In the viewage room, the atmosphere was heavy with focus. Team Z was gathered shoulder to shoulder in front of the massive wall-sized screen, the grainy-blue glow casting long shadows over the room. The match on display: Team W versus Team V. Everyone was dead silent, the only noises coming from the occasional rustle of notebooks, the sound of a pen scratching, or the low hum of the commentary.
The footage showed the Wanima twins slicing through Team V's defense with frightening synchronization—clean one-two passes, backheels, overlaps—it looked like they could read each other's minds.
"Damn," Kunigami muttered, arms crossed. "They're not even looking at each other half of the time, it's like they know where the other's gonna be."
"They're freaks," Raichi grunted. "Do they share a brain or something?"
"It might be something like synesthesia. It does look like they can read each other's minds or something like that, considering the fact that I haven't even heard the frowning twin speak once." Isagi theorized, his eyes glued to the screen. "Keep your eyes on their footwork. The spacing between them and the precision of their passing are always exact. Never too close, never too far. They're keeping team V in a limbo."
Bachira tilted his head, watching the twins dance through the midfield. "It's kinda pretty. Like a duet."
"The only pretty thing about it is that it looks pretty annoying," Raichi grumbled. "It'll be difficult to keep them contained. You guys got any plans to counter that? 'Cause I got none"
Kuon clicked his pen and leaned forward, squinting at the screen. "Their entire offense is built around those two. No one else on Team W is remotely dangerous. They funnel every ball to the Wanimas, then just get out of the way."
"They don't even try to disguise it," Isagi flipped to a new page in his notebook. "All of the other players just back off and let those two do all the work. Pretty stupid considering they didn't score any goals, but that's on them. Point is, they're predictable as fuck and easy to dismantle."
The screen showed a slow-motion replay of the twins splitting a defender down the middle with a slick one-two, ending in a clean finish.
"Then how do we stop that?" Raichi raised an eyebrow at the ace. He didn't mean any sarcasm in his words, his trust in Isagi was at its height. The seemingly weaker player had led them to domination in every game they had played so far, with no goals being conceded on them at all during this. If Isagi said that they were easy to stop, he trusted that they were.
"Simple, we force them apart," Isagi said immediately. "They're only weapon is their understanding of each other and their teamwork, but those two weapons of theirs are worth literal shit when one of them is neutralized. Keep one of them locked down, and the other is as useful as a baby duck."
Kuon nodded. "We put one marker on one of them and have them pressured aggressively. And if either of them drops deep to collect, we crowd the other. They'll panic when they can't find each other and give us an easy ball for the picking."
Gagamaru tilted his head. "So it's a breakup strategy."
"Exactly," Isagi confirmed. "Destroy the connection and their entire formation collapses."
Raichi cracked his knuckles. "Let me press one of 'em. I'll break him in half before he even thinks about passing."
"I was going to nominate you anyway, Raichi. You'll be on the older one, Wanima Keisuke. He's the more dangerous twin in solo play, but it just means that when you shut him down the other twin is fucked. Listen close Raichi, I want you to slaughter him on that pitch. Don't give him any air to breathe and make the amount of times he has the ball as small as possible. Starve him to the point of getting beyond desperation and then give him some space. We'll let him destroy his and his brother's chemistry all by himself."
Raichi threw his head back with a bark of laughter. "You're one hell of a twisted rabbit, you know that? No need to worry, I'll show him the power of my newly improved sexy soccer and kill his ass dead."
"Good. See to it that you do."
Bachira leaned in across the table, resting his chin on folded arms. "Oooh, I love the sound of that. Breaking apart the bond between brothers? Sounds like the funnest way to win against them. Ruin their cute little psychic connection."
Igarashi nodded, having a serious look on his face. It was the first time the resident monk ever held such an expression, but that didn't matter. "I agree one hundred percent. They rely too much on each other. The second one falls behind, the other's exposed. Let me take care of marking that Junichi guy. I'll get so many fouls called on him he won't even have time to blink."
"Then we'll leave you to it," Kuon nodded. "Be smart about the pressure. Don't try to force anything when you can't see an opportunity."
"Osu."
"Solid. We're counting on you." Isagi gave him a nod, then turned to the group. "Alright, I think that's it. Remember, we're sticking with our 4-4-2 base, but we'll switch to 3-5-2 if we need more offensive might. Anyone got anything else to—?"
"I do."
The room paused.
Chigiri's voice was low, his arm raised as he stepped forward.
Isagi tilted his head. "Go ahead."
"I'm going to air this out right now." Chigiri looked at the screen, then back at his teammates. "The Wanima twins…are the reason I tore my ACL."
