Forward: 2003.

My name is Kinomoto Sakura, born on the first of April 1987–my mum and dad said that on that sunny Wednesday morning, all the parks and the streets in Tokyo were flooded in pink petals of full-blooming cherry blossoms. It was the perfect day to go for a picnic with family and friends, share your home made bento box with each other and catching up on their lives. People around me always comment on how my smile reflects my bright and bubbly personality. Other than possessing great athletic ability, keen interest in cooking and fervent passion for arts, I'm just like any other ordinary girls. What is this story about, you ask? This is just a story about how he sparked the dull, dead feathers on my wings; encouraging me to soar high in the sky once again—no, actually scratch that. This is a story about how we showed each other how to flap our wings and fly in the lightning storm, not bothered by the thunder, rather learn to love them; as when they crash, the feathers on our wings sparkle magnificently like amber and emerald.


Saturday, 12 January 2003

Blanketed under the golden rays of wintry sun, a black and white ball rolled back and forth between players; travelling across the distance on a giant green carpet. As the duration of the match stretched due to extra time, sweat sprinkled the soil as the twenty young boys struggled to muster their depleted energy in order to keep lifting their heels from the ground, swinging their arms and chasing the ball. The LED clock glared dull red, constantly counting up how long the game had been. Suspense and anxiety brooded over the crowd dressed in blue as the number of minute showed on the clock turned from two- to three-digits. The scoreboard hanging next to the clock read Tomoeda High 1-1 Karasuno High.

Tomoeda High needed to score at least one more goal for them to seize the title "81st Winter Kokuritsu Champions" in the short remaining time, or they had to kiss goodbye to gold medals and trophy cup once the umpire called for a penalty shootout as a tiebreaker; Karasuno High's goalkeeper was a god-level player—he broke the record for having the highest blocking rate in the country.

"Remaining time", huh? Well, just like they say, nothing is eternal. The sun rises, but it sets. Likewise, storm rages, but it subsides. Everything, good and bad, must come to an end. They say it doesn't matter how slowly you go so long as you never stop. But, what if life cruelly wanted to stop you even though you don't intend to do so?

"Remaining time"—the me from those days was still way too young and naïve to understand the true meaning behind these words.

One of Tomoeda players, cladded in sky-blue jersey, dashed against the wind; the perfectly round ball was rolling smoothly across the field, occasionally brushing the side of his foot, until his foot abruptly pressed it against the artificial grass. An opponent in black jersey stood in front of him, his back slightly bent, was ready to pounce at the ball in any second. The player in blue feinted with his shoulders to the left and pushed the ball straight ahead with his right foot. As his opponent's body reflex fell to his deception, the perfectly round ball glided smoothly through the hollow in between the legs of the player in black.

Once succeeded in penetrating their defence, he zipped to the penalty box, aiming for a shot—but effortlessly defended by the foe's formidable goalkeeper. Tomoeda supporters wilted, their faces full of lines and bleak, and groaned. Some planted their faces to their palms and fell back to their seats—legs unintentionally shaking—and a few of them couldn't fight back the urge to nip their nails. A girl amongst the chanting Tomoeda cheer squad, clenched her pom-poms and nibbled on her bottom lip; her emerald eyes anxiously peering at the clock, which momentarily seemed to tick by extremely fast. Exactly 115:00. Five more minutes to the end of the match.

The failed striker grabbed a lock of his chestnut hair and sighed, but immediately brushed off his frustration and shouted to his teammates, threatening to kill them if they dared to even think about giving in to their shaky legs.

I may be just an ordinary girl, and he may be just another ordinary boy. But, together we turn each other's world upside-down and make the most extraordinary out of the ordinaries.

As soon as the umpire's whistle broke out, tension once again filled the stadium. The chestnut-haired striker bumped into an opposing player—his bearded face contorted, clearly not welcoming the player in blue whose amber eyes furtively preying on the ball resting on the tip of his toes. The amber-eyed boy licked the bottom of his dry lips; his brain buzzing with trickeries on how to steal the soulless sphere everyone on the pitch competed for. Like those of a hawk, his eyes detected the underlying motive behind his opponent's exaggerated motion. In a split of a second, he robbed the ball from his possession and herded it from his palace at one end of the arena to the foe's fortress at the other side.

