EP 001 - Departure to Tomorrow
...
The story begins on Inakuni Island, a remote, emerald-green paradise surrounded by the vast, shimmering blue of the ocean.
The sun over Inakuni Island claimed the horizon, bleeding a deep, bruised orange into the vast expanse of the Pacific before softening into a brilliant, shimmering gold. This was a world defined by the rhythmic pulse of the tides and the heavy, humid scent of blooming hibiscus and salt-crusted earth. The island was a jagged emerald set in a sapphire sea, its cliffs draped in dense, waxy greenery that seemed to breathe with the morning mist.
In the village, the day began with the sound of shutters sliding open and the distant, melodic call of the black-tailed gulls circling the harbor. The air was already thick with the smell of woodsmoke and fermented soybeans, the breakfast of a hundred small homes. Down by the docks, the fishermen were returning from the pre-dawn haul, their heavy boots clattering against the weathered timber of the piers, while up in the terraced hills, the gardeners and farmers were already tending to the volcanic soil that gave the island its life.
Through the winding, narrow paths of the town, the silence of the morning was broken by the rhythmic *whir-click-whir* of a bicycle chain.
Asuto Inamori pedaled with a steady, practiced rhythm. His bicycle, an older model with a sturdy front basket and even larger wooden crates strapped to the rear rack, was piled high with the morning’s harvest. Bright red tomatoes, crisp cucumbers, and heavy sacks of sweet potatoes peeked out from under damp burlap covers. Asuto’s eyes were calm, his focus entirely on navigating the turns and slopes of the town. Despite the weight he carried, his posture was relaxed, his breathing even.
"Morning, Asuto! You’re out early today!" shouted Mr. Kaji, a man whose skin was as weathered and wrinkled as a dried plum. He was busy sweeping the front of his small hardware stall.
Asuto slowed his pace, offering a respectful nod and a genuine smile. "Good morning, Mr. Kaji. The tomatoes were particularly good this morning, so I wanted to get them to the market before the heat really set in."
"Always thinking ahead, aren't you? Give my best to your mother!" the old man called out, waving his broom.
"I will, thank you!" Asuto replied, his voice clear and polite, carrying none of the typical teenage irritability. He treated every interaction with a quiet reverence, as if each neighbor was a pillar of the world he loved.
His first stop was the Blue Wave Diner, a small restaurant that sat right on the edge of the harbor. The owner, a stout woman named Mrs. Omi, was already outside scrubbing a table.
Asuto hopped off his bike, the kickstand clicking into place. "Good morning, Mrs. Omi. I have the three crates of greens and the extra basket of peppers you requested."
"Ah, Asuto! You're a lifesaver," she beamed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Let me get my husband to help you with those—"
"No need, I can do it," Asuto interrupted gently. He hoisted a heavy wooden crate onto his shoulder, his muscles tensing but his expression remaining unfazed. He walked into the kitchen with a sure-footed grace, navigating the narrow hallway to the pantry. He organized the boxes, placing the newer greens at the back and bringing the older stock forward to ensure nothing went to waste.
"You're doing more than you should, boy," Mrs. Omi said, following him in and watching him move a heavy flour sack to make more room for his crates. "Your job is just to deliver, not to be my sous-chef and pantry manager."
Asuto wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead and chuckled. "It only takes a minute, and it makes things easier for you when the lunch rush hits. Besides, I like seeing where the food goes."
She reached into her pocket and handed him the payment, adding a small, wrapped rice ball as a bonus. "How is Yuriko doing? We haven't seen her at the market lately."
Asuto’s eyes softened, a brief flicker of concern crossing his face before he masked it with a nod. "She’s... she’s resting. The doctor wants her to take it easy for a while, but you know her. She thinks she can outwork the sun."
"She’s a stubborn one, that mother of yours," Mrs. Omi laughed, patting his arm. "But she’s raised a fine son. Go on now, I know you have more stops."
"Right!" Asuto nodded.
Asuto continued his route, stopping at the local grocer, the school infirmary, and a few private residences. At each stop, the routine was the same, he helped move furniture, carried the heavy loads directly into the kitchens, and listened to the stories of the elders. He was the island's favorite son, a boy who moved with the calmness of a summer breeze and the strength of the tides. To the merchants, he was more than a delivery boy; he was the heartbeat of the community.
"Morning, Asuto! You’re out early today, aren’t you?"
The voice belonged to Mr. Sato, the local fishmonger, who was currently hosing down his tiled storefront. He stopped, leaning on his broom as Asuto slowed his pace.
Asuto squeezed the brakes, coming to a gentle halt. He offered a polite, respectful nod, his face breaking into a small, genuine smile. "Good morning, Mr. Sato. The harvest was particularly good this morning, so I wanted to get the deliveries done before the heat peaks. My mother says these tomatoes are the best of the season."
"I don't doubt it!" Sato laughed, wiping his brow with a damp rag. "Tell Yuriko-san I’ll be by later for a crate. And keep that back straight, boy. You're the heart of this hill!"
"I will. Have a productive day, Mr. Sato," Asuto replied, his tone steady and humble. He didn't rush away yet, he waited for the man to return to his work before pushing off again.
His next stop was the Sun-Kissed Diner, another small, bustling eatery that fed the harbor workers. Asuto pulled up to the back entrance, propping his bike against the weathered stone wall. He hoisted a heavy crate of vegetables onto his shoulder, his muscles tensing under his sweat-dampened shirt, and carried it into the kitchen.
Inside, the heat was already rising from the large pots of simmering broth. Mrs. Tanaka, a formidable woman with flour-dusted arms, looked up from her prep table.
"Asuto, you're a lifesaver," she sighed, gesturing toward the pantry. "Just put them there, next to the onions. You're doing more than you're paid for, kid. I told you, just leave them on the dock."
"It's no trouble, Tanaka-san," Asuto said, his voice muffled as he carefully stacked the crate. He spent an extra few minutes organizing the older produce to the front, ensuring nothing would go to waste. "If I leave them outside, the salt air gets to the greens too quickly. I’d rather you have them fresh."
Mrs. Tanaka wiped her hands on her apron and walked over, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're a good lad. How is Yuriko? I heard she had a bit of a spell last week."
Asuto’s eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, a shadow of worry passing through them before he regained his composure. "She’s stubborn as ever, Ms. Tanaka. She says she’s fine, but I’m trying to keep her off her feet. She’s resting today, hopefully."
"Stubborn runs in the family," the woman teased, reaching into a jar and handing him a small, wrapped rice cracker. "Take this. And tell your mother that if I see her working in those fields today, I’m coming up there with a rolling pin."
Asuto bowed low. "I'll deliver the message. Thank you for the business."
The routine continued for another hour. He visited the local grocer, the small schoolhouse where he delivered fruit for the children's snacks, and the general store. At every stop, he was met with the same warmth.
Asuto moved with his usual steady rhythm, his boots pressing firmly against the pedals of his heavy-duty bicycle. The crates behind him, filled with the morning’s harvest of plump radishes and sweet island oranges, rattled softly against the wooden frame. He was focused on the road, navigating around a sleeping calico cat and a stack of empty lobster traps, his mind already calculating the quickest route to the northern restaurants.
"Asuto-chan!!!"
The high-pitched, energetic shout echoed off the stone walls of a small, cramped corner store known as the Coral Sundries.
Asuto blinked, his gloved hands immediately squeezing the brake levers. The bicycle squealed to a protestant halt, the back tire skidding slightly on a patch of loose sand. He turned his head, a look of calm curiosity settling on his face.
Emerging from a cloud of dust near the storefront was Kyouno. The boy was small, even for his age, with a shock of bright orange hair that looked like a tangled bird’s nest in the morning light. He was clutching a broom that was nearly twice his height, his oversized apron smudged with dirt and gray soot from a morning of cleaning the store’s storage rafters.
Kyouno scrambled. He dropped the broom with a clatter and sprinted toward the road, his short legs moving in a frantic blur. By the time he reached the side of Asuto’s bike, he was doubled over, his small chest heaving as he struggled to pull air into his lungs.
"Huff... huff... wait... just... wait a sec..." Kyouno wheezed, pressing a hand against his ribs. He looked up, his face flushed a deep pink from the exertion, but his eyes were wide and shining with excitement. "You are... huff... really fast, Asuto-chan!"
Asuto leaned back on his seat, propping one foot on the ground to steady the heavy bike. He didn't look annoyed by the interruption; instead, his expression was soft, characterized by the patient, big-brotherly kindness that everyone on the island had come to expect from him.
"Hey, Kyouno," Asuto said, his voice calm and melodic against the distant sound of the crashing waves. "Do you need something from me? Is everything okay at the shop?"
Kyouno took one final, deep breath and straightened up, a massive, gap-toothed grin spreading across his face. He shook his head so vigorously that his orange hair flopped over his eyes.
"Not really, hehe! I just saw you riding by and wanted to say hello!" He bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, looking up at the crates of produce. "The garden looks like it's doing great today! Those oranges look huge!"
Asuto chuckled softly. He reached out, his hand, roughened by soil and hard work gently petting the top of Kyouno’s messy head. He smoothed down a few of the stray orange locks, a gesture of quiet affection. "They are. My mother put a lot of heart into them this season. But you should get back to it, shouldn't you? You don't want the dust to settle back down before you finish sweeping."
Kyouno leaned into the touch for a second, nodding happily. "Uhum! I've got the whole back room left to organize. It's a mess in there!" He stepped back, giving Asuto a clumsy but spirited thumbs-up. "Good luck with the deliveries, Asuto-chan! Don't let the heat get to you!"
Asuto gave a final, respectful nod, his grip tightening on the handlebars. "Alright! I'll see you around, Kyouno. Work hard!"
"I will!" Kyouno waved both arms frantically as Asuto pushed off, the bicycle chain whirring back to life.
Asuto vanished around the next bend, the rattling of his crates fading into the general hum of the waking town. Kyouno stood there for a moment longer, a lingering smile on his face, watching the spot where his friend had been.
"Kyouno! Are you daydreaming again? I've got three more crates of soap that need shelving! Can you help me here?"
The voice of the shopkeeper, a grizzled man with a permanent scowl and a heart of gold, boomed from the dark interior of the Coral Sundries.
"I'm coming!" Kyouno shouted back, his energy renewed. He snatched his oversized broom off the ground, nearly tripping over the handle in his haste, and disappeared back inside the store to finish his morning chores, the sound of his humming lost to the tropical breeze.
When the last crate was emptied and the coins were tucked safely into his pouch, Asuto turned his bike back toward the hills. The climb was steep, the sun now beating down with a fierce, tropical intensity that turned the air into a shimmering veil. By the time he reached the Inamori homestead a modest, traditional house surrounded by meticulously kept garden beds his shirt was clinging to his back.
He quickly changed into his working clothes, rugged trousers and a light, breathable tunic. He grabbed a pair of thick gloves and headed straight for the garden.
The soil was warm under his feet. He lost himself in the work, the repetitive motion of harvesting and weeding providing a different kind of peace. He worked with an efficiency that was almost mechanical, his focus absolute.
Suddenly, the screen door of the house creaked open.
Yuriko Inamori stepped out onto the porch. In her hand, she held a heavy iron hoe, the farming tool she had used to prepare this ground for decades. She looked thin, her skin a bit paler than usual, but her eyes still held that sharp, mischievous spark. She took a deep breath of the humid air and exhaled a long, satisfied sigh.
"What a beautiful day, don't you think, Sunny?" she called out, her voice carrying across the field.
Asuto snapped out of his trance, his head whipping around. His heart hammered against his ribs as he saw her walking toward the uneven ground of the garden, her steps slightly rhythmic but noticeably unsteady. She swayed for a second, a brief dizzy spell making the world tilt.
"Mother!" Asuto dropped his spade, his voice thick with a mixture of fear and frustration. "You should be resting! You know that, right?"
He sprinted across the rows of crops, his boots kicking up dust. He reached her just as she stumbled slightly, his hands catching her elbows and steadying her. He held her firmly, his eyes scanning her face for any sign of a relapse.
"Thanks, Sunny," she said, her voice airy as she leaned into his support for a moment. "But you don't have to worry that much, alright? You know that I'm just fine. See?"
To prove her point, she pulled away and did a small, theatrical spin, her skirts fluttering. She ended with a wide, bright smile, though Asuto could see the way her fingers gripped the handle of the hoe until her knuckles turned white.
Asuto crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed. "You shouldn't really move too much today, Mother. You should rest as the doctor just said. You promised you would stay in bed until the afternoon."
"Nonsense!" Yuriko waved a hand dismissively, though she used the hoe as a makeshift cane to lean on. "We have plenty of work to do right now! The soil is perfect for tilling, and if we wait for the rain tonight, it'll be too heavy to move."
She marched past him or at least tried to march and slammed the blade of the hoe into the earth with a dull *thwack*. She looked around the lush garden, her chest swelling with pride. "Look at all of this, Asuto. How couldn't I want to work on improving our harvest today, huh? This garden is part of us."
"Mother, come on now," Asuto said, his voice dropping into a pleading tone. He stepped closer, reaching for the tool. "I can handle today's work. I’ve already finished the deliveries and the weeding. Just go back inside and rest up. Please."
She looked at him and shook her head, her smile turning into a determined smirk. She began to pull the hoe through the dirt, tilling the earth with a strength that seemed to come from her spirit rather than her fragile body. "It won't work today, Sunny. I haven't rested a lot for the past couple of months, and I'm not starting now."
She paused, looking at him over her shoulder. "Besides, you shouldn't be wasting your energy hovering over me. You should focus on that Football of yours. You have practice later, don't you?"
Asuto sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of his responsibility. "Helping you is more important right now, Mother. I want to give you less work to do so you can recover properly. If I do the tilling, you can sleep. That’s the deal."
Yuriko let out a hearty, melodic laugh that ended in a short cough she tried to hide. "Now, now, enough of this! I feel like some ancient woman from the way you keep training me! I'm tougher than I look, you know? I’ve survived island storms and failed harvests long before you were born."
"I know, but-"
*Whack!*
Yuriko reached out and delivered a cheerful, stinging slap to his back, her palm connecting with a sound that echoed through the garden.
"Enough with the 'buts'! If you’re so worried about me, then pick up that other hoe and start working! Let's get back to it!"
Asuto stood there for a moment, rubbing his back. He knew that look in her eyes. It was the same stubbornness he saw in the mirror every morning before a big match. She wasn't just working for the sake of the vegetables; she was working to feel alive, to feel like she wasn't just a patient in her own home.
He sighed again, but this time, a small, resigned smile played on his lips. "You’re impossible."
"I'm your mother," she corrected, winking at him.
Knowing he couldn't win the argument, Asuto pivoted his strategy. He picked up his tools and began to work alongside her, but he moved with a frantic, quiet energy. Every time she reached for a heavy stone, he was already there to move it. Every time she moved toward a particularly tough patch of dry earth, he intercepted her, claiming he "needed to practice his footwork" in that specific spot.
He multitasked with the precision of a midfielder, keeping one eye on the horizon of the garden and the other firmly on his mother, ready to catch her the moment her strength finally wavered. The sun continued to beat down on them, a golden witness to the quiet, fierce love between a boy and the mother who refused to let her light go out.