A beat of silence hit the room like a stone dropped in still water.
"They what?" Raichi growled. An intense look of rage slowly took over his face, causing the veins in his temple to pop out.
"It was during a regional tournament," Chigiri said, his voice measured but trembling with tightly held hatred. "I was blowing past them down the left wing. Junichi cut in to block me, and just when I turned to pass the ball, Keisuke hit me from behind. Late, full force, both studs up."
Bachira's grin vanished. "No way…"
"My leg twisted under me. Heard the pop before I hit the ground." His hand hovered by his knee. "Grade 3 ACL tear. I almost walked away from soccer forever because of them."
Kunigami's face twisted in righteous fury. "Are you telling me they targeted you?"
"They did more than target me. They celebrated it. Laughed at me as I got carted off the field. Said it was my fault for being too fast."
The team was dead quiet.
Isagi's eyes narrowed. "I see… so this is personal then."
Chigiri nodded, slow and deliberate. "Damn right it is. I've waited years to look them in the eye again. This time, I want to make sure they won't be the ones laughing. I want to crush them. Humiliate them. I want them to remember what happens when you try to end someone's career."
He stepped closer to the screen, watching the twins run back to defend after another one-two play was stolen from them.
"I don't just want to win," he growled. "I want to take everything from them. I want to strip him of his dreams and crush them with my own two hands. To grind their hopes to dust and spit on their mangled corpses. My hatred runs so fucking deep for those two that I wouldn't bat an eye if someone told me they died. I want them to rot, to watch their aspirations perish when I slam the ball into the net. I'm going to make them fucking grovel, and I won't let anyone stop me from that."
The room stood still, silent save for Chigiri's heavy breathing.
Even Raichi looked taken aback, arms slack at his sides. Bachira, who was almost never rattled, had his eyebrows raised in concern.
"Damn," Kunigami muttered under his breath. "He's dead serious…"
Chigiri didn't even look at them. His gaze was still fixed on the screen, where the twins celebrated a goal from the previous match, completely unaware of the reckoning headed their way.
Isagi stepped forward, locking eyes with him.
And for a moment, he said nothing.
Then, slowly, his mouth curled into a deadly smirk, dripping malicious approval at the hatred of the blood hungry jaguar. "Couldn't have said it better myself. That rage of yours is the exact kind of fire we need if we're going to crush them the way you want to."
Chigiri didn't respond, but the glint in his eyes deepened.
"I won't stop you. None of us will. Just this once, I'll let you be the one to unleash havoc on our opponents. I can respect a man who wants revenge, whose ego is dying to grind someone into an atom, so I'll help. You're getting those goals, and you're going to make sure they feel every second of it."
"Damn right I will."
"Then let's make it happen."
Isagi's voice cut through the room like a blade—cold, commanding, and resolute. He stood tall in front of his team, his presence towering with purpose. The sharpness in his tone snapped every head toward him, silencing even the static hum of the overhead lights.
"Change of plans," he declared, eyes gleaming with a ruthless fire. "We're going 3-5-2 straight out of the gate. And we're switching positions."
A ripple of energy shot through the room. The air thickened, tense and electric. Everyone leaned in, expressions hardening with anticipation.
"Chigiri. Kunigami. You two are going up top. I want firepower and shockwaves, give unrelenting pressure on their line. You break their defense before they even figure out what hit them."
Kunigami nodded, fire flashing in his eyes. "You got it. I'll bulldoze through them like they're made of paper."
"I'll be so fast their heads are going to spin."
Isagi's eyes darted next.
"Bachira, Raichi, and I will control the midfield. We dictate everything on the pitch—pacing, pressure, positioning, all of it. We're the spine. We break them in half from the inside out."
"Yeeeah," Bachira grinned, eyes wide with anticipation. "Time to stir the pot and dance on their graves."
Raichi gave a feral grin. "I'm gonna make every second they hold the ball a damn mistake."
"Kira," Isagi snapped. "You're on the right wing. Drag their defense as wide as you can, pull them thin, and when you get the ball, pass it to the best spot you can see. Igaguri, you've got the left. Use your Path to Enlightenment style you've been perfecting to force the turnovers and give us possession on the ball every time they kick off."
"Got it!" Kira barked, fists clenched.
"Let's fucking goooo!" Igaguri whooped, slapping his own cheeks to hype himself up.
Isagi stepped forward, his tone dropping lower into a growl.
"Iemon. Kuon. Naruhaya. You three are the last line. Our iron wall. I don't want to see a single fucking ball slip through. You stop everything—every run, every through-pass, every desperate shot."
