"They're replacing you."
The words fell like a hammer.
Coker froze on the pitch, sweat dripping down his neck. His boots pressed into the turf as if rooting him to the ground. Around him, his teammates went silent. A boy he didn't recognize stood next to Coach Park, juggling a ball like it was part of his body.
"This is Riku," Coach said flatly. "Starting tomorrow, he'll be our striker." The laughter from the bench hit harder than any tackle. Ryan smirked, arms crossed.
"Guess we finally have a *real* forward."
Coker's chest burned. *Real forward?* He'd given four years of his life to this team—running until his lungs bled, pushing when everyone else had gone home. And just like that, he was nothing.
"Coach," Coker said, voice shaking. "Please. One more match. I can prove"
"Enough." Coach's tone cut sharp. "You've had your chances. Go home. Don't come back tomorrow."
The ball slipped from Coker's hands. He looked around desperately, but none of his teammates met his eyes. Not Sammy, not Ahmed, not even Mateo, the captain. Silence. Abandonment.
Coker swallowed the lump in his throat and turned away. His footsteps scraped the turf, echoing as he left. Behind him came laughter and the hollow thud of Riku's perfect juggling.
No one stopped him. No one cared.
The street is filled with neon and noise, but to Coker it all felt distant. His reflection in shop windows showed a boy broken, eyes hollow, boots dragging against the pavement.
"They replaced me. Four years, gone like nothing"
He remembered his father cheering at his first goal, his mother smiling as she packed his bentos, the hours of shooting alone in the dark. Then the memory twisted— the penalty he missed at twelve, the silence of the crowd, the nickname that haunted him forever: "Choker.'
His fists clenched until his nails cut skin. His chest felt heavy, his legs weak.
Maybe they were right. Maybe he wasn't good enough. Maybe he'd never be enough.
A horn blared.
Coker blinked and realized he was already stepping off the curb.
Headlights flooded his vision.
*BANG!*
Pain exploded across his body. He hit the asphalt hard, breath torn from his lungs, blood pooling warm beneath him. Voices shouted in panic, but they grew faint. His vision blurred.
*So this is it…? Forgotten on the pitch, dying on the street…*
Darkness closed in.
And then—light.
A glowing screen appeared above him, floating in the air. Clear, sharp letters burned against the night sky.
[Critical state detected.]
[Host in danger of death.]
[Emergency protocol initiated.]
[Football Prodigy System installing…]
Coker's fading mind trembled. "What… is this?"
The letters pulsed brighter.
[System secured.]
[Welcome, Coker.]
[Do you want to play again?]
His lips barely moved, but the word came out.
"…Yes."
The world went black