The tropical heat shimmered over the fields, the scent of turned earth and blooming jasmine filling the air as the two of them worked in a silent, synchronized dance of defiance and devotion.
The humidity of the morning had reached its peak, thick enough to feel like a second skin. The only reprieve was the occasional salt-tinged breeze that rolled off the cliffs, rustling the waxy leaves of the surrounding mango trees. Yuriko leaned into her work, the heavy iron head of the hoe biting into the dark, volcanic soil with a rhythm that was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain.
Suddenly, the world tilted.
A sharp, high-pitched hum like the drone of a thousand distant cicadas filled her ears, drowning out the sound of the ocean. Her vision blurred at the edges, the vibrant green of the garden turning into a hazy smear of emerald. She felt the strength drain from her knees, her heart thudding a ragged, uneven beat against her ribs. Gritting her teeth, she planted the handle of the hoe firmly into the dirt, using it as a makeshift crutch. She closed her eyes tight, taking a long, shuddering breath, waiting for the vertigo to pass.
"D....darn it..."
Behind her, Asuto was focused on a cluster of stubborn weeds, his back turned as he worked with quiet, methodical intensity. He didn’t see her stagger.
Yuriko took another breath, forced her eyes open, and blinked until the world settled back into place. She wiped a bead of cold sweat from her brow and glanced toward the upper ridge of the town. High above, nestled against the slope of the hill, sat the Inakuni Island Club’s dirt pitch. Even from this distance, she could see the flashes of movement small, energetic figures darting across the brown earth, a white speck of a ball bouncing between them.
A small, weary smile touched her lips. She knew that stride anywhere. Those were Asuto's friends.
"Looks like your friends are already starting practice!" she called out, her voice slightly strained but carrying that familiar, melodic lilt.
Asuto blinked, his hands pausing mid-motion. He stood up slowly, wiping the dirt onto his trousers, and followed his mother’s gaze up the hill. For a fleeting second, his eyes ignited with a raw, undeniable hunger. His fingers twitched, as if he could feel the phantom sensation of leather against his laces. Then, just as quickly, the light faded. He turned back to the carrot patch, his shoulders dropping.
"They'll be fine without me for a day," he said, his voice flat, trying to sound more convinced than he felt. He reached for another weed.
"You know..." Yuriko leaned on her hoe, watching him closely. "You should go practice. You’ve been ignoring your instincts for a while now, Sunny. I can hear your heart kicking that ball from here."
Asuto didn't look up. He just tugged harder at a root.
"Sunny..."
No answer.
"Asuto!" Yuriko barked, planting her free hand on her hip, her eyes flashing with a spark of that legendary Inamori fire.
Asuto finally sighed, dropping the weeds into a bucket. He looked at her, his expression a mix of exhaustion and stubborn devotion. "I'm okay, Mother. It's not that big of a deal. The garden needs more work than the soccer club does right now."
"Of course it's a big deal," she countered, a playful smirk dancing on her pale face. "It’s what you were born for. It's what you're good at. Don't tell me you’ve suddenly lost your love for the game?"
Asuto stood his ground, his gaze unwavering. "I do love it, Mother. But helping you is more important. The doctor said you need to take it easy, and 'taking it easy' doesn't involve tilling an entire terrace by yourself."
Yuriko crossed her arms, her head tilting defiantly. "Nonsense! You've already done enough. We've been out here for hours, and frankly, you're starting to get in my way. Why don't you take a break and go meet your friends, huh? I’m sure they’re wondering where their star player has vanished to."
"I told them I'd be busy for a while," Asuto said, his tone softening but remaining firm. "They understand. They’re all worried about you, too. Skipping one practice to make sure you don't overexert yourself is a very small price to pay."
*Thwack!*
Before he could react, Yuriko stepped forward and delivered a playful, stinging slap to his back. Asuto lurched forward, startled, a surprised "Argh" escaping him.
"Now now! What did I tell you about making me look like some frail old lady, huh?" she teased, though there was a flicker of genuine annoyance in her eyes. "I’m feeling much better now. The fresh air is doing wonders. In fact, I might even be ready for a nap soon."
Asuto rubbed his shoulder, a small, skeptical smile finally breaking through his armor. "You? Wanting to rest? You never want to rest, Mother. You’d try to harvest the whole island if I let you."
"Hey, do you hear me?" She leaned in closer, her smile softening into something more tender, more urgent. "Go play with your friends, alright? Go run until your lungs burn. That’s where you belong, Asuto. Not hunched over a pile of dirt with your old mother."
"Mother..." Asuto pouted, his lower lip jutting out in a way that reminded her of when he was five years old.
"I'm okay! Can you see?" She did a little theatrical hop, hiding the way her ankles felt like lead. "Besides, the two-man work is already finished. I’m just doing the finishing touches now. You can go rest your mind by focusing on the goal."
"Mother..." He was wavering, his eyes casting another long, yearning look toward the distant pitch.
Yuriko sighed, realizing she needed to give him an 'out' that his conscience could accept. "Alright, let's do it like this: come back after practice, and then you can help me rest. You can make the tea, tell me about the goals you scored, and make sure I’m tucked in early. Deal?"
Asuto bit his lip, considering the trade. "You don't really need to do this, Mother... I should be here..."
"I get it, I get it," she interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. "You'll help me more after you come back. You'll have all that nervous energy out of your system. Now go!" She stepped behind him and began physically shoving him toward the house, her small hands surprisingly strong against his back.
Asuto stumbled forward, laughing despite himself. "Okay, okay! Do you promise to rest while I'm out? I mean a real promise, Mother. No 'finishing the row' or 'checking the shed.'"
Yuriko smirked, her eyes twinkling. "Look at you now, so eager to go. I thought you were the world's most dedicated gardener five minutes ago?"
"I’m being serious..." Asuto stopped and turned, his gaze dropping all pretense of humor. He stared at her, his eyes wide and full of a protective, lingering worry that made her heart ache. "Promise me."
Yuriko felt a pang of guilt, but she masked it with a brilliant, reassuring smile. "Alright, alright. I promise. I'll sit right there in the shade of the porch. Now go. Go have fun for both of us."
Asuto hesitated for one more second, his feet rooted in the soil he had worked all morning. Then, with a final, reluctant sigh, he nodded. "Okay. I'll be back in an hour or so! Please, stay hydrated and rest up!"
"Just go!" she shouted, waving him away.
Asuto turned and sprinted toward the house. Inside, the sound of drawers opening and closing echoed out into the garden. A few minutes later, he emerged, transformed. The dusty work clothes werereplaced by his white and red training kit. He looked taller, more vibrant, as if the colors of the jersey had injected a fresh dose of life into his veins.
He paused at the edge of the porch, looking back at her one last time. Yuriko stood in the center of the garden, the sun silhouetting her small frame. She waved a hand vigorously, shooing him toward the path. With a final wave and a bright, "I'll be back soon!" Asuto turned and began the climb toward the town, his pace quickening into a run that looked as effortless as breathing.
Yuriko watched him go until he was nothing more than a white speck against the hillside. The smile she had been wearing slowly slid from her face, replaced by a look of profound, quiet exhaustion.
"This farm garden isn't for you, Asuto," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the rustle of the leaves. "You’ve got talent... a gift to go beyond this island, further than the horizon. You’re meant for the top." Her expression darkened with a fleeting, bitter shadow of regret. "Don't be a loser like me... or your father. Don't let the dirt claim you before you’ve had a chance to fly."
She turned back to the half-turned row of earth. She reached for the hoe, but as her fingers closed around the smooth wood, they began to shake. A violent, uncontrollable tremor ran through her hand. She stared at it for a moment, detached, as if it belonged to someone else.
With a low groan, she gripped the handle with both hands, using every ounce of her remaining will to steady herself. She looked at the soil, then up at the sun, and then back down at her work. She couldn't stop. Not yet. There was still so much to prepare for him, so much to ensure he had a home to come back to, even if she knew, deep down, that he was already leaving.
Slowly, painfully, she raised the hoe and brought it down into the earth once more. *Thwack.* The rhythm continued, slower now, a desperate, solitary sound in the vast, tropical heat.
The road leading from the Inamori homestead to the crest of the hill was a winding, treacherous ribbon of sun-bleached dirt and crushed seashells. On one side, the mountain rose in steep, jagged terraces of basalt and emerald fern, on the other, the land fell away sharply toward the glittering expanse of the Pacific, where the white caps of the waves looked like tiny, frozen jagged teeth against the horizon.
Asuto moved with a slow, rhythmic jog, his breathing steady despite the incline. His heart wanted to race ahead, toward the rhythmic *thud* of the football he could already hear echoing from the hilltop, but his mind kept tethered to the garden he had just left. He could still see the image of his mother leaning on that hoe, her knuckles white and her frame looking far too small against the vastness of the field.
"Asuto-chan!"
The voice broke through his internal monologue, high-pitched and vibrating with a familiar, restless energy. Asuto slowed his pace, his sneakers crunching against the gravel as he turned his head.
Scrambling up the path behind him, his orange hair a chaotic mess of tangles that seemed to catch every stray ray of sunlight, was Kyouno. The younger boy was practically vibrating with effort, his short legs moving in a frantic blur as he tried to bridge the gap. He was carrying a small wooden bucket, likely for some chore at the Sundries, but he didn't seem to care about the weight as he sprinted to catch up.
"Are you... huff... heading to... training?" Kyouno managed to squeeze the words out between ragged gasps for air. He pulled up alongside Asuto, his face a bright, flushed crimson, and wiped a bead of sweat from the tip of his nose with the back of his hand.
Asuto gave a small, encouraging nod, his pace never quite stopping but slowing enough for the younger boy to maintain. "Yeah," he answered, his voice calm and grounded. "Mother convinced me I’d done enough in the garden for one day. The club is already up there practicing."
Kyouno’s eyes widened, and he broke into a wide, gap-toothed grin. "That's awesome! I knew you'd be going! I saw the others heading up earlier, Goujin was making so much noise I think even the fish in the harbor heard him!"
Asuto smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. He looked forward again, his gaze fixing on the shimmering heat haze dancing over the dirt path ahead. His mind drifted back to the house. He pictured the porch, the shade of the mango trees, and the stubborn set of his mother’s jaw. She had promised to rest, but the Inamori blood was thick with a pride that didn't take well to sitting idle.
"Hmm..."
The small sound of hesitation caught Kyouno’s attention immediately. He looked up at Asuto, his eyebrows shooting toward his orange hairline. "Is there something wrong, Asuto-chan? Did you forget your cleats? Or maybe your water bottle? I can go back and get them!"
Asuto slowly shook his head, his fingers twitching at his sides. "No... I’m okay. It’s not that."
He stopped jogging entirely, coming to a halt near a weathered stone marker that overlooked the village below. He looked at Kyouno, really looking at him. The boy was energetic, reliable in his own chaotic way, and most importantly, he lived close by.
An idea began to take root in Asuto’s mind. It was a way to bridge the gap between his duty to his mother and his passion for the pitch.
"Kyouno," Asuto started, his tone shifting into something more serious, more focused. "Do you mind doing me a huge favor? A really important one?"
Kyouno straightened his back, the wooden bucket clattering against his leg as he stood to attention. "Anything! What is it?"
"Do you mind keeping an eye on my mother for a while?" Asuto asked, his voice dropping slightly as if sharing a secret. "I left her home alone, and she promised she’d rest on the porch... but you know how she is. She gets an idea in her head about the harvest, and suddenly she’s out there lifting heavy crates or tilling the soil when the sun is at its hottest."
He looked back toward the path leading to his home. "I don't want her to do something stupid while I'm not there to stop her."
Kyouno’s expression shifted instantly from playful to determined. He nodded so hard his orange hair flopped over his eyes. "Eh? Sure! I can do that! I have to deliver these supplies near your place anyway. I’ll make sure she stays right in that chair. If she even looks at a hoe, I’ll start singing loudly until she gets annoyed and goes back inside!"
Asuto chuckled, the tension in his shoulders finally beginning to ebb away. The image of Kyouno "guarding" the garden with off-key island songs was exactly the kind of ridiculous mental image he needed to clear his head.
"Alright," Asuto said, reaching out to give Kyouno’s shoulder a grateful squeeze. "Thanks a lot, Kyouno. It means a lot to me. If she tries to get up, just tell her... tell her I’ll know if she hasn't rested when I get back."
"You got it, Asuto-chan!" Kyouno grinned, already pivoting on his heels. He didn't waste a second, his energy redirected into this new mission. "Good luck with the training! Score a few goals for me!"
With that, the orange-haired boy took off back down the hill, his boots kicking up small puffs of orange dust as he vanished around the bend toward the Inamori homestead.
Asuto stood there for a moment, watching the dust settle. He let out a long, heavy sigh a sound of genuine relief that seemed to carry away the last of his lingering guilt. He adjusted the collar of his jersey, felt the familiar weight of his socks and the snug fit of his shoes, and turned his gaze back toward the summit.
The sound of the football was louder now. He could hear the sharp, clear whistle of Michinari and the boisterous, echoing laughter of Goujin. The island's spirit was calling, and for the first time that day, Asuto felt he could answer it with his whole heart.
He dug his toes into the dirt, leaned forward, and broke into a full sprint. He started sprinting, his shadow stretching long and thin behind him as he raced toward the dusty pitch of Inakuni Junior High, ready to lose himself in the game he loved.
...
At the highest point of the village, perched like a weathered lookout over the sprawling Pacific, lay the dusty grounds of Inakuni Junior High. It was a rugged patch of earth, beaten flat by years of footsteps and stained a deep, sun-baked orange. The air here was different from the garden below, thicker, vibrating with the electric friction of competition and the rhythmic, hollow *thud-thud-thud* of a leather ball colliding with dirt and bone.
The Inakuni Football Club was in the middle of a scrimmage, the players moving through the shimmering heat haze with a desperate, beautiful intensity.
Hiura Kirina, his icy blue hair swept back by the wind, moved like a predator in the tall grass. His eyes were calm, almost detached, as he calculated the geometry of the field. He glided, the ball tethered to his cleats as if by an invisible string.
"Here I go!!!"
The shout came from Hiyori Masakatsu. A small, scrappy force of nature with a savage energy, Hiyori lunged forward. His movements were jagged and unpredictable, his face twisted into a grin that was half-manic, half-joyful. He dove for the ball, his small frame kicking up a plume of dust. "Gah!!"
Hiura didn't blink. With a subtle shift of his weight, a feint so slight it was almost missed, he pulled the ball back, spun on his heel, and zipped past Hiyori.
"Hey! No fair!" Hiyori pouted, his sneakers skidding as he tried to arrest his momentum. He didn't wait to complain, immediately scrambling back onto his feet to give chase. "I'm not done with H-i-u-r-a-chan!"
The defense saw the threat coming. They moved in a synchronized wall, trying to pinch Hiura off before he could reach the "dead zone." Hiura’s calm grin didn't waver. He flicked the ball into the air, chesting it down with practiced grace as he scanned the perimeter.
"Are you guys gonna stop me or what?" he teased, his voice cool despite the sweat stinging his eyes.
"Golem! Hanta! Move up! Close the gap!"
