The field exuded that fresh, slightly sweet smell of freshly cut grass, mingled with the gentle warmth of the late-morning sun. The wind swept through the stands, lifting banners and flags, while the crowd's buzz formed a soundtrack of anticipation.
Isagi drew the air slowly into his lungs and began to stretch. First his arms, then his legs. His body responded with that initial stiffness typical of the minutes before the match, but soon the muscles began to warm up, gaining fluidity.
On the other side, Tada was doing the same, tossing out small provocations that Isagi casually ignored.
The rest of the team spread out across the field, making short passes, quick touches, testing the ball's weight and the wind's rhythm.
The crowd began to stir as the referee walked to the center circle. The two teams took their positions.
The referee's whistle cut through the air like a thin blade.
The murmurs ceased, replaced by a silent tension that hung over the field.
On the opposite side, Minamida High displayed impeccable organization, the kind of team that breathed discipline. Their navy-blue uniforms contrasted with Ichinan's white and black, and the players seemed to move as a single body, unhurried but precise.
Their formation was clear: 4-3-3, exactly as Coach Saito had said.
Four compact defenders, a solid line, full-backs ready to push forward when needed. The midfield trio maintained an intelligent structure: two holding midfielders anchoring the center, and an advanced playmaker controlling the game's tempo: Aizawa Hayato, the captain and the team's brain.
Aizawa didn't seem physically imposing, but the way he surveyed the field, chin raised and gaze serene, made it evident that he saw more than most. He gestured sparingly, and his teammates responded immediately, as if they could read his thoughts.
Minamida's attacking trio was swift. Two aggressive wingers, ready to attack down the flanks, and a center-forward who resembled a predator waiting for the right moment to strike. They positioned themselves slightly forward, pushing Ichinan's line back even before the game began.
On Ichinan's side, Saito had stuck with the traditional 4-2-2-2, with Isagi and Tada up front, an offensive duo built on contrast. Behind them, two linking midfielders: Shiba and Haruto, tasked with balancing creativity and coverage. Further back, Takeshi and Ryoga protected the defense, both with clear roles: intercept and distribute quickly. In defense, four defenders, ready to hold the initial advance.
The referee raised his arm, and Minamida's captain placed the ball in the center circle.
A short touch backward.
And the friendly match began.
In a matter of seconds, Minamida High showed why they had finished second in the winter cup.
The short pass from captain Hayato Aizawa reached the feet of number six, Tsubaki Ren, a holding midfielder with an upright posture and a cold expression. He pivoted his body perfectly, shrugging off Takeshi's approach with a shoulder check, and played it first-time to the left-back, Kenta Mizoguchi. The ball hugged the touchline, following the natural flow of Mizoguchi's body; he didn't even need to look back—he already knew where each of his teammates was.
He quickly passed the ball precisely to one of his teammates, who continued passing it among themselves.
Ichinan advanced as a block, trying to press high.
Tada ran toward the central defender, Yamane Riku, who returned the pass calmly, without haste. The sound of footsteps echoed on the pitch, the rhythm of movements coordinated, rehearsed, almost choreographic.
Minamida exchanged short, quick passes—full-backs and center-backs—always one touch before any marker arrived. The ball seemed tethered to an invisible string, always escaping the reach of Ichinan's players by mere centimeters.
"Press! Press!" Takeshi shouted, his voice tearing through the air. He stepped forward, trying to intercept a pass in midfield, but Aizawa saw him coming. A light heel touch, and the ball changed direction, finding the right midfielder Koji Amuro, a skinny boy with disheveled black hair and a lazy gaze, but feet that were far too quick.
Amuro spun his body in half a second and, with a sharp feint, evaded Haruto's tackle attempt. A short touch, then another; the sound of the ball being struck was clean, smooth, rhythmic like a melody only Minamida's players seemed to know.
The crowd reacted with murmurs and low whistles. The technical gap was clear, and it hurt more for those on the field.
The ball traveled back to Mizoguchi, who advanced down the left flank. The turf vibrated under his steps. Takeshi tried to keep up, but Mizoguchi cut inside, body leaning, balance perfect. The pass came low, crossing the midfield line to Aizawa, who was already turning his body before the ball arrived.
"Over here!" shouted the right winger, Rento Harada, a short, quick player with a provocative smile.
Aizawa lifted his head for an instant and sent a long pass with the outside of his foot; the ball arced perfectly, dropping exactly in front of Rento. The boy let it bounce once, controlled it with his chest, and accelerated. Ichinan's full-back chased, eyes fixed on the ball, but the opponent's speed was absurd.
Rento cut sharply inside, leaving the defender flat-footed. The stands erupted in a collective "ooh!"
The navy-blue winger advanced two more steps and played it short to the center-forward, Naoto Kirihara, who controlled it with his back to goal.
