Gabriel sat on the edge of the bed, still gripping the old boots. His breath was steady, but his mind was racing. The name stitched into the back—SANTAN—felt like a whisper from the past.
Santan. This was an abbreviation of his last name Santana and how people use to refer to his father. The name sent a rush of memories crashing over him, he could almost hear the voices, the shouts, the cheers—until the memories darkened, shifting to the day everything changed.
Gabriel exhaled sharply and set the boots down beside him. He wasn't the same boy he had changed, grown, faced setbacks he never imagined. But the weight of those boots in his hands made him realize something—he hadn't forgotten. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn't meant to.
He ran a hand through his hair and stood up, his legs still sore from training. He had to clear his mind, had to figure out what this meant. Leaving the room, he found Satoshi still lounging in the living room, flipping through TV channels with little interest.
Satoshi glanced up as Gabriel entered. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
Gabriel didn't answer right away. Instead, he held up the boots. "Mom left these for me."
Satoshi's eyebrows rose. He set the remote down and leaned forward, inspecting them. "Damn. Adidas Predators. And not just any model—those are classics." He ran a hand over the worn leather, whistling. "These aren't easy to find anymore."
Gabriel nodded. "They were my favorite model when i came here."
Satoshi looked up at him, his usual smirk replaced with something more thoughtful. "So… what are you gonna do with them?"
Gabriel hesitated, then clenched his jaw. "I'm going to wear them."
Satoshi blinked in surprise, then grinned. "Your really going to wear these old... Guess that means you're serious about this tournament, huh?"
Gabriel nodded, determination settling in his chest. "More than ever."
The next morning, Gabriel arrived at the field early, long before the others. The air was crisp, the sun barely rising over the horizon. He laced up the old boots, feeling the way they molded to his feet, almost like they were made for him all over again. He took a deep breath, then stepped onto the grass.
With a ball at his feet, he started dribbling, feeling out the boots, letting his body adjust to them. Every touch brought back something familiar—a confidence, a rhythm. It wasn't just nostalgia. It was a reminder of what he had once.
He went through drills by himself. Quick turns, sharp cuts, powerful strikes at the empty goal. Each movement felt sharper, more deliberate. The hesitation that had once clouded his mind was gone. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't thinking—he was just playing.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled him from his focus. He turned to see Jun walking onto the field, hands in his pockets. He watched Gabriel for a moment before smirking. "You're really out here at sunrise? Damn, you're more obsessed than I thought."
Gabriel smirked back, catching the ball with his foot. "Had to see if I still got it."
Jun nodded at the boots. "New kicks?"
"Old ones."
Jun stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Something's different about you. Yesterday, you were good. Today, you look... ready."
Gabriel's grip on the ball tightened. "Because I am."
Jun grinned. "Alright then. One-on-one."
Gabriel didn't hesitate. He dropped the ball and squared up. "Let's go."
Jun was fast, aggressive, always looking for an opening. But Gabriel was quicker, more fluid, his feet moving with a confidence he hadn't felt in years. Every time Jun tried to take the ball, Gabriel countered effortlessly. He wasn't just reacting—he was dictating the game.
Finally, with a sharp cut, Gabriel broke past Jun and fired the ball into the goal. The net rippled, the sound echoing through the empty field.
Jun let out a breath, hands on his hips. "Yeah… something's definitely different."
Gabriel smirked, picking up the ball. "Better keep up, or you'll get left behind."
Jun chuckled, shaking his head. "Damn, I like this version of you."
When the rest of the team arrived, training was more intense than ever. Gabriel played with a fire that infected the entire squad. The energy was different. The team was sharper, more cohesive. Even Coach Emaon noticed, watching Gabriel with an approving nod.
"If you play like that in the tournament," Coach said after practice, "we might just have a real shot at this."
Gabriel wiped sweat from his forehead, glancing at his teammates. They were tired, breathing hard—but they were smiling. They believed. And that was everything.
