The sun was already low, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold, as Isagi walked along the dirt road toward his house.
On one side, the field was a mix of dry earth and patches of sparse grass, with the wind kicking up dust with every stronger gust. On the other, tall grass swayed gently, hiding a narrow stream that meandered lazily, reflecting the sky like a warped mirror.
Farther back, the concrete bridge cut through the landscape, and from time to time, the muffled sound of a car passing over it broke the quiet calm of the late afternoon.
Isagi pushed his bicycle slowly, hands on the handlebars and his gaze lost on the ground.
"Friends, huh…" he murmured, kicking a small pebble that ricocheted until it disappeared into the tall grass.
Alysa, Yuki, soccer, Inter High… things were getting complicated way too fast. It hadn't even been a full day since he'd been reborn into this world, and he'd been forced to adapt quickly. One thing was certain: his current life was far more interesting than his past one.
He adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and looked ahead, the path still stretching out in the same mix of dirt and grass until it vanished around a curve. Climbing onto his bike, he began pedaling toward his house, guided by the memories of his predecessor. It didn't take long to arrive. After the curve, the dirt road gave way to a small paved alley, and soon the silhouette of his house came into view—a simple, modern building with clean lines, a light-colored facade, and two stories.
He passed through the low gate, propped his bike against the rack by the garage, and climbed the short staircase leading to the front door. As he opened it, a familiar voice greeted him.
"Welcome back, Yoichi." Iyo Isagi appeared in the hallway, drying her hands on a kitchen towel. Her light brown hair was tied in a low bun, and the faint aroma of spices in the air betrayed that dinner was nearly ready. "How was school?"
"Oh, I'm back… Mom." Isagi took off his shoes at the entrance and left his backpack leaning against the wall. "It was… a full day."
"Full of what?"
"Too much talking, too much training… and, I guess, too much drama. But nothing I can't handle…"
"That's good to hear. Go wash your hands; dinner's already on the table…"
"Alright…" He quickly went upstairs to his room to plug in his phone to charge, then came back down and headed to the dining room.
At the table, Issei Isagi was seated, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, reading a newspaper folded in half. His stubbled beard gave him a relaxed air, and his laid-back posture suggested his day had ended long ago.
"Good evening, Dad…" Isagi pulled out a chair.
"Welcome back, Yoichi…" Issei replied without looking up from the paper, turning the page calmly. "Any news from school?"
"Nothing much… just some weird conversations at lunch…" He served himself some rice. "But it's normal, I guess."
Issei raised an eyebrow over the newspaper. "Weird like 'new teacher' weird, or weird like 'girls complicating your life'?"
"…The second." Isagi answered, a bit begrudgingly, and Iyo let out a short laugh from the kitchen as she brought a plate of grilled fish.
"Is it that Alya you're always talking about, Yoi-chan? Or your friend's sister? Oh, and there's also that rich girl who came by to drop off your homework several times at the teacher's request, according to her, but I think she just wanted to see you…"
"Have you turned psychic or something…? Well, I didn't run into Kaguya, but the other two spent lunch with me…"
"If you weren't such a soccer fanatic, I'd think you started playing ball to pick up girls… My son's a heartthrob!" Issei commented, folding the newspaper and setting it aside to finally start eating.
"Issei!" Iyo lightly tapped the table, shooting him a disapproving look. "What kind of father says something like that to his own son?"
"Oh, it's just a joke…" he replied, raising his hands as if defending himself. "But it's not untrue that he's popular."
Isagi let out a nervous laugh, averting his gaze to his plate.
"Let's… just eat, okay?"
The atmosphere at the table quickly relaxed. Between sips of tea and bites of fish, they exchanged comments about the neighborhood, talked about the latest local news, and every now and then, a joke slipped out.
As he chewed, Isagi couldn't help but notice the contrast. Having a home, warm food, and two people who cared about him… It was something far too distant from his previous life, when the cold of the streets and an empty stomach were routine until soccer became his only salvation. Now, the simple act of having dinner with family felt like a luxury…
After they finished, Isagi pushed his chair back slightly.
"I'm gonna head to the field nearby to train a bit…"
"At this hour?" Iyo asked, raising her eyebrows.
"Just a little, I promise…" Without waiting for a response, he went upstairs, grabbed the soccer ball leaning in the corner of his room, and changed into a light training outfit. Hurrying back down, almost skipping two steps at a time, he heard his mother's voice from the living room:
"Yoichi! How many times have I told you not to run on the stairs?!"
