The whistle blew, sharp and metallic, echoing across the field as though it was being piped through a megaphone. Kai nearly flinched. The first half had ended in a blur of shouting, mistimed kicks, and Ethan making noises like a malfunctioning blender every time his dad's side got the ball. Kai had survived…barely…but the second half loomed, and something in the way the players slapped each other on the back, chugged bottled water like marathon runners, and jogged into position told him that these dads weren't about to slow down.
"Oh no," Kai muttered, tugging his hoodie tighter around his face. "They're actually serious. This isn't Sunday exercise; this is life or death. What have I gotten myself into?"
Ethan punched him lightly in the arm, nearly spilling Kai's lukewarm soda. "Bro, did you see my dad's step-over earlier? He's been practicing, I swear."
Kai raised an eyebrow. "Practicing? What's he training for? Mission Impossible: Dad Edition? Is he gonna dribble past Tom Cruise in the sequel?"
Ethan ignored the jab, already cupping his hands around his mouth to scream encouragement. "Go on, Dad! Show 'em who's boss!"
Kai groaned and tried to shrink lower in his seat. "Please stop. People are staring. I feel like my social life…what little there is…is about to disintegrate."
But despite his complaining, Kai's eyes drifted back to the pitch. He couldn't help it. His brain had this annoying tendency to lock in once it found something remotely engaging. And football, even football he claimed to despise, was starting to tickle that part of him.
Not because he wanted to play, of course not. Heaven forbid. No, it was because his brain kept connecting dots, drawing little invisible lines across the pitch. One player was gassed already, legs heavy. Another had decent ball control but couldn't pass under pressure. And then there was his dad…Ade Phillips…moving like someone who'd clearly done this before.
Kai squinted. "Hold up," he murmured under his breath. "Since when does Dad… dribble?"
Because Ade wasn't just surviving out there. He was cutting into space, shoulder feints sharp enough to make his much younger opponent bite, laying the ball off with calm precision. And when a teammate miscontrolled a pass, Ade was there to steady things, redirecting play without looking panicked. For a man who worked double shifts and came home dead on his feet half the time, this was… unexpected.
Kenta leaned forward, wide-eyed. "Big Bro, did you see that? Dad's cool!"
Kai scoffed, but it came out shaky. "Cool? He'…he's moving like some kind of anime protagonist in disguise. Don't tell me next he's gonna yell his special move before shooting???"
As if on cue, Ade received a pass near the edge of the penalty box. The other team scrambled, but Ade calmly shaped to shoot, dragged the ball sideways, and with one swift motion, curled it toward the top corner.
The keeper flailed, fingertips brushing air.
The net bulged.
The crowd, well… the fifty-odd spectators, erupted in cheers that sounded ten times louder in Kai's ears. Ethan nearly fell over screaming. Kenta threw his crisps in the air. Kai… forgot to breathe.
"What—" he finally sputtered, jolting upright. "What in the plot twist was that?! Since when could Dad do that?! Did I reincarnate into the wrong anime? Is this secretly a sports manga and no one told me?"
Ethan was losing his mind beside him. "Goal! Did you see that?! Top bins, bro! Man like Mr. Phillips!"
Kai buried his face in his hoodie. "Don't hype him up like that, he'll actually believe it. Next thing you know, he's telling people he's Nigeria's lost football legend."
But deep down, Kai felt a flicker of something he wasn't ready to admit. Pride? Admiration? Maybe even… curiosity? He shoved the thought away with another mutter. "Nope. Don't care. Just a fluke. Pure luck. RNG carried him, that's all."
The match wore on. Ade slowed a little after his wonder strike, but he kept contributing, winning headers, chasing loose balls, laughing with his teammates. The dads around him clearly respected his effort, passing to him more often now, giving him nods of appreciation. It was like watching a side of his father Kai had never imagined existed.
Kai found himself leaning forward without realising it, eyes tracking patterns. He noticed how Ade always positioned himself to give teammates options, how he covered for slower players, how he rarely wasted a touch. It was… smart. Efficient. And familiar. Almost like the strategies Kai himself used when playing football video games.
"Oh no," Kai whispered, horrified. "He's playing like me. Except… in real life. Which makes him… better." He pressed a hand to his chest. "I can't let this continue. My pride as a gamer is at stake."
"Stop talking to yourself, weirdo," Ethan said, voice raw from cheering. "Just admit your dad's class."
Kai sighed dramatically. "Fine. He's…" The words caught in his throat. "He's… not completely terrible."
Kenta snorted. "That's like the biggest compliment you've ever given, Big Bro."
With five minutes left, Ade finally raised his hand, signalling to the sidelines. Substitution. He jogged off, breathing hard, sweat soaking his shirt but a grin plastered across his face. His teammates patted his back as he came off. The small crowd clapped politely, though Ethan clapped like he was front row at Wembley.
Kai watched him, oddly quiet. His dad had just played nearly an entire match, held his own, and even scored. That wasn't nothing. That was… impressive.
Kenta tugged his sleeve. "Big Bro. Did you see Dad's goal? You think he practiced in secret?"
Kai stuffed his hands into his pockets, eyes narrowing at Ade as he wiped sweat from his brow. "I don't know what that was. But one thing's for sure…he's been hiding some serious anime backstory from us."
As Ade slumped onto a bench, still smiling, Kai muttered under his breath. "Who knew Dad had secret protagonist energy?"
And though he'd never admit it out loud, for the first time since stepping onto this strange new path, Kai felt a tiny spark of curiosity flicker in his chest. Not about football itself—no, never that…but about his father, about the story behind that goal, that composure, that grin.
It was the kind of spark that made him wonder just how much he didn't know yet.