Surreal sense of Presence

11.5 Man in the Mirror - Keito

Five minutes have passed since the start of the semi-final. I am but a ten minute game away from facing off against Ryotarou.

After carrying my friend off the pitch, I could sense it somewhere in his eyes. A sparkle resembling his desire to play. Just like the summer tournament in middle school. The injured “Captain Shima” always wanted to play.

I failed him back then, telling myself I wasn’t enough. Hearing him say those exact words today made me realise how hard the two of us are on ourselves.

My focus got launched right back into the game when team 3-D fired off another attack.

Fullback carrying it out wide, switching direction of play with a long ball, ending in their strikers feet; our football club’s main number nine.

Gimme your best shot now!

He planted his left foot next to the ball, firmly sweeping his right against the bottom half of it, curving it to my far left.

These types of saves, against shots with more accuracy than power, have become nearly habitual. Without thinking too much about it, I already stood in near-perfect position, stretching my body out, firmly clasping the ball in my hands.

“Move up, everyone!” I yelled at my team… though many seemed to lack the energy or lust to run; the desire to win.

Before kicking the ball out on the field, I shot a glance at the other game on the pitch next to us. People bursting with energy, yelling things out to their teammates, each one looking serious all whilst seeming to have fun.

Turning my eyes back to the game at hand—buncha bums on my team.

I kicked the ball out to where two of my teammates stood. Neither of them received the ball, they just stared at it as the opponents stole it outta the air in front of their eyes.

“Don’t be afraid to challenge the ball!” I encouragingly said, hoping they’d actually listen.

Soon they stood in front of my goal again.

Their forwards did a cheeky one-two to get past me, but the final shot was too weak. I managed to stretch my leg out, bouncing the ball out of bounds.

I repeatedly clapped in my hands, a slight sense of frustration escaping from the sound, “Stay focused everyone!”

As if my words were yelled into a void, no one jumped up to clear the corner kick. One of their players headed the ball to my right. I got to it with a punch, heading straight to one of my teammates, who poorly controlled the ball, handing it right back to our opponents inside our box.

They shot it top-bins to the left. With no possibility of possibly managing to get to it, they scored their first goal.

As they over-enthusiastically celebrated, I stared at my two palms hidden beneath my keeper gloves. The band on my right hand was a little undone, but instead of readjusting it…

…I took them off.


I walked up the pitch with no gloves on towards our tallest classmate.

“Here, you’re in goal now.”

“Huh?”

“Good luck.”

After taking a few deep breaths, I was ready to put on a show. One last glance at Ayano and the rest of my class before the ref blew the whistle, our team kicked off.

“Pass,” I said as I overlapped the run of our winger.

The ball at my feet, a blockade of many seniors, I’m ready.

First, I used my pace to breeze past the right flank, cutting in past two of their players. Another ran up to me, but I did a body feint to the right, quickly changing directions to the left. Simple and effective; just how I like it.

Nearing the box, I thought about laying off to one of my teammates, but after a quick scan, I saw that none of them stood anywhere near position. My eyes quickly changed targets, towards the real target. Outside of the box, I hit it with as much power as I could, relatively low.

My shot hit a defender, but still deflected with enough power, hitting the back of the net.

1 - 1. It’s game-on.

Right from the kick-off, they kept the ball in possession until they scored another, but as soon as we kicked off, we levelled the score. A back and forth between their team and me. I had just scored my fourth when they hunted down our goal once more.

I tried as hard as I could to defend their attack, but just how much does my class think I can handle on my own?

The seconds were ticking away. If I could keep it 4 - 4, we might be able to win the penalty shoot-out.

I intercepted their advances with a sliding tackle, the ball rolling off to the side-line, but it got recovered right before it went out of play. They ran up the pitch like crazy dogs chasing a street cat, but what would that make me right behind them… the helpless owner?

They easily got their fifth.

“No worries, we’ll get one more!”

My teammates were taking their sweet time with getting the ball ready for kick-off.

“Hurry up!”

With a jog slower than I walk, they got in their positions.

“…Please.”

Right when the ball was back in my feet, I heard the final whistle blown on the other pitch.

I’m not out of time yet…

I got past one player.

…right?

A single side-eye to the ref—checking his watch.

This can’t be…

I got past another, getting ready to launch a shot from far distance.

…the end…

I saw the ball flying towards target.

…right?

