Home

Ichiro stepped off the plane and into the humid, sticky air of Osaka. Even through the glass corridors of Kansai Airport, the air felt different. Heavier, but somehow more alive than the grey drizzle of England.

He adjusted the strap of his duffel bag hanging over his shoulders and walked with purpose. Behind the calm look on his face, his thoughts were running wild.

DING!

Of course.

The System – ever so punctual – greeted him with a glowing notification just as he entered the baggage claim area.

-SHAPE UP – Monthly: (4/30)

*Run 10km every day (10km/10km)

*Complete 100 pushups every day (100/100)

*Complete 200 sit-ups every day (90/200)

*Complete 10 minutes of plank every day (0/10)

REWARDS: (upon full completion)

*5 Attribute Points

*Permanent increase in physical Attributes

PENALTIES: (upon failure of completing objectives)

*System shut down

Ichiro sighed "alright, alright. I get it".

The System – it seemed – had no regard for his jet lag.

As Ichiro stepped into the arrivals terminal, his eyes immediately found his father.

The man was impossible to miss. With sun-kissed skin, a striking blonde beard, and hair to match, he looked like he'd walked straight out of a luxury suit advertisement – one of those glossy spreads that reeked of money. He towered over the crowd, likely the tallest person in the entire terminal, maybe even all of Japan, rising above the sea of travelers like a beacon.

His dad hadn't seen him yet. He stood tall and still, scanning the exit like a sentinel, hands tucked neatly into the pockets of his white dress pants. Even in the heat, he looked effortlessly elegant. Proud. Familiar.

Ichiro's chest tightened. It had only been six months since Christmas, but it felt longer. He'd missed his dad more than he'd let on to. Missed the bear hugs. The way his father's laugh could fill a room.

And now here he was – back in Japan. Back home. Suddenly, the choice of coming back home, the choice of returning to Gamba Osaka – the same club his dad had once lit up as a striker almost two decades ago.

Ichiro adjusted the strap of his duffel once again, his heart pounding like it was matchday. Then his dad saw him. That warm, familiar grin broke across his face.

Ichiro smiled back and walked straight into his arms.

Giannis arms wrapped around him like they always had – solid, safe, and full of quiet strength. For a moment, Ichiro just stayed there, breathing in the faint scent of citrus aftershave and sun-warmed linen. It was like being a kid again, back when goals scored in parks and stadiums were just a dream.

"You've gotten taller," his dad murmured, pulling back just enough to study his face. "And heavier too. What are they feeding you over there in England?"

"Muscle mass" Ichiro grinned. "And bad weather."

His father laughed, deep and genuine. "Welcome home, campione."

"Thanks, dad."

…

Outside, the heat was heavier – dense and buzzing with cicadas, thick with car horns and the smell of exhaust.

"I had the AC on in the car," his father said, unlocking a sleek, black SUV with a thumb press. "But I might have overdone it. You're about to walk into a freezer."

"After England?" Ichiro opened the door and tossed his bag in. "I could live in a freezer."

The doors clicked shut and for a moment, the world was silent – just the low hum of the air conditioning and the closeness of being back in a space that felt like home.

"You nervous?" his dad asked him as he pulled into traffic, eyes flicking to the road.

"A little," Ichiro admitted. "Big shoes to fill."

His father gave a quiet chuckle, not looking over. "You didn't come back to fill my shoes. You came back to walk in your own."

Ichiro stared out the window, watching Osaka roll past – the familiar skyline, the flashes of black and blue Gamba flags in shop windows, the occasional fan in a kit with his family name on the back.

He leaned his head against the window. "Thanks, dad. For everything."

"You earned it, Ichiro. Every bit of it. I'm just lucky I get to see it up close again."

…

The ride home after that was mostly filled with the normal dad-son talk. Something like ´so you got a girlfriend?´ or ´any pretty girls at school´. And after an hour or so of what Ichiro could only call an interrogation, they finally arrived at home.

As they pulled into the quiet residential street where Ichiro had grown up, the sun was beginning to set behind the rooftops – casting long shadows across the sidewalk.

Their street was lined with sculpted hedges and pristine stone walls. The kind of place where every driveway had its own security camera, and the neighbors nodded politely but rarely lingered.

Ichiro rolled down the window slightly. The warm summer air caressing his face, carrying with it the scent of jasmine from the garden hedges and freshly trimmed grass. Somewhere nearby, a fountain trickled softly, the sound barely audible over the buzzing of cicadas.

Ichiro's father parked in front of the gate and turned off the engine.

"Your mom's probably been pacing since noon," he said, smirking. "And Sakura's made three ´Welcome Home´ signs. None of them match."

Ichiro laughed, suddenly a little nervous. As he exited the car, the front door flew up.

"Ichi-nii!!"

A blur of bare feet, ponytail, and pastel pink sprinted down the walkway. Sakura launched herself at him with a shout, and Ichiro caught her just in time, stumbling back with the impact.

"Gods, you're heavy!" he gasped, laughing. "What have you been eating? Bricks?"

Sakura giggled, her arms wrapped around him. She looked up at him, eyes sparkling. "You're really home."

"I'm really home."

"I watched every one of your matches," she said proudly. "Even the boring ones where you didn't play – which was most of the time, actually."

Ichiro rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the support."

Before he could say more, he heard the soft, quick steps of someone else approaching. Then his mother appeared at the top of the walkway.

"Welcome home, Ichiro," she said quietly, and smiled.

It was the same smile that had greeted him after every match, win or lose. The same one that waited at the door when he came home late from practice, tired and muddy. The same one he hadn't seen in six months.

He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her. She was small and warm and smelled like yuzu and fabric softener.

"I missed you, mom," he murmured into her shoulder.

"I missed you too," Miyuki said, holding him tightly. "I'm so proud of you."

When they finally stepped apart, she looked up at him with watery eyes and smoothed his hair back like she used to when he was little.

"Dinner's almost ready," she said. "But I can warm it up if you want to shower first. You must be exhausted."

"I'm starving," Ichiro said, smiling. "Whatever's fastest."

"It's sukiyaki!" Sakura shouted. "And I made a little flag with your name on it out of toothpicks!"

"Oh no," Ichiro laughed. "That's going on my Instagram."

Sakura gasped. "You're not serious."

He grinned at her. "Dead serious."

They all laughed together as they headed inside.

Home.