Noah's morning started quieter than usual. The academy cafeteria was half-empty, sunlight streaming through wide windows as players ate in near silence. A big game loomed that evening against one of the strongest academies in the region. It was a chance to prove the last win hadn't been a fluke, a chance to see whether the new chemistry he and Riku had found could hold under real pressure.
He sat alone with a plate of eggs, scrolled through his phone, and finally tapped on his mother's name. It rang twice before her warm voice came through, cheerful even through the static.
"Noah! I was hoping you'd call."
"Morning, Mom," he said, unable to stop a small smile. "How's home?"
"It's home. Quiet, except your uncle keeps showing everyone that article about you. You'd think you were already a star player." She laughed softly, then her tone gentled. "How are you holding up? These games sound intense."
Noah hesitated. "I'm good, Mom. Actually… better than good. I feel like I'm finally playing the way I should've been all along. You know how I used to… play it safe? Avoid taking chances?"
There was a pause, just long enough for her to know exactly what he meant. "I remember," she said. "You've always been careful. Even when you were a kid, you hated climbing trees because you didn't want to fall."
"Yeah," Noah admitted. "But I'm done with that. At least, I'm trying to be."
"I'm proud of you, Noah. Really proud."
Something about hearing her say that settled him, grounding him in a way no console notification ever could. "Thanks, Mom. I'll call after the game, okay?"
"You'd better. And Noah? Don't let fear hold you back."
He smiled, a faint laugh escaping. "I won't."
He hung up, the phone resting on the table as he exhaled deeply. That safe-playing kid she remembered was still inside him, whispering in quiet moments, but he was learning how to silence it.
Training that day was light—mostly tactical walk-throughs. Coach Harper emphasized midfield shape and transition triggers.
"Riku," Harper called at one point, "when you push high, Noah's dropping. No exceptions."
"Yeah," Riku replied without his usual sarcasm, then glanced at Noah with a strange look. Not hostile, not friendly—just focused.
When practice ended, Noah found Riku alone on the far side of the pitch, juggling a ball lazily. The expression on his face was rare—tight, controlled, and distant, as though his mind was somewhere far away.
"You good?" Noah asked, walking over.
Riku stopped juggling and caught the ball under his foot. "Just thinking."
"About the game?"
"About everything," Riku muttered. He hesitated before adding, "Got a call from home last night. My father… he wants results. He always wants results."
Noah tilted his head. "Pressure?"
Riku shrugged, but the movement was stiff. "He played pro back in Japan. Says I can't afford to waste time, that I'm already behind the curve. Every game's supposed to prove something." He looked down at the ball. "Guess I play like it, huh?"
Noah didn't answer right away. He'd felt pressure before, but never like that—never the kind that came with carrying someone else's expectations as your own. "You don't have to prove anything to him," Noah said finally. "You're good because you're you, not because of him."
Riku snorted lightly, like he wanted to disagree but didn't have the energy. "Just focus on doing your job today, Maestro. I'll handle mine."
Noah smiled faintly. "Yeah. I'll make sure the spotlight finds you again."
Riku gave him a sharp look, but there was no real edge to it this time—just acknowledgment.
By evening, the team gathered in the locker room. The chatter was quieter than usual; players tied boots, taped ankles, and stared at the floor with the kind of focus only big games bring. Leo plopped down next to Noah, grinning despite the tension.
"You ready for this, Maestro?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Noah said.
"Good. Because I'm feeling two goals tonight. Just feed me."
Noah laughed softly. "I'll see what I can do."
Riku walked by, already pulling on his captain's armband for the night—a temporary appointment for this match. He gave Noah a quick nod, no words needed.
The whistle hadn't blown yet, but Noah could feel it coming—the storm, the clash, the chance to prove who they were becoming. And for the first time in a long time, he wasn't scared of it.