The ball, soaring over everyone’s head, hit the crossbar, bouncing right back on the pitch. This time, I was the dog chasing, though, not even two strides into my run…


…the final whistle on our pitch was also blown.

* * *

“Your brother had better grades, Keito. You’re an embarrassment,” mom said at the dinner table. I believe I was twelve.

“Your brother won his national summer tournament. Do better.” I think I was thirteen when she said this, also at the dinner table.

“Your brother was the captain by now.”

“Your brother had the best grades in the entire school at your age.”

“Your brother became captain of the football club after his first sports festival.”

I wonder when my adoration and admiration for him turned into animosity. Probably shortly after his passing, when the comparisons began.

I vividly remembered how I used to follow him around everywhere. Anywhere we went, we were always the Nozue brothers.

“Oh, it’s the Nozue brothers.” Said the kids on the playground, the storekeepers, the elementary school teachers… everyone did.

But as soon as he stole himself away from us, my life at home was never the same. My family used to love me, until they realised they’d rather have a half-baked copy of my brother, Masao Nozue, than a fully original Keito Nozue.

Though after countless failures, I now know I can’t fill the giant shoes he left behind. I now know I’ll never find his afterimage I sought in the mirror.

I don’t miss him. I don’t miss him at all. Because of my re-enactment of his younger days, it’s like he never left.

* * *

Everyone was getting off the pitch. Still seated on the ground, the breeze refreshing my sweaty self, I stared out at my classmates changing seats to sit at the other pitch where the final will be played.

I gave it everything, but sometimes, even everything isn’t enough. Every save I made, every dribble, every tackle, every goal… it means very little in the end.

I’ve been practicing for this ever since April. When I look back at it, I realise my spring breeze hadn’t blown at all. It was more of a prolonged sigh from the winter’s cold. And now, like the summer breeze cutting a path for the autumn’s wind, I wonder why I’m making way for a lesser version of me.

One that can’t cope with setbacks like these, one that can’t rely on his classmates—his friends, one that can’t look himself in the eyes without fearing who he’ll see. Because that man in the mirror, is not me.

Alone on the sandy ground. Out of my eyes fell tears, solidifying my frustration—frustration with myself more than anyone else.

12. Surreal Sense of Presence

In life, we tend to ignore the things that go our way, and focus on the things that don't.

On the empty pitch, where nothing but a head-low Keito and a limping me stood, I reached out my hand like he had done earlier.

Where most would agree Keito had been one of the stars of the show today…

He looked surprised when he noticed my hand.

…he can’t help but focus on his shortcomings.

“Give me your hand.”

He hesitantly reached it out, I sped it up by reaching lower, grabbing his hand. There are tears in his eyes.

Back on his feet, he smiled and said, “Lost 5 - 4, scored all four.” We slowly walked off the pitch.

“Special kind of goalkeeper you are,” I laughed.

“With eleven Keito’s on the pitch, we’d surely won. But I’ve been forgetting my own words…”

“Play with honour,” I filled in.

“Yup. It’s a team game, but I made it about me.” He made quite the sorrowful face.

“I’m sure no one is blaming you for anything.”

He turned his eyes to the sky as we continued walking. I assumed he was thinking about his brother.

“Think he’d be proud?” I asked him, since he obviously knew him way better than I did.

“He’s not looking. This is just a school event, he’s waiting for a real Keito achievement, not a Masao-redo.”

His thoughtful response made me realise we’ve both had a bit of the so called “high school transformation” going on.

“Oh, by the way. How’s your knee?”

I stopped to bend it back and forth. “Still hurts, but—”

“You wanna play, am I right?”

I nodded.

He slapped my shoulder, “You better take revenge for me and my class’s sake, you hear?”

“Gotcha.”

I walked towards my class as Keito made his way to his. There was only about a five minute break before the final game.

“Shima! You’re walking again!” Ozawa noticed.

Suddenly I got aware of how I walked, noticing, too, that I was limping way less than before. On top of that, my heartbeat’s racing again, with one more adrenaline rush, I’ll surely be fine.

“If you’re okay with me in goal,” before I could finish my sentence, they were already jumping.

“Let’s go! With Shima in goal, we’re gonna win with ease!”

Especially the substitute goalie that’s actually a midfielder looked relieved the most. He walked towards me and handed the gloves back. “Show them what class 1-D is really made of.”

After those five minutes, we all went into position.

