﹝ ᴇᴘɪsᴏᴅᴇ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-sɪx ﹞
𝐢 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐤...
BEFORE
HE COULDN'T REMEMBER much.
People had been talking around him, Reo was sure there was noise, but none of the words stuck. He had arrived at the rink and went through all the motions, falling perhaps two or three times before simply standing still as he looked at nothing. Nothing mattered much because nothing made a difference; he was still as bad as he feared.
Ego said something, and Reo didn't notice he wasn't breathing until his only reply came out choked. He couldn't remember what day it was, only that it was somewhere at the beginning of the week, and that he hadn't made it. He asked for permission to go to the bathroom, locked himself inside a cubicle, and couldn't remember how long it's been since.
He hadn't made it. No emails, no invitations, no messages. He slid onto the floor and pressed his palm against his heart. It wasn't hammering, not with the panic it should've had, and maybe that was the worst sign because it showed that even physically, Reo couldn't process this failure like he used to.
Something within him was broken and wrong. Reo pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered why his frustration hadn't filled his eyes with tears yet.
Life has accelerated for the past few months like a snowball. Small issues grew into the big dark cloud that threatened to eclipse his good days until it finally happened: Sadness and stress became permanent. This was it. The trainwreck stopped, the snowball crushed him; life was now a routine without an end or finishing line.
It felt like a new standard. Some days could be worse, and when Reo thought he had finally become numb, he would burst out crying for no particular reason.
Some days could be worse but no days were better.
And he couldn't stop. The more miserable he felt the more convinced he was that he couldn't quit, or else it would've been all for nothing. Nothing, again. He couldn't have given half his soul to the devil for no rewards.
Reo rested his head against the wall. The Prix assignments have been published, but he didn't get any. It always made sense that he wouldn't get invited, but he's only ever come to accept it this past week, after sending the stupid essay his dad forced him to write.
Life kept moving and Reo kept holding on. He would keep holding on since he had nothing but his pride to prove them wrong. That pride, however, that stubbornness didn't mean he was in denial. He knew he wasn't good enough.
Inadequate, average, useless...
He had been so in his head, that the sudden knock on the cubicle's door almost made him jump out of his skin. A wary voice came from the other side, "Hey, are you okay kiddo?"
It wasn't anyone Reo recognized, and he sighed. Do you know why only a stranger asks? Because no one else cares. This was perfect for Dad and Mom's plans, and it was also the type of depressing shit Nagi and his new friends wouldn't wanna hear. At the end of the day, no one gives a shit about you...
"Yeah, I'm fine."
No one gives a shit about me.
"You sure? You've been inside for a while. Do you want me to call the doctor or something?"
"No," Reo groaned. What if he lied? Said he was taking his time because of a stomach ache or another cheap excuse?
It seemed that whoever was behind the door knew Reo was lying though because they sounded smug when they said: "Then you won't mind if I wait until you're done, will you?"
How irritating. Reo wasn't too fond of opening up to strangers but he figured revealing his shattered state would effectively push this mysterious person away. He undid the lock and opened the door roughly, "Okay, you win. I'm not doing well. Can you leave now?"
Chris' eyes widened at the sight of the troubled teenager, then softened because of the fatigue bared on his young face. Reo only felt a bit guilty once he was on the receiving end of those kind eyes because he hadn't been expecting such authentic worry.
When was the last time someone asked him how he was doing? Tsurugi danced around the subject, Nagi wasn't texting him about anything else but practice and games, and the old Mikages didn't even count when all they did was boss him around. When was the last time he mattered to someone?
"Sorry," his lip trembled.
"It's fine," Chris smiled.
But it wasn't fine. Reo was being a jerk and isolating himself and he had nothing going on for him lately. Maybe he's even lost his charm like he's lost his friends and his talent and his he-
Chris grabbed him by the shoulders, a deep crease settling between his brows while his grin faded. "Wow, easy, it's okay..." he whispered.
Reo didn't understand his tone until he felt the tears rolling down his cheeks. "This is so embarrassing-" he squeaked, aggressively rubbing his fists against his skin to try and erase all evidence.
Why did everything have to hit him the moment he was in fucking public?
(Perhaps because he wasn't alone anymore.)
"Shhh, it's normal," Chris reassured him, a tentative smile spreading on his face again. "It's the stress. It'll be fine."
Except because Reo couldn't remember what it was like not being stressed. "No it won't," he replied loudly; hurt by the realization and uncaring if it was crass. "Nothing's gonna get any better because everyone's talking about the Prix assignments but I wasn't invited. And I've refreshed the page a thousand times, I've checked my emails every day, but I'm still not there. That's not going to change so nothing is going to improve."
"I know," the coach said, not grasping the gravity of the situation. "But you might get in next year."
"But the Olympics are this year!" There was no way he had to spell it out for him. Reo shook off Chris' hands and lowered his gaze, crossing his arms over his chest and instinctively protecting himself from judgment. "I'm not in the Prix, okay? You know what that means."
Without the Prix, there will be fewer points to his name and fewer chances for the Olympics. Actually, if he kept skating like he's been doing, he could say goodbye to the Olympics right now. And wouldn't that be music to his parents' ears? To everyone who wanted to be right about him failing?
Reo wished they could be wrong.
Chris tried to console him regardless, even if Reo refused to meet his eyes and fall for any more painfully false promises. "Kid. Reo, right? I get that you're disappointed, but you're seventeen. You have like, ten more years of career if you want. That's two more Olympic competitions, don't you see? And tons of international awards."
