A small figure streaked down the green and vibrant slope, kicking along a soccer ball in between their legs, dodging and manoeuvring past the various defenders of the opposite team with ease. They couldn't have been older than around 10, but their talent and skills clearly showed the fruits of many years' worth of training.

Moving with unparalleled speed, the (H/C) individual sidestepped and tapped the ball beyond their opponents, determination blazing in their eyes. Though they tried to deny it, their ego was getting the better of them, the little voice in their head telling them to prove to the world why they were the team's striker, why they were the best.

The game was currently tied at 2-2, but young (Y/N) wasn't ready to give up just yet. With nearly 75 of their precious 90 minutes squandered, they were determined to be the one that scored, to be the one in the spotlight.

Although they'd scored a million times before in a million different matches, (Y/N) couldn't help but feel there was something off about today... something that they couldn't quite place.

Throughout the game, they'd been feeling a strange, sometimes even painful tug in their chest. At the start, they'd summed it up to mere pre-match nerves and they were confident that it'd wear off as they continued to play, but it seemed this wasn't the case. With every passing second, it seemed the lump in their lungs was growing heavier and it was getting difficult to breathe.

Instead of asking for a substitution or passing the ball to get a moment's rest, they decided to push even harder, desperately trying to dash towards the goal while maintaining firm ball control. They could feel their opponents trying to stop them and the shakiness in their knees, but they couldn't give up, not now, not now that they were so close to the goal!

However, this newfound determination was no match for the pain now rising in (Y/N)'s chest. Every breath felt like icy skewers were being poked into their lungs and every step caused a ripple of pain to spring up their legs.

They fumbled with the ball, their cleats catching on the grass momentarily as they struggled to stay balanced, ignoring the calls of their teammates. Whether they wanted to admit it or not, (Y/N) could feel their consciousness slipping away in drips.

No... They thought, tiredness and hurt lancing to every corner of their body, I'm so close to the goal... I can't stop now! All soccer training forgotten, they were now just fighting tooth and nail to stay afoot, fighting a losing battle to get themselves past the goalie.

A whirlpool of emotions forced themselves into (Y/N)'s head, ranging from confusion (what is happening to my body?!) to straight up panic. They hadn't panicked in a soccer game for quite some time and the feeling wasn't welcome, especially not at that moment.

Another emotion flooded them too: fear. They were scared, scared at what would happen, scared at their coach's potential anger if they didn't score right now. No, they couldn't think of those things right now, well it was sort of hard to with the discomfort blooming in their chest cavity.

Finally, only a couple meters away from their scoring area, the pain caught up to them at last, causing them to cough and clutch at their chest in agony. As spots danced in and out of their vision, they wound up their leg in a ditch attempt to score, only to wobble and collapse onto the field.

(Y/N) heard gasps and screams, half their face buried in the lush (but probably artificial) soccer field, their vision growing dark as an indiscernible ringing filled their ears, blocking out all sound.

Face sodden with sweat, they let their raggedly breathing slow down slightly, protesting against the lightheaded waves of unconsciousness washing over them. At last, they stopped fighting and resigned themselves to some well deserved rest.

* * *

The next few days passed in a blur, everything had seemed so sudden and harsh, almost too much so. One moment, (Y/N) was waking up in a crisp hospital bed, head throbbing, wondering what had happened and the next, they were being sat down in a doctor's consultation room, being hugged by their mother while their dad looked on worriedly.

Among their blurred recollections of those days in the hospital, that one was without a doubt the most painful and unfortunately the one in the sharpest definition. In fact, that particular memory had haunted them ever since.

The doctor sat down at the desk in front of them, flicking through notes on his clipboard. His name was Dr. Yukimiya as their mom had introduced. He seemed quite nice, with his half-moon spectacles and his kind smile, though (Y/N) was more focused on the more pressing issue of what the hell was happening to their body to care right now.

Dr. Yukimiya spoke briefly with their parents, using some complicated jargon and terminology, losing (Y/N)'s attention almost completely. They fiddled with their fingers, wondering why they were even there if the doctor wasn't even going to talk to them. They felt their mom's grip on their shoulder tighten slightly as the medical professional continued to speak, obviously this couldn't be something good. At last, Dr. Yukimiya shifted his attention to the kid in front of him.

