The dim glow of monitors cast flickering shadows across Mika's face as she leaned back in her chair, her eyes locked onto the screen where the replay of Kou's goal played in slow motion. The soft clink of her fork against her plate was the only sound that broke the tense silence in the room.
"Why do you think I created a second branch of Kelshea, Hojo?" she asked, her voice smooth, almost too calm.
Hojo hesitated, unsure. "Uh... I don't know."
Mika's grin was sharp, dangerous. Her fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest, punctuating her words.
"Team B isn't some developmental squad," she said, her voice carrying an almost imperceptible edge. "It's an experiment. A crucible. To forge a striker who will revolutionize soccer itself."
She paused, her gaze never leaving the screen. The replay showed Kou's goal in exquisite detail—the way he had lured Itoku in, allowing him to believe he had control, before the perfect strike.
"Japan's soccer is trash," Mika continued, her voice taking on a venomous tone. "Filled with average nobodies and money-grubbing bastards. Messi, Ronaldo, Maradona... all legends." Her eyes gleamed with something unhinged, and her grin widened slightly. "But they don't excite me like he does."
Hojo blinked, confused. "Excite?"
Mika gestured to the screen again, her eyes hard as she dissected every moment. "Analyze it. That duel, the spacing, the shot—he orchestrated everything. He let Itoku think he had the upper hand just long enough to create the perfect opening."
Her laugh was low, guttural, almost predatory. "Kou was holding back, kekeke. He's good."
Hojo's mouth opened, then closed. The implications of what she was saying swirled in his mind, but the words felt too overwhelming to process all at once.
---
On the pitch, Kuzan reeled.
Izana's voice trembled. "What kind of goal was that?"
Shinsei wiped sweat from his brow, his eyes locked on Kou, who stood still, his presence looming over the field like a predator. "That guy... he's good. What do we do, Itoku?"
Itoku's fists clenched, frustration evident on his face. Then, with a deep breath, he exhaled, smoothing away the emotion. "He's mocking me," he muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing. "Just from that one play, I know he's on another level." His expression darkened, a cold resolve settling in. "And he's holding back." He took another breath, his voice now calm. "Let's go."
---
Time: 18:39
Kelshea shifted into a defensive 3-6-1 formation. The defensive line tightened, the midfield packed with bodies ready to prevent any more surprises.
Yugen gritted his teeth, eyes scanning the field. This will be the last play. The obvious move is to protect our lead. His nails dug into his palms, frustration bubbling. Damn it. I haven't even made my presence known.
---
[Restart]
Kuzan surged forward, his dribbling a blur as Itoku sliced through the midfield, his movements precise and deadly, like a surgeon with a scalpel.
Yugen's mind raced, trying to keep up with the flow. The titans on this field are Itoku and Kou. Think! How can I—
A snarl twisted his expression. No. What matters now isn't my goal. I need to make myself useful.
Iori lunged to intercept Shinsei's pass. "End of the line."
Shinsei smirked, not bothered at all. With a swift turn, he shifted the attack to the opposite wing. Kagura received the ball, grinning as he faced the defense.
"Nice, nice," he muttered, sizing up his opponents.
Jin moved quickly to block the cross—only to be thrown off balance as Kagura slammed into him, the smaller player surprisingly powerful, using his shoulder to shove Jin aside.
The low cross streaked toward Tetsu, and Yugen reacted instantly. At least limit his shooting angle.
Tetsu, calm under pressure, back-passed to Itoku, now wide open.
Yugen's stomach dropped. He got us. Number 77 is free—
Inyo, ever the silent force, intercepted the pass mid-air with a sneer. "Petty fucking tricks," he muttered as he sent the ball back to the midfield.
Yugen exhaled in relief. Nice, Inyo.
Then—an ominous presence. A shadow loomed, suffocating, overwhelming. The hairs on Yugen's neck stood on end.
Too late.
Itoku appeared, as if from nowhere, his figure materializing out of the chaos, his eyes locked onto the ball with predatory focus. In one fluid motion, he volleyed the ball—a thunderous strike that ripped through the air, slamming into the net with the force of a storm.
The stadium held its breath.
Itoku landed, his body coiling with the power of his strike. A manic grin spread across his face, his eyes burning with a feral light. The crowd was silent, the tension unbearable. The game had shifted once more.
---
[Chapter End]
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