Disclaimer: I don't own FMA.

Notes: Well, here it is. This is the piece of work that I've been spending all of my spare time on in the past few weeks. And rightly so. Over nine months of writing, and half of that was done in the last two months alone (approximately, of course – I wasn't counting word for word).

So I've been slogging away and not telling anyone for as long as I could, until I finally broke and needed some help, and so the very first person I'd like to thank is Bizzy for giving me a few gentle ideas here and there (and for telling me that I'm wonderful – that's always appreciated :P). I'd also like to thank Legendary Chimera for the PMs I've sent her scooting around actually telling her what it all was (half of the time doing that actually gave me ideas, so you're very helpful :3) and causmicfire, because I was in the middle of writing a huge plea of help for her (because Bizzy was asleep at the time XD) when I got one of my big breakthroughs. So thank you to all three wonderful women who have played a part in the shaping of this story, whether you know it or not.

I've started with acknowledgements because you guys are amazing and deserve to go at the very start of my story, since you were a part of my process.

And now that I'm trembling with excitement, I'll move on to giving you the story itself. Starting – of course – from the beginning (a very good place to start . . .)


"Such is the Sport of Soccer" by Dailenna

Prologue

His hand rose high into the air, acknowledging the people who had come to see him, and the crowd roared along with their hero. He had been in numerous matches, all of which only resulted in making them love him more. They had not come to adore him until he had begun to win, and hence they had not seen the side of him that early competitors had. They had not seen his foul streak when he began. Now, he was by no means a dirty player, but several previously faced foes still regarded him with malice for actions he had taken.

Such was the sport of soccer.

His hand lowered and the grin faded into determination. He jogged into his position by the ref for the toss up, across from the other team's captain. The man looked at him warily, but he was too involved in the game to notice.


She had looked up briefly with fleeting interest to see who would win the toss, and once the opposing team took the ball to start off, she looked back down to her book, skimming the pages.

"You're not even going to watch?" the woman beside her asked incredulously. Her husband was the Left-Winger. He was pacing up and down the field, his eyes magnetically attached to the ball and his feet following after it in their own style, hoping to get to touch the ball and make a break for it.

She looked up to the field for a moment, eyes glancing towards the field where he juggled the ball quickly around the other team's Centre Forward. "I don't need to watch to be sure that he'll do well. He understands that."

The other woman looked at her disapprovingly. "You could show some support, though."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

There was a silence, and when enough time had passed to make the gap awkward, she returned to her book. It wasn't all that interesting a story – it just involved her more than the soccer game did, and so was the better option for her attention. In fact, it passed by a whole lot quicker than the game, because more was being achieved than some ball being kicked from person to person.

Only a few pages passed before the other woman nudged her uncomfortably in the ribs. "Look! They've almost scored a goal!"

She looked up in exasperation, hearing the crowd's cheers of anticipation, and saw one of the Amestrian Forwards almost reach the goal circle only to have the ball deftly stolen from him by an opposing Back. The crowd let out an "aww" of disappointment, and she looked back down at the page. Quickly a silence fell before a roar erupted once again, and soon after, the buzzer went to signal the goal.

"Did you see it!? Roy took it back like it was nothing and just booted it right past the Keeper!"

Good – he had his goal. Provided that they won, he would come out of the game happy. Now there were still forty minutes of this half to go through, let alone the next. She crossed one leg over the other and huddled closer to read again – why did they always have to play on such cold, breezy days?