Kuon nodded. "We'll hold the line."
"No matter what," Naruhaya added resolutely. He was determined not to muck up this time, especially since this was a serious grudge match.
Iemon adjusted his sleeves, his face stone-set. "We've got your backs."
"Gagamaru, keep doing as you have been doing. Communicate with everyone and help establish control over our side of the pitch. If the ball somehow does get past everyone, swoop it up and hurl it as far as you can."
"Got it."
Isagi's eyes narrowed, fierce and brimming with cold determination as he scanned his crowd.
"We're not going to just beat Team W, we're going to erase them! We suffocate them. Crush their morale. Strip them of every ounce of self worth and confidence until they can't even look at a soccer ball without remembering us, not even when they're on their death bed! I want them fucking crying by the time this game is done, am I understood!"
A thunderous, unified roar echoed off the studio walls:
"YES SIR!"
"Excellent!" A mad grin twisted on Isagi's face, stretching it to the point it looked like he was insane. "Then let's go destroy these dumb fuckers who thought they could mess with one of our own."
Without another word, he turned and strode toward the exit. The fabric of his jersey shifted with every step, the number eleven on his back pulsing like a warning. The air around him warped, thick with something dark and pulsing. Shadows stretched out from his feet like tendrils, a viscous miasma curling off his skin, dragging behind him like a second presence. It didn't just look like fury, it was fury made manifest.
An evil phantom, arising from the abyss beyond the shadows to hunt the ones it deemed its prey.
He stopped at the doorway, turning his head just enough for one final look back. His gaze, lidded and electric, pierced through the silence.
"When we get out there, we're going all in on the attack. Make sure they never forget who ended their shot at the top." he said. "I don't want to see a single fucking player still standing when it's over. There will be no mercy."
Then he was gone, swallowed by the corridor beyond, engulfed in the white light of the hallway in his intent to get to the field. The rest of team Z quickly followed, unified by one, singular ambition.
To kill team W.
—
Junichi Wanima sported a huge, toothy grin that looked permanently glued to his face as he stretched his legs out lazily, his cleats digging grooves into the artificial turf of the indoor pitch. Beside him stood his twin, Keisuke Wanima, expression fixed in a deep frown, arms crossed tightly over his chest like he was constantly annoyed at the universe.
The two stood at center field, mirroring each other perfectly in stance, both lean and moderately built, but everything else about them was inverse. Junichi was the energetic one of the two, all flash and fire in his veins. Keisuke, on the other hand, was more cool headed, always staying silent and unreadable.
"Hey, brother," Junichi said with a low laugh, tilting his head toward him, "you ready to go against Team Z?"
Keisuke violently shook his head like the question offended him.
Junichi's grin widened. "Me too, bro. I haven't watched their clips and game footage, but I heard Chigiri's supposed to be on their squad."
He threw a few mock punches into the air, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "How cool is that? We get to crush him again. Just like old times."
Keisuke frowned even deeper, if that was physically possible. His brows knit so tightly it looked like he was glaring into another dimension.
Junichi cackled. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Neither of us liked that guy. He was wayyy to arrogant for our tastes, always relying on that damn speed of his." He leaned in, voice dropping to a gleeful whisper. "But after we took him out, there's no way he's ever going to run that fast again. Bet you're foaming inside, huh?"
Keisuke didn't move, didn't blink.
Junichi stood back up straight and cracked his neck, his grin turning slightly wicked. "This is perfect. We get to destroy Chigiri's dreams again, and this time it's going to be permanent too! Oh what fun, how fun!"
"Hrgh!"
"You're feeling it too, huh? Yeah, we're going to win this game easy peasy."
Keisuke tilted his head just slightly to the side.
Just then, the gates to the field began to rumble. A hiss erupted like a pressure valve being released, followed by thick plumes of steam flooding into the stadium, coiling along the ground like smoke before a fire.
Everyone on Team W turned instinctively.
From the wall of mist, nothing emerged at first. Only silence. Heavy, oppressive silence, so dense it became impossible to breathe. The players of Team W stood frozen, waiting for the sights of their opponents to come through
BOOM.
The steam exploded outward, scattering like ash in the wake of something monstrous.
From the inferno of pressure and silence burst a wave of pure darkness. Thick, suffocating, and alive. It spread like a plague across the field, invisible but unbearable, clinging to skin and mind alike.
The force of it was terrifying. A mix of unrivalled fury and blood hungry hatred, all directed at them.
And from the heart of it stepped Team Z.
Isagi Yoichi led them, his eyes glowing with a cold blue that cut like ice through the fog. His face was blank, but his presence was absolute. He looked less like a player and more like the eye of a monarch, a commander leading a death march.
