The whistle hadn't even faded yet but Kei was already moving.Not running just shifting his weight toes dragging across the pitch like a pianist adjusting the stool before a performance
The crowd was loud but to Kei it all blurred into one long note
He could hear the game breathing
Shoes scraping turf the thud of a pass mistimed a teammate's shout a little too early these were the notes in his music
And in the middle of it he began to play
A backheel that shouldn't have worked found Dazai in stride.A chest tap redirect brought Amano into the triangle play.A sudden feint opened the left wing where no one had been seconds ago
He wasn't thinking
He was listening
The ball hummed when it was struck right it hissed when the opponent mistouched and it rang when it was passed with purpose
And Kei chased the sound
Even his opponents didn't know what to press anymore.Every time they tried he was already somewhere else doing something that didn't belong in their playbook
The coach on the sideline clutched his clipboard tighter unable to predict what came next
By minute 58 Kei wasn't just orchestrating
He was composing
One-two pass
Fake run
Outside flick
Through ball between four legs
Goal
The crowd finally found its voice but Kei didn't hear it
He was lost in the sound of genius
A rhythm only he could follow and a melody that echoed through the field as if the game itself had remembered what it meant to be beautiful again