"Happy Birthday!"
I looked around to see all of my friends gathered around in my apartment giving me a surprise birthday party. In front of them all was Maki holding the cake with "Happy 30s Old Man" written on it. Balloons everywhere, walls decorated, confetti flying over my head. It was like a festival.
'Wait... Maki? All grown up? Wait a sec... Happy 30s? Who is 30?'
My mind was not able to comprehend what was going on. Everyone was celebrating and looking at me expectantly to come forward and join them. Instead of joy, I was consumed by nausea.
'Was all of that just a dream?'
Maki surprisingly walked forward and pushed the cake in front of me with a bizarrely wide, almost unnatural, smile on her face. "Blow on the candles, Onii-chan. Not like you can do any better than this."
Wicked laughter resounded in my ears as She began laughing like a mad woman and dropped the cake. Instantly everyone, pointed at me and joined her while commenting about me while grinning or laughing.
"You will always be lazy."
"There is no point in trying."
"You can never change what you are!"
"Failure! Failure! Failure!"
Suddenly I felt a hand on my chest, and someone pushed me as I fell back into a chasm.
...
I sat up, chest tight, beathing heavy, drenched in sweat. I looked around frantically as if someone might attack me. But there was no one there. I was alone. In my bed. My old bed. As my 12-year-old self.
'It was a dream? What kind of a sick mind do I have to dream of my cute sis like THAT!'
I lied back down and covered my eyes. Took deep breaths to calm myself then chuckled a bit at the ridiculousness of my dream.
'I have read enough novels... should have expect such a dream to haunt me sooner or later. Ha!'
The dream had left me with no illusions: I wasn't wasting this life. Not this time.
Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I tested my twelve-year-old limbs. They felt strange—lighter, smaller, but capable, much more familiar too. I checked the time, and I had woken up a few minutes before my alarm.
Readying myself, I went for my routine morning run and workout before taking a shower and getting dressed quickly in the summer uniform: white short-sleeve shirt tucked neatly into navy shorts, white sneakers laced snugly. My hair fell into my eyes in a familiar messy way, and for the first time in days, I felt the tingling thrill of purpose.
Downstairs, the smell of miso soup and grilled fish greeted me like an old friend. Mom moved about the kitchen with practiced efficiency, chopping vegetables and humming softly. Maki shuffled in, rubbing sleep from her eyes, ponytail bouncing as she yawned.
"Morning, Riku," Mom said, sliding a bowl of rice in front of me. Her voice was gentle, yet carried the authority of someone who knew exactly what she wanted from her children. I helped set the table, feeling the comfort of routine, noticing the small details: the faint scent of detergent clinging to the tablecloth, the warm sunlight spilling through the blinds.
After breakfast, Mom packed our lunches and ushered us toward the door. "Dad's away again," she mentioned, ladling miso soup into thermoses. "He'll be gone for a couple of weeks—Kansai, for meetings on the expansion project." Dad's work had always been important, but distant. I caught myself listening more carefully this time, wanting to absorb every detail I'd once taken for granted.
'I'll ask him more about his work when he comes back.'
Both of us fixed ourselves in the car as Mom drove us to our school. The ride was uneventful since it was only a few minutes away. We could have just walked but Mom being Mom, she just had to make a huge deal of the 'First Day of School'.
It wasn't even technically the first day.
*****
The streets of Meguro were alive with early morning energy—bicycles rattling along sidewalks, the faint rumble of a train in the distance, children's laughter echoing between houses. By the time we reached Shibuya Junior High School, the building loomed before us in warm red brick, windows reflecting the bright sun, gates framed by neatly trimmed hedges.
She dropped us at the front gates and left but not before embarrassing us by planting good luck kisses on our heads. Which was worse for me!
'No matter what... This is always going to be embarrassing!