"Sorry!" he replied without stopping, already slipping on his sneakers at the door and heading out into the cool night, the sound of his footsteps fading as he disappeared down the street.
It took no more than five minutes to reach his destination.
The soccer field was small, with uneven grass and some patches yellowed by the sun, but surrounded by a low metal fence. Nearby, the neighborhood square was empty, with only a swing creaking lightly in the wind and a streetlamp beginning to glow, casting a yellowish light over the concrete ground. The air carried the fresh scent of early night, mixed with the faint aroma of damp earth from the lower parts of the field.
Isagi crossed the entrance gate, ball under his arm, and took a deep breath. The silence was almost complete, broken only by the rustling of the leaves in the surrounding trees.
He set the ball down next to a bench and began stretching. He rolled his neck slowly, stretched his arms and shoulders, then carefully worked on his legs. His muscles were stiffer than he remembered from his professional peak, and his stamina was definitely not the same. Still, it felt good—there was pent-up energy, as if his body was eager to move.
"Let's see what I'm capable of now…" he thought, steadying his breathing.
He picked up the ball and placed it on the ground, giving it a few light taps with the top of his foot. He started juggling slowly, feeling the weight and bounce of the ball, adjusting his control. Within moments, he was alternating touches between both feet without thinking. When he tried using his left leg, the ball didn't drop immediately; instead, the movement felt as natural as with his right.
Isagi paused for a moment, surprised.
Had he become naturally ambidextrous?
To confirm, he started again: right, left, left, right… and no mistakes. There was no hesitation, no micro-adjustment that any right-footed player makes when using their weaker leg. The touch, the strength, the control—everything was identical.
A smile spread across his face.
"I hadn't noticed before because of all the surprises in my new daily life… Seems like I got a bonus in this life… In my past life, I was left-footed, and since my predecessor is right-footed, it makes sense that I've become naturally ambidextrous in this world… Plus, my future 'self' passed down his own way of being ambidextrous when it comes to direct shots… Either way, this is good news…"
He let the ball drop, positioned himself, and, without rushing, prepared his first shot.
The movement flowed perfectly.
The ball flew like a missile, hitting the top corner of the net with a sharp sound.
"Hah…" he let out, feeling that familiar rush of satisfaction.
Then he began for real.
He moved down the sideline, controlling the ball with his right foot, cutting suddenly to the left and shooting again, another precise strike, this time in the opposite corner.
He retrieved the ball at a run, keeping the pace high. He dribbled around improvised cones made from water bottles, alternating the side of control, the weight of his touches, and short, explosive feints.
With every movement, the fluidity was impressive. There was no imbalance when switching legs; there was no "weaker side" in control or shooting. If he wanted, he could feint with his left and shoot with his right in the same play, or vice versa, without losing precision.
Isagi increased the intensity. He controlled balls in the air with his chest, let them bounce once, and struck clean volleys. He let the ball come high, spun his body, and hit it first-time with his left, into the top corner. He tried with his right, and the result was identical.
He practiced quick dribble sequences, inspired by the reflex drills from his past life: short touch, long touch, body spin, change of direction, sprint. His body responded with more "freshness" than it had in his adult years, even if it didn't yet have the same raw strength.
He tested himself with shots from different distances. From the edge of the box, with both legs, he hit the target repeatedly. From outside the box, he increased the power, testing the ball's curve. With his right foot, he applied an outward spin that curled around the post and went in; with his left, he replicated the play with startling precision.
Sweat began to drip from his forehead, but his breathing remained steady. Next, he trained complete plays: dribbling, feinting, changing direction, shooting.
He also created imaginary scenarios in his head—defenders closing space, the goalkeeper advancing, pressure from the side. Each time he simulated, he finished differently: a low shot to the corner, a powerful strike to the top, a delicate chip.
At one point, he placed the ball at midfield and tested long-range control. He sprinted with his right, switched to his left, accelerated on the second-to-last touch, and shot from outside the box, the ball slamming into the side netting. He tried the same circuit starting with his left, and the result was identical.
The field echoed only with the sound of the ball's impacts and his sneakers against the grass. The nearby streetlamp now illuminated much of the pitch, casting his shadow moving swiftly, as if another player were marking him.
After nearly an hour at this pace, he decided to try something bolder. He lofted the ball, spun 360 degrees in the air, and struck it with his left leg, the ball sailing cleanly into the corner. He grabbed another, did the same with his right, same result.