The command came from Michinari Tatsumi. The captain was a blur of motion in the midfield, his brow furrowed with the weight of leadership. He was the anchor, the one who saw the cracks in the formation before they even formed.
"Hai, Captain!" Hanta Yusei responded. Wearing her signature ninja mask even in the sweltering heat, she moved with a silent, eerie fluidity. She flickered, her shadow dancing across the orange dirt as she abandoned her post to intercept the flank.
"Yes, Captain!" Iwato Takashi better known as Golem bellowed. He was a mountain of a boy, his massive frame casting a shadow that swallowed Hiura whole. He planted his feet, his knees bent, looking like a literal stone wall. "You shall not pass! Ha!"
Hiura felt the ground shake as Golem squared up. There was no going through him. Without looking, Hiura caught a glimpse of a white jersey out of the corner of his eye.
"Take it!"
He sent a crisp, low-driving pass toward Hiro Okuiri. Hiro, his glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose, pushed himself to his limit, his lungs burning. "It's mine!"
But before Hiro’s foot could connect, a blur of dark fabric cut the line. Hanta had appeared out of nowhere, her ninja-like instincts guiding her straight to the ball’s trajectory. "Hiya!" With a sharp, precise kick, she sent the ball spiraling away.
"Nice cut, Han-chan!" Golem roared, his voice booming across the hills.
"Nice defense, Golem!" Hanta shouted back, a brief flash of a smile visible in her eyes above the mask.
The ball was loose, and Mansaku Yuuchirou was already on it. Adjusting the brim of his hat, his yellow eyes sharp and predatory, he took control. "Pass!"
Hanta didn't hesitate, knocking the ball toward him. Mansaku received it on the turn, his first touch perfect. He surged forward, his long strides eating up the distance as he bore down on Hiura, who had doubled back to defend.
"Can you keep up, Hiura?" Mansaku challenged, a rare competitive edge in his voice.
"Don't get cocky! I'm right behind ya!" Hiura pivoted, his movements mirroring Mansaku’s as they danced a high-speed duet across the pitch.
Hiyori, having finally caught up, began running side-by-side with Mansaku, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Over here! Give it here!"
"Pass it back!" Mansaku grunted. He sent the ball to Hiyori, who immediately flicked it back in a rapid-fire one-two play. Hiura’s foot missed the interception by a fraction of an inch.
"Hehehe! Nice try!" Hiyori smirked, his savage energy seemingly bottomless.
"Not bad! But we still got it!" Hiura shouted, his calm demeanor finally cracking into a look of genuine excitement.
Mansaku gathered the return pass and didn't wait for a better angle. He wound up, his leg muscles tensing like a drawn bowstring. "Take this!"
The ball screamed through the air, a white blur aimed directly for the top corner of the goal. It looked like a certain point. The defense was beaten, the midfield was out of position.
Then, the world seemed to shift.
A flash of movement faster than the eye could track erupted from the sidelines. A boy seemed to materialize out of the very dust of the pitch. With a sudden, explosive stop, the ball hit his chest and dropped dead at his feet, as if all its momentum had been vacuumed out of existence.
The field went silent. The only sound was the wind whistling through the rusted goalposts.
"Asuto!" The team shouted out in a ragged, joyful unison.
Asuto stood there, his hair messy, his training kit slightly damp, and a mischievous, sun-drenched smirk on his face. He kept the ball pinned under his foot, looking as if he hadn't just sprinted from the bottom of the hill.
"Hey guys," he breathed, his chest heaving slightly but his eyes bright. "What was I missing?"
Mansaku let out a long, theatrical sigh, wiping his forehead. "Just the best goal ever. You sure know how to ruin a highlight reel, Asuto."
"You're here! Asuto!" Umihara Norika cheered. The goalkeeper had been poised to dive, her tanned skin glistening with sweat, her ponytail a mess of dark green. She bounced on the balls of her feet, her smile wide and radiant.
"Guys! Back to your positions! The real game starts now!" Michinari shouted, his voice cracking with renewed authority. "Let's go, Asuto!"
"Pass it here, Asuto!" Goujin Tetsunosuke yelled. He stood in the center of the field, his arms wide, his voice booming with the kind of confidence that could move mountains. "I'm wide open! Let's show 'em the power!"
Asuto didn't waste a second. With a flick of his ankle, he quickly moved toward Goujin. "Going your way, Goujin!"
Hiro, watching the play with analytical precision, pointed toward the flank. "Asuto! To the right! There's a gap in the coverage!"
"Alright!" Asuto took off. He was a spark, a bolt of lightning hitting the pitch. He moved with a raw, natural agility that made the others look like they were running through water. He dribbled around Golem with a quick shimmy, then ducked under Hanta’s reach before she could even set her feet.
"Wow! Asuto is super fast today!" Golem shouted, turning his massive body around only to find Asuto already ten yards away.
"Let's get back, Golem! Don't let him breathe!" Handa shouted, her ninja-style sprint a desperate attempt to catch the island’s star.
Up ahead, Mansaku had anchored the backline, and Norika was ready. She swiped her bangs out of her eyes, her gaze locked on Asuto’s feet. "Don't think you're getting past me today, Asuto!" she challenged, her voice full of grit.
Goujin received the ball and took a thunderous shot, but Michinari the diligent captain threw his whole body into the line of fire, blocking the strike with his shins.
"Keep your focus, everyone!" Michinari urged as he scrambled to his feet. "We might not have a big stadium, but we have the island's spirit! We play for Inakuni!" He tried to clear the ball to Hiyori, but Asuto was already there, his foot interposing itself like a ghost.
"Hey!" Michinari barked, surprised by the speed.
"Gah!" Hiyori tried to recover, lunging toward Asuto with a wild tackle.
Asuto didn't panic. He performed a lightning-fast 'Marseille Turn,' the ball rolling under his sole as he spun. Hiyori’s momentum carried him right past, and the boy ended up sitting in the dirt with a confused *thud*.
"You okay, Gao-san?" Asuto asked, even as he sent a back-heel pass toward Goujin, reaching down a hand to help his friend up.
"Gah! A-s-u-t-o-san moves like a spark!" Hiyori stood up, dusting off his shorts and grinning. "But Gao will get you next time! I’m charging my batteries!"
Asuto laughed, already turning back to the play. "Goujin! Shoot up!"
"Haaah!" Goujin put everything he had into the strike. The ball roared toward the net, but Norika launched herself through the air like a cat. *Smack!* She caught the ball firmly against her chest, rolling across the dirt and coming up with a triumphant look.
"Nice try! Tee-hee~" She winked, launching the ball back into play with a powerful overhand throw.
"I almost got it! Argh!" Goujin hissed, kicking the dirt in mock frustration.
"Feel you, man," Mansaku said, patting Goujin’s back as they both turned to chase the ball once more.
High above them, in the shadowed window of the old school building, a figure watched. It was a silhouette that didn't move, its presence cold and observant, a stark contrast to the warmth and life exploding on the pitch below.
...
An hour later, the sun had begun its slow descent, painting the island in shades of burnt sienna and deep violet. The team finally called it a day, collapsing onto the weathered school stairs. The air was filled with the heavy scent of sea salt and the frantic, buzzing chorus of the cicadas in the nearby trees.
"Hahhhh...." Norika let out a long sigh of pure satisfaction, leaning back on her elbows. She took a long swig from her water bottle, the cool liquid a heavenly contrast to the heat.
"Nice shot, Goujin," Mansaku said, leaning forward with his head between his knees, trying to catch his breath. "That last one had some real heat on it."
"Yeah, I thought it was going to go in for sure," Goujin replied. He was sprawled out on a step, his chest heaving, but he quickly sat up with a bright smile.
"I don't think I would have caught it if your course was a little sharper," Norika added, looking at Goujin over her shoulder. "You're improving a lot, Goujin. Seriously."
Goujin’s face turned a shade of pink that had nothing to do with the sunset. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away bashfully. "Well, hehe, I did feel a bit of a kickback on my running... maybe I’m finally getting the hang of it."
"Careful," Asuto said, wiping his face with a towel and smiling at his friend. "At this rate, you'll be a match for the mainland’s timing. They won't know what hit 'em."
"Ehehe, don't sweet talk me!" Goujin laughed, reaching over and playfully ruffling Asuto’s hair until it stood up in even wilder spikes.
"Hey, hehehe! Stop it!" Asuto laughed, ducking away to adjust his hair.
Norika watched them, her expression turning thoughtful. She looked out over the ocean, where the distant lights of the mainland were just beginning to glimmer like fallen stars. "Heh... football is really something, isn't it?" she murmured. "It really helps you forget everything you were worrying about. The moment that ball starts moving, the rest of the world just... disappears."
"Ohh!" Hiyori looked at her, his savage energy replaced by genuine surprise. "N-o-r-i-k-a-sama has worries? That surprises Gao! I thought you were just made of sunshine and saves!"
Norika’s eyes narrowed playfully. She raised her fists, her knuckles cracking. "Do you want me to punch you, huh? I can show you some 'worries' right now."
"S-scary!" Hiyori squealed, jumping behind Golem for protection.
"Everyone played very well today," Asuto said, his voice quiet but full of pride. He looked at his teammates, this ragtag group of island kids who played with more heart than anyone he’d ever met.
"It's very good to have you here, Asuto," Michinari said, leaning against the railing with a supportive smile.
The rest of the team nodded in unison, the camaraderie thick in the air. But then, the atmosphere shifted. Hiro adjusted his glasses, the light reflecting off the lenses so Asuto couldn't see his eyes.
"How is your mother, Asuto?" he asked softly.
The laughter died away. An awkward, heavy silence settled over the stairs. Everyone stared at Asuto, their expressions guarded, waiting for an answer they were almost afraid to hear.
Asuto blinked, the question catching him off guard. He looked down at his hands, which were still stained with the dark soil of his garden. He thought of her leaning on the hoe, her hand shaking, the way she had pushed him away so he could play. He took a slow breath and forced a smile.
"She's okay," he said, his voice steady. "Better than lately, actually. She was even out in the garden today."
"That's great! I hope she gets well soon!" Norika said quickly, her relief evident.
"Yeah! Tell her we’re all rooting for her!" Goujin added, punching the air.
"Me too," Mansaku nodded. "She’s the toughest lady on the island."
They all nodded, but the silence that followed was different, it was the silence of people who knew they were standing on the edge of something. Hanta was the one to break it, let out a long, dramatic sigh as she stared up at the sky.
"Ai ai.... I would love to play in a real match," she whispered, her voice tinged with a rare longing. "A match where the stakes actually matter."
Hiro pushed his glasses up. "That would be great. But look at where we are."
"I'd like that too," Hiura added, his calm eyes looking toward the horizon.
"This island only has elementary schools and older people as opponents," Hiro continued, his voice practical. "We’ve outgrown our surroundings."
"Kinda boring, right?" Goujin added, resting his hands behind his head. "I want to see what else is out there. I want to know if we're actually good, or just 'island good'."
"If we want a real match, it should be against the mainland teams, right?" Golem asked, looking a bit confused by the complexity of the conversation.
"Ehehe, that's the point, Golem!" Hanta giggled, poking his massive arm.
Goujin stood up, his eyes burning with a sudden fire. "Man, I can't wait for the Football Frontier! We’re going to show the mainland what Inakuni is made of! We should go ask the principal to get us a game! Right now! Why wait?"
"Yeah!" The others cheered, the excitement catching like a wildfire.
"But... the principal is... kinda scary," Hiro reminded them, his shoulders tensing. "Fuyukai-sama doesn't exactly seem like a 'sports' guy."
"Yeah... who's actually going to go in there and ask him?" Mansaku asked, looking around the circle. Suddenly, everyone became very interested in their shoes or their water bottles.
"Should I go ask?" Asuto offered, rubbing his chin.
"Now, now," Michinari stepped forward, a determined smirk on his face. He straightened his jersey, his posture shifting into that of a true captain. "I'm the leader here, so it's my job. I’ll go."
"Nice one, Captain!" Goujin grinned, giving him a thumbs-up.
"I will ask if he can request a practice game with a mainland school for us," Michinari said, his voice firming up. "It’s time we stepped out of the shadow of this island."
"Do you need help?" Asuto asked, stepping toward him.
"No, it's okay," Michinari sighed, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of nerves. "I know how to deal with him. Don't worry about me. You guys just get some rest. We’ll need it if he actually says yes."
"Good luck there." Asuto waves at Michinari.
The others nodded and waved.
As Michinari turned to walk toward the dark, imposing silhouette of the school building, the rest of the team watched him go, a mixture of hope and dread swirling in the cooling island air.
The transition from the vibrant, salt-sprayed air of the hilltop pitch to the interior of Inakuni Junior High was jarring. The school’s hallways were dim, smelling of floor wax and old, sun-bleached wood. As Michinari walked toward the principal’s office, his cleats clicked rhythmically against the linoleum, a sharp, military sound that felt out of place in the quiet school. Behind him, the rest of the team followed in a hushed, stumbling cluster, their shadows stretching long against the locker-lined walls.
Michinari stopped in front of the heavy oak door. He took a deep, stabilizing breath, adjusted his captain’s band, and knocked.
"Enter," a voice drawled thin, reedy, and entirely devoid of warmth.
Michinari stepped inside. The office was stiflingly cold, the air-conditioning unit humming with a low, mechanical whine that seemed to suck the life out of the room. Principal Fuyukai sat behind a massive, cluttered desk, though he wasn't looking at his guest. He remained turned away, staring out the window at the distant, sparkling ocean with his hands clasped behind his back.
"A practice match..." Fuyukai murmured, the words sounding like a curiosity he was examining under a microscope. He turned slightly, the light reflecting off his spectacles so that his eyes were hidden behind twin disks of white glare. "Unfortunately, that is entirely out of the question."
Michinari felt a jolt of confusion. He stepped further into the room, his brow furrowing. "Mr. Principal... I truly believe a practice match is what we need right now. It would help the team improve, give us the experience we need to reach a competitive level before the Frontier begins. We've worked so hard on the island, but we need to see how we stack up against the mainland."
"Can’t do it," Fuyukai said, his voice as flat as a dead calm sea.
Michinari’s eyes widened. He gripped the strap of his sports bag until his knuckles turned white. "Mr. Principal-"
"Football has grown too fierce, Michinari-kun. And Inakuni... well, Inakuni has fallen behind on its ferocity," Fuyukai added, finally turning his chair to face the boy. He looked like a man made of paper and ink, brittle and dry.
"What do you mean?" Michinari asked, his voice trembling with a mix of confusion and rising frustration. "We play with everything we have! You saw us out there today!"
Fuyukai leaned forward, his fingers interlacing on the mahogany surface of his desk. "Have you heard about the Sponsor Program?"
"Yes," Michinari said, trying to keep his tone respectful. "That program they've begun to implement on the mainland teams, right? To help with funding?"
"Football has grown so popular, so massive in its scale, that large sums of money are now necessary for team operations to be managed safely."
Fuyukai explained, his voice clinical. "A sponsor provides that capital. They support the management, the equipment, the travel, and the status of the club. In modern Japan, a team without a sponsor is a team that does not exist."
A heavy, deathly silence descended upon the room. The only sound was the faint *drip-drip* of a leaky faucet in the corner.
