June 7, 2016

"Good morning, Japan! This is Urahara Kisuke and Tessai Tsukabishi bringing you all the latest sports coverage live from Karakura Town! We've got a lot to cover this morning, but let's start first by talking about the roster for the 2015 FIFA World Cup. A lot of talented players were chosen to represent our country, and many of them grew up in Karakura Town, isn't that right, Tessai?"

"Yes, Urahara-san."

"Among those chosen were Ichigo Kurosaki and Renji Abarai of our own home team, the Soul Reapers! It's about time Japan took notice of the talent in our small community! They played a great game against Pantera last season, 2-2 with a penalty kick that won them the game. Kurosaki-san was Captain of the Soul Reapers. I'm sure they'll miss him."

"Yes, Urahara-san. Great talent, great guy."

"Abarai's a talented guy. A bit of a firebrand though, wouldn't you say? He's been shown the red card more than anyone else in the Soul Reapers."

"Yes. He's a great defender. Very aggressive, very good at reading the opposing team, but he does let his emotions get the best of him at times."

"Indeed! On the subject of Pantera, one of their own was also chosen; Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez. Ah, do you hear that? I can hear the women screaming their delight through the cameras at me! Ladies, ladies, calm yourself!"

"Indeed, Urahara-san."

"What can you say about Jaegerjaquez-san? That name, firstly; it stands out, it catches your attention, and if his name didn't do it that blue hair and his attitude on the field certainly would do the trick."

"Apparently there was some controversy when people heard he was signed. The guy hasn't got any discipline."

"Yes. Shinji Hirako, goalkeeper for the Vizards, left team Japan. He'd played against Jaegerjaquez back in 2011 and these are his exact words, "He's a pain in the ass. I'll play against him, but I ain't playing with him." Now, those are some choice words and I'm not saying I agree with him, but he and Jaegerjaquez have some history, don't they?"

"Yes, Urahara-san. They got into a fight during the game after Jaegerjaquez tried to head a goal. Hirako-san claimed Jaegerjaquez purposefully threw the ball into his face. Jaegerjaquez's reason; "His teeth were fucked up, so I fixed 'em." Oh my!"

"That was something. And we've heard similar reports of this kind of behavior from him for years now! He's been fouled, suspended during games, but he's never gotten the message. It's the kind of person he is, it's the kind of image he wants; the bad boy on and off the field. Do you think anyone else with his record would have made this team?"

"Uarahara-san, if he were mediocre, he wouldn't be worth the bad press. He has excellent heading accuracy, he's got great pace, and he excels at tackling. He's won more games for Pantera than any other player before him. It must have been hard for them to let him go."

"Indeed. He was signed to them for four years. That's the longest he's been on a team and if history is any reminder, we all know how picky Jaegerjaquez can be about the team he's signed to. He must have liked playing with them. How many teams has he been with?"

"I can't say, Urahara-san. He was with Arrancar for a year, then they started losing and he left. Who else?"

"He was with Seireitai for a while! Two years. Those were the best years for them, well, until they started losing games during his third year with them, then he took off. Interesting, isn't it? He is truly driven to play with only the best. Pantera was the longest he's ever been on a team. What a great run they had with him!"

"Indeed, Urahara-san."

"He's a great player, in fact, I'd say he's one of the best defenders in Japan. But he's…ahh, it's so hard to say especially about a defender…He's not a team player. There have been quite a few fights during games and practices because of his behavior. He's a frustrating guy to work with."

"Yes. A shame."

"He's a talented young man, but the World Cup isn't just another ball game. If he wants to secure his team a spot in Germany, he has to have his teams support. A team is supposed to be your family, people you can rely on and trust. If he thinks he can win by himself, he's going to be too worn out to continue! Now, onto another well-known player selected for the World Cup roster from team Espada. He is only 5'6½ but he's well known for using that to his advantage, scoring over 30 goals, more than anyone on the team."

Scowling, Grimmjow turned off the television and his heart flew into his throat as his phone vibrated against his knee. His heart pounding, Grimmjow cursed as his heart settled into a frantic pace, his fingers digging into the knee of his jeans.

God, I need a fucking fix.

He'd been off coke for a month and half in preparation for the tryouts in order to pass the drug test, and he'd gone through the last of his stash in two weeks. Gilga was out of town and though he said he'd be back by tonight, Grimmjow was craving a fix he couldn't have.

He snatched up his phone with shaking hands and checked his messages, sniffing longingly and breathing in the stale air of his apartment. He'd been sent a message from his aunt Nelliel.

