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Dear Nii-chan Sae,
I once read somewhere, years ago, that letters symbolised permanence. Something that people would keep under their beds, stowed away in a shoe box, never lingering in sight, but never truly forgotten in mind. Something forever.
I’ve never received a letter myself, though I suppose it may be because there’s not a lot people need to say to me. Nothing important enough to render permanence, anyway.
It’s been a long while since we’ve last spoken, but there’s never been a day that goes by without you appearing in my mind. I see you in the mirror when I stare at my reflection; I hear you in my own voice carried by the wind into new seasons. Years have passed, and yet, the thought of you has remained a constant throughout my life. I’m so deeply haunted by you.
I see you on the television sometimes, and it makes my heart clench painfully in my chest. You play so brilliantly now, weaving yourself seamlessly among your teammates, and it brings me back to that one summer's day on the pier after soccer practice where we shared half-melted popsicles and matching grins, staring out into the horizon where the shimmering waves met the vibrant skyline.
There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary that day. For me, as a young boy whose biggest concerns were dinner that night and the ‘win or lose’ message encoded on my popsicle stick, that summer’s day was yet another page in a calendar, continual and never something that I worried about ever ending.
Until you spoke my name.
I turned with a beaming smile because I was so happy. So happy to just be sitting by the beach with you, sharing icy popsicles and being in your presence. The cool wind brushed through your hair, sending streaks of pink dancing in the sky, and I wanted to capture that sight forever.
But when my eyes met yours, what normally was a perfect replica of mine now… different, I knew that something about this day would be different as well.
Distant, I know now. Your eyes were so unusually distant.
“I’m going overseas tomorrow,” you said.
And my heart stopped.
As the waves crashed in the background and birds squawked overhead of us, I swallowed, looking down at the popsicle that had begun dripping messily over my hands. I didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to react. I couldn’t hear anything other than the ringing that pierced my ears and my own heavy breathing.
I turned the stick over, the sugary syrup that had been so sweet mere seconds ago now bitter on my tongue.
Win, it read, as always.
But it felt like I’d lost.
“Congratulations,” I said back then with a smile so bright I almost convinced myself I wasn’t falling apart inside. I was truly happy for you, Nii- Sae––so stoked you were one step closer towards our shared dream. But I remained stagnant; forever stuck in the same spot while you were already miles ahead, out of my grasp.
I was too stumped as a kid to say anything else to you back then, afraid of my older brother resenting me when he’d finally worked hard enough to reach his dreams, but looking back at that memory now, I wish I’d said something.
Your bags were lined up neatly by the door the next morning, and with a wave of a hand and a sliver of a smile, you left, far, far away until you were nothing but a speck in the distance. Then you vanished completely.
I tried everything I could to keep in touch with you, even though you were out in the world on your own, reaching for stars far beyond my imagination. I’d stay up well past my bedtime, with eye bags so dark they passed as bruises, just to call you.
But the thing was, no matter how late I stayed up, or how many desperate texts I sent, you never replied.
It makes me want to laugh, looking back at my younger self, so naively optimistic that he figured his older brother had just changed his number. I know now that all that hope was simply wishful thinking.
But even then, I knew that if I couldn’t reach you personally, I’d still be your number one supporter over the television, cheering you on so loudly, maybe, just maybe—a childish and hopeful wish of mine—that you’d be able to hear my voice miles and oceans away.
After you left, Mum and Dad were almost never home, too, and the house would be so uneasily silent that I just began wondering scary things—things I would be berated for if they were to ever exit the confines of my own head. They frightened me so much that I really didn’t know what to do.
Weak. I knew you’d call me weak if you knew.
I spent still nights trapped inside my own mind as vile words spat back at me. They asked me questions; they called me names. They made me doubt myself, but more than anything, they made me doubt you.
Were the dreams we shared as children just empty promises to you?
That’s what they would tell me, anyway.
Foolishly, I remained optimistic because, despite knowing deep down that your words had been nothing but a lie, I still blindly trusted my older brother. The one who held my hand and led the way; the one who took blame for the self-destructive messes I made; the one who let me choose which of the two popsicles I wanted.
He was the kindest person I knew, so how could anything he say to me ever be a lie?
I held onto that promise for years, in the hopes that when you finally returned, it would be a warm confirmation of our dream we shared as kids. I truly hoped that when I saw you again, the genuine smile you gave me would melt all doubt and worry away.
That was until that snowy night when my whole world changed forever.
I refused to believe it; I refused to believe you, staring out into the cold, frosty canvas of black that stretched perpetually across the gloomy sky.
Something changed that night in the winter wind. Your eyes, under the dim streetlights and pelting snow, were so irrevocably cold. I almost didn’t recognise you.
What happened to you over the years? What happened to the kind older brother who praised and assured me? Who treated me as though I was the best thing to ever happen to the world? That’s what I wanted to ask. But I didn’t, too afraid of expanding the resentment that had built up between us, filling in the gaps where silence and distance breathed.
