Rain slicked the turf just enough to turn every sprint into a gamble but Kei didn't slow down.He was playing from somewhere deeper now
Not instinct
Memory
Every turn every touch every fake—it had been done before.Not in this match but in ones long past
Old schoolyard games
Youth club battles
Training drills with no crowd
No noise
Just patterns
Kei stopped looking at the field like it was real
He saw it like a mental diagram
Dots and lines
Shifting shapes
When Ren hesitated on the right flank Kei already knew
He was remembering too
Because they'd drilled this scenario last year on a rainy afternoon just like this
Same pitch shape
Same pressure
Same echo of cold air
So Kei acted not on what was happening
But what had happened
And it worked
Ren ghosted past his marker like the move was preloaded
Crossed without looking
Amano was there
Tap in
Goal
No celebration again
Just nods
Because this wasn't magic
It was memory
And it wasn't just Kei anymore
His rhythm had infected them all
Even the bench was moving in sync
The coach didn't call plays
He watched
Because what do you do when your team starts to remember the future
You let them play
And hope the other side never figures it out