Nelliel: Congratulations on making the team!

Grimmjow: Thanks. Knew I would.

Nelliel: Do your best. I'm proud of you. Stay off the drugs. You're one and a half months clean; use this as a chance to turn things around. I'm always here if you need to talk.

Grimmjow felt bad for lying to his aunt. She'd looked out for him after his mother and father abandoned him, she'd put food in his belly and a roof over his head. He'd barely known her yet she'd wasted her time on him and how did he repay her? By lying to her.

He tried to ignore the guilt. Lying was kinder than the truth; she'd been so happy when he told her he'd stopped using. He would only disappoint her. He set aside his phone, too bitter to reply, and waited, though he wasn't sure why.

He opened up his Facebook, wondering if he'd missed a notification, he double checked his messages. Nothing. Why wasn't he surprised? What had he been expecting; Shawlong, Elforte and D-Roy had never been his friends. They were teammates, nothing more.

I played with those fuckers for four years... Least they could do is send some kinda acknowledgment…

He could remember the day he'd first joined Pantera. He'd just left Seireitai after the loss of their best forward. The new guy they'd brought on had crippled the team and cost them games so, just like with Arrancar, he'd packed his bags and moved on. He couldn't afford to play on a losing team.

Grimmjow had his eyes on Pantera for a few months before leaving Seireitai when he'd realized they would lose in their season. They were doing much better by comparison; winning nearly all of their 38 games, topping the Soul Reapers. Anyone who gave the Soul Reaper's an ass kicking was good in his book.

He tried out, joined, and made a name for himself on the first day of practice when a blond, bucktoothed stutterer named D-Roy sauntered up to him. D-Roy introduced him to his friends, Shawlong and Elforte, and they'd shown him respect, believing him to be the player they'd been waiting for to lead their team to glory. As they went on to play and win games together, D-Roy began to come to him for advice on his defense, Elforte complimented his hair, and Shawlong provided a voice of reason when things weren't going in their favor.

As he played alongside them, watched their backs like they watched his, Grimmjow felt camaraderie between them. They respected his abilities on the field, they followed his strategies, and they were down to grab drinks after a hard won game. If that wasn't friendship, then what was it?

Looking back, he wondered if he'd assumed too much. There was a difference between people who respected you as their better and people who called you friend. Friends weren't superior or inferior; it was a balance where you were respected as an equal. Grimmjow couldn't say for sure if anyone would ever place him in that category.

If Shawlong, D-Roy and Elforte were his friends, they would be contacting him to congratulate him; they would have stayed in touch after he left Pantera. Now that he was reflecting on it (instead of shoving his thoughts and feelings into the back of his mind like he always did when he left a team) he felt bitter anger stirring inside him.

Grimmjow scowled and turned off his phone. Fine. He didn't need them anyway. Pantera was the past. Team Japan and the World Cup was his future. Excitement set his heart racing and he grinned. They could have chosen anyone else to compete, but they'd chosen him. This was his big chance to finally prove himself to everyone who'd doubted him.

He would win himself a spot on the road to Germany. It would be the hardest challenge of his life to play that many games for so long, but he could do it. He had his skills as a defender and he had coke. There was no way in hell he was backing down and he wouldn't settle for anything less than to hold the World Cup trophy in his hands. His mother would regret walking away from him, his father would eat his words and he would solidify his place in soccer history as the best of the best.

They didn't call him King of the Field for nothing.

Grimmjow slung his legs out of bed and went to the dresser to change. Outside his floor-to-ceiling windows, he could see the city of Tokyo sprawled out below him. The clouds were gray but rain wasn't in today's forecast. He took a moment to admire his view of the Shinjuku ward; the streets below him illuminated by flashing, blinking advertisements and bustling streets, and was struck by the fact that after so many years, he was here.

He'd spent his childhood hating Karakura Town, the town he'd grown up in after his family relocated from France. He'd hating his school, hating his classmates who bullied him for his French heritage, his home and his neighborhood. He'd gone to sleep at night dreaming that one day, he and his mother would leave his abusive father and move into an apartment in Tokyo, far away.

Well, his mother wasn't here, but he was. He had no idea where she'd gone or what she was doing now. He didn't know if his father was still alive but he wanted to say no, he wasn't. Grimmjow snorted to himself. He'd left Karakura years ago, but people from the past were still coming back to haunt him; Kurosaki, Abarai…

"At least I'm not a junkie like you." Kurosaki's brown eyes had never looked so condescending.

