The pattern held for a full week.
Most mornings, before anyone else reached the field, Yuki or Domon would already be there — sometimes both, sometimes only one. They never called it "training," but that's what it slowly became. A small question about timing. A first-touch correction. A stance shift. A single pass shown the right way. Nothing flashy, nothing dramatic — just quiet fixes that stuck.
Tenma never stayed long. The moment he heard footsteps from the gate or saw a shadow crossing the fence line, he would take his bag and head in toward the school building again. No one except the two first years ever saw him touch a ball.
But the results were visible.
Yuki's shooting had more control — he wasn't rushing the motion anymore.
Domon's body line was steadier — fewer off-balance turns, cleaner recoveries.
During official morning drills, Gen noticed first. Seniors noticed next. Even Akira nd jiro paused once, watching the difference without commenting. Takeda simply wrote a note on his pad and kept observing.
No one asked how they improved, and Yuki and Domon never said.
Tenma didn't act like a mentor. He just answered what they asked, then left.
A small, hidden rhythm — unspoken, but steady.
Word spread faster than expected.
By the end of the first week, the change was obvious even to students who never cared about the club. Passing looked cleaner. Players moved with purpose. Warm-ups actually looked like a team, not a group of volunteers killing time. It wasn't polished — just organized for the first time.
Between classes, people talked about it.
> "They're totally different this year."
"Takeda-sensei must be strict."
"I thought they were gonna disband…"
Even in Tenma's classroom, the shift became a small topic.
Two boys by the window were whispering.
> "Maybe we should've gone to tryouts."
"Yeah… can't believe they improved that fast."
"Feels like they might actually win something."
Someone else laughed lightly.
> "I thought the football team was hopeless."
Tenma sat at his desk, chin resting against his hand, looking out through the glass. From this floor you could see the edge of the training grid — small figures moving, passing, correcting shape.
He didn't comment.
He didn't join the conversation.
He just watched a moment longer, then lowered his gaze to his notebook.
Outside, the club kept working.
Evening practice had run longer than usual.
After cooldowns, Takeda called everyone in.
He didn't raise his voice — just waited until the circle quieted.
> "Before we finish… there's something you all need to know."
The players straightened a little.
> "Next Monday, a transfer student will be joining the team.
You don't need to worry about his level. He's already capable of going toe-to-toe with top ten players in the position he plays in entire and before takeda says
Akira blinks and asks.
> "Top ten in the prefecture, right?"
Takeda shook his head once.
Gen looks up.
> "…regional level?"
Takeda's expression stayed flat.
> "No. National."
The reaction wasn't loud — just a sharp intake of breath across the circle.
Faces stiffened. Someone went pale. Someone else's jaw tensed.
A national-level player… coming here?
Sera finally spoke, hesitant.
> "Why would someone like that transfer to Kitonohara…?"
Takeda tucked his notepad into his coat.
> "His former school's team disbanded. He received offers from major programs — almost all of them in the national tournament circuit. But he chose this one instead."
"As for why… I don't know. Call it our club's luck."
No one answered.
Not fear — just pressure.
A sense that the floor had shifted under them.
There's a hush. Someone sucks in a breath.
Even Sera's face tenses slightly.
Rio mutters under his breath:
> "…I just got here and there's already a monster?"
Hayato nudges him with a small grin.
> "Scared he'll steal the spotlight?"
Rio clicks his tongue lightly.
> "Tch. I didn't say I'm scared."
He tries to look casual. Completely failing.
Hina writes something down in her clipboard quietly. The first-years whisper among themselves — nerves mixing with excitement.
Takeda doesn't react to any of it.
> "He starts Monday. Be prepared."
Takeda closed it there.
> "That's all. Dismissed."
He turned and walked off, leaving the players standing in the fading light, trading uncertain glances. No one knew whether they should be excited, threatened, or simply anxious about what was coming.
Yuki and Domon were already on the field before sunrise, passing back and forth like every morning.
They noticed Tenma again at the edge of the pitch.
"Tenma-senpai! Morning!" Yuki waved.
Tenma walked over and joined them, trapping a loose pass and returning it lightly. Nothing unusual — like the last few mornings.
They kept passing in a triangle. Quiet, steady rhythm.
Then, a fourth touch came from behind.
A sudden foot tried to poke the ball away from Tenma's blind spot.
Tenma shifted his body in one motion — shielding, rolling his ankle across the ball — cleanly shutting the lane.
He didn't even look surprised.
"…still that nasty habit of stealing the ball."
He turned, expression flat.
"Kuga?"
Kuga grinned, hands in his pockets, eyes bright like always.
"Oh? So you didn't rust. For someone who ran off to the countryside like a rat, you're still sharp."
He leaned in a little.
"Funny. If you're still this sharp… why'd you stop?"
Yuki and Domon froze.
They didn't recognize the newcomer — but his touch, his balance, the way he pressed — it was on a level they hadn't seen before. Not Kitonohara. Not even Kasugano. A different class.
What shocked them more was Tenma.
He read him instantly. Timed everything. Not caught off-guard even for a second.
Tenma noticed their tension and broke eye contact first.
"…Let's talk somewhere else."
