(Should I keep my dialogues in italics or not)
Something snapped inside Takeshi.
No, not snapped. Awakened.
The system quest burned in his vision like fire, the impossible demand echoing in his mind. Three goals. Against these monsters. In twenty-two minutes.
But as he stared at that crimson window, something ancient and hungry stirred in his chest.
I've died once. I've lost everything. I've watched my dreams turn to ash.
His eyes changed.
Sharper. Hungrier. Darker.
Never again.
The field around him seemed to slow, every movement becoming crystal clear. His teammates, his opponents, even the professional keepers, they all became pieces on a chessboard only he could see.
"Takeshi...?" Elsa's voice reached him from far away.
When he turned to look at her, she took a step back. Something in his expression had shifted from desperate child to something else entirely.
Something that made grown men nervous.
Erik saw it first. From the sideline, his predatory smile spread wide as recognition dawned in his eyes.
This is what I saw. This is why I chose you.
The demon had awakened.
Ball at his feet in midfield. Oliver and Elsa flanking him. Three opponents between him and goal.
But Takeshi wasn't seeing three world-class young players anymore.
He was seeing obstacles.
"MOVE!" The command came out with such authority that Oliver immediately sprinted to open space, his body reacting before his mind could process.
Takeshi's pass was surgical, threading through the gap where Oliver would be, not where he was. Adult positioning intelligence combined with a child's unpredictability.
Oliver received it perfectly, thirty yards out, and looked up to see Takeshi already ghosting past Isabella into the danger zone.
The return pass was instinctive. Weighted perfectly. Right into Takeshi's stride.
But Marcus was there, the German powerhouse who'd been demolishing them with thunderbolt shots. The tank who'd won every physical battle.
Time to see what German engineering does against Japanese precision.
Marcus came charging in like a freight train, expecting to crush the smallest player on the field.
Takeshi didn't even break stride.
Body feint left, ball rolled right with the outside of his foot, acceleration that left Marcus grasping at air.
Too slow. Too predictable. Too human.
The German's shocked expression was burned into slow motion: What the...?!
One-on-one with the professional keeper now. The 6'2" giant coming off his line, trying to make himself big, intimidating.
But Takeshi's eyes held no fear.
Only calculation.
Top corner. He'll never reach it.
The shot left his foot like a guided missile. Perfect placement, perfect power.
GOAL.
The net bulged. The keeper's dive was futile, too late, too slow, too hopeless.
Score: 1-2.
Takeshi didn't celebrate. Didn't smile. Didn't acknowledge his teammates' shocked cheers.
His eyes were already hunting for the second goal.
Two more. Eighteen minutes.
From the sideline, Erik's laughter echoed across the pitch like breaking glass.
"THAT'S why I picked you, boy!" His voice carried across the field, making everyone freeze. "You're not an angel but you're a FKING DEMON!"
His sinister smile was pure satisfaction. "A TRUE DEMON!"
The other players felt chills run down their spines. This wasn't normal coaching. This wasn't normal anything.
But Takeshi didn't even glance at Erik. His focus was absolute, terrifying in its intensity.
The demon feeds. The demon wants MORE.
Kickoff. The opponents were rattled now, their comfortable 2-0 lead had become a knife fight.
Takeshi and Elsa began moving like they'd played together for years instead of hours. One-touch passes, telepathic understanding, the ball flowing between them like water.
This chemistry shouldn't be possible.
Isabella, Kwame, and Marcus tried to adapt, pressing higher, cutting off the passing lanes. They weren't stupid—all three were world-class talents who could read the game.
But reading and stopping were different things.
The ball reached Elsa at the edge of the box. Takeshi was making his run, but all three defenders had converged on him. Kwame's speed, Marcus's power, Isabella's intelligence—they'd learned from the first goal.
No direct pass to Takeshi. Force them wide.
Elsa was trapped. The passing lane to Takeshi was completely cut off.
She played the ball backward to Oliver, their third teammate, standing 40 yards away from goal.
Impossible distance. Impossible angle.
Three world-class defenders between Oliver and Takeshi. Kwame blocked the direct route, Marcus cut off the space, and Isabella read every possible passing angle.
No one in their right mind attempts this pass.
But Oliver looked at Takeshi making the run. Saw something in those cold, calculating eyes.
Trust the demon.
The pass left his foot like a David Beckham masterpiece, 40+ yards of perfect curve, pace, and placement. Threading between all three defenders with centimetres to spare.
"NO WAY!" Isabella gasped, diving to intercept.
Too late.
Marcus turned, his powerful frame moving like molasses compared to the ball's flight.
Kwame sprinted back, his speed useless against physics and geometry.
The ball reached Takeshi at the perfect moment, no time to control, no time to think.
Only time to strike.
VOLLEY.
Perfect technique. Perfect power. Perfect precision.
Time seemed to freeze as the ball rocketed through the air. The professional keeper dove with everything he had, fingertips stretching toward the impossible.
Not enough.
GOAL!
Score: 2-2.
Both professional keepers stood there with their mouths open, questioning everything they thought they knew about football.
"What the FUCK was that?!" the blonde keeper screamed. "That's an EIGHT-YEAR-OLD!"