He gnashed his teeth. How's it feel to know a junkie made the World Cup roster, Kurosaki? Bet you never imagined that, did you? I'll show you who the better player is. Mark my fucking words.

Grimmjow dressed, throwing on some sweats and a tee-shirt. Today was going to be a great day; he'd go to tryouts, piss off Kurosaki and Abarai, and then he'd come home and get high. What could be better?

He walked to the subway, weaving through the usual morning crowds. He caught his train and rode it down to Tokyo Dome, a stadium in the Bunkyo ward. The stadium, well known for its signature egg-shaped design, was vacant this time of day. Grimmjow had played a few games here in the past. He'd played his first game here with Seireitai. He could remember the crowds chanting for him as he shot the ball offside to keep it out of the attacking team's hands.

"All hail the King! All hail the King!" they'd cried. He remembered Kira Izuru slapping him on the back, his usually glum face alight with glee. He remembered fist-bumping Byakuya Kuchiki even though the man claimed he hated such immature displays. He had good memories with that team. It was a shame they'd gone downhill. For a short time, they'd almost felt like family. Almost. But he'd fallen out of touch with the Seireitai team the moment he moved on, so perhaps they hadn't shared his feelings.

"Oh shit…" He turned and saw not one shade of orange, but two. Kurosaki Ichigo stood behind him; Inoue Orihime was beside him, her hand in his.

"Grimmjow-kun?" Orihime said, tilting her head at him. Kurosaki looked like someone had shoved shit under his nose. Grimmjow smiled at the sight of Kurosaki's discomfort.

"Well, well…long time no see, Kurosaki."

"Not long enough." Grimmjow barked laughter. It felt good to know Kurosaki hated him as much as Grimmjow did.

"I'm surprised they even let you on the team, Kurosaki. I guess they're just letting anyone in now, huh?"

"Guess so. I thought they were doing drug tests these days. I guess not." Grimmjow figured Kurosaki must have seen his twitching fingers bouncing up and down against his knee. Grimmjow's hand clenched in his pocket. Kurosaki was giving him that look he despised so much; like he wasn't worth his time.

"So, how's your mom, Kurosaki? Still dead? Yeah, that's what I thought."

Kurosaki's nostrils flared. "Kurosaki-kun, don't listen to him." Orihime touched his arm, "Leave him alone, Grimmjow-kun." Grimmjow snorted. Did this bitch seriously think he was going to listen to her?

Kurosaki's fingers clenched around her hand and he tried to walk around Grimmjow. Grimmjow cut them off. He wasn't letting Kurosaki walk away unruffled.

"So what? You two are an item now?"

"Move it, Grimmjow. I'm not wasting my time on you."

"No, I get it. She looks like your mom, Kurosaki. I can understand it."

Ichigo's lips formed a thin line and Grimmjow's stomach did backflips.

"Ichigo, man, what's up?" A flash of red tore by Grimmjow and Abarai slung his arm around Ichigo's shoulders.

"Hey, Renji. Congrats on making the team!"

"Go, Japan, go!" Orihime cheered and Abarai led them around Grimmjow as if he weren't there.

"Hurry up, you idiot!" Rukia Kuchiki hollered. "Practice starts soon!"

Renji rolled his eyes and swept the smaller girl in close to kiss her forehead. "Love you, too."

Grimmjow stared after them. What the hell had happened to Kurosaki? A few years ago, a comment about his mother had been enough to get the man to challenge him to a game after school.

Kurosaki said goodbye to Inoue with a kiss and he and Renji hurried inside, arms around each other's shoulders. Orihime and Rukia walked off together and Grimmjow watched them leave, unable to figure out what had just happened. Anger curdled in his gut and he balled his fists.

Did Kurosaki think he was above Grimmjow now? Why, because he had friends, because he had a girlfriend and Grimmjow had no one? He was mistaken. None of that mattered on the field. Grimmjow would make him see that.

Scowling, he pushed open the glass door and proceeded through the hallway to the field. Reporters were flocking to take pictures of Renji and Ichigo.

"Kurosaki-san, is it true that you have a girlfriend?"

"Abarai-san, how do you feel about playing in the World Cup with Kurosaki-san?"