Kuga shrugged, still smiling. "Sure."
Tenma glanced back at the first-years.
"Yuki. Keep practicing."
The two of them walked off the field.
Kuga kept grinning as they crossed toward the empty walkway.
"So? Not even surprised to see me? Cold as ever."
Tenma didn't react.
"…Why are you here?"
"Hah? Oh? Looks like you really didn't hear."
Kuga tapped his own chest.
"I just transferred. Starting today. Any problem with me switching schools?"
Tenma frowned slightly. "This school? Isn't it too far?"
Kuga clicked his tongue.
"Oi, bastard — stop interrogating me. I should be grilling you. Why are you here?"
Tenma answered flatly, like it was obvious.
"This is my grandmother's hometown. I live here now. What's wrong with that."
Kuga paused.
He stared.
"…That's it?"
He blinked twice.
"THAT'S the reason?"
Tenma just looked back at him.
Kuga threw his head back like he'd been scammed.
Then he muttered under his breath, "I missed you so much you idiot," and pulled Tenma into a sudden hug like a clingy kid.
Tenma tried to shove his forehead back.
"Stop hugging me. You look stupid."
"Nope. I'm not letting go yet. Two years, rat-boy."
"Kuga. The reason you transferred."
"Ugh, fine."
Kuga released him, hands behind his head.
"My old team got disbanded. Stuff happened. So I moved here."
Tenma nodded once. "We'll talk after school."
"Yeah yeah. Don't ditch me again."
They split — Tenma toward the school building, Kuga toward the field.
---
When Kuga reached the pitch, Takeda and the others were already setting up.
No hesitation — he walked straight to Takeda.
Kuga's arrival to the field (morning)
When Kuga reached the pitch, Takeda turned at the sound of footsteps.
"haruto?" Takeda asked, half-confirming.
Kuga nodded once. "Starting today."
Takeda studied him for a moment, then spoke louder so the team could hear.
"His name is Haruto Kuga."
The reaction was immediate.
Sera's head snapped up.
Akira actually paused mid-stretch.
Gen blinked slowly, as if checking whether he misheard.
Even the ones who didn't follow youth football looked around, confused, until someone whispered—
"Wait… that Haruto Kuga?"
"The U-16 centre-back?"
"He was starting lineup in Nationals last year—"
A small ripple of shock passed through them.
They had heard about stars — but never seen one join a no-name school like theirs.
Takeda folded his arms.
"He was part of a national-level school program. Their team disbanded — he transferred here."
That alone stunned them further.
A player from a powerhouse… standing on their shabby half-line marked field.
Kuga lifted a hand casually.
"Yo. I'm Haruto Kuga. CB. Second year. I'll be playing here from now on. Let's get along."
It sounded simple, but everyone felt the weight behind it.
Some of the younger players were already whispering questions to the seniors.
The seniors were explaining with stiff voices — half proud, half overwhelmed.
And the ones most stunned —
were Yuki and Domon.
They finally realized the "unknown guy" from earlier wasn't just strong…
He was that Kuga.
The one every youth defender in Japan knew by name.
And Tenma… had defended against him like it was nothing.
The mix of shock and excitement hit them both at once.
Some players went quiet, suddenly feeling the gap in level.
Others were fired up — a star like that joining their team felt unreal.
A few were still stunned, whispering softly — trying to confirm if this was really happening.
Takeda clapped once.
"Get into warm-up lines. Kuga, go with the second group for now."
No special treatment.
That alone grounded the shock a little.
Kuga jogged over casually, as if he hadn't just shaken the hierarchy of the entire club by existing.
Akira leaned toward Sera. "Why would someone like him come here…?"
Sera didn't answer — he was still thinking.
Gen was quiet too — calculating.
Yuki and Domon stayed in the back row, still reeling.
Not just because Kuga was a national-level defender…
…but because Tenma had met him like an equal. And beaten his steal attempt like it was routine.
Now both mysteries overlapped.
Evening practice was already running smoother than the week before.
The passes were crisper.
Communication louder.
Shapes less chaotic.
Kuga only joined simple rondos, but even that was enough for half the team to freeze mid-drill — the timing, first-touch, body control… it was on a different scale entirely.
Rio muttered under his breath,
> "...seriously? another prodigy…?"
No one answered.
Most couldn't look away.
Takeda watched for a while. Expression unreadable.
After cooldown, he called everyone in.
> "Gather."
They formed a half-circle.
Some still sneaking glances at Kuga.
Takeda spoke plainly.
> "There will be a match tomorrow evening. Home ground."
A few surprised looks.
A few reflex swallows.
Takeda continued, same calm tone:
> "I want to see if what you learned this week can hold up against pressure. If you lose—"
"—ten laps around the field before next practice."
No shouting.
No theatrics.
Just a simple condition.
The players stiffened — not out of fear of running, but because Takeda phrased it like a test.
A measurement.
> "Rest. Be here tomorrow."
He turned away, already done.
The team slowly dispersed.
Yuki and Domon exchanged a look — excitement tightening into nerves.
The third-years stayed quiet.
Kuga just stretched casually, as if already used to this level of expectation.