!! Kick-off!
The whistle blew, and the game started with wild cheers from the kids.
Right after the match began, Tesuka intercepted a pass.
— "Why do I feel so heavy…?"
To which Ball replied:
— "Isn't it obvious? Your former life's physical skills have regressed too. Except for your mind, everything else got reset."
— "What?! But my body feels so heavy!"
— "That's normal. I already explained it to you," Ball replied. "Just focus on your match. It's just a minors' game—it won't last long."
— "Alright… Ball, could you disappear for now? I can't concentrate during the game with you hovering around."
— "No problem," Ball answered calmly.
— "Good. With this calm, I think I can handle the match. They're just kids after all."
No sooner had he thought that than the ball was snatched away from him. But Tesuka didn't give up. In the second minute, he intercepted a dangerous ball, feinted a defender, then launched a through pass toward Abdul.
Even if my precision and quality aren't at their peak anymore, against these kids, it'll be child's play, he thought.
But when he looked up, he was caught off guard.
This kid… Abdul… his movement off the ball is incredible.
— "I want you to score too," Ball said.
As soon as play resumed, Abdul seized the ball. He performed a solo masterclass—nutmegs, sombreros, dazzling footwork… Facing the keeper, he chipped him with surgical precision.
— "What a goal!" a student exclaimed. "An amazing goal! A true golazo!"
The P.E. teacher supervising the match stood speechless. One question kept looping in his mind:
How are the third-years being dominated like this? 3-0 already? What changed?
He barely had time to think when another shout erupted:
— "Goal! Fourth goal!"
— "What? Again?" he thought, stunned.
And it wasn't over. Goals poured in like a torrential storm: the fifth, then the sixth… In just thirteen minutes, Tesuka's team had carved out a massive lead.
In the fourteenth minute, Tesuka took a long-range shot. The ball flew straight into the net—his first goal of the match.
That's one down, he thought. One more and I complete the quest Ball gave me.
Beside him, the P.E. teacher was puzzled.
Where did this player come from? I don't know him. It's his first interclass match. As a teacher of the third-years, I couldn't have recognized him.
He turned to the bench:
— "Sabiti, get ready. You're going in."
Three minutes later, the gap widened further. Tesuka had delivered two more assists in record time.
This kid is the engine of the second-year team, the teacher thought. They're already up 8-0, and he has a goal and six assists.
Even though Abdul had scored a hat-trick, to the kids, he was the best player on the field. But to the teacher, who judged more than just goals, Tesuka was clearly in a league of his own—his vision, his passing, his mindset… He controlled the game.
In the seventeenth minute, just before Sabiti came on, the third-years finally scored their first goal. 8-1.
In the eighteenth minute, Sabiti—a respected eight-year-old, hailed as the best of his generation—entered the pitch. And immediately, he launched his solo act: lightning dribbles, nutmegs, sombreros, lobs, flashy moves… He finished his run with a majestic goal.
8-2.
Then came the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth goals—all solo efforts by Sabiti. He single-handedly brought his team back into the game.
On the seventh goal, he delivered a precise outside-foot pass, letting a teammate score easily. In just eight minutes, Sabiti had reduced the lead to 8-7. The field was shaking.
Even with Tesuka on the opposing team, nothing seemed to stop Sabiti's raw talent. Tesuka, shaken, thought:
"I didn't think he was this far ahead of our generation… He's even better than I imagined. So why didn't he ever make it? Why didn't he become a pro? Even I managed to…"
Lost in thought, he was snapped back to reality by a scream:
— "Golazo! Equalizer!"
The score was now 8-8.
Sabiti again, dazzling with another solo masterclass. After this goal, a frustrated Abdul tried to replicate the move. As the ball neared the goal line, Sabiti rushed in and deflected it at the last second.
Though the attempt failed, it reignited the fire in their team.
In the 30th minute, Tesuka delivered a pinpoint pass to Abdul, who struck an unstoppable shot. Goal! They took the lead back: 9-8.
But the joy didn't last.
Equalizer! Sabiti again, weaving through defenders and scoring effortlessly. 9-9.
In the 32nd minute, he struck once more. A long-range, pure and precise shot. Goal. His team now led 10-9.
But Tesuka wasn't giving up.
Determined, he tried a long-range shot himself. Unfortunately, the opposing keeper deflected it with his fingertips. Corner.
Time was running out—just seconds left before the final whistle. The match was a straight 35-minute half, no break…
---
Ngolo took the corner with precision, sending it straight to Tesuka's head. Boom! A perfect header slipped through the keeper's legs. Equalizer! The match ended in a 10-10 draw, erupting in cheers and excitement.
In the teacher's mind:
Who would've thought the third-years would be held to a draw by the first- and second-years? Even against Sabiti, they managed to tie. But… if Sabiti had started the match, the story might've been different.
He glanced at Tesuka, a smile forming.
Tesuka… you're a fantastic player. Even against Sabiti, you managed a goal and an assist. Abdul scored a brace against him, sure—but I already knew his potential. You, though… this was the first time I saw you play. And you already left an impression.
Still smiling, the teacher walked toward the students, ready to give his analysis of the match.