Rain slicked the pitch into a mirror and yet Kei moved like he saw dry land.His feet kissed the surface but his eyes weren't on the ball anymore.They were watching people.Not players.People
Because this wasn't football to him
It was psychology in motion
The opposing team still thought they were in a match.A game of tactics passes blocks and counters
But Kei had stopped playing football twenty minutes ago
Now he was playing them
He fed Ren a pass that was too slow on purpose.It got intercepted.But the defender who stole it turned too confidently
And Amano crushed him from the blind side like a wave
Kei muttered to himself,"He trusted the bait"
Coach looked confused from the sidelines—was that just a bad pass?
No
That was a narrative
Kei was building moments not just moves.Every mistake was a misdirection.Every stumble was a hand over the eyes
He walked through midfield not to get the ball but to steal glances,to speak body language in silent fluency
Their striker started hesitating.Kei hadn't even touched the ball in minutes yet that striker kept checking his position
As if Kei might intercept thoughts next
The crowd couldn't tell what they were watching
Some thought Kei was slacking
Some thought he was tired
But the defenders were sweating bullets when he jogged past them without looking
Because they realized
He wasn't chasing the ball
He was shaping where it would go before it even moved
They still thought he was playing football
But Kei had left the game already
And the scary part was
He might never come back