked on. “He treats me like a zoo animal. Maybe you should teach him manners instead of another language.”

Sae leveled a flat stare at her. “Rin is eleven, and he’s right. You have claws for nails.”

“You’re such a bro-con!”

“Shut it, you shitty stalker.” 

It was late December. Six whole months have passed since Ai set out on her mission to extract an apology from Sae Itoshi. Rather than that, she had gotten multiple complaints that if high schoolers hadn’t suddenly overrun the other soccer field, he would have never come back. Apparently, this was one of the only fields where he could practice alone. Go figure.

For her part, Ai looked forward to the afternoons when Sae would show up to the field, armed with his signature soccer ball. His charisma, caustic and intense as it is, drew Ai in like a moth to a flame. All or nothing. Do or die. That was the philosophy he lived by, and that somehow made life out to be more manageable. 

His ambition made her want more, too. It scared her, and yet she couldn't stay away.

“For Christmas, I want an apology,” Ai declared. “That's the best present you can give me.”

“Santa’s the one handing out presents, not me,” said Sae.

“Santa doesn’t owe me. You do.”

“Like hell.”

This was an argument they had rehashed many, many times before, so she didn’t bother delving into it again. “It's the holiday season, right? I'll get you a present, too,” Ai said on a whim. “A trade! That could be fun!"

"It's a bribe coming from you."

"I'm not bribing you, I'm making you," Ai said triumphantly.

“Your logic sucks.”

“It’s called being nice,” she huffed. “What do you want, anyway?”

Sae didn’t miss a beat. “Practice time.”

“I can't give you that!” she protested. “You already practice, like, all the time. Ask for a more realistic gift, like a soccer ball or whatever.”

“I don’t need another ball.”

Ai folded her arms huffily. “Fine! Then I guess I’m not buying a present for you!”

“Like I asked for anything in the first place, idiot.”

She kept at it, though, and it must have worn on him enough that on Christmas Eve, he arrived with a soccer ball and a small shopping bag. 

“Sato!” Ai said, perking up at the sight of him. “I thought you were spending Christmas with your family!”

“Sae, you moron. Sae. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” Ai said, flashing an innocent smile.

“That's gross. Don’t ever do it again.” Sae set down the bag next to her. “Here. Take it.”

“. . . What is that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Have you never gotten a present before?"

Ai couldn’t tell him no, she hasn’t, because pity from Sae Itoshi grated in a way she couldn’t explain. Instead, she gingerly reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of thick, black gloves.

“You better be grateful,” Sae said curtly. “Those were a pain to buy.”

Silently, Ai slid on the gloves and found that it was slightly too large. “Wow,” she said, trying to keep the wonder out of her voice. “It's perfect!"

“Mhm.”

“It’s weird that you can be so nice, but still can’t say I’m sorry. ”

“It was supposed to be for Rin.”

“‘Course it was,” Ai said teasingly. From her pocket, she withdrew a cord necklace procured from a local vendor—a testament to how a cute face can sway even the coldest of hearts. 

"It’s not as fancy,” she said, holding it out to him, “but I hope you like it.”

Sae raised a brow. “You said you weren’t gonna get me anything.”

“I lied,” Ai said airily. “Merry Christmas, Sae.”

“ . . . Yeah. Merry Christmas.” He took the proffered necklace and curled his fingers over it. “Are you gonna stop showing up during my practice times?”

“Never!”

Sae heaved a sigh. Ai laughed. The soccer ball lay between them as it had on the day they met. The stars gleamed in the night sky as they always will.

And so it goes.

Spring had come, bringing along with it Ai’s birthday. That was when she asked.

“Hey,” she said. “Why are you doing all this?”

Spring was Ai’s favorite time of the year, and by proxy, her most hated one. She loved it for its fleeting beauty but detested it for being the setting of her birth. That kind of thing, she often thought, didn’t belong in such a gorgeous season. It just didn’t make any sense. 

Sae had turned twelve in October, a fact he didn’t reveal until after Ai accepted his gift. He said in a highly unimpressed tone, “Do what?”

Ai gestured down to her new cap, then to him. “This. Everything. You don't need to give me presents. You don’t need to hang around for so long. So why? What do you see in me?”

“Not much,” Sae responded. “You have zero talent in soccer.”

“I don’t mean it like that.”

“With you, it’s hard to tell,” he said. Ai watched as he trapped the ball, halting it completely with his left foot. His brows furrowed in contemplation, as though his following words were one of profound wisdom.

"You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met."

“Um. What?"

“You’re noisy and careless,” Sae continued, beginning to tick off more points using his fingers. “You don’t take no as an answer. You can’t remember anybody’s name. You constantly say crap that makes no sense, and”—he glanced up at her—“you’re a liar.”

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Ai sputtered. “Why are you—”

“Quit interrupting and let me finish,” he said irritably. “The point is, you should be nothing more than a pest. Except you’re not."

"Really? How?"

Sae shrugged. “I dunno, but I want to find out.”

Ai was left speechless. She wasn’t normal, not like the other kids were. She was a cheat and a liar and the list goes on, because normal kids didn’t have mothers that stole cigarettes instead of food for their daughters. Normal kids didn’t eat tissues out of desperation. Normal kids were kept, not abandoned. 

Normal kids knew how to love.

But this wasn't that. This was Sae Itoshi, looking her squarely in the eyes, telling her she had potential. As if she had a place in the world. As if the world could accept her, as if she was everything good and pure instead of the very opposite.

“I’m a liar,” Ai mumbled. “You know that. I could be faking whatever you see in me.”

“You can’t lie about that,” he said. “Potential can’t be hidden.”

“What if you’re wrong?”

He shrugged again. “Then this whole thing would have been a giant waste of time."

“Sae,” Ai said, her mouth moving by reflex, “you are the meanest person I’ve ever met.” Then she paused. “Why do you buy me presents?"

“‘Cause you're an eyesore."

“Eyesore? I’m an eyesore? What does that even mean?”

“Your clothes are terrible.”

“So that's why! Sae, you jerk!”

“If you don’t want the cap, I’ll take it back.”

“What? No way! Hands off! It's my birthday present! Mine!”

And so.

Sae Itoshi was a genius. 

Ai understood that on a superficial level, since people their age usually don’t get interviewed by the local news station, but she never really internalized it. In her mind, Sae remained the rude rich boy who owed her an apology and needed to be knocked down a few pegs.

It was summertime when she was forced to confront the terrible, undeniable truth: Sae Itoshi was a genius. Even she could tell that he was leagues better than anybody else on the soccer field—his little brother being the exception, as he was the only person receiving Sae’s passes.

They won six to zero that day. Somehow, Sae still wasn’t satisfied.

“Pass faster next time,” he told his brother when they got to the bench. “Focus on your footwork during practice.”

“Hey!” Ai said, running up to them. “Good job, you guys! Riku’s last goal was super cool just now!”

“It’s Rin."

“Oh, right." Ai squinted at him appraisingly. “Were you always taller than me?”

"It's hard not to be," Sae pointed out.

Ai whirled on him. “Be a little more appreciative! This is my first time coming to your game!"

“That's more proof you're a stalker,” Sae said. “How did you find out where we were playing?”

“Don't worry about it.”

"If you appear at my house next, I'll file a restraining order."

“Stop making me out to be some kind of creep!” Ai complained. “You told me about this ultra-important match yesterday, remember?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“‘Course I would,” Ai said. “What else is there to do today?”

She grinned at Rin Itoshi, who, despite his growth spurt, still stared at her like she was some animal in a cage. “Stop bothering my brother,” he ordered. 

"Not until he apologizes," Ai replied in a sing-song voice. "Don't keep me waiting for too long, 'kay, Sai?”

"Piss off."

She didn't. They left together, the three of them, and Sae handed Ai an ice cream bar when they stopped by a convenience store. Their shoulders occasionally brushed each other's as they ate and walked. 

“Hey,” she said, low enough that Rin wouldn't overhear her. “Do you love soccer?”

Sae chomped down on his ice cream bar. “‘Course I do. I wanna be the best striker in the world. Everything else is worthless.”

“Really? You love it that much?”

“It's my dream."

Ai hummed. "Do you love it more than your brother?”

“That’s a dumb question.”

“You didn’t say no. ”

That’s when Rin double-backed to them, holding up the stick leftover from the ice cream as he said, “I won again, nii-chan.”

Sae made an aggravated noise. “That’s worthless, Rin. You’re using up all your luck.”

“No way!” Ai said, swatting at Sae’s shoulder. “A prize is a prize! Let’s go back and cash it in! Come on, you guys!”

She grabbed the stick from Rin and held onto her cap as she ran, her hair streaming in the humid wind. She was laughing, too, a laugh that would be refined in later years to a smaller, sweeter giggle more palatable for fans. But this was not then. This was Ai Hoshino, twelve years old, a liar and a cheat and now a thief, running to claim someone else’s luck.

They soon caught up to her. Sae called her stupid. Rin wrested the stick away from her in a great show of loyalty to his brother. Ai fired back by saying they were idiots for not taking advantage of free stuff.

“You have to take what you can get, right?” she said, hanging off of Sae’s arm. “I’m seizing my opportunity! I’m chasing my dream!”

“That’s not a dream, that’s a waste of time,” said Sae. 

“You don’t care about anything else but soccer!”

“I still hang around you,” he said casually. 

“I’m not a waste of time yet! Wait for my potential or whatever to kick in; it’s all gonna be worth it!”

“It’s taking too long for my taste.”

“Well, that’s a you problem,” Ai said. “You’re too impatient.” 

Sae nudged her with his elbow. “You’re the main problem in my life. Ever think about how your stupid demands are bogging me down?” 

“It’s all your fault,” she said whimsically. "This wouldn't have happened if you just apologized."

“Shut up.”

And so, and so.

When Sae turned thirteen, Ai gifted him two things: a pair of sunglasses and a confession.

“You know,” she said, “you’re the first friend I ever had.”

Sae, taller and now a year older, but still sporting that terrible haircut, arched an eyebrow. “Surprising.”

“Hey, I’m being serious here,” Ai said. Then she let out a sigh. “I don’t think I like people very much in general.”

“You think?”

“I don’t know. It's hard to figure out."

Sae slid the sunglasses into his pocket and kicked his soccer ball, gently enough that it rolled to a stop in front of Ai’s shoes. 

“It’s my birthday,” he said. “I want to play.”

Taken aback by the abrupt change in subject, Ai said, “Really?”

“Yeah.”

“But didn’t you always say that I have two left feet and should never, ever touch a soccer ball in my life?”

He shrugged. “That makes it a lot easier to beat you.”

“Sai, don't be a bully.”

“Sae."

Ai flashed him a peace sign. “If I score a goal, will you—”

“No.”

"Just hear me out!”

“I know what you were gonna say. And I won’t do it.”

Ai smiled. Sae Itoshi was straightforward and ruthlessly blunt. She wished, just a bit, that she could be like him. The best she could manage was to circle a topic, around and around, trying to reach into the heart of abstract concepts like love and hatred . Inevitably, she’ll spit out another lie and move on. It was easier that way. But was it better?

She wasn't sure. She really wasn't. 

Twelve years on this planet, and she’d never come to know herself very well. She was a liar because nothing she said ever felt true. Did she leave pieces of Ai Hoshino in that cold apartment? Did she abandon her true self in favor of a mask, just for an extra layer of protection? Was being a liar, a cheat, a thief, all that was left of her?

When she ran, she outraced those thoughts. And Sae was faster. He stole the ball from her, then sprinted to the other side of the field and launched the ball into the goal.

“No fair!” Ai said, panting for breath. “I can’t keep up with you!”

Sae turned around and stuck out his tongue. “Tough luck.”

“Oh, please.” Ai flopped down onto the grass. “It’s no fun playing with a genius! You're too good to give anyone else a chance!”

“Tough luck.”

"Stop repeating that! It's humiliating!"

“You humiliated yourself.” Sae retrieved the ball and walked over to her. “Let’s do it again.”

Ai threw her arms dramatically over her eyes. “I can’t take this anymore! You’re running me ragged, Saku!”

“For the last time, it’s—”

Suddenly, Ai shot up and wrenched the ball from his slack grip. She sprinted towards the goal, the cap flying off her head as she chucked the ball into the net with all the force she could muster.

“It's a goal! Now that's more like it!”

“You idiot,” Sae called, picking up the cap from where it landed. “It’s against the rules to use your hands.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Ai said breezily. “I still scored!”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “You were supposed to kick the ball into the other goal, moron.”

“Please, like that makes a difference!”

“You just scored for the other team.”

“Nope! I scored for me!”

