Chapter Text
“You’ll never guess,” Amal shouted, “whom I saw yesterday at Chat de Minuit.”
“The coach’s sister? The coach himself? The team doctor’s second daughter — the hottest of the three?” Seeing the other teammate shake his head David pursed his lips. “Come on, even if everyone’s running wild in the off-season, it couldn’t possibly be Jinpachi Ego — ”
Amal lowered his voice. “It was exactly Jinpachi Ego.”
Noa’s locker key clattered to the floor.
Luckily, nobody noticed, because the entire locker room erupted. David let out a sharp gasp. Marcelo’s eyes nearly popped out. Even Randal du Pont — “the Prince of Paris,” a useless benchwarmer of a forward who only got a seat because his daddy owned PXG — tilted his head in curiosity. Amal standing on the bench grinned triumphantly.
“He was there, right in the front of the bar, drinking something that looked suspiciously like a Bloody Mary. Louis himself mixed it.”
“The star host of Chat de Minuit served him a drink,” Marcelo squealed.
“And he had three chicks in absolute stitches.”
“Three?!” David gulped.
“Not surprising, really, since he was doing magic,” Amal saved the best trick for last. “Dressed in a sleek suit, he somehow conjured a top hat and bang! Voilà! Somehow a dove flew out of it! The blonde laughed so loud her boobs jiggled.”
Hope that dove shits on everyone’s head, Noa thought indifferently.
Amal tossed his towel aside. “Honestly, who would have thought that little Jap had such a wild streak?”
“Never cracked a smile.”
“Thought he was mute.”
“That’s Asian for you.”
“If I had known he was this cool,” David’s expression turned dreamy, “I would have invited him into my night-time safari…”
You never saw him smile because Jinpachi Ego never deemed any of you worthy of it, Noa gritted his teeth. Somehow even his key refused to cooperate today. He struck the lock ten times before finally opening it, only to be greeted by the sea of Post-it notes Ego had placed there two years ago. Remember your goal formula. Choose your battlefield for the flow state. Everyone believes themselves the protagonist, so let there be no anything blurry in your thinking. If you disagree, then prove your theory to me!
“So did you say hi?” Marcelo tried to ease the tension. “He was our teammate after all.”
“Err,” Amal scratched his head. “At first I didn’t want to. I mean, since his injury half a year ago, I haven’t contacted him once…”
“Me neither,” David shrugged. “Visiting the hospital ward… I dunno… It felt unlucky.”
“No one was really close to him anyway. We worried we would just be intruding…” Marcelo sighed.
The Prince of Paris opened his mouth, but the team captain, Dabo Diop, spoke first. “All right, all right. Even if he can’t play football anymore, we were teammates once and can still be friends down the line, no? So, Amal, you exchanged a few words with him?”
“He greeted me first,” Amal admitted. “He said he missed the whole team, and asked if we were interested in catching up. He said for the next two weeks, every afternoon from four to six during the Happy Hour, he would be sketching outdoors at Les Amis du Vin.”
— The smell of disinfectant, the bandages soaked in blood, the crutches at the bedside, the skeleton-like rehabilitation devices, the fruit basket and sketchbook toppling to the floor, just at the moment the Japanese boy glanced up toward the hospital room door, Noel Noa fled like a coward —
Noa tore down the Post-its.
Nobody was close to Jinpachi Ego. Noel Noa much less so. After all, that boy was nothing more than a clown on Noa’s path to the throne, who had pathetically retired six months ago due to injury much to Noa’s glee. Now he would never be tormented by the other’s fierce grin again. Never feel restless at a single frown again. Never have to endure those nightmares — going down, going further down, with those shining eyes, those clever fingertips, and that sweet, spicy mouth — nightmares which now morphed into hospital rooms, operating tables, and that match that ended Ego’s career. But anyway, without Jinpachi Ego, Noa’s ascension shall be smooth and unimpeded, with a guaranteed spot on the first team after the summer break, a glorious graduation from the PXG’s youth system.
So.
“Take me,” Noa said, “to Les Amis du Vin.”
“Don’t tell me those three chicks went back to his place — ha!?” David whirled around, clearly forgetting that the silent, stern shit Noel Noa was even present. Noa could almost hear the screams in his mind: That Noel Noa? Wants to go? With us!? To fuck around with Jinpachi Ego!!?
“I need to go into town to buy my mother’s birthday gift,” Noa added coolly. “Might as well.”
David turned, muttering with the others, exchanging troubled glances and secret gestures, forming a fortress defending itself against an intruder. At last, the captain placed his reassuring hands on their shoulders — probably telling them this was their last summer together so they should get along. Noa caught Amal whispering: “Fine, fine, we’ll bring him… Tch, Noel Noa voluntarily joining our outing? What next, David marrying young?”
It was the same as always, except this time outside the crowd Jinpachi Ego wasn’t with him.
