(Kei's perspective)
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As I walked off the field, the cold air biting at my skin, I felt nothing. No pride in the goals. No thrill in the crowd's roar. Five minutes was enough to prove the difference between a predator and livestock.
Kaito intercepted me halfway, his shadow tall and confident, his lips curled into a smirk.
"I must say, Kei… what you did was impressive. Without you, the freshmen would've never made it this far."
Impressive? Such a useless word. I glanced at him. "And now you have to pick up after these mediocre teenagers."
His brows furrowed slightly. "What do you mean, Kei?"
I let the silence stretch, watching the snow melt against my breath. Finally, I spoke, calm and venomous:
"This team is mediocre at best. Daiko and Ayame relied solely on my passes to score. Not a single player on that field was worthy of my vision."
It wasn't an insult. It was truth. A lion doesn't ask permission to call sheep weak.
Kaito chuckled, as if my words amused him rather than cut. "Well, that's okay then. Because I'm here, and I'll push them further than you ever did."
Confidence. Or arrogance. It made no difference. Either way, he'd soon learn that a hammer doesn't understand the hand that wields it. He turned, stripping off his jacket, revealing his kit—walking into the cage like a gladiator eager for applause.
I turned to leave. But then, a gentle tug.
My wrist.
I looked down. Ayame. Her eyes trembled with something naïve… gratitude. She released me quickly, bowing her head.
"Thank you, Kei. For everything."
For everything? She misunderstood. She thought I played for her. For Daiko. For the team. Humans are so desperate to weave sentiment into what is merely strategy.
"Raise your head, Ayame." My voice was cold, almost disinterested. "You have a game to win."
I didn't wait for her answer. I walked away, my footsteps light, my presence heavier than the snow falling across the pitch.
Five minutes. That's all it took for me to leave my mark—an impression so deep that even when I'm gone, my shadow remains stitched into their every movement.
Whether they win or lose is irrelevant.
Because in the end, they'll remember this:
Without me, they are nothing.
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Snowflakes kept drifting down, faint and soft, but the field felt hotter than ever. Kei was gone. Finally. That smug, silent brat had been nothing but trouble.
We huddled together, voices low.
"Now that Kei is gone," I said confidently, "our chances of winning have increased."
For once, I actually believed it.
Dusk wasn't buying it. "We still have multiple threats. Everyone on the freshmen team is unpredictable. Ayame literally danced to score a goal. Rika pulled off a bicycle kick mid-air. Reika's just waiting for her moment. And don't forget—Daiko's ambidextrous and Kaito's strength is still unknown."
I scoffed. "Oh please. He's just a tall guy with muscles. What can he do?"
Dusk shot me a glare. "A few minutes ago we underestimated Kei. And guess what happened?"
That shut me up. I hated that he was right.
Iron added, "That Kaito guy has been smirking since he stepped on the field. He's planning something. We need to be careful."
Before I could respond, the ref cut us off. "Get in position! Restart!"
Fine. Time to prove this Kaito was just another meathead.
The whistle blew. Ball tossed to the middle. I dashed forward like always—fast, sharp, untouchable.
But then he was there.
Kaito. Right in front of me.
I froze mid-step. "How the hell did yo—"
Before I could even finish, his shoulder slammed into me like a truck. I was flung aside, barely keeping balance. He didn't even break stride.
What the hell was that?
He charged forward, no weaving, no finesse—just pure brute force. Like he wanted the entire world to come at him. Like he believed no one alive could stop him.
Dusk cut him off. "I won't let you get through me—"
Crash. Dusk was down in an instant, tossed aside like a ragdoll. Kaito didn't even look at him.
Iron stepped up next. "I'M YOUR OPPONENT NOW!"
Finally, someone who could hold him—at least for a moment. Their clash was brutal, shoulder to shoulder, neither giving way. For a second I thought Iron could actually hold the line.
Then Kaito growled, his voice like a storm:
"This anxiety of mine… ONLY MAKES ME STRONGER!"
He shoved. Iron flew back. Just like that.
My stomach dropped.
Five more seniors swarmed him, trying to trip him, block him, do anything—but Kaito stomped on their feet, plowed through them, unstoppable. He was in the penalty area before anyone could even process it.
He wound up, blasted the ball—
I moved on instinct. Header. The ball ricocheted away. My skull rattled from the impact, but I stopped it.
Dusk recovered, snatched the ball, sprinted downfield. For a second, I could breathe again.
Then Kaito appeared again. Like a phantom. He caught up to Dusk effortlessly. The ball flew to Iron, then to me. Zig-zag. I slipped past defenders, weaving sharp and quick, the penalty area right ahead—
And then they closed in. Kaito. Rika. Ayame. Three shadows converging, pressing me like I was nothing more than prey. Kaito stole the ball without even blinking, and suddenly he was charging again.
He bulldozed through seven players. Seven! Like they weren't even there. Every shoulder clash ended with them on the ground. His fear of losing—it wasn't slowing him down. It was feeding him.
He was about to score. Nothing stood in his way.
Then the whistle shrieked. First half over.
The entire senior team collapsed with relief, sucking in air like survivors of a disaster. Kaito exhaled, disappointed, as if being stopped by the clock was more insulting than any of us. "Oh well then," he muttered.
I watched him, my fists clenched, my pride slipping. Dusk whispered to me, pale-faced:
"In terms of physical attributes… it appears Kaito is probably a bigger threat than Kei."
I hated him for saying it. Hated myself for agreeing.
I grit my teeth. "Why," I muttered under my breath, "are all these damn substitutes literal monsters?"
And for the first time… I wasn't sure we could win.
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