“Not how it works,” Sae said, then jammed the cap back over her head in vengeance. Ai gasped in faux outrage and batted his hand away. 

“You gotta be nicer to girls, or else you’ll be old and lonely forever!” she chided.

"If all girls act like you, then I'd rather die alone."

Ai jabbed him in the ribs. “No wonder you don't have any friends. Your personality is total garbage!”

“Like I care about that,” he said. “I’m gonna be—”

“Be the best striker in the whole wide world. Yeah, I know.” She smiled up at him. “Hey, Sae. Even if you stay a smug, stuck-up know-it-all forever and ever, I’ll still be your friend.”

Sae didn’t say anything, and she could see in his eyes that he didn’t believe her. He knows her too well. They were standing without a soccer ball between them, without anything to act as a barrier, and he knew her too well. 

Liar. 

Sae Itoshi doesn’t say that, though. The insults that rolled off his tongue were instead replaced by a simple, “Thanks for the gift.” 

Ai blinked. The smile inexplicably slid off her face. She didn't bother pasting it back on as she said, “You’re welcome.”

Quiet settled over them. They stood together on the empty field, a boy and a girl, both prodigies of their craft. There was no insightful conversation about what it meant to hate, or to love, because there was no point. Sae Itoshi doesn’t care for such abstract concepts. Ai Hoshino cared too much to ever speak of it aloud.

Maybe one day, that will change. That is not today. Today Sae was newly thirteen, and he wanted to play soccer.

So Ai walked over to the goal, retrieved the ball, and held it before her. 

“Wanna rematch?”

And so.

Ai Hoshino was twelve years old, and to her dismay, Sae Itoshi had been completely, utterly right. The old man, the agent, had seen the same whatever Sae did. Maybe it was her face that did him in. Maybe it was the smile she flashed when he bribed her with a frappuccino. Had that whatever revealed itself then? Was that why he insisted on her joining his idol group? Was that why he told her that she wanted love?

I was looking for something to love? she thought, half-bewildered, half-uncomprehending. She flew down the city streets, clutching a business card in one hand and her cap in the other. I can love by lying. Lies can turn into the truth.

Can I love somebody?

She arrived at the field breathless, eyes shining, cheeks flushed from exertion. Sae hadn’t been there for the past week (something about a regional tournament), but he was there today, practicing. He only stopped when Ai practically tackled him in an unusual show of wild, unrestrained emotion.

“How did you figure it out?” she gasped. “You don’t know anything besides soccer, how did you—”

“Get off. ” Sae pushed her away. “What the hell happened?”

"Everything," Ai said breathlessly. "I got scouted. I’m gonna be an idol.”

For a moment, he just stared at her. "You mean those idiots in school uniforms that middle-aged businessmen salivate over?”

“An idol’s fanbase is more diverse than that!” she protested. “Not every fan is a creepy forty-year-old otaku!”

“And you’re gonna be one of them? An idol?”

“Yeah! Weren’t you the one that said I had potential or something? Is this what you were talking about, Sae?”

Sae studied her. She could never tell what he was thinking, which was nice. It meant that somebody in this world was as unreadable as her. 

“We’ll see,” he finally said. “You’re the last person I expected to get this kinda offer.”

“Cute girls get scouted all the time for stuff, you know.”

“You’re overestimating your cuteness.”

“That’s not up to you to decide! My future fans are the only ones that can judge me on that!”

“Future fans, huh,” he echoed. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Yup!”

Sae narrowed his eyes. "Really."

“Well, I'll have to be. It's all part of an idol's job, you know, to say that they love their fans. It might be a lie, but they wouldn’t know that. And maybe—maybe one day I’ll love them for real.”

“You can’t love something like that," said Sae.

Ai frowned. “Why can’t you?”

“You just can’t,” Sae said bluntly. “They’re a faceless mass. A player doesn’t score goals because of the audience. They score to get one step closer to their dreams.”

“This isn’t like being a soccer player,” Ai said heatedly. “You don’t need to act or pretend to be anyone but yourselves. Being an idol is—”

“What do you know about being an idol?”

“I know more than you do!” Ai crushed the business card in her fist. “You’re wrong. I can love them! It’ll be true one day!”

“You can’t love anybody you can’t put a name to,” Sae said coldly, "so I doubt you can love your fans. If you have any in the first place.”

Ai stared at him. “Why are you like this?" she whispered. “I thought you'd be happier for me.”

“I can’t be happy for a delusion.” 

“It's not!”

“Don't try to convince yourself otherwise. It's pathetic.”

“I don't want to hear that coming from you!”

“I was telling the truth,” Sae said. His face was hard, unfeeling. “You never do. An idol? Don't make me laugh. You'll never be able to love anyone that way.”

“You—” Ai stopped, blinking rapidly. “Sae Itoshi, I don't want to see you again. Ever.”

Then she took off running in the opposite direction, not waiting for his reply. She didn't need it. She didn't need him, with his stupid obsessive dream about becoming the best in the world or his remarks about the limits of her ability. 

Doubt wouldn’t have mattered if it came from anybody else, but it especially stung when it came from Sae. He had everything: a proper home, supportive parents, an adoring little brother. And when the world didn’t give, he would simply take. 

Ai had nothing and nobody. Her treasures amounted to his company alone. Now, Sae was taking away the faintest hope budding within him, crushing it completely with a merciless, all-knowing hand.

An ache welled inside Ai, the same ache that came with the knowledge that her mother abandoned her, and she bit her lip so hard that she could taste blood. What was this feeling? Frustration? Anger? Sadness? Why did she care so deeply about a boy who never once apologized?

The ache persisted long after she returned to the orphanage, and it only deepened when Ai stared up at the ceiling as the rest of the children slept. 

She hated Sae Itoshi. She really, truly, did.

Ai Hoshino was a liar. Ai Hoshino was going to become an idol. 

She did not return to the field for a long time afterward. 

And so.

Ai Hoshino's debut as the ace of B-Komachi had been overwhelmingly successful—or so the president said. He had formally adopted her to avoid any complications arising from employing a penniless orphan and cautioned her to be especially careful.

"It's a different world from the one you know," he said as they drove back to the apartment complex. "First lesson of the entertainment industry: all that glitters is not gold."

Ai understood that better than anyone else. Her debut had been met with overwhelming enthusiasm amongst idol enthusiasts—online forums raved about her astonishing beauty and charisma, claiming her to be a far better talent than everyone else in the group. Already fans were placing her atop a pedestal far higher than a mere human should sit. 

What they didn't know was that Ai, twelve years old, had fine-tuned her smile in the days leading up to the performance. She spent hours adjusting her expression to the millimeter, watching her reflection change into someone utterly unrecognizable. 

The best liars, after all, are the ones that appear to be the most honest. And so Ai's smile at B-Komachi's debut was dazzlingly genuine. 

And yet. And yet. 

Ai had looked out at the small, fervent crowd and felt nothing. Her heartbeat remained constant. Her chest didn't tighten. There was only a dull, persistent ache where love should be. 

Perhaps that will change. No, it will change one day.  

"We love you guys!" Ai had said, blowing kisses at the audience. "I love you, everyone!"

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Her polished smile didn't falter. Her eyes remained starry and bright. 

And so Ai Hoshino told yet another lie.

It had only been a couple of weeks since her debut that Ai realized, quite abruptly, that something was off. 

She had been practicing her dance moves in the bathroom mirror when she dropped her arms to her side. The idol business was all so exhausting. Dance practice, voice lessons, scheduled fan meet-ups, the occasional performance. Wash, rinse, repeat.

Ai smiled at her reflection and said brightly, “I love you!”

It sounded real. Her fans will believe that, right?

She dropped the smile, flopped onto her futon, and grabbed her phone to scroll through social media. Some articles about up-and-coming idol groups—oh, there's B-Komachi—some food pics, celebrity selfies . . .

Prodigy Sae Itoshi To Join Real Madrid Youth Team.  

Ai’s finger hovered over the screen. She reread the headline.

Sae Itoshi. 

Sae? Her Sae?

That was her first thought. Her second was, What’s Real Madrid?

A Google search answered that for her. It was a soccer team set in Spain, and apparently one of the best leagues in the whole world. Ai stared at the image of Sae, ridiculous haircut and all, trying to see him as a professional player. No, as a professional striker. 

The worst part was that she could. Sae, boy genius, the first friend she ever had, was leaving Japan to fulfill his dream, simply because he was meant for it. The world was waiting for him. Who were they to keep him confined in a cage?

Suddenly scrolling through social media lost its appeal. Ai dropped her phone, burying her face into a pillow. She felt funny. Her head hurt and there was a strange ache in her chest.

I’m an idol now, Ai reminded herself, and also: I haven’t forgiven him yet. 

And he hasn’t apologized. 

She bolted up from her futon. The old injustice stung more than it had two years ago—a lifetime ago, it felt like. Sae Itoshi can't possibly leave the country without apologizing. He can't.

She won't let him.

Ai held onto that idea for a moment, burning with righteousness, before she remembered herself. She didn’t have his phone number. Somehow, the subject never came up when they were together. And if she went back to the field now, would he even be there after she yelled at him? 

Tomorrow afternoon, Ai decided. Afternoons were when Sae usually practiced. She would go down there one more time, just to check it out. If he was there, she was going to raise hell. If he wasn’t, then so be it.

The distant future didn’t matter, Ai decided. Only tomorrow did. 

Somehow there was a strange sense of finality to that.

B-Komachi's reputation was still relatively unknown despite its fervent marketing campaign. For the agency, it was a sign of bad business; to Ai, it just meant she retained most of her anonymity when she went out at night. Never mind there were rules and procedures for going out. As long as she was careful, there wasn’t anything to worry about. 

She’d been on her own for almost thirteen years now. This was nothing new.

So Ai tugged on the black gloves and headed out to the field that was now halfway across the city. There was frost crystallizing on the ground when she arrived. Between the netless goals and thinning yellow grass, the field was more depressing than ever. 

Of course Sae wasn’t there. Why would he be? She’d been an idiot, like always. Why did she even think it’ll turn out okay?

Since when did she start to hope?

“Silly me,” Ai said aloud. Her breath made little clouds in the air. “This is awful. It’s all his fault.”

“It’s all whose fault?”

Ai blinked and turned around. She was hallucinating. There was no way her life could be this convenient, this perfect. It was impossible. Life wasn’t fair. All Ai could do was pick up the pieces and move on.

And yet, Sae Itoshi stood there on the sidewalk, defying every single one of her expectations. 

“You’re here.”

“Yeah,” Sae said. He was even more expressionless than usual. Ai wanted to laugh, looking at him. 

“You’re leaving,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Apologize.”

A small frown crept over Sae’s face. “For what?”

“You know what,” Ai said. “The first time we met, you insulted me. I want an apology. Take back everything you said. Take it back and I’ll forgive you.”

“You’re still holding a grudge over that? It was ages ago.”

Ai’s throat ached for some strange reason. “I’m not leaving ‘til you apologize.”

She was rehashing old words, picking on the small wounds that had long scabbed over. But more than anything else, Ai wanted Sae to stay. She wanted to tease him more. She wanted him to call her an idiot. She wanted to play soccer with him, to exchange gifts on holidays. She wanted the days when she could steal his little brother’s popsicle stick and laugh at their absurd luck, reveling in a world she didn’t belong in. 

The idol ‘Ai’ was perfect. The girl Ai Hoshino was broken in a thousand different ways. All she was, in that moment, was a girl wanting her friend to understand. To see her for what she was, lies and all. To say that he was sorry with the kind of honesty that was so foreign to her. 

But Ai Hoshino was greedy. Ai Hoshino was dirty. She was a liar. A cheat. A thief. A hypocrite. Nobody would think to apologize to her.

“I’m sorry,” Sae said.

A pause.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “For insulting you. Both then and now.”

He just about mumbled the last part. Even so, Ai’s breath caught in her throat. I’m sorry. She didn’t realize how wonderful the two words sounded. 

Nobody had ever apologized to her before, either.

“I’m sorry too,” Ai said, her voice wavering. “For . . . stealing your ball.”

The perfect being that was ‘Ai’ the idol had nothing to apologize for. It was another crack in her mask, a crack she’d soon get rid of. But that didn’t matter in this instant. It was just her and Sae. There was no soccer ball between them. For once, she didn’t mind that. 

“Since you’re going away for a long time, you should give me your number,” she said. “Do you have a phone yet? I got two when I joined B-Komachi. We have to be careful about it, though; if my fans find out I’m talking to a boy, they’ll get so upset—”

“I won’t have time to talk,” said Sae.

