A rugby player. The dream of becoming one started a long time ago, when I was very young.

I vividly remember that day, holding my father's hand and moving my small feet to walk along the lines on the road. Even in the dull color palette of the crosswalk, I hopped along, stepping only on the brightest white. Perhaps even then, I wanted to live a life holding the light in my hands.

What was I thinking as I arrived at the stadium with my father and looked down at the giant players crashing into each other?

I want to be like them? No, that wasn't it.

It wasn't a weak sentiment like 'they're amazing' or 'this is fun'.

It was a competitive desire filled with the urge to be better than those people.

After a brief flashback, I stepped off the field and slumped powerlessly onto our team's bench. Less than 30 meters away, a celebration was taking place. The opposing team was lifting the trophy, beaming with smiles. Cruelly, even the sun shone only on the winners, and as always, we were swallowed by the darkness.

Runners-up. For the second year in a row. Failing to overcome that one remaining step, slipping and falling like that.

I looked around at my younger teammates. Everyone looked just as bitter as I did. In an instant, my body stood up on its own. I felt that we couldn't crumble like this. Both as a captain and as a player.

For the sake of the next tournament, we couldn't afford to fall.