Saturday 19 July 1999 London
Dennis Taylor is a high school student, almost graduating this year. He lives and breathes football, but he also has a soft spot for video games. If you ask him what his favorite game is, he won't even hesitate—Winning Eleven 98 from ZAGE. He's been playing it for months, sometimes late into the night, chasing that perfect Master League run like it's a real trophy he can hold. He isn't the type who follows every single ZAGE release or reads magazines cover to cover; he's more of a casual gamer. But when a game clicks with him, he sticks to it stubbornly, learning every timing, every pass angle, every shot that feels "just right."
This morning the school is quiet, because it's a holiday weekend break. Dennis wakes up with that light feeling in his chest, the kind you only get when there's no homework waiting to ambush you. He grabs his ball and heads out to meet his friends, because their weekend ritual is simple and sacred: a few hours of football first, no excuses. They play until their shirts cling with sweat and their legs start to burn—laughing when someone slips, arguing about whether a goal counted, and taking turns pretending they're famous players even though none of them are trying too hard to admit it.
Then, after they were done playing, Dennis and his friends stood around catching their breath, still sweaty and laughing. Dennis bounced the ball lightly at his feet and flashed that proud grin of his.
"Matt, Rio, Jann—let's go play WE at my house! My mom's cooking apple pie!"
Rio's eyes lit up right away. Jann chuckled, already imagining the smell of warm pastry. Even Matt smiled—until he lifted a hand and shook his head.
"Sorry, bro. Not today." Matt's voice had that restless excitement in it, like he was holding back fireworks. "I don't want to play Winning Eleven right now. I want to buy a new game. ZAGE is releasing something today—Super Shot Football."
Rio's grin widened, almost too wide. "Hell yeah! I've been waiting for that to drop."
Dennis blinked. Jann tilted his head too, because neither of them followed release days like the others. Jann asked first, half curious and half skeptical.
"What is that game? Another football game? Why is there 'Super Shot' in front of it?"
Rio laughed like it was the funniest question in the world, then leaned in closer as if he was sharing a secret.
"Because it's super." He spread his hands dramatically. "Not just normal passes and shots. The players have insane abilities—flame shots, crazy sprints, special moves. And I heard one team can even summon Big Ben."
Dennis's eyebrows rose. "Summon… Big Ben?"
"Yeah!" Rio nodded hard, enjoying the disbelief on their faces. "Like, the actual tower. Boom—on the pitch. It sounds stupid, but that's why it's amazing."
Jann frowned in thought, still trying to picture it. Dennis, who usually preferred realistic games, felt that itch of curiosity anyway. He couldn't stop imagining it—football mixed with pure nonsense, like someone dared ZAGE to make the most ridiculous match possible.
"Interesting…" Dennis muttered, and Jann echoed it a second later, quieter, like he was already convinced despite himself.
Matt grinned, already turning on his heel like the decision was made for everyone. "Alright—follow me. We're going to my house to play." He jabbed a thumb toward the street, then looked back at them with that stubborn, excited look that meant arguing was useless. "We're playing Super Shot Football today. I don't care if you love it, hate it, or pretend you don't get it—either way, you're all trying it."
Then the four boys followed Matt down the street like a little marching squad, still buzzing from the morning match. Their sneakers slapped the pavement in a messy rhythm while they argued about the last goal again, but Matt kept waving them forward, determined. The nearest ZAGE store wasn't far, and they weren't the only ones with the same idea—when they arrived, there was already a queue curling out past the window display.
Inside, posters of new releases were plastered everywhere, and the air smelled faintly of plastic wrap and fresh cardboard. Dennis didn't usually care about launch days, but the energy was contagious. People kept leaning to peek at the shelves, and every time the clerk lifted a box, someone's head snapped up like a dog hearing its name.
They waited. Matt kept checking the glass counter like he could will the game into existence. Rio bounced on his heels, grinning at strangers like they were all on the same team. Jann just crossed his arms and watched, pretending he didn't care—except his eyes kept drifting to the "NEW TODAY" sign.
Then finally it was Matt's turn.
The clerk reached down, hesitated, then pulled out a single box.
"Last one," the clerk said.
Matt's grin nearly split his face. "No way."
He slapped the money down so fast Dennis thought the bills might catch fire too. A second later, the box was in Matt's hands, and the four of them were out the door before anyone behind them could complain.