Maki darted ahead, spotting her friends near the cherry blossom tree by the side entrance, her backpack swinging wildly. "Bye, Riku!" she called, waving as she ran off. I waved back, smiling at her independence, a pang of pride and nostalgia warming my chest. She disappeared into the crowd of her classmates, while I walked toward the main building. Every step felt like stepping back into a memory I'd already lived.
Inside, the corridors buzzed with chatter and laughter, the smell of chalk and polished floors mixing with the summer heat. I slid into Class 1-B just as the bell rang. Faces flickered past my memory: familiar yet distant.
A boy near the back raised a hand in greeting, his hair messy and black a little longer than mine, falling into his sharp brown eyes. That was Sota Hoshino—quiet, observant, precise. I gave a small nod, feeling an almost magnetic recognition. Near the window, Takuya Ishikawa leaned over, blonde-tinged hair catching the sun, grinning mischievously at a classmate. He reminded me of the troublemakers I'd once known, teasing without malice. And Naoki Fujimoto, with his navy hair neatly combed and glasses perched perfectly, offered a polite smile from the front row. Smart, aloof, dependable.
I slid into my seat in the middle, heart pounding. The teacher moved down the row, calling roll, the chalk squeaking faintly on the blackboard. I answered questions deliberately, savoring the small surprise in classmates' eyes when I got things right.
The day moved in measured rhythm: math, Japanese, science, English. I paid attention to the small things—the squeak of sneakers, the smell of pencils, the flicker of sunlight on desks—absorbing every detail like a careful archivist. During breaks, I observed quietly, noting who studied, who goofed off, catching up with the few people I knew.
Lunch was a simple tray of rice, karaage, and pickled vegetables. I ate with intent, aware of every bite, every glance from a classmate. I remembered the choices I'd made in my previous life and quietly resolved not to repeat them.
Finally, the last bell rang, the sound echoing through the hall like a call to action. My bag felt heavy not from books, but from anticipation. I ran to the sports ground, heart hammering with a rhythm I knew well.
The baseball field gleamed under the afternoon sun, freshly raked and lined with white chalk. Coach Yamada stood near the dugout, clipboard in hand, scanning the team with that familiar intensity. Around him, my classmates were gathered, their chatter blending with the soft rustle of wind through the trees.
I jogged up to him, heart pounding in a way that wasn't excitement—it was purpose. "Coach," I called, catching his attention.
He looked up, eyebrows raised. "Riku! Just in time for practice. Ready to hit the dirt?"
I took a deep breath, keeping my voice steady. "Actually… I wanted to talk to you first."
He frowned slightly, clipboard lowering. "Alright… what's on your mind?"
I hesitated just a fraction, then continued. "I'm going to step back from the team this year."
"Step back?" His tone mixed surprise with concern. "Riku, this is your first year and you have the talent to make the team."
"I know," I said, looking down at my cleats, then back up to meet his eyes. "But I want to work on my fundamentals first. Build my body properly, practice the right way… alone. I'll come back next year, stronger, ready for a Little Senior League tryout."
Coach Yamada blinked, studying me like he was trying to read my soul. "You're serious?"
"Completely," I said. "I've got… a plan. I know what I need to do to improve, and I want to make sure I do it right this time."
He let out a slow sigh, then nodded. "I respect that. Most kids would never step back willingly. But you… you better follow through. No slacking."
"I won't," I said firmly, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips.
Coach Yamada gave a half-smile, half-grimace. "Alright, Riku. Just… don't disappear. I'll be watching. Make sure the next time you step on this field, everyone notices the difference."
I nodded, feeling the weight of the promise settle in my chest. I turned and walked toward the edge of the field, watching my classmates start their warm-ups, their laughter and chatter echoing behind me. The field was still mine in a way—it would always belong to me—but this time, I'd claim it on my own terms.
I walked away, rolling my shoulders, feeling the warm afternoon sun on my skin. For the first time in years, I felt a quiet excitement for what lay ahead, not the rush of a game I couldn't control, but the slow, steady climb toward the player—and the person—I wanted to become.