Episode 1 - Future

 

...

(𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑶 𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑺𝑨𝑴𝑷𝑳𝑼𝑺 - 𝑨𝑳𝑨𝑴𝑶 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑷𝑼𝑻 𝑰𝑻 𝑶𝑵 𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑷)∇∇∇

• The evening air was beginning to chill, but the streets of Akihabara were still moderately busy, awash in the muted blues and grays of regulated urban life. A hooded figure, shrouded in dark, He wore dark, loose clothing and a wide hood that obscured his face entirely in the shadows, moving through the crowds with a invisible swiftness. His head down, constantly aware of the sweeping surveillance beams of the overhead drones.

As evening descended upon Akihabara, The air, thick with the scent of cheap synthetics and a faint, metallic tang from the constant atmospheric regulation, began its slow surrender to the artificial illumination of the urban landscape. It was a picture of polished, well-maintained order. The streets were clean, the walls unmarred, and the architecture, a blend of older, squat buildings with sleek, carbon-steel facades spoke of efficiency over character. Yet, beneath this veneer of peace, there was a palpable, almost deafening stillness, a vibrant pulse that had been surgically removed, leaving the town functionally complete but emotionally hollow.

Beneath his loose jacket, a heavy, familiar weight pressed against his ribs there was a leather football.

Near a transport hub, a small cluster of people was gathered, their attention fixed on a towering, mandated public information screen flashing the insignia of the government. The official state news broadcast was playing, its anchor, a woman with perfectly sculpted features, delivering her report in a crisp, unwavering voice.

> "...And so, the Ogre continues its tireless efforts in maintaining the stability and prosperity of the nation. Commander Tatsuya of Sector Three hailed the recent increase in citizen reports, confirming that vigilance against unauthorized leisure is a key pillar of national security."

The hooded figure slipped past a small cafe, its patrons staring blankly at the screen. He kept his stride steady, slowing only slightly to listen to the news, which was echoed by smaller public address speakers scattered along the street.

> "Non-limit activities lead to non-limit thinking, which only results in irresponsible actions and societal decay. We must prioritize national potential over disposable distractions."

He watched as a young man next to a lamppost sighed and rubbed his temples, clearly weary of the constant messaging, but dared not look away from the screen for too long.

The broadcast transitioned to a segment framed by harsh red and black graphics.

> "The consequences of defying public order remain severe. Earlier this afternoon, security forces located and dismantled a clandestine sports cell operating beneath the defunct Musashino Power Plant. The following individuals were arrested for the unauthorized distribution and use of prohibited spherical sporting equipment, and for organizing illegal, unsanctioned matches."

The screen flashed to a large, stark image of three adults, their faces blurred by state censors, were being led away in cuffs by Ogre agents. Scattered on the wet ground beside them were several crushed, deflated footballs and training cones.

The hooded figure paused near a large, free-standing holographic billboard, pretending to examine an advertisement for nutrient paste. He angled himself so the bright glare of the propaganda sheet illuminated the screen showing the arrests. His eyes, visible beneath the shadow of his hood, narrowed almost imperceptibly. The faces of the arrested were those of men he knew, men who had simply wanted to coach. The sight fueled a cold, quiet defiance in his heart. "I need to keep moving...", he thought.

He quickly turned away from the billboard, breaking his feigned interest, and darted down a side street, his pace accelerating from a walk to a light run.

Moments later, a group of four small children arrived, moving with hesitant steps.

The hooded figure nodded once. He reached into the bag and pulled out several items, a small, tightly-wound rope designed for footwork training, a set of flexible cones, and a slightly deflated, and a football.

"These are for you," he murmured, his voice low and firm.

The children gasped, their collective reaction a mixture of disbelief and pure, happiness. One girl's eyes, wide with awe, stared at the ball. "A ball... for us?"

"And new cones! We can do the dribbling patterns you showed us!" a boy whispered excitedly, his voice trembling slightly.

The hooded figure gave a low, quiet chuckle. "Yes. Now listen to me. This is yours. You must protect it and keep it safe. You use these in a space where no one can see you. Ever. You understand?"

"Yes, We promise!" they chorused quietly, clutching the meager equipment as if it were treasure.

He watched them for a moment, seeing the fleeting, precious joy in their eyes. He gave them a few final instructions on technique and discretion, ensured they had their routes planned, and then melted back into the shadows as they hurried away, carefully concealing their forbidden gear.

He continued his rounds, with the leather ball he was carrying remaining pressed against his chest. He knew where this last one needed to go.

The heart of the commercial district part of the city was staggered with small, independent shops, their interiors beginning to bleed warm, inviting light onto the narrow sidewalks.

Near the corner, beneath the glow of a neon sign that advertised 'Nutri-Packs: Fueling the Future,' stood a tall man, the dry-cleaner, zipping his shop's thermal shutter halfway.

"Closing up, Takeda?" The tall man called out across the street, his voice thin from a long day of processing state-issue uniforms.

Takeda, who ran the Quick-Fix Electronics repair shop, stretched dramatically, cracking his neck. 

"Just about, Iwao. Another slow one. Mostly drone tune-ups. Seems like everyone's aerial surveillance is running fine, which is good for them, bad for business, eh?" Takeda replied, his tone weary. "How was your day? Did that big order for Sector Six finally come through?"

"It did," Iwao sighed, wiping his counter with an cloth. "Took me four extra hours. I swear, the stains on those new uniforms, it’s like they’re fighting in mud pits, not just doing security checks. Still, it’s revenue. Keeps the lights on. See you tomorrow."

Takeda waved in acknowledgment as he locked his door, joining the stream of pedestrians.

The population moved with a predictable rhythm. People, faces tired from a day serving the state’s massive industrial or logistical complex, walked with shoulders slumped, eager to reach the sterile comfort of their living units. Couples met at transit points, exchanging terse greetings and holding hands, their conversation minimal, focused on routine which was dinner, utilities or sleep.

A few meters down, a group of three teenage girls walked together, their school bags slung low. They were dressed in fashionable, mandated cuts, their hair styled to approved standards.

"I still can't believe we have to do the Sector Five history project with her," muttered the shortest girl, adjusting her wrist-watch.

"Seriously. She just sits there, eyes straight ahead, like we’re all beneath her," the second girl, taller with sharper features, scoffed. "And the way she dresses! Did you see that thick, dull tunic she wore today? It looked like something from the early reconstruction era. Rich parents, no taste."

The third girl giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "And she's not even pretty enough to get away with being that arrogant. Like, she thinks she’s some sort of silent star. What a joke! We'll have to basically carry her through the assignment."

They all burst into light, careless laughter, the sound echoing slightly too loudly in the otherwise subdued street. Their momentary outburst of youthful malice was quickly swallowed by the ubiquitous background hum of city life.

Above their heads, subtle advertisements played on floating, transparent screens "Smile, You are being secured," the ubiquitous slogan that flashed alongside regulations.

The traffic flowed smoothly, dominated by the near-silent whoosh of hover-vehicles and heavy-duty supply trucks making their final deliveries. But the true omnipresent force was the fleet of small, black hexagonal cleaning and surveillance drones that crisscrossed the air routes.

