The salty breeze from the beach near Saitama Prefecture carried with it the strong scent of the sea and the constant sound of waves crashing against the sand. It was a summer afternoon, the sun already tilting in the sky, gilding the horizon, but the heat still punished the bodies of those who dared to move on that makeshift field—a sand court outlined by lines drawn with feet and two goals made of branches and ropes.
There, ten young men ran as if the world depended on it.
At the center of this scene, one boy stood out more than any other.
Isagi Yoichi.
Sweat dripped down his forehead, running along his jaw before falling onto the hot sand. His messy hair was damp, sticking to his skin, but his eyes shone with an emotion hard to explain.
The score was already 6 to 1, and Isagi's team showed no signs of fatigue. On the contrary: it was as if the heat, the effort, and even the weight of the sand beneath their feet served only as fuel to intensify the spectacle he was putting on.
"One more, Isagi!" shouted one of his teammates, panting.
But even before the shout, Isagi was already moving.
The nearest opponent tried to anticipate his play, locking his gaze on the ball as if he could hypnotize it. Poor illusion. In the next instant, Isagi subtly shifted his body to the left, feinting an advance in that direction. The opponent fell for it completely. He took a hurried step, extended his leg, and in that exact moment, Isagi was already moving to the right, the ball glued to his feet as if it were part of his body.
The boy who fell for the feint crashed into the sand, kicking up a small whirlwind of golden grains. The crowd around—because yes, there was always a crowd when Isagi played these days, even if it was just curious onlookers stopping to watch—erupted in laughter and whistles.
"Did you see that?! He broke that guy's waist!"
"No one can mark this kid!"
Isagi didn't react. To him, the voices of the crowd were just distant background noise, like the sound of the waves. His eyes were fixed on the target: the makeshift goal on the other side of the court.
Two defenders now ran together to block him, forming a double barrier. The strategy was clear: press from both sides, close the space, and force Isagi to retreat. It was the kind of tactic that would work against any normal player. But Isagi wasn't normal.
He slowed his pace for a moment, letting the defenders believe they had a chance, and then, with a subtle touch, he lifted the ball off the sand. The two charged forward with everything, trying to block his shot, but instead of shooting, Isagi simply raised his left foot and, in an almost lazy motion, chipped the ball over them.
The ball rose into the air, floating in a perfect arc.
The defenders turned their necks, stunned. By the time they realized, Isagi had already darted between them, accelerating like a bullet. He reached the ball before it hit the ground and, without needing any preparation, spun his body mid-air. His right foot met the ball with surgical precision.
BOOM!
The sound echoed across the beach, drowning out even the waves for a moment. The ball tore through the air like a blazing comet, hitting the back of the makeshift net with no chance for the goalkeeper.
"GOOOOOAL!" The shout rang out from all sides.
The score was now 7 to 1.
The goalkeeper fell to his knees, incredulous.
"Impossible… he doesn't miss a shot. No matter where from, no matter how… he always finds the goal."
Isagi raised his fist, breathing deeply. Sweat dripped down his face, but his eyes remained fixed, hungry.
The opponents, however, weren't ready to give up without a fight. The rival team's captain, a muscular boy with dyed blond hair, gathered his teammates in the center of the court.
"Either we mark this guy, or it's going to be a massacre!" he growled, teeth clenched. "Two on him at all times! Don't let him breathe!"
They nodded, though the shadow of defeat already loomed over them.
The ball rolled again.
And, of course, it ended up at Isagi's feet.
The double-marking strategy began immediately. Two defenders surrounded him, sticking to him like ticks, not letting him advance. The crowd held its breath, curious to see how Isagi would handle it.
He smirked faintly.
"Is that it? You think you're going to stop me like this?"
With his back to the markers, Isagi controlled the ball with his heel, keeping it close to the sand. One of the markers lunged, but Isagi spun his body, shielding the ball. The other came right after, extending his foot. In theory, it was the perfect move: there was no space for him to escape.
But theory meant nothing in the face of the reality called Isagi Yoichi.