“You’ll be busy practicing, right? I totally get it.” Ai fiddled with her gloves, pulling at one of the fingers. Another bad habit she needed to stamp out. “Just call every once in a while. Or text. I don’t care which.”

Scold me. Praise me. Tell me what you want, and I’ll become your ideal. 

But please, please . . . don’t abandon me. 

Sae was silent for a few excruciating seconds. Then: “I will.”

And Ai’s smile, crooked, unpolished, shone even brighter than the stars above.

Chapter Text

Hoshino: hi!!!!

Hoshino: hello ☆✶✴✦✧

Hoshino: (◠‿・)—☆

Hoshino: are you there? 

Hoshino: its been weeks, are you alive???

Hoshino: (>_<)

Hoshino: ive been pretty good :))) we just released new merchandise! i have my face on a mug now. it’s super duper cute ♡ it sold out instantly too 

Hoshino: i can send one to you if you’d like (＾ｖ＾)

Hoshino: i dont think the other girls liked that as much tho

Hoshino: it might be just me, but we seemed to be drifting apart lately . . .

Hoshino: but that doesn’t matter!!! 

Hoshino: (≧∇≦)

Hoshino: ive been keeping up with soccer recently! i don’t get it at all but it's exciting when they make a goal 

Hoshino: are you gonna be like that? 

Hoshino: i bet you’re gonna be even better lol

Hoshino: i also did a livestream the other day, my fans were super curious about EVERYTHING (=_=)

Me: This isn’t your diary. 

Hoshino: !!!!

Hoshino: ( ﾟ Дﾟ)

Hoshino: YOUR HERE!!!!

Me: You’re spamming me. I’m going to say something about that.

Hoshino: haha

Hoshino: but your here now so it doesn’t matter right? (✿◠‿◠)

Me: I’ve never seen somebody use so many emoticons before.

Hoshino: (´･ω･`)

Hoshino: im not even using a lot

Hoshino: oh i get it! It’s bc you don’t text anybody 

Hoshino: so normal texting lingo is weird to you ^^

Me: Don’t be an idiot.

Hoshino: haha i know, sorry ^ω^

Hoshino: how’s Spain? whats it like? are you having fun???

Me: It's fine. 

Me: There’s a seven-hour time difference between here and Japan. Right now it’s two o’clock in the morning.

Hoshino: (°◇°)

Hoshino: O_o

Hoshino: thats so early!!! did you not sleep?????

Me: I’m doing some conditioning.

Hoshino: (?_?)

Me: I’m training my body so I can be stronger.

Me: The players here are good. Way better than anyone in Japan.

Hoshino: (￣□￣;)

Hoshino: thats kinda harsh

Me: It’s the truth.

Hoshino: the truth, huh?

Hoshino: you were always good at that ^_^

Hoshino: but your still gonna reach it right? I mean your a genius and everything

Me: That’s obvious.

Me: I haven’t given up my dream at all.

Hoshino: (^.^)

Hoshino: i’ll be cheering you on!!!! you’ll do the same for me, right?

Me: Depends.

Hoshino:（πーπ）

Hoshino: so mean

Hoshino: I'll make you pay attention one day saku!! just wait!!!!

Me: There's no way you're still getting my name wrong.

Me: Are you doing that deliberately?

Hoshino: hehe

Hoshino: now that's a secret~☆

Me: Happy birthday.

Hoshino: (≧▽≦)(≧▽≦)(≧▽≦) ｡･:*˚:✧｡

Hoshino: im thirteen!!!! ☆♡☆

Hoshino: the other members of b-komachi congratulated me too

Hoshino: the president even bought me a birthday cake!!!!!

Hoshino: i didnt eat any of it but it was the thought that counts (^_^)

Me: Did you get it?

Hoshino: get what??

Me: I sent you something.

Hoshino: o.O

Hoshino: to my PO box????? you sent me fan mail???

Hoshino: hang on a sec

Hoshino: [a blurry picture of a parcel wrapped in brown paper.]

Hoshino: is this it????

Me: Yeah.

Hoshino: (◕ᴗ◕✿)

Hoshino: i had to go through a whole stealth mission to retrieve this!!!!! thankfully the president didn't suspect a thing

Hoshino: ive unboxed fan gifts while livestreaming before

Hoshino: some were kinda weird but most of them were nice ♡♡♡♡

Hoshino: ≖‿≖ i wonder if you can beat them

Me: Open it already.

Hoshino: oh wow

Hoshino: [a blurry selfie of Ai holding up a string of necklaces.]

Hoshino: [another selfie of Ai with a package of snacks.]

Me: I sent my brother the same thing. He seemed to like them.

Hoshino: ಠಿ_ಠ

Hoshino: you sent your brother jewelry?

Me: I meant the snacks, dumbass.

Hoshino: ʕ >ᴥ<ʔ

Hoshino: these are so pretty!!!!!! and theyre all so unique!!!!!!!!!

Hoshino: how did you pick this out? this doesnt seem like smth you’d buy

Me: A teammate pointed it out to me. He said it might be a good gift for my mom’s birthday.

Hoshino: you pretended my birthday was your moms????? (˃̣̣̥ ∀ ˂̣̣̥)

Me: Shut up. Do you like it?

Hoshino: i do ^^

Hoshino: i dont think i’ll ever have a chance to wear stuff like this in public, but its nice

Hoshino: i never got anything like this for my birthday before

Hoshino: . . . thanks.

Me: Sure. 

Hoshino: i saw you in the headlines again!!!!!!!

Hoshino: ｡･:*˚:✧｡ (ﾉ｡･ω･)ﾉ｡･:*˚:✧｡Congratulations!｡･:*˚:✧｡ヽ(･ω･｡ヽ)｡･:*˚:✧｡

Hoshino: your pretty busy

Hoshino: we havent talked in ages

Hoshino: i guess thats what it takes to be the best striker in the world huh

Hoshino: . . . another member started some bad rumors about me

Hoshino: she caught me texting you once

Hoshino: some of my makeup went missing around that time too, she was the one who stole them probably

Hoshino: the president fired her so everything’s fine now (·ω·)

Hoshino: anyway, what i wanted to say is that i cant text you so frequently anymore

Hoshino: it was my fault. i was careless

Hoshino: but still stay in touch, okay?

Hoshino: i’ll be extra cautious next time

Hoshino: we both have to work harder kay?

Hoshino: ☆ ᕙ(`▽´)ᕗ ☆

Hoshino: you were really quiet during our call

Hoshino: are you tired from training?

Hoshino: or maybe your just extra grumpy today

Hoshino: ¯\(°_o)/¯

Hoshino: b-komachi’s taking off in japan!!!!! the president is really happy ♡☆✧♡

Hoshino: hopefully we get more shows 八(＾□＾*)

Hoshino: oh i forgot to tell you earlier but

Hoshino: i saw your little brother playing soccer the other day!!!!

Hoshino: hes probably taller than you now too hehe (・∀・)

Hoshino: anyway your birthday is coming up right??? what do you want??? i'll send it anonymously, its easier that way

Hoshino: look forward to it!

Me: [a picture of a poorly wrapped box.]

Me: Is this yours?

Hoshino: yup ♡☆｡･:*˚:✧｡

Me: Did you use two different kinds of wrapping paper?

Hoshino: i thought it gave it more personality ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

Me: It looks like shit.

Hoshino: (*￣m￣)-ˋˏ

Hoshino: (⩺_⩹)

Hoshino: (╯_╰)

Me: I get it. Cut it out.

Hoshino: did you see what’s inside? did it ship okay? its my first time sending things internationally

Me: [a picture of an expensive bottle of moisturizer.]

Me: Skin-care products?

Hoshino: yeah!!! i thought it’ll be nice bc your in the spotlight now

Hoshino: you always have to look good in case of fans or reporters right??? ^^

Hoshino: theres like twenty different bottles in there, so there’s a lot of variety

Hoshino: what do you think?

Me: It’ll be useful in the future.

Hoshino: \(^o^)/*\(^o^)/

Hoshino:  ҉*\( ‘ ω ’ )/*҉

Hoshino: i can send more at any time! just tell me when!!!!!!

Me: Yeah, that’ll be good.

Hoshino: (￣▽￣)

Hoshino: merry christmas! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧♡

Hoshino: i’ll keep this short bc i have dance practice, but look out for another package (^_^)

Hoshino: it’s nothing fancy

Hoshino: hopefully itll last longer than the first one

Hoshino: (＾ｖ＾)

Hoshino: i went through tons of trouble buying you this gift! you better appreciate it!!!（＞д＜） 

Hoshino: oh i almost forgot!!!!

Hoshino: got your present earlier this week!

Hoshino: [A blurry picture of a brand new makeup bag filled with luxury cosmetics.]

Hoshino: hehe, this one i can use and nobody would suspect a thing~

Hoshino: everybody thought i got it for myself (ㆁωㆁ)

Hoshino: they all think i spend too much lol :P

Hoshino: tell me when your present arrives okay?

Hoshino: ໒( ⇀ ‸ ↼ )७

Hoshino: it’s february and you still haven’t responded to anything 

Hoshino: you arent picking up my calls either

Hoshino: you better text soon

Hoshino: are you there?

Hoshino: i know your awake. i specifically checked the time in spain

Hoshino: and i know your not dead either bc i saw you in an article the other day

Hoshino: you said you'll keep in touch. 

Hoshino: did you like the necklace anyway? 

Hoshino: ill send you more snacks too~

Hoshino: (^-^)/

Hoshino: i got your gift

Hoshino: [a surprisingly clear picture of a pink cashmere scarf.]

Hoshino: ｡◕‿◕｡

Hoshino: its sooooooo comfy. I like it a lot

Hoshino: i don't know why your so quiet, but . . .

Hoshino: its been a good birthday so far.

Hoshino: look at this!!!!

Hoshino: [a badly-taken selfie of Ai with a disgruntled Rin.]

Hoshino: ☆(◠‿◕)☆☆ (◡ ω ◡)

Hoshino: its kinda risky taking pictures like this but it doesnt matter!!!

Hoshino: i'll delete it immediately

Hoshino: plus nobody saw bc nobody was around!! 

Hoshino: ╮(＾▽＾)╭

Hoshino: ummmm so ritsu won another game

Hoshino: i ambushed him on the way home

Hoshino: with popsicles!!! (✯ᴗ✯)

Hoshino: he won the super special prize again 

Hoshino: but i bought it so technically it's my win (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ 

Hoshino: i asked him about how you were doing

Hoshino: buuuuut he doesnt know

Hoshino: apparently he doesnt want to distract you

Hoshino: he's not worried either 

Hoshino: anyway 

Hoshino: . . . take care of yourself! make sure to drink lots of water!!

Hoshino: i keep on forgetting so i nearly passed out during rehearsal lol

Hoshino: gtg. maybe next time youll answer 

Hoshino: hiii

Hoshino: hello

Hoshino: are you there 

Hoshino: not today either, huh

Hoshino: maybe tomorrow 

Hoshino: happy birthday

Hoshino: i couldn't send you anything this year. im sorry. the presidents been cracking down on us.

Hoshino: ill make it up at Christmas

Hoshino: its been months

Hoshino: you probably have notifications off or smth

Hoshino: do you read these in the first place????? 

Hoshino: im doing well. just wanted to let you know

Hoshino: im still waiting for a reply

Hoshino: i sent you smth!!!!

Hoshino: ummmm so remember the time you told me your favorite TV show??? chibi maruko-chan???

Hoshino: I got you the limited edition figurines!!!

Hoshino: I didnt know they cost that much

Hoshino: or that they even sold those

Hoshino: you probably won't see this anyway

Hoshino: merry christmas~

Hoshino: [a picture of a designer handbag.]

Hoshino: i thought you forgot

Hoshino: i haven’t heard from you in forever

Hoshino: do you know im fifteen today?

Hoshino: my mom was pregnant with me at this age

Hoshino: maybe that's why she was so angry and bitter

Hoshino: i . . . never knew what to say to her.

Hoshino: well, that doesn't matter so much

Hoshino: thankfully i don't have any scars, that wouldve been really bad for my career

Hoshino: you don’t know any of this right? i never told you before  

Hoshino: im telling you now tho

Hoshino: i don't know why, but i thought you should know.

Hoshino: my life is so different now

Hoshino: the past just seems like a bad dream

Hoshino: um

Hoshino: sorry, kinda overshared there 

Hoshino: good night 

Hoshino: i dont understand

Hoshino: you keep on sending me stuff but you never say anything

Hoshino: why won't you talk to me??

Hoshino: i just 

Hoshino: i want

Hoshino: nevermind.

Hoshino: you said you'd stay in touch 

Hoshino: was that a lie?