One drone, hovering low over the sidewalk, repeated its automated public announcement in a flat, synthetic voice, its red-tipped antennae sweeping the ground

> CODE NO. 234: Failure to comply with civic reporting duties constitutes treason against the state. Compliance is mandatory. Security ensures prosperity.

As it continued its slow circuit, its internal scanner flashed a focused, amber light onto the street. The light paused directly on a man walking briskly, carrying a mesh bag containing his dinner.

> SCANNING. PROBABILITY OF VIOLATION: LOW.

"Eek!" The man, a lean office worker immediately froze, his shoulders tensing, his face becoming a mask of practiced neutrality. This was a common, involuntary reaction. The amber light swept over his torso and the contents of his bag. The drone's attention was drawn to a large, spherical fruit a Melon' he had bought for dessert.

> WARNING: UNREGULATED SPHERICAL OBJECT DETECTED. IMMEDIATE SURRENDER FOR INSPECTION REQUIRED.

The man groaned under his breath, closing his eyes briefly. The third time this week, he thought. He stepped forward to comply, but a sharp whisper cut through the silence.

"Haruo, don't you dare make a scene again! You know what the fines are like!"

His partner, a woman with closely cropped hair, grabbed his elbow, pulling him slightly away.

"It's just bad luck today, Kaori," Haruo muttered, giving the drone an irritated glare before suppressing it. "Must be a sensitive model. I'll just have to eat this melon fast when we get home. My bad luck is really on peak today."

The drone, getting that the item was organic and posed no threat of being used for "unlicensed distraction," moved on, repeating the next segment of the public service message

> CODE NO. 109: All unsanctioned sporting activities involving spherical apparatus are strictly forbidden. Report all violations immediately. Enforcement is absolute.

...

Near the end of the block stood a small, dusty convenience store, 'Elma's Necessities.' The front door opened with a tired, audible *clack*. Madam Elma, the owner, a woman whose face was a roadmap of permanent annoyance, stepped out carrying a heavy-bristled broom. She was well-built, with forearms that suggested years of manual labor, and she wore a thick, wool cardigan despite the moderate temperature. She groans rubbing her eyes a little for a sec.

Elma cast a suspicious, almost hawk-like look up and down the street. The glance was was targeted, searching for something specific. She began sweeping the front step, her movements stiff and resentful, pulling detritus into a tidy pile.

A young client, a man in a clean gray suit, approached her counter with a pre-packaged synth-coffee.

"Good evening, Madam Elma. Just the usual," he said, placing the pack on the worn counter.

Elma didn't look up at the client, she squinting past his shoulder at the alleyway entrance twenty feet away. "Price has gone up since Tuesday. You should have checked the terminal before coming here," she droned, her voice a low, gravelly monotone.

"What? But the holo-board said 110 credits-"

"Holo-board is broken," she snapped, finally meeting his eyes with a sarcastic, weary expression. "It updates when it feels like it. It's 115. Pay up or let the next five people waiting behind you get their turn." She made a grand, sweeping gesture with her hand, indicating an imaginary queue that did not exist.

The client blinked. "There's no one behind me, Elma. And I’m sure it was 110 yesterday."

"Oh, sure," she said, leaning in conspiratorially, yet her eyes remained fixed on the alley. "It was 110 yesterday, and yesterday, I was in a better mood. Today, my back and my head hurts from some random noise that kept going and going and going all night.... urgh..." She rubs her eyes "And now I feel the need to compensate. Five extra credits for the therapy session I provide by simply existing here. Now, pay and move along. I have sweeping to do."

The man, clearly annoyed but accustomed to her eccentric rudeness, sighed dramatically, paid the 115 credits, and quickly stalked out, shaking his head.

Moments later, a woman approached, holding a voucher for a promotional fuel cell.

"I need to redeem this," the woman said pleasantly, holding out the card.

Elma took the voucher, barely glancing at it. "It's expired. Says here, validity runs out at 20:00 hours."

"What? But it's only 20:03! Three minutes! You can't be serious!" the woman protested.

Elma merely shrugged, tossing the voucher back onto the counter like a worthless playing card. "I'm always serious, dear. Especially about time. Time is money. You wasted three minutes arguing, and now you've wasted four. Next time, move faster. Next!" She shooed the woman away with her broom, turning back to the suspicious alley.

"Urgh!" He woman hissed, stomping her foot on the ground and then walking away.

As Madam Elma resumed her sweeping, her movements suddenly became more deliberate, less annoyed. She was listening.

From the dim recess of the narrow alleyway, nestled between Elma's shop and a blank, windowless warehouse, came a distinct, rhythmic *thump... thump-thump... slam.*

It was the sound of a ball hitting a brick wall, fast and hard, followed by the soft, controlled impact of leather against shoe. Over and over it went, a defiant, clandestine drumbeat in the quiet, regulated night.

Inside the alley, the hooded figure was playing. His control of the ball was nothing short of virtuoso. He tapped it rapidly with the outside of his foot, bounced it high onto his chest, and then, using a sharp outward thrust of his ribcage, launched it into the air before pulling it down with the heel and instep of his boots. He grinned beneath the anonymity of his covering, the pure pleasure of the movement illuminating his eyes.

*Slam. Catch. Tap-tap-tap. Chest. Heel.* The rhythm was flawless.

On the main street, five small figures were moving quickly and furtively. They were children, aged between seven and ten, each bundled in oversized, dark hoodies, hats pulled low, and simple, gray face masks covering their mouths. They moved with a practiced, jerky paranoia, eyes darting from drone to pedestrian. They were small blips of nervous energy in the smooth flow of the evening.

When they reached the alley entrance, they didn't hesitate. With a unified, silent dash, they disappeared into the darkness.

Madam Elma, who was mid-sweep and mid-scolding of a client who dared to complain about the synthetic sugar ratio in her energy bars, abruptly stopped talking and sweeping. Her eyes, usually so cynical, narrowed into piercing points of concentration as she watched the suspicious, swift movement of the children.

"Hmmph," she grunted, an internal judgment settling heavily within her. She ignored the client's continuing complaints and trained her gaze on the alley, her jaw tightening with suspicion.

...

The dark, damp alleyway suddenly exploded with the energy of the arriving children. They found the hooded figure effortlessly controlling the ball, weaving an intricate, lightning-fast dribble around a discarded refuse can, using the wall as a perfect passing partner. The ball rocketed off the brick, zipped back, and was collected with an instant, gentle flick of the heel.

The kids gasped with unconcealed awe. "Woahhhhh..."

The hooded figure stopped his dazzling movement, catching the ball with his hands. "Hm?"

"Master S!" a small boy with an energetic voice, maybe eight years old, shouted excitedly, instantly darting forward to hug the figure's leg.

The other children quickly swarmed him, giggling and surrounding him with relieved excitement. "Master S!"

"Now, now kids, one at the time, alright? One at the time! Hahaha!" Master S chuckled, his voice warm and youthful, kneeling down onto the gritty asphalt to meet them at eye level. He adjusted his hood slightly, ensuring his face remained hidden.

"Are you all okay? You didn't get followed here, right?" he asked, his voice now dropping to a serious, low tone as he gently patted the shoulder of a girl wearing a brightly-colored, though hidden, badge on her coat.

"No way!" the energetic boy boasted, puffing out his chest. "We were super sneaky, right guys?"

