After everyone finished breakfast, we made our way to the grassy field behind the mansion. The wide expanse of green stretched out peacefully, untouched by large trees or structures, bathed in soft morning light. The quiet hum of wind brushing across the field made it feel like a perfect place—untouched and free. Instinctively, we all thought the same thing: this would be an amazing spot to play football.
On our way there, no one mentioned the next game. Not a single word about the pressure waiting for us. All we talked about was how to make the most of the week ahead.
"We should play football," Sota said, eyes lighting up as he looked over the field. "Man, I haven't kicked a ball in days!"
"Yeah? With just four players?" Satoru raised a brow.
"It doesn't matter. It's not like we're holding a tournament," I replied, smirking. "I'll take Brother Cheng Hao as my teammate then. All we need is a ball."
"Oh, we've got one. Celestina gave us one last time," Satoru said, already turning back toward the mansion. "I'll go grab it!"
As Satoru disappeared inside, Inaya arrived with Hana, both of them walking side by side with calm expressions.
"Should I be the referee?" Inaya asked, her tone playful, a sly grin tugging at her lips.
"You sure you know the rules?" I asked with a teasing glance.
"Of course I do! Who do you think I am?" she said with mock indignation. "Football and badminton were always my favorite sports."
"Then by all means, join us. Referee Inaya," I said, returning her grin.
"What about Hana?" Sota asked, glancing over.
All eyes turned to her.
"I—then I'll cheer you guys on!" she said, her voice soft but cheerful.
"Well then, it's settled," I nodded.
Just then, Satoru came running back, holding a slightly worn football above his head. His smile said it all.
Let the game begin.
The entire day unfolded in pure joy. It was as if the golden hour stretched across the week, wrapping us in warmth and laughter. Every sound I heard was unburdened—genuine laughs echoing across the grassy field, footsteps pounding through freedom, voices raised in friendly competition. We played until we dropped, collapsing onto the soft ground with breathless smiles. Meals with Uncle Zeno became a ritual of comfort, full of teasing and seconds and the kind of peace I never knew I missed. No one worried about studying, or about alarms, or being scolded by their parents for staying out too long.
And yet, somewhere in that dreamlike bliss, a quiet ache stirred. I hadn't thought about our parents much lately—perhaps because we couldn't afford to—but today, I missed them. Just a little. It was a fleeting shadow, a whisper of a memory tucked inside all this light.
Sometimes I wondered if this was all a dream. If we could freeze time, would this happiness last forever? Would we keep smiling like this, chasing each other in the sun and falling asleep with laughter still hanging in the air?
The more I thought about it, the harder it was to sleep. Because if this was the last stretch of happiness we'd ever know—if the next challenge would truly be our final trial—then didn't we owe it to ourselves to soak in every second of peace we had left?
Yes. I did.
On the final evening of our carefree week, I wandered out to the secret balcony, the one that seemed to always call to us when the world slowed down. The air was cooler now, tinted with the hush of approaching night. The green of the grass below was already fading into shades of blue as the sky surrendered to darkness.
There she was.
Inaya sat quietly, her arms resting on the balcony railing, her chin nestled in her arms as she stared out at the changing field. The wind brushed her hair gently, carrying with it the scent of earth and quiet peace. She didn't move as I joined her, slipping down beside her in silence and folding my legs just like she had. But while she gazed out into the open space, I found myself looking at her.
There was something in her eyes—something still and warm—that made me feel more at ease than any field or sky ever could. And then I noticed it again: the necklace she always wore. A delicate chain with a small green charm, shaped like four leaves. I had seen it countless times, always around her neck, never once taken off.
It caught the dim light gently, like a quiet symbol of something unspoken.
"What's the necklace about?" I asked softly. "You never seem to take it off."
Inaya turned to me slowly, her fingers rising to touch the charm as if she hadn't realized it was there until I mentioned it. Her gaze lowered for a second before she met mine again.
"My mom gave me this," she said quietly. Her voice was softer than usual, and for a moment, the peaceful night felt even more still.