The ball paused for an instant in the box, enough for time to seem to stretch. But before Minamida's center-forward could turn, a light, almost lazy touch diverted the ball's path.
Tac.
It vanished from Kirihara's feet.
By the time everyone realized what had happened, Isagi already had it, his body slightly leaning, expression calm, almost bored. He had used [Misdirection] to move in and steal the ball.
"With half-assed soccer like that..." he said in a calm, almost sleepy tone, "you'll never go pro..."
The phrase cut across the field like silent thunder.
Minamida's players instinctively retreated, and the stadium seemed to hold its breath.
Isagi surged forward with superhuman speed. The holding midfielder Tsubaki came in for the tackle, foot forward, body closed, but Isagi twisted his ankle, touching the ball with the outside of his foot and escaping the mark with the ease of someone playing around.
The sound of footsteps and the ball blended with the growing murmur of the crowd.
Aizawa, who had predicted his path the moment he took the ball, moved immediately, intercepting the diagonal run. He extended his arm, voice firm:
"You're not getting past here, number eleven!"
The boy lifted his gaze, and a crooked smile appeared on his face.
"Oh yeah?"
Aizawa advanced, body low, trying to anticipate the touch. But Isagi twisted his foot with almost cruel precision. The ball threaded between the captain's legs in a clean, sharp nutmeg—a perfect tunnel.
"Heh..." Isagi murmured, passing him without even looking back: "You shouldn't leave your legs open like that... people might think you're an easy guy..."
Aizawa turned his face in disbelief, and the stands exploded.
Fortunately, Aizawa bought enough time for Tsubaki Ren, who was nearby, to lunge into the path and intercept, opening his body to close the space. But Isagi shifted his left foot slightly, drawing the opponent's eyes to the wrong side, and with his right slid the ball between the midfielder's legs.
Tsubaki spun to react, but Isagi was already two meters ahead, body fluid, balance impeccable.
The next to come was Mizoguchi, the full-back, closing down the left flank. Isagi didn't slow down; on the contrary. He twisted his ankle, lifting the ball slightly, and pulled off a reverse elastic that skimmed past the opponent's boot.
After bypassing two more adversaries, Isagi was in the attacking third, advancing with the ball glued to his foot as if it were an extension of his body. Each touch had perfect timing, each hip swivel evaded a leg, a slide tackle, a block attempt.
He was beautifully dismantling the opposing team.
The last holding midfielder attempted a firm challenge.
Isagi didn't stop.
With a soft touch, he lifted the ball, letting the marker slide underneath it, and cushioned it back down with the sole of his boot.
The movement was so natural it seemed rehearsed for a lifetime.
The crowd roared.
The banners fluttered.
The center-back Yamane shouted:
"Close him down!"
But no one could.
Isagi looked relaxed as he dribbled through the opposing team. A quick spin to fool the full-back, followed by a heel flick that left the marker facing the wrong way. The ball rolled on the turf, spinning, bouncing softly as if dancing. Another touch, now with the sole of his right foot, lifting the ball just enough to loop over a defender in a mini-volley.
Aizawa tried to recover, coming from behind, but Isagi was already ahead.
He entered the penalty area.
Tada ran down the right, begging for the pass with his arm raised.
"ISAGI! HERE! PASS IT!"
But Isagi didn't respond.
His eyes were fixed on the goal.
The last defender tried to block him with his body, pushing, trying to unbalance him.
But Isagi was ready.
After pulling the ball back and striking it with the tip of his foot, it bounced on the turf and rose over both him and the defender. In the next instant, Isagi used the defender himself as a springboard. His body arched over the opponent's back, his right foot rising into the air with millimeter precision. The ball, in a perfect arc, met his foot with the inevitability of fate.
The goalkeeper dove, but it was too late.
The ball sliced through the air, hit the net with a clean, sharp snap, and the stadium erupted in a collective roar.
GOOOOOOOL!
Isagi landed softly on the turf, body balanced, without falling, maintaining his calm gaze.
Silence.
The defender who had served as the springboard was still trying to comprehend what had happened. Captain Aizawa stood frozen, eyes wide, jaw nearly dropping.
But that was only for a moment.
In the next, the roar of the crowd echoed through the stands of Ichinan Academy, a mix of ecstasy and disbelief at Isagi Yoichi's spectacular goal. The ball was still shaking in the net, and the momentary silence from Minamida High's players contrasted with the explosion of enthusiasm from Ichinan's students.
"NO, NO WAY! HOW DID HE DO THAT?!"
"ISAGI YOICHI, MY GOD!!!"
"DID HE SPIN IN THE AIR? HE SPUN AND SHOT?!!"
"The guy invented a new goal, man! THAT DOESN'T EXIST!"