Hoshino: thats not fair 

Hoshino: its really not. 

And so.

Chapter Text

“Good work today, everybody!”

Ai waved at the other girls and left the dance studio with a spring in her step. The trees were frosted over with crystalline ice, and the dreariest parts of the landscape were covered by a fresh blanket of snow. 

“Should I eat lunch? Hm . . .”

It’s been four years since Sae left. A year since she stopped texting. Or has it been two years? She stopped keeping track of that. Packages kept coming and going from her apartment, though. It was, in a word, difficult to send mail when you’re an idol—particularly when it's to a boy living overseas.

Sae’s gifts got progressively more ridiculous. On her sixteenth birthday, Ai received a set of jewelry; not the cheap souvenirs that he bought her at thirteen, but rather finely-cut Italian bracelets, necklaces, and earrings. She had lifted the necklace out of the velvet-lined box, mouth agape, as it glinted and sparkled in the sunlight.

That didn’t change the fact he didn’t return her texts. 

Liar, she thought darkly. 

Ai Hoshino was dirty. Ai Hoshino knew how to hold a grudge.

As she walked to the bus stop, Ai pulled her phone out and took a quick, casual glance at the screen. A new notification popped up. Another text from her manager? He was so uptight recently, that president Sato. Or was it Saito? She couldn’t remember. Yet, as overzealous as he was, it was all for her safety. She couldn’t exactly fault him for that.

Ai clicked on the notification. Then she froze.

It wasn’t from the president. 

It was from Sae.

The message was direct. 

I’m back.

Her text was equally simple.

Meet me at the field tomorrow at 9 pm!!!!

What did it mean to be an idol?

To Ai, it meant strict diets. Sleepless nights. Flawless smiles. An outwardly pure heart. Cutesy poses. Lies are the most exquisite kind of love, she believed. Her star-struck fans accepted every single one. 

She always wanted to ask him whether or not he ever watched. Did you see me dance and sing? Did you hear me say ‘I love you?’ Do you believe it like they do, Sae? Do you?

The field that they met at as children remained forlorn and abandoned. The goalposts were still there, albeit more rusted than before, and there wasn’t much to say about the yellow grass. Despite that, Ai looked around with interest. She hadn’t been here in years. It was fascinating to see how little it changed.

Ai checked the time. 9:02 PM. She hummed a little and kicked at the snow underfoot. Sae didn’t reply to her text, but she knew—well, she assumed—he would show. It would’ve been too mean if he didn’t.

Though, if she knew anything about Sae Itoshi, it was how mean he could be. 

Snow crunched underfoot. She swung around instinctively.

And there he was.

In Ai’s mind, Sae Itoshi was perpetually thirteen. His ambitions were almost juvenile. His arrogance, even more so. 

But the Sae Itoshi standing before her was no longer a boy. He was taller, thinner, his face sharper, as if somebody took a knife and carved out any childish softness. His bangs were gone. There were dark bags underneath his sea-green eyes.

Ai almost couldn’t believe it. This was Sae? Her Sae, who doted on his little brother and believed he could become the best in the world?

“Hey,” she said, plastering on a practiced smile. “You’re finally here.”

He didn’t move a muscle. He just stared at her as if she were a ghost.

Too much? Ai toned it down a bit and said, “Welcome back!”

His voice was different, too. Deeper and almost huskier. “Yeah. Sure.”

Oh, this was going to be awkward. Ai didn’t do awkward. She drew up beside him and said petulantly, “You didn’t text for two years, but you kept sending gifts. You’re sending so many mixed signals. You’d be a terrible boyfriend in the future.”

“That was my manager.”

“You have a manager? That means you’re on the same level as me.” Ai poked him playfully in the ribs. The glare she received was scorching.

“Don’t glower like that,” Ai said with faux hurt. She stepped away so he could regain his personal space. “If it was really your manager sending me stuff, then he must have expensive taste. Those amethysts were real, did you know that?”

She giggled at his reaction. “I’m glad that you're home. It’s different without you here.” 

“. . . You've changed,” he said.

“It has been four years," Ai said. "Have you seen Riku yet? The last time we met, he was fanboying over—”

"He's a pain in the ass."

Sae spoke coldly, dispassionately. Ai blinked, caught off-guard. 

“You are talking about your little brother, right?” 

“He's mediocre,” said Sae. “Lukewarm. Trash. He doesn't have a place in my life anymore.”

Ai's mouth parted. Unbelievable. Softly, she said, “What happened to you?”

Sae didn't respond. The boy she knew was inscrutable; the young man he became was carved from stone.

Don't. Don't be like that.

Where did you go, Sae Itoshi?

"I went out into the real world," he said. “I changed my dream. I'm going to be the best midfielder in the world instead.”

Is that it? she wanted to say, but she held back. This was not the boy that had looked her straight in the eye, declaring that he was to be the best striker in the world. This was not him. This was just a shadow.

She spoke quietly. “That’s not such a bad thing.”

He didn’t seem to understand. Ai said, “It’s still a dream. You can chase after it, right? It’s better than nothing at all.”

Having nothing and craving after that abstract concept of everything was far worse. Ai wondered what the reverse felt like—having everything, but losing that precious something that made life worth living. 

Sae hadn't given up. Not exactly. Somehow, though, he came back knowing that the first dream he tried to reach for was unobtainable. He came back knowing the bitter taste of failure.

Ah, she thought. I'm hopeless. I'm a fool. 

A single sentence and she was already on the road to forgiveness. What was Sae Itoshi doing to her? 

“I think you’ll be a fantastic midfielder,” Ai continued, without giving any hint of her inner turmoil. “You’re already an amazing soccer player. People say you’re gonna go down in the history books, right? So . . . it doesn’t matter whether or not you want to be a striker. It’s already good enough as is.”

“A shitty mindset like that,” Sae said, “is why Japanese soccer is trash.”

Ai frankly didn’t care about the state of Japanese soccer. On an impulse, she reached out and grabbed his face, forcing him to look down at her. Since when did he get so tall? Back then, they could speak to each other eye-to-eye. Now, Ai had to quite literally take matters into her own hands so they could have a proper conversation.

“The hell are you doing?” Sae said irritably. “Fuck off.”

“Not until I say something, ” Ai said. “Pretend I started with this, ‘kay? That’ll make everything better.”

“Just spit it out already.”

“Fine. Mhm.” Ai nodded once. Smiled. “Hey, Sae. I really missed you.”

His face slackened, and suddenly it was her Sae again, the one that scoffed at prizes won by a lucky draw and loved his brother more than anything else in the world. Ai released him almost immediately. It was a risky move, that. Being so intimate with a guy, especially in a public place, could tarnish her reputation. Best to be safe than sorry.

“You do know my name,” Sae said.

“Of course I do.”

“You’re a moron.”

“It’s part of my charm,” Ai said irreverently. “So, did you miss me, Sae?”

“ . . . No.”

“You hesitated,” Ai noted in delight. “You did miss me!”

“Keep your voice down, idiot.”

“That’s why you kept on sending those gifts. Did you think I’d forgive you because of how pricey everything was?” Ai stuck out her tongue. “You’d have to try harder than that, Sae Itoshi.”

“So you know my full name as well,” he said. “Fantastic. The day keeps on getting better and better.”

“It’s already perfect since I’m here,” Ai declared. 

“Disgusting.”

“I know you don’t mean that. You did come to see me,” she said slyly. 

“I’m leaving.”

Sae tried to do just that. Ai darted in front of him, resisting the urge to laugh. 

“Wait, wait, you have to pay me back!”

“I was busy.”

“I was busy too, but I kept you updated, didn’t I?” Ai retorted. “Come on, it’s just for tonight. You’ll have tons of fun when I’m around!”

“I have a conference tomorrow morning.”

“It’s a date, then!”

“Are pieces of your brain falling out of your ears? Didn’t you hear what I just said?”

“Just take me somewhere before curfew!”

And so.

Ai embodied love. Of course, that was the pure kind of love; over these past few years, she had been well-acquainted with the more physical aspects of love as well, unbeknownst to her fans or the president. 

The president’s wife (Mika? Miyaka?), though standoffish at first, had taken Ai aside and gave her a long-suffering lecture about birth control and tabloids. Ai had nodded her way through the entire thing. The main lesson was simple: don’t incriminate yourself and do not sleep with fans.

Message received. 

“—so nowhere too public, and definitely not somewhere I could be recognized, like Akihabara.” Ai waved a hand in front of Sae’s face. “Are you paying attention? Hello?” 

“It’s nighttime. People won’t notice.”

“Anything can get leaked on social media nowadays. You can never be too careful.”

“Sounds tedious.”

“That’s just the way it is.” Ai flashed him a grin. “So, where to?”

Without another word, Sae began to walk in the other direction. 

“Wait, where—”

“The convenience store.”

“Eh, really? For a date spot?”

“If you don’t like it, get lost. Are you coming?”

Ai went, because what else was she going to do? She chattered about everything and nothing. Sae stayed silent. He was never talkative before, but now, speaking to the wall might be more entertaining. 

He stole looks at her, though, when he thought she wouldn’t notice. It was kind of cute. 

(There was that boy who taught her acting. An ex. He was like her: a liar, through and through.

Ai had studied his smiling face, his dark eyes, and thought: Nothing like Sae. 

That didn’t stop her from going any further, though.)

The convenience store was empty save for the cashier, who didn’t seem to recognize either Sae or Ai. That suited them just fine. Ai pretended to hem and haw over some snacks before inevitably wandering to the ice cream section. Sae arched an eyebrow at her decision.

“It’s cold outside,” he pointed out.

“Ice cream is seasonless!” 

Ai didn’t regret that statement, but she began feeling its effect as they sat on a bench outside to enjoy their treat. Sae didn’t seem to feel the cold. Maybe he was made out of marble. Ai licked the popsicle and refused to shiver.

Then Sae let out a sigh, unzipped his jacket, and placed it over Ai’s shoulders. 

“You’re a moron,” he said, crunching down on his popsicle. “I should let you develop hypothermia. Maybe that will knock some sense back into your brain.”

Ai’s cheeks flushed red. In an overly cheerful voice, she said, “I haven’t had something this sweet in a while. It’s tasty, right?”

“It’s lukewarm.”

“It’s a popsicle, how can it be lukewarm?”

Sae rolled his eyes. “I meant the flavor, dumbass.”

“Really?” Ai said, baffled. “You say so many weird things, Sae.”

“Like you don’t.”

“It’s okay when I do it. I’m cute.”

“Don’t call yourself cute ever again. It’s creepy. Makes me want to vomit.”

“It’s a fact! You just don’t want to admit it.”

Back and forth, tug and pull. Their banter bordered on habitual. As changed as he was, Sae retained his old acerbity. Ai felt almost giddy at the discovery. It was just the two of them again. Their knees almost touched. Her laughter rang out in the night like a bell. He kept quiet, watching her out of the corner of his eye. 

She almost forgave him, then. Almost.

But Ai Hoshino was unfair. Dirty. Hypocritical. She wouldn’t let him off that easily. 

And so they met.

(Therein came the question: What’s your type? 

Her answer remained the same—somebody who doesn’t mind her mistakes. 

“But I also like a guy with ambition,” she added. “He has to be confident. Oh, and also earnest! That’s a big one. Hm . . . what?” She leaned down to read the chat. “‘Do you like bad boys?’ No, not really . . . eh, that’s too vague? Sorry, I’m just not good at explaining this kind of thing.”

“Although,” she said after a moment, “I do like it when they tease me a little.”

It made her feel human, you see. But she didn’t say that aloud.)

They couldn’t stop once they started.

Their meet-ups were done at night for obvious reasons; Sae needed to train during the day, and Ai couldn’t afford to ruin her image. Sae called it unnecessary. Ai called it absolutely necessary—she had two modeling gigs, a concert, and a fan meet-up in the next month. 

“I won't throw it away just 'cause you're here, ” she told him unabashedly. 

“Nobody’s asking you to,” Sae said. It was the end of that discussion. They had their own lives, and if they crossed paths every once in a while, like a pair of shooting stars passing by in the night, then who would know? It was another secret for Ai to hold onto and cherish.

In the morning, Ai texted Sae: heres the rules for dating an idol!!!! followed by a corresponding .pdf file. 

His reply was short but scornful. We’re not in a relationship.

your a guy, im a girl. ppl will jump to conclusions. Plus its kinda like dating except w/o the romance. just read it!!!!!!!

Ai, who had flirted with guys exclusively from the entertainment industry, knew what to expect. Sae didn’t. To cover their bases, she listed some general procedures and concluded, quite flippantly, that as long as he wasn't stupid, they'll be just fine.