"The pass! The volley! IMPOSSIBLE!" the other keeper shook his head in disbelief.
These were professional Ajax players, second and third choice, but still professionals who'd trained their entire lives.
And they'd just watched children play football that defied logic.
On the field, even the world-class young talents were stunned. Kwame's cocky expression had vanished, replaced with grudging respect. Marcus was showing genuine emotion for the first time, a mixture of respect and fear.
Isabella stood motionless, processing what she'd witnessed.
The game has changed. The eight-year-old isn't just talented, he's possessed.
But Takeshi still showed no celebration. His eyes remained locked on the goal, hungry for the third.
One more. Ten minutes. The hat-trick. The victory.
System quest burning: 1 MORE GOAL NEEDED.
The demon was far from satisfied.
Game resumed with both teams exhausted from the morning's hell and the match's intensity. But Takeshi showed no fatigue, the demon mode sustained him, fed him, drove him forward.
The opponents were playing cautiously now. Marcus had learned respect. Isabella was watching Takeshi's every movement like a predator studying another predator. Kwame was torn between his pride and the necessity of winning.
Time for the kill.
Takeshi received the ball at the edge of the box. All three converged instantly—they'd learned that giving him space was suicide.
Marcus came with his trademark power, looking to end this with a crushing tackle.
Kwame approached with speed, trying to close down angles.
Isabella cut off the passing lanes with Brazilian intelligence.
Looks impossible. Perfect.
Takeshi's feet moved like liquid lightning. Step over past Isabella, her eyes couldn't track the movement. La Croqueta around Kwame's desperate lunge, the Nigerian's speed was meaningless against pure technique.
Marcus came charging in like a battering ram, determined to crush the demon child once and for all.
Too slow. Too late. Too human.
Shoulder drop, sudden acceleration, and Marcus was grasping at empty air.
One-on-one with the keeper again.
But this keeper had learned. He came out aggressively, making himself huge, trying to intimidate the child who'd embarrassed him twice.
Takeshi's eyes were ice-cold calculating.
Chip.
Delicate. Perfect. Beautiful.
The ball floated over the keeper's outstretched hands like a feather on the wind, dropping into the net with the gentleness of falling snow.
GOAL.
HAT-TRICK COMPLETE.
Score: 3-2.
Silence.
Then explosion.
Both professional keepers collapsed to their knees, staring at the eight-year-old who'd just destroyed their understanding of football.
"IMPOSSIBLE!"
"WHO IS THIS KID?!"
Oliver and Elsa mobbed Takeshi, but even in their celebration, they could see the cold intensity in his eyes hadn't faded.
"You did it, you absolute madman!" Oliver laughed, his confidence transformed by that impossible 40-yard pass.
"I knew you could," Elsa whispered, hugging him fiercely. "You beautiful demon."
Even in victory, Takeshi's expression remained focused; the match wasn't over.
Two minutes left. Defend the lead.
But his system was already celebrating:
[QUEST COMPLETE]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
✓ HAT-TRICK ACHIEVED: 3 GOALS
✓ MATCH WON: 3-2
✓ DEMON MODE UNLOCKED
REWARDS:
+30% Shot Power
+25% Dribbling
+20% Vision
+15% Stamina
NEW SKILL: [PREDATOR'S INSTINCT]
HIDDEN STAT REVEALED: [KILLER INSTINCT - S RANK]
TITLE EARNED: "THE DEMON OF AJAX"
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
RANK UP: BEGINNER CLASS E → D
The final whistle blew.
MATCH OVER: 3-2.
That's when the demon mode finally released its grip.
Takeshi's legs gave out. The exhaustion hit him like a tsunami—thirty miles, brutal training, impossible goals, supernatural focus all crashing down at once.
He collapsed to his knees, breathing like he'd run a marathon.
Body destroyed. Spirit soaring.
Elsa caught him as he swayed. "You did it, dummy. You actually did it."
Oliver was still shaking his head in amazement. "That pass—I don't know how I made that pass. It was like you were guiding it with your mind."
Even their opponents showed respect. Marcus offered his hand, helping Takeshi to his feet. "That was... incredible. I've never been beaten like that."
Kwame nodded with grudging admiration. "Respect, little man. Pure respect."
Isabella looked at him with new eyes—fascination mixed with competitive fire. "Next time won't be so easy."
Next time. There's always a next time.
Erik walked over, his sinister smile wider than ever.
"Welcome to hell, demon boy." His voice was pure satisfaction. "This was just Day 1."
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming.
"We have twenty more days."
As they walked to the cafeteria—Oliver chattering excitedly about his passes, Elsa supporting Takeshi's exhausted form—the weight of what just happened began to sink in.
I became something else out there. Something that scares even me.
But looking at his teammates, seeing the respect in his opponents' eyes, feeling the system's power coursing through him...
Maybe being a demon isn't so bad.
Twenty more days of this hell ahead.
His body was destroyed, his mind was reeling, but his spirit was flying.
He'd proven something today. To Erik, to the world-class competition, to himself.
The demon is real. And it's hungry for more.
Twenty more days of hell.
Bring it on.