"The Football Frontier Association has mandated that all of Japan’s football teams must be backed by a corporate sponsor," Fuyukai said, his fingers beginning a slow, rhythmic tapping on the desk. *Tap. Tap. Tap.*
"However... I am sorry to say that Inakuni Junior High does not have a sponsor. Nor is there any company interested in backing a small, remote island school with no track record." He reached up, adjusting his glasses with a predatory precision.
"That's... that's something we can manage to get!" Michinari blurted out, leaning over the desk. "We just need a chance to play! If we show them how good we are, if we win a few games on the mainland, a sponsor will notice us! We just need that first match—"
"Such a thing will not happen," Fuyukai interrupted, his words cutting through Michinari’s hope like a blade.
Michinari’s eyes narrowed, his breath hitching in his chest. A cold realization began to settle in his gut, heavier than lead. "So... you mean... that our club is... disbanded?"
Outside the door, the rest of the Inakuni team was a tangled mess of limbs and bated breath. They were all leaning against the wood, their ears pressed so hard against the grain they could hear the thrumming of the school's plumbing.
"No way..." Hiro whispered, his hand trembling as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. "He can't be serious. Disbanded? Just like that?"
"What kind of madness is this!?" Goujin shouted, his voice booming in the quiet hallway. He slammed a fist into his palm, his face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. "We’ve been sweating blood out there for months! They can't just take it away because of some stupid money!"
"Shhh! Keep it down!" Norika hissed, grabbing Goujin by the collar of his jersey and pulling him back. She leaned her head back against the door, her eyes bright with a sudden, sharp fear. "I want to hear what Michinari says! Shut up!"
The team looked at each other, the usual camaraderie replaced by a shivering, collective dread. Golem stood at the back, his massive shoulders hunched as if he were trying to make himself smaller, while Hanta bit her lip so hard it nearly bled.
Inside the office, Michinari was struggling to maintain his composure. "Everyone on this island loves football, Mr. Principal. The townspeople, the kids... even the elders come to watch us. It makes no sense to end it all because of a technicality! We are a team! We are Inakuni!"
"It doesn't matter what the island wants," Fuyukai said. He stood up, looking down at Michinari with an expression of cold pity. "What matters is the ledger. You either have a sponsor, or you do not. That is the beginning and the end of the conversation."
"Does that rule even apply to a small island like ours?" Michinari demanded, his voice rising in volume. "We aren't a massive mainland school! We wouldn't have the risk of too many people gathering or whatever safety concerns they have! We’re just kids playing a game!"
Fuyukai’s lips curled into a thin, mocking smirk. "Rules are rules, Michinari-kun. There is no exception for geography. There is no exception for 'heart'." He paused, letting the weight of his next words hang in the freezing air. "So, with that said, the Inakuni Football Club is officially over. As of this moment."
Michinari’s eyes went wide, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. The world seemed to tilt on its axis.
Outside, the reaction was instantaneous.
"T-this is nuts..." Golem whispered, his voice cracking. He looked like a giant who had suddenly realized the ground was made of glass.
Hanta reached up, petting Golem’s back with a slow, shaky hand, though she looked just as lost. "What are we going to do now? If we can't play... what's left?"
"F-o-o-t-b-a-l-l over?" Hiyori stammered. The boy who was usually a fountain of savage energy looked utterly broken. His eyes filled with tears that began to track through the dust on his cheeks. "But... but I just learned that new dribble... I wanted to show Asuto..."
Mansaku reached out, pulling Hiyori into a rough, protective embrace. He petted the boy's head, his own expression one of grim, silent fury. "Now, now... don't cry, Hiyori. We’ll figure something out. We have to." He looked toward the door, his jaw set. "Darn it... this can't go on! This is wrong!"
"That's it! I'm going in!" Goujin snarled, his eyes bugging out. "I'm gonna tell that old stick-in-the-mud exactly what he can do with his rules! Let's get inside and end this nonsense!"
"Calm down, Goujin! Please!" Norika shouted, throwing herself in front of the door to block his path. She held her arms out wide, her face pale. "I’m sure the Captain will be able to deal with this! If we all rush in there, we’ll just make it worse! Trust Michinari!"
Back inside, Michinari was staring at the floor, his hands curled into tremulous fists. "No way..." he whispered, the sound vibrating with a dark, challenging energy.
"What’s up with that rebellious face?" Fuyukai asked, his voice dripping with condescension. "You are a student. You follow the directives of the school. Go home, Michinari-kun. Find another hobby. Perhaps gardening? I hear the Inamori family is quite good at it."
Michinari looked up, his eyes burning with a fire that hadn't been there a moment ago. He was about to speak, about to pour out every ounce of his soul in a final plea-
*VRRRRR-RUMBLE!*
A loud, mechanical roar erupted from outside. It was a deep, guttural sound that shook the very foundations of the school building. The windows in the office rattled in their frames, and the floor vibrated beneath Michinari’s cleats.
In the hallway, the team scrambled.
"What is that!?" Hiura shouted, looking around wildly as a framed picture of a past graduating class fell off the wall and shattered.
"It’s coming from the pitch! Let’s go!" Hiro shouted, his analytical mind already tracing the source of the vibration.
The team sprinted down the hallway, their footsteps a frantic thunder. Michinari didn't wait for Fuyukai’s permission, he turned and bolted out of the office, pushing past his teammates and racing toward the window.
His eyes darted and his breath died in his throat.
A massive orange bulldozer, its metal treads churning up the orange earth, was crawling onto the Inakuni pitch. Behind it, several more construction vehicles followed, their engines belching thick, black smoke into the pristine island air. Men in hard hats were already unfolding blueprints, pointing toward the center circle where they had just been standing an hour ago.
Michinari’s eyes went wide with a visceral terror. "No..." he choked out. "They aren't just disbanding the club... they're destroying the field."
...
The air inside the Inakuni Junior High hallway was thick with the scent of old floor wax and the metallic tang of sudden, frantic terror. Outside, the world was ending in a cacophony of grinding gears and shattering wood.
Michinari pressed his face against the glass of the narrow window, his breath fogging the pane in quick, jagged bursts. His pupils shrunk to pinpricks as the color drained from his lips.
"Hey! Stay inside the school!"
A man in a fluorescent safety vest and a hard hat stepped into the doorway, his boots thumping heavily against the threshold. He stood like a wall, arms outstretched to bar the exit.
"Get out of our way! What's going on outside!?" Goujin roared, his face turning a dangerous shade of purple. He tried to shove past Michinari, his hands balled into trembling fists. "That’s our pitch! Why are those things on our pitch!?"
"Let us through! You have no right to do this!" Mansaku shouted, his voice cracking with a mixture of rage and disbelief. He grabbed the edge of the doorframe, his knuckles white.
"Stay inside the building and be quiet!" The worker shouted back, his voice strained. He didn't look happy to be there, but he wasn't moving. "It's a construction zone now! It’s for your own safety!"
"Why you little-" Goujin snarled, his eyes flashing. He lowered his shoulder, preparing to charge the man like a bull.
"Goujin! Stop it! Calm down!" Hiro lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Goujin’s waist and digging his heels into the floor. His glasses slid down the bridge of his sweat-slicked nose. "We can’t fight an adult! You’ll get us all in trouble before we even know what’s happening!"
"Let us pass! Please!" Norika pleaded, her voice small and trembling. She clutched the front of her school uniform, her knuckles pressed against her heart. "That’s where we play... that’s our home..."
"I can't do that! You guys are secure inside! Stay away from the glass!" The worker barked, wiping a thick bead of sweat from his temple.
Then came a sound that none of them would ever forget. It was a deep, guttural groan of metal meeting wood, followed by a sickening *CRACK* that echoed through the valley.
The players scrambled to the windows, their faces pressed against the glass in a line of silent horror.
Outside, the peaceful green heart of Inakuni Island was being torn open. A massive yellow bulldozer, looking like a prehistoric beast with gnashing metal teeth, drove its blade deep into the center circle. The professional-grade turf, the grass they had mowed, watered, and tended to with their own hands was being peeled back like scorched skin, revealing the raw, brown dirt beneath.
A second machine, an excavator with a heavy wrecking ball, swung with a rhythmic, heartless momentum. It slammed into the wooden bleachers they had sat on every afternoon. The wood splintered into a thousand jagged white shards, flying into the air like bone fragments.
"T-the field..." Norika’s hands flew to her mouth. Her eyes were wide, glazed with a sudden, freezing terror as she watched the goalposts, the white frames she had spent her life guarding bend and snap under the weight of the debris.
"No... Our... our field..." Hanta gasped. She retreated from the window, her small frame trembling so violently that she bumped into Golem. She grabbed onto the back of his shirt, burying her face in the fabric to block out the sight.
Golem didn't say a word. He leaned over her, his massive shadow offering a small sanctuary of safety, but his own face was a mask of grief. He looked at the window, watched a bulldozer crush the corner flag they had hand-painted, and then closed his eyes tight. He turned his head away, his jaw set so hard the muscles in his neck stood out like cords.
"WAAAA!!!!" Hiyori’s sob was a high-pitched wail that cut through the rumbling of the engines. He threw himself at Hiura, wrapping his arms around the older boy's waist and burying his face in his chest.
Hiura held him, his fingers digging into Hiyori’s shoulders to keep him steady. Usually the most composed member of the team, Hiura was now grinding his teeth so loudly it was audible over the chaos. His eyes were fixed on the destruction, his pupils vibrating with a cold, helpless fury.
Every blow of the wrecking ball felt like it was landing on their own ribs. Every roar of an engine made them flinch, their bodies recoiling as the only world they knew was systematically erased.
Mansaku’s head snapped to the side, his eyes darting frantically across the hallway. "Wait... where is Asuto!?"
The question hung in the air, cold and sharp. Hiro adjusted his glasses, his hands shaking. "I... I don't think he was with us when the alarm went off. He wasn't in the clubroom."
"Yeah!" Golem rumbled, his voice thick. "Asuto stayed outside... he said he was going to walk home the long way... across the..."
Golem trailed off as the realization hit them all like a physical blow.
"You guys stay here! I'm going to get him!" Mansaku didn't wait for permission. He dove toward the side exit, his movements a blur of desperation.
"Wait for me!!!" Goujin shouted, shaking off Hiro’s grip. He sprinted after Mansaku, but just as he reached the door, another massive explosion of sound rocked the building. The ground buckled, and Goujin was thrown backward, his sneakers sliding out from under him. "Woah!"
"Goujin! Are you okay!?" Norika cried out, dropping to her knees to help him up. "Don't move! The ground is shaking too much!"
"Yeah... man... what a nightmare..." Goujin groaned, staring at the ceiling as if he expected the whole school to collapse.
Outside, the worker at the door spotted a small figure standing in the middle of the carnage. "Hey! Kid! Get inside now! It's not safe!"
He started to move toward the figure, but Mansaku came flying through the side door like a cannonball. He didn't look at the worker, he launched himself into a tackle, his shoulder catching the man in the midsection and sending them both sprawling into the dirt. "Urgh!"
Mansaku didn't stay down. He scrambled to his feet and sprinted into the dust, ignoring the massive blows of the wrecking ball and the quakes that made the island feel like it was breaking apart.
Asuto stood in the center of the chaos. His eyes narrowing.
The wind whipped his hair across his forehead, and his eyes were narrowed against the grit and smoke. He watched as the excavator’s bucket bit into the earth right where he had practiced his first dribble. He couldn't process it. It was too fast, too loud, too violent.
A wrecking ball swung through the air with a terrifying whistle, slamming into the ground barely ten feet away from him. The impact sent a shockwave through the soles of his shoes, and a massive cloud of grey dust billowed upward, swallowing him whole.
Asuto threw his arms up to cover his eyes, coughing as the dry earth filled his lungs. When the dust finally began to settle, he lowered his arms.
Everything was gone. The green was buried under grey rubble and brown scars. The goalposts were twisted metal carcasses.
"Asuto! Let's get inside! Now!"
Mansaku reached him, his chest heaving, his face streaked with sweat and dirt. He grabbed Asuto by the shoulder, trying to haul him toward the school.
Asuto turned his head slowly. His eyes were dark, the light that usually filled them replaced by something sharp and jagged. "Mansaku... what is this? Why are they doing this?"
"They disbanded the team, Asuto...," Mansaku said, his voice breaking. He closed his eyes, unable to look at his friend's face. "We can no longer play. It’s over."
"Disbanded..." Asuto whispered. The word felt heavy, like a stone in his mouth. He looked back at the ruins of his world, and the grief in his chest suddenly curdled into something hotter. Something louder.
Mansaku gripped Asuto’s arm tighter. "Asuto! We have to go! You’re going to get hurt!"
Asuto ripped his arm away with a violent jerk. His eyes were wide now, filled with a terrifying, incandescent determination. "I won't let them. I won't let them take football away from us!"
Before Mansaku could react, Asuto bolted as he ran straight toward the heart of the destruction.
"ASUTO! STOP!" Mansaku screamed, his voice lost in the roar of the engines.
A group of workers stood near a flatbed truck, holding blueprints and shouting over the noise. They didn't notice the boy until he was practically on top of them.
"STOP!" Asuto’s voice cracked through the air like a gunshot.
The workers froze, their heads turning in unison. Asuto stood before them, his chest heaving, his small frame looking impossibly fragile against the backdrop of the bulldozers. "These are our grounds! You can't be here!"
One of the workers, a thick-necked man with a cigarette tucked behind his ear, let out a short, harsh laugh. "What are you talking about, kid? This area is zoned for redevelopment. This isn't a playground anymore. Get back inside the building before you get flattened." He turned back to his blueprints, dismissing Asuto like a stray dog.
"STOP!" Asuto lunged forward, his fingers digging into the man's thick forearm.
"Out of the way!" The worker barked, swinging his arm back. He didn't mean to throw the boy, but the sheer difference in weight was too much.
Asuto stumbled back, his sneakers sliding in the fresh mud, but he didn't fall. He let out a primal, guttural cry- "HAAAAHHHH!" -and charged again.
The worker’s eyes widened as the boy slammed into his back.
He grunted, reaching back to grab Asuto by the collar and swinging him around, throwing him toward the dirt. Asuto hit the ground hard, rolling once, but he was back on his feet before the dust could even settle.
"HAAAAHHHH!"
He charged a third time, his movements jagged and desperate. The worker dodged him, then dodged him again as Asuto lunged with blind, sobbing fury.
"Why you little...!" The worker lost his patience. He stepped into Asuto’s path, grabbed the front of his shirt with both hands, and slammed him down into the dirt.
Asuto hit the ground with a heavy *oomph*, the air escaping his lungs in a ragged gasp. He lay there for a second, his face pressed into the soil he had loved so much. "Y-you... monster..." he wheezed.
"Asuto!"
Mansaku and Michinari reached him at the same time, sliding into the dirt and grabbing him under his arms. They hauled him up, their faces pale with terror.
"Stop interrupting our work, kid! Go home!" the worker shouted, his own hands shaking slightly from the adrenaline of the scuffle.
"I won't let you do this! You monster!" Asuto screamed, his voice echoing off the hills of the island. He tried to lunge forward again, his fingers clawing at the air.