Grimmjow smirked, thinking he could slip by, but to his chagrin a group of five reporters broke away from the crowd accosting Abarai and Kurosaki and rushed at him.
"Jaegerjaquez-san, back in June you were accused of driving under the influence! Is that why you left Pantera?" Grimmjow raised his brows in disbelief. Were these people stupid? The incident generated bad press, but he'd announced he was leaving Pantera before the incident so he hadn't particularly cared.

He couldn't remember that particular night; he could hear girl's laughing, smell their dope and perfume, and he could vaguely recall a head of blonde hair between his legs. Then he'd come to in the police station and had Nnoitra bail him. He'd lost his wallet, too; one of the girls had run off with it.

"Jaegerjaquez-san, you were seen leaving a club with a man! Are you homosexual?"

"Jaegerjaquez-san, Karakura Celebs is saying you have aids because you've lost a lot of weight! Is that true?"

"Jaegerjaquez-san, will you be able to play in the World Cup with your deteriorating health?"

Grimmjow shoved through them and made a beeline for the doors out into the field. He had no idea where people got these ideas from. So what if he was thinner than he once was? When he snorted coke, his appetite was none existent. He felt like a machine and he was as healthy as the next man.

So far the press had no idea about his occasional gay fling and he planned to keep it that way so he wasn't going to worry about it. Grimmjow stepped out into the stadium and looked at the mountains of seats that rose up towards the domed ceiling. He remembered throwing his arms around Elforte and Shawlong's shoulders after they won a game here, jumping up and down with them in their euphoria.

His hands shook and he sniffed longingly, clenching his jaw. Would he be at his best today without coke? It had been so long since he'd done anything on the field without it. He felt tired without it, and his stomach rumbled with hunger. He hadn't eaten today, he'd forgotten to. Usually he didn't have to; coke sustained him for practice, then he grabbed a quick bite afterwards.

He didn't know how anyone played without it. How could they? He played 38 games in a season, and practiced for four hours four days a week. He didn't trust himself to get by without it anymore. He was aching for it now. What if he wasn't his best today and the press noticed? What other things would they say about him?

When the magazines began spreading rumors and when it was reported that he'd been driving under the influence, his fans had come out to express their disappointment and their support. Majorly, their messages had been full of disappointment. They'd looked up to him; they'd thought he was better than this, etcetera, etcetera.

His stomach churned. He would turn things around. The World Cup would affirm his place in soccer history.

The shrill scream of the whistle made him jump. He turned and saw a tall, muscular man stepping onto the field. His hair was done up in sharp spikes with little bells attached to each spike. A scar ran along his face. He looked less like a coach and more like a war veteran. Maybe he was.

"Get your asses over here, all of you!" He hollered and from all sides of the pitch, team Japan assembled. Ikkaku Maderame the defender from Seireitai, stood with a grin, his bald head shining under the lights; Yumichika Ayasegawa, the fashionable midfielder from Gotei 13, tossed his bob haircut and glided across the field; Uryuu Ishida, striker for the Quincies, pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. He saw Kurosaki and Abarai quit horsing around and hurry over to join the group, Kurosaki's eyes blazing with that determination Grimmjow hated so much. Shuuhei Hisagi, goalie of Seireitai, marched out to meet the coach, his 69 tattoo caught Grimmjow's attention. Toshirou Hitsugaya the striker from Gotei 13, and a few others whose names he didn't' know went to meet Kenpachi.

Their coach announced, "I'm Zaraki Kenpachi, and I'm the one that's gonna get you sorry assholes to Germany, or bust. I saw a few of you horsing around when I came in, and I'm gonna tell you right now; you don't dick around on Kenpachi's time, not if you wanna go to Germany. Clear?"

He got a collective yes from the team. Grimmjow was quiet.

"I don't care what winning team you're from or how many games you've got under your belt. The World Cup isn't your average ball game. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. I'm gonna do my damndest to get us there, but you've gotta put in an effort. That means; you come to practice on time, you follow my instructions, you dedicate yourself to this team. No horseshit."

The team agreed and Kenpachi scowled. "You in the back, you've been pretty quiet. Maybe you should meet blueberry over here who also thinks he's too much of a big shot to answer me when I'm talking to him." He beckoned. "Come on. I'm not putting up with this crap. I want a clear yes from both of you so I know we're not gonna have any problems here."

"I'm sorry my silence gave you the wrong impression, coach." Grimmjow's breath got stuck in his throat. A prickling feeling raced from his neck to the base of his spine. He knew that voice. How could he not; hadn't he heard his name moaned into his ear on the breath of that voice?