Looking down at the heated clash erupting between blue and black, the emerald-eyed girl leaned her tensed calf against the arena's bench. She felt the scorching burn in the back of her throat and stumbled in her chant. Dots of sweat formed around her neck and nape, soaking the collar of her cheer club's uniform. She held her breath and felt her heart drumming chaotically behind her ribs, praying for the goddess of victory to bestow her blessings upon them.

My life, however, slightly skews from normality—my heart beats differently from other people's and apparently it's lethal. Cardiac cancer left me with only months to survive on Earth, forcing me to say goodbye to not only anything I've culminated through years with blood, sweat and tears, but also to anything that I would potentially achieve should I have more years to live. I've asked myself countless of times; how should I feel and what should I do after hearing that I would shortly be freed from this unfair, miserable life? Should I feel rebellious, and weep, and pity myself for the pain and unjustness? Or, should I feel blessed, and give thanks, and praise the heavens for granting me liberation from worldly agony? But, no. None of those matters. At least for me, none of those even matters. Not when I feel loved—by everyone who I care about and also cares about me, and especially by him.

The knights in black jersey formed a barricade, cautiously defending their quarter. The challenger in blue shielded the ball from the defenders with his nimble legs, all for the sake of smuggling it into the heavily guarded goal post—secured by one last beast. He finally succeeded in sneaking into their palace; his heart raced as the distance between him and the last boss shortened. For a moment, he thought time had frozen as the post beyond the stiffened goalkeeper gently whispered to him, reminding him to calm down, fling unnecessary worries: people's expectation, time limit and doubts to the air, and focus only to the white net at this one crucial moment. He locked his ankle, bent his hips and swung his right leg, discharging all the momentum built up inside him to the ball that had been following his foot. The ball took off; as if disobeying the laws of physics, it formed an arch in the air, hit the tip of the goalkeeper's glove, spun like a gyro and thrust the corner of the white net like a bullet.

The stadium exploded with euphoric cheer; supporters in blue, old and young, rose to applaud and yell at the top of their lungs while proudly waving sky-blue-accented flags and banners with Tomoeda's school logo printed on them. Some looked flushed red and brimming with tears, and a few strangers were seen huddling together—unable to contain their swirling emotions.

At one corner of the bright green turf, the scorer swallowed his pride and gave in to his emotional outbreak: yelling, running, jumping and punching the air—things that he would imagine himself cringe from doing. In a momentary lapse of tension of the high-stakes match, the other players in sky-blue jersey flocked to him and sprang on him, as if they were banqueting on a free, luxurious buffet. The stadium was still glorious, but the scorer was no longer visible—he was buried under a pile of bodies as his teammates brawled and jostled against each other to ruffle his chestnut hair, and shower the sweat-drenched boy with kisses (non-reciprocal) and affectionate offensive words.

The Tomoeda cheer squad, who crowded four of the most front rows of the stadium seats booked for Tomoeda High officials, took the celebration in the stadium to the next level by crying victorious chants while dancing and tossing their yellow pom-poms; flames of enthusiasm, sparks of youth and bursts of high energy saturated the atmosphere in the whole arena.

The two commentators who were on the edge of their seats for the entire match nearly fell off their chairs, before suppressing their screams, re-adjusting their headphones and ultimately one of them announcing the game-changing news, "What an unexpected turn of events, ladies and gents! Two minutes away from the end of the match, striker Li Syaoran from Tomoeda High—the famous underdog of this year's All-Japan High School Football Tournament, just shot a curveball past the genius goalie and into the goalpost—what a spectacular goal! Thanks to his brilliant effort, it's 2-1 now and victory seems to be favouring Tomoeda High!"

The other commentator caressed the back of his hairless head in incredulity, "And can we also talk about that fancy footwork of his right before he made the goal? It's a work of art! For him to be able to deliver such outstanding performance under last-minute pressure... As rumoured, he is terrifying!"

"Exactly, Yamada-san! I've watched Winter Kokuritsu, the most prestigious annual nationwide high school football tournament for more than 30 years in my whole career, and I have to say this is definitely one of the top 5 most worth-watching games!"

The umpire blew his whistle—hushing the overzealous crowd—as a signal that the game had not yet ended and needed to continue. The girl squad ended their cheering by gracefully singing their school's solemn hymn. Tomoeda players that colonised the the area by the border of the pitch dispersed at the clap of the umpire; every one of them back at their position, hot and flaming, ready for the next two-minute decisive round.

