The system window glowed on Takeshi's desk, reminding him of what he'd already known.
[QUEST ACTIVE: Join a Team - 28 Days Remaining]
He stared at it while afternoon light filtered through his bedroom window. Could call Elsa. Could reach out to Oliver at Arsenal. Could contact Erik. They'd all help him find a spot somewhere prestigious, somewhere with potential.
But that's not where I belong.
His phone sat next to the laptop. Three years of text messages from one contact, most recent from last week: "Lost again. 0-3 to Shizuoka. 0 wins, 8 losses. This team is cursed, man."
That was Sato. His best friend. Who'd never stopped believing he'd come back.
Tokyo FC. Where it all started. Where I'm from.
The facility he'd left at age eight to chase Ajax's promise was still there, still waiting. Not glamorous. Not prestigious. Dead last in the youth league, 0 wins out of 10 matches. A disaster masquerading as a team.
Perfect place for a failed prodigy to begin again.
He opened his contacts. Found "Coach Tanaka." Took a breath. Pressed call.
The voice that answered was exactly as he remembered—gruff, impatient, tired.
"Tanaka speaking."
Here we go.
"Coach, it's Takeshi. Yamamoto Takeshi."
Silence stretched. Heavy. A lot of years compressed into that pause.
"I know who you are, boy."
Of course he did. Coach Tanaka didn't forget prodigies. Especially ones who disappeared.
"I want to come back. To the U18 team."
Another pause. Then a bitter laugh.
"You want to join my disaster? We're dead last, Yamamoto. Zero wins, two draws, eight losses. We're getting relegated."
I know.
"Yes, sir. I know."
More silence. Then: "Does Sato know you're calling?"
"No, sir."
"He'll be surprised." Coach sighed like the weight of the world just got heavier. "Practice at 4 PM tomorrow. Don't be late."
Click.
The next day, Takeshi left school early and walked the familiar route to Tokyo FC's facility. Everything looked smaller than he remembered. The goals were rustier. The grass had more bare patches. The bleachers needed paint.
Nothing's changed. Everything's changed.
The U18 team was running drills when he arrived. Maybe eighteen players, moving with the lethargy of a team that'd lost too many times. They weren't playing like they believed they could win. They were just going through motions.
Except one.
Number 8 jersey. That was his.
Sato was taller now—maybe 5'10"—with shoulders that had broadened from years of continuous training. Brown hair, serious expression, running each drill with full effort even though his teammates were half-assing it. He was the kind of player who gave 100% regardless of circumstances. That was who Sato had always been.
One of the other players noticed Takeshi first and pointed. Practice stuttered. Players turning.
Then Sato saw him.
His best friend's face cycled through shock, confusion, and something Takeshi couldn't quite read. They locked eyes across the field for a moment before Coach Tanaka's footsteps approached.
"You're late. If you're not early, you're late."
Same old Coach. Same gruff tone. Same disappointment in his eyes.
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
Coach gestured for the team to gather. Players jogged over, wiping sweat, eyeing Takeshi with curiosity and skepticism. Some he recognized from age 7-8. Kenji, the goalkeeper, was taller but moved the same way. Yuta, a defender, had the same hair color but hardened by years of losing.
And Sato, pushing through the group, face unreadable.
"This is Yamamoto Takeshi," Coach announced. "Some of you remember him. He wants to join the team."
Murmurs spread like wildfire.
Kenji spoke up immediately: "The guy who quit?"
So they'd heard.
"We're already last place, Coach. We don't need someone who runs when it gets hard."
Takeshi couldn't argue. It was fair. It was true.
Sato stepped forward, pushing between teammates. "Takeshi."
Just his name. No inflection.
They stood face to face while the whole team watched. Sato's eyes were exhausted—the kind of tired that comes from two years of never winning.
"Why now?"
Three words. But they carried the weight of every unanswered text message, every match invite declined, every time Takeshi chose nothing over something.
"Because I was wrong, Sato."
Takeshi met his friend's gaze directly. "I quit when I should've fought. Lost three years being scared. And you... you kept going. Every match, every loss, you kept playing. I want to be like that again."
Sato's face cracked—not with anger, not with joy, but something between relief and frustration.
"You idiot."
His voice was thick. "We needed you. This team needed you. We've lost every single match this season. Zero wins, Takeshi. Zero. And you were sitting at home?"
"You're right."
"I was a coward. Still am, maybe. But I'm here now. And I know I don't deserve your team. But... will you let me try?"
Silence stretched. The team holding its breath.
Sato looked at Coach Tanaka. Then back at Takeshi.
"You're three years behind. I've been training. You've been quitting. You're probably trash now."
"Yeah. Probably."
Sato's expression softened slightly. He extended his hand. Takeshi took it. The handshake was firm—first bridge rebuilt.
Old teammates reacted with mixed signals. Kenji shrugged. Yuta remained skeptical. Their captain, a striker named Ryo, just nodded at Coach.
"If Sato vouches for him, he plays. But he rides bench until he proves something."
"Possession drill. 5v2," Coach ordered. "Sato, pick your partner."
Without hesitation: "Takeshi."
Some players groaned. This would be a massacre.
Takeshi and Sato positioned in the middle while five players surrounded them. Ball came to Takeshi. His first touch in three years under pressure was heavy, awkward, revealing years of atrophy.