Finally, breathing heavier, he retrieved the ball and gave it a few light touches, just to feel its texture under his sole. There was no doubt: he hadn't just regained his technique from his past life but had gained a tool few in the world possessed. Being naturally ambidextrous in soccer was an incredibly rare weapon.
He stopped, looking at the goal in the distance. A wide grin spread across his face.
"All I need to do is train my body and keep practicing like this, and in no time, I can return to my previous peak and surpass it… Alright, enough testing for today…"
As he thought this, he pulled the ball up and tucked it under his arm, starting to walk slowly off the field.
Isagi arrived home with his breathing calmer, sweat drying on his forehead, and the ball still under his arm. He entered through the low gate and, without making much noise, pushed open the front door.
The house was quiet, except for the faint sound of dishes being organized in the kitchen.
He headed straight there, setting the ball against the wall and opening the fridge. He grabbed a liter of cold water, uncapped it, and took long gulps, feeling the refreshing coolness slide down his throat.
Iyo, who was putting away some utensils in the cabinet, glanced at him.
"Yoichi…?"
"Yeah…?"
"You're stinking. Go take a shower before your body cools down…"
Isagi just nodded.
"Alright…"
He quickly passed through the hallway, went up to his room, grabbed clean clothes and a towel, and headed back downstairs to the bathroom.
The hot water cascaded over his shoulders, relaxing every muscle. Ten minutes were enough to wash away the weight of training and the dust from the field. After getting out, he dried off quickly, put on light clothes, and returned to his room.
When he opened the door, his first glance fell on the walls. The numerous posters of Noel Noa were really something he didn't want to see every time he woke up…
With a sigh, he began tearing them down one by one, folding some, crumpling others, until the walls were bare.
He lay down on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight. He grabbed his phone, which was charging, and unlocked it, the screen's light illuminating his face.
The first thing he noticed was a message on LINE.
[Alya] — "Did you do the homework?"
Isagi blinked twice at the message, not even showing surprise. He just let out a sigh and made a mixed expression of exhaustion and defeat, as if he'd taken an invisible kick to the stomach.
"…The homework…" he murmured, and then his eyes widened in a moment of painful recollection.
After replying to Alya with a "yes" and a cute emoji, he got out of bed, grabbed his backpack from the corner, and dumped its contents onto the desk. Notebooks and papers scattered as if they'd fled on purpose.
"Alright, let's get this over with…"
He sat down, picked up a pen, and started scribbling with the focus of someone who knew that if he left it for later, he'd probably forget again. Math equations, history notes, grammar exercises… each page felt like a mini-challenge, but he crossed off one task after another, determined.
Time passed without him noticing. When he finally dropped the pen and leaned back in the chair, the clock showed thirty minutes had passed since he'd started.
"Phew…" He stretched his arms upward, feeling his shoulders crack. "That was more tiring than training…"
He pushed the chair back and returned to the bed, taking the phone with him. This time, without haste, he unlocked the screen and opened the browser.
"Let's see what this world has that's interesting online…" he thought, already curious.
He scrolled through the phone, opening random links. First, he went to a sports news site and saw familiar names—Messi, Ronaldo—still dominating headlines, but with slightly different careers than he remembered, though there was the addition of the New Gen and several other absurd players in the clips he watched…
Then he jumped to YouTube. The algorithm recommended pop music clips, idol music videos, live performances… most of the artists were exactly the same, but with different albums, collaborations he'd never seen, and some new names taking the place of others who, in his previous life, had been huge.
With every click, he noticed the pattern: about eighty percent was identical to what he knew, and the rest… well, the rest felt like an alternate world someone had written based on his, but with key changes.
At one point, he found an article about an international soccer tournament that, in his previous world, had been won by a European team. Here, however, the champion was a team that had never made it past the quarterfinals.
He moved to social media, noticing that models and influencers famous in his world existed here, but some had entirely different careers. A famous player in his world was a culinary commentator here, and a model he remembered fading early was at the peak of her fame.
He paused for a few seconds, staring at the screen. The world was similar enough not to cause shock, but different enough to remind him that this wasn't his original reality.
After watching a few YouTube videos, he locked the phone, tossed it onto the pillow beside him, and sank deeper into the bed, feeling the exhaustion finally settle in. Rebirth, girls who had a crush on him, training, dinner, homework, and now this virtual journey… the day had been longer than it seemed.
His eyes began to close, but before falling asleep, he thought that in this world of similarities and differences, maybe he had more room to grow than he ever would have in his previous life. Especially since he was in a body with tremendous potential, often memed for being a "Mahoraga" of soccer, adapting to everything…
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