"Ah yes, and you must be (Y/N), correct?" He asked, snapping the child out of a daze.

"Um, yeah..." They responded, trying not to let suspicion seep into their voice as they shifted uncomfortably in the overlarge office chair.

"Well," he started, searching for words on how he could explain this to a 10-year-old, "Me and the other doctors ran some tests and... we found out that what you're experiencing–the collapsing and pain–are symptoms of terminal illness." (Y/N) blinked a couple times, they were sure they'd heard the phrase before, maybe somewhere in a book, but they didn't really understand it.

Beside them, their mother let out a strangled sob as their father sighed with obvious displeasure and sadness. (Y/N) didn't really understand the situation, so they resigned themselves to silence. Seeing the confusion on the child's face, Dr. Yukimiya elaborated in a way they would understand.

"It means that... you're sick, uh, and you'll be sick for a long time." He explained, bringing some understanding to (Y/N)'s face. They pondered this information for a little bit, it didn't seem too bad, actually.

So it's like a cold? They thought, believing they now understood the situation. But why are mama and papa so sad? I'll get better, eventually, no? They nodded, a bit of the nervousness leaving them.

"I can still play soccer, right?" (Y/N) asked urgently, not a worry for their own health. It was odd how lightly children could take things and even stranger were the things they deemed important.

At this question, the doctor glanced at the kid's parents, seeming a bit tongue tied at what to say at this bizarre reaction. For the first time in that meeting, (Y/N) seemed genuinely worried. What if I couldn't play soccer anymore? What if I couldn't become the best striker anymore? They bit their lip, anxious for the answer.

"Technically, you probably could, once in a while, but it'd be difficult to pursue to the next level." He sighed, intertwining his fingers on the desk in front of him. Next, he turned to address their parents, explaining the situation further. "You see, the illness is currently developing in his lungs, which might make it difficult to run around and perform certain movements, especially if their sport requires much physical exertion."

(Y/N) was at a loss for words once again as they swallowed, working their small brain hard to understand the severity of these words. All their years of training, all their efforts to prove they were the best... They wiped their eyes, willing the tears not to come out. So, after everything, their ambitious dream was nothing but a fleeting failure.

"However," the doctor continued, catching (Y/N) off guard, "On the off chance that you would like to continue sports, we should be able to postpone the symptoms and aftereffects with some medication, but only temporarily. It might sound harsh, but it might still end up to be too much for your body in a couple years."

(Y/N) looked at their feet, re-contemplating the entire situation yet again. In the doctor's words, it sounded like they'd still eventually need to quit soccer, but only at a later date. They shivered as they thought back to their game, the feeling of emptiness, of desperation. Did they really want to endure the risk of something like that happening again? Although they'd rather die than admit it, (Y/N) didn't want to experience that fear ever again.

On the other hand, they didn't want to quit soccer either! Soccer was one of the few things that made them genuinely happy, one of the things that they were proud of, they couldn't just let that trickle through their fingertips.

(Y/N) felt like a circus acrobat, standing atop a thin rope with two nets underneath. On one side, they give up soccer and live without sports and on the other, they deal with symptoms and chest pains only to give up later. No matter which way they fell, neither safety net seemed safe at all.

Suddenly, a memory popped up in their head, a memory and the voice of one of his closest friends. They remembered his messy hair and his stupidly insane soccer skills. Wasn't it him that'd convinced him to take up football in the first place? They shook their head as the turquoise eyes flashed back into their memory... what had he said that day?

"I'm gonna become the best striker in the world, just you watch! Just try and keep up with me, (Y/N)!"

They inwardly chuckled at the thought, how would he react if he found out that they'd dropped soccer because of some stupid sickness? No, they didn't want, couldn't afford to quit now. Finally, with their head held high and a determined expression in their innocent (E/C) eyes, (Y/N) announced for the entire room to hear.

"I want... to play soccer!"