This is worse than I thought.
Sato immediately opened up space: "I'm open!"
Quick pass. Sato controlled smoothly and passed back. Simple triangle. But even in simplicity, the gap was obvious.
Sato moved with three years of continuous training—smooth touches, good positioning, confident presence. He was clearly better than when they were equals at age 8. Takeshi, meanwhile, was struggling. Slower. Predictable. Rusty beyond recognition.
When did my best friend become better than me?
When Takeshi lost the ball, Sato recovered. When Takeshi misplaced a pass, Sato adjusted. His best friend was carrying him, like roles had reversed from when they were kids.
The commentary from other players was brutal.
"Sato's doing all the work."
"Yamamoto is dead weight."
"How was this guy supposed to be a prodigy?"
Each comment landed like a punch. But Takeshi pushed through.
Sato encouraging: "Focus, Takeshi. We've got this."
The system chimed silently in his mind:
[SKILL COMPARISON]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
TAKESHI (Current):
Dribbling: C-
Passing: C
Fitness: D
Overall: Below Average U18
SATO (Current):
Dribbling: B
Passing: B+
Fitness: A-
Overall: Above Average U18
Analysis: Your best friend surpassed you
He trained while you quit
3 years changes everything
FORMER TEAMMATES STATUS:
Kenji (GK): B Rank
Yuta (DF): C+ Rank
Sato (MF): B+ Rank - Team's Best Player
You were S Rank at age 8
Now you're their weakest link
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
The ball was stolen again. Takeshi on the ground. Ryo standing over him: "Is this a joke? We're last place and this is what shows up?"
Sato stepped between: "Back off, Ryo. Everyone has bad days."
Ryo: "He's had three bad YEARS."
But Ryo offered his hand anyway. "Come on, partner. Like old times."
This time, Takeshi stopped trying to be a prodigy. He just supported Sato. Pass, move, support. Basic football. Sato orchestrated, Takeshi followed. They kept possession for two full minutes—not spectacular, but functional. The team was slightly impressed despite themselves.
After practice ended, Sato waited outside the facility. Just the two of them for the first time in years.
"Three years, man," Sato said quietly. "Three years of me texting you match results. 'We lost again.' 'Still no wins.' 'This team sucks.' And you never came."
"I'm sorry."
"I was scared. Of pressure. Of failing again. So I did nothing. Which was failing anyway."
Sato nodded. "Yeah. It was. But you're here now. That counts for something."
They walked slowly, not rushing anywhere.
"We play Yokohama FC in three weeks," Sato said. "Daichi's team. First place."
Takeshi's stomach tightened. He'd seen Daichi's Instagram yesterday—another hat-trick, another win. Another reminder of how far behind he'd fallen.
"He's good. Really good," Sato continued. "S-rank talent, they say. Future professional for sure. And us? We're last place jokes. You and me, we used to be better than him. Now look at us."
Sato was quiet for a moment, voice cracking slightly when he spoke again: "Three weeks, Takeshi. Get your fitness back. Remember how to play. Because I need my partner. I've carried this team alone for two years. I'm tired. We're all tired. You came back? Prove it. Help me win. Just once. One win. That's all I want. Just... don't quit on me again."
Walking home together felt like old times but different. Sato was taller, stronger. Takeshi was slower, weaker. Roles reversed from when they were kids.
"You really think we can beat Yokohama?" Takeshi asked.
Sato laughed: "Hell no. They're first. We're last. Daichi would destroy us alone. But... we're gonna try anyway."
At Sato's street, they parted ways.
"See you tomorrow, partner," Sato said. "4 PM. Don't be late."
"I won't."
Sato turned back: "And Takeshi? Welcome back. Idiot."
He walked away smiling.
Alone, Takeshi pulled out his phone. A notification from Yokohama FC's official account had just posted: "Daichi scores hat-trick! Extending win streak to 10! #FutureAce"
Video showed Daichi celebrating confidently, skilled, everything Takeshi used to be. Comments flooded: "Best U18 player in Japan!" and "Future professional guaranteed!"
The system window appeared:
[REDEMPTION ARC: DAY 1]
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Status Update:
Rank : Semi-Profession A class
Team Joined: Tokyo FC U18 (Last Place)
Best Friend: Reunited ✓
Old Teammates: Skeptical
Rival Status: Daichi (S-Rank, First Place)
Your Status: Bench Warmer (F-Rank)
Time Until Daichi Match: 21 Days
Your Fitness: D → Must reach B
Your Skills: Rusty → Must reach Competent
Your Respect: None → Must Earn
Quest: Survive training
Quest: Earn starting spot
Quest: Face your rival
Quest: Remember who you were
The demon returns to his origin.
The champion faces the failure.
21 days until the world sees:
Did you waste your second chance?
Or did you finally learn to fight?
Training starts tomorrow.
No more running.
No more quitting.
Time to climb from last place.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
Twenty-one days.
That's all he had to transform from F-rank bench warmer back into something worth remembering. Twenty-one days to go from worst player on the worst team to someone who could stand against a prodigy like Daichi.
Impossible.
But at least now there was somewhere to start. A team that needed him. A best friend who believed. An origin point to rebuild from.
The demon returns home. Not in glory. Not with confidence.
Just with a choice. To climb. Or fall again.
This time, I climb.
TO BE CONTINUED...