Kicking Fire - A Story of Mulan

X.

-Alec-

I was already in the car, engine humming low, elbow resting against the open window as the cool breeze bit at the edges of my thoughts. The field lights were still on behind me, throwing long shadows over the now-empty turf. Practice was over, but my head wasn’t.

I watched her from the rearview mirror—Raya, still at the far end of the field, setting her bag down, rubbing her arms, like the weight of the gear hadn’t fully left her.

I sighed and leaned back.

What was she thinking?

Football? Seriously? It’s not just a game you pick up for fun. It’s grit. Pain. Years of pushing your body until it breaks, and then learning how to play with the pieces. She didn’t know what she was signing up for.

She didn’t have to.

There are a thousand other things she could do. She’s smart, she's... different. She’s not built for this. I didn’t say that to be cruel—it was just fact.

The passenger door opened with a soft clunk. She slipped in, quiet. Tired. Her eyes met mine for a second before she clicked the seatbelt on.

I pulled the car into drive.

We didn’t speak for the first few blocks. The silence between us was thick—like neither of us knew how to cut through it.

Then finally, I couldn’t help it.

"You don’t have to do this, you know," I said, eyes still on the road. “After today, you’ve probably figured out—it’s not for you.”

She blinked, then looked out the window. “Figured out what?”

“That it’s pointless.” My voice came out harsher than I meant it to. “Football’s not some experiment. It’s dangerous. Brutal. It takes real passion. Not just... not just wanting to prove someone wrong.”

She turned to me slowly. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

I shrugged, jaw tightening. “I told you. You’re not going anywhere with it. And now here you are—trying to prove me wrong. I don’t want you to get hurt for something like that.”

She sat up straighter. “I’m not trying to prove anything to you.”

“Then why, Raya?” I glanced at her. “Why this? You’ve got so many other things going for you. You don’t know what you’re getting into. You’re clueless about this game, about what it takes.”

There was a long pause. Then, her voice—quiet, but not weak.

“I don’t know what it is,” she said. “I just… when I’m out there, when I ran on that field—even when I was messing up—it felt like something was alive in me. Like there’s something I’m supposed to find there. I don’t know what yet, but... it’s there.”

Her words lingered in the space between us.

I didn’t get it. Not really. But the way she said it… the fire in her voice… it was real. And that scared me more than anything.

I didn’t want her getting lost chasing something that would never return the same energy. Football doesn’t bend for people. It breaks them. I knew that too well.

We pulled into the driveway.

Neither of us spoke.

Inside, the house was warm, glowing with dinner lights. Lila’s laughter echoed faintly from the kitchen. Mom was serving rice. Ethan was already in his seat.

Raya sat across from me, answering questions politely, smiling softly. She told Mom her day went fine. She thanked Ethan when he passed her the salt.

But on my side of the table?

It was quiet. Not cold… but distant.

And the worst part was—I didn’t even know if I was right anymore.

I couldn’t sleep.

The house was quiet now—too quiet. Just the sound of the old ceiling fan ticking lazily above my head and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards shifting with the breeze. Everyone had gone to bed hours ago.

Except me.

I was lying on my back, one arm draped over my forehead, eyes staring at the ceiling as if it held all the answers. But all I could see was Raya—on the field, panting, bruised, frustrated. And still… still not giving up.

She didn’t even flinch when I told her she was wasting her time.

No tears. No pleading. Just... that steady look in her eyes like she'd already decided something I hadn’t caught up to yet.

And that—that unsettled me.

Because I’ve seen people like her before. The hopeful ones. The dreamers. The ones who think sheer will can get them through anything. They fall hard. And this game? Football doesn’t cushion your fall. It throws you to the ground, face first.

But she didn’t flinch. She stepped in, even when the whole team was laughing behind her back.

That kind of fire... it was either reckless, or it was something else.

I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

From my window, I could see part of the backyard, dark and unmoving. I used to train there when I was a kid. I used to think nothing could stop me either. Before I learned better.

Maybe I’m wrong about her.

Or maybe she just hasn’t hit the wall yet.

But there’s something in me I can’t shut up—not fear exactly, but something close. I keep thinking: what if this ends up being one of those stories where the ending’s not worth the beginning?

She doesn’t get it.

Or maybe... I just don’t want her to.

Because if she does—if she proves me wrong—then I’ll have to accept that maybe some fires are worth chasing, even if they burn you.

And I don’t know if I’m ready to see her burn.

I didn’t know how long I sat on the edge of my bed after that. Minutes? Hours? Time felt shapeless.

Eventually, I gave up trying to sleep and made my way downstairs. The cool tiles of the kitchen chilled my bare feet as I opened the fridge and grabbed the carton of milk. I poured it into a glass, half-hearted, like it could wash away everything twisting in my chest.

I was halfway through gulping it down when I heard the faint creak of the staircase.

Raya.

She was tiptoeing, probably thinking no one was awake, wearing that oversized shirt she always slept in, her hair loosely tied back. Her eyes widened when she saw me.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” I asked, setting the glass down.

She nodded, then hesitated.

I motioned to the chair across from mine at the kitchen table. “Come sit.”

She did.

The silence sat between us for a second. Not awkward. Just... full.

“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea,” I finally said, keeping my voice low, careful not to wake anyone upstairs. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy here. I’m not out to ruin your dreams or whatever.”

Raya tilted her head slightly, curious.

“It’s just—” I looked at her straight, trying to find the words. “I’ve been on that field long enough to see what it does to people. The way it breaks you before you even know you’re broken. And with where our women’s team is right now... It’s not just about playing. It’s a dead end, Raya. I’m trying to stop you from walking into one.”

She smiled softly. “You sound like a kuya.”

That word hit me weird. Protective. Familiar. Heavy.

“I get it, Alec,” she said, leaning forward. “And I appreciate that you care. I do. But... I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You say that like you’ve done this before,” I muttered.

She laughed. “Well, I am Filipino. We survive jeepney traffic, brownouts during dinner, and family reunions where you're forced to sing in front of fifty titas who judge your every note. You think a football field’s gonna scare me?”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. A real one, from the gut. “God, that sounds terrifying.”

“It is,” she grinned. “And you still don’t get to say no to singing.”

I shook my head, smiling... but the weight crept back in.

“But seriously,” I said, the smile fading. “You don’t know what you’re stepping into. It’s more than just drills and games. It’s pressure. Doubt. People tearing you down before you can stand up.”

She met my eyes then—steady, clear.

“Then don’t just stand there telling me I don’t know anything,” she said quietly. “If you really do know something I don’t... then guide me.”

I stared at her.

That wasn’t what I expected her to say.

And in that moment, something shifted.

I still didn’t want her in this mess—but for the first time, I wasn’t sure if I could keep her out of it.