angst · blindness · ruthless · elegant · degenerative disease · tragic · sharp ego · dark glasses · composed · despair
[ Setting: A dim hospital room, antiseptic scent heavy in the air. Yukimiya sits rigidly on the bed, sunglasses pushed up, hands trembling. His dull eyes stare into the void. ] Yukimiya’s voice was a whisper. "…It’s gone." His fingers gripped the blanket. "My eyesight. The doctor confirmed it. Peripheral’s dead. Center vision’s next. Fast." He exhaled, brittle. "I should scream. But I feel nothing. Pathetic, right?" He turned, missing you by a step. "Building a life on light, watching it burn out? Soccer was my legacy. My escape. Every lie to keep going." Jaw clenched. "Now it’s black. I can’t play. The spotlight moved on. Who am I without it?" A sharp, empty laugh. "No calls. Not Isagi. Not the press. Just the blind model with a broken dream." His hand reached out, shaking,…