"This.....is where I belong, the thought that filled Rio's head."
Rio's eyes lingered on the Glass Animals poster hanging crookedly on the white wall. The soft hum of "Heat Waves" played from his phone speaker—one of the few things that made this place feel a little less empty. The lead singer's voice echoed in his mind, each lyric sinking deep.
"Sometimes, all I think about is you..."
The nostalgia hit like a wave—sharp and bittersweet. It dragged him back to Osaka, to the streets that knew his every step. To the cheers echoing across muddy football fields. To the scent of rain on warm concrete. To the voice of a teammate yelling, "Nice one, Silver!" after every goal. And then to silence.
That silence still followed him here.
He absently ran his fingers through his silver-colored hair, the strands cool and familiar. That lyric... it haunted him. Because he wasn't just thinking about someone. He was thinking about everything he had tried so hard to leave behind.
Rio Silver.
The name had once meant something. To the fans. To the schools. To his teammates. A prodigy. A monster on the field. An S-grade athlete. Gold medals stacked like dominoes in his cabinet back home. Victory after victory until even his coaches feared he'd plateau from boredom.
But no one ever saw what went on behind the glory.
The brutal pressure. The loneliness. The bruises he kept hidden.
He sat on the edge of his new bed, green eyes scanning the unfamiliar room. It was plain. Lifeless. A small desk. A narrow wardrobe. Cream walls that felt more like a hospital than a home. Not a single photo or trophy made the move. His parents didn't ask why. Maybe they thought he'd outgrown them. Or maybe… they just didn't care.
His jaw tightened.
The move to Tokyo was supposed to be a fresh start. That's what they said.
"It's a new city, Rio. A new chance! This is exciting!"
Exciting?
To Rio, it felt more like erasing everything. Wiping the board clean. Like pretending the past didn't exist. But it did. Every scar, every wound, still whispered inside him.
He stood and stretched, letting his eyes drift across the room again. Still no warmth. Still no soul.
And then… his eyes caught it.
That scar.
Small. Almost faded. Just above his left hand. The shape of it was jagged, almost like a lightning bolt, barely noticeable unless the light hit it right. But to Rio, it screamed louder than anything else in the room.
A scar from the worst year of his life.
The beatings. The threats. The sickening laughter. And at the center of it all—Akira Hoshino.
Just the name made his stomach twist.
The arrogant rich kid with dead eyes and fists like steel. Akira had made Rio's middle school years hell. He beat him down—physically, mentally—every single day. And the worst part?
No one stopped him.
Not the teachers. Not the students. No one.
"You'll never be anything, Silver."
That phrase... it burned. Even now.
Rio's hands clenched into fists. The pain had dulled over the years, but the rage? Still hot. Still alive.
But he wasn't that scared little kid anymore.
No more running. No more silence. No more shrinking into corners hoping not to be noticed.
He had trained. He had fought. And he had won—on the field, in life, and in the shadows of his own mind. Even if his parents didn't see it. Even if the world had moved on.
"GET OVER HIS FEAR OF BULLIES AND ONCE AGAIN, SHINE AS THE STAR FOOTBALLER."
That was his real goal.
Sure, Tokyo might be a new city. But this was more than a relocation. This was war.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with stale air that still didn't feel like home.
He wasn't here just to escape the past.
He was here to face it.
Because somewhere in this city—maybe in a school hallway or a football pitch—was the next challenge waiting to crush him. And this time, he'd be ready.
He cracked his knuckles, the sound oddly satisfying.
A knock echoed from downstairs. His parents calling.
"Rio! Dinner's ready!"
Reality returned like a slap.
He glanced one last time around the room. It still felt cold. Still strange. But maybe that was okay. Maybe it didn't need to feel like home.
Not yet.
He ran his fingers once more across the scar, then let his hand fall to his side.
"You'll never be anything, Silver."
The voice echoed again.
He smirked.
"Watch me," he whispered.
And with that, he walked out the door.
A new chapter awaited him, Up in the bright lights of Tokyo