That's what I should be saying, Sae dryly said. 

They hung out a month later. It was Ai’s idea to go see the budding cherry blossoms (“I have a perfect place in mind!”) and Sae had no objections. It was serendipitous that they were free simultaneously; Ai chalked it up to Sae’s luck, which, while worse than his brother’s, was far better than hers. She secretly escaped from her apartment after the clock ticked past eight. 

Sae seemed better that day. Still withdrawn, but the bags underneath his eyes had disappeared, which was a marginal improvement. He did have pretty eyes. Oh, who was she kidding? Sae Itoshi had fixed his terrible haircut and actually grew up attractive. She recognized that much. If he wasn't an athlete, he could’ve made it as an actor or model.

“It’s wasted on you,” she said, giving him a sideways glance. 

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Your appearance!” Ai gestured at him. “We could have co-starred together in a drama. I only have minor roles now, but one day—”

“You’re babbling.”

“I’m updating you on what’s happening in my life.”

“I know what's happening. I see your face every time I watch TV.”

“But you don’t pay attention.”

“I do when it's worth my time.”

“So you saw the latest episode of the drama I’m in?” 

“You didn’t even have any lines,” Sae said shortly. “The actual show was generic, mass-produced garbage. I fell asleep watching it.”

The wind ruffled Ai’s hair and sent cherry blossom petals drifting to the ground. It was such an unexpected reaction. She’d believed Sae to be indifferent and mildly tolerant at best, but maybe . . . 

There was nobody around. No tabloid reporters. No prying fans. Casually, Ai brushed off a stray petal off of Sae’s shoulder and latched onto his arm. 

“Don't you have an image to maintain?" Sae said, making no move to shake her off.

Ai’s smile was slightly mischievous. “Nobody needs to know what I do at night.”

“You’re breaking Rule #3.”

“What rule was that again?”

“‘No touching in public.’”

“Oh, that. We can make exceptions.”

“You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“Sae? Why are you speeding up? Walk slower, you have longer legs than me!”

“If you’re determined to be a leech, then I’m setting the pace. Keep up.”

“Sae!”

It was the worst ‘date’ Ai went on. In spite of that, she wouldn’t have changed it for the world. She was arm-in-arm with Sae, surrounded by cherry blossoms, with the moon rising high in the starry sky. Their life in the day faded away. The past four years became a mere dream. A nightmare. They were going around and around in circles, playing pretend, as if they were a normal couple, as if rest of the world didn’t matter. 

Keeping a secret wasn’t particularly difficult. Sure, Ai had her slip-ups; a misspoken word here, a beat of hesitation there. How could she not? Her airheadedness wasn’t fully an act. But everybody remained ignorant. It was only natural, she thought. Her fans see what they want to see. As long as she can meet their expectations, her secrets will remain just that: a secret.

Sae had his own tactics for nosy reporters. In a recent interview, he glanced at the camera and said, “Fuck off. It’s none of your business.”

Ai had laughed herself silly over the video, yet couldn't help but secretly marvel. She found his vitriolic honesty to be refreshing as it was puzzling. Her world, the entertainment industry, was built on a fantasy. She lived it, breathed it, and gambled her entire future on those lies. A person that could speak their mind was practically nonexistent in her line of work. 

‘Ai’ was a greedy idol, just as Ai Hoshino was a greedy girl. She won’t let go of this tenuous connection to the truth, no matter what. 

The third ‘date’ was on Ai’s birthday. From her fans, she received an outpour of love and well-wishes. The president brought her a cake again, and the girls from B-Komachi all pitched in for a large bouquet of flowers. 

Sae gave her a watch.

“It’s sparkly,” said Ai. “And . . . pink?”

“It was customized,” Sae explained. They were in the field again, sitting on a picnic blanket. Ai flipped the watch over in her hands. It did seem expensive, like everything else he bought. 

“I think it’s okay for me to wear. I have to check in with my manager, though. Maybe there’s something I missed about branding.” Ai shrugged and tossed it to the side. “Anyway, you haven’t congratulated me yet.”

“The watch is enough.”

“It’s just two words.”

“Fine. Happy birthday.”

“That didn’t sound sincere at all.”

“It’s what you deserve.”

“Hmmm. I can’t argue with that.” Ai’s smile deepened. “Seriously, I worked with some grumpy directors, but you’re the only person in the world who talks to me like this.”

“If people know what you were really like, they’ll treat you the same way I do.”

Sae said it so flippantly. To her unutterable shame, Ai’s smile slipped for a second. Suddenly it occurred to her that her relationship with Sae Itoshi—whether it was a friendship or something she couldn't name—might have been a mistake. He had witnessed it all. The outburst of rage during their first meeting. Her underhanded tactics. He saw through every dirty, dishonest part that she tried to hide.

“Well,” Ai said lightly, “who says this is the real me?”

What a picture she must’ve painted: a smile crinkling the corner of her eyes, head tilted just so. Her fans would’ve gone wild over it. She saw Sae looking before. Let him look now. Let him wonder like the rest of them. Was it a performance, or was it genuine? 

But Sae only gazed at the yellow grass and said, “You’re full of shit.”

A giggle involuntarily escaped her. “Am I?”

“Praise something if you like it. Complain if you don’t. You just can’t get that idea through your thick skull.” Sae knocked lightly against her knee. “You go on about your fans, but they’re fucking degenerates. Lay off the ‘loving’ act. It’s been years. If you can’t manage to love them now, then there’s no chance you ever will.”

“If I do that, I may as well stop being an idol,” Ai said.

“Do it.”

“Don’t be mean, Sae.”

"You always had a problem with honesty." He finally turned towards her. Somehow, during their conversation, they had gotten close. She could count the individual lashes beneath his eyes. “Oi. When was the last time you told the truth?”

Ai leaned in. She could feel his breath on her cheek, could see how his pupils dilated.

“Now that’s a secret,” she whispered in his ear, and pulled back once more.

Ai would lose the watch two weeks later, but Sae Itoshi’s expression was a gift she cherished far longer than that.

(It was a bittersweet birthday nonetheless.)

On their fifth unofficial ‘date’ at the convenience store, Sae said, “You broke thirty of the fifty rules you sent me.”

Ai nibbled on her popsicle. “Wow, you’re actually keeping track? That's petty.”

“There's no point in rules if you're just gonna ignore them.”

“The reason why I haven’t broken the last twenty rules is ‘cause they’re important. Everything else is, like, the cherry on top!”

“Fine,” said Sae. “Meet my parents, then.”

It took a moment for Ai to process his words. She blurted out, “Your parents? Why?”

“It’s not in the rules.”

“No, I mean, why do they want to meet me? ”

“They’re curious.”

“About what?” 

Sae lifted his shoulders in a bare shrug and tossed his popsicle stick away. “Come if you want. It’s your choice.”

Ai Hoshino was never nervous—or, if she was, she didn’t reveal it. That night she paced her apartment, wondering what exactly she had gotten herself into. 

It was difficult to define her and Sae’s relationship. Friends was too light of a word. She told him nonsensical stories about her day. He barely batted an eye at her hidden ugliness. He insulted her, called her names. He bought her popsicles and sent her gifts. He ignored her for years. 

And he came back for her. He was the first person to ever do so.

Ai Hoshino was a lot of things, but she wasn’t a coward, nor was she an overthinker. So two weeks later, she stood on the front steps of the Itoshi residency, shoulder-to-shoulder with Sae. It was a modern, two-story house nestled in the corner of a wealthy neighborhood. It was the kind of home that Ai used to resist dreaming about. What was inside? A loving family? A warm meal? Or was it just another facade of happiness and safety?

“This is kinda nostalgic,” Ai said. 

“What is?”

“It’s nothing.” She gave him a sweet smile. “Am I extra cute today? Maybe a little sexy?”

“If you say that in front of my parents, I’ll throw you out,” Sae said flatly. 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“As long as you don’t look like you escaped from an asylum, they won’t care. Come on.”

“I’m not asking about their opinion, I’m asking about yours,” Ai said, but was ignored as Sae unlocked the front door and let them both in. 

Ai had little expectations of how this night would go. She was confident she could win over Sae’s parents; everything else was irrelevant. Still, there was a pang in her chest as she stepped into Sae Itoshi’s home.

The hallway was neat and brightly lit. Near the doorway was an umbrella stand and an organized shoe rack. A potted bonsai tree grew in the corner, trimmed to perfection. Framed photographs of the Itoshi family hung from cream-colored walls.

Ai’s apartment was minimalistic. Bare. She merely existed in it. Only the bathroom showed any signs of personality; cluttered bags of makeup, rumpled towels, pages of reminders taped to the mirror. Her life was haphazard. She tried and failed to play the role of a human being. Those hours of adjusting the curvature of her smile—that wasn’t normal. Not at all.

She didn’t belong in a house like this.

“Oi.”

Ai came back to reality and said, without thinking, “I can’t believe you used to live here.”

Sae didn’t acknowledge that. Instead, he murmured, “Relax. It’s just a hallway.”

He read her like an open book. Ai wondered how that came to be. To her growing surprise, after she took her shoes off, he took her by the elbow and guided her toward the living room.

“I forgot everything you told me about your family,” Ai said under her breath. 

“Don’t be asinine and it’ll be fine.”

Sae had terrible manners. Ai wasn’t any better. She made plenty of mistakes that night (the least of which was her informality), but his parents were far from disapproving. On the contrary, they were delighted that their son had brought home a ‘friend’ for the first time in his life.

“We heard a lot about you,” his mother said encouragingly. “We'd thought he was up to no good when he stayed out late, so we were relieved to find out he was just socializing with somebody his age. It's so bad that he usually can't remember other people's names!”

Sae grimaced slightly as Ai giggled. “It feels great being the exception.” 

“I'd have to agree, Hoshino-san. Would you like another cup of tea?”

Ai displayed the full might of her charm that night. Her eyes gleamed; her smile never changed in vivacity. Never was there a family more charmed than the Itoshi’s. Ai even overheard Sae’s father telling him in a low, congratulatory tone that he’d ‘never met anybody quite like her before.’ 

And so two more people fell under Ai’s spell.

There was one moment that stood out to Ai that night. Sae’s mother had set down her cup and said quietly, “I understand that you didn’t come from . . . the best of circumstances. If you need any help, just know our door is always open to you.”

Ai had sat there with a fixed smile, letting the sugary tea grow cold, as she recalled a woman who left her behind. A stranger could be kind, but her mother wasn’t. A stranger could tell her to reach out, and her mother would leave her shivering, hungry, frightened, in a lonely apartment. How strange it was. How funny. How ironic.

Sae escorted her to the subway afterward. Ai hadn’t the energy to refuse him. As they turned down a narrow side street (a shortcut, he proclaimed), she said, “That went well.”

“It could have gone worse.”

“That’s mean. I tried my hardest, you know.”

“You broke a teacup and cleaned out the sugar bowl,” Sae said, as if those were punishable offenses. “My parents liked you anyway.”

Ai hummed and skipped a few steps. “That’s good. I like them too. It was just kinda different from what I imagined.”

“How?”

“I’m not sure. Just is.”

Ai couldn’t have put it into words: the feeling of Sae’s mother fussing over him, or his father asking about his health. The photographs on the wall. The trophy case in the living room. It was all so foreign to her that while she had sat in his home and listened to his mother’s stories, she could only admire it from afar.

She had seen the brightest star shining in the night sky. Beautiful. Distant. And to her, wholly unattainable. 

“Hey, Sae,” she said. “Was that love?”

Her question hung in the air. 

Was that love? 

“Ah,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, “I’m not cut out for this after all.”

Then she noticed Sae had stopped walking. Ai whirled back around, flouncing her skirt with one hand.

“What’s wrong? Do you need the bathroom or something?”

“You said to stop a block before the station.”

“Oh, right, I did!” Ai nodded approvingly. “I thought you were having an emergency. The last time something like this happened, it was ‘cause the president ate a bad bowl of udon—”

Sae stepped closer. Ai’s chest did a strange, funny twist. She had to tilt her chin back to keep him in view. Next time, she vowed, she’ll wear heels. That will remedy this particular dilemma.

“You talk too much,” he said. “Use your brain more and your mouth less.”

“An idol can't appeal to fans with just brains.”

“Makes sense. Most don’t have one to begin with.”

"Who? The idols or the fans?"

“You’re proving my point.”

“What point? I don’t see any. Unless you’re saying both the idols and the fans are dumb, ‘cause that’s exactly what you would say—”

As she spoke, Ai realized how close Sae was. His lashes fluttered. His eyes were heavy-lidded as he looked down at her. For some reason, her heart leaped to her throat.