"YEAH!" the others chorused, high-fiving each other with muffled slaps.

Master S nodded, a reassuring smile implied beneath the hood. "Alright. Now... here it is."

He slowly, deliberately, placed the ball he was holding a real, genuine leather football, slightly worn but impeccably maintained onto the ground in the center of the small huddle.

The children’s eyes widened, shimmering with a mixture of disbelief and wonder. "Woahh...."

"Is that really-" a cautious girl began, her voice barely a whisper.

"Of course, it is!" Master S confirmed. "A real one. Pretty cool, right? Now, it's all yours."

They fell silent for a moment, simply staring at the object. Then, a collective, quiet sound of admiration swept through the group. "W-woww!"

"A real football for us!" the cautious girl shouted, her previous timidity completely dissolving as she gently picked up the ball, her small hands trembling slightly. "Woah... It's a little heavy!"

They began to pass it among themselves, inspecting the stitching, the texture, and the faint, sweet smell of treated leather, perhaps a forbidden scent.

"It's the best thing I ever seen!" another boy shouted, hugging the ball tightly to his chest.

"Hey! I wanna see it too!" demanded a third, eagerly reaching for it.

The girl who had been the most reserved quickly wrapped her arms around Master S’s neck in a fierce, thankful embrace. "Thank you! Thank you so much, Master S!"

"Hehe, you don't need to thank me," he replied, gently disentangling himself. "Just don't lose it, alright? And please, don't show it around. You have to be super sneaky!"

The girl nodded vigorously. "Yes! I won't lose it! I swear!"

"We are going to protect it with everything! The best ball ever!" another kid declared proudly, while they all started to gently tap the ball, passing it back and forth, their masks almost falling off their faces with the wide, delighted smiles hidden beneath.

 "Guys! Let's play!" One of them called out excited.

"YEAH!" The others shouted quickly getting into position.

They start playing passing the ball back and forth, shooting, dribbling and defending, they laughed and ran around, they were happy, they were experienced the profound, simple joy of the game.

Master S took a small, deep breath, adjusting his hood one last time. He looked around the entrance of the alley. The world outside had faded into a dull drone. The only sound that mattered was the light, quick *tap-tap* of leather and the pure, infectious giggling of the children. A single ball had made all the difference, erasing their fear, filling the emptiness he knew they carried. He remembered the first time they came to him, scared and defeated, and now... a subtle wave of triumph washed over him. "Heh..." he smiled-

"Aha!"

The single, sharp exclamation cut through the joyous atmosphere like a gunshot.

Master S’s eyes snapped wide open. "What the-"

(𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑶 𝑫𝑬𝑨𝑻𝑯 𝒁𝑶𝑵𝑬 - 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑷𝑼𝑻 𝑰𝑻 𝑶𝑵 𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑷)∇∇∇

Madam Elma was standing directly at the mouth of the alley, her eyes blazing with triumphant suspicion. She had abandoned her broom, her arms crossed tight across her thick cardigan.

"So you are the ones ruining my days with the daily annoying noises, huh? Brats! Bunch of rats!" she shouted, her voice harsh and echoing in the tight space.

"Eek..." The children gasped instantly, freezing mid-pass. They scrambled, tripping over their feet, and hid behind Master S's legs, covering their ears and yelping.

In the confusion, the ball, dropped by one of the terrified boys, rolled out from behind the hooded figure, coming to a dead stop precisely at the foot of Madam Elma.

"No-!" the boy gasped, lunging forward, his hand outstretched to retrieve the precious object.

Madam Elma’s eyes, already wide with suspicion, blew open further in shocked certainty. She stared at the ball, and then at the hooded figure and the terrified children. She pointed a shaking, accusatory finger at them, her voice exploding with righteous fury and echoing off the walls, the sound amplified by the confined space:

"F-F-F-F-F-FOOTBALL!!!!"

The effect was instantaneous and terrifying. All the surveillance and cleaning drones that had been conducting their quiet patrols on the surrounding streets halted mid-air, absorbing the loud, charged word. Their white and amber running lights immediately switched to a dangerous, glaring crimson. With a unified, mechanical whir, they pivoted and began swarming toward the alleyway, converging on the source of the alarm.

Elma was nearly hysterical, pointing dramatically. "There they are! They are playing football! Delinquents, all of them!"

The swarm of drones filled the sky above the alley entrance, their lights reflecting ominously on the wet, brick walls. The synthetic voices of the nearest four drones blared in unison:

> CODE NO. 109: Unsanctioned spherical apparatus detected. Violation of Sports Regulation Act Article 3-B. Penalty: Mandatory Re-education and Custodial Detention of all minors involved. Failure to surrender will result in immediate apprehension.

The drones surrounded the entrance, cutting off the escape route.

"YEAH! GET 'EM, YOU FLYING PESTS!!!" Elma shrieked, cackling with dark satisfaction.

The kids huddled closer to Master S, shivering. One small girl, tears welling in her eyes, held onto his leg so tightly her small knuckles turned white. "Master S! I am scared!"

Master S took a half-step back, gently pushing the children further behind him. He looked at the dense, mechanical wall of drones, his visible smile hardening into a focused smirk.

"Don't need to be afraid, kids," he murmured, his voice calm. "We are getting out of this one."

He then snapped his head up, his eyes blazing with sudden, electric intensity.

"NOW RUN!"

With a blur of motion that shocked even the vigilant Madam Elma, Master S launched himself forward. It was one single, explosive dash. His right leg stomped hard on the ground, a sound like a muted thunderclap and he drove his foot through the ball, shooting it not at the drones, but straight toward the shrieking old woman.

"Ghraa!!" He shouted.

The children gasped in terror. Elma shrieked, "AHHHH!!" and threw herself sideways in a tumble, narrowly avoiding the projectile.

The ball, spinning with incredible force and speed, hit the central body of one of the nearest surveillance drones. The impact was phenomenal. There was a metallic crunch, and the drone was sent spiraling backward, slamming into the opposite wall and falling lifelessly. The ball itself dropped harmlessly to the ground near the downed drone.

The remaining drones shifted their attention from the children to the brazen attacker. Their crimson lights intensified to a blinding, hostile glare. "CAPTURE! CAPTURE!"

"GO NOW!" Master S shouted, his voice ringing with urgency, turning his attention back to the terrified children.

The kids, understanding the grave danger, snapped out of their paralysis. "Let's go guys!" a leader among them yelled, and they all began to move.

Suddenly, the cautious girl, Yui, stopped, looking back at Master S. "Master S! Come with us!" she cried.

Another boy grabbed her arm. "Master S! Move up!"

Before Master S could fully join them, the drones reacted. Several of them fired thin, high-tensile energy chains. They shot out with a sharp *hiss*, coiling instantly around Master S’s arms, yanking them back and pinning him against the alley wall.

"Urgh!" he grunted, the sudden, painful stop jarring his body.

"Master S!!!" Yui screamed, trying to tear herself free from her friends’ grip.

"Yui! Let's go!!!" they shouted, pulling her back forcefully.

"GO! GO now!!!" Master S yelled, his voice strained but encouraging. He met Yui's terrified eyes and gave a slow, firm nod, a gentle smile crossing his face despite the restraint. "We will meet again! I promise! Now keep yourself safe! GO!"

