There are clubs that players pass through, and there are clubs that live inside them forever. Celtic is not just worn — it is carried. In the songs that shake the stands, in the memories passed down like heirlooms, in the understanding that once you give yourself to this place, it never truly releases you. For some, Celtic becomes a chapter. For others, it becomes identity.
But even at a club built on loyalty and memory, time can be ruthless.
Because football does not always honour what was given yesterday. It moves forward, cold and fast, and sometimes it leaves behind those who once carried the weight of belief on their shoulders. And when that happens, the hardest part is not rejection — it is silence.
That silence is what Kyogo Furuhashi has finally broken.
In words that have pierced straight through the Celtic support, Kyogo has spoken openly, emotionally, and painfully about his return to Parkhead — revealing that despite being one of the club’s most devastating players in recent history, he felt forgotten. And in a revelation that has shaken the fanbase, he admitted that only one man truly fought to bring him home: Celtic captain Callum McGregor.
Kyogo’s journey away from Celtic was meant to be brave. A leap into something new. Instead, it became a test of everything he believed about football and himself. His move to Rennes promised opportunity but delivered frustration. Minutes were few. Confidence drained away. Goals — once his language — disappeared. A later spell at Birmingham City brought more time on the pitch, but the rhythm never returned.
For a player who once turned defences inside out under the lights of Paradise, it was a lonely fall.
But the pain ran deeper than missed chances.
“I gave everything to Celtic,” Kyogo said.
“Every run, every goal, every celebration. I thought that meant something.”
Between 2021 and 2025, Kyogo was not just important — he was electric. Sixty-three goals in 116 appearances. Big moments. Big nights. A forward whose movement felt almost supernatural, whose presence lifted the entire team. He embodied the relentless, fearless Celtic spirit.
And then, suddenly, he felt erased.
“When I was struggling, there was nothing,” he admitted.
“No call. No message. I felt like I disappeared.”
That silence broke him more than any missed chance ever could.
“At one point I thought, ‘Maybe this is football,’” Kyogo said quietly.
“You give everything — and then it’s finished.”
But Celtic, at its best, is about people — not processes. And when Kyogo felt most alone, one voice refused to let his story end that way.
Callum McGregor.
The captain. The standard-bearer. The quiet leader who understands that Celtic is more than form charts and balance sheets. Kyogo revealed that McGregor personally intervened, approaching interim manager Martin O’Neill and demanding that the club look again at a player he knew had more to give.
“Only one person wanted me,” Kyogo said.
“That was Callum.”
Those words landed like a thunderclap.
“He spoke to the manager. He told him to call my agent. Without him, I don’t come back.”
For Celtic fans, that revelation cuts deep — because it confirms what they already believe about their captain. Leadership is not shouting. It is standing up when someone else is being forgotten.
For Kyogo, that belief was everything.
“When someone like Callum believes in you, it gives you life again,” he said.
“It made me want to fight.”
Martin O’Neill eventually opened the door. Conversations followed. The return was done quietly — but emotionally, it was seismic. This was not nostalgia. This was redemption.
Kyogo returned not demanding love, but ready to earn it again.
“I know I’m not owed anything,” he said.
“I know I have to run, to press, to suffer, to prove myself again.”
There was no bitterness toward the supporters — only gratitude.
“The fans never failed me,” Kyogo said.
“Every time I wore the shirt, they gave me everything.”
Now back beneath the lights of Paradise, Kyogo speaks differently. Older. Scarred. Hungrier. A player who understands how easily football can take everything away — and how precious it is when belief is restored.
“I’m back because I still believe I belong here,” he said.
“I will fight for this badge until I can’t anymore.”
For Celtic, this is more than a return. It is a reminder of who they are at their core. A club that remembers. A club that believes. A club where one voice — one captain — can change a destiny.
Kyogo Furuhashi is home.
And this time, he is not playing just for goals.
He is playing for everything.
