The next day, I decided to go say goodbye to the park near my house—the place that had been with me every morning of that summer, through all the sweat and grind.
I ran through my usual workout routine, the one I already planned to tweak once I got to Japan.
I was finally back in shape: all that stubborn belly fat I had put on lately had vanished completely.
Of course, this wasn't going to be my last session. In Japan I would keep up with calisthenics just as regularly.
With the new program, I would shift the focus from cutting weight to building muscle.
I had also set myself two goals for the trip: first, nail 100 perfect push-ups; second, finally land a clean muscle-up.
I had gotten better at pull-ups—I could now knock out four in a row—but muscle-ups were still a wall, stopping me dead in that awkward transition from pull-up to dip.
At the end of the workout, I was sitting on a bench, drinking from my bottle, when I noticed a WhatsApp message from John.
«Hey Iori,» he had written. «You free this afternoon at 5 for a couple of soccer games? That way we can all say goodbye.»
In a follow-up message he added, «I know you've got hardly any time left to pack and get ready for the trip, so feel free to say no.»
I had already packed my suitcase the night before; all that was left was one last check to make sure everything was in there, so I was good to go.
«Usual spot?» I asked.
«Yeah. We'll meet at the oratory by the church near your place, like always. I invited Mathew and China too,» he replied.
There was an oratory near my house—a community center with a little soccer field—where I would play with John over the summer, and sometimes Mathew would join us.
It was a solid way to switch off from video games and streaming, even if I only went every now and then, mostly when John got the ball rolling.
Pulling it together on the same day wasn't something we could take for granted in summer; everyone had their own vacation plans.
I always went to the beach at the end of June, in Emilia-Romagna—a region of Italy not too far from Trentino-Alto Adige.
My parents would've preferred somewhere farther south, where the water's clearer, but traveling as a family of five was expensive, so we had to compromise.
Before the Osu! World Cup, I had only flown once: in 2018 we went to Puglia, in southern Italy, for vacation. That had been the one exception in all those years.
Every summer John spent two weeks in Chile, his parents' home country, even though he had been born and raised in Italy.
Mathew did the same—visited his grandparents in the Philippines, despite being just as Italian as John.
China, whose parents were from Trentino-Alto Adige like mine, was always around: his family never went on big vacations, maybe just a weekend in the mountains at most.
I stood up from the bench, suddenly aware of how lucky I was to be able to say goodbye in person to everyone I cared about in Italy—everyone except Diruz and Bonzo, who lived near Milan.
I headed home, took a cold shower, then spent the morning double-checking that everything was in the suitcase and backpack.
At noon I went to the kitchen, determined to tell them over lunch that I was leaving for Japan the next day.
My parents had already seen and heard me moving around the house the night before, but they still didn't know the exact departure date, so it was better to let them know.
"Dad, Mom," I started, sitting in front of the steaming plate of tagliatelle—dough that Grandma had kneaded and rolled out the previous Sunday, then pan-cooked by Mom in ragù sauce.
"Tomorrow evening my flight's at seven from Milan Malpensa," I went on, straight to the point. "Dad, could you drive me around two or three? That way we'd get to the airport by five and have plenty of time to go through security and check in without rushing."
I had asked to leave as early as two because I didn't want a repeat of July, when I had rushed through check-in and barely made the flight.
"You could've left a few days later," Mom cut in right away, her voice tight with worry. "What do we do if Francesco can't take you tomorrow?"
"If that happens, I'll just take a taxi. I'll pay for it," I answered firmly, trying to calm her down.
Dad had stayed quiet the whole time, just pulling his phone from his pocket and scrolling through his calendar with his thumb.
"I'm free all afternoon," he said finally, nodding.
"So today's the last day we're all together at the table…" he realized after a pause, a trace of sadness in his voice.
"At least he'll be in good hands," Mom added, trying to lighten the mood. "Vincenzo and Anna will keep him in line so he doesn't get into trouble in Japan too."
After lunch I went to my setup for one last stream from my bedroom—the same room where those first, cringe-worthy lives had started.
In those two and a half years, I had grown a lot, reaching forty-five thousand followers and averaging around two thousand five hundred viewers per stream.
"Chat, I'm gonna be gone for about a week—maybe a bit longer—but I'll be back stronger than ever," I announced.
"I'll probably have to shift the stream times a little, but I'll do my best to stay consistent," I went on, keeping it vague.
I didn't want my viewers knowing too much. If they found out I was moving to Japan underage, some might dig deeper and even report it.
«Don't worry, Pantera, we'll be waiting,» Trugrun wrote.
«See you mid-September then,» Heliotrope said in farewell.
«Going on vacation? Good call. You deserve it after a summer where you never took a single day off,» Greenie0 guessed.
The afternoon dragged, while my eagerness to already be in Japan grew hour by hour.
Only one day left, and soon I would be on the other side of the world.
At five I headed to the oratory pitch, and the moment I stepped through the gate I saw everyone already waiting: John, Mathew, and China, chatting among themselves.
"Hey guys," I greeted them with a smile as I crossed the little gate. "How's it going?"
"Hey, say something to John," China said right away, marching toward me and jabbing an accusing finger at him. "He told me we were just gonna say goodbye… so why are we playing soccer now?!"
"He straight-up told me we were playing soccer," I shot back, shifting my gaze to John, who was giving a nervous little laugh.
