Ace of the Bench

The hospital room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioner and the rhythmic beep of the heart monitor. Yuuto lay awake in the darkness, staring at the faint shadows crawling across the ceiling.

His parents had gone home hours ago, leaving him alone with the silence and the doctor's words.

"No guarantee you'll play again."

They repeated over and over like a cruel chant.

The pain in his knee was dull now, numbed by medication, but the ache in his chest was sharper than anything physical. His mind kept flashing back to the game: the sound of sneakers squeaking, the scoreboard, the moment the defender's knee collided with his. Then the fall. Then nothing.

He clenched his fists under the blanket.

Was it all for nothing?

He thought of the early mornings, shooting jumpers until his hands blistered. The sweat-soaked jerseys. The sacrifices skipping parties, staying late after practice, running suicides alone under the flickering gym lights.

He thought of the promise he made to his old coach: "I'll take this as far as I can."

The ceiling seemed to press down on him.

"No guarantee…"

"Maybe think about your future…"

He shook his head violently.

"Forget that," he whispered into the darkness. "I'm not done."

His hands slowly pushed the blanket back, revealing his heavily wrapped leg. It looked fragile now, thin under all the layers, but to him it was still the leg that had carried him through countless games.

"I'll walk again. I'll run again. I'll play again." His voice was low, but every word felt like a nail driven into stone.

A nurse walked by the doorway, checking charts. Yuuto quickly pulled the blanket back over himself and closed his eyes until she passed.

When the room was quiet again, he let the thought expand no longer just a stubborn hope, but a plan forming in the shadows of his mind.

If his knee wasn't going to heal fast enough, then he'd make it heal faster. He didn't know how yet but he'd find a way.

Even if it meant breaking the rules of recovery.

Even if it meant risking more pain.

Even if it meant starting over from scratch.

In that dim hospital room, Yuuto made a silent vow to himself:

This won't be the end of my story. It'll be the start of my comeback.

The beeping of the monitor steadied, almost like it was syncing to his heartbeat.

Outside, the first hint of dawn began to creep over the horizon.

Fews has passed

The surgery came faster than Yuuto expected.

They prepped him early morning, wheeling him through pale green corridors toward the operating room. The anesthesiologist tried to keep the mood light, cracking a joke about how Yuuto would "wake up feeling like he just took the longest nap of his life."

Yuuto just nodded, gripping the thin blanket.

He'd never been so aware of his own heartbeat.

The last thing he remembered before going under was the blinding glow of the overhead lamps and the low hum of machines.

When he woke, it was to a dull, throbbing ache in his leg and the blurry sight of his parents on either side of the bed. His right knee was wrapped in layers of bandages, immobilized in a rigid brace.

The doctor visited later, explaining the procedure in detail.

"We reconstructed the ACL using a graft from your hamstring, repaired the MCL, and trimmed the torn portion of the meniscus. The surgery went well. Now, it's all about rest and rehab."

Yuuto barely heard him. All he could focus on was how heavy his leg felt, as if it didn't belong to him anymore.

The days that followed blurred together.

Nurses checked his vitals, replaced his IV fluids, and brought trays of bland hospital food Yuuto mostly pushed around with his fork.

On the second night, his best friend Daichi visited, leaning on the foot of the bed with a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"You still got fans, you know. Everyone's talking about that move you pulled before… you know."

Yuuto smirked weakly. "The one where my knee exploded?"

Daichi winced. "Too soon?"

They talked until visiting hours ended, and for a while Yuuto almost forgot about the hollow ache in his chest until Daichi left and the room fell quiet again.

By the fourth day, the doctor said he was ready to go home.

"Don't put any weight on that leg for now," the doctor instructed as a nurse brought in the wheelchair. "It's just for a few days until you can start gentle crutch work. You'll thank us later."

Yuuto eyed the chair like it was a cage. "So I'm just… stuck in this?"

His mother smiled softly. "Only for a bit. Besides, it's summer. No school. You can rest, play games, watch movies"

"Yeah," Yuuto muttered, "because that's exactly how I wanted to spend my summer."

Leaving the hospital felt strange. The sunlight was too bright after days under fluorescent lights. The warm air smelled faintly of cut grass and pavement baking in the heat. Somewhere in the distance, kids were laughing probably playing ball in a park.

Each sound felt like it belonged to a world moving on without him.

His father folded the wheelchair into the trunk while his mother helped him into the backseat. "We'll get you home, set you up in the living room. That way you don't have to go up the stairs," she said gently.

Yuuto leaned back, staring out the window. Houses, shops, and courts blurred past. Every time he spotted a hoop whether nailed to a garage or standing tall in a playground something twisted in his chest.

When they got home, his parents rolled him inside, the wheels rattling softly over the floor. His sneakers sat by the door where he'd left them before the game clean, bright, and mocking.

Yuuto didn't say a word even though he wanted to .

It was summer. The world was wide open.

And he was stuck in a chair.