The locker room was buzzing with confidence.
Last week's dominance had shifted something. Ryo gave his captain's speech: "We're 10th now. One more win puts us in safe territory. Kashiwa is 3rd, but we beat 10th place 3-0. We can compete."
Dangerous belief settling in. Takeshi felt it too—the momentum, the rhythm they'd built. Akari had texted good luck with a heart emoji. Elsa sent a voice message from Norway: "Go get them."
System check:
SURVIVAL QUEST: MATCH 4/8
OPPONENT: KASHIWA FC (3RD PLACE)
WARNING: Significant skill gap detected
YOUR CONDITION: 87%
TIME RELAY: 75% available
RECOMMENDATION: Extreme caution advised
He dismissed it. We're clicking now. We can handle this.
In the tunnel, seeing Kashiwa players made first doubt creep in. Bigger. Faster. Professional-looking in a way Tokyo FC wasn't.
The referee's whistle.
Reality began.
Kashiwa's first touch of the ball was smooth. Clinical. Eight passes in fifteen seconds. Tokyo FC's press instantly bypassed.
Takeshi read the play but his body couldn't keep up. Their midfielder moved at a different speed. His adult mind screamed where to be. His teenage legs arrived two seconds late.
Every time.
At 7 minutes, Kashiwa's counter attack sliced through Tokyo FC's defense with one long pass. Their striker ran onto it with effortless grace. Yuta chased but couldn't catch up. One touch past Kenji.
0-1.
Clinical. Effortless. Inevitable.
Tokyo FC players looked at each other. How did that happen so fast?
The onslaught continued. Kashiwa dominated possession—75-25. When Tokyo FC got the ball, they were immediately dispossessed. Takeshi dropped deep to help, but their marking was suffocating, intelligent. At 15 minutes, Kashiwa hit the post. At 18, Kenji made a brilliant save. At 22, Ryo cleared a corner desperately.
They were backs against the wall already.
At 28 minutes, Takeshi tried TIME RELAY.
Activating 75% power. One and a half seconds of slowed perception. He saw their striker's run. Saw the pass coming. Intercepted—
Their midfielder still beat him to it.
Even with TIME RELAY, he was faster.
The cross came in. Header.
0-2.
Takeshi sat on the ground watching the ball hit the net.
TIME RELAY: Ineffective against superior speed
STAMINA: 79% → 72%
TEAM MORALE: 81% → 68%
WARNING: Class difference too large
At 38 minutes, a free kick from 25 yards. Takeshi in the wall. The ball struck with a curve he'd never seen. Top corner. Kenji didn't even move because he couldn't—it was just going in.
0-3.
Not because Kenji was bad. Because it was unstoppable.
Halftime approached with Tokyo FC already broken mentally. Takeshi caught Akari's eyes in the stands. Her worried face. Him wanting to disappear.
Before the whistle, Kashiwa was toying with them. Passing around Tokyo FC's press like training cones. Another shot. Kenji saved (keeping it only 0-3).
The halftime whistle was mercy.
Walking off to pitying applause. Kashiwa players not even celebrating. Just another day at the office for them.
The locker room was silent.
Just heavy breathing and disbelief.
Coach Tanaka: "They're better. Significantly."
Stating the obvious but it needed to be said.
"But we don't quit. Second half, we fight for pride."
Ryo tried rallying: "One goal. Let's get one goal."
His voice was hollow. The conviction was gone.
Takeshi checked the system:
PERFORMANCE: Overwhelmed
TIME RELAY: 60% remaining (saved nothing)
STAMINA: 72%
TEAM MORALE: 64% (collapsing)
REALITY: Sometimes you're just not good enough
That last line hit different.
In both lives, hitting ceiling. Is this it? Is this my limit?
Akari's text came through: "Still proud of you. Keep fighting."
Her believing even when he didn't.
Second half opening, Tokyo FC actually created chances. Desperation made them aggressive. At 49 minutes, Sato shot and it was saved. At 53, Takeshi's through ball almost connected.
Brief hope. Maybe they could claw back.
Kashiwa just... let them have the ball. Conserving energy. Already won.
At 62 minutes, Kashiwa decided they were done being merciful.
One minute of actual effort. Five-pass sequence that Tokyo FC couldn't touch. Through ball.
0-4.
Message sent: we can turn it on whenever we want.
Tokyo FC's hope evaporated completely.
Takeshi tried everything from his adult playbook. Long passes, tactical fouls, aggressive pressing. None of it worked. At 67, he activated TIME RELAY again. Dribbling past one defender. The second defender still took the ball.
What's the point of seeing the future if I can't execute it?
Legs heavy. Mind slower.
TIME RELAY: 40% remaining
STAMINA: 58% (declining rapidly)
FORM: Broken
You're trying to fight gravity
At 77 minutes, a corner kick for Tokyo FC. Everyone forward. Nothing to lose. Ball scrambled. Falls to Takeshi. Shooting from the edge of the box. Deflection.
1-4.
Hollow celebration. Sato hugging him because they needed something. Kashiwa's keeper shrugged—didn't matter. It really didn't.
For the final thirteen minutes, both teams just saw it out. Kashiwa substituted starters (disrespectful but fair). Tokyo FC was exhausted, mentally and physically. At 84, Takeshi's leg cramped. Being subbed off to sympathetic applause.
He sat on the bench watching his team suffer.
Akari's section: she wasn't cheering anymore. Just watching sadly.
This is what powerlessness looks like.
FINAL: TOKYO FC 1-4 KASHIWA FC
The locker room after was silent except for heavy breathing.
Some players near tears, not crying, just empty. Kenji staring at the ground. Four goals. After his heroics last match, reality had arrived. Yuta's hands were shaking. Ryo's jaw clenched.
Takeshi checked the system:
SURVIVAL QUEST: MATCH 4/8 COMPLETE
RESULT: DEFEAT (1-4)
STANDINGS UPDATE: 10TH → 11TH PLACE
TEAM MORALE: 64% → 51%
MATCHES REMAINING: 4
ANALYSIS: Gap between mid-table and top-table is massive
REALITY CHECK: Complete
Coach Tanaka wasn't angry. Just realistic: "Today we learned where we actually stand. We're fighting relegation. They're fighting for a title. Different worlds. But we have four matches left. All against teams we can beat. This loss doesn't end us. Only if we let it."
Walking out, media asking questions. Team ignoring them.
Akari was waiting outside the tunnel. Takeshi saw her and wanted to break. She hugged him, sweaty, didn't care. Not saying anything. Just being there.
"We got destroyed," he whispered.
"You kept fighting," she said. "That matters."
Does it?
On the train home, the group chat stayed silent for the first time in weeks.
Finally Ryo: "11th place. 4 matches left."
Sato: "we can still do this"
Kenji: "have to"
Takeshi stared at the messages. Typed: "We will."
Didn't believe it. But said it anyway.
Lying in bed that night, body destroyed and ego shattered.
Two messages waited.
Akari: "Get some rest. Tomorrow's a new day ❤️"
Elsa (just waking up in Norway): "Watched the match. That was rough. You okay?"
He didn't respond to either.
Just stared at the ceiling.
System's final message:
Sometimes the hero loses.
Sometimes you face someone better.
4 matches remain.
This story isn't over.
But it's not guaranteed happy either.
Rest. Recover. Reality has arrived.
In his first life, he peaked at eighteen and fell. Maybe this was his peak. Fifteen years old, 11th place. Maybe redemption had limits. Maybe—
Sleep found him. Nightmares of Kashiwa's goals on loop.
Tomorrow: face reality.
Four matches: prove this wasn't the ceiling.
Or accept that some stories don't have fairytale endings.