Chapter Text
Mikage Reo's life is perfect- why wouldn't it be?
He had everything he could want: looks, smarts, money, everything anyone could ask for. Although he was humble (as humble as a billionaire's son could be, anyway), these were basic facts- you would have to be ignorant to ignore them. The girls at his high school certainly didn't. He received love letters and confessions regularly, so much so that they became a daily occurrence, just another part of his day. He would politely reject them with a smile, saying: "I'm sorry, but I must focus on my studies. I really do appreciate your kindness in such a confession, I am honoured to hear it", and they would swoon all over again.
Reo had the whole world at his disposal: what more could he possibly want? His life was perfect.
Yet when he lied between the perfectly pressed silk sheets in the late hours of the night, why did it all feel so... empty? In his chest, where a beating heart should've been found, was a gaping void, which no matter how many confessions he received, or how many tests he aced, would never be filled. He tried. He tried so hard- to find something, anything, which would give his life meaning, or at least make his heart start beating.
But when he brought his hand to his heart, he didn't feel a pulse. He felt nothing.
His whole life would be a predictable one, a play with a script and storyline written purely to satisfy others, devoid of any meaning. His fate was determined and set in stone- so why feel anything at all? Why try?
Nevertheless, although he wouldn't admit it even to himself, Reo yearned. He begged the heavens, who had dealt him his fate, for one chance. One spark to bring a light to his life, and set ablaze the abyss present in his chest.
So he waited. One day after another passed, and everything stayed the same.
I'm so bored.
One particular night, he looked at himself in the mirror, and analysed the impostor that glared back at him. His eyes were free from any dark shadows under them, his face was clear and unblemished, and his hair was perfectly combed away from his face. He was like a wax model: a perfect imitation of human appearance, but if you brought your hand to it and felt its warmth, you would immediately recognise it as a fake from its cold, and hard exterior.
The impostor tried to smile at him- if you could even call it that. It was more of a grimace, the face of a child who was ordered to smile for a class photo, an expression of reluctance and discomfort, rather than joy. Reo brought his index fingers up to the corners of his lips, and pushed them up. His mouth formed a 'U' shape, which, he thought, was basically the definition of a smile, right?
He stared at his reflection in the mirror some more. In a moment of weakness, he thought about bringing his fist back, and punching it. Would the impostor feel it? Or better yet, would he finally feel something, as the shattered glass would cut its way into his knuckles, carving itself through his skin, drawing crimson blood in its path, which would run down his hand, proof that he was human, that he was alive? Would he then, pick up one one of the larger shards of glass which would be laying on the floor, and then slice it across his wrist, which would draw even more blood, and would surely make him feel the rush, the rush of a gamble of whether he would finally cut the artery that kept him alive, and he would slit, again, and again, and again-
Reo returned to the present, where he was gripping his left wrist, a last resort made by his body's nervous system to protect itself from the threat that would shed so much blood. A threat made by his own thoughts, which corrupted his mind with images that left him trembling in terror and dread. They were so loud, the thoughts. But at least they filled the silence of the void, right?
Besides, he would never act upon them. That would make his suffering real; not just a silly thing that was going on in his mind. It would leave marks, which he would have to see everyday, a testament to the inner turmoil he just didn't understand. Even worse, what if others saw? They would think he was weak. Mikage Reo has no reason to be weak, and succumb to these thoughts. He is fine. He is great.
Reo smiled again at himself in the mirror. The impostor smiled back.
Everything is fine.
The days passes, and nothing changed.
Everything is perfect.
Mikage Reo's life was, as usual, perfect.
Another business party. Great.
Reo wallows in his thoughts as he swirled around the components of his glass, wondering what it contained. The bartender didn't care to ask for his age, instead providing without comment a glass of some alcoholic drink- the finest one they had, no doubt. Despite his desire to forget the void within him, Reo couldn't bring himself to gulp down the liquid. He decides to look around the room, for some form of entertainment to sustain him until midnight.
Dad, can't I just go? There's no point of me being here.
Reo, it's vital for you to be here! Our business partners are present, and they must familiarise themselves with the heir of the corporation. Just stay show your face until midnight, and after that, you can go.
He sighs and once again, checks his watch.
22:54
Goddamnit.
The air was thick, heavy with the scent of expensive cologne mixed with the stench of the desperation of the men that wore them. Desperate to impress, to please, to show off their obedience. They all but threw themselves at the feet of those who ranked above them on the corporate ladder, exaggerating all their words and actions just for the chance of being noticed. Those were the men Reo hated the most- those who abandoned their dignity, and put on a fake facade to entertain others. The men who approached him instead, when his father shot down a proposal they had, and tried to manipulate him into convincing his dad to rethink it. Those men disgusted him, and everyday he vowed to never become like them.
