The next day arrived faster than Isagi would have liked.
Perhaps because his mind hadn't rested properly. Perhaps because, deep down, that absurd conversation in the sanctuary was still there, hammering away in some corner of his subconscious, even after he had decided to ignore it...
The sky over Saitama was clear that morning.
The Inter High usually started early. Not absurdly early, but early enough that the air was still fresh when the first games were whistled off. Around nine in the morning, the teams were already arriving at the designated stadiums, carrying backpacks, uniforms, and expectations that were far too heavy for teenagers still in high school.
The Omiya Municipal Stadium, frequently used in the initial phases of the Inter High, was already much fuller than for ordinary school games. It wasn't a sea of people like in professional championships, but for student soccer, it was a lot. Bleachers partially occupied by family members, students with improvised banners, teachers, occasional scouts, and curious folks who simply liked soccer.
Isagi Yoichi was on the field.
He wore the main uniform of Ichinan High School: a white shirt with black details, the number 11 prominently stamped on the back. The light fabric clung a bit to his body due to the recent warm-up, and the smell of freshly cut grass mixed with sunscreen and sweat.
He was standing near the center circle.
In front of him, the opposing team was organizing for the kick-off.
Higashi-Tokorozawa High School, a school from Saitama Prefecture, known for having a disciplined, physical team—one of those that didn't shine individually but were annoying to face. Solid defense, hardworking midfield, attackers who pressed relentlessly...
The kind of team that punished any lapse in concentration.
Isagi observed casually.
The opposing forward adjusted his socks. The central midfielder looked around, checking his teammates' positioning. The referee checked his watch.
Everything seemed normal.
Still, for a moment too brief for anyone to notice, Isagi's mind wandered to the encounter with the bald old man. The wings, the halo, and the words spoken with absurd casualness were still vivid in his memory. He still found it hard to believe that he had really met a "God," and that thought ended up leading him to question many things, like the possibility that some divinity had made him reincarnate while keeping the talent from his past life, or something similar. In simple terms, his romantic problems could, in fact, end exactly as that bald old man had said. Still, that didn't mean there weren't now several questions echoing in his heart because of that unexpected encounter. It just wasn't in his nature to stay overly focused on that kind of issue.
For him, at that moment, it didn't matter if it had been a delusion, a nonexistent collective hallucination, or some kind of supernatural phenomenon he still didn't understand. There, on that pitch, none of that was relevant.
The Inter High wasn't just any game.
And he wasn't there as a supporting character.
Isagi clenched and unclenched his hands once, feeling the thin compression glove fabric on his fingers. His heart beat in a familiar, comfortable rhythm. He glanced quickly at the Ichinan bench. His teammates were serious, tense, but confident. The coach, arms crossed, observed the field in silence.
The conversation with the "god" was pushed to the back of his mind, locked away where useless thoughts should stay before an important match.
Now, there was only one thing.
The game.
The referee brought the whistle to his mouth.
The stadium seemed to hold its breath.
Piiii—
The ball rolled.
Higashi-Tokorozawa High School started the match with a short pass backward, trying to maintain possession and cool the pace.
Isagi reacted the instant after the opponent's first touch.
While the Higashi-Tokorozawa midfielder was still adjusting his body to return the ball to the defender, Isagi had already advanced two steps, cutting the angle with surgical precision, as if he already knew exactly what the next decision on the other side would be.
By the time the player noticed the pressure, it was too late.
Isagi was in front of him, slightly to the side, occupying the perfect space between the short pass and the drive. A positioning too uncomfortable to ignore.
The pass died before it was born.
The midfielder frowned and, irritated, tried to force the dribble.
But that was his biggest mistake...
Trying to dribble the player known for his impossible-to-replicate dribbles? Someone who had surpassed Ronaldinho Gaúcho himself in that aspect even before reaching his peak? With his experience in dribbles, Isagi simply extended his leg, touching the ball with the outside of his foot, clean, casual, like someone brushing something out of the way. Possession changed hands without contact, without apparent effort.