Behind him, every single member of Team Z followed with matching expressions, grim and brimming with killing intent. There was no laughter coming from them, no semblance of light heartedness in their presence. Just pure, seething vengeance cloaked in silence.
Kunigami's gaze was locked forward, his fists clenched at his sides, veins bulging beneath his forearms. His steps were deliberate, each footfall another step to war. His towering frame radiated controlled fury, his usual calmness replaced by the eerie silence that came before a loss of souls. His normally relaxed expression was tightened, orange eyes glaring with an unnatural glow to them. The look of the hero who's angered, ready to bend the morals he stuck to for the sake of revenge.
Bachira, the ever-smiling madman, had no grin on his face. His eyes, which were once wide with a playful smile, were wide with unrelenting focus. His body swayed slightly as he walked, like a blade just waiting to whip forward and draw blood. His monster was still there, but now it was no longer the beast for fun. In the wake of Chigiri's tragedy, it transformed into what it was always meant to be, the beast of reckoning.
Raichi looked feral. His lips curled into a snarl, eyes flicking between the players on Team W with no attempt to hide the malice behind them. His whole body twitched with tension, struggling to hold himself back from charging right then and there.
Gagamaru's tall, lanky form loomed at the rear, his expression unreadable, but his movements sharp and mechanical. Even he, usually silent and aloof, radiated something different, an edge honed for bloodshed, only reserved for the boars and bears he wrestled.
But none of them carried the same venom as Chigiri.
He walked just behind Isagi, shoulders straight, head high, his crimson hair already tied back tight in preparation for what was to come. His violet eyes were locked on the Wanima brothers, burning holes through them.
Chigiri's breathing was slow and precise, every inhale like he was drawing back an arrow. His whole body was coiled like a spring, tensing from the adrenaline and hatred that fueled his veins. The very second the whistle blew, he was going to unleash everything he'd buried inside.
The silence from Team Z stretched on as they took their place on the field. The weight of their collective fury suffocated the atmosphere. The stadium seemed dimmer, the world itself quieter.
From the other side of the field, Team W stood frozen, a silent lineup of bodies pretending not to tremble.
They barely had any time to react when the suffocating pressure hit them, the very air thickening into tar. Every instinct they had, instincts they hadn't even known existed, screamed danger.
"Th-the hell is with their faces…?" One of them muttered under his breath, a tall, gangly player with bleached hair and a shaky voice. "They look like they're about to murder someone."
"They're monsters," Another one whispered, trembling from the bloodlust in the air. "They've won both of their games nine-nil. I thought it was hype since the other teams looked terrible, man, I swear I thought it was hype—"
"Shut up," snapped number six, trying to inject some steel into his tone. "They're just playing mind games. We hold formation, stay tight, and—"
His voice cut off mid-sentence.
Isagi's eyes, sharp and cold like the edge of a knife, swept across the field and landed squarely on him. Just for a second.
But it was enough.
"…Never mind, we're dead."
"Why are they staring at us like that?!" the player with the number thirteen on his back asked, hiding behind his taller teammate. "Who the fuck pissed them off to look at us like we're animals?!"
"Yo, yo, that red-haired dude, isn't that Chigiri Hyoma? Why's he looking at the Wanima bros like he's about to end their whole bloodline?"
"He is," his teammate whispered back. "He's the one they injured. You remember how the Genius Sprinter had to go into a year long recovery in order to play again? That's him."
Junichi Wanima stood at the front of Team W, his signature grin glued awkwardly to his face like it was suddenly too heavy to lift. His eyes darted to his brother.
"Heh… they're just putting on a show, right Keisuke?" he said, forcing a chuckle.
Keisuke didn't answer. He didn't even flinch. Just stood there, scowling deeper, unmoving.
"…R-right, bro?"
Silence.
"…Damn it."
Behind them, Ukon bent forward slightly, one hand on his stomach, face pale.
"I think I'm gonna puke," he whispered.
No one responded. Not because they didn't hear him—but because they all felt the same.
The pressure rolling off of Team Z was unnatural. It wasn't just a show of confidence or intimidation—it was a declaration. A silent roar echoing from every rigid muscle and every dagger-like stare:
Ukon's breath came in short, shallow bursts as he straightened up, eyes flicking toward Isagi at the front of the dark procession. When he laid his eyes on the face of the team Z ace, he knew exactly what he was reduced to.
To them, all Ukon would ever be was a body for them to step over.