Mansaku threw his arms around Asuto from behind, pinning his arms to his sides in a desperate hug. "Asuto! Asuto, calm down! Please!"
Michinari stood directly in front of him, his hands on Asuto’s shoulders, his own eyes brimming with tears. "Asuto, listen to me! It's not working! You're going to get hurt!"
"W-what a weird kid..." the worker muttered, stepping back. He looked at the other men, his bravado fading into a strange, unsettled worry. "Let's just... let's just get back to the machines. Ignore them."
The construction crew turned and walked away, their heavy boots thumping on the ruined earth.
Asuto didn't stop. He fought against Mansaku’s grip with a strength that shouldn't have been possible for a boy his size. His gaze was dangerous, fixed on the retreating backs of the men who were killing his dream.
"YOU MONSTERS!!!!!"
The roar ripped out of his throat, raw and agonizing. His eyes were wide, the whites showing all the way around his pupils. "You can't do this! This is our field! This is where we play! THIS IS ALL WE HAVE!"
He slumped suddenly, the fight draining out of him as the weight of the reality finally broke through. Mansaku lowered him gently to the ground.
Asuto fell to his knees. He didn't cry silently. He dug his fingers into the raw, torn dirt of the pitch, his nails filling with the earth he had spent years tending. He raised his fist and slammed it into the ground, over and over, the sound of his knuckles hitting the earth a dull, rhythmic thud.
"YOU MONSTERS!!!!!"
The scream drifted across the ocean, a lonely, broken sound that signaled the end of Inakuni Island's innocence. Behind them, the school building stood silent, the rest of the team watching from the glass, their faces reflecting a world that was no longer theirs.
...
The dust from the construction site hadn't even settled before the world began to fracture in a different way. The air was thick with the smell of churned earth and diesel, a heavy, suffocating blanket that seemed to press down on the Inakuni team as they huddled near the school’s side entrance.
Norika moved with a practiced, quiet efficiency, her fingers trembling slightly as she opened the small plastic first-aid kit. Asuto sat on a low concrete step, his eyes fixed on a distant, invisible point. His knees were raw, the skin scraped away by the gravel, and his knuckles were swollen and stained with dirt.
"Hold still," Norika whispered. She pressed an alcohol-soaked cotton ball against his knee.
Asuto hissed, his leg jerking instinctively. The sting was sharp and cold, but it barely registered against the hollow ache in his chest. Norika didn't apologize, she just worked, her eyes focused on the task. She wound the white bandages around his joints, the fabric stark and bright against his tan skin.
"Being disbanded... it’s unacceptable," Norika said, her voice shaking as she clipped the bandage into place. "But you shouldn't have outdone yourself like that, Asuto. You could have been seriously hurt."
"Are you all just going to sit and watch as they do this?" Asuto’s voice was hollow, devoid of its usual warmth. He didn't look at her. "They’re right there. Tearing it all up."
Norika’s eyes widened, the cotton ball slipping from her fingers. Mansaku let out a sharp, frustrated hiss and kicked at a loose stone. Michinari simply leaned against the brick wall, his shadow long and jagged on the ground. He let out a sigh that sounded like it had been years in the making.
"Of course not... but Asuto- " Norika started, her gaze narrowing with a mix of pity and helplessness.
"We can’t do anything, Asuto," Michinari interrupted, his voice flat. "The decision came from the top. It was the Principal. Those men out there? They’re just doing a job they were hired for. Fighting them won't bring the grass back."
"It doesn't matter," Asuto said. His hands, now wrapped in white gauze, curled back into fists.
"Asuto..." Michinari whispered. He looked at his captain's band, then at the boy on the steps. He felt the weight of leadership crumbling like the bleachers.
"Asuto, please, just calm down," Norika pleaded. She reached out, gently covering his bandaged fists with her hands, forcing his fingers to loosen. "You’re going to break the skin again."
"Mom was right," Asuto whispered, his voice cracking. "I shouldn't have stopped to play. Now... I might never be able to play again. They took the field. They took the team. What’s left?"
The three of them Michinari, Norika, and Mansaku exchanged a look of pure, unvarnished dread. They had never seen Asuto like this. He was the sun of their team, the one who kept them warm when the island winds turned cold. Seeing him dark was like watching the stars go out.
"Let’s all just... take a breath," Mansaku said, though he looked like he wanted to punch something himself. "They’ve halted the construction for the day because of the scuffle. That’s something."
"It settles nothing," Michinari added, crossing his arms. "If we want to play again, we need a plan. A real one. Not just charging at bulldozers."
"Yes," Norika forced a small, fragile smile, patting Asuto’s shoulder. "We’ll find a way. We always do. We're Inakuni, right?"
Asuto didn't answer. He stared at his bandaged hands. "They will pay," he muttered, so low that only the wind caught it. "They’ll regret the day they touched our school."
The vengeance in his eyes was a cold, sharp thing. It scared them more than the machines.
"Asuto-chan!!!"
The shout was frantic, high-pitched, and filled with a terror that made everyone jump. Kyouno came skidding around the corner of the building, his face pale and his chest heaving. He stopped in front of them, his eyes darting back and forth across the ruined landscape. "Gah!"
"Kyouno-chan? What’s wrong?" Norika asked, her medical instincts flaring up again.
Kyouno couldn't speak at first. He just stood there, his mouth opening and closing as he looked at the wreckage of the field and then at Asuto.
"What is it? Did something happen?" Michinari asked, stepping forward.
"Asuto-chan!" Kyouno finally choked out.
Asuto stood up slowly, his knees stiff under the bandages. "What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the house looking after my mom?"
"A-Asuto-chan... bad news!" Kyouno’s eyes filled with tears, his voice trembling so hard he could barely form the words.
"Eh?" The team gasped in unison, the air suddenly feeling very thin.
"What is it..." Asuto stepped toward him, the anger in his eyes replaced by a cold, creeping dread.
"Ms. Yuriko... she’s..." Kyouno couldn't finish. He just pointed back toward the village, toward the hospital.
Asuto didn't wait for the rest. He didn't ask questions. He turned and bolted. He ran past the silent bulldozers, past the workers who tried to shout at him, and vanished into the trees.
...
The hospital smelled of floor wax and antiseptic, a sharp contrast to the earthy air of the island. Asuto’s footsteps thundered down the hallway, the sound echoing off the white walls. He didn't stop until he reached the door to her room. He slammed it open, the handle hitting the wall with a loud *crack*.
"Mom!!!!"
The doctors and nurses around the bed jumped, their faces etched with a grim, professional sadness. Asuto ignored them. He scrambled to the bedside, his hands gripping the metal rail. "Mom!!!!"
Yuriko lay on the bed, her face pale against the white pillow, but she still managed a smile when she saw him. "Oh... my Sunny."
The medical staff exchanged a heavy, silent glance. One by one, they stepped away, their heads bowed as they exited the room, leaving the mother and son alone in the stifling quiet.
"Sunny... why do you look so beaten up?" She reached out, her fingers trembling as she brushed a lock of hair from his forehead. She touched the bandages on his cheek.
"It’s nothing, Mom," Asuto said, his voice a frantic whisper. He shook his head, his eyes burning. "Forget about me. What about you? Are you in pain? I told you to rest up! You weren't supposed to... you were supposed to get better!"
"Sunny..." She smiled, but it was a tired, fading thing. "Always worried about me." She cupped his cheek, her hand feeling incredibly light, as if she were made of paper. "I’m sorry, Sunny... I’m not going to be able to stay with you anymore."
Asuto grabbed her hand, holding it tight against his face. "What are you talking about, Mom! That won't happen! We still have the harvest, remember? You said we were going to do it together! The farm... it needs you!"
"No..." She shook her head slowly. "The farm isn't mine. Or yours. The farm belongs to everyone who helped it grow. It belongs to the island now." She stroked his cheek one last time. "Asuto... there comes a time when you have to say goodbye. But the bonds that are truly strong... they never disappear."
"No... Mom, please..." Asuto’s vision blurred. The room felt like it was spinning.
"You and I... we are bonded forever," she whispered, her eyes beginning to drift shut.
"No!" Asuto’s sob finally broke through. He held her hand with both of his, squeezing so hard his bandaged knuckles ached. "You can't go! First the football, and now you? You can't leave me alone!"
Yuriko opened her eyes one last time. There was a spark in them a flash of the fire Asuto had inherited. "Asuto... Football will never disappear. It is what you were meant to do. It gave you your friends. It gave you a world to explore. How could something like that ever truly be gone?"
Asuto’s breath hitched. He stared at her, tears streaming down his face.
"As long as you need it, it will be there," she whispered, her voice growing faint, like a fading echo. "Your place isn't here, Asuto... live your dream... for you... there will... always... be a... tomorrow..."
Her hand, which had been holding his so firmly, suddenly went limp. It slipped through his fingers, falling heavily onto the bedsheets.
Asuto froze. He stared at her hand. Then at her face. She looked peaceful, as if she were just sleeping, but the rhythmic hum of her breathing had stopped.
"Mom?"
He reached out, shaking her shoulder gently. "Mom? Mom...?"
Nothing.
"Mom....!?"
The silence of the room was absolute. Asuto’s eyes widened, the reality crashing down on him like a tidal wave. "MOTHER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The scream tore through the hospital, a sound of pure, unadulterated agony that made the nurses in the hallway stop in their tracks.
Asuto ran.
He didn't know where he was going, only that he couldn't stay in that room. He burst out of the hospital into a world that had turned hostile. The sky had bruised into a deep, angry purple. The sun was gone, swallowed by a wall of black clouds.
As the first heavy drops of rain began to fall, he stumbled through the village. His team was there, gathered outside the hospital entrance Michinari, Norika, Mansaku, Goujin, Golem and the others. They looked like statues in the rising wind.
"Do you guys think Asuto is okay?" Mansaku whispered, his voice lost in the thunder.
Goujin looked down at his feet, his usual bluster replaced by a heavy, somber silence. "Man... should we go look for him?"
Hiro took his glasses off, wiping them on his shirt, though the rain only made them streak. "I don't think that's a good idea. He needs space that we can't give him right now."
"Poor Asuto..." Hanta said, leaning her head against Golem’s massive shoulder. Golem didn't respond, he just stared at the ground, his large frame hunched against the cold.
"Do you know where he went?" Norika asked, her voice hitching as she sobbed.
Michinari looked up toward the jagged silhouette of the island's highest point. "Probably Peak Cliff."
Asuto was already there.
His lungs were burning, his clothes were soaked through and clinging to his skin, and the bandages on his knees were coming undone, trailing in the mud like white ribbons. He scrambled up the final rocky incline, his fingers slipping on the wet stone.
He reached the summit and collapsed. The wind howled around him, whipping the rain into a frenzy. Below him, the ocean was a churning, white-capped void. Above him, there was no light. No sun. Just the endless, crushing gray.
Asuto gathered every bit of breath left in his body. He tilted his head back, his face toward the storm, and let out a roar that defied the thunder.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
The sound was raw, a scream of everything he had lost his field, his team, his mother. He fell forward, his forehead hitting the cold, wet rock, and he sobbed. The rain washed the salt of his tears away, but the pain remained, cold and absolute, at the edge of the world.
...
The three years that followed the storm felt less like time passing and more like the island itself was holding its breath. The vibrant, salt-stung air of Inakuni had turned heavy and damp. The sky was a permanent, bruised ceiling of charcoal clouds that refused to break, leaking a thin, miserable drizzle that turned the island’s paths into slick, rust-colored mud. The sun was a ghost a pale, milky smudge that barely managed to define day from night.
Kyouno plunged the plow into the dark earth of the Inamori farm, his boots sinking deep into the muck. He moved with a mechanical, joyless rhythm. Every few minutes, he would stop to wipe the stinging sweat and rainwater from his eyes, staring up at that gray abyss above.
"Still nothing," he muttered, his voice raspy from disuse. Since the day the field died and Yuriko passed, the light seemed to have packed its bags and left.
He glanced toward the Inamori house. It sat on the hill like a weary animal, the wood weathering into a bleached, skeletal gray. The curtains remained drawn tight, like shut eyelids. Asuto was in there. He was always in there. For three years, the boy who used to run until his lungs burned had become a shadow, refusing visitors, refusing help, and most hauntingly refusing to speak.
Kyouno sighed, a plume of white mist escaping his lips, and turned back to the dirt. Suddenly, the gate creaked. A figure moved through the mist, heading straight for the house.
Inside, the house was a graveyard of memories.
Faded photographs lay scattered across the floorboards like fallen leaves snapshots of a smiling woman in a sun hat, of a younger Asuto covered in mud, of a team that no longer existed. Dust motes danced in the thin slivers of gray light that managed to pierce the curtains.
Asuto lay on the floor near the window, curled into a tight ball. He wasn't on a bed; he preferred the hard, cold wood. His hair was a chaotic nest, longer and unkempt, casting shadows over a face that had grown lean and sharp. His arms, visible beneath a tattered shirt, were a map of old, white scars the kind of marks left by a boy who had spent three years practicing against stone walls and jagged trees in the dead of night, driven by a silent, frantic desperation.
He was hugging a soccer ball. He held it so tightly his knuckles were white, his chest rising and falling in the shallow rhythm of a troubled sleep.
*THUD. THUD. THUD.*
The door rattled in its frame, the sound booming through the hollow house. Asuto’s eyes snapped open. They weren't the bright, hopeful eyes of a kid anymore, they were narrowed, guarded, and flickering with a sudden, feral alertness. He yelped softly, scrambling backward until his spine hit the wall, his breath hitching in his throat.
"Asuto!"
It was Michinari’s voice. It sounded older deeper but the steady, calm authority was still there.
Asuto didn't move. He pulled the ball closer to his chest, burying his chin in the scuffed leather. He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing the world would just slide back into the gray silence.
"Asuto! Open up! It’s about Football!"
Asuto’s eyes flew open. The word hit him like a physical strike. Football. His grip on the ball loosened just a fraction, his gaze fixating on the door with an intensity that could have burned through the wood.
...
The Inakuni Football Club building felt like a tomb that had been prematurely unearthed.
The air inside was stale, smelling of old sneakers and forgotten dreams. The rest of the team was already there, huddled in small groups. They had grown. Goujin was broader, his face set in a permanent scowl, Norika’s hair was tied back tighter, Hiura looked even more ethereal in the dim light.
When the door creaked open and Asuto walked in behind Michinari, the room went dead silent.
Asuto didn't look at them. He stood near the back, his head bowed, his eyes glued to the scuffed floorboards. He didn't offer a greeting. He didn't smile. He just existed in his own private bubble of grief. The others exchanged worried glances, their hearts aching at the sight of him the scars on his arms, the way he seemed to shrink away from the light. They wanted to reach out, to hug him, but the aura around him was as cold and sharp as a razor.
"Ehem..." The Principal cleans his throat, and the atmosphere shifted from somber to hostile.
He looked terrible. His suit was wrinkled, and his face was a mosaic of fading purple bruises and small bandages. He walked with a slight limp, stopping in the center of the room.
"I have news for you," he said, his voice lacks the smugness it once held. He tapped his foot nervously against the floor. "After a few... difficult years, a way for the Inakuni Football Club to avoid permanent disbandment has emerged."