Here I stood again, between two posts, connected by a crossbar. Our classmates by the pitch side, ready to cheer us on. Our bench players ready to jump into action when called upon. And also, our players on the pitch, all raring to go. Even me… Even me.

Ozawa, about to kick-off, held his two hands by his mouth and yelled, “Keep the play wide!”

The match began.

We played a little safer than before, as did our opponents. But now, each time the ball was passed to me, I quickly found a teammate to pass to.

I think a solid six minutes passed before they had a proper chance at goal. A low shot from distance. It can be tricky getting to the ground quickly, but because of the distance, I had enough time to calculate it, tightly clenching the saved ball.

Then followed the inevitable…

“Shima, Shima, Shima, saves the ball with finesse! Just who of the girls are you trying to impress?”

…a silly chant from our cheering squad.

I threw the ball to Yoshida, giving our wide build-up another shot.

No matter how many times we tried to break through their defence, our seniors managed to get the ball off us right before it got dangerous. We went toe to toe with them, and each time they managed to break through, I was there as our last man to protect the goal.

Ten minutes past… no eleven, or maybe somewhere in between… anyway, there wasn’t much time left. We relentlessly fought for each ball, trying to gain possession and when we did, we tried our hardest not to lose it.

“Endo, play it through!” Ozawa yelled as he ran out wide to the right, taking two defenders with him—creating a gap of space on the left.

The pass reached Morishita who was running as hard as he could. He shot it straight over the ground to the far right…


…scoring the opening goal of the final.

“Morishitaaa!!” Our entire team ran towards him. Even me.

With such little time left, he surely secured us the win.

The whistle blew, they kicked off with intense tempo. Getting the ball forward with no sense of patience. Though it felt like we fell asleep after scoring… because they were already here.

One of them launched a shot so hard that I wasn’t sure it would go over or under the crossbar, but I’d better be sure than to let it fly in.

I reached to get it, barely touching it, but letting it roll right back into play. With no second to breathe in between, another shot was launched that I saved with my feet. Lying awkwardly on my side with my leg stretched out. I couldn’t easily jump up.

As they say, third time’s the charm, they rammed it in. Merely seconds after we scored.

Ozawa got the team back in order. “Everyone! We’re getting one back right away!”

Pumped up and ready to go, they quickly found their way to goal, but class 3-D wouldn’t be here in the final had they lacked a proper defence. Corner for us, and perhaps the last of the game.

I stood far over the edge of my box, watching Ito getting ready to take it.

High in the air, the ball met their defender who cleared it, bouncing high in my direction.

With a surreal sense of presence—I imagined a frog eye's view of my shrinking body despite my extending back brimming with confidence—I blasted off to get the loose ball, pushed with a nonsensical driving force ever the more desiring to win.

Standing on the halfway line, I took one last glance at the target before locking eyes with the airborne ball.

In my head, I heard Keito speak, “You gotta kick it with the inner-instep of your foot and aim for the middle of the ball. Also, keep your leg’s momentum going, don’t stop where the ball is placed, you want to kick beyond it for more power.”

I planted my left foot into the ground, leaned back a little to get a better angle and—

“Shoot!!” The real Keito yelled.

—struck the middle of the ball as hard as I could.

Soaring above and catching the eyes of everyone, it fell down just in time…


…but hit the crossbar and got bounced right back into play.


After kicking it, my legs hadn’t stopped running. I realise that my goal is empty now… but we have to win it, here and now.

Reaching the box packed with players, I watched how one of my teammates headed it high to another.

I kept running as I didn’t take my eyes off the ball.

Ozawa got it and headed it low, way off target. But his header was no attempt at goal. I slid over the ground with my left leg lifted in the air, kicking the ball only with the tips of my toes, but enough to kick Ozawa’s assist in… I scored… I scored!

Before I could jump back on my feet, my teammates formed a human pile on top of me.

“Shimaaa!!”

The referee blew for full time. We really won. I managed to escape the pile before our bench players hopped on as well.

Instead of jumping in the midst of the celebration, I decided to head to the nurse to get another ice pack, before my rush of adrenaline would run out and make my knee feel unbearable.

Though as soon as I turned away, Katsumata stood in front of me, with a new ice pack in hand.

She stared intensely into my eyes whilst collecting the words she was about to say. “You really are mysterious.” With both of her hands, she handed me the ice pack. I gratefully accepted it.

Her eyes didn’t drift away from mine. “Right back at you.”