The stadium roared like a living beast, shaking under the weight of thousands of voices. Fireworks exploded across the night sky, casting flickering light over the field below as the second semi-final match—Storms Eleven vs. Howlers—entered its final half.
Jim, Alex, and Volt sat near the dugout, watching every movement with focused tension. The scoreboard glowed in bright red: 1 – 1.
Storms Eleven had dominated the first half. Their passing was clinical, their rhythm unbreakable. Minato, their fiery star striker, had lit the field ablaze with his sprite—The Red Phoenix—scoring a stunning opener. His movements were a blur, his aura a streak of crimson flame.
But the Howlers hadn't gone down quietly.
Led by their powerful and mysterious captain, Satoshi, the team clawed their way back, goal by goal, grit for grit. Now, as the second half resumed, the air itself seemed different—charged, almost suffocating.
Jim leaned forward slightly, sensing the tension. "Something's coming," he muttered under his breath.
Down on the pitch, Minato received a swift pass and took off. His Phoenix flared, wings of flame erupting from his back as he weaved past defenders with breathtaking agility. He sprinted like a comet, blazing toward the goal.
Alex narrowed his eyes. "Again? Another solo run…"
But just as Minato crossed the final defensive line, the field changed.
A thick black mist spilled across the pitch like a living shadow. From the center, Satoshi stepped forward, calm, quiet—and then unleashed hell.
With a deep snarl, his sprite awakened.
A monstrous black Werewolf burst out behind him, its muscles coiled with savage power, its glowing red eyes burning like embers in a dark forest. The sheer force of its awakening cracked the turf beneath him. Stadium lights flickered. Shadows danced unnaturally across the field.
Gasps erupted from the stands. Screams. Cheers. Silence. A wave of awe spread across the stadium.
Jim bolted to his feet, chest tightening. His heart thundered.
"That aura…" His voice cracked. "It's just like…"
Alex stood beside him, expression grim. "Jim. That's the same kind of sprite your father had."
The words sent a chill down Jim's spine.
"That's a dark sprite," Alex whispered.
Before Jim could respond, the Werewolf surged forward—through Satoshi—as if possessing him. The captain dashed toward Minato, not as a player… but as a predator.
There was no warning. No time to react. Just a blur. A snarl. And an explosion of force.
The Phoenix's flames snuffed out mid-motion as Minato was slammed to the ground.
Satoshi stood over him, eyes glowing like coals. "I'm not losing today," he growled.
The Howlers countered with ruthless speed. Their winger delivered a swift pass. Satoshi tore through the remaining defenders like a wild beast unleashed.
Then—bang.
The net rippled.
Goal.
2 – 1. Howlers take the lead.
The stadium erupted. Fans leapt to their feet. The Howlers' bench exploded with cheers. But amid the celebration, something was wrong.
Satoshi dropped to one knee. His chest heaved. His hands trembled violently. Dark mist still clung to his back, flickering with sparks like ash from a dying fire.
From the sideline, Coach Tenjo narrowed his eyes. "He's pushing too hard."
Volt turned, confused. "You mean because of the sprite?"
Tenjo nodded slowly. "That sprite—Lycanis, the Dark Werewolf—it gives him brute strength. Speed. Predatory instincts. But it takes something every time."
Jim's brow furrowed. "What does it take?"
Tenjo's voice dropped. "Energy. Blood. Sometimes… life. Just like your father's sprite, Jim. Every second he's synced with that beast, it's eating him from inside."
Back on the pitch, Satoshi forced himself to his feet.
Storms Eleven launched a desperate final assault. Minato, fueled by rage and fire, surged forward once again. The Phoenix reawakened in a final blaze. Ten minutes remained.
Flames versus fangs.
Hope versus hunger.
The ball moved like lightning between Storms' midfielders. A pass. Another. Then Minato fired—a long-range shot blazing like a meteor headed for the top corner.
But Satoshi didn't hesitate.
His body, battered and burned, lunged forward in one last act of defiance.
He intercepted the shot mid-air with a brutal sliding tackle that sent shockwaves through the field.
The whistle blew.
Full Time.
Howlers 3 – Storms Eleven 2.
The stadium exploded. Cheers thundered. Fans wept. Fists pumped into the air.
The underdogs had done the impossible.
But in the center of it all… Satoshi didn't rise.
He lay still on the pitch, body steaming with sweat and shadow. His sprite had vanished. His chest rose and fell in jagged breaths. Medics rushed to him. Teammates dropped to their knees beside him in panic.
From the sideline, Jim stood frozen.
"He won…" Volt whispered.
Alex finished grimly, "But he paid the price."
As Satoshi was lifted off the pitch, barely conscious, his bloodshot eyes briefly locked with Jim's.
And in that moment, a message passed between them—unspoken but loud as thunder.
"You have a dark sprite too… Don't ignore its price."