Outside the Stadium.
A crowd of hysterical girls screamed from a distance, waving signs high above their heads.
"Misugi!!"
Near them, a group of reporters was surrounding Jun Misugi, microphone in hand.
"Hmph, hmph... the semifinals are close. Do you plan to play today, Misugi?" one interviewer asked.
"Good question..." Jun replied, his voice calm and ambiguous.
"If your team wins today, you'll be facing Nankatsu FC next, one of the top contenders for the title." another reporter added.
"That team is strong, especially Tsubasa Ozora. I'd really like to go head-to-head with him." Jun said with a slight smile.
"So you're saying... you will play?" the interviewer pushed further.
Further behind, among the screaming fans:
"Wait, does that mean Misugi isn't going to play today until the Nankatsu match?" one fangirl said, concerned.
"Even if he's not starting, if anything goes wrong, he can still come in. That's why we've gotta cheer hard for Hitachi FC today!" another girl chimed in.
They began chanting in unison, their voices filling the air. "Go, go, go! Hitachi FC!"
Behind the group of fangirls, tension brewed.
"That smug Misugi's underestimating us!" growled a player from Hitani FC, fists clenched.
"Let's show him who we are!" another spat, full of fire.
Inside a Hallway.
After the interview, Jun Misugi walked down a quiet corridor.
"What are you playing at, Misugi?" asked Mr. Isao Fukuyama, head coach of Musashi FC, arms crossed.
Jun didn't hesitate. "Coach, this tournament means something special to me." he said, eyes firm and focused. "You know that better than anyone."
He added with quiet intensity. "No one knows me better than I know myself."
The coach nodded slowly. "I understand how you feel... but I need to think this through. For today, you'll stay on the bench. We'll see after that."
"As you wish." Jun responded respectfully and bowed slightly to his coach before the two parted ways.
Tap, tap, tap... Footsteps echoed down another corridor, fading into the distance.
Jun turned his head. "Manager?"
[ Shin's POV ]
This was our first match with so many people gathered. The stadium was packed to the brim, and it made sense—
Azumaichi, one of the tournament's title contenders, was going head-to-head with one of the most dangerous dark horses, Furano.
As I scanned the stands, I spotted the players from Nankatsu, Meiwa, Hitani, and Musashi, though notably, Misugi, Tsubasa and Yayoi Aoba wasn't among them.
We waved to the roaring crowd, acknowledging their energy, before turning our attention to our opponents.
The match was about to begin.
"Good luck." said Matsuyama, offering me a firm handshake.
"Same to you." I replied calmly before we both took our positions on the field.
The whistle blew, the match had officially begun.
We had possession. Kuramochi received the ball at his feet. He looked up, seemingly about to pass it to me, but hesitated.
"I'm sticking to you like glue." said Matsuyama, tailing me like a shadow, matching my every move.
"We'll see about that." I replied, unfazed.
"Mark him! Close in!" he shouted, giving quick commands to his teammates while never taking his eyes off me.
That brief distraction gave me the opening, I received the ball.
"Damn." he muttered, realizing too late.
I tried to take him on, but he managed to stay right in front of me, cutting off my path. As the duel dragged on, some of his teammates rushed over to help.
"No, don't come!" Matsuyama barked, but it was already too late. Their movement left a gap in their defense.
I quickly passed the ball to Mihashi, who had found space on the left wing.
"Tch." Matsuyama gritted his teeth, trying to sprint back into position, but Mihashi didn't hesitate.
He took the shot—and scored.
"Goal by Mihashi! Azumaichi takes the lead!" the announcer shouted over the roaring crowd.
"We conceded too fast..." muttered a Furano player.
"Don't worry, guys. The match is just getting started." said Matsuyama, rallying his teammates with calm determination.
Furano launched into a spirited attack, pushing forward with energy, but they struggled...
"You're not getting through." Soda growled, sliding in with perfect timing to stop Matsuyama's shot.
"And it's a clean sliding tackle from Soda, perfectly executed!" shouted the commentator, excitement in his voice.
The match resumed. "This time it was Orochi who deflected the ball into touch!"
No matter how hard they tried, Furano couldn't break past the wall formed by Orochi and Soda.
[ In the stands ]
"Azumaichi's on another level." Ishizaki said, arms crossed, watching closely from the Nankatsu section.
"We'll see. Furano's used to adversity—they're forged in snowy fields. That gives them a mental edge." Misaki added, eyes still on the pitch.
"Huh, interesting..." Ishizaki muttered, surprised by the insight.
"Furano's in a scoring position now!" the announcer suddenly shouted, raising the tension.
[ Back on the field ]
"This one's going in." Matsuyama muttered to himself, as he lined up his shot.
Soda sprinted back with lightning speed to intercept. But instead of getting the ball, Matsuyama cleverly positioned himself between Soda and the pass—Soda's tackle took him down hard.
"Penalty!" the referee blew his whistle, running over and pointing to the spot.
The crowd gasped.
"Yellow card for Makoto Soda!" the announcer called out as the referee raised the card high.
Matsuyama got back on his feet, brushing dust off his jersey.
"It'll take more than that to bring me down." he said firmly, stepping up to the penalty spot.
He locked eyes with Tsuji, our goalkeeper, then took a deep breath... and struck the ball cleanly into the net.
"GOAL! Matsuyama levels it for Furano—1–1!" the commentator roared, as the Furano fans erupted in cheers.
Halftime , Azumaichi Locker Room.
Coach Ikeda's expression was stern.
"Pull yourselves together." he barked. Then, turning to Soda. "You're on a yellow. One more mistake, and you're off—stay sharp."
I stood up and faced the team.
"Get me the ball, however you can." I said, towel around my neck. "I'll take care of Matsuyama. If I wear him down, their spirit goes with him.."
Everyone nodded, eyes locked on mine with a mix of resolve and trust.
Second Half Begins.
We recovered possession early, intercepting their midfield passes. When the ball reached me, I took control and the game shifted.
Matsuyama rushed in to mark me, but I started weaving.
Right, left, step-over, back again—he couldn't keep up.
"Incredible footwork from Orochi" the commentator shouted over the crowd's rising roar.
Matsuyama was trying, but I could feel it, his breath heavy, his movements slower, his balance fading.
Now.
I pushed forward, surged into space, and from just outside the box, curled the ball with precision using my right foot, classic Orochi style.
The net rippled.
"GOAL! Azumaichi retakes the lead! Orochi again!" cried the commentator as the crowd leapt to their feet.