The sun’s rays stabbed through the morning mist, slicing it into streaks of golden light. Birds chirped the dawn, their melodies blending with the distant sounds of a town just waking up.

As Axka walked his younger brother Mika to school, a pang of pain tugged at his heart. Mika’s pace was noticeably slowed, a stark reminder of the football injury that had yet to heal.

Every step Mika took and every slight wince on his face served as a painful reminder of a memory too vivid to forget.

Axka’s mind drifted back to a time. Years earlier, when Axka was 12 and Mika was just 7, they were still adjusting to the harsh new realities of their lives. Back then, they lived in a place where children's carefree laughter echoed across wide open fields—a stark contrast to the muted whispers and wary glances that now seemed to follow them everywhere. Axka often found himself yearning for those days, that they would be accepted in a place that still felt foreign.

One day, while walking home, the familiar sound of kids engrossed in a football game reached their ears. The laughter was so infectious it seemed to make the very air dance. Mika’s face would light up at the mere sound of it, his eyes sparkling with a joy that was as bright as the clear blue sky above.

He hesitated, then, summoning his courage, approached the group of children, hoping to join their game. However, the kids stopped and stared, their expressions a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

The orphaned brothers weren’t from around there, and their refugee status marked them as outsiders. Mika’s enthusiasm quickly turned to disappointment as the children resumed their game, ignoring the pair and leaving them on the sidelines.

Axka whispered, trying to lift Mika's mood, “Hey, let’s play our own football game.”

Mika glanced up, doubt clouding his eyes. “But… we don’t have a ball,” Mika murmured, his voice barely audible.

Axka grinned, his determination shining through. “Leave that to me,” he said, already plotting their next move.

Back at their top-floor apartment in a three-story building, they entered through a central passage leading to a kitchen and a bedroom with an adjacent bathroom. Beyond this lay a small yet spacious living room with a mirrored-door corridor offering a view of the field.

As Mika waited, Axka pulled out his nearly empty notebook, tearing pages from it and crumpling them into a ball. Layer after layer, the makeshift football took shape, wrapped in tape.

“Here it is! Our own ball,” he presented it to Mika, whose eyes widened in wonder.

Without a word, they began their game. Mika positioned himself between the bedroom and kitchen, while Axka took a spot near the bathroom. In the narrow passage, their laughter echoed as they passed the makeshift ball back and forth.

It was a simple game, but it was theirs in their little world.

As the sun began to set, casting a warm orange glow over the sky, Mika paused to retrieve the paper ball near the corridor’s mirrored door. He glanced outside, where the group of children had gathered. Curiosity piqued, they watched as the children eventually left the field, abandoning their football while laughing from the excitement.

“They left their ball!” Mika exclaimed, enthusiasm filling his voice. “Let’s go get it!”

Before Axka could even utter a word of caution, Mika took off, his small feet pounding down the wooden steps with a speed driven by excitement. Axka hurried after him, his heart pounding with a mix of pride and worry.

By the time Axka reached the field, Mika was already crouched down, carefully picking up the abandoned football. He turned it over in his hands, his brow furrowed with concentration. The ball was worn and punctured but not deflated, its leather cracked and its stitching frayed, but to Mika, it was a treasure—one step closer to a dream.

“No wonder they left it,” Axka muttered, but Mika replied with optimism, “But it can still be played with!”

Axka smiled and nodded, sharing Mika’s hope for a real game.

Just then, Takoda appeared, waving and shouting from a distance. Their neighbor from the floor below had always been there for them. Since their arrival as refugees, Takoda had become a friend they never expected, his cheerful and loyal demeanor making him feel like a brother.

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Mika invited him to join their game. Axka proposed a friendly match: Takoda as defender, himself as the keeper, and Mika as the striker. He wanted Mika to experience the thrill of the game and forget his earlier disappointment.

Before starting, Axka advised Takoda to go easy on Mika to ensure he enjoyed the game. Takoda nodded, understanding.

As they played, Axka was amazed by Mika’s natural talent. His footwork was exceptional, and even Takoda, who was trying to be lenient, struggled to predict Mika’s moves.