The room remained silent. Asuto didn't even blink.
Norika was the first to find her voice, her tone sharp with skepticism. "After three years of watching our field turn into a parking lot? Now you're telling us we aren't disbanded?"
The Principal shifted his weight, looking at the ceiling. "Someone... a mysterious benefactor... has agreed to sponsor you. But they have one condition."
"Really?" Hiura’s eyebrows shot up. The team leaned in, the spark of curiosity finally cutting through the gloom.
"And... what is this condition?" Michinari asked, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
The Principal smirked, a bit of his old, greasy personality slipping through. "Simple. Participate in the Football Frontier... and win just one game."
"Eh?"
The sound was a collective gasp that sucked the air out of the room.
"The Football Frontier?" Hiro adjusted his glasses, his hands trembling slightly. "The national tournament that determines the absolute best team in all of Japan? *That* Football Frontier?"
"The very same," the Principal said, checking his watch.
Hanta and Golem looked at each other, the sheer scale of the task reflecting in their wide eyes. It was like being asked to climb a mountain while their legs were still in casts.
"However," the Principal added, turning to leave, "since it’s utterly impossible, I’m considering turning the offer down. It’s a waste of time. Just give up, go home, and for the love of everything, tell the people of this island to stop harassing me. I’ve tried my best."
"Hey, wait!" Goujin roared, stepping forward. "You can't just drop that on us and walk away!"
"We don't know if it's impossible yet," Norika said, her voice rising with a desperate kind of hope.
"Is it really that hard to win one game?" Goujin whispered to Michinari, his bravado wavering.
Michinari didn't look at him. He looked at the floor, his face pale. "Yes," he said, his voice a flat, dead thing. "In today's Football Frontier, the level of play has reached heights we can't even imagine. It’s not a simple win, Goujin."
"It's just one win, Gao!" Hiyori chimed in, trying to force a grin. He looked around the room, his eyes searching for any sign of the old fire. "Right? One win and we get to keep our team? Gao?"
When nobody answered, Hiyori’s grin faltered. He pouted, looking down at his shoes, the silence in the room becoming a heavy, suffocating weight.
"The strength required just to qualify is staggering," Michinari whispered to himself. "Even more so if we actually expect to win."
The silence in the room didn't just break; it shattered. After three years of existing as a ghost within his own skin, Asuto’s voice was like a sudden crack of thunder in a valley that had forgotten what a storm sounded like.
"We'll do it."
The team froze. Norika gasped, her hands flying to her chest as she stared at the boy who had barely looked anyone in the eye since his mother’s funeral. Michinari flinched as if he’d been struck, his brow furrowing with a complicated mix of relief and stinging irritation.
"A-Asuto..." Norika whispered, her eyes searching his for a trace of the old sun-drenched boy she used to know.
"We will win one match at the Football Frontier," Asuto said. He didn't look at his teammates. He kept his gaze locked on the Principal, his eyes narrowed into two burning points of focus. The raw determination in his voice was chilling; it was the sound of a person who had already reached the bottom and had nothing left to fear.
"Easier said than done, Asuto," Michinari snapped, his voice tight with the weight of three years of failure. He stepped forward, his boots scuffing the floorboards. "Look at us. We haven't played a real match in years. We’re rusty, we’re out of practice, and we’re kids from a tiny island. You’re talking about the national stage. I have doubts, Asuto. Huge ones."
Asuto didn't flinch. He didn't even acknowledge the doubt. He just kept staring at the Principal, waiting.
"We don't even have the qualifications to enter a tournament of that caliber," Michinari added, his voice rising in annoyance. "You can’t just walk into the Frontier because you want to."
"Don't worry about that," the Principal said, a greasy smirk returning to his bruised face. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a stack of crisp, white documents. "Everything has been handled. You will be qualified to play."
"Eh?" The collective gasp was so sharp it was audible.
"Starting next week," the Principal continued, adjusting his glasses over his swollen eye, "you will all be transferred to Tokyo’s championship school for football: Raimon Academy."
The air in the room seemed to vanish. Hiro let his glasses slip down his nose, his eyes widening behind the lenses. Hiura stepped back, his hand gripping the edge of a locker until his knuckles turned white.
"R-Raimon?" Hiro stammered. "The Raimon? The legendary home of the Inazuma Eleven?"
"You’ve gotta be kidding me..." Mansaku muttered, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall, though the slight tremble in his legs gave away his shock.
"By becoming members of the Raimon Football Club, you gain the automatic right to participate in the Football Frontier," the Principal explained, looking down at them with a mixture of pity and smugness. "It’s a shortcut. A gift."
"Are we even on the same page?" Michinari asked, his head spinning. "We’re going to live in Tokyo? We’re going to wear *that* jersey?"
"Heh... I figured you lot would be thoughtless enough to jump at the chance," the Principal said, smoothing out the papers. "So all the arrangements have been made in advance. Transfers, housing, the works."
"So this means... we have to leave the island?" Hiro’s voice was small. He looked around the dusty clubroom, the only home they had ever known. "We have to go to Tokyo?"
"Outside... Island?" Hiyori’s eyes went wide, reflecting a sudden, dizzying sense of scale. He looked like he was about to bolt out the door.
"Woah, woah, hold it there!" Mansaku grabbed Hiyori by the back of his shirt, keeping him grounded. He looked back at the Principal, his expression hardening. "So you're saying the price for our football is giving up our home?"
"You heard me loud and clear," the Principal smirked. "It’s the only way you keep playing. Otherwise, you can stay here and keep pretending the dirt is a pitch. The choice is yours."
"What...?" Golem rumbled, his large frame hunching as the weight of the decision settled on him.
"T-this is our home," Hanta whispered, looking at her friends with a pleading gaze. "We can’t just... leave everything behind. Our families, our stories..."
The room descended into a chaotic, quiet panic. The idea of the mainland was a monster they weren't prepared to fight. They were islanders; the ocean was their boundary and their safety.
"You should just give it up," the Principal said, his voice dripping with condescension as he held up the transfer papers. "Your chances of winning are zero anyway. You island people are meant to stay here, tucked away where you can't cause any more trouble."
"No thanks."
Asuto’s voice cut through the Principal's words like a knife.
"If I can't play football here," Asuto said, his gaze fixed forward, "then I will play it on the Football Frontier."
"Are you serious!?" Goujin barked, his jaw dropping. "Tokyo is a different world, Asuto! You're talking about leaving everything!"
"But- " Norika started, her eyes filled with a painful uncertainty.
"Asuto, you're only thinking about yourself," Michinari sighed, rubbing his temples. "This isn't a game. This is our lives."
Asuto finally turned his head, his gaze cold and absolute. "If you are willing to let all the years of practice we did, the hours we spent on that field before it was gone, if you're willing to let all of that die, then stay here. Leave."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Asuto didn't look back; he stared toward the door, his silhouette framed by the gray light. "We only have one shot. This is it. I don't care if I have to do it alone. I won't give up this opportunity."
Hiyori, sensing the shift in the air, nodded quickly, a small, nervous smile playing on his lips. The others looked at each other, their hearts pounding against their ribs. They were terrified, but Asuto’s fire was starting to catch.
"Heh, however," the Principal added, his grin turning malicious. "The matchups for the tournament have already been decided. Your first opponent will be... Seishou Academy."
The team recoiled as if they’d been slapped. Even Goujin went pale, a cold sweat breaking out on his forehead.
"Seishou...?" Michinari whispered, his voice failing him. "That’s the number one ranking team in the entire country. They're monsters."
Asuto’s eyes narrowed. He looked at the floor for a moment, and then, for the first time in three years, the corners of his mouth quirked upward. It wasn't the old, sun-filled smile, but it was a smile nonetheless, one born of a challenge that was finally big enough to match his grief.
"Heh..."
The team gathered outside the clubroom a few minutes later. The gray sky continued to leak a cold drizzle, but nobody moved toward the shelter of the school. They stood in a circle, the reality of the transfer papers in their pockets feeling like lead weights.
Asuto stood apart from them, his arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the horizon where the sea met the clouds.
"Gao! Let's go to Tokyo!" Hiyori suddenly shouted, punching the air with a manic energy. "Let's win! Gao!"
"Gao-san, calm down..." Golem murmured, placing a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder to keep him from bouncing away.
"Look, it's a big deal that we get to go to the city," Norika said, her voice soft as she petted Hiyori’s head like he was a stray kitten. "But this is a life-changing decision, Gao-san. We have to be sure."
"Gao! I'm sure if A-s-u-t-o-chan is sure!" Hiyori nodded vigorously.
The rest of the team looked at Asuto's back, then at each other. The fear was still there, thick and cloying.
"The Football Frontier..." Hiura mused, his eyes distant. "It’s a dream, but... can we really do it?"
"Just win one game," Mansaku said, adjusting the brim of his cap. "Sounds simple, but against Seishou? That's like trying to stop a landslide with a toothpick."
"We don't stand a chance," Golem rumbled, his head hanging low. "We're just... islanders."
"Giving up before you've even done anything?"
The voice was sharp, gravelly, and laced with a heavy layer of contempt. The team spun around, their eyes searching the mist.
Standing a few yards away was a boy who looked nothing like them. He was shorter, stocky, with a shock of dark, spiky hair that looked like it had been styled by a whirlwind. His eyes were fierce, narrowed into two slivers of pure arrogance.
"Who are you?" Goujin barked, stepping forward with his chest puffed out.
Michinari squinted, his captain’s instincts kicking in. "You... you must be the transfer student we were supposed to meet back then."
The kid didn't answer directly. He looked at the group with a sneer, his hands tucked deep into his pockets. "I came to this island thinking I’d find a team with enough guts to rebuild. Instead, I find a bunch of losers and crybabies staring at the dirt."
"What!?" Goujin roared, his face turning red. "Say that to my face, you punk!"
"Goujin! Stop!" Norika shouted, grabbing his arm.
"It looks like even if I played here, I wouldn't have learned anything," the kid said, turning his head away. "Just a bunch of scrubs afraid of their own shadows."
"You jerk!" Mansaku hissed, his fingers curling into fists. "You don't know anything about us!"
"Mansaku-chan, don't!" Hiro warned, holding him back. "He’s just trying to get a rise out of us!"
"Tsk, provoke you? Why bother?" The boy’s voice was cold. "Why do you even pretend to want football when you’re too afraid to fight for it? You're pathetic."
"Gao!" Hiyori hissed, his small frame bristling.
"Guys like you will never win a match in the Frontier," the kid added, his gaze flicking back to them for a split second. "The Frontier is where the best in Japan prove they exist. Management disbands the weak teams before they can even qualify just to save time. You don't have a single Hissatsu technique between you. You don't even have a strategy. You're dead meat."
He let out a short, harsh laugh. "You don't even have the guts to leave the island. How do you expect to win against the world?"
"You jerk!" Goujin broke free from Norika’s grip and dashed forward.
"Gah! Goujin!" Norika stumbled back, but Michinari caught her, his eyes fixed on the stranger.
Hiura moved with a sudden, fluid speed, stepping in front of Goujin and placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "Hold on. Calm down."
He looked at the chubby kid, his expression unreadable. "I think you've said enough."
"Heh." The boy smirked, his eyes glinting. "You'd better go find something fun to do that isn't football. You're wasting the ball's time." He turned on his heel, beginning to walk away into the fog.
"I'll do it."
Asuto’s voice was quiet, but it carried across the field with a weight that made the stranger stop in his tracks. The boy turned his head, looking back over his shoulder.
"Giving up on football isn't an option for me," Asuto said. He stepped forward, his eyes bright with a dangerous, focused energy. "Even if everyone else is afraid, I’m going. I’m going to Tokyo."
"Asuto..." Michinari whispered.
"Asuto- " Norika’s voice was filled with a mix of fear and admiration.
"We're with you, Asuto... but..." Mansaku started, his voice wavering.
"It doesn't matter," Asuto shouted, his voice finally breaking into a roar of defiance. "I’ve got nothing left to lose! I’ll take our football back in Tokyo, and I'll take it from anyone who tries to stop me!"
The team stared at him, the silence of the island finally being replaced by the thumping of their own hearts. The chubby kid blinked, a flicker of genuine impression crossing his fierce eyes for a heartbeat before his mask of indifference slid back into place. He let out a soft huff, looked away, and vanished into the gray mist of the island.
The path to Raimon was open, and for the first time in three years, the sun felt like it was just behind the clouds.
...
The decision to go to Tokyo wasn't a choice of a new school it was rather the shattering of a three-year-old seal. Across the island, the members of the former Inakuni team were grappling with the ghosts of their past and the terrifying, bright light of a potential future.
On a stretch of the beach, Goujin was at war. He had found a massive, rusted tractor wheel near an abandoned barn and hitched it to a thick hemp rope. The rope bit into his shoulders, chafing against his skin, but he didn't care. He dug his heels into the shifting dunes, his face contorted in a mask of pure, concentrated effort.
"GHRAAAAH!" He lunged forward, the wheel groaning as it plowed a deep, ugly furrow through the sand.
Kyouno sat on a nearby volcanic rock, his legs swinging back and forth. He watched the spray of sand with a curious, tilted head. "Goujin-sama, are you annoyed with someone? Perhaps that prickly kid the others were talking about? You look like you're trying to pull the island into the ocean."
Goujin stopped, his chest heaving, sweat dripping from his chin and soaking into the collar of his shirt. "This isn't about him," he grunted, wiping his brow with a forearm. He turned back to the wheel, his eyes burning. "I just wanted to go all out for real. For the first time in years, I feel like I'm not just waiting to disappear."
"Ahhh... but still..." Kyouno hopped off the rock, stepping closer. "Don't you think you're exaggerating a little? Your hands are practically bleeding."
"No!" Goujin shouted, grabbing the rope and snapping it taut. "I’m bringing out a Hissatsu technique! If we’re going to the Frontier, we can’t just kick the ball. We need power! Real power!"
"Training for a Hissatsu?" Kyouno’s eyes lit up, his expression softening into a respectful smile. "That’s actually... really cool. I won't laugh at that."
Goujin stood up straight for a moment, his breath hitching. "Have you heard of a move called the Fire Tornado?"
"Oh oh! Yeah!" Kyouno nodded vigorously. "The legendary ace striker's move! It’s incredible!"
"Yep." Goujin grinned, a flash of his old cockiness returning. "Well, I’m creating my own version. I’m calling it... Fire Lemonado." He turned back to the wheel and gave it a violent, determined yank.
Kyouno blinked, his head tilting so far it nearly hit his shoulder. "Fire... Lemonado? Like the drink?"
"Yeah! My pops says that’s the real deal! The ultimate sting!" Goujin roared, his muscles bulging as he dragged the massive weight across the beach. "I’ll train until I can taste the citrus in the air!"
Kyouno watched him, a small, knowing smile on his face as he looked up at the grey clouds. "Your father says a lot of things, Goujin-sama... but I hope this one comes true."
...
Far from the crashing waves, the air was still and smelled of damp moss and roasted tea leaves. Hiura sat on the veranda of his grandmother’s traditional home, his hands wrapped around a warm ceramic cup. The steam rose in thin, elegant ribbons, disappearing into the overcast sky.