Yui’s eyes were wide with a mix of terror and devotion. She nodded once, a quick, sharp motion, and turned back to her friends. "Let's go!"

"Y-YEAH!" They all nodded, scrambled to retrieve the now-discarded football, and bolted out of the alley's back exit, disappearing into the maze of service passages.

Madam Elma quickly staggered to her feet, crawling away from the sight of the downed drone and the figure being restrained. Her initial triumph was replaced by frantic fear. "EH!?"

"POLICE! POLICE! THERE ARE FOOTBALLERS RUNNING AWAY!!!! POLICE!!!" she screamed, pointing wildly down the street. 

"Footballers!?" "There are Footballers trying to run away!" "Someone call the police! Call the drones!" People start to shout and share the word around.

People on the main street gasped, pulling out their phones to initiate emergency calls to the enforcement division.

As the drones held Master S, one of them descended, a specialized apprehension unit designed for non-lethal, high-security restraint. Its scanner locked onto him. "CAPTURE! CAPTURE! CAPTURE!"

His eyes immediately narrowed into sharp slits. "Not today! RAH!"

With a savage, unexpected surge of strength, he pushed his chained arms out, forcing the restraining drones outward. He leveraged the tension of the chains, pushing off the wall. Rebounding himself into the air, he brought his arms down with a violent, twisting force, using the weight of the chains to smash the two restraining of the chains to smash the two restraining drones against the ground. The chains snapped, metal screeching on brick.

"Out of here!" he roared, kicking off the ground.

Another swarm of drones, alerted by the initial volley, quickly approached. Master S dashed forward, a blur of motion. Another drone dove straight at him. He moved laterally with impossible speed, and the attacking drone crashed into the stationary apprehension unit, both exploding in a shower of sparks and fuel.

Elma shrieked, her eyes widening in horror at the proximity of the blast. She scrambled back, pulling out her personal emergency communicator. "POLICE!!!!! HELP ME!!!! POLICE!!!!" she wailed.

Master S didn't stop. He darted out of the alley entrance, his speed startling. He collided with Madam Elma, sweeping her aside in a controlled tackle that sent her sprawling onto the sidewalk.

"AHH!!!" she yelled, crashing to the ground.

"See ya!" Master S tossed back a casual tease, running full-tilt into the flow of evening traffic, the crimson drone swarm right behind him.

Elma managed to crawl away from the growing fire started by the exploding drones. She pointed a shaking, soot-covered finger at the retreating figure. "DELINQUENTS!!!! DELINQUENTS!!!" she screamed. Then, seeing the flames engulfing the alley entrance, she screamed louder, "FIRE!!! FIRE!!!"

People on the street, having watched the initial dramatic confrontation, now turned their attention to the spreading flames. Two men from the crowd rushed forward, grabbing heavy-duty fire extinguishers mounted on the wall of Takeda's electronics shop.

"What is happening here?" shouted one of the men, a large, stout man whose face was etched with sudden panic. "Elma, what did you do?"

"It wasn't me! It was them! The football delinquents!" Elma shrieked, scrambling to her feet, desperate to shift the blame from the explosion her actions had precipitated.

"WHAT!?" the stout man yelled back, wrestling the pin out of the extinguisher. "Quickly! Get more extinguishers! This is spreading to the main supply line!"

Another woman quickly joined them, shouting instructions at the growing cluster of onlookers. "Someone call the Sector Emergency Response! We need ground units!"

Moments later, the sleek, black-and-red police hovercars of the enforcement corps arrived, sirens booming, their sharp sound slicing through the town's otherwise controlled noise.

Elma, still pointing at the direction Master S ran, shouted over the rising noise and the hiss of fire retardant, "THERE THEY ARE!!! DELINQUESCENTS!!!"

"WE HAVE GOT CLEAR WIEW OF THE TARGET! MOVE OUT!" One of the police agents shouts, The police hovercars immediately accelerated, their powerful floodlights snapping on, casting stark white beams down the street in pursuit of the dark, fleeing figure. Pedestrians stopped, frozen, eyes wide, staring at the high-speed chase unfolding. Whispers and murmurs, a rare commodity in this regulated town, rippled through the crowd. The simple act of a man running was a revolutionary spectacle, and everyone knew that whatever he was running from, it was vital, dangerous or even forbidden.

...

The roar of the police hovercars and the high-pitched, insistent whir of the chasing drones were a violent rupture in the maintained silence of Akihabara. Master S, pushing past the initial burst of adrenaline, knew he was running on borrowed time. The energy he expended breaking the chains had been immense, leaving a dull ache already setting in, yet the memory of the children's terrified faces fueled his legs.

He tore through the main pedestrian thoroughfare leading into Akihabara Central Park, a manicured green space designed more for quiet, regulated strolls than high-speed evasion.

"Look out!" Master S shouted, a reflexive apology escaping his lips as he slammed into a man carrying a tray of synthesized tea. The cups flew, splashing the hot, sickly-sweet liquid across the man's crisp state uniform.

"Hey! Watch it, you menace! That was a new tunic!" the man screamed, shaking his fist and cursing loudly at the dark, hooded figure.

Master S ducked past a strolling elderly couple, causing the man to drop his holographic newspaper, which immediately shattered its projected display. "My apologies!"

"Garghh! You hooligan! Get him, drones!" the old man bellowed, his voice cracking with rage.

He vaulted a low, decorative hedge and landed squarely in the middle of a blanket where a young couple was attempting a quiet, government-approved picnic. The force of his landing scattered their low-calorie rations and kicked up a spray of artificially grown grass.

"My 'Glow-Cider'! You maniac! You’ll pay for that!" the young woman shrieked, pointing an angry, manicured finger.

The crimson swarm of drones was right on his heels, moving with chilling, mechanical efficiency, getting closer and closer.

> CODE NO. 109: Surrender immediately! Resistance will escalate force parameters!

The drones fired chains again, narrow metallic whips designed to restrain and shock. Master S dashed to the side, feeling the intense heat and vibration as the heavy chains slammed into the paved walkway, spider-webbing the reinforced concrete. People screamed and jumped, barely avoiding the whipping restraints, cursing the runner whose recklessness put their lives at risk.

He glanced back. The drones were too close. Below, three black hovercars slid into view, lights flashing.

"I have to escape! I can't... I CAN'T LET FOOTBALL DISAPPEAR!!!"

A raw, guttural sound tore from his throat. "Ghraa!!"

He pushed his legs to their absolute limit, finding a reserve of strength he didn't know he had. But the drones were faster. The closest pair shot chains simultaneously, wrapping them around his back and shoulders, dragging him backward even as his feet strained against the ground.

"Ghrrrrr!!!" he ground his teeth together, the metal biting into his clothing, pulling his momentum to a near-stop. He clawed at the chains, his muscles burning, and with a final, desperate wrench, he snapped the links, throwing the broken metal shards away as he lunged forward again.

Two drones dove low from the left flank, their bodies primed for impact and explosion. Master S spun, dodging the first, but the close-range concussive force of the resulting blast sent him stumbling. Before he could recover, the doors of the lead hovercar burst open, and three police agents identifiable by their slick, dark armor leapt out, drawing energy pistols. "FREEZE!!!"