They half-walked, half-ran to Matt's house like they'd stolen something valuable. By the time they reached the front steps, Dennis's breath was already back in his throat, but he couldn't stop smiling.
As soon as they were inside, Matt held the case up like a trophy. Dennis took it, turning it over slowly. The cover showed a player mid-kick, but the ball was wrapped in flames, leaving a burning trail across the artwork. It looked dramatic—almost too dramatic—like the kind of thing Dennis would normally roll his eyes at.
He read the description on the back, lips twitching. "Heh. Sounds absurd…" He glanced at Rio, then added with a lazy shrug, "Compared to Winning Eleven riding dinosaurs, how absurd can it be?"
Rio laughed and leaned over his shoulder. "Dude, come on. In Winning Eleven that's just an additional feature. A little gimmick. But here?" He tapped the back of the box with a finger like he was knocking on a door. "It's the whole point. It's a real thing. This is going to blow our minds."
Jann's eyes lingered on the flaming ball again, and even he couldn't hide the curiosity on his face.
Dennis shrugged and said, "Well, let's see." Then, without further ado, Matt slid the disc in.
First came the iconic ZAGE logo, bright and bold, paired with that familiar tune—"ZAA GEEE"—so clean and catchy it felt like it was stamped into the brain. After that, the Team IZAN logo flashed in, slashing across steel with a sharp whoosh like a sword being drawn, sparks flying for dramatic effect.
Then the cinematic began.
A rock-punk anthem kicked in immediately—fast drums, screaming guitar—while the screen exploded into gameplay highlights. The graphics looked genuinely good: crisp players, smooth animations, and stadium lights that made the pitch shine. For half a second Dennis thought, Okay, it's just a flashy football game.
Then it started showing the absurdness.
A winger sprinted like he had rockets in his boots, leaving trails of lightning behind him as if the air itself couldn't keep up. The scene cut to a forward launching upward like a missile, hanging in the sky long enough to do a brutal, impossible header that made the ball smash down with a shockwave.
It didn't stop there. A defender snapped his fingers and a stone wall burst out of the pitch like a sudden cliff—an entire "Great Wall" rising in a straight line to block a shot mid-flight. The ball slammed into it, cracked it, and still ricocheted back into play like a cannonball.
Another player spun in place and the wind around him became visible—like ribbons—until the ball turned into a tiny tornado. He kicked it, and it drilled forward in a spiraling cyclone that yanked two opponents off their feet as it passed. The next cut showed a striker striking the ball so hard it glowed red-hot, then the screen briefly flashed white as if the shot was a small explosion.
A midfielder backflipped—full acrobatic backflip—landed, and slammed his palm to the turf, summoning a slick, golden oil spill that spread across the grass. Opponents hit it and slipped like cartoon characters, arms flailing, while the attacker slid past them even faster, almost skating. Another team answered with pure nonsense: a player pointed at the sky, and an enormous clock tower silhouette flickered for a split second—like the air itself was being "stamped"—and everything around him slowed down like time had been grabbed by the collar.
The highlights kept escalating. A midfielder made a "full court" pass—ridiculous distance—while the ball glowed blue from the inside, like it had a core of energy. The camera followed it in slow motion, the blue light pulsing with every spin—then the pass broke the laws of geometry and curved around defenders like it was hunting the receiver by itself.
Then came the super shots. A striker charged up and the ball grew larger for a heartbeat, turning into a flaming beast that coiled in midair like a dragon before diving toward the net. Another team's shot looked frozen—ice formed around it—then it skidded across the pitch like a hockey puck, leaving a trail of frost that made everyone slip in its wake.
Then there are the goal keeper from the goal He threw a straight punch like a boxer. The punch sent the ball screaming forward, and somehow it still curved perfectly into the goal on the opposite side—like the keeper had just launched a guided missile. In the next cut, the keeper raised both hands and a glowing barrier snapped into place for a second, a wall of light that made a shot bounce away with a loud thoom.
By the end of the montage, it wasn't just football anymore. It was football treated like an action movie where the pitch was a stage and every team had permission to break reality.
Dennis blinked, trying not to look too impressed, but the corners of his mouth kept lifting anyway. This wasn't trying to be realistic at all. It was football turned into a highlight reel of pure madness—and the more it showed, the more it felt like the game was daring them to laugh and be amazed at the same time.