Caught up in Mika’s talent, Axka momentarily forgot his role as the keeper. With a swift kick of his left foot, Mika sent the ball soaring past him, scoring a goal.

As Axka prepared to praise Mika, the unexpected happened—Mika suddenly collapsed making Axka's heart nearly stopped, his leg twisted unnaturally beneath him. His breath caught in his throat as he spotted the red stain spreading across Mika’s foot, the blood pooling faster than his mind could comprehend.

Panic surged through him, but instinct took over. Desperation clawed at his chest as he yanked off his shirt, pressing it hard against the wound, and tried to stop the bleeding. The fabric quickly soaked through, turning dark and sticky, and a chill ran down Axka's spine.

“Hold on, Mika,” Axka whispered, his voice breaking more than he’d like to admit.

While he held Mika, His eyes darted around, wild with panic, desperately searching for what caused this nightmare. His breath was shallow, panic clawing at his mind. Then, a movement caught his eye—Takoda, standing a few feet away, he was shocked.

In his hand, he held the football. But something was wrong. There, sticking out from the reinflate hole, was a sharp, rusted nail, its tip glinting menacingly in the afternoon sun. The realization hit Axka like a punch to the gut—the wasn’t just an accident. They put that nail in there—they’d laughed as they walked away, leaving the ball like a trap.

Those little piece of shits, rage boiled in his thoughts.

Axka had always been driven by his fierce sense of justice, but it was a double-edged sword as he was easily blinded by revenge. Every fiber of his being screamed for vengeance.

He could feel the anger bubbling up, a searing heat that threatened to consume him. The feelings of his only family he had been hurt, the image of the children, their careless laughter still echoing in his ears, sent waves of fury crashing over him. He wanted to find them, to make them feel just a fraction of the pain Mika was enduring.

But Takoda’s words brought him back to reality, “Stay with him, Axka. He needs you.”

He looked down at his brother—so small, so fragile in his arms— A hazy memory surfaced, another voice, softer but stronger, whispered within him. A promise made long ago... made to his mother during their desperate escape in an old truck:

“… never leave his side…”

Axka gasped under his breath, his heart wavered as he held his brother, feeling the blood soak through his shirt, torn between the burning desire for revenge and the need to be there, fully present, for Mika.

Taking a deep breath, he carried Mika back to their apartment, with Takoda following closely, ready to help tend to Mika’s injury. Each step felt heavier than the last. The day had started with hope and ended with a blood-soaked shirt and a wound that cut deeper than skin.

Weeks later, as Mika showed signs of recovery, Axka would sometimes find himself staring at the field, remembering that day. The scar on Mika’s leg was a constant reminder.

Takoda sensing Axka’s unresolved anger would often try to soothe Axka’s unresolved anger, reminding not just for Axka but for himself too. “Time’s a funny fuck, Axka. It heals the deepest scars—both the ones you see and the ones buried in your soul,” he said with a grin but Axka wasn’t so sure. Some scars, he thought, are too deep for time to touch.

From that day on, Mika and Axka played with the paper ball. Months passed, and Axka saved everything he earned, hoping to buy a real football for Mika. But life had other plans.

One day, Mika came home with news of joining the school’s football club. Axka felt a swell of pride. Though Mika started coming home late due to club activities, weighing on him and almost making him quit, he encouraged him.

“Don’t give up on what you love,” Axka advised. “You have the talent, Mika. You could become a football star one day.”

Inspired, Mika remained committed to the club. Despite his busy schedule, he always made time for his brother, just as Axka had always done for him.

Axka’s thoughts were yanked back to the present when Mika limping beside him. He guided Mika through the crowded school hallway, he could feel the weight of a thousand whispers, the curious eyes like sharp needles pressing into their skin from all directions. Each glance felt like a judgment, each whispering a tale of his rumors.

But he didn’t care. His focus was unwavering, fixed solely on Mika, guiding him through the sea of faces with a protective hand on his shoulder. The rest of the world faded away, leaving only the two of them, each step evidently showing that he would always be there.

As Axka turned to head to his own school, he glanced back one last time, the weight of a thousand fears pressing down on them. He hoped everything would be alright, but in his world, hope was a fragile, dangerous thing.