"You're full of openings..." Isagi said, already turning his body. His voice came out low, direct: "Way too mediocre..."
The opponent widened his eyes, first in shock... then in anger.
"Hey—!"
Isagi was already running.
The first stride was explosive. The grass seemed to give way under his feet as he accelerated down the central corridor. The player who lost the ball tried to keep up in the impulse of irritation, but two touches were enough to make the difference evident.
Isagi slowed the pace for half a second.
A sharp cut to the right.
The opponent went straight past.
Another short touch, this time to the left, just enough to break the axis of the body of the one coming in for cover. The sound of cleats hitting the grass began to overlap, voices shouting instructions, Higashi-Tokorozawa's defense reorganizing in a hurry.
Too late.
Isagi's eyes changed, looking like a radar made of blue puzzle pieces; to him, the world rearranged itself. The lines of the field became clearer. The empty spaces started to become evident. The players' movements began to connect like pieces of a constantly mutating puzzle.
He activated his [Metavision].
A defender advanced from the left.
Isagi pulled the ball with his sole, spun his body, and passed him in the minimal space between his leg and torso.
Another tried to close from the front; Isagi shifted his center of gravity and skimmed past, using his own body to shield the ball, strong, firm, and impossible to dislodge.
"Stop him!" Someone shouted from the defense.
But there was no way.
At the edge of the box, the last defender instinctively backed up, trying to buy time. Isagi noticed the hesitation in the same instant. With a bold touch, he lifted the ball with the tip of his foot and, in an almost insolent movement, applied a rainbow flick.
The ball went over.
The defender didn't.
Isagi landed with his foot already prepared.
Outside the box.
Open angle.
Without hesitating, he set up the shot.
The impact was sharp.
The ball shot out like a projectile, spinning too fast, tearing through the air toward the right corner. The goalkeeper still stretched, fingers grazing the void, but that was unreachable.
The net bulged violently.
Goal.
For a second, there was silence.
Then the stadium exploded.
Shouts, applause, banners waving, the name of Ichinan echoing through the stands. The players ran toward Isagi, almost knocking him over, hugs, slaps on the back, voices too excited to distinguish.
"That's it, Isagi!"
"That's our Number 11!"
"What a golazo!"
Isagi just took a deep breath.
His heart was racing, but his face remained calm. He watched the ball still swaying slightly in the net, then raised his gaze to the scoreboard being updated.
1 x 0.
It was just the beginning.
Isagi was still observing the scoreboard when a hand slapped hard on his shoulder.
"Hey. Wake up, genius."
Tada's voice came loaded with barely disguised excitement, but also that practical tone of someone who knew the game wasn't over yet. Isagi blinked once, as if returning from very far away, and then shifted his gaze from the net to his teammate.
"...I'm going already."
Tada laughed, shaking his head as he started walking back to their own half.
"You score a goal like that and stand there staring into space. You're gonna end up scaring the opponents that way."
Isagi let out a light puff through his nose and followed him. The Higashi-Tokorozawa players were already repositioning for the kick-off, some with expressions too closed for a game that had barely started.
The referee waited for everyone to return to their places.
Piiii—
The ball rolled again.
This time, Higashi-Tokorozawa didn't try short passes in the center. The exit was direct, a long boot to the right side, seeking the fastest winger. Clearly, they had decided to avoid Isagi as much as possible.
The problem was simple.
Avoiding Isagi didn't mean he would cease to exist in the game.
He adjusted his posture, walking diagonally while observing the play develop.
The opposing winger received the ball, tried to advance, but was quickly doubled up by two Ichinan players. The pressure worked; the ball spilled into midfield... exactly where Isagi was already arriving.
First-time control.
Without looking.
He spun his body and accelerated.
The opposing defense backed up in a block, now much more cautious than before. Two holding midfielders planted themselves in front of the backline, trying to close passing lanes. They didn't want to make the same mistake.
Isagi noticed.
And smiled inwardly.
He slowed the pace, drawing the marking. A short touch to the right, just enough to force the midfielder to shift half a step. In the next instant, a through ball... to himself.
The ball passed through the minimal space between the two markers.