Yet he knew, one day he would. After all, it was his destiny: sell his soul and humanity for success. The success being billion yen deals, hiring even more underpaid employees to do all the real work, acquiring as much yen as his lifespan would permit. Of course, to please his parents, he would marry the daughter of some other CEO, in order to expand the Mikage empire. They would have two children, one as the future heir of the company, and one as a spare: an insurance, a living battery just in case the first child is unable to succeed him. When Reo's miserable life finally comes to a pathetic close, his funeral would be grand. Like all the men before him, his funeral would be worth millions, if not billions of yen, and it would be nothing short of an extravagant show. Then, his heir would step up and take direction of the company, beginning the eternal cycle once more.
Whenever Reo thought about his future, he saw a flowchart. All factors were already decided for him. It was not a question of if it would happen, but when it would happen. His classmates were the ones that could dream, seeing opportunity and change in the future. Reo's life had no place for such useless thoughts. His fate was sealed a long time ago.
Reo sighs again.
The bartender, as bored as him, starts to fiddle with a remote control. He turns on the TV situated in the corner of the room, and flipped through the channels. Finally, he stops on a French cable channel, where a football match was taking place. Despite not understanding a single word that was being spoken, Reo could feel the adrenaline of the players through the screen. Ever so slightly, he leans forwards in his chair. Even though the game was 80 minutes in, both the German and French players sprinted up and down the field, desperate to break the tie of 1-1, covered in sweat as they passed the ball at lightning speed to each other. The plays they made weren't flashy, but they were more like a raging storm, violent and torrential. The electricity in the air was all that fueled the players who were all focused on one objective:
One. More. Goal.
Reo finds that he can't tear away his eyes from the screen, and in his concentration, he forgets the miserable party around him- the pounding of the music, the flashing lights, the fuzzy buzzing of the businessmen and their slaves. All that's left, is him, and the game.
He feels every kick, as if it was him on the field, pulling his leg back and making contact with the ball, launching it across the field. He feels the pain of the players in his legs, which ache of 80 minutes of running, but he also feels the sweet elixir of adrenaline which soothes the pain, and drives him on. He feels their desperation, and how much they need to win this- nothing else matters in the world, apart from lifting up the World Cup trophy. But most of all, he feels their joy- the pure bliss of being able to play the game.
The players look alive- look happy to be alive.
The clock hits 95 minutes. Extra time. Having seen no other choice, the German Number 11 sends a powerful flying ball down the field, and suddenly, the German players had finally broken through the French defense. Having caught sight of an opportunity, Number 14 takes possession of the ball, and sprints at full speed to the goal. When Reo scrutinised his expression, in his eyes rested an intense cyclone of desire, desperation, and fury. Number 14, in his state of absolute flow, dribbled past all the defenders as if he was a surging river, and they were irrelevant insects in his path. Once he had gotten past the last one, it was just him and the goalkeeper. Once again looking at his face, Reo saw no fear, or fatigue. He saw a smirk, one that only someone who was completely sure of himself could let out. He pulled his left leg back- and Reo feels it. Every single muscle in his thigh and shin being pulled taut, all the blood from his body rushing to supply the hurricane which he was about to unleash. Reo feels how every cell in the player's body stop their usual function, instead redirecting to a new purpose- to kick the ball. With full force, he swung, and made contact.
The football whizzed like a bullet past the goalkeeper, crackling and flashing like lightning as it met its destination.
GOAL!
"And with that, the Germans have won the World Cup!"
The stands erupt in cheers, the fans screaming their throats raw in celebration. The German team joins them in the eruption of noise which envelops the stadium, cheering at their victory. The lone, solitary Number 14, only smirks and sticks out his tongue straight at the camera- directly at Reo through the screen.
Reo makes a sharp intake of breath- it felt as if Number 14's smirk at the camera was a direct invitation, a challenge to Reo.
You wanted to feel alive? Feel this.
Out of habit, Reo puts his hand to his heart- and there it was.
A pulse. A racing heart beat, which was beating so rapidly and strongly it threatened to burst out of his chest.
It was the proof, the evidence that he was alive, that he was human.
He stares at the World Cup, in all its beaming glory as it is hoisted up by the Germans. Every single cell that spanned his body and every single thought that occupied his head yearned for the Cup, screaming in desperation for it. Nothing else mattered. No one else mattered.
At last, Reo had found his true destiny.