It was monotonous, and cold like the winter winds, and it had been twelve years since heard it, but there was no mistaking that velvet voice. Grimmjow turned and, just like he thought he would, he saw Ulquiorra Cifer glide through the crowd behind him.

He looked nearly identical to the teenager Grimmjow had shared lustful nights with in the Karakura Rose so many years ago; from his messy raven locks framing his heart-shaped face, to his slim, athletic stature. Looking at him, Grimmjow felt like he was back in the locker rooms with him the first day of practice, exchanging banter while the thrum of arousal ached between his legs.

At the sight of him, Ulquiorra stopped walking and Grimmjow was astonished when Ulquiorra didn't react. Not one eyebrow quirked upwards, dual-colored lips remained in a tight frown, not even a slight inhale of breath was heard. Ulquiorra Cifer's emerald eyes looked right through him just like they'd looked through him the day this man ruined everything for him.

The first night Grimmjow tried cocaine, he'd been eighteen years old. Ulquiorra had been there with him. He'd implored Grimmjow to quit. Grimmjow wanted to, but he'd had a game tomorrow and worried he wouldn't be able to play without it.

He didn't get a chance to play. He'd come home to his parents fighting, his mother stormed out of the house, never to return. The school found out he was using and expelled him, but only after they told his parents. Because of Ulquiorra, he'd lost his mother, his father abandoned him to live with his aunt, and his reputation had gone down the drain. After all these years and all the games he'd won, the name he'd made for himself, he still wasn't worthy of Ulquiorra Cifer's attention.

Grimmjow would never forget the last time they met. In the school yard, blinking at him through furious tears. He bloodied Ulquiorra's nose. How could he forget the day his first love became his first hate? Ulquiorra betrayed him. Yet what made him more furious was that Grimmjow knew he alone was to blame for everything.

Ulquiorra's eyes barely lingered on him for a second before that dead, empty stare passed through him to Kenpachi and he continued without a stutter or tremor, "I was listening to every word you said. I thought my silence made that clear." Grimmjow's blood boiled, his fingers curled and he gnashed his jaw so tightly it hurt.

"You're still an addict to me, Jaegerjaquez." Those dead emerald eyes said, "You're unworthy of even looking at."

He saw red. His hand shot out and closed around a bony wrist so small, his hand completely covered it. Grimmjow could feel the eyes of everyone in the crowd on him for the first time today but there was only one person whose attention meant anything to him. Ulquiorra turned his head and even as they stood close enough for Grimmjow to smell his aftershave; Ulquiorra looked in his direction but his eyes were fixated on a spot above his head.

The silence hung like a guillotine above their heads. Grimmjow didn't know if he wanted to let loose at him and scream every insult he'd ever imagined hurling at him if they'd met again, or if he wanted to start swinging for all the damage this man had done then to dare act like he was above him.

Instead he smiled, baring his teeth as he imagined sinking them into the moon-white skin of Ulquiorra's throat. "Too good to say hello, huh, Ulquiorra?" He tugged on his wrist and brought him closer, forcing Ulquiorra to turn his body to face him. "That's rude of you. Go on. Don't be shy." He wrenched on him, digging his nails into the underside of his wrist. His breath grew shallow and he sniffed in his agitation. "Come on. You fucking ruined everything for me. The least you can do is look me in the fucking eyes when you see me. Or are you pissed off someone like me made it big?"

He'd barely finished speaking when Ulquiorra said, "Let go of me." There was not an inflection in his voice to indicate any memory of their past encounter. It was as if they'd never tumbled over in the mud together, as if his fist hadn't shattered Ulquiorra's nose and turned his pale skin crimson, as if Ulquiorra hadn't destroyed his family and gotten him expelled.

Grimmjow was nothing to him. Not worth a look, not worth a shred of impatience or dislike. In his disbelief that set his blood pumping rage throughout his body, Ulquiorra wrenched his hand away and Grimmjow stumbled forward. He tucked his hand back into his pocket and turned his back on Grimmjow as he went on his way to greet Kenpachi.

Seeing Ulquiorra Cifer again was the beginning of Grimmjow's spiral into the conclusion of his addiction. Nothing mattered except knocking Ulquiorra Cifer off his high horse and down into the filth with him.

Sometimes people have to hit rock bottom before they realize how far they've fallen, and Grimmjow Jaegerjaquez wouldn't just hit the bottom. He'd keep on digging until he'd worn down the stony surface of his misery to the dirt at the bottom.

And he wouldn't stop until it was too late.