“—you’re only good at soccer,” she finished lamely. “That means you don’t get to talk.”

Sae let out a small breath. “You’re so fucking aggravating,” he muttered. Then he leaned down and kissed her.

Ai had kissed and been kissed before. The act itself wasn’t particularly exciting. But this was Sae Itoshi, her first friend—her first everything—and he was—

His hands slid through her hair. She rose up on her toes, wrapping her arms around his neck. It felt good. Right. Almost desperate. Ai fisted her hands in his shirt as she deepened the kiss. That star was unattainable, but Sae Itoshi remained firmly within her reach. She won’t let him go; not now, not ever. They will have to kill her first.

But they couldn't stay like this forever. This was a dream, and all dreams come to an end.

Sae broke away first. His expression remained as cool as ever. The tips of his ears, however, were flaming red. 

“We’re out in public,” Ai said breathlessly. Her lip gloss was not kiss-proof, and she could see traces of it around his mouth.

“There's no one around," he said.

Ai didn’t know what to say. Her arms were still around him; she released him instantly. “I . . . you really . . .”

Sae Itoshi was a prodigy at two things and two things only: soccer and rendering Ai Hoshino speechless. He had plenty of experience in both. And he called her aggravating. 

“We can’t do that,” said Ai. “Not out in the open.”

“But you'll do it again.”

“Maybe! Maybe not.”

"Give me a straight answer, idiot."

Ai shook her head, smiling. She grasped at his shirt collar and kissed his cheek, leaving another sparkling mark there. 

“I forgive you, by the way,” she said, and ran.

Ai Hoshino wasn’t a coward. Ai Hoshino, however, knew when to take her leave.

And so it goes.

What did it mean to be an idol?

Diets, dance practices, flawless smiles—and most importantly, the loveliest, most exquisite kind of love.

Fans preferred to be blinded by a sweet dream. They will never know that their favorite idol, Japan’s next sweetheart, kissed a boy genius who never once spoke a single word of flattery. Let them be blinded. Let them gawk at her onstage. Let them believe, if only for a second, that they were the ones she was searching for in the crowd. 

Love, love, love. What was between her and Sae? She wasn’t sure. But they went on more dates whenever they could get away with it. Private restaurants. Karaoke bars. Convenience stores. He acted the same way as he did before, save for a couple of exceptions: when they were alone, his hand would brush against her back, rest on the nape of her neck. He did it rarely. More often, he would listen and nod, up until Ai ran out of breath and he took up the mantle of conversation in short, clipped sentences. 

Maybe Ai had low standards. Maybe she would latch onto anyone who would occasionally throw her a bone. But Sae's awkward attempts at kindness meant more to her than anything else in the world. She wanted to pull at his face, make him smirk or smile or laugh. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to go to one of his games and cheer when he scored a goal. She wanted to hold his hand, put her head on his shoulder, and fall asleep knowing he would be next to her when she woke up. 

Was that love?

She wasn’t sure. She really wasn’t.

As summer slowly bled into autumn, Ai began sneaking out of her apartment complex. She staggered the times, kept it irregular enough that nobody suspected. Sae had his own condo in Tokyo. If she came and went, made herself a space in his room—well, in the words of Sae, it wasn’t any of their business, was it?

Ai liked Sae’s place far more than she did her own. His room wasn't overly neat or messy, but rather comfortably disheveled: an unorganized bookshelf, a half-made bed, some Chibi Maruko-chan figurines arranged casually on the nightstand. When she first saw it, she touched little Maruko’s head and hugged Sae tight. 

It was such a small gesture, keeping those figurines. It shouldn’t have warranted any sort of reaction.

Why, then, did it make her so happy?

“It’s almost your birthday, right?” Ai said one day, her face buried in Sae’s shoulder. They were cuddling on the couch (or rather, Ai was holding onto Sae ‘like a barnacle’ and him not moving away despite the occasional comment), watching Chibi Maruko-chan.

“It’s September,” he said.

“That’s why I said almost.” Ai pinched his ear. He swatted her hand away. “Tell me what you want and I’ll buy it for you.”

“Prove that you have a brain and use it. You never had to ask before.”

“That’s ‘cause I ran out of ideas. I bought you a lot of presents, like twenty or thirty—”

“Twelve.”

“Those skin-care products count too! I kept on sending those even when you ghosted me.” Ai paused thoughtfully. “Do you want more moisturizer? I can get you that.”

“I can buy my own.”

“Well, if worst comes to worst, I’ll just give you tickets to B-Komachi’s next performance,” Ai decided.

“If you do, I’ll throw them away.”

“Don’t be mean, Sae. Isn’t it every guy’s dream to see their favorite idol in person? Especially if that idol happens to be their girlfriend?”

She kept her tone light and flippant, focusing on the screen in lieu of watching every minute tic in his expression. Don’t expect anything, she told herself firmly. It was a whim; another stupid, reckless idea she came up with. Sae will say no. She’ll laugh it off like it was no big deal. 

Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just smile.

“That’s what this is about? A concert?” Sae said. 

Ai didn’t say a word. Another minute passed. Then Sae said, “Learn how to ask for things properly, idiot.”

That wasn’t a no. “It’s two weeks from now, on Saturday,” she told him. “Can you make it?”

“I need to check my schedule.”

Still not a rejection. That practically meant a yes in Sae’s world. Ai hummed and burrowed deeper into his side, her cheeks pink. It was so strange how the smallest of consideration on his part made her burn with pleasure; first the figurines, and now this. The romantic, grandiose compliments that her previous boyfriends heaped upon her were nothing compared to Sae just sitting next to her. Paying attention. Saying off-handedly that he needed to check his schedule to make room for her concert.

Ah, this was bad. Ai Hoshino’s standards had hit rock bottom. Ai Hoshino had—

“This is all your fault,” she mumbled into his sweater.

Sae’s eyebrow twitched. “Fuck do you mean by that?”

“Hm? I didn’t say anything! Oh, by the way, you should buy a red glow stick and learn a couple of otaku dances, that’s what everybody else does—”

“Don’t push it.”

“Sae, you have to. It’s the first rule of being a fan.”

“I’m not your fan.”

“If you’re not my fan, then what are you?” Ai teased. “I mean, you don’t say we’re dating and you haven’t called me your girlfriend once. You’re basically stringing me along. Haven’t you got any shame, Sae?”

Sae abruptly pressed his forehead to hers. Ai’s stomach erupted into butterflies. In a low voice, he said, “Do I have to state the obvious?”

“Of course,” she said breathlessly, looping her arms around his neck. “I’m an idiot, remember? Brainless, pretty, just something for middle-aged men to gawk at?”

“Infuriating,” he muttered, and kissed her. Ai threaded her fingers through his hair, laughing breathlessly as he pressed her to the couch.

“Wait, wait, Chibi Maruko-chan’s still playing!”

Sae's eyebrow twitched again. He grabbed the remote and said, “There. It’s off.”

“You knew I was right! It would’ve ruined the entire show for you!”

“Don’t you ever shut up?”

The tips of his ears were growing red. Ai pulled him down again, her smile mischievous. 

“Make me,” she whispered.

It was a taunt. It was temptation. Once she got a taste, she couldn’t go back. 

Neither, it seemed, could Sae Itoshi.

And so it went.

(B-Komachi’s next performance went semi-viral online. It was in those precious few seconds Ai's fame rose to new heights. 

The video was short and followed Ai through the second number of the concert. Halfway through, her eyes widened and became entrancingly luminous, deepening in hue yet somehow reflecting the spotlights above. Her smile, which critics dismissed as ‘artificial’ and ‘typical,’ regained some of its former glory; crooked, unpolished, beautiful in its spontaneity. 

In another world, in another life, what caused this change were two babies performing an otaku dance in perfect synchronization. In this life nothing so dramatic happened. In this life, there was only a boy genius standing at the edge of the crowd, holding a single red glow stick.)

Hey, Sae. Was that love?

Ai had no leg to stand on when it came to love. Her love came in lies—did that really count? She believed it did. But when it came to her, concepts like ‘wholeheartedness’ and ‘sincerity’ lacked depth. She cared because she didn’t have the right to. She lied to mimic affection. Her smile hid the well of impurities inside. It was what being an idol demanded, and it was a must for someone like her. Her pretty facade was to make herself lovable, right? Was she not trying to find love by becoming lovable?

It made sense, then, that love was pure. Sweet. A mere fantasy. 

Dating Sae Itoshi was unlike any kind of ‘love’ she recognized.

They had their moments, sure: watching movies, getting dinner, eating popsicles at the convenience store. Those were the scenes that romcoms and dramas captured. But there was also Ai’s passive-aggression; Sae’s blatant disdain for her handshake events; a full-blown cold war that lasted for a week before Sae showed up at her doorway, bearing cake as an apology. 

They were hardly the picture of a perfect, blissful couple. Ai didn't care. They were figuring things out together. That was enough for her.

“Did I live up to your standards?” she said one day. She had monopolized his bed, leaving Sae to analyze a recent soccer game at the nearby desk. “Did I have potential after all?”

“For what?”

“Hm . . . I guess as an idol?” Ai tapped a finger against her chin. “My fans say that I’m a once-in-a-lifetime talent. So I guess you really did know better after all.”

Sae's gaze didn't leave the computer screen. “You doubted me.”

“No. Well, okay, maybe a teensy bit.” Ai rolled onto her stomach. “Then I definitely count as a genius.”

“A genius of what? Forgetting where you put the keys?”

“That only happened twice!”

“Where is it now?”

“Oh, um . . .” Ai began fumbling around in her pockets. “Probably on the kitchen counter!”

“Imbecile.”

“You mispronounced genius,” Ai corrected, despite the fact that she was a self-admitted idiot. Nobody said she couldn’t be both. Sae was lauded as a prodigy, but like her, he had trouble putting names to faces—and more egregiously, he burned instant ramen. It was a miracle that he survived these past four years.

“Ah, found it!” Ai snatched her keys off the nightstand and held them up in triumph. “See, I can keep track of stuff! I’m amazing.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

“Rude, Sae,” Ai said laughingly. She dropped the keys onto the bed and went to hug him from behind, nudging her cheek against his. “Are all soccer players as bad as you?”

“Most don’t have the skills to back it up.” Sae shut the computer. “Hungry?”

“Kind of.”

“You should eat regular meals. There are leftovers we can heat up.”

Ai hummed. “That sounds great.”

These were the moments no rom-com would ever portray: mundane, sedate, what Sae would call unremarkable. Ai thought otherwise. She believed, with the entirety of her imperfect, insincere heart, that this was the closest somebody like her could get to heaven. 

“Hey, Sae,” she said impulsively. 

“What?”

Ai opened her mouth. Closed it. 

“Nothing,” she said at last. “Don't worry about it.”

And so.

Their relationship, it seemed, lived in the present. Their past was ignored. Perhaps that was the problem.

Ai accidentally let bits and pieces slip, but that wasn’t anything new. She referenced the surreal dream of her life during live streams; it was common knowledge that she was an orphan and that her childhood was less than idyllic. Ai usually hand-waved the specifics away. The most important part is that I’m here now, she’d say with a wink. Thank you for the support, everyone!

Sae kept his private life out of the media. However, unlike Ai, his past had taken the form of photographs, trophies, and an eclectic collection of souvenirs. His parents stocked his refrigerator. His manager hounded him after disastrous interviews. His younger brother (Riku? Rei? Or was it Ritsu?), on the other hand, never visited, and Sae didn’t acknowledge his presence.

That wasn’t like him. Then again, Sae wasn’t the boy who had fought her on that lonely field, and Ai wasn’t the girl who had stolen his ball in an act of recklessness. They had both grown up. Somehow, though, the past chased them. That boy and girl hadn’t left. They were, like all things inconvenient, simply buried in the vain hopes that they would be forgotten.

Ai didn’t pry. Why would she, as a connoisseur of secrets? But during late nights, when the curtains were drawn, when Ai was half-asleep in Sae’s bed, listening to the steady breathing of the boy holding her, she wanted to know more, more, more. 

How much of Sae Itoshi’s heart did she hold? Did he trust her? Did he like her smile? What did he like about her? His compliments came few and far between. Did he like every part of her, pretty lies and ugly truths included? What exactly was going on in Sae Itoshi’s mind?

She wanted, she wanted, she wanted. Ai was a greedy idol; Ai Hoshino, a greedy girl. It was the same old refrain. 

“You know,” she said on his eighteenth birthday, “I’m a liar.”

Her head was resting against his chest. His hand was on her thigh. It was nearing midnight; she had to leave sooner or later. Spending the night was too risky. And yet she held onto Sae, wishing for time to stop, for the world to cease its endless clamor. 