That night, Gabriel lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. The old boots sat by his bedside, their presence heavier than they should have been. His mother had left them for him—not just as a reminder of the past, but maybe as a way to push him forward. He wasn't sure how he felt about that yet.
Sleep didn't come easily. His mind kept replaying the moment he first saw the name stitched on the back of the boots. Santan. It was a name he had tried to avoid for so long, yet here it was, staring him in the face. The memories weren't just in his head anymore—they were on his feet, with every touch of the ball, every step he took.
Finally, unable to take the restlessness, he got up and quietly left his room. The house was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional creak of the wooden floor beneath his feet. He found himself in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water, trying to steady his racing thoughts.
He wasn't alone for long. Satoshi wandered in, rubbing his eyes and yawning. He looked at Gabriel, then at the boots by the door, then back at Gabriel.
"Can't sleep?" Satoshi asked, his voice groggy.
Gabriel shook his head. "Not really."
Satoshi leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. "Let me guess—those boots messing with your head?"
Gabriel exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. It's just... a lot."
Satoshi studied him for a moment before nodding. "Makes sense. You've spent so much time trying to move forward that looking back probably feels weird."
Gabriel didn't respond immediately. Instead, he stared into his glass, watching the condensation form on the outside. "I don't even know if I want to look back."
Satoshi smirked slightly. "Well, too late for that. Those boots are on your feet now. Whether you like it or not, you're carrying it all with you."
Gabriel chuckled dryly. "That supposed to be comforting?"
Satoshi shrugged. "Dunno. Just saying what I see."
The silence between them wasn't awkward. If anything, it felt natural. Comfortable. Eventually, Satoshi stretched and turned back toward the hallway. "You gonna be alright?"
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah. Just need to figure some things out."
Satoshi gave him a small nod before disappearing into the darkness of the hallway. Gabriel remained in the kitchen for a while longer, finishing his water, letting the quiet settle over him.
The next morning, he woke up early again. He laced up the boots without hesitation this time. There was still uncertainty in his mind, but something inside him told him to keep moving.
When he arrived at the field, he wasn't surprised to see Jun already there, kicking a ball against the fence. The two exchanged a silent nod before Gabriel dropped his bag and started warming up.
After a while, Jun spoke. "So, you gonna tell me what's up with those old boots?"
Gabriel hesitated before replying. "They were my favorite model back then."
Jun raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know that."
Gabriel nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground. "And now they carry something meaningful to me."
Jun didn't press. Instead, he picked up the ball and passed it to Gabriel. "Alright. Let's see if they still got some magic in them."
Gabriel caught the ball with his foot, controlling it with ease. He took a deep breath, let the weight of the past settle, then pushed forward. Because, for the first time in a long time, he wasn't just running away—he was playing, truly playing, again.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
As practice wound down, the sky shifted into soft pastels of pink and orange, stretching lazily across the horizon. Most of the team had drifted toward the benches or were sprawled out on the grass, catching their breath. The field had that distinct after-practice stillness—footsteps in the dirt, the occasional whistle of wind through the chain-link fence, and heavy, satisfied breathing.
Gabriel sat alone near the goalpost, boots unlaced, his legs stretched out in front of him. He stared at the worn cleats on his feet—SANTAN still visible, dirt already collecting in the seams—and ran a thumb across the stitching. They had held up surprisingly well through training, even if his legs were burning from the extra effort he'd put in.
He wasn't sure if it was the boots, or something deeper, but things felt… different now.
"Yo," came a familiar voice.
Gabriel looked up to see Ryota approaching, water bottle in hand and a crooked grin on his face. Kenta and Daichi followed close behind, all three of them still flushed from training.
"You were on another level today," Ryota said, plopping down beside Gabriel. "Like, seriously. You possessed or something?"
Gabriel chuckled softly. "Nah. Just focused."
"Focused, huh," Kenta echoed, flopping down on Gabriel's other side. "You've been focused before, but today you looked like you actually wanted to be here more than you usually do."
