Chapter 6
Strong people are those who can laugh even in hardship
Anti Meta was a city carved by class. Sharp lines divided rich from poor like blade cuts on flesh.
The wealthy claimed the center. The poor scraped by at the bottom. Middle class scattered wherever they could find purchase. At the city's peak sat the football stadium—the only place where class meant nothing. But even there, the seats still carried price tags that sorted souls by their wallets.
The sheriff got a house in the center as part of his benefits. A nice gesture. But our family never used it.
Only Father lived there—the workaholic sheriff who bled himself dry for this dying city. He chose the town's survival over his own family's comfort. Mother, the twins, and I stayed in our rented shack at the city's bottom edge. Just a few hundred paces from the garbage dump. Close enough to smell it on bad days.
The place was lonely. Empty. But I liked it.
Wide open spaces meant no prying eyes. Perfect for secret football practice. And I needed to practice—desperately. Having skills, titles, and status meant nothing if you couldn't play the game itself. This was a football world gone mad. If you couldn't kick a ball properly, you might as well be standing at a cliff's edge in a hurricane.
Mother's face lit up when she saw the dailiez I brought home. When the twins returned, we threw a proper celebration. I'd recovered from my illness and kept my striker position. Reasons enough for joy.
But something felt wrong. Why hadn't Father come home today? The one day we had decent food on the table, and he didn't show. Probably still at his desk, drowning in paperwork while his family celebrated without him.
"What's wrong, Assarun?" Mother asked after dinner, covering her mouth as she giggled. "Not going to show me any fancy moves today?"
I'd spent the whole day trying to play football. The truth sat heavy in my chest—my skills were beginner level at best. Forget fancy moves. I could barely juggle the ball twice.
"Ah, my back's killing me today, Mother." The lie came easily.
She burst into laughter. The kind that doubles you over and makes you roll around like a child. Her joy was infectious and slightly embarrassing.
I pressed my palm against my forehead and sighed. Damn. I'd walked right into one of her dirty jokes. Just now I was noticing how much Agnes, Assarun's mother, loved her crude humor.
Brilliant. I'd planned to scold her about these inappropriate jokes to set a good example for the twins. Instead, I'd encouraged her.
The twins volunteered for dish duty. They stood at the sink, watching their big brother and mother with calm, knowing eyes. Then they bent back to their washing, silent as stones.
They'd heard everything. Smart kids like them would understand easily enough. And that understanding would taint their innocence, bit by bit.
Sorry, little ones. I'll talk to Mother soon. Please don't demote me from "cool big brother" status.
"Speaking of which..." Mother's voice cut through my guilt. "I heard you almost got demoted?"
The dish-washing sounds stopped for a beat.
"Yeah... almost didn't make it through," I admitted. I could have played it off, acted tough. But something about Mother's face made lies impossible.
"That's terrible..." She sighed, then brightened. "Is my son reaching the age where he's lost his vigor? Oh dear, I was hoping to hold grandchildren."
Still making double entendres... Wait. Did she mean...
"How does being bad at football relate to losing vigor?! Just because I can't kick a ball doesn't mean I can't kick in other ways!" I shot back.
Mother grinned and laughed again. "Even if you're vigor-less, even if you get demoted and your salary cut, I'll always love you. Won't abandon you either."
"Save those words for my future wife, Mother."
"Oh? Which wife would that be?"
"What kind of person do you think I am?!"
I couldn't stop smiling. The joke wasn't that funny, but the warmth I felt made it impossible to keep a straight face.
Agnes. A mother abandoned by her workaholic husband and left to raise three children alone.
Father's salary as sheriff should have been enough. But every dailiez went to the city—emergency funds for bandit raids, weapons for the guards, aid for the victims. His noble heart left us with empty pockets. So Agnes worked herself nearly to death every day to support me and the twins.
The crude jokes she traded with her son might sound inappropriate. But maybe this was her way of releasing the loneliness of a husband married to his duty, and the exhaustion from hard labor that consumed her days.
My near-demotion wasn't a small matter. It could have led to being fired entirely. Loss of income. Loss of social status. Loss of everything we'd built. Another burden on a family already carrying too much weight.
But Mother hadn't scolded me at all. Even knowing she might have to work several times harder, struggle several times more, suffer several times deeper. Even knowing Father wouldn't be coming home to help.
Even if you're vigor-less, I'll always love you. Won't abandon you either.
I could barely hold back tears. This love, this kindness—if I didn't repay it somehow... What could I do to make Mother happy besides trading dirty jokes with her?
Simple. Help all three children grow up happy and whole, lacking nothing.
That required money.
And in this world, the best way to earn money was to play football well.
Everything circled back to this same problem.
Bedtime came, but the weight in my chest kept sleep away.
I slipped out from under the single blanket covering all three of us siblings. Rose from bed as quietly as possible, careful not to wake Mother and the twins.
Under the moon's pale light, in the small space behind our house, I began training alone.
I didn't know much about football. Had no idea what fundamentals to start with. But everything I'd experienced today, combined with the fragmented knowledge still swimming in Assarun's brain—
All right. Time to forge my own path in football.