"Does it hold a special meaning?" I asked, watching as her fingers lightly brushed over the green leaves once more.
"Special meaning?" Inaya glanced down at her necklace, her fingers gently tracing the delicate green charm. "I wonder..." she murmured, a faint smile curving her lips before she turned to look at me. Still holding the charm between her fingers, she asked, "Say, say, Shin, did you know that the green four leaves represent good luck?"
"I do," I replied with a small nod.
She gave a thoughtful hum. "There's a long story behind why I always wear this necklace... but I'll keep it short. Are you interested in hearing it, Shin?"
I didn't hesitate. "I am."
Her gaze drifted away from me, rising toward the moon that had quietly appeared in the night sky. Its pale light spilled over her face as she began.
"This story starts before I was even born. My father left my mother when she was pregnant with me. It wasn't... because he didn't love her. Or maybe it was. I don't really know if 'love' was ever the right word to describe what they had. When my mom told him about me, he didn't like it. After some times he married another woman and moved to another country."
She paused for a moment, the charm still nestled in her hand.
"My mom—she struggled a lot. More than I could ever thought. And all of it, just because she chose to keep me." She let out a quiet laugh, the kind that hides hurt beneath it.
I interrupted gently, "Then… weren't you related by blood?"
"We were," she said with a nod. "That was never the issue."
"Then what was?" I asked softly.
"My mom couldn't give him the attention he wanted during her pregnancy. He hated the idea of having a child. But she... she believed she could prove him wrong. That she'd give him a child who would change his heart. But life isn't kind like that."
She looked down at the charm again.
"I grew up with her, but we didn't have much. My great-grandparents had wealth once, and my mom was brilliant too. But she gave up everything—her future, her dreams—for love. And when he left, she had nothing. No degree. No job. Just me. I was weak, Shin. I couldn't protect myself. I cried all the time. Got picked on. Bullied. Blamed myself even when it wasn't my fault."
"That's... terrible," I murmured, my chest tightening with every word she spoke.
"Isn't it?" she asked, her voice so calm it hurt.
"Yes. It is. Too much."
She gave me a sad smile, the kind that carried years of quiet strength behind it, and returned her gaze to the moon once more. The soft silver light glimmered off her necklace—the same one her mother gave her—as if it, too, held pieces of the past she never let go.
"Then one day," Inaya began, her voice carrying the softness of a memory well-worn, "I told my mom that maybe—just maybe—if she could stay by my side all day and night, I might finally find the strength to be brave. To stop crying. To stand up straight."
She glanced down at the pendant, her fingers curling protectively around it.
"That's when she gave me this necklace," she continued. "It once belonged to her father—my grandfather. She placed it in my palm and told me that it would protect me, just as she would if she were there. She said it carried her warmth. Her love. That no matter where I was, as long as I wore it, she would be with me."
I watched her, mesmerized by how gently her voice trembled—not from fear or sadness, but reverence.
"She told me that if someone ever tried to hurt me again, I should hold this necklace tightly and think of her. That I wasn't alone."
She smiled, the kind that came from a place deeper than happiness—like light breaking through years of darkness.
"And guess what?" she asked suddenly, turning to me with a sparkle in her eyes.
"What?" I leaned in a little.
"The very next day, when a bully tried to mess with me again, I held this necklace just like she said. And for the first time… I didn't cry. I didn't run. I stood my ground. My heart was still racing, but I didn't back down. I held my chest, right where the pendant lay, and I fought back."
She paused and looked directly into my eyes, her voice soft but unwavering.
"From that day on, I never took this necklace off. It became my armor. My quiet courage. I learned how to fight— for myself not with fists, but with heart."
I stared at her, the weight of her story settling into me like the final piece of a puzzle. "I thought you were born lucky," I murmured without thinking.
Her smile faltered, and for a moment, the light in her eyes dimmed. She drew in a slow breath, then chuckled bitterly.
"Luck?" she repeated, her tone almost hollow. "What is that?" She looked away, her gaze now fixed on the vast dark field below. " Shin,I've never met luck in my life. And I don't think I ever will."