Everyone was buzzing, voices overlapping at once.
"Holy moly… that's some insane stuff!" Matt said, still half-laughing, half-shocked like he didn't know whether to take it seriously or not.
Rio slapped the game case lightly against his palm. "Told you. ZAGE went full crazy."
Even Jann, who usually tried to act unimpressed, let out a quiet whistle. Dennis didn't say much—he just stared at the screen a little longer, like his brain was still processing the idea that football could look like that.
Then Matt clapped his hands once, decisive. "Alright. Enough talking. We're playing."
They hurried through the menus like kids afraid the fun might disappear if they moved too slow. Matt and Rio jumped in first, because of course they did—both of them already arguing about who was better before the match even started. Matt picked England with a grin, like he was choosing a serious team on purpose. Rio picked Brazil, smiling like he was about to perform a magic trick.
When the formation screen came up, they leaned closer. Dennis noticed it first.
"Wait… these names are all… random," he said.
No famous stars. No real players. Just invented squads with invented faces and made-up stats, like the game didn't care about licenses at all.
Matt shrugged immediately. "Who cares? Look at the abilities."
Rio nodded. "Yeah. It's not about realism. It's about chaos."
Jann laughed under his breath. "At least we won't argue about whether a player is 'accurate'."
Dennis still found it strange—he was used to games trying to look official—but the excitement in the room pushed that thought aside. The controller was already warm in Matt's hands, and Rio was practically vibrating.
"Start it. Start it." Rio urged.
Matt hit confirm.
The match loaded, the stadium appeared, and the moment the whistle was about to blow, all four of them leaned forward at the exact same time like they were about to witness something dangerous.
Then they quickly started the game.
First, a pop-up tutorial appeared the moment the whistle was about to blow. It didn't waste time explaining the basics—only the thing everyone cared about.
Ability controls: Press L2, then choose Square, Circle, X, or Triangle. Each team can carry up to four abilities, and every one of them has its own cooldown.
Matt laughed like the game was speaking directly to him. "Okay. This is it."
Kickoff began.
And Matt didn't even dribble normally for one second.
He pressed L2 + Circle.
On the screen, his England player planted his feet, gathering an aura like he was charging a power attack in a fighting game. The stadium lighting flickered for a heartbeat. Then the player threw his arms wide and shouted—loud enough that it sounded like it echoed.
"BIG BEN SUMMON!"
The pitch trembled.
A shadow fell across the field, and then—absurdly, impossibly—Big Ben appeared at the edge of the stadium, towering over the stands like the city itself had been dragged into the match. The camera snapped to a dramatic angle, showing the massive clock face glowing.
And everything stopped.
The ball froze mid-roll. Players halted mid-step like statues. Even the crowd became still, like someone paused the entire world.
Everyone… except Matt's controlled player.
Matt burst out laughing, almost choking on it. "HAHAHA! It really summons Big Ben!" He leaned forward, eyes wide, thumbs moving fast as he guided the only moving player on the pitch. It felt like cheating in the most childish, glorious way.
For two seconds, Matt had full control of time itself—just enough to step around a defender, line up the perfect angle, and steal a free lane like a thief walking through a locked door.
Then the clock tower chimed.
Time snapped back. The crowd noise returned in a rush. Everyone began moving again as if nothing happened, except now England was suddenly in a dangerous position.
Rio stared at the screen, jaw half open. Then he noticed his own UI.
"Wait—wait. I have one too."
He pressed L2 + Triangle.
"Obrigado Brazil!"
His Brazilian player charged with aura, and a bright green-and-yellow surge flared behind him like a cape made of flag-light. He shouted and launched into a sliding tackle from way too far away—like he had magnets in his boots. The slide cut across the grass with a streak of energy, and the tackle connected clean.
Rio stole the ball right off Matt's feet.
"Holy shit… that's insane!" Matt blurted, eyes widened, like he'd just been robbed by a superhero.
Then Rio noticed something that made him sit up straighter.
"Wait… my L2 + Square isn't on cooldown."
They were still around midfield, not even close to the box, but the icon was glowing like it was begging to be used. Rio grinned, the kind of grin that always meant trouble, and pressed it anyway.
"Samba Style Shoot."
