I'm not supposed to be a fan, yet I was sitting on my heels

Even though no alarm went off, I woke up with a snap at 3:00 AM.

On the other side of my smartphone's small screen, men were running around a green pitch. It was the World Cup match between Japan and Brazil.

I'm not exactly a die-hard soccer fan. I only learned the basics in elementary school, and I can count the names of the current national team players on one hand. Even so, without setting an alarm, my body chose this time to wake up on its own. Is it the magic of a global festival, or has my biorhythm simply entered a full-blown aging phase? I decided not to think too deeply about that.

Even though I decided not to think about it, I found myself sitting on my heels on the futon before I knew it.

I started watching from the second half. The flow of the game was truly from heaven to hell. Japan was supposed to be leading 1-0, but there was no sense of security. Brazil was like an angry beast. A one-sided onslaught. It was supposed to be 45 minutes, but the density of time felt different. In the blink of an eye, the game had been turned around.

At that moment, a sound escaped my lips. In the quiet room, I was holding my head with one hand. Would someone who isn't a fan act like this?

I can no longer remember the name of the player who had the ball stolen deep in our own territory at that time. My love for soccer is, after all, only to that extent. However, even though I don't remember his name, the image of that player crouching on the pitch remains clearly in my eyes.

Even after the screen went dark, the afterimage of that comeback goal clung faintly to the corner of my mind. Dragging my heavy sleepiness with me, I headed to the sea in the early afternoon. I intended to forget all about soccer.

I cast my line. For some reason, all I caught were spangled emperors.

The body of this fish has black spots that look like targets, just as its name suggests.

While gazing at the face of the spangled emperor I had caught, I thought vaguely. What kind of meaning do those black spots have, anyway? Are they to intimidate enemies, or just for show?

As I stared at them, those spots gradually started to look like a soccer ball. Or perhaps the trajectory of that sphere piercing the corner of the goal net.

Even though I intended to forget, I ended up still dragging soccer along with me even on the sea. I feel as if the ball that was stolen from that player whose name I've forgotten is now flopping around in my hands.

Having come this far, I had to admit it. My self-declaration that I'm "not a fan" is more suspicious. Can a person who sees a ball even in the spots of a fish really be classified as someone who is "not interested"?

It's a strange thing; as I kept catching fish, I could feel adrenaline welling up from deep within my body.

Intense, glaring sunlight poured down from the sky after the rainy season. The moment I bathed in that light, power surged from deep within my body.

Where did that intense sleepiness from earlier go?

My autonomic nervous system, which had been exposed to Brazil's onslaught, has now fully recovered. It's proof that I've completely recovered from my lack of sleep.

I thanked that player whose name I forgot in my heart. There is no particular logical connection between him losing the ball and me encountering a spangled emperor. Still, I felt like thanking him.

Besides, thinking about soccer all day long like this is not something a person who isn't interested could do. Perhaps, unexpectedly, I might love soccer. At least, in a way of loving that remembers the pain of conceding a goal longer than the names of the national team players.

Now, all that remains in my hands is a pleasant sense of fatigue and the scent of dried-up sea salt.

I'm still buzzing from the sunlight and adrenaline, but once I get home and take a shower, I'll probably sleep like the dead tonight.

I felt like my sleep, which had been forcibly cut short at 3:00 AM, would finally reach its true finish line tonight.