*Fzzzt! Fzzzt!*

Brilliant blue-white energy bolts streaked past his head. He threw himself sideways, feeling the heat of the near-misses, his vision swimming from the physical strain and adrenaline overdose. He grunted, forcing his shaking limbs to maintain his pace, fighting the urge to collapse.

Urgh...it can't be... everything....is.... Football is....

He squinted, looking down at the ground, gripping the fabric over his aching chest. His vision blurred, the park lights streaking into chaotic lines. He was at the point of utter collapse.

"HEY!"

The sharp, clear shout cut through the auditory chaos of sirens and blasts.

"Wha-" Master S's eyes snapped open, widening in shock. Right in front of him, standing casually in the middle of the path he was about to collapse onto, was a figure. This person was holding a worn leather football under his foot and wearing an impossibly wide, carefree smile that looked utterly alien in this regulated world.

Master S, running at full speed, passed him by mere inches. The world seemed to slow, the vivid, harsh colors of the chase draining away. Only the hooded figure and this smiling stranger existed. Their eyes locked for a fraction of a second.

Then, the stranger’s hand shot out. It clamped around Master S’s upper arm, an iron grip that instantly halted the runner's momentum as if he had hit a wall.

"Grr!" Master S instinctively yanked his arm, trying to escape the restraint. The grip was shockingly hard, stronger than the drone chains. He tried again, pulling with all his remaining strength, but the stranger held him fast.

Master S looked back. The drones were seconds away. The agents were closing in, their energy guns raised. Was that the end?

He closed his eyes, his teeth grinding, the bitter taste of defeat filling his mouth. He was so close to making a difference... but it was over.

"This is..." he whispered in frustration.

Suddenly, an immense, raw sound tore through the air, vibrating the very ground beneath his feet.

*BOOM.*

It was the sound of a kick. A hard, powerful, earth-shaking kick.

Master S’s eyes flew open.

A white-hot streak flashed past them, an impossible force of energy. The sound of a massive explosion followed, accompanied by terrified yells "Grhaaah!"

He stumbled back, his eyes full of terror, then relief. On the ground behind them, the entire swarm of drones was reduced to smoking, shattered debris. The police officers who had been closing in were thrown violently backward, hitting the paved path with bone-jarring force. The closest one struggled to his knees, clutching his shoulder.

"Darn...it... Urgh..." the agent cursed, attempting to rise but immediately stumbling back onto the ground, defeated.

A football, slightly smoking, was spinning violently on the ground near the fallen officers.

"W-wha-" Master S, utterly bewildered, moved his gaze to the person still holding his arm.

The stranger was slowly lowering his right leg from a fully extended, impossibly high kicking posture. He was the one. His kick had done this.

"Y-you..." Master S gasped, unable to form a coherent sentence.

The stranger sighed, a sound of mild exasperation, and then slowly jogged toward Master S, never taking his eyes off him.

Master S gulped, sweating profusely beneath his hood. The stranger tilted his head, his expression shifting from serious focus back to that wide, infectious grin.

"Mister Shiratori Shiryuu, right?"

Shiratori’s eyes, wide with confusion and fear, narrowed instantly. How did he know that name? He tried to pull away again. "Grr! Get your hands off me! You Ogre!"

The grip instantly loosened. Shiratori gasped, "Gaah!" and stumbled back, collapsing onto the manicured grass.

The stranger stood there for a second, then burst into uncontrollable, booming laughter. "Pffttt! Hahahahahahahahahahahahahaa...." He bent over, clutching his stomach, tears genuinely pricking the corners of his bright eyes. It was a laugh of pure, unbridled amusement, a sound that felt dangerous and wonderfully out of place.

He finally caught his breath, wiping his eye with the back of his hand, still grinning. "You are a pretty funny guy, Shiratori-sempai! Really funny!"

Shiratori, utterly off-balance, struggled to sit up. "W-who are you?" he demanded, stepping back slightly on his hands.

The stranger’s eyes lit up with dazzling excitement. "I thought you wouldn't never ask!" He slapped his hands together once, the sound a sharp punctuation mark in the silence left by the explosion. "Alright! My name is Canon Evans! Nice to meet you!"

Shiratori repeated the name slowly, confused. "Canon... Evans..." He added in a cautious whisper, "I never heard of an Ogre with that name..."

Canon leaned closer, his smile softening into a playful, conspiratorial grin. "Ehehe, I'm not an Ogre, you know?"

Shiratori frowned, stepping back more, confused. "You aren't...?"

Canon laughed, a short, light sound. "Hehehe, of course not! Why would I help you if I was an Ogre?"

Shiratori’s eyes narrowed, his survival instincts screaming. "And why did you help me?"

Canon beamed, his chest puffing out slightly with pride. "Because! Mister Shiratori Shiryuu, I am here to recruit you to my team! Wanna play football!?"

"Your... Team?" Shiratori gasped, his hood slipping slightly to reveal the lower half of his jaw, clenched in bewilderment.

The moment was shattered by the approaching reality. The sound of new sirens, closer and louder than before, was booming through the park.

"They are coming.... I gotta go..." Shiratori muttered, quickly scrambling to his feet. He turned back to Canon, his desperation returning. "You can't stay here! You gotta go! Now!"

Canon smiled calmly, looking up past the trees. "You don't need to worry. Look! Our ride is here!"

Shiratori looked up. His eyes widened even further in disbelief.

With a blinding flash of azure light and a low, resonant thrumming sound, a tear seemed to open in the very sky. A geometric, shimmering portal snapped into existence, and out of it dashed a massive, streamlined vehicle, a flying bus. It had powerful, humming engines and a dark blue chassis with lightning bolt motifs etched into the sides. It quickly descended, landing with a gentle, silent hover just feet away from them.

Shiratori's eyes wide open. "W-what is this!?"

Canon turned back to Shiratori with a cheeky giggle. "Well, isn't that obvious? This is a bus! But not an ordinary bus, this is the Inazuma Victory Voyager!"

"Inazuma... Victory Voyager?..." Shiratori stammered, his mind reeling from the impossible, physics-defying apparition.

Close by, the police officer who had been shot down grabbed his intercom, struggling to sit up. "This is... a 109... We are at the Inazuma Park... two footballers... we need reinforcements... and medical support," he grunted, fighting to lift his energy gun and point it unsteadily at the two figures.

Canon saw the agent and his easy-going demeanor vanished, replaced by sharp alertness. "Oh oh! It's time to go!" He swiftly stepped inside the open side door of the futuristic bus.

Shiratori took another involuntary step back, overwhelmed by the rapid turn of events.

"Hey! Shiratori-sempai! It's time to go!" Canon shouted from the entrance, extending his hand out, inviting the older player to join him.

Shiratori stared at the outstretched hand, hesitating, his mind still locked in confusion.

*Fzzzt!*

The officer on the ground fired a shot. The energy bullet slammed into the metallic side of the Inazuma Voyager with a loud, ringing *clang*.

Shiratori snapped back to alert.

"Shiratori-sempai! Let's go!" Canon yelled, his voice urgent, pushing his hand further.

The police hovercars, carrying the reinforcements, screeched to a halt at the park entrance. Agents immediately poured out and sprinted toward the fallen officers.