His grandmother poured a fresh stream of tea, the sound of the liquid the only thing breaking the silence. "Hum?" she hummed softly, noticing his distant gaze.
"Mama..." Hiura said softly. He didn't look at her; his eyes were fixed on the line of trees at the edge of the property. "I’m going to Tokyo."
The teapot paused for a fraction of a second. Hiura let out a slow sigh. "If we win in Tokyo, we’ll be able to keep the club. We might even be able to bring the sun back to this place."
"I see." His grandmother’s voice was like aged silk soft, but strong. She looked down at the tea tray, a small, sad smile touching her lips. "It’s going to be very lonely around here without you, Kii-chan."
"I'm sorry..." Hiura bowed his head, his fingers tightening around the cup. The guilt of leaving her alone on this quiet island felt heavier than any training weight.
She took a slow, deliberate sip of her tea and looked at him, her eyes twinkling with a fierce pride. "I know you will win, my Kii-chan. You’ve always had the wind at your back, even when the sky is grey."
Hiura stood up, his movements graceful and certain. "Yes..." He turned to her, a soft, genuine smile breaking through his usual cool exterior. "We will win. I'll make sure of it."
"Uhum. Now that’s my Kii-chan," she laughed softly, the sound warming the cold afternoon.
On the winding coastal road, the rhythmic clicking of bicycle chains provided a steady beat. Golem pedaled slowly, his massive frame dwarfing the bike, while Hanta sat on his back, her head resting comfortably against his broad shoulders.
Hanta watched the trees blur past, a long, dramatic sigh escaping her. "Haah... Golem, do you think there’s good food in Tokyo? I’ve heard they have cafes where everything is shaped like animals. I’m really going to miss my mum’s cooking, though."
Golem kept his eyes on the road, his voice deep and steady. "Have you decided to go then, Han-chan?"
"Well, I don't really want to leave," Hanta admitted, closing her eyes and feeling the breeze. "But I also don't want to stop playing football. It’s like being stuck between a rock and a giant squid. Decisions, decisions..."
"I see..." Golem whispered. He pedaled a bit harder, his shadow stretching long across the pavement.
"So what about you, Golem?" Hanta asked, poking his side. "Are you still deciding, or are you just going to follow Asuto like a big, loyal dog?"
"Yeah..." Golem nodded, his face heating up slightly. "You’re amazing, Han-chan. You actually think about things. I just... I just want to be where the team is."
"Ahh... come on, Golem. You really need to be more independent... Tee-hee~" Hanta snuggled closer, her eyes drifting shut as they cycled away into the mist, two friends clinging to a childhood that was rapidly being outgrown.
In the village’s only small diner, the air smelled of soy sauce and grilled mackerel.
Mansaku sat at the counter, his cap pulled low, shielding his eyes from the reflection in the polished wood. His father, a man with hands calloused from years of handling knives and fish, was busy cleaning plates for the evening service.
"What’s the matter?" his father asked, his back turned as he scrubbed a dish. "Still causing trouble with your old gang?"
"I told you, I’m not in a gang anymore..." Mansaku hissed, though the fire wasn't really there. He let out a long breath and took his cap off, placing it on the counter. "Dad... I’m thinking of going to Tokyo."
The sound of scrubbing stopped. His father began slicing a piece of fresh tuna, the knife moving with surgical precision. "Heh. A thug like you in the big city? You’ll be eaten alive."
"That’s exactly why I’m going," Mansaku said, his fists clenching under the table. "Football... it helped me stop being a loser. I want to see if I can be a master of something for once."
"I see," his father answered, his tone devoid of emotion. He kept his back turned, his shoulders rigid.
Mansaku looked at his father’s back, the silence between them stretching until it felt like it might snap. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
Suddenly, his father turned around, sliding a small, beautiful plate of sushi across the counter. Mansaku looked up, startled.
"Eat. That’s my goodbye present," his father said, immediately turning back to the sink.
Mansaku stared at the fish, then at the broad, stubborn back of his father.
"Don't you dare lose to anyone while you're out there, alright?" his father added, his voice gruff but oddly thick. "If you’re going to be a master, be the best."
"Father..." Mansaku whispered. He picked up a piece of the fish and ate it, the taste of home exploding on his tongue. He smiled, though his eyes were stinging with unshed tears.
Deep in the forested heart of the island, the atmosphere was entirely different. Here, the "village" was a collection of sturdy, hand-built structures where tradition reigned. Michinari walked beside his mother, a woman so tall and imposing she seemed to cast a shadow over the entire clearing. She was the Chief, and her presence was as heavy as the ancient trees around them.
"So, Tokyo, huh," she said, her voice a deep rumble. "Your father is there."
"Yes, mother..." Michinari looked at his feet.
"I don't like it, kiddo," she said, stopping to watch a group of warriors practicing with wooden spears. "I don't like you being with that man. You know how those city people are. They treat us like zoo animals. Arrogant, weak, and-"
"Mother," Michinari cut her off, his voice firm.
She turned to him, her fierce gaze softening just a fraction. "I know, I shouldn't judge, but your dad-"
"This has nothing to do with him! I’m going to play football!" Michinari shouted, finally looking her in the eye.
His mother blinked, then let out a long, weary sigh. "Hawk, my son... I know you like this game, but you are the future Chief. Look around you."
She gestured to the children running through the brush. "We are growing. We are getting stronger. We are building our own systems. This is your lineage. This is your duty."
"I'm proud of our people, Mom," Michinari said, his voice trembling with a mix of respect and frustration. "But... this is what I like. Shouldn't I follow my own dreams?"
"Your dreams should be here," she said, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute command. "Your life is here."
"What am I? A treasure to be locked away, or a human being?" Michinari demanded.
"You are my treasure, Hawk," she answered. "Just forget about it. Stay."
Michinari stopped dead in his tracks. "What?"
"I will not sign any transfer papers," she said, her jaw set. "And that is final."
Michinari’s eyes narrowed. He let out a sharp, cold laugh. "I already talked to Dad. I knew you’d say no."
"Hawk! Don't bring your father into this! He’s the reason you have all these weak hobbies like dancing, piano, and hanging around with people like that handicap!"
"Shindo is my friend! He’s brilliant, and you should be more sensible about his disabilities!" Michinari shouted, his face flushed with anger.
"Control your voice! Sensibility hasn't won us any wars, kiddo! Power and strength have!" she roared back.
"I’ve had enough. You’re impossible to talk to!" Michinari turned and began walking away, his footsteps heavy on the forest floor.
"You're just like your father, Michinari!" she called out after him, her arms crossed and her eyes flashing with a mix of fury and heartbreak.
Michinari didn't look back. He kept walking, his heart a storm of rebellion, heading toward a future that didn't involve being a "treasure" in a gilded cage.
...
The damp, emerald canopy of the Inakuni forest felt like a living thing, breathing in the heavy humidity of the eternal storm that had plagued the island for three years. Vines as thick as a man's arm spiraled around ancient, gnarled trunks, and the ground was a treacherous carpet of moss and rotting leaves.
Norika and Hiro were knee-deep in the ferns, their breath coming in short, jagged plumes of white mist. Being there on a mission to find the team's youngest, most unpredictable member.
"Gao-san! Gao-san! Where are you!?" Hiro shouted, his voice cracking slightly as it bounced off the dense wall of greenery. He stopped to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, which was slick with a mixture of sweat and drizzling rain.
"Gao-san! Come on out! We don't have time for hide-and-seek!" Norika added, her hands cupped around her mouth. She wiped a stray strand of hair from her eyes, her brow furrowed with the kind of exasperated concern only a big sister could manage.
They walked for another ten minutes, the only sound being the squelch of their sneakers in the mud and the distant, rhythmic drip of water from the high leaves. The forest here was different from the rest of the island; it felt older, more secretive. This was the place where the maps ended and the legends began.
"Hah... hah..." Norika slumped against a mossy rock, pressing a hand to her side. "What if he went back to the village? Maybe he’s at Michinari’s or Goujin’s place?"
"I don't know," Hiro replied, leaning over with his hands on his knees. He looked around, squinting at the shadows shifting between the trees. "But this is Gao-san we're talking about. He doesn't really like being indoors for too long. Especially not now. This forest is basically his backyard... or his living room."
Norika looked at the towering trees, her expression softening. "Yeah. I guess you're right."
Hiro straightened up, adjusting his glasses again. He looked at Norika, his expression turning uncharacteristically serious. "Actually, Norika... I've wanted to ask this for a long time. I've known Gao-san since I joined you guys, but I realized I don't actually know who he is. Everyone just calls him Gao-san, and he acts like... well, like himself. Is it a taboo topic?"
Norika let out a long, slow sigh and looked up at the grey sky visible through the gaps in the leaves. "No, it's not a taboo. It's just... we don't like to talk about it when he’s around. He’s sensitive about it, even if he doesn't show it."
She sat down on the rock, gesturing for Hiro to take a breath.
"From what Michinari told me and from what I’ve seen myself Hiyori wasn't born in the village. About ten years ago or so, some townspeople were deep in this very forest, looking for timber, and they found a child. He couldn't have been more than three or four years old. He was alone, shivering, and covered in dirt."
Hiro’s eyes widened behind his lenses. "Someone just... left him here?"
"That’s what it looks like," Norika said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Nobody knows who, or why. But the miracle was that he had survived at all. When they found him, he was completely savage. He didn't speak a word of Japanese he just hissed and growled like a cub. Some of the elders say he was protected and fed by the wild animals of the woods, but who knows if that’s just a story? When the village finally took him in, it took years to teach him how to be 'human' again. But he never lost that wild spark. That’s why he says 'Gao' all the time. It’s the only part of his old life he kept."
Hiro stood in stunned silence. "Woah... that’s... that’s an intense backstory. I thought he was just a quirky kid."
"He is a quirky kid," Norika smiled, her eyes brimming with affection. "And it doesn't matter where he came from or who his real parents were. To us, he’ll always be our little brother. The island raised him, and we’ll protect him."
"Yeah," Hiro nodded, a small smile appearing on his face. "You’re right. He’s one of us."
"Anyway," Norika stood up, brushing the moss off her shorts. "We should head back toward the town. If he’s not here, he’s probably raiding Goujin’s fridge for snacks."
"Let's go then!" Hiro said, turning to lead the way back.
"N-O-R-I-K-A-CHAN!"
The shout came from directly above them. Before either of them could react, a blur of orange and green dropped from the canopy.
"Gah!" Norika shrieked, jumping back and nearly tripping over a root.
"Eek!" Hiro yelped, his glasses flying forward and hanging precariously off the tip of his nose. He caught them just in time, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
Hiyori landed perfectly on his feet, crouching low before springing up with a grin that threatened to split his face in half. He looked wilder than usual; his hair was full of leaves, and his cheeks were streaked with mud.
"You almost scared my soul out of my body!" Hiro gasped, frantically cleaning his lenses on his shirt. "What is wrong with you!?"
"What did I tell you about the jumpscares, Gao-san!" Norika shouted, her face turning a bright shade of pink from the adrenaline. She marched over and started picking the leaves out of his hair. "You’re going to give someone a heart attack before we even get to Tokyo!"
"Gao! Sorry!" Hiyori blushed, looking down at his feet and rubbing the back of his neck. But the embarrassment didn't last long. He suddenly looked up, his eyes sparkling with an almost manic excitement. "But look! Look! H-i-y-o-r-i found treasure!"
Norika stopped mid-pluck, her eyebrows shooting up. "Treasure? What are you talking about, Gao-san?"
Hiro adjusted his glasses, his analytical mind already dismissing the idea. "Treasures on this island? Aside from the football pitch, there isn't exactly a lot of gold buried around here."
"Uhum! Uhum! H-i-y-o-r-i found this!" Hiyori reached into his pocket a ragged thing held together by safety pins and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. He held it out with both hands, his fingers trembling slightly.
Norika and Hiro leaned in. It wasn't gold or jewels. It was a photograph.
The edges were yellowed and brittle, and the image was slightly faded, but the subjects were clear. It was a woman stunningly beautiful, with long, flowing blonde hair and a kind, gentle smile that seemed to radiate even through the old paper. She was standing in front of a rose garden, her eyes filled with a soft, melancholy light.
"Mama Gao! Mama Gao!" Hiyori chirped, his grin widening even further.
Norika felt a chill that had nothing to do with the rain. "Mama? Gao-san... what do you mean?"
Hiro leaned closer, squinting at the photo and then looking back at Hiyori’s face. "Wait... Norika, look at the eyes. And the shape of the jaw."
Norika saw it too. There was an undeniable resemblance. The same fierce spark, the same tilt of the head. "Gao-san... where did you get this?"
"In big house! Gao!" Hiyori nodded enthusiastically, pointing deeper into the forest, toward a part of the woods where the trees grew so thick the light never touched the ground.
"Big house?" Hiro asked, looking at Norika. "I’ve lived here my whole life and I’ve never heard of a 'big house' in the deep forest."
"Really? Big house again?," Norika whispered, her heart starting to race for a completely different reason.
She turned back to Hiyori, her voice soft and urgent. "Gao-san, where is this house? Can you take us there?"
"Uhum!" Hiyori didn't need to be asked twice. He spun around and sprinted into the undergrowth, moving with a speed and agility that no normal person could match.
"Wait! Gao-san! Slow down!" Norika shouted, but she was already running after him.
Hiro took one last look at the path back to the safety of the village, then gritted his teeth and dashed after them. "Wait for me!"
The emerald canopy of the Inakuni forest gradually surrendered to a landscape that felt fundamentally wrong. As Norika and Hiro followed Hiyori’s frantic, bounding pace, the air grew thick with a metallic tang, and the vibrant birdsong of the island died into a heavy, unnatural silence.
They reached the clearing, but there was no mansion. Instead, a massive slab of cracked, weathered concrete jutted out from the earth like a broken tooth. A set of rusted, heavy steel doors sat partially ajar, leading into a dark, yawning throat that plummeted straight down.
"Gao! Down! Down!" Hiyori chirped, sliding down the concrete incline with the practiced ease of someone returning home after a long day at the park.
Norika hesitated at the lip of the entrance, her hand gripping the rough edge of the concrete. "Hiyori, wait! This... this isn't a house. It’s a tomb."
"Technically," Hiro whispered, his glasses reflecting the void below, "the architectural markers suggest a mid-century subterranean bunker. The structural stress on the entrance implies it was meant to be sealed from the inside." He gulped, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "Statistically, the chance of us finding a 'Mama' down there is lower than the chance of us finding a localized haunting."
But Hiyori was already gone, his small silhouette swallowed by the shadows. With a shared, nervous glance, Norika and Hiro followed, descending a spiral staircase that groaned under their weight, the metal screaming in a high-pitched protest that echoed through the hollow facility.
The air in the underground laboratory was freezing, tasting of stale ozone and centuries-old dust. Hiro pulled a small LED flashlight from his pocket, its beam cutting a frantic path through the gloom.
The lab was a graveyard of ambition.
Shattered glass from giant test tubes crunched under their sneakers. Rows of monitors sat with dark, cracked faces, their internal wiring hanging out like parched veins. Massive mainframes, once the height of technology, now stood as rusted monoliths, covered in the fine, white silk of cave spiders.