“You always were,” he said after a pause.

“Mm, yeah. I can’t turn it off, you know? It’s ingrained in me. That’s why I’m such a great idol.” Ai traced a heart on his skin. “I can’t keep track of the truth. I say things I don’t mean to make everybody else feel good.”

Sae’s breath lightly stirred her hair. She didn’t look up to see his expression. She didn’t need to. 

“I don’t think,” Ai said, “I can love any of them.” 

Was it the truth? Was it a lie? She didn’t know. She never knew. But it certainly didn’t feel like a lie. Her fans adored and defended her. But that was only for the aloof, solitary being that bore no human weaknesses. That ‘love’ was for the facade called Ai. They will never know how revolting she was. They will never know her broken, hollow self. They will never want to.

“You shouldn’t,” Sae said. “They’re all octopuses.”

Ai blinked. Then she burst into helpless fits of laughter.

“You’re terrible, I was being super serious and you ruined it!”

“Quit hitting me or I’ll throw you off—”

“You won’t. You like me too much.”

“Do I?”

“You could hide it all you want, but I know you too well,” Ai said happily. “Why else would we be dating?”

“Stockholm syndrome.”

“Is that another phrase for being sick with love? It sounds like it is. I knew it.”

“Idiot. That’s not what it means.”

“It isn’t? That's weird. I could’ve sworn it did.” Ai nestled closer, cheeks hectically flushed. “Hey, what do you like about me?”

She expected a sarcastic retort. Instead, Sae said, “Your laugh.”

“Eh, really?”

“Not your laugh during interviews. Your regular laugh.”

Ai propped herself on an elbow and pondered that for a bit. “My regular laugh . . .” she repeated. “That’s funny. I forgot what that sounds like.”

“I remember,” Sae said. “You laughed after you punched me.”

“You mean after we fought? That’s why you like it?”

“I didn’t say I liked it then, I said I remembered it.”

She flopped back into his arms, smiling that glorious, crooked smile. “Tell me everything,” she said. “Tell me everything you like and hate about me.”

“You don’t clean up after yourself. You constantly leave stuff in my room. Your songs are generic. You don’t know anything about soccer. You—”

“Ah, don't be a bully. Say some good things too!”

Sae’s hands settled on her waist. “Impossible.”

“List ten of my good qualities,” she said. “It can’t be that hard! Everybody else can do twenty.”

“They’re lying. I can barely think of three.”

Ai huffed out a laugh. “I want an apology,” she demanded. “Kiss me and I'll forgive you.”

“That counts as sexual harassment.”

“Sae, why would you say something like that?”

She was laughing again, her entire body shaking with mirth. Sae's mouth drifted over her forehead. His eyes flitted shut, as if he was trying to etch the sound permanently into his mind.

The past was nothing dear to Ai Hoshino, except for the parts with Sae in it. For that alone, she couldn’t bear to throw it away. 

And so.

It wasn’t long before Sae broke the news that he was leaving for Spain in November.

“This country is abysmal,” he had said. “I’d have more luck playing with monkeys than passing to any forwards on the Japanese team.”

Sae Itoshi may have given up on his dream of becoming the world’s greatest striker, but his interest in becoming the world’s best midfielder was similarly intense and hellish. Ai had understood that. She had her career, and he had his. 

She sulked all the same.

“You have to pick up when I call,” she said with a saccharine smile. “I don't care if you text or not. You have a bad history of that.”

“This is revenge, isn’t it.”

“You have to,” she repeated. “I’ll cry if you don’t.”

“You don’t cry,” he said.

She giggled. “There’s a first for everything.”

Ai had cried on her fifteenth birthday after opening his gift. It hadn’t been anything like an emotional outburst in a movie. She had just opened the box, lifted out the handbag, and suddenly teardrops were staining the white leather cover. That night, after texting him, she had fallen asleep wrung-out, frayed, her chest tight with hope. 

It would have been easier, Ai had thought, if he just threw her away like everybody else. Hatred came naturally then. This cycle of leaving, of returning, wasn’t as straightforward.

“If you don’t answer,” she said, cupping his face, “I’ll make your life miserable.”

“You don’t even have a passport. How are you gonna do that?” 

“I’ll come up with something.”

“Ninety percent of your plans will fall apart when you try to execute them.”

Ai tugged on his right cheek. “What about the other ten percent?”

“They might work,” Sae conceded. “You do use your brain, sometimes.”

Ai's smile softened. “I’ll miss you. I wish we could at least spend Christmas together."

“ . . . We can video call.”

“That will be nice,” she said. “You should call your brother, too. Hasn’t it been a while since you guys saw each other? What’s up with that?”

“I don’t care.”

“That’s cruel, Sae.”

“He has to prove himself,” he said. “I won’t acknowledge him until he surpasses my expectations.”

“Bro-con,” Ai said affectionately.

“You have a filthy mouth for an idol.”

“No kissing and telling, alright? My fans can’t ever find out.”

They won’t ever know about her greatest lie. So long as she kept smiling, they would continue to believe in her love. 

“We have a few more weeks, right?” Ai said. “Then let’s make it count. Do you wanna play soccer with me?"

“That plan falls into the ninetieth percentile.”

“Jerk,” Ai said, closing her eyes. In a few short weeks, he’ll be gone to chase his dream. But this time Sae promised he would come back. To keep in touch. Promises didn’t mean anything, of course, and yet she couldn’t stop hoping that Sae would uphold his end of the bargain. 

Ai Hoshino was hopeless. Ai Hoshino wanted more.

What she wanted, however, was something she couldn’t verbalize.

(The Blue Lock project had already begun selecting its key players. Jinpachi Ego and Anri Teieri will never imagine that their arduous planning would be entangled with the fate of an idol that could end all liars. 

In another world, in another life, Ai’s luck would run out by age twenty. In this life, it would be slightly different. 

His luck, after all, was always better than hers. Who said that she couldn’t steal a little more of it?)

The news broke in late November, when Ai was busy preparing for her role in the latest up-and-coming drama and Sae Itoshi was allegedly leaving for Spain.

Revolutionary Project Seeks To Create World-Class Japanese Forwards!

Ai had scrolled through the article, following about every third word, before sending a screenshot to Sae. His response was immediate: I know. I’m staying.

Ai had made her peace with Sae leaving and possibly never coming back. She didn’t, however, expect this development. Instead of memorizing her lines, she flopped backward on the couch, staring at the text.

“You could have told me earlier,” she mumbled, and told him as much.

It was a last-minute decision. Sorry.

He was getting better at apologizing. Ai smiled, sent him a flirty emoticon, and got back to work. They had their fill of fun the past month. On her rare day off, Sae had taken her to his hometown of Kanagawa—apparently, his family had moved to Tokyo when he was ten—to spend a day at the beach. Ai had splashed Sae and was promptly dunked into the ocean. They were both wet, shivering, and calling each other names by the time they were ready to go. It was an objectively bad date. She enjoyed every second of it.

This was another side of her that was revealed to Sae Itoshi alone. Her hair was lank from salt water, her dress was sodden, and she had lost a sandal during the chase. Sae had gazed at her for so long that Ai began to poke fun at him. 

“It’s like you haven’t ever seen a girl before,” she had said, wringing out her skirt. 

“You’re gonna catch a cold,” was all he said in response, and offered his hand. Ai had taken it. It was one of the few times they held hands in public. Beside the vast ocean, underneath the clear blue sky, with Sae next to her, it felt like the world was empty. She was eleven, twelve, sixteen, standing in an abandoned field. It was the same then and it was the same now. The world that rejected her, revered her, became her own.

Hey, Sae.

Was that love?

Ai set down the script, closed her eyes, and wondered.

. . . And so it goes.

(A small interlude by the youngest Itoshi brother.

Rin Itoshi's ego was forged from bitter anger and soul-crushing spite. Day by day, he annealed it with loathsome memories: of Sae's words, his stinging dismissal, and also of a girl that never stopped smiling.

Ai Hoshino had been a strange addition to Rin's life. She was beautiful in the way supernovas were; far too bright to face directly, yet impossible to turn away from. Her eyes contained the allure of an undiscovered universe. Her smile could charm the sun out of the sky. Her laugh made birdsong sound harsh and discordant in comparison. 

Even at the age of eleven, Rin had understood: this was not a normal girl. She was far worse than that.

Sae didn’t have his misgivings. Quite the opposite, actually. His big brother was wrapped around Ai Hoshino’s little finger. In the beginning, Rin didn’t understand why. Then came the day after the game, when she snatched the popsicle stick from his hand and ran back to the convenience store. She had turned back, laughing, waving the stick, and Rin had a flash of insight. It was the distance, he realized. From afar, Ai Hoshino could be admired and worshiped as a goddess in the flesh. Up close, her mortality was evident. There were strands of hair sticking to her face. Her cheeks were flushed. She was panting from exertion.

That dichotomy was what drew Sae to her, he thought. What she commanded transcended the realm of reason. Be envious, be captivated, be disgusted; it didn’t matter which. Ai Hoshino provoked a visceral reaction from all who looked upon her. That was what her genius entailed, and Rin despised it.

Ai visited him once after Sae had gone to Spain. As Rin licked his popsicle, she asked: “Does Sae talk to you?”

“I don’t want to distract him,” he had said shortly. Ai’s appearance had changed subtly since they met: her smile was more symmetrical, her eyes distinctly bright. As an afterthought, he tacked on, “You shouldn’t either. He has a dream he’s chasing after.”

“Oh, I know,” Ai said fondly, and looked down at the popsicle stick. “I can’t understand it. I want to, though.”

Rin couldn’t help himself, then. 

“What does my brother mean to you?”

Because Ai Hoshino didn’t have earthly attachments. Rin knew that implicitly, as all that was acquainted with her knew. At least, she shouldn't have any attachments of that sort. Ai Hoshino was far from human. Ai Hoshino was not bound to this world.

“What does he mean to me . . .” Ai murmured. The light in her eyes guttered. Then it came back in full force as she put a finger to her lips, winked, and said, “Now that's a secret!”

Yes, Rin hated her. Sae had rubbed salt in the wound: get lost, lukewarm, I don’t need you in my life anymore. He had given up on their dream. Somehow, though, he hadn’t given up on her.

His determination was fueled by anger. His rage was stoked by memories. 

That was what Rin Itoshi’s ego depended on.)

November dragged into December. Ai's newest drama was receiving mostly positive ratings, and while it wasn't mainstream, it was far more popular than they initially thought it would be. She always asked Sae for a review after the latest episode. He always replied with: You were fine.

She was right. Sae Itoshi made for a terrible boyfriend. She had no idea why they hadn't broken up yet. Her standards were horrible. Sae was horrible.

Ai wanted to see him again.

Since their last date at the beach, they hadn’t gotten together in person. Ai stopped by his condo every once in a while, mostly to pick up something she left behind, and stuck little notes on the refrigerator for Sae to see once he got home. The note was always gone the next time she visited. She couldn’t tell if he kept them or not. She never asked if he did, though she desperately wanted to.

Ai Hoshino was a mess of contradictions. Ai Hoshino was in over her head. Ai Hoshino had fallen in—

I love you.

She stared down at the sticky note, heart pounding. Then she crumpled it up, tore it into pieces, and dumped it in the trash can.

Was it a lie? Was it not? Oh, she was a coward. She knew it now. She didn’t have it in her to say it to his face. She couldn’t say it to him as a friend, as a girlfriend, or even as a joke. Her fate was sealed the day they met, when he looked at her with wonder as she laughed and laughed and laughed.

Ai Hoshino couldn't very well say that nobody liked or loved her. Perhaps somewhere, somewhen, that was true, but it rang false for her in this life. Sae liked her. He liked her laugh. And she—

I love you. 

“Your fault,” she murmured, and buried her head in her hands, flustered beyond belief. “Ah, it’s all his fault. Stupid me. Stupid Sae.”

Ai had played the role of a girlfriend for months—not well, perhaps, but she had termed the relationship as such, and it was normal for girlfriends to say ‘I love you’ to their partner. It was just another line for her to recite. But if she said it to Sae, did their entire relationship count as another lie? 

Lies can turn into the truth. It was what the president told her, and his wisdom had never failed her yet. But suppose she said it. Suppose she had cupped his face, told him those fateful words, and felt nothing but the dull, persistent ache in her chest.

Ai didn’t know what she’ll do with herself.

And . . . suppose he didn’t feel the same way. Maybe for Sae Itoshi, this was just a fling he could shake off after it was over. It would be on-brand for him. Apathy was his greatest weapon. He could wound her like no one else could. 