"Agent Two is down! Clear the area! Report! What hit you?!" one officer barked into his helmet mic, while another quickly knelt beside the injured agent, assessing the damage. Their professionalism and dedication to the mission were clear in their focused movements. "Secure the perimeter! They're still here! Draw arms!"

Several officers immediately drew their sidearms, aiming directly at the figures standing by the mysterious blue bus.

"FREEZE!!!" they shouted in coordinated unison.

The Inazuma Voyager’s powerful engines revved up, the entire bus shaking as it began to ascend.

Shiratori hesitated for one final, paralyzing second. He was a not a fool, he knew a clear invitation to doom when he saw one.

Canon surged forward, a final, confident smile fixed on his face, and grabbed Shiratori’s arm. "Got you!"

With a powerful tug, he hauled the stunned older player into the bus. "Gahh!" Shiratori yelped as he was thrown inside.

"Don't let them get away! Shoot! Shoot!!!" The police officers started firing, energy bolts slamming repeatedly against the heavy armor of the Voyager. Drones, survivors of the blast and new arrivals, zoomed in, their restraints and tasers ready.

With a deafening shriek of revving engines and a flash of brilliant light, the Inazuma Voyager shot straight up into the sky. It warped instantly, the vessel disappearing into nothingness. The sudden, immense displacement of air created a powerful shockwave that slammed into the ground.

"Grhaaaah!" The police officers, who had been charging the bus, were thrown backward and scattered like dolls, their bodies hitting the ground hard. The remaining drones were tossed violently away, spinning out of control into the distant treeline.

Silence returned to Akihabara Park, leaving behind only the smoldering wreckage, the bewildered and injured agents, and the profound, undeniable evidence that something impossible had just happened, something that smelled suspiciously, wonderfully, of football.

...

...

(𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑵 𝑻𝑶 𝑵𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑨𝑳 𝑩𝑨𝑻𝑻𝑳𝑬 𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑴𝑬 𝑾𝑯𝑰𝑳𝑬 𝒀𝑶𝑼 𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑷𝑼𝑻 𝑰𝑻 𝑶𝑵 𝑳𝑶𝑶𝑷)∇∇∇

The abrupt transition from the neon-drenched chaos of Akihabara to the quiet majesty of the wilderness was jarring. In one instant, the interior of the Inazuma Victory Voyager a cabin designed with practical, heavy-duty utility, featuring cushioned seats, reinforced walls, and a large panoramic window was vibrating from weapon fire. In the next, a profound, almost primal silence descended.

Shiratori still reeling from the sudden teleportation, stumbled to the large observation window. He pressed his face close to the thick pane of specialized glass. Below, the world was a sweeping, unbroken expanse of ancient forest, a sea of dark green foliage punctuated by the stark, towering granite of a distant mountain range. There was no sign of humanity, no regulation grid, and no hovering drone.

"Where is this... place?" Shiratori whispered, his voice hoarse, the sense of confinement replaced by overwhelming disorientation.

Canon, now seated casually in the adjacent co-pilot's chair, his posture relaxed, merely giggled. The wide, youthful smile never left his face.

"We're heading to the base!" Canon announced, his tone light and playful, as if they were on a weekend trip, not fleeing a national military force. "From there, you will become part of my team!"

Shiratori turned, his eyes narrowing, suspicion rapidly replacing confusion. "Your....team...?"

Canon nodded enthusiastically. "Yep! I’ve heard a lot of amazing things about you, Mister Shiratori Shiryuu! Hehe!" He clapped his hands together, the sharp sound echoing slightly in the cabin. "Just knowing that I am here with a super talented player gets my blood boiling!"

Shiratori looked back out the window, his gaze distant, his entire posture tightening into a defensive shell. "How do you know about me..." he murmured, the question laced with suspicion and pain.

Canon leaned forward, resting his chin on his steepled fingers, his eyes sparkling with a fan’s genuine admiration. He didn't answer the question directly, but instead launched into a vivid recollection, his voice swelling with drama and excitement.

"I saw it with my own eyes! Kirkwood against Sendo! 90 minutes with 40 seconds of additional time left! Shiratori Shiryuu on the middle field, dribbling around the Anima Sena's defense towards the goal, unstoppable force! Dashing forward like a tornado!"

Canon gestured wildly, reliving the moment. "And right close to the goal area he shoots! The keeper sends himself up on the air, he thought he got it but suddenly *BAM!* The ball hits the goal bar right back like a boomerang! The keeper watches with awe as Shiratori Shiryuu shoots and scores a perfect goal! Winning the semi-finals for Kirkwood! The first time winning the semi-finals in three years! Shiratori Shiryuu, the rookie, surprises everyone! Hahahaha."

Shiratori stared, captivated despite himself. The way Canon spoke about that game, that one fleeting moment of glory from a time that felt old was filled with an electrifying joy, a visceral appreciation for the skill and the moment that Shiratori hadn't felt from anyone in years. It was as if Canon had been there, feeling the wind and the pressure alongside him. "Hum..." Shiratori frowns.

"Hehehe, You really got amazing skills." Canon's smile held a genuine warmth that was utterly disarming.

Shiratori forcefully looked away, his gaze snapping back to the anonymous green blur outside the window. He whispered, the words heavy with resignation, "Save it.... It was just an ordinary game like any other on the past decade...." He added, the final sentence barely audible, "Nobody cares about this anymore...."

"I care," Canon stated simply, immediately and without hesitation. The two words were delivered with a conviction that brooked no argument.

Shiratori hissed, turning to face him, his anger flaring. "So what? You are just a criminal like any other, having the same treatment as someone who did a war crime! Does it matter if you care about it or not?"

Canon kept smiling, calm and unperturbed. "Of course it matters. It matters for you... Doesn't it?"

The question struck a nerve. Shiratori lunged, grabbing a handful of Canon's shirt with a vicious grip. "You don't know me! You don't know anything!" he spat, his eyes blazing with protective fury.

Canon slowly shook his head, his eyes remaining clear and kind, radiating a deep, unexpected empathy. "I know you love football as much as I love it."

He looked past Shiratori, toward the window. "I know how much you like and care about those kids. I know that you gave up on everything just to give them that ball... You risked everything, for football. You know there is no turning back from that."

Shiratori’s anger faltered. The truth in Canon's words was undeniable. He slowly, reluctantly, took his hands off the fabric of Canon's shirt, his shoulders slumping. He looked away, defeated by the sudden, penetrating honesty. "You-...."

"It doesn't matter if things are never going to change.... " he muttered, the words sounding hollow.

Canon gently placed a reassuring hand on Shiratori's shoulder, the gesture soft but firm. "Things are going to change, Shiratori-sempai. You just gotta believe."

He gave Shiratori's shoulder a final, encouraging squeeze before his eyes widened slightly in an entirely different kind of excitement. "Alright! Looks like we arrived!"

Shiratori quickly looked back toward the window, his exhaustion instantly replaced by shock.

The Inazuma Victory Voyager was hovering at the edge of the vast forest, but directly ahead, attached to the sheer, dark face of a massive granite mountain, was a structure that defied the government regulated architecture.

It was an enormous, tiered facility, carved into a mountain. The main entrance was a gigantic, half-dome aperture of reinforced, energy-absorbing metal, blending seamlessly with the rough stone. Above it, multiple levels of windows were embedded in the rock, looking out over the valley. The facility was designed to be both a fortress and an observation deck.