"If I'd told you and Mathew we were actually playing instead of just saying goodbye, you two never would've shown up today!" John said, walking over to us.
We started with a round of free kicks, sticking China in goal because he was the tallest and had a natural edge covering the space.
Truth was, none of us wanted to stand between the posts taking shots, so we had cooked up that excuse to put him there.
John went first: he placed the ball carefully, took a short run-up, and curled a perfect shot.
The ball followed a curving path, looking like it was heading for the top left corner before dropping fast and burying itself in the bottom right—unsaveable.
Then Mathew, who went for raw power: he loaded up with his whole leg and unleashed a rocket that grazed the outside of the post, missing by inches.
Finally my turn. I decided on my specialty, the knuckleball: hitting the ball with the instep, maximum power, no spin at all.
I took three steps back and one to the left. I wound up with everything in my right leg, finding the perfect balance between power and accuracy, struck it, and locked my leg the instant after contact.
The moment China saw the force I was putting into it just before impact, he jerked sideways, diving out of the way and throwing his arms up to shield his face.
The shot ended just below the right corner, leaving me with a twinge of regret. I had struck it with devastating power, but the ball had stayed too straight—almost flat—without that sudden erratic flick upward I had hoped would carry it right into the top junction.
"Are you trying to kill me?!" China yelled the moment he saw the net bulge. "I'm even helping you with the move!"
We took a few more free kicks to loosen up properly, then switched to two-on-two.
By our usual rules, John and I had to be on opposite teams to keep things balanced, since we were the most competitive.
At one point, breathing hard with my shirt plastered to my back, I realized I had forgotten my water bottle.
Luckily the oratory had a public drinking fountain just outside the pitch, near the stands, open to anyone.
"Gonna grab a quick drink—be right back," I told the guys, stepping off the field and heading over.
John watched me go, then called out, "I'll get one too. You two keep playing."
I leaned under the spout and let the cool water pour down my throat in long gulps.
"Iori," John said behind me, his voice quieter than usual. "Got a minute to talk?"
"Huh?" I turned, puzzled. It was rare to see John without his usual grin—his face dead serious, focused.
"Yeah, of course. What's up?" I said, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.
We walked over to the empty stands together and sat on the fourth row.
"Remember that voice call on Discord the other day?" he began, staring out at the pitch.
At first I wasn't sure which one he meant—we had them all the time—but then the memory snapped into focus.
John had always dreamed of going pro in soccer, but the youth coaches had never seen him as a natural talent.
In 2024 his parents made him quit organized soccer after he failed eleven subjects in his first year of high school and had to repeat the grade.
It was right at the start of that repeat year, in September 2024, one of the first days of school, that I had met John in class.
Even when everything seemed stacked against him, John never let go of his passion—he kept training on his own.
What really fueled him was the soccer manga Blue Lock. I had never liked it, but for him it was pure inspiration, a model of total dedication.
"Do you think I still have any shot at going pro?" he had asked that day on the Discord call, his voice uncertain. "I just turned sixteen and I'm still nobody."
"I don't think there's a right or wrong time to chase something you care about," I had told him after thinking for a second.
"If you want to be a pro soccer player, you can still make it even at thirty. It's not like if you don't break through at fifteen, like some prodigies, you're automatically done," I had gone on, meaning it.
"Just put in maximum effort every single day, get to the end of it and ask yourself: 'Did I give it everything I had?'—and answer honestly," I had concluded.
"You're right," he had said after a long pause, then said goodbye and left the call.
"Yeah, I remember," I told him now, every detail coming back.
"After that day I made my decision," John said, looking me straight in the eye, determined. "I'm dropping out of school."
"What?!" I shot up. "Why?"
Unlike me and Mathew, John was legally allowed to quit—Italy's compulsory education ends at sixteen.
"School's never meant anything to me. The only thing that really fires me up, that makes me feel alive, is soccer," he said, voice steady.
"Lately, watching you so focused and dead set on making this move to Japan happen—it's given me the push I needed to get back into playing on a real team," he went on, glancing over at China and Mathew, who were lazily passing the ball back and forth in the middle of the pitch.
Then he stood up too, decisive. "I'm back with Aquila, my old club. I already talked to the coach—I start training again next week."
"I only told you what I really think," I said, worried he might've rushed into this. "But not everything in life works out or makes sense. You got a backup plan if it doesn't pan out?"
"Yeah. While I train, I'll work at my uncle's body shop too—steady money so I'm not just leaning on my parents," he answered, completely sure of himself.
"Well, then you're set. I'm glad you went with what you actually wanted," I said. "I still remember every single class that year—you weren't off Clash Royale for one minute!"
We both cracked up, thinking back to all the chaos from that first year of high school, loud enough that China and Mathew heard us down on the field.
"Weren't you two getting water?" Mathew yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth.
"Coming, coming," John called back as he headed down the steps, and I followed, pumped to jump back into the game.
We played another half hour or so, banging in ridiculous goals and celebrating like little kids.
The sun was dipping behind the buildings around us, turning the sky orange and stretching long shadows across the artificial turf.
Before the final goodbyes, while John and Mathew were talking about some new game coming out, China nodded at me and pulled me aside, stepping away from the group.
I followed, curious, out past the metal gate without asking anything.
"Iori," China started, looking me straight in the eye, dead serious. "There's something crucial I've been working on these past few weeks for your move to Japan."