Incorrect Super League

S̶u̶p̶a̶ S̶t̶r̶i̶k̶a̶s̶

Author: This is an AU if Supa Strikas doesn't exist nice

Note: This took too long to write. Aight Imma head out to go for a long hiatus because this year is a big year for me (exams that risk my entire life).

Note #2: I do not know how being a therapy session look like so take this with a little grain of salt. But what I do know that my friend went into therapy and he recommends to anyone out there

Note #3: I'm so tired

 Words for the story alone: 7,455
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Mental health is not a subject most adults talk about. Despite its prominent stage presence around the world, mental health is excused as "it's all in your head". Mental health comes in all sorts of flavors like ice cream but the twist is that none of them are sweet. Mental health is important but it needs to be handle with care. No one wants their ice cream to melt.

Being a therapist doesn't usually mean prescribing anti depressants or all patients that walked through the door are all suicidal. Sometimes it was just comforting people who struggles whether it be in their lowest or prime of life. People don't like going to a therapist due to the impression that they will get diagnosed and shunned from society. Therapy is just safe space where you can talk with someone to vent your frustrations or finding a new direction in life.

That's why Rasta became a therapist. He wanted to help people who had the courage to seek, need or heck even want help from a professional. Rasta would always do his best to help his patients. He was jokingly dubbed as Dancing Rasta by his colleagues for how he managed to make his patients danced out the door as they leave.

Today, he has a total of new eight patients to see and all of them are from the afternoon to evening. His first patient is coming through the door in 3... 2.... 1...

A knock was heard from the door. A soft polite voice was heard from the other side of the door. "Dr. Rasta, may I come in?"

"Come in," Rasta smiled as he watched the door open to see a man with a fluffy tuft of red hair. He gingerly (ahaha pun) sat himself down on the red leather couch before releasing a sigh. "...Mr Tiger?"

"No need for any formalities, doctor. Just call me Tiger," Tiger gave a crooked smile.

"Alright Tiger, how has the day been treating you? From how hard you were sighing, I'm guessing it wasn't a good one," Rasta swiveled his seat to face his patient.

"Well it wasn't as terrible as other days but... it's quite bad." Tiger played with his fingers as he look haphazardly to the table.

"Oh? Could you elaborate?" Rasta picked up his pen and clipboard. He took note of the subtle movements and after a beat of silence, the Tiger was ready to roar.

"This morning was ok. Had a cup of matcha green tea and did a few stretches since I am-"

"A professional martial artist?" Rasta interrupted.

Tiger coughed shyly as he continued. "Yes that. After stretching I went to the..."

Rasta waited for the sentence to finish. But the hesitation was too long.

"Nakama Dojo." The moment those words escaped, Tiger visibly shook as if he released all of his emotional baggage. Tiger teared up as he continued speaking. "I work in the dojo but I am not welcomed there. I don't know why but suddenly my colleagues turn on me a year ago and the Nakama soccer branch whom I am close to... stop trusting me. My own brother did not care for my words anymore."

"I just don't know what happened? One day I was smiling with them and the next they isolated me. I had enough it so," Tiger took a huge gulp. Rasta raised his eyebrow while taking notes.