They’re all… children. Having secured his first-team contract at PXG, it was hard not to see these peers as kids. They were born with safety nets, promised of futures, whose biggest headache was nothing but wooing the girls they liked. So as Noa squeezed himself into a single taxi with these lads heading downtown, as he lingered a few steps behind them beneath the dazzling sunlight of the 16th arrondissement, and as the vine-covered sign of Les Amis du Vin sprang into view, he vowed to himself —
He was no longer a pure child.
He was a grown-up now.
He would bravely face Jinpachi Ego, and prove to him that he was a grown-up now.
Therefore, on this bright summer day, when the figure of his dreams rose from an outdoor table with a radiant yet utterly unfamiliar smile, waving at them all and vigorously calling out, “Noel, date with me!” Noa’s first impulse was to smash that plate of Greek yogurt calamari onto his head.
Ha. Kidding. Of course he didn’t. He was a grown-up now, and grown-ups shouldn’t be that childish.
So he asked with 100% maturity: “Huh?”
“Noel, date with me!” Ego repeated beaming. Somehow he had started wearing glasses. Under the curious eyes of the old teammates, he drew a deep-blue notebook from his shirt pocket, flicked open its lock, produced a ballpoint pen, and twirled it in circles. His hands had always been like that, never idle, toying with cutlery, juggling footballs, slinging an arm around Noa’s shoulders — going down, going further down, with those shining eyes, those clever fingertips, and that sweet, spicy mouth — Noa shuddered.
“Did you break your head as well?” He managed stiffly.
Ego tilted his head. “You’re not interested, hmm? Then I’ll choose someone else. David Rodríguez Calderón?” He flipped the pen toward the pink-haired Spaniard. “On the pitch, you’re known for your glamorous dribble, just like off the pitch you’re an excellent flirt. You would suit perfectly my plan to a pole-dancing club this week.”
David the Don Juan straightened up. “Oh?”
“Marcelo Santos Suzumura?” Ego turned to the Japanese-Brazilian defender. “Your play style combines finesse and discipline, but I see the wild heart in you. Care to cast off your discipline, and embrace your shonen manga spirit with me?”
The quiet centre back peered out. “Ha?”
“Dabo Diop, our dear captain?” Ego addressed their keeper. “On the pitch, you’re a master at stopping one-on-ones. Off it you’re also a fighter, just testing your limits with extreme sports. Sadly, we can’t ski in summer, but what do you say to skydiving or bungee jumping?”
The Senegalese captain looked thoughtful. “You…”
Off the pitch Ego had scarcely spoken to them, but apparently he could recall everyone’s name and interests with ease. Of course. He must have been long analyzing them all… He probably had a theory about how their underwear styles affected their running speed! Still. Still.
“Or perhaps… Randal du Pont, our other blade on the frontline?” Ego’s gaze switched to the handsome failure. “These few months, I’ve been deeply regretting my prejudices. I’ve never truly known you… But since Noel won’t stoop to grant me the honour, would you share a pleasant evening with me?”
The Prince of Paris flashed a sugary smile. “If Jeanne-Francesca doesn’t kill you first and then kill me, I’d be delighted — ”
“Amal!” Noa snapped. “Stop eating!”
He yanked Amal away from the table. The Moroccan’s mouth was stuffed with Ego’s calamari. Calories, calories, think how many calories are in each bite — “Noa, why ruin my fun!” Amal protested, his fingers smeared with yogurt nearly staining Ego’s sketchbook.
“Precisely,” Ego declared benevolently. “Amal Boujemaa, our Moroccan dynamo. Your tireless pressing on the pitch is fuelled by a huge appetite off it. You’re a gourmand, aren’t you? Keeping a record of global cuisines in that notebook of yours?”
“You remember!” Amal’s eyes lit up.
Ego gave him that special look — which should be mine, should’ve been mine, should only be mine — “Of course I remember. I plan to consult you. Now that I’ve retired, I’ll only try dishes from which I was forbidden before. And you lot can indulge now and then, no? Take a seat!”
Ignoring Noa, the teammates poured past him, cheering as they took their seats. David unconsciously tidied his hair. Marcelo muttered happily in Japanese. Amal was already studying the menu. The Prince of Paris offered Noa a bright grin. What good is pretty? Next season I’ll be playing in Ligue 1, while you warm the youth team’s bench. Dabo the captain passed by and pause to ask, “What about you, Noel? You two were close.”
“I told you,” Noa gritted his teeth. “I’m here to buy my mother’s birthday gift.”
Dabo patted him with a knowing smile. “As you wish.”
“I’m here to buy my mother’s birthday gift!” Noa raised his voice. Refusing to look at Ego he stared at his teammates instead, but reflected in all of their eyes was the Japanese boy’s presence. How can those words came so easily from him. It was just a joke to him wasn’t it. Yet I’ve spent three years trying to say date with — Wait wait wait wait, a virus had made this cyborg malfunctioning. “You know. How much. It means. To me.”
“If Madame Noa’s joints still ache in rainy days,” Ego suggested, “there’s a Japanese pharmacy on the third floor of the Crystal Mall to the left.”
“I’m here to buy my mother’s birthday gift,” Noa marched off to the right.