A pop-up slammed onto the screen—an exaggerated cartoon portrait of the Brazilian player, eyes sharp, teeth flashing, like he'd been drawn straight out of an arcade poster. The music dipped for a beat. The player gathered aura, green and gold swirling around him in spirals, and the camera zoomed in so close you could see the grass bending under the pressure.
Then he shot.
The ball didn't just fly—it expanded for a heartbeat, growing heavier and brighter, and when it left his foot it carved a trench into the pitch like a blade. The grass split open behind it in a straight line, dirt spraying up like sparks. In midair, the ball coiled and twisted, turning into a serpent of light—dragon-shaped, jaws open, spiraling toward the goal like it was alive.
Matt, Rio, Dennis, and Jann all froze.
The shot didn't even look like a normal curve anymore. It hunted the net.
The goalkeeper tried to react—stepped forward, raised his arms, even started to charge an ability—but the dragon-ball snapped past him with a roar of sound effects, hit the net, and detonated.
Goal.
Not just a goal.
The net ripped. The posts shook violently. The crossbar bent for a second like it was made of rubber, then the entire frame cracked and collapsed backward in a shower of sparks and dust like a cheap movie prop.
Rio jumped up from the sofa. "HOLY—!"
Dennis couldn't help it. "That's insane!"
Matt stared at the screen like he'd been personally attacked by physics. "Bro… from midfield? From MIDFIELD?"
Jann was laughing now, half shocked and half delighted. "This is so stupid." Then he pointed at the screen, voice rising. "But it's stupid in the best way!"
And the game leaned into it.
A quick cutscene played: the referee sprinted onto the pitch with the most serious expression imaginable, blew his whistle like he was furious, and pointed at the destroyed goal like it was a crime scene. He looked left, looked right, then slowly reached into his pocket.
For a second it was dead silent—like the game wanted them to believe he was about to pull out a yellow card.
Instead, he pulled out a whole new goal.
Not a tiny model either. A full-size goal frame, folded up like an umbrella, somehow fitting in his pocket like it was normal. He held it under one arm casually, as if referees did this every weekend. Then he snapped his wrist and the goal unfolded with a metallic clang, expanding in midair until it was the proper size. The net popped out last with a ridiculous pwoof, perfectly tied and ready.
The ref set it down, tapped the crossbar twice like he was checking a microphone, then gave a strict nod.
The ref nodded like nothing happened, turned back to the center circle, and raised his whistle again like this was the most professional match in the world.
Everyone on the sofa burst out laughing, the kind of laughing that makes your stomach hurt, because the game didn't even try to explain it. It just treated pocket-goals like normal football equipment.
Then the match resumed, and it just got worse—in the best way. Matt tried England's other ability right away, Rio kept hunting for cooldown resets, and Dennis and Jann started calling out moves like commentators, shouting whenever the screen flashed those cartoon portraits.
After that, the four of them kept playing, swapping teams and testing everything they could. Every squad felt like it had its own brand of madness—some abilities were pure speed, some were traps, some were power shots, some were defensive nonsense—and every time they thought they'd seen the most ridiculous thing possible, the next team proved them wrong.
Dennis and his friends were having an absolute blast, and it was obvious they weren't the only ones. You could feel it in the way Rio kept laughing like he couldn't breathe, in the way Matt refused to hand the controller over when he found a new trick, and even in the way Jann—usually the hardest one to impress—kept leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen. This was the kind of game that made you forget time for a while, because every match had something ridiculous waiting to surprise you.
Super Shot Football was absurd—absurd in a good way, the kind of absurd that didn't feel lazy, but confident. It knew exactly what it was doing. And compared to Super Shot Soccer from Zaboru's previous life, this ZAGE version felt like it had been pushed further in every direction. There were more abilities, crazier animations, and new features that made matches feel unpredictable instead of repetitive. Even the menus and little cutscenes had extra personality, like the developers wanted the whole experience to feel like a Saturday morning action show.
There was also a Story Mode, plus unlockable teams Dennis and his friends hadn't discovered yet. That was the real hook—the feeling that the game still had surprises buried inside it. Other players who'd already gotten deeper were clearly having the time of their lives,
The game felt polished not because it was realistic, but because it was fully committed. It turned football into a spectacle, and somehow it stayed fun—match after match.
To be continue
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