Junichi Wanima tried again, clearing his throat. "C'mon, bros. Don't get psyched out. We're not just gonna roll over, right?" He turned around, gesturing with both arms like some desperate mascot trying to boost morale. "Right?"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Nine avoided eye contact. Fourteen looked like he was rehearsing his last words. Number thirteen mouthed a quiet prayer.
Even Keisuke, stone-faced as always, was breathing harder than usual. His nostrils flared, his body was preparing itself for something it couldn't name.
Junichi's forced smile twitched again.
Ukon shook his head, sweat beading on his temple. "This isn't right… we might actually die here…"
From the opposite end of the field, Team Z broke off into formation. For the nine other players who had watched the game footage, the positionings they took terrified them. This wasn't the 4-4-2 they played in their last two games, not at all.
Chigiri and Kunigami took their places at the center of the field, standing side by side with a calmness that bordered on eerie. Their eyes never left their opponents, but their stances were steady, two pillars holding the weight of the entire storm behind them.
Isagi and Bachira took their spots just behind them, near the tip of the center circle. The sight of Isagi's apathetic disposition was enough to send a shiver down the spine of anyone looking at him. His sharp gaze seemed to pierce straight through the opposition, calculating exactly what would happen next.
Behind them, Raichi stood with his usual aggressive posture. His body was tense, starving for the fight he wanted to commence. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, clearly itching for the moment the whistle blew and the real chaos began.
Igarashi and Kira lined up on the far ends, left and right respectively, each ready to spring into action. Igarashi's eyes were narrowed and cold, hands tightly clasped behind his back. Kira, equally composed, glanced over at his teammates, ready to execute whatever was necessary to crush the opposing attack.
Their defense was unchanged, unshaken. The same immovable wall that had stood firm throughout their matches. They hadn't conceded a single goal yet, and their body language screamed that they had no intention of letting that streak end today.
Junichi stood there, awkwardly clutching the hem of his jersey, his grin stretched thin across his face like cheap plastic.
"H-hey Chigiri… it's been a while, hasn't it?" he offered, his voice high with false cheer.
Chigiri didn't answer at first.
His violet eyes bore into Junichi like a spear. It was the kind of look that made your blood run cold, sending chills down your spine.
"Yeah. It has. Long enough to forget what your voice sounded like, but not long enough to forget what you did."
Junichi flinched, fear gnawing at his gut. "Come on, man. It was a long time ago. We didn't mean for—"
"Save it. I didn't come here to hear your excuses. You took a year of my life away from me. You and your brother broke my leg. Now I'm going to take everything from you in return."
Junichi swallowed hard. The grin had vanished completely now, leaving behind pale skin and twitching fingers.
Then Kunigami stepped up beside Chigiri, arms crossed, golden hair catching the sunlight, his body towering like a living monument.
"So these are the guys who broke your leg, Chigiri?"
"Yeah."
Junichi looked from one to the other, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. "L-look man, it was an accident—"
Kunigami tilted his head just slightly. "You sure about that?" he asked casually. "Because accidents don't usually come in double coverage with cleats aimed at someone's knee. Nor do they result in the perpetrator laughing at their victim."
Junichi flinched again. Behind him, Keisuke stood still, unreadable as always, like a shadow frozen in place. Silent. Watching. As if he didn't need to defend his brother—because he already knew the game was over.
"I—look, I didn't want it to go that way," Junichi stammered. "I swear, I'm not here to—"
"To what?" Chigiri asked, stepping closer to the younger Wanima. He was so close that Junichi could feel the heat radiating off him. "Finish what you started?"
Junichi said nothing. There was nothing left to say.
Kunigami cracked his knuckles loud enough to make Junichi jump. "I'd start praying, because we're not going easy."
Chigiri turned away, walking calmly back to his position, hair whipping behind him like a crimson banner of war.
Kunigami gave Junichi one final look before following suit.
Junichi stood frozen for a second longer, the sound of his own heartbeat thundering in his ears.
Keisuke still hadn't said a word. But for once, Junichi wished he would.
At least silence didn't kill you slowly.
Going back to his position, waited for the whistle to blow. He didn't know anything about team Z because he didn't watch the recordings of them, drowning in his arrogance that team V was the only stronger team since everyone else was lower than them. It became his biggest regret that he didn't go through the clips, because now he knew just how delusional he truly was.
The whistle pierced the air.
With a quick pass, the ball rolled back to Isagi, and in the same breath, Chigiri and Kunigami launched forward. They exploded off the line like hounds unleashed, streaking toward the goal with one shared objective. Neither spared a glance behind, trusting in the rhythm of destruction they'd rehearsed a thousand times in silence.
