Symptoms of Depression

1- Loss of interest or pleasure in most or all normal activities

One of the symptoms of depression is the loss of interest in everyday activity.

In this case, soccer was a regular occurrence in Isagi's life.

Isagi knew that soccer was just a hobby when he got the rank of 299. It was better to make him a 300; this would put him out of misery.

Just breathe in and breathe out.

His thoughts prolonged him in this final decision. He was pushed, shoved and spat on to become the "best passer in the world."

That was already a sign, yet he still didn't take the bait.

Why?

He thought that things would get better.

The uniform was scrunched up in his fist, and his eyes were blurry as he walked into the so-called "dormitory." It wasn't surprising that no proper bedding was offered.

It must be why he was here; a skill like his is undeserving of luxury.

Something so out of reach.

He dribbled the ball and tried to knock someone out, just anyone, please.

It was unusual to be like this. Desperate and wanting more.

Despite all odds, Isagi Yoichi always clung to the pathetic hope of becoming the best, even with all the evidence laid out to him that this... sport... was just a hobby.

"Boom!" Bachira said with such giddy expression, Isagi was envious of his insane-like personality.

A slap echoed in the room as the ball landed on Kira's face, and the timer went to zero.

He scored... how? Why? Why won't you just give up, you idiot? Why must he cling to a sliver of hope that will soon fade?

Isagi refused to believe in this. It was a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and something like this will disappear like a fluke.

Lady Luck pitied him and gave him a chance he didn't deserve.

Isagi couldn't help but smile.

...

As usual, it never lasted this long.

A mere spark of a birthday candle is soon to be blown away by someone in the spotlight—someone who's not Isagi.

The devil must love playing the advocate, defying his expectations, then crumbling him again. He wondered why he went through the door first, but it was never answered.

His legs ached, and his heart beat faster and faster.

Why is he putting in training for something that will go away?

The jump-suit was damn against his skin. His hair gelled up with sweat. He couldn't hear anything but thumping his bare feet onto the treadmill.

"Isagi! Igaguri!" someone called. Oh, it was just Raichi, an exploding Pomeranian. "You two are too weak! Ahahaha! Do you think you can become the world's best striker like that? Just go home before you cry after losing to me, you weaklings!"

Isagi's eyes were begging to shut tight, resting for three days to make up for the three days doing the stamina test.

He was not trying to become the world's best striker—not right now and not ever. He was trying to go home, yet his pride clung to the title. So now, he has a new goal. He wants to go home but with some style. He refuses to look pathetic.

His heart ached with Kuon. He was being nice to someone as burdensome as him. He didn't deserve the love.

Only because of that act of kindness did he bite bang ed how far behind he was when he scored 24 inches on the jump test, compared to Kuo's 26.8 inches.

He was far behind.

He was so, so far behind.

...

He didn't need any more reminders when his dinner was presented in a lovely rice and miso soup with an addition of natto.

He wanted to barf it all out, but this was only the third day.

It'll get better.

He'll get better.

(There Isagi was, clinging onto hope again. Thinking it would get better.)

What was worse was the beds. He was used to the futons. He and his mother tend to travel to his grandparents, and they love their traditional-style homes.

Snoring was unusually common amongst the boys. What was worse was Igaguri in a very questionable sleeping position.

He couldn't sleep.

He missed his mother and his father. He missed her homemade Katsudon and his father's laughter while watching the television, featuring his favourite series.

Studying felt fun in this situation. Whenever Isagi touched the ball, he wanted to get rid of it. Maybe that's why he was at rank 299; he was never meant to be a striker.

Yet he felt the ball on his feet, with the fake grass accompanying them. It was at moments like these that he felt at peace. Maybe playing soccer alone was better; at least the better people around him wouldn't look him down.

Another ball shot its way to his head, knocking him over slightly.

"Isagi~" It was Bachira, the same guy who kicked Igaguri and did everything he could to survive. The same sunshine that shined too bright that it may fuck him up in the head. Was this the reason why he's like this?

"Wanna train with me? One-on-one." His smile melts the worries away. Oh, to have that smile... was this the hope he needed?

"Okay..." it would be rude to say no.

He stretched his legs in hopes of not getting a cramp. Bachira was more relaxed. Was he confident enough to treat this like a minor game? Maybe Isagi was too serious about this.

He breathed in, then out.

"Hey, Bachira... can I ask you something first?" his voice was too soft; maybe he shouldn't have engaged in a conversation and started the game.

"Hm? What?" Bachira heard him; it was too late now.

"When we were playing tag... you passed to me..."

"Yeah." Bachira encouraged him to go forward. Isagi's voice crescendo-ed to his normal speaking voice.

"And you... said you did it because you thought that I'd hit Kira. Why do you think that?" Isagi pressed for questions, wanting to know more and why Lady Luck changed her form into a bright and sunny boy who held his hand out and offered a pull from the train tracks.

"Because... there's a monster inside me." Bachira dashed with the ball, a seriousness blocking the sun in him like an eclipse.

Isagi couldn't tell if this was a joke or if he lost it. Lady Luck was never on his side; he was too hopeful. She threw away her leftovers, and Isagi ate them like liquid gold.

"It only comes out and talks when I'm playing soccer." he turned around, preventing Isagi from stealing the ball.

"Steal that goal. Move around more." Bachira looked like he was dancing; it was just him, the ball, and his 'monster.'

"But at that moment," eyes locked onto each other, "the monster inside me said, passing to Isagi. He has a monster inside, too," Bachira got past him to the other side.

A monster... inside me? No, it wasn't possible.

It would have come out ages ago if he had had a monster! That 'monster' would have helped him from drowning in his sorrows! Why won't it save him?

"You can hear it. The monster's voice."

Isagi placed a hand on his heart, feeling the breathing. He thought of the moments before now. When was the monster present in his life? When was it there to save him? Or was it his fault that the beast locked itself up?

"I'm sorry," Isagi whispered to himself, to the monster that was forced to be put away from his incompetence.