Evanescence

What One Does Not Remember

For the first time in a very long time, I felt the overwhelming and special rush of emotions that a hard-earned victory brings to a football player.

Somehow, despite the strange hypnotism techniques utilised by Occult, we managed to pull ourselves together and attain victory. It was a team effort, even if almost every player of our team was trying to pass either to me or Gouenji. I suppose it was to be expected—though Someoka was able to form a hissatsu of his own and score a pair of goals, Gouenji's presence on the field seemingly pulled all of Raimon's focus towards him. Kidokawa's former Ace Striker now shouldered the hopes of the young players who looked up to him, much to the annoyance of the pink-haired striker. All the plays slowly gravitated towards him, especially with the absolute faith the Captain has in the platinum blond striker.

Nevertheless, the not-so-friendly friendly match concluded with a Raimon victory, presumably the first proper one in a long time. It was enough to finally solidify the team's participation in the Football Frontier, and it was cause for much celebration. In fact, Endou, Kino, and I agreed to head over to a noodle place in Inazuma Town to indulge in some good ramen and converse about our visions for the team.

But it didn't go as planned.

Just after we ordered, Endou remembered that he had promised his mother something. He then ran out of the place in a hurry, promising to join us—in fact, he said that he would treat us—the next time. Kino and I just shrugged at his absentmindedness, and had a small chat about it before taking a short break from chatting to eat the hot noodles that the cook had brought to us.

"Kurogane-san, may I ask a question?"

I widened my eyes when I was called, and I tried my best to finish the whole mess of noodles that were already halfway into my mouth. I managed to chomp and cut it short, but it was hotter than I had expected—a painful gulp followed, as well as a panicked display of water drinking. It took me a while to get my bearings and give a verbose reply to her humble request.

"Go ahead," I spit out with a strained voice.

Light laughter came from the green-haired gal before she could go on to her question. "Which school did you attend last year? I was just curious about it, since the jersey that you wore on the day of your initiation wasn't one I recognised."

I put down my chopsticks, then rubbed my chin in contemplation. I wasn't sure of how I was supposed to say it, or even if it was alright to tell somebody about what had happened to me. My case wasn't something that could sit well with stomach or mind. It was bound to disturb her to some degree. After some silent deliberation, I strung some words together to make a coherent sentence—mostly because my 'umm' and 'erm' sounds were just prolonging the inevitable.

"Well, the jersey I wore that day wasn't mine." I winced a little at the thought of my brother, but I still went through with saying it anyway. "It once belonged to my older brother, back when he was a Midfielder for a Junior High School team. But that was about eight or so years ago. Back in the days when there were players like the Crimson Comet dominating the Japanese Junior High championships. He was a great player and Captain, perhaps the best of his time, even."

I still hadn't talked to Kiba since my recovery. Part of it was because he was going around the country and establishing connections with many hospitals, but it was mostly because Kiba had always been a busybody since he became a teenager. I suppose some things do not change, even in with the occurrence of a five-year disappearance. He was still so much like our father—still without the ability to distinguish his work from play, seeing them as nearly one and the same.