Isagi controlled the ball with an effortless fluidity, each step measured, his dribble tight and precise. His gaze flicked forward, then to his sides as the Wanima twins surged toward him in unison, cutting in from both flanks.
With a sudden lift of his boot, Isagi sent the ball into the air, clearing their tackle with a leap. He hit the ground and didn't stop, locking onto Kunigami's position with ease.
The moment the ball bounced, Isagi met it cleanly, striking it high in a curving crescent. The pass soared above the scrambling defenders and landed just beyond the penalty arc, exactly where Kunigami had planted himself.
Kunigami read the play like scripture. He stepped toward the ball, making sure his posture screamed that he was about to trap it in order to draw in the defender to him. He didn't trap it, letting it continue through his legs, the motion so unexpected the defenders on him stumbled when trying to follow.
The pass kept rolling, slicing through space.
Ahead, the goalkeeper recognized the danger too late. He charged, arms stretched wide, but the grass betrayed him, slowing him down just enough for Chigiri to arrive.
His cleats dug into the turf like blades. He reached the ball first, his body low in pure speed. One touch was all it took for Chigiri to position himself for the strike. When he shot the ball, it sped towards the goal with the same speed as a cheetah, bulging the net with its impact.
Team W 0 – 1 Team Z.
No words were spoken.
Chigiri stepped away from the goal, jogging back to his team with Kunigami, doing so without any flair.
Team W stood in stunned silence, the echo of Chigiri's strike still ringing in their ears. Grass rustled beneath cleats that had frozen mid movement. The net was still trembling behind their keeper, but none of them moved to reset. It was as if the goal had drained them of all certainty.
Junichi Wanima was the first to break the silence, his ever present grin faltering. His eyes, wide and disbelieving, darted between the ball in the net and his brother beside him. "They didn't even give us a chance…"
"What the hell just happened!?" a midfielder shrieked, hands in his hair, eyes wild.
"That was the opening play!" another gasped, spinning around like he could undo time by retracing his steps. "How the hell do you concede right after kickoff?!"
"They played us like we were statues. None of us could even touch the damn ball!"
"What even was that play?" another asked, his voice cracking with panic. "That orange haired bastard faked me out with a look. A look! He didn't even touch the ball."
"We're fucked," the left back said flatly, his eyes locked on the retreating duo. "Look at them, they're not even celebrating. I know the Junichi and Keisuke injured their guy, but they treated that goal as though it were normal to them."
Junichi's voice returned, now laced with an edge of desperation. "We need to tighten up. Regroup. They won't—"
"They will," the keeper cut him off, still kneeling, hands limp by his sides. "They will do it again. If we can't stop them in the first twenty seconds like that, then there's no way we will be able to hold off against them."
The Wanima twins looked at each other and sighed. This was going to be a long day.
—
Team V's common room buzzed with quiet anticipation. The lights were dimmed, the screen at the front of the room glowing softly in standby. Everyone was gathered, notepads and pens at the ready, the tension coiling in the air like a bowstring drawn taut.
No one spoke above a murmur. It wasn't fear—at least, not outright. But there was a weight to the silence, a collective understanding that what they were about to see wasn't just another match. It was Team Z. And Team Z had been making waves.
At the heart of the room sat the trio who gave Team V its spine.
Zantetsu Tsurugi sat forward with elbows on his knees, eyes narrowed and laser-sharp, tapping his foot with impatient energy. His notepad was unopened on his lap, the pen clenched tight in his hand. His glasses were firmly on his face, glinting with readiness.
It was as though he wasn't a dumbass of the highest order.
To his left, Reo Mikage leaned back in a sleek leather chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips. Unlike the others, he wasn't scribbling down guesses or strategies. He didn't need to speculate, he preferred to witness everything firsthand and adapt in real time. His eyes were fixed on the screen, waiting for the opening frame with the quiet hunger of a tactician hunting a worthy challenge.
Nagi Seishiro was sprawled beside him like a cat in the sun, arms draped over the couch, one leg crossed over the other. His head tilted lazily against the headrest, eyes half-lidded. A juice box sat in his hand, nearly empty, the straw idly bouncing with every subtle movement of his fingers.
"Man," Nagi drawled, not looking away from the screen, "do we really have to watch the whole match? Can't you just tell me the interesting parts, Reo?"
Reo glanced at him sideways, amused. "If you want to score, you might want to know what kind of monster's waiting at the gate."
Zantetsu scoffed. "I've heard the rumors. Nine goals per match, zero condensed. Pretty impressor if you ask me."
"You idiot, it's conceded and impressive," Reo said, flipping open his notebook,
"Oh"
A voice from the back of the room spoke nervously, "You think they're as good as the numbers say?"
