“Oh, come on, Sae! All you have to do is talk about your morning routine on stream– the fans think you are too calloused; all we need is some authenticity!” Sae’s PR officer exclaimed through a forced grin, “And plus, it will bring in more money~”

Sae rolled his eyes and begrudgingly agreed. 

“Oh, and don’t forget to smile!” She grinned, earning a scowl from him.

And now, here he is.

–––

Sae Itoshi looks into the glossy black lens of the camera with a controlled look of disdain. Whenever he thought of the word “authenticity,” he thought of his fellow players shedding crocodile tears after a game lost– or even worse, his family. But regardless of that, here he is; standing in front of a tripod in nothing but his pajamas.

He set up his room the night before, making sure nothing that could suggest a controversy would be seen when he began his live stream. But even so, he does one last circle of his room, making sure that the “authenticity” he will be showing the world is at least somewhat presentable. After he finishes his meticulous search, he sits down in front of the camera and begins. 

Sae exhales through his nose and turns his stream on. As he expected, the chat was immediately flooded with fangirls and football-nerds alike.

“Hello,” he utters. “My name is Sae Itoshi.” He doesn’t believe in sugar-coating his words, so he keeps his greeting concise.

 “Aparrently, people think I’m too calloused.” He sighs, “So my PR manager decided it would be a good idea to be ‘authentic’.” He uses his fingers to show quotation marks.

Sae cocks his head slightly to the left before reaching for the camera and gently adjusting it. Although he was against this whole live stream thing, he was not going to embarrass himself by doing it badly.

“Now, I was told that the fans requested a ‘Morning Routine’ video, so I will deliver.” Sae forces a smirk. 

He steps away from the camera, and towards a glass sliding door. His hands reach for the handles and he pulls it open, a gust of cool air flowing into his apartment. The majority of Madrid is still asleep, but even so, there is still the light sound of traffic polluting the silence. “First, I open a window. For fresh air.” 

He inhales slowly, counting in his head “1, 2, 3, 4…” before he exhales. Although it’s subtle, he can feel the tension leaving his body. He lets it. He won’t let the camera steal his moment. 

“And for just a few seconds, I try not to think of football–” Sae looks into the camera, “For the most part, I am unsuccessful.”

He smirks again, this time, it’s real.

He takes a step away from the window and settles on the mat on the ground. It is dark grey, clean, and perfectly aligned to the wood grain of the floor.

Yoga was supposed to be something short term– something suggested to him by his physician after a long season– but it stuck. He didn’t do it for relaxation, he did it for the precision; the control. To him, it was more honest than any drills were. 

“I don’t know if this will come as a surprise to many, but I do yoga,” Sae says into the camera. “It’s supposed to be good for unwinding, and preventing injuries.” 

He pauses for a moment before continuing. “I don’t do it for any of those purposes.”

His body slowly transitions through different positions; Downward dog, Warrior, and finally the King Pigeon pose. The poses are held in a way that demonstrates that they are not for show. His breathing stays even and measured.

“This,” He finally continues, effortlessly holding a pose, “Isn’t for clearing my mind. It’s for reminding  my body of who's boss.” There’s something almost meditative about the way he moves—sharp edges softened by control, intensity turned inward instead of outward.

“Then, Meditation.” He speaks into the camera.

After he finishes, he sits cross-legged on his mat, resting his hands on his knees. His posture is erect, and his eyes slowly shut. 

This is the part that the fans expect to be deep– enlightening. They expect words of insight from the Japanese prodigy… but all they get is stillness.

Many thoughts cross his mind, past matches, headlines– even his brother; but he lets them pass. He doesn’t force them out of his mind, because he knows that control is not equivalent to force. Minutes pass, and the view count begins to die down. Leaving only the most “loyal” fans in the chat. 

“Meditation isn’t about peace,” Sae says, breaking the silence. He opens his eyes and looks into the camera. “It’s about focus,” he pauses, “And silence.” 

He pauses once more, “I think that many of you would benefit from being silent.” He smirks to himself, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. “I’m kidding.” He says, flatly. “Or am I?” For a moment, the watchers can almost see amusement cross his face; a glimpse of the past in his eyes.

His face goes flat.

He stands up from his mat and walks out of frame, returning with a glass of a cloudy amber liquid. “This is Salted Kombucha,” he frowns at it. “This is how I end my morning routine.” He takes a calculated sip, his lip twitching ever-so-slightly. The familiar taste of fermentation hits his tongue, the salt hitting him immediately after. His face tightens in a way that would be imperceptible to anyone that didn’t know him, but he doesn’t flinch.

He takes another sip. “This is good for digestion, electrolytes and balance.”

He takes a final gulp, and stares into the camera, as if he is trying to prove something– to his viewers, to himself, or maybe to the past self that would have rejected it because he didn’t like it.

“And before you ask, no, I do not like the taste.” He sighs, ”But I don’t always do things because I like them.” He sets the glass down on his desk, and addresses his fans. “That’s all. Now I train.”

The stream goes black.

–––

ALRIGHT!!! THAT WAS IT GUYS!! I really hope you enjoyed! The link to the fic is down below :3

“That was nice.” Sae says quietly, a small smile crossing his face. Somehow, the apartment feels different now– more lonely. Nothing externally changed about it, it still the same minimalist furniture, the same quiet Madrid skyline outside his window. But something about the air feels… lighter. He suspects that it has something to do with the world finally seeing into his personal life, but he doesn’t linger on the thought– at least not outwardly.

As he lets the thought leave his mind, his phone buzzes on his desk. He checks his notification center and groans.

Lucia (PR) SAE. That was AMAZING. Engagement is up 74% in one freaking hour. People are calling you “mysteriously soft.” We are so back!! 8P

His eyes linger on the message a beat too long.

“Mysteriously soft,” he repeats under his breath, as if it’s a terminal diagnosis.

Another buzz.

Take the win. Also—pack a bag. You’re going on holiday.

His eye twitches.

–––

The link to the completed chapter is down below!!