And then you said ten words so chilling that I knew they would continue to haunt me for all of eternity.
“Piss off,” you said. “I don’t need you in my life anymore.”
A blizzard began brewing in my mind after that snowy night. You left for your dreams again in the following days, leaving me behind with finality. I knew this time it would be different.
You had left me for your own pursuit. I was nothing to you anymore.
The voices in my head got louder and louder.
They became unbearable.
It’s funny, looking back. How something so small and insignificant––so stupid––could continue to have so much weight in my life even now, years later, when the thought of you drifts between memory and imagination.
Just once, I had told myself back then as I held a razor in my hands, staring at the empty husk of a figure in the mirror with turquoise eyes that shone just like yours. Just once to keep the thoughts at bay. Just once and never again.
But the thoughts never faded, even when the suffocating summer heat left me sweating profusely under long sleeves and bone-white bandages. Even when jagged lines began littering my arms, rough and uneven against the skin you used to hold so tenderly only years before.
Just once more, I’d tell myself every single damn time, knowing deep down it wouldn’t be the last.
I threw myself deeper into the one thing that made us drift apart, working myself down to the bone. I skipped meals, slept less and less, and slowly slipped away from others until there wasn’t a single person in the world I could genuinely call my friend. Because you were my best friend, and there was nothing more I wanted than to regain that title again.
I tried so hard, Nii- Sae. Why couldn’t you see that?
You know, even when my mind and body wanted so desperately to shut down and let myself be pulled beneath the blanket of waves, I still kept going, fighting against the turbulent currents with all my might. Even though I wanted to give up, I was driven by this desire to prove you wrong: I wasn’t lukewarm and you did need me in your life. Because one day, I’d become the world’s best striker—something you could finally be proud of.
I worked harder and harder, devoting myself completely into soccer, turning all the mental hurt I felt into physical pain instead. I would run hundreds of times down the field before the sun even rose with eyes lined with dark bags––a result of the nights I spent tossing and turning with rapid, merciless thoughts gushing through my mind like quicksilver. I’d refuse to let myself rest before I scored a thousand goals, even when my body fought with all its might to convince me otherwise. And it worked for a while. The thoughts quietened into static.
They still lingered, though, at the back of my mind. They asked me why I wasn’t good enough. Not for myself. Not for you.
At some point, the unhealthy lifestyle began taking its harrowing toll on me, and I’d find myself thinking what the point was. Why was I trying so hard and who exactly was I doing it all for?
Some days, when I couldn’t find a reason to keep going, I’d end up back at the pier that housed my favourite memories of childhood. Dangling my legs over the ledge, the cool water would flow calmly beneath my feet, once or twice brushing against my soles as I’d resist a bitter shiver. In the years of your absence, I’d grow much taller than we both used to be.
I’d reflect on our days spent at the edge of the beach with our sugary popsicles and beloved soccer ball, back when I was a reckless child, unobservant of my surroundings, who never cared about anything other than you. When my foot slipped from the ledge and I would close my eyes frantically upon the realisation, you’d catch me before I took a tumble, pulling me back to safety.
But there wasn’t anyone to save me anymore.
I’d stare down at the water, wondering what it’d feel like when it engulfed me, swallowing me whole. Would the sea’s embrace resemble that of yours?
Even if it did, my memory of your hugs were long gone. I couldn’t remember how it felt to be sucked into your arms, looking up as though I was stargazing to see a pair of warm teal eyes shining back down at me, like you were the one constellation meant to lead me back home. Was this memory even real? I don’t know anymore. I don’t know anything anymore.
I would step dangerously close to the edge of the pier, hoping subconsciously for my foot to slip. Maybe then, I’d plunge into the cold abyss and drift far out into the sea, letting the boundless water hold me firmly, lulling me to a peaceful slumber.
I imagined my body being found days later by local fishermen we used to greet––or maybe the old shopkeeper who gave us warm, welcoming smiles accompanied by free popsicles––washed up on shore, cold and discoloured. I envisioned sobs of pain wracking our parents as they hugged my body close to theirs, whispering quiet wishes that I’d return back to them. Maybe then, they’ll tell me just how much they loved me and how wanted I was. I pictured you dropping to your knees when the news reached you over the ocean through a phone call, hoping with all your heart that it was a joke. Would you finally miss me then?
But despite the vivid images I painted in my head to keep myself afloat, I knew these fragments of my imagination would never—could never—be true.
Mum and Dad would probably take one glance at me and order for my body to be disposed of, planning what they would inform others about my shameful death. You’d scoff into the phone, muttering something along the lines of ‘what a lukewarm idiot’ before hanging up abruptly. It almost makes me laugh—upon how clearly I can imagine that happening.
I guess I can’t blame you, though. I really am lukewarm, aren’t I?
Months stuck inside my own head flew by before I knew it, and Blue Lock happened.
I breezed through the first few selections with ease, letting the result of my years of self-punishment guide me like a lifeline.