With a sudden spin, he slipped between the two defenders, grazing the ball along the sand with the tip of his left foot. It was like a magic trick: one second they had him surrounded, the next they were staring at empty space.
Isagi was already meters ahead.
The blond captain ran toward him, the last obstacle before the goalkeeper.
"You're not getting past me now!" he roared.
Isagi's smile only widened.
He feinted a right-footed shot, his entire body following the motion. The captain fell for it completely, jumping to block a shot that never came. In the same instant, Isagi switched to his left foot and shot without hesitation, without wasting time.
The ball rocketed out, low, fast, impossible to track.
The goalkeeper barely had time to stretch his arms before hearing the dull thud of the ball hitting the net.
8 to 1.
The crowd went wild. Some raised their phones, recording every second of that humiliation. Others shouted Isagi's name as if they were in a professional stadium.
And Isagi? He simply returned to the center of the field, panting but without losing focus.
The opponents, already exhausted, tried to resist, but the massacre was just beginning.
Isagi scored two more goals in quick succession—one a volley, capitalizing on an unlikely cross; the other after stealing the ball in midfield and running the entire length of the field alone.
10 to 1.
"This isn't human…" murmured one of the spectators, mouth agape. "…Could we have another Itoshi Sae?"
The rivals no longer said anything. They just breathed heavily, their faces red with exhaustion and shame.
But Isagi still had energy. He still had hunger.
With less than ten minutes left, he received the ball again. This time, he decided to have some fun. Instead of simply scoring, he began dribbling one by one, leaving them all sprawled in the sand. He passed the first with a quick touch. The second, with an improvised backheel flick. The third tried to block him with his body, but Isagi pulled off a roulette, spinning like Zidane in his glory days.
When he reached the goalkeeper, he didn't shoot right away. He gave three quick touches, making the goalkeeper dance from side to side, unsure where to react. Then, with a gentle tap of the toe, he nudged the ball in.
11 to 1.
The final whistle wasn't long in coming.
The rivals collapsed onto the sand, defeated, some covering their faces, others laughing nervously out of sheer embarrassment.
Isagi, meanwhile, raised his arms, breathing deeply.
The crowd surrounded him, shouting his name, cheering as if he were an international star.
But Isagi just gave a faint smile, grabbing the water bottle someone offered him.
Inside, he knew he still wasn't satisfied.
He had improved in recent days, no doubt—his routine of training his body at the gym and running on the beach had quickly given him solid physical conditioning. Then he started playing soccer with the kids who came to the beach just for fun. Soon, he became somewhat famous in the area…
.
.
.
.
.
Night had already taken over the sky when Isagi left the beach behind. Sand still clung to his legs, and the salt of dried sweat irritated his skin, giving an uncomfortable but strangely familiar sensation.
He walked through streets lit by old lampposts, their orange lights reflecting in puddles left by a quick drizzle at the end of the afternoon. The light jacket he'd been carrying since morning was now his only protection against the chilly breeze. He zipped it up to his neck, hunching his shoulders as if he could hide inside it.
His muscles ached as he walked, especially his thighs and calves. The soles of his feet burned from the friction with the sand. His entire body complained. But despite it all, there was a small smile on his lips.
"Soccer really is fun…"
He murmured to himself, his low voice almost swallowed by the silence of the street.
The memory of the dribbles, the shouts of the makeshift crowd, the sound of the ball kissing the net… it all echoed in his mind like a movie playing on repeat. He had done this many times before, but the adrenaline rush was the same.
As he walked, an idea struck him suddenly, as if it were too obvious to have never considered before. What if he started a YouTube channel?
Isagi shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, kicking a pebble along the way. The dry sound of it hitting the asphalt accompanied his thoughts.
He could post videos of his beach matches. Nothing too professional at first, just someone holding a phone and recording. But if it grew… who knows, maybe it could become something big? After all, the audience was already there. People were already stopping to watch him play, shouting his name as if he were a star. All that was left was to show it to the world.