Isagi passed with it.
The stadium reacted with a growing murmur as they realized what was happening.
The defender came out for the tackle.
Isagi didn't try to dribble.
He lifted the ball.
A subtle touch, almost delicate, that made the ball rise over the defender's outstretched leg. In the same movement, he spun his body, controlling it in the air with his chest before the ball touched the ground.
Already inside the box.
The goalkeeper came out desperately.
Isagi didn't look at him.
On the volley, with his left foot, he struck the ball at the exact moment of its fall.
It described a clean curve, kissing the top left corner before dying in the back of the net.
Gooooooooool!
2 x 0.
The stadium's shout came louder this time.
On the Ichinan bench, the coach brought his hand to his face, incredulous, while some players jumped up. On the other side, Higashi-Tokorozawa's defense exchanged tense glances, some already breathing too heavily for the first half.
The restart was hurried.
And clearly emotional.
Higashi-Tokorozawa tried to respond with more aggression, pushing lines up and pressing high. It was exactly what Isagi expected.
Around the twenty-minute mark, a forced pass in midfield was intercepted by Tada, who touched it quickly to Isagi. The defense was disorganized, lines broken, spaces too open.
Isagi advanced down the right half-space.
A marker came.
He feigned the shot.
The defender bit.
Isagi pulled the ball back with his sole, spun on his axis, and passed between two players with a short, violent dribble, almost humiliating in its simplicity.
The stands reacted with a collective "ooooh."
At the edge of the box, three defenders closed him down.
Isagi stopped.
His body went still for a microsecond.
And then, with a sharp touch, he rolled the ball to the left side... and ran past on the other.
A no-look dribble.
When he received it back, he was already free.
The shot came placed, low, precise, out of the goalkeeper's reach and kissing the post before going in.
3 x 0.
Higashi-Tokorozawa started to crumble.
Passes lost precision. Decisions became rushed. The mental fatigue was visible. Every time Isagi touched the ball, there was hesitation, fear.
How could they win against that monster?
Just before halftime, Ichinan recovered the ball in their defensive half. A long ball was played to the left wing, drawing the opposing backline. Isagi came from behind, like a shadow no one was marking.
He calculated the timing.
At the exact moment, he accelerated.
He received the cross already inside the box, but the ball came too high for a regular shot. The defender jumped with him, trying to clear it.
Isagi rose higher.
In the air, he twisted his body, adjusting his axis as if the whole world had slowed down just for him. With his back to the goal, he executed a clean, perfect bicycle kick, almost too artistic to seem real.
The impact echoed sharply.
The ball went into the middle of the goal before the goalkeeper could even react.
4 x 0.
The stadium came unglued.
People on their feet, shouts, phones raised, applause that seemed endless. Some scouts exchanged looks, scribbling frantically. Others simply watched in silence, like witnessing something too rare to interrupt.
Isagi fell on his back onto the grass, breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The blue sky above him seemed absurdly calm.
His teammates surrounded him once more, celebrating, laughing, almost incredulous.
When the referee whistled the end of the first half, the scoreboard shone high in the stadium.
Ichinan High School 4 — 0 Higashi-Tokorozawa
Four goals.
All his.
Isagi got up, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his shirt sleeve, and walked calmly toward the tunnel.
A few minutes later, the Ichinan locker room was filled with a mix of contained excitement and heavy breaths.
The noise from the crowd still seeped through the concrete walls, muffled but constant. Some players drank water in silence, others talked in low voices, trying to reorganize their heads. The coach spoke little. There was no need for long speeches when the scoreboard said it all.
Isagi was sitting on the bench, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. Sweat dripped down his face, but his expression was strangely calm.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds.
Breathed deeply.
The world outside seemed distant, as if the game were happening on its own plane, separate from everything else.
"Don't relax..." The coach's voice cut through the air: "They're still going to try something. Keep the pace..."
Isagi opened his eyes.
He didn't need to say it; the selfish pleasure of scoring multiple goals and destroying his opponent was too addictive for him to simply slow down at that point.
