The monotonous rhythm of school, a silent lunch, and then the solitary walk along the coast had become Wakashi's new normal. The salty air was less sharp now, more of a dull presence, just another part of the background. He was walking deeper than usual into the rocky stretches, the sun a distant glint on the waves, when it happened.
He heard it before he saw it – a high-pitched, childish shout, carried on the wind. Before he could even turn his head, something solid and unforgiving slammed into his face. A jarring impact, a momentary blackout of stars, and then a searing pain across his nose. He stumbled backward, sprawling onto the coarse sand, a faint metallic taste blooming on his tongue.
"Hey! Are you okay?!" A voice, reedy and surprisingly loud, pierced the ringing in his ears.
He pushed himself up, spitting out a mouthful of sand, his vision swimming. Towering over him, hands on her hips, was a girl. She looked ridiculously small, barely elementary school age with her slight frame and wide, earnest eyes, yet her uniform clearly marked her as a first-year middle schooler. She clutched a deflated, orange and white football to her chest. It was the offending object.
Wakashi's temper, a simmering beast since his father's death, flared instantly. The humiliation of being knocked down, the stinging pain in his nose, and the sheer audacity of this tiny stranger's loud voice ignited a fuse.
"What do you think?!" he snarled, his voice rougher than he intended. He touched his nose; it wasn't broken, but it throbbed relentlessly. "Watch where you're playing, moron!"
The girl, far from being intimidated, planted her feet wider. "M-moron?! It's a beach! Accidents happen! And it's your fault for walking so close to the –"
Before she could finish, another voice, equally shrill and indignant, joined the fray. "Hey! Don't talk to Hana that way! It's just a game!" Two more figures, also looking like they'd barely graduated from elementary school, came running up, clutching their own worn balls. They were even smaller than the first girl.
Wakashi felt a pressure building in his chest, a hot, uncontrollable surge of frustration. They were just kids, tiny, yapping things, but their innocent scolding felt like a thousand tiny needles poking at his raw nerves. His father was gone, his life was a mess, he was stuck in this boring village, and now he was getting lectured by pint-sized footballers. It was too much.
He lunged forward, snatching the orange and white ball from the first girl's surprised grasp before she could react. His fingers found the worn seams, the soft give of the synthetic leather. The anger, sharp and blinding, consumed him. With a savage, almost primal roar, he slammed the ball down onto a jagged, exposed rock, once, twice, three times. The cheap material shrieked, then ripped, the internal bladder bursting with a pathetic hiss. The ball crumpled, a ruined, deflated husk of its former self.
Silence descended, broken only by the crash of the waves and the sudden, shocked gasps of the three small girls. Their eyes were wide, fixed on the pathetic remains of the ball. The first girl, Hana, looked like she might cry.
Wakashi stared at the destroyed ball for a moment, the fury slowly receding, leaving behind a cold, empty ache. He tossed the deflated remnants onto the sand with a gesture of contempt. Without another word, without looking at their stunned faces, he turned and walked away, his tall, awkward frame disappearing quickly along the winding coastal path, leaving behind a torn ball and three very upset elementary school-looking middle schoolers.
He didn't see Hana. He didn't see the tears that welled up in her large, earnest eyes, not out of fear or anger towards him, but out of pure, unadulterated sadness for the ruined football. It wasn't just a toy to her; it was a companion, a source of joy. She knelt, her small hands reaching out to touch the mangled leather, as if trying to mend the irreparable. Her friends huddled around her, their initial anger forgotten in the face of her quiet despair. For Hana, the raw, untamed power he displayed meant nothing compared to the loss of her beloved ball.