Inside the main structure from what he could see from the top, There, was a sight Shiratori hadn't seen in a while, a perfect, luminous green football field, complete with goalposts and clear white lines, It was a defiant splash of perfection in the chaotic natural world he lived in.

The Inazuma Victory Voyager dipped low, its anti-gravity engines humming as it smoothly steered toward the enormous entrance carved into the mountain's belly.

Canon patted Shiratori's shoulder again, his smile now wider than ever, a beacon of hope and anarchy in the high-tech interior.

"Welcome to the Base!"

Shiratori stared out at the football pitch, then at the impossible, hidden facility. His eyes were wide, but the terror was gone, replaced by a deep, complicated sense of awe and a faint, long-forgotten spark of something.

...

The Inazuma Victory Voyager decelerated slowly, its powerful engines adjusting to the cavernous space. Shiratori stared out the window, every nerve ending tingling with alert.

As the massive, sound-dampened gate completed its slow, mechanical retreat into the rock face, a vibrant, bustling world was revealed. It waste a sterile bunker, what he saw was a subterranean city dedicated entirely to the banned sport.

The air inside was cool and clean, recycled through advanced filtering systems. The vast hangar bay they were entering was merely the beginning of a multi-level complex. The facility's walls were armored plating and transparent sections that revealed activity on various stacked platforms.

Shiratori could see figures in white lab coats scientists on the Top Levels, both young and old huddled around complex holographic screens, discussing something. Other sections hosted men and women in military uniforms, conducting what looked like surveillance reviews and equipment maintenance. These were the logistical and intellectual anchors of the Resistance.

There were multiple full-sized training pitches on the Lower Levels, distinct from the bigger one. On one field, a few players were intensely running drills, their movements sharp and focused, executing passes with blistering speed and accuracy. On another, a tall figure in athletic gear was practicing a powerful volley shot against a heavily padded wall, the *thud* of the impact echoing throughout the space. Small groups of players walked around, some jogging lightly, others deep in discussion, their faces animated as they debated formations or specific game scenarios. The atmosphere was focused, dedicated, and humming with suppressed energy.

It looked like a functional, self-sustaining community, a shadow nation existing only for the love of football. Shiratori's eyes were wide, absorbing the sheer scale of the so called operation.

"Pretty cool, huh?" Canon asked, settling back into his seat with a contented sigh. "This is the Football Frontier!"

Shiratori didn't reply immediately, his gaze distant. He realized his whole world view, conditioned by years of government propaganda, was being rewritten in minutes. His gaze sharpened, however, as he noticed a small group of people waiting for the Inazuma Victory Voyager on the landing pad directly ahead.

The Voyager touched down with barely a whisper of displaced air. The hydraulic ramp hissed open, revealing the bright hangar lights.

Canon stretched dramatically, yawning wide. "Urgh... What a day, huh..."

Shiratori simply stared at him, still struggling to process the jump from fugitive to passenger. Everything felt strange, loud, and utterly exhilaratingly risky.

Canon hopped out of the pilot's seat, turning back with his usual infectious enthusiasm. "Hey, what are you waiting for? Come here!"

Shiratori hesitated, scratching the back of his head beneath the hood. He felt a sudden, profound reluctance, taking this final step meant total commitment to a life beyond the law.

Suddenly, a high-pitched, furious voice shrieked up at him. "HEY! ARE YOU WHAT? DEAF?!"

Shiratori yelped, jumping backward and nearly hitting the ceiling of the cabin. He whipped his head left, then right, searching for the source of the surprisingly loud roar.

Canon giggled, clearly enjoying Shiratori's panic. 

"I'M DOWN HERE, YOU DUMMY!"

Shiratori yelped again, looking down in genuine alarm. Peering up at him from the sill of the cockpit was a creature no bigger than a teddy bear.

"What thing is this!?" Shiratori gasped, stumbling back further, his voice laced with pure astonishment.

The creature’s eyes narrowed into slits of rage. "WHAT IS THIS, WHAT IS THAT ENOUGH! TOUGH UP YOUR WIMP!" she hissed, stamping a tiny, furious foot on the metal floor.

Canon quickly stepped between them, his hands up in a placating gesture, still slightly giggling. "Hehe, this is Ponko! Didn't you saw her? She was the one piloting the Inazuma Voyager all this time!"

Ponko shoved Shiratori hard out of the bus with surprising strength. "Get out now! You're already getting on my nerves!"

Shiratori stumbled out onto the platform. "Wha-...." He could only stare.

Canon dusted himself off, sighing contentedly. "Now, Ponko, don't be too harsh on him, alright?" 

Ponko pouts looking away. "Hum!"

Canon giggled and then, he inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a second. "Finally home..."

"This place... is nuts," Shiratori muttered, looking from the raging raccoon pilot to the futuristic hangar, then back at Canon.

The small group waiting on the platform slowly began to approach them. Shiratori turned, his posture automatically straightening into wary alertness.

The group consisted of three key individuals: a pragmatic-looking young woman with neatly tied pink hair and square-rimmed glasses, a graceful, woman with a calm, discerning gaze and dark-blue hair and a tall man who moved with an effortless, sophisticated elegance, dressed in a perfectly tailored, simple charcoal suit.

The tall man offered a welcoming, serene smile as he stopped a few feet away. "Mister Shiratori Shiryuu, huh?" His voice was deep, cultured, and carried an undeniable air of authority, yet it was softened by genuine warmth. "We will be happy to have you aboard."

Shiratori’s eyes snapped wide. He stepped back again, realizing the identity of the man before him. "You are that man.... Elzes Killard...."

Elzes Killard chuckled, a soft, dry sound. "It seems like you know me already. Fufufu, that cuts me a very extensive introduction."

Shiratori’s eyes narrowed, his suspicion fighting with the sheer awe of standing before the legendary figurehead of the Football Resistance.

"You are really him..." he finished, the phrase hanging in the air, the confirmed reality of the man who dared to defy all the rules... Elzes Killard....

"Now, why don't you join us?" Elzes invited, his voice a smooth, low register that was both commanding and reassuring. He turned elegantly on his heel and began walking toward a centrally located raised platform.

Canon Evans instantly fell into step behind him, resting his hands behind his head, his wide smile showing his excitement. The pragmatic girl and the calm woman followed suit.

Shiratori Shiryuu lingered for a moment, his feet rooted to the spot. The whirlwind of events, the chase, the impossible escape, the hidden city was grinding against the hard cynicism he had developed over years of suppression. I’ve come too far. Do I really want to join all of this?

Canon glanced over his shoulder, his eyes bright with gentle urging. "Hey, Shiratori-sempai."

The pragmatic girl without stopping, gestured with a quick, efficient hand movement toward the path Elzes had taken. "This way. All ahead."

Shiratori mumbled a reluctant consent under his breath "Mmph" and finally began to follow.

They moved quickly through the vast, open hangar and into a reinforced corridor that led to the main administrative hub. Inside, Shiratori was immediately assaulted by a flurry of organized, purposeful activity. This was the Command Room, a massive, bowl-shaped space dominated by screens displaying complex data streams, troop movements, and resource allocation charts.

