The morning sun peeked through the thin blinds of the Kisaragi living room, painting stripes of gold across the tatami mats. The air was filled with the faint scent of miso soup and the lingering fragrance of laundry detergent from yesterday's wash. Posters of legendary football rankers adorned the walls, a chaotic mixture of frames, tape, and curling edges. Some were carefully preserved, others had been hastily pinned during restless nights of fandom. Football cleats peeked out from under the sofa, socks lay scattered like tiny obstacles on the floor, and a crumpled gray hoodie hugged the corner by the doorway — a silent testament to Haruto's habitual laziness.
Haruto Kisaragi, the only son of the Kisaragi household, lay sprawled beneath a blanket in his small bedroom. Brown hair stuck up in untamed spikes, catching the morning sunlight, while green eyes half-lidded in grogginess scanned the ceiling. The faint hum of a small fan and the rhythmic tick of a wall clock filled the room. His alarm clock blared its urgent BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!, shattering the quiet.
"HARUTO! GET UP! YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"
Michiko Kisaragi, his mother, stood at the doorway, hands firmly on her hips. Petite yet commanding, she exuded a warmth that masked her impatience. Shoulder-length black hair framed her face, some strands falling loosely as though rebelling against the day. Her brown eyes, sharp yet affectionate, fixed on her son with practiced exasperation.
Behind her, Hina and Sora, his younger twin sisters, peeked in. Hina's bob was streaked with pink, Sora's twin tails shimmered with hints of purple. Their small eyes gleamed with mischief.
"Pillow fight!" Sora shouted, hurling a soft cushion. It struck Haruto squarely in the head, making him grunt.
"You two are going to kill me!" he groaned, rolling out of bed. Hina laughed while Sora clapped, delighted. Haruto's bare feet touched the cold floor, toes curling slightly.
He navigated the cluttered room with practiced ease: dodging scattered socks, stepping over an abandoned notebook, and carefully avoiding a half-deflated football at the foot of his bed. He stumbled into the bathroom, turning on the tap and splashing cold water on his face. Steam from the sink fogged the small mirror as he brushed his teeth, his hair sticking in rebellious spikes despite vigorous combing. By the time he emerged, he had donned his usual school uniform: slightly wrinkled white shirt, black blazer thrown over his shoulders, and a loosely knotted tie. A small football keychain jingled from the strap of his bag as he grabbed it and padded downstairs.
---
The kitchen smelled of breakfast: miso soup simmered gently, rice steamed in a small pot, and the faint aroma of grilled fish lingered from an earlier preparation. The low wooden table was strewn with dishes, chopsticks, and cups. Haruto slumped into his usual seat, green eyes half-lidded.
"Eat properly, Haruto, or you'll collapse on the field," Michiko chided, placing a steaming bowl of rice in front of him.
Hina leaned forward, poking his side. "Or maybe Takumi Endo will tackle you again today!"
"Shut up…" Haruto muttered, stabbing a piece of toast with his chopsticks. Sora tossed a napkin at his shoulder, and he groaned dramatically. Michiko's sharp glance silenced them immediately.
Despite the teasing, the warmth of the household was palpable. Haruto had been humiliated and bullied at school, but here, he was simply the eldest child, older brother to the twin sisters, responsible yet carefree, occasionally lazy, and always observing.
After breakfast, he lingered, sipping tea, while Hina and Sora bickered quietly over a small handheld game. The aroma of rice, soap, and lingering football sweat from yesterday's practice mingled. Michiko called again, her voice cutting across the room.
"Haruto! Shoes on! You'll be late if you don't leave now!"
He rose, slinging the bag over one shoulder, and paused at the doorway. He glanced back at the house: the living room still a mix of chaos and comfort, the faint light catching on posters and scattered items, the smell of miso and laundry. This was home: chaotic, noisy, loving, and grounding.
---
Before leaving, Haruto's mind wandered to small details. Hina's pink hairclips glinting in the sun, Sora's twin tails bouncing as she ran to the front yard, Michiko's apron tied carefully yet casually — these were constants, tiny anchors in his otherwise turbulent life. Even in his laziness and social awkwardness, he felt a quiet strength: the responsibility of being the eldest, the connection to his younger sisters, and the knowledge that, no matter what happened outside, this household was his foundation.
With a deep breath, Haruto stepped onto the street, the cool morning air brushing against his face. His bag swung lightly with the motion, the football keychain jingling faintly. The Kisaragi household receded behind him, but its warmth, chaos, and laughter stayed with him, a private force pushing him toward the day ahead.
He didn't know yet what awaited him — school, teammates, rivals, the field, or the system that would one day test his very limits — but for now, he carried with him the heartbeat of home.
The Kisaragi family — chaotic, loving, and unforgettable — had given him more than food and shelter; they had given him a quiet, unshakable anchor. And one day, when he rose to the top of the football world, he would return to this home, victorious, carrying with him the proof that even a lazy, awkward older brother could carve his Path of Apex.