Ten more years of this? Reo shook his head. He ran his hands through his hair and while biting his lip, felt his eyes burn with anger. Chris was such a dreamer, so unrealistic because he had been training promising guys like Seishiro, not fucked up investments like Reo.
"You're just getting started," Chris said.
And Reo couldn't take it anymore. "That's bullshit!" He roared, "Every year more promising skaters debut! This is supposed to be the prime of my career!"
Like it was for everyone else! Nagi was doing so well and he started skating after Reo! Rin had just debuted and he was basically their biggest representative for the Olympics, not a weakling that had been demolished by fucking puberty!
A human being would spend more years in an adult body than a prepubescent one and Reo's was useless. It could only mean that he, too, was no good.
Chris tried to grab him for a second time and Reo pulled away harshly. The coach was touchy with everyone but Reo couldn't stand the attempt to calm him down at the moment. He wasn't stupid. He didn't need any sweet talk that would be nothing but pointless.
"Okay," Chris finally said, somberly, "then what's your plan now?"
Reo's mind went blank at the question. "What?"
"You're convinced you won't go to the Olympics, so what's the plan now? Are you going to retire?"
"Fuck no," he spat without a doubt.
"Then stop talking like your life is over." Chris replied seriously, "You just said you won't retire, so this isn't where it ends."
Although, there was a reason why his parents stopped being his biggest supporters, right? They gave him a reality check because one thing was what Reo wanted and another was the logical route he should follow. This isn't where it ends, but should it be where I give up?
When is it enough?
"...I think... I might hate this sport," Reo confessed after seconds of silence.
The revelation shocked him, and his first instinct was to refute it. There was a time when figure skating made him so happy and fulfilled. Where whenever he stepped on the rink he had fun, felt powerful and graceful, way more cool than any other kid his age.
Since he became a senior, he could count the times he's felt confident on one hand. Even as he received claps and ovations, he was always thinking of how a stumble and an imperfect routine made him undeserving of recognition. Reo could only be impactful to the untrained eye, or to people who didn't know any better.
God. He wanted the raging self-hatred to go away. He was drained; Mikage Reo had nothing left to give.
"No, you hate losing," Chris corrected.
"No," Reo stressed. "I wake up, and my first thought is how bad I do not want to go to the rink," he looked away, embarrassed by the daunting thoughts that he had never voiced before. "I don't even want to open my eyes, or get off the bed for breakfast because I know that starting the day means I'll be on the ice by the end of it."
Turning his skin purple, blue, and green. Tearing new holes in his heart. Letting his mind gain more, and more power until it would... what? Shut down?
"And I feel guilty," he continued explaining, "because if I want to be the best, why do I hate training? Why am I not willing to do my best?"
What was going to happen once Reo reached his limit?
"Even so, I... I'm so tired," his voice cracked. "I feel like I'm at war, inside. Something is wrong with me, coach."
Beyond his abilities for the sport and his athletic career... emotionally, things weren't working anymore. Not like they should. But Reo lacked awareness, or a vocabulary to describe it, and as much as he wanted to get better, he had no idea what he had to fix.
It scared him as much as it was destroying him.
Chris' fingers on his arm made Reo blink back to reality. The man looked at him with intrigue as if he didn't have the answers, but his voice was careful like he wanted to help regardless.
"I don't know what to say, Reo. I've never felt that way before. I love skating, that's why I coach guys like you. If you want to, you know you can quit, right?"
Again, the concept of quitting made him nauseous. "But I can't," he insisted.
"You can't or you don't want to?"
"I don't know."
"Alright, that's fine. We'll figure it out eventually."
But the world wouldn't stop for Reo to find out. Not the highly competitive world he lived in, at least. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up," Reo admitted. "I feel like... like I thought I had it all under control but now it keeps getting worse. I keep getting worse."
"You know, kid, you can seek help," Chris said. "You can ask for help and not face everything on your own. I mean, I'll help you. Right now. With whatever I can."
Reo's heart began to flutter, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the hope that the offer itself ignited in him or the fact that someone who he didn't know beyond passing was making this effort to comfort him. Either way, he tried not to let the small flame burn his logic with idealism.
So he remained with both feet on the Earth, realistic. "But aren't you leaving after the Olympics?"
"Yeah, but that's four months away, okay? We can improve your technique in the meantime. That's plenty of time for a skater like you."
As if I was as special as I used to be, and not as unimpressive as I am now. Reo bit his lip again, thoughtful. Where was the trick? "You would coach me?" A nod. Was that possible? "Ego won't like you wasting your time with me when you're supposed to train Nagi."
Ego was an obstacle. Nagi, on the other hand, wouldn't mind, would he? They had shared a coach back in juniors, and they used to have fun. Nowadays, it wasn't like Seishiro would see Reo as a threat – not when lately he didn't seem to even see Reo as a friend. He didn't see him anymore.
"We don't have to do it here," Chris pointed out, smirking. It must have been contagious because Reo felt less like he would cry again. "It might surprise you, Reo, but Blue Lock isn't the only team in the world, and this isn't the only rink in Japan."
The teen huffed out what in other circumstances could've been a laugh. "Thanks," he said.
"Don't worry, kid. And wash your face, okay? I imagine you don't want anyone to see you've been crying."
Reo thanked him again, more profoundly this time. Even if Chris' suggestion was a promise most likely to fail, a part of Reo wanted to believe him. At least Chris would be honest about how bad he was doing and let Reo know when was the time to give up, right?