The Former Soccer Emperor's Melancholy
He'd braced for the worst—heavy injuries, at the very least—from that head-on collision with the oncoming car barreling down the expressway.
Then darkness.
"Gah!"
Hodrigoo bolted upright in bed, gasping for air as he frantically patted himself down.
"No injuries...?"
Smooth skin, not a scratch. His hands froze midway through the inspection. This body he'd known for thirty years felt utterly alien.
He lurched to his feet.
It was all wrong—the eye level, his sense of balance, the center of gravity, his reaction speed. Everything.
He yanked off his clothes. No doubt about it: this wasn't his body. Gone was the bronzed, battle-hardened skin; in its place gleamed unnaturally pale flesh—not stark white, but a richer, more saturated shade than any he'd seen before.
This went beyond lying comatose in a hospital bed.
"This isn't my body."
He clenched his fist experimentally, the motion awkward, when his eyes caught a full-length mirror across the room.
Without hesitation, he stepped in front of it. The truth hit like a thunderbolt.
Definite. Not his body at all.
For starters, the race was wrong.
"Asian?"
Hodrigoo studied the reflection closely. Even to him, a Brazilian, it was strikingly handsome.
I figured all Easterners looked like monkeys... but damn, this is pretty solid.
Solid? Hell, it was exceptional. He never imagined he'd envy an Eastern face like this.
But the body? Total garbage.
What a piece of junk.
It looked like the guy had never touched a gym, yet the frame held promise—broad shoulders and thick ankles like that didn't come cheap; they were gifts of nature.
Decent bone structure... but a shame for soccer.
Height around 180cm, give or take—not far off his original 177—but the proportions were the killer. Legs too damn long.
Soccer wasn't strictly about height, but dribblers thrived on a low center of gravity. Short stature or stubby legs helped with that. This frame? Tall for a dribbler, with those spindly legs—it clashed hard with his style.
Still, as he twisted and prodded every muscle, the potential surprised him.
Great muscle tone. Elastic as hell—durability's a question mark, but flexibility's top-notch, and the joint range is solid too?
Leave it to the Soccer Emperor to size up a body for the pitch even now. Then it hit him.
This isn't the time.
Figuring out if this Asian kid's frame suited soccer wasn't the priority.
Where's my body? Why the hell am I here?
He scanned the mirror again, hunting for clues.
Age? Damn, impossible to tell with Eastern faces. Mid-teens, maybe? No way it matched his original thirty years.
Why an Asian? Asia... only place I know is Japan... Japan?
Suddenly, bizarre images flickered in his mind.
Girls with freakishly huge eyes... Urk, what the hell? These creepy doll—no, character—something clicked.
"Ahh. Right. I get it now... this is possession. ...What the fuck am I even saying!?"
Hodrigoo clutched his head, his speech warping into something unfamiliar.
What the hell is this...? Aliens? UFOs? Superpowers? Wait, this feels way too familiar. Aaaagh! No! I've never read that crap!!