"pheeew"
The whistle's echo died in the stunned silence.
The goalkeeper stood motionless, his hands still up as if the ball were about to hit them.
He stared at the back of the net, then at the single, imposing figure in the goal box.
He hadn't just seen a player. He had seen a force, a demon with eyes of dark fire.
On the sidelines, the Regulars' initial shock melted into a mix of disbelief and anger.
Hayato, their striker, shook his head in a mixture of awe and frustration.
Their defender, Takeru, looked completely defeated, unable to comprehend how the boy he had easily outmaneuvered just moments ago had become an unmovable wall. Their swagger was gone.
The First-Years, on the other hand, just stared.
The boy who had called Wakashi a waste stood frozen, his mouth slightly agape.
Fear had been replaced by a new feeling, a mix of awe and a nascent, terrifying hope.
Hinata, the midfielder who had passed him the ball, felt a lump in his throat. He had just passed the ball to a teammate. What he got back was a moment of true, unbridled fury.
Wakashi, the monster, did not cheer. He didn't raise his arms in triumph. He simply stood there, his fists clenched, his eyes burning with that cold, dark fire. He was not a player. He was an awakening force.
The game resumed,
Butt it was over.
The Regulars, now humbled, played with a grim, defensive intensity they hadn't needed before.
They no longer toyed with the ball.
They passed to avoid Wakashi.
And the First-Years, seeing the fear in their opponents' eyes, played with a new kind of confidence.
They fought for every ball, every inch of ground. They didn't score again, but the Regulars, now playing to save face, only managed to put two more goals past them before the final whistle blew.
The scoreboard read 10-1.
But the score didn't matter.
The Regulars didn't even celebrate.
They left the field in a somber huddle, not even looking at the First-Years.
The First-Years stayed and congratulated each other, a new bond formed in the crucible of their struggle.
But Wakashi didn't join them. He simply walked off the field, his gait different now, more powerful, more deliberate.
He didn't need to hear their applause. He didn't need their validation.
He had found what he was looking for on the field: the answer to the old man's challenge, the truth that his untalented hard work had been a necessary tool for forging a monster. The clown was dead. And a new, terrifying force had taken its place.
No one dared approach him.
Not the frustrated Regulars, not the relieved First-Years.
The space around him was a void of awe and fear.
But then, a small figure broke away from the group.
It was Hinata, his usually cheerful expression replaced by one of solemn, wide-eyed reverence.
He walked slowly, hesitantly, until he was just a few feet from the towering figure of Wakashi.
"Tanaka-sempai," Hinata began,
His voice barely a whisper.
"That was..." he trailed off,
Searching for the right words.
"Unbelievable."
Wakashi did not respond, his eyes still fixed on the horizon, his jaw set in a grim line.
Hinata's gaze fell to the ground, a small, knowing smile touching his lips.
"The clown... he's gone, isn't he? That was... a monster."
Wakashi's eyes, still burning with that cold, dark fire, finally shifted to meet Hinata's.
A silent understanding passed between them. Wakashi gave a single, firm nod.
The nod was not one of gratitude, but of cold, shared recognition.
Harada-sensei stood motionless on the sideline,
His clipboard hanging uselessly in his hand.
He had watched the entire game with a look of growing dread,
but that final moment had completely shattered his perception.
He saw Wakashi's dark aura, a force of will that was both awe-inspiring and terrifying.
This was not the sullen, untalented boy he had seen two months ago. This was something else entirely.
While the other players scattered, Wakashi walked off the field alone,
His gait powerful and deliberate.
Harada-sensei's mind raced. He had to stop him. He had to say something.
"Tanaka-kun!"
he called out, his voice a mix of authority and disbelief.
Wakashi paused, his head turning slightly. His eyes, burning with a cold intensity, met the coach's.
Harada-sensei nervously adjusted his glasses. He was no longer looking at a potential bully, but at a rare, raw diamond he had almost discarded.
"Your goal just now... it was not what I expected," he began,
Struggling to find his footing.
"Your leap, your timing... it was something else entirely."
Wakashi remained silent, his expression unreadable.
"Continue your training,"
Harada-sensei said, his voice gaining confidence as a strategic idea formed in his mind.
"Focus on your basic skills, but also, continue training your heading skill."
The command was simple, but it was a promise. Wakashi was no longer a useless project.
He was a player with a specialized role. Wakashi gave a single, firm nod, a silent acknowledgment of the new understanding between them.
Without another word, he turned and continued his walk toward home, his silhouette fading into the twilight.
The Coach's Perspective
Harada-sensei stood alone on the now-empty field,
the dust settling around him.
His mind was a maelstrom of thoughts. He had spent his entire career teaching the fundamentals of football, focusing on tactics and teamwork.
He believed in gradual improvement, in the slow, steady progress of talent.
But in a single, terrifying moment, Wakashi Tanaka had completely upended his entire philosophy.
The boy had no talent.
His passing was atrocious, his dribbling nonexistent.
But his heading... and that jump.
It was like watching a mythical beast descend from the sky.
Harada-sensei had never seen such sheer, untamed power. And the fire in his eyes... that wasn't passion.
It was something far more primal, a cold, focused fury that had given rise to that monstrous leap.
'How do you develop something like that?'
Harada-sensei thought,
His hands gripping his clipboard. He couldn't just teach him to pass.
He had to figure out how to harness this raw power.
He had to teach the monster how to play football.
He could see it now:
a powerful, unwavering force at the very front of the team,
a big tank who could draw in defenders, create space, and win aerial duels.
He was a battering ram, a specialized weapon to help the team's smaller, more skillful players move the ball forward to the goal.
He was no longer a weary coach.
He was an excited strategist.
His eyes widened as the vision solidified in his mind.
He looked out at the empty field, his heart pounding with a sudden, impossible hope.
"We may have a chance to go forward in the tournament,"
he whispered
a smile spreading across his face. He had found his monster, and he knew exactly how he was going to use him.