Becoming the best was always my dream.
As a kid, people mocked me. I was skinny, weak, and lacked strength. I didn't have muscle, but I had something else — obsession. Football was my world. I trained every single day, pushing myself to be better, faster, sharper.
I'm 16 years old, living in Japan. My dream is simple: to become the best player in the world.
But dreams don't always survive reality.
As I grew older, I stopped playing. Six months passed without me touching a ball.
Then came the school cup championship.
We finished second in the group stage and advanced to the Round of 32. Extra time. The score was 1–0. We were losing in the 110th minute.
Our star player, Yusubashi, collapsed with an injured ankle. All our substitutes were already injured.
We were down to ten men.
Someone had to step in.
Watching my team struggle, something inside me snapped.
I ran forward.
When I stepped onto the field, the coach hesitated. Last year, I was the worst player on the team.
I didn't care.
I pulled on the jersey and ran out in the 115th minute.
The opponents missed a chance — counterattack.
They fell back quickly, shutting down our attack. We passed the ball around, waiting, searching.
119th minute.
Time was running out.
They were smiling.
Then the ball reached me.
I charged forward without hesitation. The opponents froze. My teammates felt it instantly — the shift, the intent.
The field turned blue.
I was never the strongest or the fastest, but one thing I had was vision. Before I quit, my rating was 24 overall, but my passing was 56. Not bad for someone who wasn't a prodigy.
I launched a long pass into the box.
My teammate was surrounded by five defenders.
Adrenaline took over.
He leapt into the air and trapped the ball with his chest.
They expected him to fall.
Instead, still mid-air, he passed.
Five defenders collapsed on him — leaving the center wide open.
The crowd erupted as the cross flew in—
The box opened.
Perfectly.
I dove in for the header—
Missed.
Just inches.
The ball skimmed past me, barely wide, but my teammate burst forward at full speed and nodded it back into play.
The crowd gasped—then roared as the ball stayed alive.
The cross came in again.
This time, I trapped it.
A defender pressed instantly.
No time to think.
I shifted toward the corner and shot on instinct.
The ball deflected off his leg.
Clang.
Crossbar.
Out.
Silence.
Then laughter.
My teammates stood frozen. The coach collapsed, covering his face. The referee's whistle cut through the air, and the opponent's fans erupted—cheers mixed with mockery.
It was over.
I sat down on the pitch and wiped my face with my jersey.
That was my last chance.
I told myself I was done with football.
I told myself I was useless.
But deep down, I knew—
I wasn't finished.
I swore an oath to myself.
Next year… I'll start from zero.
THE NEXT YEAR
I registered my name.
The Blue Card.
A new jersey.
A new beginning.
Me and the Blue Lockers were set to play our first match against Kagamitsuki High School.
Match day: 12:00 noon
Location: Kitakyushu Stadium, near Aoyama, Japan.
The field waited.
So did my ego.