Reo didn't look back. "No."
There was a pause.
"I think they're better."
That made the room go still.
Nagi's gaze, previously lazy and detached, sharpened just a fraction. He sat up slightly, the juice box crinkling in his grip.
"Oh?" he said, now with a spark of interest.
Just then, the monitor flashed, the feed beginning to load the footage.
Team V leaned in, and the room was swallowed in a tense silence once more—everyone poised to see what kind of beasts were climbing their way to the top.
The room dimmed further as the footage began to buffer, a small loading icon spinning in the corner of the screen. Everyone leaned in instinctively, the quiet thickening into a silence that felt ceremonial.
Reo didn't take his eyes off the screen, but he spoke again.
"The reason why I think they're better than the numbers suggest is because numbers don't tell us how the actual game went. We don't know if they toy with their opponents or if they're going all out."
The sentence hung in the air like a blade.
Zantetsu turned to him slightly, frowning. "What are you talking about?"
"Think about it. Nine goals is impressive. Zero conceded is scary. But what's more telling is how they win. We don't know how they play yet, nor do we know how good any of them are. And until we get the footage to load, we won't."
He looked up finally, gaze meeting Zantetsu's with a seriousness that immediately wiped away any trace of smugness from his voice.
"But I can assume this. While none of us have even heard of any of the players on team Z, they are bound to be stronger than anyone we have faced so far. Way stronger than team W and team X."
A few of the other Team V players shifted uncomfortably in their seats, murmuring between themselves. Some looked skeptical, others just nervous.
"But they're just a bunch of nobodies, right?" one of them said. "I mean, we've barely heard of any of them."
Reo turned to face the room, expression unreadable. "Yeah. That's what every team thought until they evidently got steamrolled."
Nagi finally straightened his posture, rubbing at the corner of his eye. "So you're saying that they're…"
"They're probably scary good. We'll need to use all of the cards we have and then some in order to beat these guys."
Just then, the screen flickered to life. Everyone turned towards it, ready to watch the game in full. However, everyone froze when the first thing they saw was the final scoreboard.
Team W 0 - 19 Team Z
For a split second, no one moved.
Then the stat line followed, appearing like some cruel joke.
Chigiri Hyoma – 7 goals
Isagi Yoichi – 5 goals
Kunigami Rensuke – 4 goals
Bachira Meguru – 3 goals
A few players in the back blinked in confusion, expecting a glitch, an error, at least something to explain what they were seeing.
"...What?" one of them finally muttered, voice cracking since he couldn't believe the word came out of his mouth.
Another leaned forward and squinted, as if seeing it again might change the numbers.
"You've gotta be kidding me..."
"What the hell is this?!"
Even Zantetsu, who always kept a running current of cocky energy under his words, stared in disbelief, brows drawn tight. "Nineteen… to one?"
The room was dead silent, only the buzz of the TV filling the space.
Nagi let out a low whistle. "Well. That's new."
His voice snapped everyone's attention back to the screen.
Reo hadn't said a word since the score came up. He stared slack jawed, every trace of the easy-going tactician gone. Slowly, he reached for his notepad and clicked his pen.
"This is worse than I thought…" he murmured quietly, shaky eyes staring in worry. "They're even better than the rumors said they were."
Zantetsu folded his arms, trying to appear tough. His dancing leg betrayed him. "How the hell did they score nineteen goals?! Who even lets that happen?"
"Team W didn't let it happen at all…" Reo answered. "Team Z made it happen."
Isagi's movements weren't flashy, but they were surgical. Every touch pushed the ball with precise weight, allowing him to slither between defenders before they could even react. Like a predator born of calculation, he used the field like a chessboard, each player reduced to nothing more than a pawn beneath his reading of space. He dragged defenders out of position, cut angles no one else saw, then laid off passes or fired in shots that were inevitable.
Kunigami was the hammer. The second he touched the ball, it sounded like a thunderclap. His runs bulldozed over opposition, his frame swallowing space as he charged headlong toward the goal. Defenders bounced off him like leaves in a storm. When he struck, the sound of his boot meeting the ball rang like a gunshot, sending it hurtling with terrifying force. One of his goals went through the keeper's gloves. Through them!
Bachira was a nightmare for the defense. It wasn't precise dribbling he used, but pure, undiluted, joyous chaos. His dribbling looked more like dancing, an erratic and dangerous ballet as he darted and weaved through opponents with a grin carved across his face. He nutmegged, flicked, spun, and even taunted team W, all while keeping the ball glued to his foot like it was head over heels for him. One poor defender twisted both ankles trying to keep up. The room watching winced in unison.