"I agree! No way! I want the replay! I need to see the replay NOW!"
"I swear I saw the ball change direction in the air! What kind of spin was that!?"
"That's what you call defying physics!!"
"..."
"If this isn't the goal of the tournament, I'm switching schools!"
"..."
"HEY, ISAGI! YOU MADMAN! MARRY ME!!"
"ISAGI-SAMA!! TEACH ME THAT SHOT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!"
"It looks like an anime finale scene, dude. All that's missing is 'Winner' playing in the background!"
"The opposing coach is pale! The guy's in total shock!"
Among the enthusiastic students, Marin was on her feet, hands cupped around her mouth, shouting with seemingly inexhaustible energy. Her eyes sparkled with a mix of admiration and pure excitement, her blonde hair swaying as she waved the black-and-white flag vigorously.
"ISAGI! YOU'RE AMAZING! WHAT A WONDERFUL GOAL!" she shouted, her voice echoing so loudly that several heads turned toward her again. Marin didn't care about the stares; in fact, she seemed to thrive on the attention. To her, that moment was like an anime scene, with Isagi as the perfect protagonist, destroying the opponents with a play straight out of a sports shonen.
Deep down, though, there was more to it. Ever since she met Isagi, during that chaotic weekend when he unexpectedly agreed to help her with her cosplay, she hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. The way he treated her—without judgment, with genuine interest in understanding what she loved—had touched her. He wasn't just talented at soccer; there was something about his calm demeanor, the way he seemed to see the world, that made her want to be closer. And now, watching him shine on the field, her heart was beating so fast it felt like it might explode.
"YOU'RE GOING TO BE THE GREATEST STRIKER IN THE WORLD, ISAGI!" she shouted again, almost jumping in place. Some students laughed at her excitement, but Marin just smiled even wider, not caring at all.
"He's so cool... so, so cool..."
She murmured to herself, her face flushing slightly as she imagined telling him later how impressed she was by that goal. Maybe she'd even use it as an excuse to ask him out and work on cosplay together again.
But she wasn't the only one.
Kaguya watched Isagi with an expression mixing fascination and a certain admiration.
Her hands, usually elegantly interlaced, were lightly clenched, as if she were trying to contain the emotion Isagi's goal had sparked. Even though she wasn't a soccer expert, she recognized the genius of that play—the precision, the audacity, the absolute confidence.
It was impossible not to be impressed.
"That was... extraordinary," she murmured.
Hayasaka, beside her, just sighed at her lady's lovestruck expression; her eyes landed on Isagi, and even she was surprised by the boy's goal and skills.
Meanwhile, Yuki maintained her elegant posture, legs crossed and hands resting in her lap, but her eyes gleamed with an intensity that betrayed her fascination.
Beside her, Kuze waved the black-and-white flag with his usual sloppiness, but even he seemed impressed.
"Damn, Yuki, since when is Isagi this good? Like, 'sports anime protagonist' level good." He shot a teasing glance at his sister. "Bet you're imagining him as the hero of your next favorite manga, huh?"
Yuki turned her face away, a subtle blush on her cheeks revealing that Kuze wasn't entirely wrong. "Don't be silly, Masashika. I'm just... appreciating a classmate's talent. And you're right; he has improved a lot compared to last year. From the rumors that he was the new ace of the soccer team, I expected this, but his skills shattered my expectations."
"Hm..." Kuze fell silent and watched his friend. Being friends with a star might have its perks in the future? He wondered...
As the two talked, several students began excitedly commenting on Isagi's dribbles and goal.
Sitting in silence, Alya had her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on Isagi, but for the first time, the jealousy that usually consumed her was in the background; she didn't even mind Marin's shouts. Isagi's goal had been so impressive that even she, with her tendency to get irritated by anything, couldn't avoid admiration. He was... incredible. The way he crossed the field, dribbled past half the opposing team, and finished with a perfect bicycle kick was something that seemed to defy logic.
"Ты невероятный..."
(You're incredible...)
She murmured in Russian, almost without realizing it, her tone soft and laden with fascination.
Beside her, Masha watched Isagi with a sweet smile, her eyes shining with almost dreamy admiration, a blush coloring her cheeks.
"He looks like a prince on the field, doesn't he, Alya?"
Alya huffed, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.
"Prince? Don't exaggerate, Masha. He's just... good. Really good." She looked away, trying to hide how impressed she was. But deep down, she knew that moment only made it harder to ignore her feelings. Isagi wasn't just a classmate or a seat neighbor...
"You're smiling, Alya," Masha teased, leaning in closer with a mischievous grin. "Don't tell me you're finally admitting you like him?"
"Shut up, Masha," Alya retorted, her face flushing intensely.
_________________
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