Echoes of my name slivered through the halls of Blue Lock as I climbed higher and higher up the ranks. They were never really about my skill, though. Not alone, at least.
Everyone admired me, heard through the hushed praises they sent across thin walls.
Number one?
That’s Itoshi Sae’s brother, right?
He’s good, but compared to Sae? Kind of a joke, if you ask me.
Yeah, he’s clearly not a prodigy.
He had it lucky, but I guess family connections can only get you so far.
I’d be so disappointed if I were his parents. Imagine having two kids and only ending up with one you can actually brag about––one you can actually be proud of.
I’d bet my money on the parents having a favourite child.
Pff, yeah. Can you blame them, though?
No. I couldn’t blame Mum and Dad either.
I know you probably wouldn’t believe it, but I tried so, so hard to make it to the top where I could finally carry the weight of our surname like I actually deserved it. I really did try, Sae. I really, really did.
After months and months of training and pushing myself well beyond my physical limit, ignoring the quiet whispers circulating that came to haunt me in the dead of night, I did it. I was number one.
And just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, after years of deafening radio silence, you finally came back.
But I should have known.
It wasn’t for me.
It was never for me.
As I stared across the field the night of the U-20’s, my heart thumped painfully in my chest, drowned by the sound of my own ragged breathing thudding in my ears.
There you stood, illuminated under the blinding lights, a dull and somehow infinitely brighter version of me with that critical turquoise stare of yours, eyeing me as though I were nothing more than a pestilent bug under your shoe.
When I let my glassy eyes drift along the line-up, my breath caught in my throat upon seeing the smug grin of that half-baked, psychopathic roach who shared the same uniform as you.
As the damp grass wavered beneath my cleats in the biting breeze, everything finally clicked.
You hadn’t come for me.
You had come for him. The one person I hated more than myself anything.
I didn’t really understand it, back then. And I’m not so sure I do, even now. I’d done everything right. I was number one. Me.
So why, Sae, did you pick him over me?
Maybe I’ll never truly understand why you started hating me when you returned home after all those years. Maybe I’ll never really know. But what I do know is that I spent years chasing after your unrealistic expectations and unavailability, praying each and every time that it would be different, all while breaking into a million pieces. I thought maybe, just maybe, if I tried harder––and harder when ‘harder’ wasn’t enough––you’d finally turn around and see the path I had paved for myself, and the bloody knuckles and bruised knees that I sacrificed to get me that far.
You never once did, though.
Do you remember the night of the U-20’s when you spoke my name so softly in the air I almost thought I’d been hallucinating? I do. And I don’t think I can ever not. I was so ready to forgive you at that moment and let the past stay behind me. I was so ready to forget the years I spent running aimlessly after someone who never wanted me back. Who ignored me. Who disposed of me. Because that’s just the kind of person I am, aren’t I, Sae? A tepid little brother who comes as soon as he’s called––like your own personal dog.
But of course. How could I be so gullible? How could I be so… hopeful when all I’d known for the majority of my life was disappointment?
I know now that I’m stupid, lukewarm, half-baked, worthless, any synonymous expression you deem worthy.
But back then, when the late afternoon sunlight streamed warmly over the horizon of Kamakura and the gentle seagulls chirped overhead of us, I felt as though I were worth the whole world to you.
To this day, I still wonder where it all went wrong.
In a way, I think I’m too tired to care. I can’t imagine a handwritten apology would suffice the years I spent enduring your absence and resentment. Not even hearing your voice would help, either.
I think I’ve finally accepted reality for what it is: cruel, cynical and so incredibly disillusioning––so pathetic for someone who once dreamt of conquering the whole world.
Sae, after years of perpetual reflection, it’s time to move on.
You’re probably wondering what this letter is about. I’m not sure I can answer that adequately, but just know that this is the most important thing I need to do. Perhaps you could see this as a confession of sorts––something I was too afraid of admitting aloud, not only to you, but to myself, too, for far too long.
But more than anything, it’s an attempt at permanence. An attempt at permanence for a forgettable, fleeting figure like myself––someone whose purpose is to hide in the shadows, who never deserved to share the brilliance you brought to life. It’s my last try at continuity. A hope that you’ll still remember all the memories we shared as kids.
When you read this letter, you’ll no longer be able to contact me. Maybe you’ll see my name printed in a few passing headlines, or hushes of my being spoken in dishonour, but I don’t want you to pry. You won’t be able to find me.
Please don’t come back, Nii-chan.
If I knew you’d come running back, I would regret what needs to be done.
With pale hands trembling over the letter, Rin takes a deep breath as he steps forward. Just beside him is a window, and as the biting wind whips through his hair, he stares.
A pair of turquoise stares back at him.
He unclenches his hands and the letter tumbles to the ground, rustling quietly beside his feet.
“Goodbye, Nii-chan,” Rin whispers to the reflection before he closes his eyes and steps forward again.
Then he falls.