Adults scientists, logistics officers, and operational analysts bustled around, moving with a controlled urgency. They were typing furiously at sleek consoles, making hushed, technical calls, and consulting maps. They gave Elzes's group a wide berth, but their eyes lingered on Shiratori, judging his presence with quick, assessing glances. Shiratori felt the weight of their scrutiny, these people were busy, serious, and risking everything, they could be measuring his worth in this operation.

They reached the center of the room, dominated by a towering, wall-sized holographic display that currently showed a stylized logo of a lightning bolt.

Elzes ascended the short flight of steps to the raised platform, the calm woman taking her place gracefully on his left, and the pragmatic girl on his right. Canon and Shiratori stood on the main floor below them.

Shiratori took a moment to look at Canon, whose posture was rigid with excitement, focused entirely on Elzes. Shiratori felt a strange flicker of warmth for the young man's unwavering enthusiasm before turning his attention back to the Elzes.

Elzes cleared his throat. "Ehem. Mister Shiratori Shiryuu, this is the main headquarters of the Football Frontier. As you already know, my name is Elzes Killard, the founder of this institution. You can call me Doctor Elzes.

He gestured to the dark blue-haired woman. "This lovely woman on my left side is Miss Alberta Eiko. She is the monitor and caregiver of the youth department of the institution."

Miss Alberta offered a polite, formal bow, her calm eyes holding a serene kindness. "Welcome, pleased to meet you. Do you feel ill? Are you hungry?"

Shiratori, startled by the sudden, maternal concern, quickly shook his head. "No... no... thanks...."

Miss Alberta nodded, satisfied. Dr. Killard continued, directing his hand toward the pink-haired woman. "Alright. This polite girl on my right is our main engineer for the youth department of the facility, Lady Celia Sharp."

Celia adjusted her large glasses on her nose with an audible *tap*, her gaze sharp and pragmatic. "Nice to meet you, Mister Shiratori Shiryuu." Shiratori offered a minimal nod in return.

Dr. Killard then smiled warmly, pointing to Canon. "And that energetic young boy is called Mister Canon Evans, but I assume you already know that."

Canon grinned, slapping Shiratori’s shoulder with a forceful, friendly impact. Shiratori flinched slightly before turning back to the Doctor.

"And you both are part of a newborn football team," Dr. Killard announced, his voice gaining resonance, "the Blue Lightnings!"

Shiratori whispered the name, trying it out, "Blue... Lightnings?..."

Dr. Killard leaned forward slightly, his eyes conveying a deep, reflective seriousness. "Now, Mister Shiratori. Have you ever felt that Football missed something that it used to have before?"

Shiratori’s eyes narrowed slightly. He thought back to the alley, to the children's faces, and the raw, unadulterated pleasure of kicking the ball just moments before the world exploded. That feeling, that intangible quality that compelled him to risk everything, was precisely what had brought him here. "I..."

"That 'something' is called a heart," Dr. Killard revealed, his voice dropping to an almost reverent tone. "The Heart of Football."

Dr. Killard turned his back to them, walking slowly toward the huge holographic screen which now displayed swirling, almost mystical visualizations of energy. 

"Urgh..." Shiratori’s eyes narrowed further, the dramatic weight of the Doctor’s words resonating with the confusion and yearning in his own soul. Could this be it? The reason for all the pain?

"You know," Dr. Killard continued, his back still to them, "There was a player who used to say that Football was like a mystical entity, that it could feel, or perhaps it was even a living gift given to us by God himself to take us away from the greed, selfishness, and evil of humanity. With Football, we were able to reach places we never were before, beyond systems, time, and even space. So much evolution thanks to a simple game of football...."

Dr. Killard turned back, his expression now shadowed by tragedy. "But, one day, everything changed.... And... We ended up here."

"What happened?! Why did everything change....?" Shiratori hissed, unable to contain his frustration.

Dr. Killard turned back toward the screen, which shifted to display ancient, faded documents and schematics. "Perhaps, we evolved too fast. Beyond what we were meant to reach."

Shiratori grit his teeth, the pain of the question echoing the deep wound the Ogre had inflicted on the world.

Dr. Killard resumed his explanation. "With the youth leaning heavily towards the sport, it was said that the country's defense force was seriously shattered, with military organizations affirming that Football made the youth weak and irresponsible. They started a campaign to reshape Football, turning it into a regularized sport. But there was still resistance. But one day, everything changed. The attack on the prime minister almost a decade ago."

The screen flashed images of a ruined government building.

"Without any effort, a terrorist group was able to pass the protective layers of a national defense and hold the prime minister and his family hostage. As everything seemed lost, football was the solution. Military organizations used their youngest members with the knowledge and skill of a very talented player and saved the whole government structure with a single ball. Using Football as a weapon."

Shiratori twitched, a knot tightening in his stomach. The game, corrupted into somekind of tool...that didn't felt right.

Dr. Killard walked slowly toward the edge of the platform. "If something can be used as a weapon, it must be regularized for the sake of everything that may use it toward someone else. And from that day on, Football became something it shouldn't be... a tool to destroy and control."

He paused, looking directly at Shiratori. "We don't know what the Ogre's primary plan is, but the only thing we know is that its final goal is to destroy football completely."

Dr. Killard stepped down from the platform, approaching Shiratori. "You are very brave for spreading football to those kids, but for doing that, you must know that you cannot turn back."

Shiratori’s eyes narrowed, locked on the Doctor. He didn't know what to say. His act was spontaneous, driven by love, not revolution. Now, he faced the immense consequence.

Dr. Killard walked back to the step. "That's why we created this place... to give football back to everyone who believed truly in it. To give football back to those who love it."

The main screen now displayed a collage of powerful, moving images: agents of the Resistance handing balls to masked children in dark streets, adults secretly restoring cracked asphalt pitches, and hidden communities cheering on small, clandestine matches.

"That's why we are starting simple, giving hope back to those who believe in the game. But our struggle is still far from gone. We are the number one target for organizations such as The Ogre itself, so we must defend ourselves. Various of our operations are interrupted by this military organization. That's why Mister Canon joined us."

Canon nodded vehemently, turning to Shiratori, his expression a mixture of strategic focus and pure zeal. "If we create a super strong team that is very good at playing football, we will be able to bring that magic everywhere! Small teams around the country are going to create a tournament that will be broadcasted everywhere around the country! Where people will be able to see us playing football! And it will motivate them to remember how football is really supposed to work! That's why I am creating the Blue Lightnings!"

Shiratori looked at Canon's determined, hopeful face. The sheer audacity of the plan to fight a military dictatorship with a high-profile, televised football tournament was breathtaking.

"That's..." Shiratori mumbled under his breath, his cynicism warring with a rising sense of awe.

Canon grinned, his whole body practically vibrating with excitement. "That's the best plan ever! You will see!"

Dr. Killard laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Fufufufu. Canon has that football soul inside his heart, the first one I have seen for a long time...." He looked at Shiratori one final time, his eyes piercing.

"So now that we have taken all that out of the way, Mister Shiratori Shiryuu, what do you have got to say?"

"I...." Shiratori eyes narrow, what should he do now.... Maybe, his choice could change everything...

...

                                         TO BE CONTINUED...