My system allows me to copy talents

”You dove the wrong way.”

”I did not. I read your body language perfectly.”

”You read my body language perfectly wrong.”

Shun threw his hands up. ”This is what I get for visiting. Abuse. Mockery. No respect for my goalkeeping prowess.”

”Your goalkeeping prowess nearly let in a third.”

”I was distracted!”

”By what?”

Shun’s face flushed slightly. ”There was... someone in the stands. A woman. Very beautiful. I may have glanced for a split second.”

Hiro stared at him. ”You got distracted by a fan during a match?”

”She was very beautiful, Hiro.”

”You’re hopeless.”

”I know.” Shun slumped back in his chair. ”I’ve been trying to find a date for months. I’ve tried everything—dating apps, blind dates, even let one of my teammates set me up with his cousin.”

”How’d that go?”

”She spent the entire dinner talking about her cat. Just... non-stop. Her cat’s diet. Her cat’s sleeping habits. Her cat’s favorite window.” Shun shuddered. ”I know more about that cat than I know about myself.”

Hiro laughed again. ”You’ll find someone.”

”Will I? I’m a goalkeeper, Hiro. We’re cursed. We’re either too intense or too weird. There’s no in-between.”

”You’re not weird.”

”I talk to my goalposts before matches.”

”That’s not weird. That’s... ritualistic.”

”I name them.”

Hiro paused. ”You name your goalposts?”

”The left one is Jun. The right one is Kenji.” Shun said it with complete seriousness. ”They’ve never let me down.”

He had been friends with him all this year. Yet, he was unaware of this ridiculous aspect of his friend.

Though he had seen him mumbling something with his forehead pressed against the goalposts on multiple occasions.

However, he didn’t think much of those antics. He assumed he was just building his confidence. But now, as he heard from him, things started falling into place.

Hiro buried his face in his hands. ”Shun.”

”What?”

”That’s why you can’t get a date.”

The playful banter continued for another hour, filling the quiet room with warmth. They talked about old times, their days at Kawasaki Frontale’s youth academy, the dusty pitches, the late-night conversations about dreams that had seemed impossible.

”Do you remember when we promised we’d both make it to Europe?” Shun asked.

”Every day.”

”And now here we are. You’re the youngest Golden Ball winner. I’m starting for Real Sociedad.” He paused. ”We made it, Hiro. We actually made it.”

”We did.”

”And now you’re here. Injured.” Shun’s voice softened. ”How bad is it?”

Hiro exhaled. ”Six to eight months. If everything goes perfectly, I’ll be ready for the World Cup.”

”And if it doesn’t?”

Hiro was quiet.

”Then I find another way.”

Shun studied him. ”You’ve changed.”

”Changed how?”

”The kid I knew was always calm. Always patient. Nothing ever seemed to shake you.” Shun leaned forward. ”But this is different. You’re not just calm. You’re... settled. Like you’ve made peace with something.”

Hiro looked down at his hands. ”I’ve had a lot of time to think.”

”And what have you been thinking about?” ℯℯ𝘭.

”About the injury. About the recovery. About...” He stopped. ”About what I am without all of it. The talent. The instincts. The things that make me...”

He trailed off.

The system.

”Without what?” Shun asked.

Hiro shook his head. ”I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.”

Shun didn’t push. He just nodded. ”You don’t have to explain everything. I’m not here to interrogate you. I’m here to be here.”

Hiro felt something loosen in his chest.

”Thanks, Shun.”

”Don’t thank me yet. I’m also here to make sure you don’t slack off.” Shun’s grin returned. ”I’ve been talking to your therapist. She says you’ve been pushing too hard.”

”I have to push.”

”There’s a difference between pushing and breaking.” Shun’s voice was firm. ”You’re not invincible, Hiro. I’ve seen you do impossible things on the pitch. I’ve been on the receiving end of them. But you’re still human. And humans need rest.”

Hiro opened his mouth to argue. Then he closed it.

”You sound like my mother.”

”She’s a wise woman.”

Later that afternoon, Shun accompanied Hiro to his physical therapy session.

Elena was waiting for them, her expression as neutral as ever. She looked at Shun with a raised eyebrow.

”You brought a guest.”

”He’s my keeper,” Hiro said. ”From back home. He’s going to watch.”

”I heard about you,” Shun said, stepping forward. ”Hiro says you’re the best in the business.”

Elena’s eyebrow rose slightly higher. ”He said that?”

”He did. He also said you’re terrifying.”

”Good.” She nodded. ”I like him.”

The session began.

Hiro pushed through the exercises with more intensity than usual. He wanted to impress Shun, to prove that he was still the same player, even if his leg was wrapped in bandages.

But halfway through the second set of resistance exercises, his leg seized.

He gasped. Pain shot through his knee, sharp and unforgiving.

”Stop,” Elena said immediately. ”Breathe.”

Hiro gritted his teeth. ”I can keep going.”

”You can’t. And you won’t.” She helped him ease back into a seated position. ”Listen to your body, not your ego.”

Shun watched from the corner, his expression unreadable.

When the session ended, Hiro was drenched in sweat, his leg throbbing. Shun walked beside him as he limped back to his room.

”You’re an idiot,” Shun said.

Hiro glared at him. ”Thanks.”

”I mean it. You pushed too hard. She told you to stop, and you ignored her.” Shun’s voice was calm but firm. ”You’re not proving anything by breaking yourself.”

”I was trying to—”

”Trying to what? Show me you’re still the same player?” Shun stopped walking. ”Hiro, I’ve known you since we were twelve. I’ve seen you score impossible goals. I’ve been on the end of your shots. I know what you’re capable of.” He paused. ”You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Hiro was silent.

”You’ve always been the best. The fastest. The most talented. But even you have limits.” Shun’s voice softened. ”You’ve always been strong, Hiro. Frighteningly so. But strength doesn’t mean you can’t rest. It doesn’t mean you can’t lean on people.”

Hiro looked at him.

”When we were kids, you were the one who held everyone together. You never complained. You never faltered. You were like a rock.” Shun smiled faintly. ”But rocks don’t grow. They just stay still. You’ve grown, Hiro. You’ve changed. And maybe—just maybe—that’s a good thing.”

Hiro was quiet for a long moment.

”I don’t know how to not be that rock,” he said finally.

”Then learn.”