The scorer ran his fingers through his unruly hair, attempting to fix the mess left his teammates, but to no avail. His eyes roamed around the girls in the cheer squad, who immediately put a wide grin on the latter, and finally stopped when he spotted a figure he was searching for—an auburn-haired girl, eyes shut, seemingly self-absorbed in her singing. As if the two communicated via telepathy, the girl's eyes flung open and turned to him. As amber locked in gaze with emerald, a smirk flickered at the corner of the boy's mouth. As if the Cupid visited the crowded stadium, the girls squealed and waved ostentatiously to the amber-eyed boy. Cheeks painted with hues of red and lips involuntarily tweaked into a radiant smile, the owner of the pair of emeralds replied with a thumbs-up.

A hundred and twenty seconds went by uneventfully and the stadium's horn howled, marking the end of the national's final match. The stadium exploded into loud uproar, and the mass was divided into those who screamed at the sky out of relief, feeling victorious; and those who were crestfallen, droning in sobs, murmurs and gasps. The two commentators congratulated the victors and thanked both teams for delivering such an intense, thrilling match. News reporters held their microphones and announced the history-changing event in front of large cameras. Sports journalists were busy taking notes and photographs of Tomoeda players, especially those of Li Syaoran, the captain of Tomoeda High as well as the star-player of the match who contributed in achieving triumph by scoring the last-minute goal.

That day, Tomoeda High won the national Winter Kokuritsu championship as a representative from Tokyo even though the opponent—Karasuno High, representing the Miyagi prefecture—was deemed the undefeated champion for claiming the gold trophy cup for decades. See? Nothing is everlasting.

Tomoeda players and their coach lay on top of each other; every individual experiencing sudden emotional outburst, but none of them bothered to wipe off their tears of joy. Some of them were even blowing their nose on their teammate's jersey. But, instead of pushing away their teammates, they pulled them into an embrace and bawled together. The captain, who intuitively knew what his approaching teammates' intention was, simply glared at them with his watery eyes. Famous for his ill temper—albeit rumour had it that he had been somewhat tame in the past few months—they hesitated and finally settled for a bro-fist. The captain called and beckoned all Tomoeda players to gather at one side of the stadium. Once all of them were assembled, in unify they held their hand behind waist and bowed before the raucous supporters, filling the air with thunderous clapping and high-pitched whistles.

Once again, the same pair of amber eyes bored into dazzling emerald eyes—the two bobbed their head at each other. The boy gave a sheepish grin as he stealthily unclasped his hands and posed a V-sign with his right. The girl, amused at his bashfulness, brought the back of her palm to her mouth, covering her giggle. Her chest rose as she took a deep inhale, and she shouted at him with both hands circling her mouth, "Congratulations, Li-senpai!"

I really thought nothing could last forever, until the day came when I honestly think there's something that can exist perpetually. Much like cancer, love is unpredictable. I used to think it was just a high school crush—a mere puppy love, an infatuation. But, I never thought my childish feelings for him could ever develop and bloom this much. In the end, I was proven wrong. I've fallen too deep for that person. I love him. So much so that even if someday this heart stops beating, I'm certain that my love for him will still continue to beat—timelessly.


A/N: This fic is dedicated to Syaosaku where I try to incorporate some thought-provoking ideas beyond romance, and by sharing it with people online, I wish it could give inspiration and brighten someone's day.

How did you decide Sakura's birth year? Okay this is not, in any way, just a random pick. Those who are born on 1 April in Japan enter elementary school on the day they turn 6 (making them the youngest in their generation). Our heroine was born on this date and because she was a fourth-grader back in 1996 (the year of CCS serialization), it would be logical to say that she turned 9 on 1 April 1996. Now, subtract 9 from 1996 and we get the holy 1987!

A little trivia on All-Japan High School Football Tournament: lasts for ~2 weeks from the end of December to mid-January, widely known as "Winter Kokuritsu"—and yeah, I wasn't joking when I wrote "the news reporter did XX", "the two commentators did XX" and "the sports journalists did XX". High school sports tournament is a BIG deal in Japan. I deeply thank Haikyuu for this piece of knowledge. As such, I intentionally named Tomoeda's opponent "Karasuno" and of course they were representing Miyagi. Now you know why their goalkeeper was godly—he was the guardian deity of Karasuno after all. Shout-out to Haikyuu readers! (Sorry, non-Haikyuu readers, and you know what? You should definitely watch this UH-MAE-ZING show. Ok, I'll hold myself back and leave it there.)