And then there was Chigiri.
Chigiri didn't play like someone trying to score. He played like someone trying to punish. The moment he received the ball, he'd explode into a sprint that turned the field into a blur around him. His hair whipped behind him like a war banner, crimson against the wind, and defenders didn't even bother to chase him. There was no point in trying to chase him anyways. Every stride looked like it hurt the earth beneath him, and every shot was an exorcism of rage.
Goal after goal came.
One.
Then two.
Then four.
Then seven.
Team W cracked.
Their shape disintegrated. Their eyes dulled. Tackles turned half-hearted. Movement grew sluggish. It was humiliation at its finest, every man out there basically stripped of all dignity for the world to see. Each player looked like a man reliving his worst nightmare, and the dream never ended.
One clip showed Ukon, their self-proclaimed playmaker, curled in midfield on his knees after Isagi stole the ball off his feet without even looking.
Another showed a goalkeeper, arms trembling, flinching before Chigiri even shot. He still dove, but the ball went through him.
By the fifteenth goal, Team V's room had gone deathly quiet.
The video slowed again, showing a replay: Isagi walking away after scoring, face unreadable, eyes burning with that same black fire from the gate entrance. Behind him, the rest of Team Z moved in sync, like a pack of wolves that had just sunk their teeth in, only to find there was more meat left.
Reo let his notebook fall shut.
Zantetsu swallowed hard. "They look like they weren't satisfied."
Nagi leaned forward, fascinated. "They weren't."
Onscreen, the last goal played, a sequence so brutal it bordered on cinematic. Kira chested the ball and kicked it over a defender, Bachira caught it mid-air and lobbed it perfectly to Isagi, who volleyed it with his right foot from outside the box. It hit the net before the keeper even moved.
The scoreboard returned:
Team W 0 – 19 Team Z
"I guess now we know what we're up against." Reo finally exhaled.
Nagi tilted his head. "Is it too late to pretend we never saw this?"
No one laughed.
"They hunted them," Reo said, pen moving rapidly across the page now. "One by one."
The camera panned over Team W's broken expressions, already set in before the match was even halfway through. They looked as though they'd seen something inhuman across the pitch and lost the will to resist.
Zantetsu's brow furrowed as he squinted at the screen, his posture tense, one hand adjusting his glasses like the gravity of the situation demanded formality. "This isn't good," he muttered, tone devoid of his usual arrogance. "That Chigiri guy… he looks like he's just as fast as me. Matching him stroke for stroke is going to take everything I've got."
"That was the grossest thing you've ever said, Dumbtetsu," Reo shot back with a side glance. "It's 'stride for stride with him', not the bullshit you just spewed."
"Astrologies."
Reo pinched the bridge of his nose. "Just say sorry, dude."
Zantetsu only gave a small nod, entirely convinced he had. Reo rolled his eyes, but a chuckle slipped out despite himself, the absurdity of his stupid friend easing some of the tension coiled in his chest. But that brief flicker of levity vanished as he turned his eyes back to the footage.
The screen was mid replay, showing Isagi weaving through two defenders before unloading a no-look pass that landed perfectly at Chigiri's feet, setting up his sixth goal of the match. There was no hesitation in his play, just a chilling amount of precision.
Reo's arms crossed, the corners of his mouth twitching downward. "Anyways… It's Isagi Yoichi that scares me."
Zantetsu looked over, silent for once.
Reo continued, "The way he moves… it's not flashy, but it's unnatural. He's ganged up on by practically all of the players, yet for some reason no one can stop him from making his plays. Not only that, every time someone scores, he's always a big part of it. He's an orchestrator like me, creating space and passing the ball around to his teammates."
He jabbed a finger toward the screen. "Look. Right there. He didn't even touch the ball on that play, but three defenders followed him because they thought he would. He turned them into ghosts and used them to give Kunigami the space to score."
Nagi was sitting upright with uncharacteristic alertness. He rubbed his eyes slowly, watching Isagi's cold expression as he trotted back to the half-line post-goal.
"That guy looks like he doesn't even care," Nagi murmured. "Like they aren't even worth his time."
The room fell into a dense silence. Everyone watching the screen had the same realization sinking into their bones:
Team Z wasn't simply skilled.
They were synchronized, vicious, and hunting like a single-minded organism.
Reo closed his notebook slowly, drawing all the attention to him. "We're going to practice our asses off this week, everyone. We'll need the most perfect game we can ever play in order to have a shot at beating them.
We're fucked if we don't. Royally fucked…"
......
Extra chap for today.