Since he wanted to earn enough money to live on his own, he also thought about giving paid training sessions on the beach, helping younger kids improve. He considered picking up some side gigs to save up enough to support himself while training. Or even trying out for smaller clubs' tryouts. The world seemed full of options, but none came with a guarantee…
He sighed, looking up at the sky. Between the clouds, a few stars struggled to shine.
"Maybe… the channel is the best place to start," he murmured softly.
He imagined eye-catching thumbnails, exaggerated titles like "Beach match turns into a massacre!" or "11 to 1: Saitama's new soccer prodigy." It made him chuckle to himself just thinking about it. It wasn't really his style, but if that's what it took to get attention, he'd do it.
He passed by a convenience store still open. The glass reflected his figure: messy hair, skin still marked by dirt and sweat. He looked exhausted, but he also looked alive.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was on the right path.
Isagi pulled his jacket tighter around himself, shielding against the wind. He smiled again, but this time there was something deeper in the smile.
"No matter how… I'll find a way…"
.
.
.
.
.
After walking down the hallway, Isagi knocked on the door of the room he'd been called to, opened it, and met the eyes of Yuki Suou, the person who had sent him a message when he was about to head to his club's soccer practice. Since she said it was urgent, he quickly ditched practice and came to see what was up. Yuki, who was crouched in front of a shelf organizing equipment, smiled brightly at him like a flower, held her skirt down, and stood up.
"Isagi! Come here, come here!" she kept saying in the sweetest voice as she ran toward him. She acted cute and really overdid it, very different from her usual elegance and refined manners. If anyone else at school had seen her, they'd probably be shocked by the scene, but Isagi just smiled faintly and played along.
Besides her brother, he was the only one Yuki acted this way with…
"Sorry, Yuki. I hope I didn't keep you waiting!" he said in a playful tone as he walked toward her.
"Well, you came! I waited for you for soooo long! ♪"
"Hey! You're supposed to say, 'No way, I just got here too.'"
"You two are pretty close."
Isagi froze the moment he heard the cold voice coming from the other side of the shelf. His expression remained impassive. He looked in the direction of the voice, where he saw Alisa's blue eyes peeking through the stacked equipment.
"Oh, Alya. Didn't know you were here."
"Well, sorry for being here."
"No, it's fine. Ha-ha…"
Isagi forced a smile at Alisa while shooting a protesting glance at Yuki, but Yuki just tilted her head as if she didn't know what was going on and smiled gracefully like the lady she was.
*You little trickster…*
He felt a strong urge to bop Yuki on the forehead in retaliation, but he knew he couldn't do that in front of Alisa, so he just cleared his throat and moved on.
"Ahem… So…? You wanted my help organizing the equipment?"
"Yeah, it's too much for us to do alone. Do you think you could help us out?"
"Sure, I guess… I just feel like I'm being used, you know."
"It's just your imagination."
"Yeah, I'm not so sure about that."
Isagi and Yuki kept bantering as they headed to the back of the room.
"Ready to start, Alya?"
"Ready," Alisa replied without even looking away from the equipment on the shelf. Isagi smiled as he took the equipment list Yuki handed him.
"Anyway, you think you can start helping with this?" Yuki asked.
"Folding tables and chairs… You want me to count them and check if any are broken, right? Got it," Isagi replied.
"By the way, this has been bugging me since high school, but… is this really student council work?"
"I have no idea, but it really helps to have a good sense of the kind of equipment and supplies we have for events."
"I guess that makes sense, but it's a lot of work for just two girls."
"The president should be here soon to help, but he's super busy, so who knows how much longer it'll take."
"Ah, got it."
Isagi got straight to work, realizing once again how understaffed the student council was. He made sure the number of folding chairs and tables matched the list, while setting aside chairs with torn cushions, missing leg caps, and the like.
"I'm impressed. You've still got it."
"Yeah, you know me."
Isagi made sure not to show how tired he was from his grueling routine as Yuki praised him and Alisa watched in quiet admiration from behind.
Though he was exhausted, he quickly got to work.
"Isagi, could you give me a hand?" Yuki suddenly asked from behind.