When they returned to the field, the sun had risen a bit higher, reflecting on the freshly watered grass. The referee checked the positions, and this time, the ball was at Ichinan's feet.
Piiii—
Second half.
The kick-off was quick, objective. Two touches back, a lateral pass, and the ball was already circulating fluidly.
Higashi-Tokorozawa tried to push their marking up, but there was something different now: hesitation. It wasn't just physical fatigue; it was fear of making a mistake.
Isagi moved without apparent hurry.
He didn't call for the ball.
He didn't force plays.
And precisely because of that, no one noticed when he disappeared from the defensive radar.
The ball circulated to the right, came back to the middle, stretched to the left. The fullback advanced almost to the byline and crossed low backward. The defense closed in the center, compact, expecting the obvious shot.
But Isagi wasn't there.
He appeared near the corner flag, practically glued to the sideline, as if he had been teleported. He received the first-time pass, without controlling.
The angle was ridiculously tight.
The goalkeeper adjusted his body, confident that it wasn't a real threat.
But it was a mistake...
It was within the range of his [Formless Shot].
Isagi shot.
The ball came out with absurd spin, describing an improbable curve that passed behind the defensive line, completely fooled the goalkeeper, and entered the far corner, kissing the net from the inside.
For an instant, no one reacted.
Then the stadium exploded again.
5 x 0.
Some Higashi-Tokorozawa players put their hands to their heads. Others simply lowered their gaze, breathing heavily. The opposing coach shouted from the sideline, but his voice sounded distant, almost irrelevant.
The restart came accompanied by something new.
Triple marking.
Every time Isagi approached the ball, three players closed the space. One in front, two on the sides. Off the ball, he was followed like a shadow.
But that didn't bother him.
On the contrary.
Isagi started to vanish.
While the defense focused on the space where they thought he would be, Isagi used his favorite skill to disappear from the markers' field of vision.
[Misdirection].
He appeared behind the defense to steal a poorly protected ball. He showed up in midfield to deliver a vertical pass that broke lines. He vanished again before anyone could react.
It was like marking a ghost.
Around the twenty-minute mark, Higashi-Tokorozawa tried a desperate counterattack. A poorly calibrated pass in midfield was all Isagi needed. He appeared out of nowhere, intercepted the ball with the inside of his foot, and spun his body in the same movement.
Two touches.
A short pass to draw the backline.
And then, he accelerated.
He received the return already inside the box, between two markers who reacted too late. Without brute force, without hurry, just precision: a placed shot, low, to the opposite corner.
6 x 0.
The stadium no longer shouted just for support.
It shouted for spectacle.
And Isagi delivered.
At the thirty-minute mark, another play built from nothing. He appeared at the edge of the box after going almost ten seconds without touching the ball. He received, feigned the pass, drew the marker, and unleashed the shot before anyone could close.
The ball went in clean.
7 x 0.
Some fans were already laughing, others simply watched in reverent silence. The scouts no longer hid their excitement. This had ceased to be just an Inter High match.
It was a demonstration.
In the final minutes, Higashi-Tokorozawa no longer pressed. They just tried to finish the game on their feet. But Isagi hadn't finished yet.
Last play.
A simple error in the build-up.
Isagi appeared like a blur, stole possession, and advanced alone. The goalkeeper came out of the box, desperate. Isagi lifted the ball with a subtle touch, passing over him.
Before the ball touched the ground, he ran and finished first-time.
Goal.
8 x 0.
The final whistle sounded right after.
Piiii—
The scoreboard shone high in the stadium:
Ichinan High School 8 — 0 Higashi-Tokorozawa
Crushing victory.
And it was with this first match that the Inter High began!
______________________________
(A/N: Did you enjoy the chapter? Then you should know that over on my Patreon you can read up to chapters ahead for just 5USD! And yes—for that price, you also get full access to all of my content. That's right: cheaper than a snack… and with way more drama, action, and guaranteed emotional damage.
The link is right below. See you there!
My Patreon: patreon.com/Adam_Kadmon
Thank you so much for your support — you make all of this worthwhile.)