Once rounding the corner, he stumbled into a Subway and panicked.
His panic lasted until sunset, when the Subway was crammed with customers, and two burly white dudes sandwiching him from both sides forced him to move. This store’s soundtrack was all ’90s classics, reminiscent of those nights when he waited for his mother to finish her shift at the fast-food eatery. Impoverished. Hopeful. When everything seemed possible.
For him everything still remained possible, unlike Jinpachi Ego.
He found his feet carry him back to Les Amis du Vin. By now, the outdoor seating couldn’t contain these rowdy lads, who had moved inside and dominated the place. This bistro seemed to offer a global menu — tacos, sushi, fries — every palate could be satisfied, so even the choice of venue showed Ego’s foresight.
In summer’s warm dusk, the door stayed open. Their conversation floated out, wafting in the evening air like ripples on the Seine. Gossip about the transfer window… Rumours about the 2006 Germany World Cup… Ego rose and, mixing Japanese with French, spoke to the owner. Within five minutes, Noa caught a tangy scent. With a sizzle, a waiter emerged with a steaming dish.
“Yakisoba sizzler with mayonnaise!” Ego announced. “Each of you only gets one bite!”
“Ha, what kind of rule is that? Maybe I won’t even want a bite!”
“Try it first. Try it before you judge.”
“Mm… hey! Wow! Yummy!”
“That’s it, only one bite.”
“Wait — !”
“Calories, please. I don’t want to be dismissed as the bane of PXG’s budding talents.”
“Damn, you’re as strict as Noel Noa!”
“Exactly!”
“Not cool at all!”
“Nothing is more painful than having what you love out of reach!”
“Truth to be told,” Ego winked with mischief, “I plan to pack up the rest as takeout.”
Psychology, Noa thought. He knows how to command a room. After all, how is a pitch different from a social circle? With those eyes, that mouth, he can do anything he sets his mind to —
Anything except return to the pitch.
He stood outside for God knew how long, until his teammates poured out and bumped into him.
“Jeez, Noa,” David rubbed his head. “Don’t tell me you’ve been starving and drooling here all evening?”
“As if,” Noa retorted as his stomach let out a growl.
Ego had just paid the bill and now stepped forward, lifting a takeout box with a knowing smile. “Noel, would you like some?” He asked. “We happened to have leftovers.”
Like hell you did. Noa seized the box, intending to toss it out as soon as he got back.
But Ego didn’t let go of the box. “Noel, don’t be so childish,” he said lightly. “Guess what I just told the teammates?”
“Boasting about your nightclub adventure?” Noa snapped, startled by his own hostility.
Ego smiled. “After my ankle surgery, I’ve been thinking, my life until now couldn’t have been more wrong.”
The teammates perked up. “Yes! Let Noa hear it too!”
“I cared too much about football. Too much. I cared it too much to notice everything else… But what will I have left, if football is taken away from me?”
“Hear, hear!”
“So I made a wishlist.” Ego produced that little locked notebook again and cleared his throat theatrically. “‘Perform magic at a high-end nightclub,’ ‘Buy a handsome sports car,’ ‘Produce stunning art that speaks to one’s heart,’ ‘Explore Paris and kiss my love by the Seine’… All pretty tasteful pursuits, aren’t they?”
“Ooh! Very tasteful!”
“Noel,” Ego declared, “I’m gonna quit being a football fanatic, and live like a normal person from now on!”
He tapped Noa’s chest with the notebook, then let go of the takeout box.
“And of course, as a normal person, I’d love to enjoy normal relationships! I once scorned socializing, but now I want to make amends. Tonight, I’ll email each of you a copy of my wishlist.” As Noa stared blankly, Ego waved. “If any of you feel like joining, just text me.”
— Those shining, shining eyes —
“Including you, Noel. Especially you.”
Noa didn’t recall how he got into the taxi.
Naturally Ego lived in the city. All grown-ups lived in the city. On the route back to the youth academy, the city lights grew sparse, and street lamps slipped backwards. I was too indulgent today. Must punish myself with extra training. That leftover yakisoba probably contains opium; why else does it smell so damn addictive. He closed his eyes, while behind him three teammates squeezed into the back seat whispered about him.
“What’s wrong with Noa?”
“Such a killjoy.”
“I knew bringing him was a bad idea.”
“On the brighter side, at least Jinpachi has now put the injury behind him…”
Now he’s “Jinpachi” huh? Noa shut his eyes tighter, mouth silently repeating that name syllable by syllable. Yes, that’s it. Going down, going further down —
Extra training. He trembled with resolve when crawling out of the taxi. Definitely extra training.
— Yet our poor Noa missed one crucial fact.
— If a once-cold person suddenly reveals a touch of warmth, anyone would feel their heart melt.
— This is the so-called “the Moe of Contrast.”
So this was why, when Noa returned from his extra training the next day expecting yesterday’s farce had passed, he was shocked to discover —
That after his injury and retirement, Jinpachi Ego, once despised by all, suddenly became PXG Youth’s doted mascot.
TBC