"Hmm?"
Isagi turned to find Yuki pointing at a cardboard box on the highest shelf with a slightly worried expression. Yuki was petite even for a teenager, so it'd be tough for her to get a box down from the top shelf alone.
*Now it makes sense. She needed him to help with all the heavy lifting and reaching high places…*
He stepped closer, stood a bit below Yuki, and brought the cardboard box down from the top shelf to the floor.
"Thanks, Isagi."
"No problem… Hmm? What are these?"
After spotting small colorful boxes under the slightly open lid, Isagi curiously opened the cardboard box to find several board games inside.
"Card games, board games… What's all this?"
"They apparently used to belong to the board game club before it disbanded a few years ago. So now they're school property, since the club bought everything with their budget."
"Oh… So the school still lends these out?"
"Yeah. Most students don't even know these games exist, though."
"No doubt about that. When would anyone use them?"
"Maybe for their booth during a school festival? Or for a club party, maybe? Actually, I played some games with the new student council members at the welcome party the other day."
"Oh? Who won, by the way?"
"Uh… I ended up winning, I guess."
"Figures."
"And second place?"
"Less talking, more moving, you two."
"Ah, right. Sorry, Alya."
"My bad."
They straightened up after Alisa's scolding, cut the conversation short, and got back to their tasks. The only thing on Isagi's mind after that was the work.
Silence reigned in the room for the next long moments. Only the sounds of boxes being moved and the scratch of pencil graphite on paper could be heard until Alisa whispered in Russian:
"Обрати внимание и на меня."
(*Pay attention to me too.*)
Isagi took a critical hit to the heart! It was a surprise attack, super effective!
But he gritted his teeth, desperately fighting the annoying tingles running down his spine, while Alisa simply enjoyed the thrill. She liked saying something embarrassing with the assumption no one would understand. In other words, it wasn't really how she felt, and reacting to what she said would only make things worse!
"Обрати внимание на меня! Посмотри на меня! Говори со мной!"
(*Pay attention to me! Look at me! Talk to me!*)
The pressure was mounting! Isagi could barely stand it as he listened to her endless whispers. It got to the point where he couldn't deny that this was how she really felt now.
*How can she say all this?! Does she really have no shame?!*
Isagi screamed internally, but it wasn't like Alisa wasn't embarrassed either.
*Hmm?!*
Alisa groaned inwardly in agony. Her heart raced for more than one reason as she crouched in front of the shelf and tended to her tasks, constantly glancing at his back despite thinking he didn't understand. But she felt relieved every time she saw him acting like nothing was wrong.
They worked side by side.
"Обрати внимание на меня! На меня!"
(*Pay attention to me! To me!*)
Isagi was tempted to just admit to Alya that he understood Russian and see her reaction to knowing he'd heard all the embarrassing things she said…
"Alya, you okay?" Yuki asked near the door, not even noticing their odd behavior. Alisa's heart skipped a beat, but she managed to quickly shift her expression and tone.
"Oh, sorry. I was just humming a little song."
"Я не разговаривал с вами."
(*I wasn't talking to you.*)
Isagi's eyebrow twitched, and he asked, "O-oh, a Russian song, huh? What's it called?"
Alisa turned quickly and looked at him. Maybe it was just his imagination, but she seemed a little happy too. Regardless of the truth, just the thought dealt a lot of damage to Isagi.
"It's called…"
"You forgot the name?"
"No, I remember. It's called… 'An Unheard Feeling'?" Alisa replied shyly, her eyes half-closed.
"Oh…"
Isagi sighed.
Yuki approached him, her face flushed with excitement and shyness.
"You okay, Isagi?"
He nodded, still breathing deeply. "Yeah… just tired. But it's going fine."
__________________
(A/N: Also, if you want to read up to 10 advanced chapters of the story and support the project, check out my Patreon:
My Patreon: patreon.com/Adam_Kadmon)
📚 For $5.99, you get full access to ALL content, no holding back.
Thank you so much for your support, and see you in the next chapter!)