For a moment time freezes. You hang upside down, your body halfway through a perfect arc, the ball inches from your foot. The roar of the crowd is silent. The ball doesn't move. Neither do you. Everything has come down to this split-second. You savor it.
In that frozen moment, you already know the ball will hit the back of the net. You can already hear the goal buzzer, can already feel the energy of the crowd surging to its feet.
You smile. This moment is what you live for.
And then it's over. The buzzer rings, the crowd roars, your teammates embrace you. It's all a rush, time having graced you with a perfect moment, now makes up for it by racing at an unnatural clip. Seconds blur together, minutes pass in a blink.
oºoºo
The next thing you know, you're toweled off, your hair just barely damp as you stand outside the stadium. Your hand is nearly numb from signing autographs. The crowd has largely dissipated and someone from the team waves off the security guards, allowing the half dozen remaining fans to approach the players unrestricted.
Two girls, about your own age, catch your eye. One has bright pink hair, the other brilliant purple. Purple-hair blushes when you smile at her and the pair walks up to you.
"We're your biggest fans! That last shot was so awesome! Oh my gosh, could you do it again? We need to see it again!" Pink-hair is bouncing in excitement while purple-hair just stares at you, wide-eyed.
"Sure I can do it again! I could even teach you." You lean in, conspiratorially. "I bet I could even sneak you into the sphere—"
You aren't able to finish the sentence before an older woman shoves her way in front of the girls, pushing you back with a hand on your bare chest. "You're so small! Could this little thing really be Jecht's son? You know, I saw every one of his matches. Such an amazing player!"
Startled by her brazenness, you slide away from the woman's touch, accidentally backing into a teammate, the most senior member of the team.
The teammate turns around. "You're interested in Jecht, you say? You know, I was a rookie his last year playing. He was my mentor, really took me under his wing. Taught me all his secrets."
The woman turns away from you, brushing past you as she approaches your teammate. "Really? Did he teach you the Sublimely Magnificent Jecht Shot Mark III?"
"Of course! I was his favorite!" The teammate puts his arm around the woman and they join the rest of the team. The team is already drifting toward Pepper's Pub, as they always do after a game.
You, glad to be rid of the woman, turn back toward the bright-haired girls. But they aren't there. As you turn back toward the departing team, you see flashes of pink and purple bobbing in amidst the group of yellow uniforms.
"You coming?" the teammate at the rear of the group asks.
You shake your head. "Not tonight."
"Suit yourself. Good game tonight."
You nod. It's a ritual. Every time a different teammate asks, and every time you give the same answer. You've seen what alcohol did to your father, and you refuse to be near the stuff. Even if it means you'll miss out on after-game celebrations with the team. Every single one of them.
"Good game," you reply, but the teammate is already gone.
You shove your hands in your pockets and head back into the stadium.
oºoºo
Quiet. It's so quiet in the pool after the game is over and the lights are off, it's hard to believe you now swim in the exact spot of your game-winning shot earlier that evening. You hold the blitzball in your hands as you float in the water. You'd come here to practice, to take a few more shots. But now that you're alone, in the quiet and the dark, it seems pointless.
"Hey! Get out of there! We have to drain the pool!"
You look over to see two maintenance workers standing in the entrance to the pool.
"Five more minutes!" You gesture with five fingers to the workers. Usually, the maintenance team will give you a little extra time, but you don't recognize these two.
"Is that a player?" the second worker asks, his voice picked up by the underwater microphone.
"No way, all the players left an hour ago. It's just some hooligan with a cheap replica uniform."
"I really think it's that one guy—you know, the star player? Whatshisname?"
You sigh, not interested in pushing the issue. You kick the ball, sending it sailing right between the workers as they continued to argue over your identity, and swim for the exit on the opposite end of the pool.
oºoºo
Once again in the open air of the city, this time not having bothered to towel off and dripping a trail of water, you wander around the outside of the stadium. You can never sleep after a game, you know you'll be too keyed up for hours.
You look up. You're currently standing under the bridge—the translucent pipe beneath the stadium, where the water is let out to flow into the ocean. The water is just starting to swirl into it. You grin and take off at a sprint down the length of the bridge. If you're lucky, you can beat the water.
oºoºo
You jump into the ocean just as the first drops of pool water cascade out of the bridge. You hurriedly swim to the outlet, letting the warm pool water wash over you one last time before it fades into the deep, cold ocean.
oºoºo
Once the pool is drained, you return to the shore, eager to escape the chilly sea. You retrace your steps, walking in the shadow of the bridge, but this time it is a slow hike, not a headlong sprint. It seems to take forever to get back to the stadium.
After you reach the stadium, you still aren't ready to go home. The lights of the city are still bright. You take yourself on a tour, pausing to watch each waterfall that tumbles down a building wall. So many lights, so many waterfalls. The city never sleeps; how can you, when there is so much to take in?
oºoºo
As dawn approaches, you're drawn back to the sea. To the perfect ledge, not far from home. From there you can see everything—the city, the ocean, the infinite horizon.
It begins subtly, you wouldn't even notice it if you weren't looking for it. One-by-one, the lights of the city wink out. Soon the stars join them, slowly fading, just as the horizon starts to glow. At first it's soft, a gentle yellow ember. But soon it turns to fire, red and orange, too bright to look at. Then the fire subsides, turns rosy. The rosy pink touches everything—first the water, then the sky, then the whole city is bathed in a rosy glow.
You breathe deeply. You could swear the air even smells like roses at this perfect time of day. You stretch your arms over your head as the rose color fades. The sun is warm, and soon the city is bright with a new day. You turn toward home, finally ready to sleep.