Gabriel gave a small shrug, trying to brush it off, but Daichi crouched in front of him, squinting at his boots.
"Wait a sec," Daichi said, pointing. "Aren't those… Predators? Old-school ones?"
"Yeah," Gabriel replied, glancing down.
Gabriel leaned back on his elbows, staring up at the sky for a moment. The clouds drifted lazily, catching the golden light. "I used to like them when i first see Kaka wore it. These aren't his exactly, but… close. My mom left them for me. Said it was so I wouldn't forget."
The others were quiet for a beat. Then Kenta leaned in. "And what that Santan at the back mean?"
Gabriel nodded slowly. "Its just my name shortened Santana."
Ryota let out a low whistle. "So, its a family, thing huh?"
"Something like that," Gabriel muttered. "I used to want to be like them my two idol was my father and Kaka. Then I started playing. Then... I stopped altogether."
"Why?" Daichi asked, his voice low, but not prying—more like genuine curiosity.
Gabriel hesitated. He hadn't talked about this. Not really. Not even with Satoshi, not in detail.
"He passed away," Gabriel began slowly, voice quiet, "So the football was the only thing i have to keep a memory of him. Then in college something happen and i had to stop playing."
None of them spoke, but the silence didn't feel awkward. It felt understood. Ryota tilted his head toward Gabriel.
"So why now? Why come back?"
Gabriel looked at him, then at the field, the goalposts, the scraped grass where their drills had worn down the turf.
"Because I guess i'm not alone anymore," he said finally. "Before, it was just me and the pressure. Now… I've got a reason to fight. And honestly, I don't want to let that slip away."
Ryota gave him a solid nudge with his shoulder. "Damn. That was deep."
Gabriel smirked. "Shut up."
"I'm being serious!" Ryota laughed. "I mean, I get it. When we lost last year, I thought we were done. Like, done-done. But then Coach stuck with us and told me to just enjoy the game again. That stuck with me. You've got to remember why you love it, not just why you started."
Daichi nodded thoughtfully. "And when you start caring about the people around you… it changes everything. It's not just your win or your mistake. It becomes ours."
Gabriel looked at them, really looked, and realized how much he had missed this—this kind of bond, this camaraderie that couldn't be forced, only earned through sweat and struggle.
Kenta stood up, stretching with a groan. "Alright, philosophers. Let's hit the showers before Coach locks us out again."
"Last one to the locker room has to carry the cones tomorrow!" Kenta shouted suddenly, sprinting toward the benches.
"Hey! That's not fair!" Daichi barked, bolting after him.
Gabriel stayed seated for a second longer, a small smile playing on his lips.
"You coming?" Ryota asked, lingering.
Gabriel nodded. "Yeah. Just needed a second."
Ryota started walking off, but called back over his shoulder. "And hey… your dad would've been proud, you know."
Gabriel looked down again at the boots—scuffed, old, but holding something priceless. Pride bloomed quietly in his chest. Maybe Ryota was right.
Back in the locker room, the noise was the same chaotic mess it always was—wet towels being snapped at each other, Kenta singing off-key, Daichi grumbling about how he had to carry cones last week. But it felt warmer now. Less like background noise, more like a rhythm Gabriel could move with.
As he pulled off the boots and set them beside his bag, he found himself tracing the stitched name again.
SANTAN.
Maybe he wasn't just carrying his father's name. Maybe he was reshaping it—giving it new life on his own terms.
And maybe… that was enough.
The version of Gabriel who could play with joy and pain. With heart and clarity. With everything he had—alongside people who believed in him.
Outside the locker room, the sun had nearly set. Shadows stretched across the field as the floodlights flickered on.
But tonight, as Gabriel slung his bag over his shoulder and walked with his teammates toward the gate, laughing at something stupid Ryota said, he felt something he hadn't in a long time.
Ready.
And for once, that was enough.