The locker room was silent. Tape. Boots. Stretching. No jokes today.
Takeshi sat lacing his cleats, feeling the weight of everything pressing down. Relegation. The system in his head. Seven more matches after this. His promise to Akari. All of it.
Coach Tanaka entered, clipboard in hand. He didn't give a long speech. Just stood in front of them.
"Survive. That's all. Just survive today."
Simple. Brutal.
Takeshi felt the system activate in his mind, not audibly, just a presence. A knowing. Match 1 of 8. Kawaguchi United is 11th. This is a must-win. He could feel the TIME RELAY available, but something was different. Weaker. 50% capacity, like the system was intentionally holding back. Making him prove himself without relying on it.
He pushed the feeling down and focused on his boots.
The tunnel walk was different. Both teams emerging into stadium lights. Kawaguchi players looked hungry, they were desperate too, fighting to stay safe from relegation. The crowd was small but loud. Families. Die-hard fans. People who actually cared.
Referee's whistle.
Kickoff.
The first fifteen minutes were cagey. Both teams felt each other out like boxers in round one. Kawaguchi set up a low block, 4-4-2, compact and waiting. Tokyo FC probed but sloppy, disorganized, nervous.
Takeshi dropped deep to collect the ball. His adult mind read the shape immediately: They're crowding the middle. Need to stretch them wide. Create space.
At 18 minutes, Kawaguchi hit them on the counter. One long ball over Tokyo FC's defense and their striker was running through. Kenji rushed out, one-on-one.
Don't hesitate. Trust your training.
Kenji dove. Hand to the ball. Deflected wide.
Corner kick. Chaos in the box. Bodies packed everywhere. Takeshi marking his man. Ball whipped in. The scramble. Yuta heading clear, barely. Too close.
By twenty minutes, the midfield battle was already brutal. Physical. Ugly. Scrappy.
Sato getting fouled repeatedly. Referee letting it go. This wasn't a technical game—this was survival.
Takeshi received the ball under pressure. Two defenders closing. Time it. Wait for the opening. Quick touch around the first defender. The second lunged. Takeshi stumbled but kept possession. Pass to the wing but too heavy. Out for throw-in.
Damn it. Legs aren't responding right.
He could feel his stamina dropping. Not at a critical level, but noticeable. The adult part of his brain kept track of it automatically, 71% energy left. He pushed it aside. No time to think about stats. Just play.
35 minutes. Still 0-0. Both teams exhausted already. This wasn't technical football. This was bodies on the line. Every tackle hurt. Every sprint burned.
Before halftime, a corner kick. Takeshi taking it. The crowd holding collective breath. Ball curling toward the back post. Ryo rising above his defender. Header—
Saved. Goalkeeper fingertips. Agonizingly close.
Halftime whistle.
Locker room. Everyone gasping. Kenji: "They're getting more chances than us."
Yuta: "I can't keep up with their striker."
Coach made the tactical shift: "Takeshi, drop deeper. Thread balls through. Sato, push forward more."
Takeshi sat there, jaw clenched. 0-0 wasn't enough. They needed to win. But he couldn't rely on TIME RELAY like some cheat code. It was weaker now, the system was forcing him to prove he could do this on skill alone.
Prove you can win without relying on me, he remembered the cold voice saying.
Akari's words echoed too: "You can't control everything."
But he could control effort. He could control decisions.
Standing up: "Second half, we attack. No more waiting."
Team looked at him.
Sato nodded: "Let's fucking go."
Tokyo FC came out aggressive. Takeshi orchestrating from midfield. Pass to Sato, who shot, blocked. Rebound, scramble. Another shot—wide. Pressure building. But no breakthrough. Kawaguchi weathering the storm, compact, organized.
Then at 58 minutes, the break.
Kawaguchi counter. Quick transition. Their winger beat Yuta. Cross whipped in. Striker free in the box.
No no no—
BANG.
1-0 Kawaguchi.
The stadium went quiet. Tokyo FC players stunned. Takeshi felt something cold wash through him. This wasn't just a goal. This was the match slipping away. The pressure crushing down harder.
He picked up the ball. Put it on the midfield spot. Kawaguchi celebrating, reorganizing.
Now or never.
He reached for the TIME RELAY. It was there, weaker than usual, but available. 50% at best. He could feel it—the system enforcing limits, like it was watching to see if he'd actually use his brain or just lean on powers.
He released the pass without using it.
The ball went directly to a defender.
Mistake.
Closing his eyes for a split second. That was stupid. He needed the edge. He needed to use whatever advantage he had.
Kawaguchi broke again. Almost scored.
Takeshi took a breath. Looked at his teammates. Ryo's face. Sato's desperation. Kenji's fear.
Okay. One more time. This time, I use it.
Next possession, 62 minutes. He activated TIME RELAY.
The world didn't fully slow—it was weaker than before, only 50%—but the edges softened just enough. One second of enhanced perception. He saw the gap between defenders. The through ball possibility. Weight and timing calculated instantly.
Released the pass.
The ball threaded perfectly between two defenders. Sato making a run like instinct. One touch. Shooting low, far post.
Goalkeeper diving—
GOAL. 1-1.
Sato wheeling away screaming. Takeshi collapsing to his knees, feeling the TIME RELAY drain even at half power. But breathing. Smiling.
We're alive.
The final push was brutal. 65 to 80 minutes. Both teams dead on their feet. No tactics anymore. Just willpower. Kawaguchi trying to hold the draw. Tokyo FC pushing for the winner. Corners. Free kicks. Desperation.
Takeshi barely standing but still moving. Every muscle screaming. Every breath burning. His stamina was in the red now, but it didn't matter. The body keeps going when the mind refuses to quit.
One more chance. Just one more.
82 minutes.
Tokyo FC throw-in deep in Kawaguchi territory. Quick throw to Takeshi. Two defenders on him. TIME RELAY was completely drained now—he couldn't access it even if he wanted to.
Has to create with pure skill.
Fake left. Body feint. First defender bites. Now right. Touch around the second defender. Into space.
Cross whipped low toward the penalty spot.
Ryo sliding in—
GOAL. 2-1 TOKYO FC.
Absolute chaos. Players piling on Ryo. Takeshi just sitting on the ground, completely spent. Sato pulling him up: "We fucking did it!"
The last three minutes felt like an hour. Kawaguchi throwing everything forward. Tokyo FC defending desperately. Blocks. Clearances. Prayers. Kenji making two crucial saves with desperation.
90+3 minutes.
Kawaguchi corner.
Ball cleared.
Referee's whistle.
FULL TIME: TOKYO FC 2-1 KAWAGUCHI UNITED.
The immediate reaction wasn't celebration—it was survival.
Team collapsing in relief. Takeshi lying on the grass staring at the sky, feeling the system's presence in his mind like a quiet observer. The system spoke without words: Match 1 complete. 12th place. 7 remaining. Keep grinding.
Leaving the field. Shaking hands with Kawaguchi players. They looked dead inside—still fighting to survive. Coach patted everyone's back. The small crowd cheered. Not glory. Just hope.
In the locker room, Ryo: "One down. Seven to go."
Everyone nodding. Exhausted but united.
Takeshi checked his phone while sitting on the bench.
Akari: "You won!!! I was watching! So proud!"
He smiled despite the exhaustion.
Him: "Told you I'd be present. One match at a time."
The system was quiet now, resting in the back of his mind.
Seven matches left.
12th place now.
Still fighting.
Still alive.