Ai tapped the pen on the counter and sighed.

At least she got one thing correct: she really wasn’t cut out for this.

(That night, when Sae came home, he could immediately tell that Ai had dropped by: the shoe rack was disrupted, a cardigan was draped over the couch, and a pink sticky note was stuck on the refrigerator. 

He set down his bag and peeled the note off. It read in bold, large characters: Score a goal for me!

In Sae’s room, hidden in a drawer, was a jar filled with notes from her. All were a variant of the same message: good luck, have a great day, I’m cheering you on. Now he carefully folded the note and dropped it in. He rested his hand over the opening, thinking.

She said it so carelessly in the last episode of her drama. He’d thought of her as the type to throw the phrase around without any regard for context or setting. But with him, she held back. Their conversation usually stalled when she kissed him. A kiss usually turned into two, then three, and Ai would say something typically infuriating and glib, and the rest he blamed on hormones. 

“That moron,” Sae muttered. Then he ran a hand through his hair in exasperation. He didn’t have time for distractions, moronic or otherwise.

And yet.)

Love, love, love. 

What did it mean to love?

Despite Sae’s complete change in plans, they still couldn’t manage to align their schedules for Christmas. Presents were exchanged nonetheless. Sae gave Ai a pair of sunglasses. Subtle. Not too pricey. She could wear it publicly and pass it off as a splurge. Ai had gotten them matching keychains: a white bear representing Real Madrid’s mascot for Sae, and a bunny for herself. Later, at midnight, Sae sent a photo of the bear attached to his house keys. It was an unexpectedly cute gesture. Ai will never stop being surprised by him.

December bled slowly into January. Still no dates. To make up for that, Ai stole and wore Sae’s sweatshirts. She toyed with every gift he had bought her. She fell asleep reading their texts.  

Deep down, Ai knew. She might have passed off as 'lovable,' but she wasn't an easy person to love. Behind the mask, there was a hollow, empty shell of a girl raised by malice and indifference. That even Sae had stayed this long was astonishing in itself. It wasn't out of pity or curiosity, either. The two of them were far beyond that point.

Ai could taste the words on her tongue; desperate, almost bittersweet in nature. She cradled the amethyst necklace in her hands and felt the weight of thoughts unspoken. If he said it first, would she be able to respond in kind? Would she be able to comprehend the meaning behind these emotions?

She was burning from the inside out. The pressure was building underneath her skin. Ai pressed the cool pendant to her hot, feverish cheek and tried to affect calm. If only she could revert to her old self, the girl that could fly into a rage and admit to hatred—if that could release the floodgates inside and leave her clean, light, unfettered, she would do so in a heartbeat. 

I love you. I love you. I—

Ai shut her eyes. Exhaled. Then she placed the necklace back into the velvet box and picked up her phone, where a text from Sae was waiting.

It was just an attachment to a digital ticket. Ai squinted at it. The Japanese U-20 team versus . . . Blue Lock? 

She called him to confirm.

“Which team are you playing for?” she asked. “The regular team or the other one?”

“I’m playing with the incompetents,” Sae said, his voice crackling strangely over the speaker.

“Oh, you mean the regular one. Okay.” Ai paused. “Hey, Sae, is this Blue Lock any good? What are you watching for?”

“The players. Their forwards. Blue Lock will have to put their money where their mouth is in this match.”

Ai smiled down at the necklace. “This is what you stayed for, right? I hope that they’re all good. It wouldn’t do if they disappointed the great Sae Itoshi-sama.”

“The regular Japanese forwards already did. I went through their records the other day. They’re all shit. I’ve seen toads with more dexterity.”

“Well, you never know!” Ai said, but really she was teasing. “Be nice to your teammates, Sae. I mean it. You’ll say the wrong thing and make somebody break down completely.”

“Maybe then they’ll play better.”

“No, Sae, you missed the point,” Ai said, laughing. “I’m going, by the way. I won’t miss a chance to see you play.”

“I got it.”

“Score a goal for me?”

“I only score for myself.”

“Bastard,” said Ai, and hung up on him. Served him right. He was such a narcissist. 

Her phone buzzed insistently in her hand. She huffed and answered the call.

“Idiot.”

The line went dead again.

Ai’s face turned a bright, flaming red. Childish! He was so childish and petty! He always had to get the last word in, no matter what! Wasn’t that why she didn’t speak to him for a week? Her taste in men was truly awful. Sae probably had a hand in that as well, that inconsiderate, egotistical asshole. 

It wasn’t like her to be so sensitive. Usually, she would have found it amusing. And it was, just a little. But Ai wasn’t in the mood for Sae’s attitude. 

“He’s the worst,” she told the necklace; cheeks flushed, eyes bright. “The worst, ever.”

So she left a voicemail telling him exactly that.

“I’m mad,” she said as a finishing touch. “Do something about that, okay?”

It was a meaningless, pointless fight. There wasn’t a single mature party involved. Still, two days later, it was over and done with. Ai hardly remembered what she was angry over. She wasn’t above holding a grudge, but this wasn’t one worth it. 

Still, she burned from the inside out. That star was unattainable, and yet she continued to incessantly wonder. If only she could. If only—

But that was going nowhere. 

(Another day, another live stream.

“‘Do you have a boyfriend?’ I’m too busy to think about dating and things like that. Besides, people find it difficult to put up with somebody like me. Um, let’s see . . . ‘Do you have a crush on anybody right now?’ If I say yes, I do, wouldn't that hurt your feelings?”

A small silence. 

“I don’t get the concept of a crush. Normally, you confess to the other person and then you start dating, right? I never had anything like that.”

And if I did, you wouldn’t know.

That last thought, as it was, went unsaid.)

The Blue Lock match was conveniently on a quiet weekend. Nobody will be suspicious if she goes out and about, the president included. When the time came, Ai braided her hair, put on a cap, and ran to catch the bus.

Ai hadn’t been to a soccer game since she was twelve. Her expectations were set at a baseline of zero. The location, however, blindsided her—the stadium was nestled in the center of the Blue Lock facility, which was also in the middle of nowhere. What was more surprising were the fans. The spectacle on social media didn’t come as a shock to Ai, but the sheer number of people that came to watch the game was astounding. B-Komachi’s audience at the Budokan was mere scraps in comparison. This was a real crowd. This was what fervor amounted to.

The field, Ai realized, was just another stage. There were cameras. Bright lights. Die-hard supporters. More important were the main actors. For once, Ai wasn’t taking center stage. She was in the audience. Her only job is to witness Sae perform his role as the ‘genius.’ 

Ai pulled her cap lower over her face as she wandered to her seat. She was at the bottom section of the stadium, lending to a closer view of the action on the field. Sae would be able to see her from this distance. Not that he would be looking. The only thing on his mind was Blue Lock, the ball, and the goal.

I’m not his topmost priority, she thought, and if it stung, if some hidden corner of her heart rebelled at the thought, she didn’t let any of it show. Even as an audience member, she played her part well. 

Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just smile.

“Impossible,” she murmured, and her voice was swallowed up by the mayhem in the stadium. The crowd roared their support for the Japanese team and Sae Itoshi. Everyone came alive with anticipation. Flags were unfurled; drums were beaten; chants were started. The man next to Ai was practically screaming in her ear. She leaned away, having half a mind to move, when the cheering intensified. The main actors have arrived in neat, orderly lines: one blue, the other white. 

Sae was leading the U-20 Japanese team. Next to him, wearing a blue jersey, was his little brother. 

Suddenly, a lot of different things began to make sense. Ai's smile lessened incrementally as each piece fell into place.

For somebody who has such a large brother complex, she thought, he could be awfully cruel about it.

Riku-Rei-Ritsu-Rin Itoshi glared at Sae before heading to his half of the field. He stopped to speak with a shorter boy and slapped him on the shoulder. They exchanged a few words before getting into position. 

Ai Hoshino drew in a breath. Her fingers curled loosely in her lap as the crowd shouted Sae Itoshi’s name.

The whistle blew. Kick-off. 

And the game began. 

In early summer, Ai made Sae explain the rules of soccer to her. She still didn’t understand the intricacies of the sport, but listening to him talk about it was cute, strangely enough. He didn’t follow a particular script, nor did he force his reactions. If he didn’t find it interesting, he simply brushed it off. If he did, he dove into the subject and left no stone unturned. His was a true passion. The depths of his ambition were unparalleled. 

Ai understood Sae a bit more than she understood herself. For him, Blue Lock was a final test. A true striker could be born here. If they were, he would want to witness it. He would want to see the fool that could rise above the rest, the fool that he can acknowledge as a proper striker.

Hey, Sae, she wanted to ask. Is there a point to that?

Ai Hoshino had only ever been surrounded by the abstract. Love was the language she spoke but didn’t understand. The desire for something in the realm of possibility was baffling. Sae Itoshi’s straightforward dream both dazzled and beguiled her, even from the very beginning. If she could steal his ball, his luck, then why not something else as well? Could she be plucked from the heavens and brought down to earth with such worldly desires?

Blue Lock was in possession of the ball again. The U-20 captain, an unshaven boy with heterochromia, managed to steal it away and pass it to Sae. 

Sae dribbled toward the goal and passed to another player. It arced through the air like it was being pulled by a string, landing directly at the feet of his intended target. The Blue Lock players sprinted to stop them. 

It didn’t matter, anyway. The ball went back to Sae. Instead of scoring, however, he passed it to number eleven.

Another test, Ai thought, as number eleven failed to get past the goalie. Sae's expression darkened. She could almost hear what he’d say, had he the chance to. 

Fine. I’ll do it myself. 

He sprinted after the ball. It was at a frankly absurd position—he was almost parallel to the goal—but he took the shot anyway. The ball flew over the goalie, into the net, and bounced neatly onto the ground. 

The crowd erupted. Ai’s hat was nearly knocked off by her neighbor as he jumped to his feet. Sae stood there on the field, a god in his own right, as people chanted his name.

Ai readjusted her hat. Fixed her skirt. Then she stood up and yelled, “Good job, Sae! Score another one!”

Score one for me.

It was as selfish as it was laughable. Sae Itoshi told her as much. He will never score on behalf of anyone but himself.

And yet, and yet—

The game resumed. The players of Blue Lock pushed back with an intensity rivaling that of hungry wolves. Rin Itoshi, having been fed a pass by a teammate, tried to recreate Sae’s goal from the same absurd angle. Ai found that to be completely on-brand. For all that has grown, Rin stayed the boy who hung on to his big brother’s every word. His feelings changed. His actions had not.

Blue Lock’s first goal swept up the stadium in a maelstrom of excitement. Number seven, a tall, white-haired boy with the name Nagi emblazoned on his jersey, stole the spotlight. Likely nobody in the stadium had expected the other team to score such a spectacular goal. Ai, who knew little about the project in general, wasn’t as fazed.

She believed in Sae’s judgment. Blue Lock had a smidgen of potential that intrigued him. Once he got what he needed, he would leave. That was the long and short of it.

Come to think of it, what was stopping him from leaving her?

Sae Itoshi was as selfish as she was. Didn’t he say, all those years ago, about how he only stayed because he wanted to see what made her special? And he did. He didn’t like what he saw, but he came back, again and again. 

Why? Why did you stay?

Was that a part of love?

If it was, then it ached. And oh, did Ai ache. She burned. 

Perhaps she didn’t quite forgive him after all.

Rin Itoshi finally scored on his own accord. Thanks to him, Blue Lock led the game by a single point when the first half of the match ended. The stadium was in a state of utter enthusiasm and disbelief as they filed into their locker room for a short break, whooping and hollering in celebration.

The dejected U-20 team followed them in. Before Sae left the field, however, he turned briefly, as if searching for somebody in the crowd.

He knew where she was sitting. It didn't take long for him to find her. Ai waved, and on a whim, blew him a small kiss. 

Sae’s chin dipped in a near-imperceptible nod before he continued on his way. Ai’s hand dropped to her lap. Her eyes were black. Her smile was gone. 

What do you want from me, Sae Itoshi?

To that, she still had no answer.

The floodlights outshone the stars above. The brightest star was temporarily out of sight.

And so.

(Ai Hoshino would never scream at Sae as she did so many years ago. Back then, her hatred ran thick and hot as she struggled to put her turbulent, ever-changing emotions into words. 

If she could say it again at age seventeen, it would go like this:

Ai, quite calm, smiling like Venus reborn. Sae, standing before her, in the field that determined their destiny. 

“Hey, Sae,” she'd say—still calm, still smiling. “I hate you.”

Now then.

Was that the truth, or was it a lie?

Was it both, or was it neither?

That, as always, was only for Ai Hoshino to know.)