Glass Coffin (an Inazuma Eleven f.f.)

House of Mirrors

Third Person POV

Hiraga Momo had been prowling the vacant lot behind her apartment complex when Kuin finally showed up. Her fingers twitched as the shadow he cast upon the matte, gunmetal wall tapped her turned back. Instinctively, Hiraga whirled around, extending a demanding hand, "You're late, boy." Her planted feet were the only hungry roots in this desolate urban landscape, her bright coral hair the soiled bud of sidewalk cracks.

Kuin remained unmoved as he swung off his drawstring backpack. From within he pulled out a small cardboard box, which she snatched up hastily and pried at with a ravenous madness. In her frenzy she disregarded the rough flaps that chipped at her painted nails to reveal sickly yellow beneath. Her spasmodic eyes found its target at last and the woman finally exhaled, rubbing her fingers therapeutically to smooth back the peeling nude polish. She shut the lid back neatly, but her brief serenity was spoiled as Kuin's mocking giggles reached her ears.

"I see someone isn't taking to withdrawal well."

Hiraga's nostrils flared. "You gave me a third of the promised dose last time!" Suddenly, the inexplicable frustration of adulting seized her decaying shell and she raised her hand, wrenching back control over the hollow limb just before she initiated a blow at the little boy. But when she returned to her senses a second later, his smoldering eyes were not that of a child's.

"Maybe next time you'll do a better job at your assignment!" he barked back uncharacteristically, "We almost lost her!"

Hiraga shifted the box behind her as she bowed her head atop fidgeting feet. "I tried to convince her not to go back to Fukuoka..." One glance at Kuin's harsh glare told her he was not going to buy her pathetic mumble of a response. But it had been a long month. Screw that. Her limp curls bounced. "Well we didn't!"

If not for Kuin constantly setting the bar higher, she would have snapped at that impetuous Hakuchou long ago.

She did not hear the ring, but it was clear something had interrupted them. Kuin slipped a sleek, dark phone out of his camouflage print pants pocket with a gray gloved hand and peered at the screen. Observing the top of his crimson hair, she entertained the thought of how he always seemed to move faster than the present, as if his life was a constant chase. The coincidences laughably reminded Hiraga of the Red Queen Hypothesis she had learned so long ago in college, where she had first sold her soul for narcotics.

"I need to go. You're not my only pair of eyes."

She did not know much about Kuin besides that, and she suspected Kuin was not even his real name. He had first contacted her about half a year ago offering liquified relief that would otherwise eat up half of her monthly salary. Hakuchou was the exact opposite of this boy: stagnant, until she pricked her fair finger and drew dark blood. In her artificial little soap bubble, she was oblivious to the wolves that await her in the forest. Hiraga feared for her and all the rest whom Kuin favored, for he was a thorny one for sure. She had spent enough time with him to understand that his true colors were not for warding off predators, but for attracting prey.

As for the souls he did not? She would not like to know.

Hakuchou's POV

Yamagishi and I stood three meters before each other, away from other drills in progress on the artificial grass. Our own drill had begun alright at first--I would throw the ball, and he would head it back. Catch, repeat. Ten sets, then switch. Beside us, a trio of student analysts observed and tapped away at their laptops. The soft, maddening click of keys pervaded the room. The analysts and their equipment outnumbered the players in this spacious indoor field, ensuring not a single movement of ours went undocumented.