Wakashi stood on the darkening beach, the worn leather ball heavy in his palm. Hinata's words – "Fulfill your revenge on the ball" – echoed in his mind, cutting through the lingering sting of the "clown" chants. It was a strange idea, a bizarre twist on the rage he felt, but for the first time in months, a sliver of curiosity sparked within him. He turned the ball over, feeling its texture, a silent challenge in its weight.
He started walking again, away from Hinata, away from the mocking whispers of the wind. His feet crunched on the pebbles of the coastal path, the vast sea still roaring beside him. He wasn't sure where he was going, only that he couldn't go back to the emptiness of his room just yet.
Then, he heard it. A familiar, high-pitched giggle, carried on the salt-laced breeze. Followed by a series of lighter thuds, the sound of a smaller ball being kicked. He paused, turning his head. Further down the beach, near a cluster of jagged rocks that formed a natural barrier, a small game was underway. Three figures, dwarfed by the darkening coastline, were kicking a ball around.
One of them, unmistakable even from a distance, was Hana. She was playing with two other girls, their laughter a stark contrast to his own grim silence. As if sensing his gaze, Hana looked up. Their eyes locked across the expanse of sand. Her playful expression instantly dissolved into a frown, a clear sign of her lingering coldness and disappointment.
The sight of her, the memory of her ruined ball, spurred him forward. He didn't know what he was doing, what he would say. The guilt, momentarily dulled by Hinata's words, resurfaced with a fresh sting. He just had to do something.
Wakashi walked towards them, his long strides covering the distance quickly. As he approached, the giggles died, replaced by a wary silence. The other two girls huddled closer to Hana, their small figures tensing. Hana herself stood still, her brow furrowed, her eyes fixed on the ball in his hand.
He stopped a few feet from them. His throat felt dry. He looked at Hana, at the defiant sadness in her eyes. "This," he mumbled, pushing the ball he'd just received from Hinata forward, "is for you. I... I'm sorry about the other one."
Hana stared at the ball, then at him, her expression unreadable. She made no move to take it. The silence stretched, heavy and awkward. Wakashi felt his face flush. He was making things worse. He probably looked like some towering, clumsy idiot.
Without another word, he simply placed the ball on the sand at her feet. It rolled slightly, coming to rest against her worn sneakers. Then, with a curt nod that he hoped conveyed something, anything, besides his usual sullenness, he turned and walked away, not waiting for a response, not looking back. He needed to escape the weight of her judgment.
The next day at school was the same monotonous blur. Wakashi sat at the back, observing, his mind replaying the awkward exchange with Hana. Had she taken the ball? Would it make any difference? He couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider, a "clown" in a world he didn't understand.
After the final bell, instead of heading home or to the deserted coast, an unfamiliar pull drew him. He found himself gravitating towards the small, dusty field behind the school. It was after-school hours, and as he approached, he saw a group of students already playing. Not the older, rougher guys from yesterday, but kids his own age, some of them from his classes. They were kicking a ball around, laughing, shouting, the familiar sounds of a casual game.
He didn't want to join, didn't even know how. He just wanted to watch, to observe this alien ritual. He peeled off from the main path, slipping quietly behind the tattered fence line, partially obscured by some overgrown bushes. He watched them, their movements fluid, their passes precise, their understanding of the game a natural, effortless ballet. He saw a few of the more popular kids, the ones who seemed to glide across the field.
And then he heard it. Faintly, carried on the breeze from the field, a familiar, humiliating word.
"Clown."
It was just a casual comment, someone mimicking the taunt from yesterday's game, probably in jest. But it hit Wakashi like a punch to the gut. He clenched his fists, the heat returning to his face. The laughter from the field suddenly felt directed at him, mocking him. Even hidden, he was still the clown.
This chapter clearly shows Wakashi's attempt at redemption with Hana, her reaction, and his immediate retreat. It then sets up his quiet observation of real football and the painful reminder of his humiliation, which should fuel his desire to truly learn.