"What were they even doing here?" Norika whispered, her voice trembling. She stayed close to Hiro, her eyes darting toward the corners where the shadows seemed to pulse. "It feels like... like someone died here. Or like the room is holding its breath."
"Research, maybe..." Hiro murmured, shining his light on a discarded clipboard. The paper was yellowed and brittle, the ink faded to a ghost of a script.
They pushed through a set of heavy swinging doors at the back of the lab, and the atmosphere shifted.
The "haunted" feeling Norika had described intensified, but the "lab" gave way to something far more unsettling. It was a living space or a mockery of one. In a corner of a vast, echoing chamber, someone had tried to make a home.
There was a small, rusted cot with a moth-eaten wool blanket. A low table made from a plastic crate held a single, chipped ceramic cup. On the wall, pinned with rusted needles, were dozens of drawings crude, crayon-sketched stick figures of a small boy and a woman with long, golden hair.
"Gao!" Hiyori cheered, running to the cot and jumping onto it. The rusted springs shrieked, but he didn't seem to care. He rolled onto his back, kicking his legs in the air with a wide, innocent grin. "H-i-y-o-r-i’s room! See?"
Norika felt a cold stone drop into her stomach. She looked at the small bed, then at the vast, dark laboratory surrounding it. "Hiyori... did you live here? Alone?"
Hiyori stopped kicking and sat up, his head tilting to the side. He pulled the photograph from his pocket the beautiful woman in the rose garden and pressed it to his chest. "Mama Gao was here. Me remember! She stayed in the wall-box. Then... she was gone. H-i-y-o-r-i waited. Long time. Then forest called."
Hiro adjusted his glasses, his hands shaking as he looked at the drawings on the wall. "He wasn't 'found' in the forest, Norika. He survived in the forest after whatever happened here. This place... it wasn't a home. It was a containment unit."
The silence of the room grew heavy, almost suffocating. The dark corners of the ceiling seemed to watch them with cold, mechanical eyes. For Norika and Hiro, the space felt cursed a place where ghosts of experiments past still lingered in the air. But for Hiyori, it was just the place where he remembered the smell of his mother’s hair and the taste of the cold, recycled air. He was utterly unbothered, his "Gao" energy acting as a shield against the creeping dread of the facility.
"We have to go," Norika said, her voice cracking. She reached out and grabbed Hiyori’s hand, pulling him gently from the cot. "We need to ask the elders for help."
Hiyori looked back at the small, lonely bed and the drawings on the wall. For a second, his grin faltered, a flash of profound, quiet sadness crossing his face. Then, he shook his head, the wild spark returning to his eyes.
"Gao! Elders!" He bounded toward the exit, his small feet echoing against the cold concrete.
...
The trek back from the dark, hollowed-out throat of the forest was silent, the weight of the underground laboratory pressing down on their shoulders like physical lead. By the time Norika, Hiro, and Hiyori reached the center of the village, the grey drizzle had momentarily ceased, leaving the wooden boardwalks glistening and slick.
They found the elders gathered on the porch of the communal hall, their faces etched with the deep, weathered lines of a lifetime spent fighting the salt and the wind. Elder Han, the oldest among them, was nursing a pipe that had long since gone cold.
"Elder Han! Please, look at this," Norika panted, her chest heaving as she held out the yellowed photograph. Her fingers were still trembling from the cold of the bunker.
The old man squinted, pulling a pair of cracked spectacles from his vest. He took the photo with a hand mapped with liver spots and the scars of a thousand fishing nets. The other elders leaned in, their collective breath hitching in the quiet air.
"This woman..." Han whispered, his voice like dry leaves skittering across pavement. "I remember that face. It was a long time ago... back when the cranes were still on the northern ridge."
"You know her?" Hiro asked, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
"Barely," another elder, a woman named Hana, chimed in. She tapped the edge of the photo. "There was a company back then. Men in white coats and suits that cost more than our whole fleet. They were working on something deep in the woods, under the earth. Only the late Mayor knew the full details of the contract. They said it was 'agricultural research,' but they had guards. They had secrets."
She looked at Hiyori, her gaze softening with a pity that made Norika’s heart ache. "This woman... she didn't belong to the island. She was from the mainland. A city bird. When the company packed up in the middle of a storm ten years ago, we thought everyone had left with them."
Hiro adjusted his glasses, his mind racing. "But Hiyori was found right after that. If she was from the mainland, and the lab is abandoned..."
"Gao-san has been looking for that 'big house' since he could walk," Norika whispered, looking at the small boy beside her. "He always told us he came from across the water. We just thought... we thought it was his imagination."
Hiyori stood perfectly still. Initially, his eyes were wide, sparkling with a manic, electric excitement at finally having a name for the ghost in his memories. "Mama Gao... Mainland?" he whispered, his voice hopeful. But as he looked at the somber, pitying faces of the elders, the light in his eyes began to dim.
His expression shifted, his gaze narrowing until it was sharp and guarded. His persona was still there, but beneath it, a cold, calculating determination was beginning to take root.
An hour later, the trio sat on the jagged black rocks of the beach. The sky was finally beginning to break, the charcoal clouds tearing open to reveal a sunset that looked like a bleeding wound deep oranges, bruised purples, and a sliver of dying gold reflected on the churning gut of the ocean.
"So that's why Mansaku was always so worried about you, Gao-san," Hiro said softly, breaking the long silence. He took off his glasses and began rubbing his eyes, looking tired and uncharacteristically vulnerable. "He knew you were chasing a ghost."
He turned to Hiyori, who was perched on a higher rock, staring intently at the horizon where the mainland lay hidden in the mist. "Do you really think she's still out there? On the mainland?"
"Gao..." Hiyori nodded slowly. It wasn't his usual energetic nod. It was a heavy, solemn movement. "Mama Gao is in the city. H-i-y-o-r-i feels the thread pulling."
Hiro let out a long, ragged sigh. "I still can't believe it's come to this. We have to choose between staying in the only place we've ever known or throwing ourselves into a world that doesn't even want us. We've trained every single day on that dead field. I know our moves are solid. I know we could beat those city teams if we just had the chance... but leaving the island?" He looked down at his glasses, clutching them tight. "That’s a different story. That’s forever."
"Yeah," Norika murmured, her voice thick with emotion. She hugged her knees to her chest, her hair whipped around her face by the rising sea breeze. "Why can't we just play football freely? Why does it have to be a trade-off? Our homes for our dreams?"
"A team is only faced with struggling when they're without a sponsor," Hiro said, his voice regaining some of its analytical edge, though it was tinged with bitterness. "In Tokyo, football is a business. Here, it was just... life."
"It still doesn't make any sense to me," Norika said, looking away toward the village lights flickering on the hill. "All I ever wanted was to feel the ball at my feet and hear you guys shouting for a pass. I didn't want to become a pawn in some mainland game."
"Norika-san..." Hiro whispered, noticing the way her shoulders were shaking.
He looked back out at the waves. "You've made up your mind already, haven't you?"
Hiyori looked at Norika, his sharp eyes catching the glint of a tear on her cheek. "N-o-r-i-k-a-san want to stay," he said simply.
"I have to leave if I want to play again," Norika said, her voice strengthening. "I understand that. Asuto is right. If we stay, the game dies with us. But... if I’m not here... my mom..." She trailed off, her gaze fixing on a small cottage near the docks where a light was burning in the window. "She’s worked so hard to keep us afloat since Dad passed. How can I just walk away?"
Hiro adjusted his glasses, his heart heavy. It was the ultimate stalemate. Norika had the skill but was tethered by love. Hiyori had the mystery of his birth pulling him toward the city, yet he was a creature of the forest, ill-suited for the concrete jungle. And Hiro himself... he was terrified that out there, he would just be another nameless face in a crowd of millions.
Suddenly, a piercing, melodic shout cut through the sound of the surf.
"LITTLE MERMAID!"
Norika’s eyes snapped wide. She stood up, shielding her eyes against the glare of the setting sun. Far down the shoreline, standing on the edge of the pier, was her mother. The woman was vibrant, dressed in her salt-stained work kimono, waving both arms over her head with enough energy to power the whole island.
"Don't you worry about me! I'll be just fine!" her mother bellowed, her voice carrying perfectly over the water.
Hiro and Hiyori exchanged a look of pure shock, their expressions softening into a mix of amusement and awe.
"You can't call yourself a real woman of the sea if you run away from a challenge like this, my Little Mermaid!" her mother continued, her laughter echoing off the cliffs. "Go! Show those city people how we play on Inakuni!"
"M-mom..." Norika’s eyes narrowed, but a bright, genuine smile began to spread across her face. "She’s impossible."
"Don't tell me she heard us from all the way down there," Hiro said, adjusting his glasses and shaking his head in disbelief. "The acoustics on this island are a statistical anomaly."
Norika laughed, a clear, ringing sound that seemed to chase away the last of the gloom. She looked at her mother her inspiration, her anchor and felt the weight on her chest finally begin to lift. If her mother was brave enough to let her go, then she had to be brave enough to leave.
Hiyori watched the interaction, his smile returning, though it stayed small and thoughtful. He looked back at the sea, thinking of his own roots the cold metal of the lab and the warmth of the woman in the photo.
While the others found their peace on the shore, Asuto stood at the highest point of the island. Peak Cliff was a jagged finger of stone that thrust itself out over the churning ocean, surrounded by a swirling crown of mist.
The wind here was fierce, tugging at his hair and snapping his jacket against his frame, but he stood as steady as the rock itself. He placed a hand over his heart, feeling the steady, frantic thrum of his pulse.
"Mom... I'm leaving the island," he whispered.
He closed his eyes, visualizing his mother’s smile the way it used to light up the kitchen even when the rain was pouring outside. "You said it was the thing I love the most. And I do. I love it more than anything."
He raised his hand high into the air, his finger pointing straight up toward the first few stars beginning to pierce the violet sky.
"That's why I won't let it disappear," he vowed, his voice growing louder, competing with the roar of the wind. "I promise to bring football back to this island. I’ll bring the sun back with it. It doesn't matter how hard the fight is, or how many times I have to fall."
Asuto opened his eyes, and they were no longer the eyes of a grieving boy. They were the eyes of a striker who had seen the goal and refused to miss. He moved his hand in a slow, sweeping arc, finally pointing it straight out toward the dark horizon where Tokyo lay waiting.
"As long as I need football, it will always be there," he whispered, a fierce smile touching his lips. "And as long as the game lives, you’ll be there with me. Right here."
Pointed at the Sun, with gaze determined. "Watch over me, Mom. I’m going to show the world what an islander can do."
He stood there for a long time, a solitary figure against the vastness of the sea, the wind howling around him like the cheering of a phantom crowd. The transition had begun. The island was no longer his prison it was now his launching pad to the top.
...
The morning of the departure felt like a slow, rhythmic ache. The Inakuni harbor, usually a place of bustling nets and the silver flash of morning catches, had been transformed into a sanctuary of farewells. The Inakuni Spirit, a weathered ferry with paint peeling like sunburnt skin, sat low in the water, its engine idling with a deep, guttural thrum that vibrated through the soles of everyone's shoes.
The wooden dock groaned under the weight of the entire village. It seemed as though every soul left on the island had come to see the boys and girls who were carrying their collective hope to the mainland.
Asuto stood at the edge of the vessel, his knuckles white as he gripped the strap of his duffel bag. He looked at the familiar jagged line of the cliffs, then closed his eyes, drawing in a breath that tasted of brine and old wood. He was terrified. Not of the football, but of the distance the miles of ocean that were about to stretch between him and the earth that held his mother’s spirit.
"Go for it, kids! You can do it!" a fisherman roared, waving a tattered flag.
"Don't let those city slickers look down on you!" another voice added, followed by a chorus of whistles and cheers.
Near the center of the crowd, Norika’s mother was practically leaning over the edge of the pier. Her eyes were bright with unshed tears, but her smile was wide and fierce. "Little Mermaid! Good luck out there! You all take care of my pearl, please!"
"Mom!" Norika squeaked, her face turning a shade of crimson that rivaled the sunrise. She adjusted her goalie gloves, pouting as she looked away. "I’m not a pearl..."
"Ehehe..." Hiura chuckled softly and sighs.
Further down the line, Hanta’s parents were fussing over her, shoving an oversized, cloth-wrapped bento box into her arms. "Eat properly, Han-chan! Tokyo food is all fluff and no substance. You need your strength!"
"I know, I know!" Hanta laughed, her eyes crinkling as she hugged the box. "I’ll eat every bite!"
Golem stood tall behind her, his parents looking up at him as if he were a monument they had built themselves. His father reached up, patting Golem’s massive shoulder with a heavy, proud hand. There were no words, just a firm nod that said everything Golem needed to hear.
In the shadows of the harbor office, Mansaku spotted a familiar silhouette. His father stood there, arms crossed, leaning against a stack of crates. He didn't wave or shout. But as their eyes met, the older man gave a single, sharp nod a silent command to stay strong. Mansaku adjusted the brim of his cap, his jaw tightening as he nodded back.
Then there was Michinari. He stood apart from the others, his gaze scanning the crowd over and over. He was looking for a tall, imposing woman who wasn't there. The space where his mother should have been felt like a hole in the world. He let out a long, shaky sigh, his shoulders sagging just an inch.
Norika noticed. She stepped over, bumping her shoulder against his. "Hey," she said softly, her voice steady. "It’s okay, Michinari. She’s... she’s busy with the village. But look at all these people. They’re all rooting for us. We are rooting for you."
Michinari looked at her, then at the sea of cheering faces. He managed a small, grateful smile. "Yeah. You're right. Thanks, Norika."
...
"Don't look so gloomy, Asuto-chan!"
Asuto turned. Kyouno was standing right behind him, his hands tucked into his pockets, a soft, knowing smile on his face. The younger boy looked smaller than usual against the backdrop of the massive ferry, but his presence was a grounding force.
"Kyouno..." Asuto’s gaze softened. The nerves that had been twisting in his gut began to unravel.
"I’m going to root for you from here! Every single day!" Kyouno said, his voice bright with forced cheer. "I’m sure you guys are going to win. You have to. If you don't, I’m going to come over there and kick the ball myself!"
Asuto let out a small, genuine laugh. He looked at the boy who had been his shadow, his helper, and his friend through the darkest years of his life.
As Kyouno began to step back toward the gangplank, a sudden surge of realization hit Asuto.
"Kyouno, wait..."
The younger boy stopped, turning back with a curious tilt of his head. "Is there something wrong?"
"No... it’s just..." Asuto looked down at his boots, then back up, his eyes shining. "Thank you. For not giving up on me when I was a mess. For taking care of me... and for looking after Mom, the house, and the farm while I was out training. I don't know what I would have done without you."
Kyouno’s eyes went wide for a split second. He looked away, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. "Don't need to thank me, Asuto-chan... I just... I like you as my big bro. Just that."
Asuto stepped forward and placed a hand on Kyouno’s head, ruffling his hair. "And you’re the little brother I never had, Kyouno. Keep harvest safe for me, okay?"
Kyouno’s smile widened until it was practically glowing. "A-Asuto-chan...! I will!"
"Hang in there, kid!" an adult shouted from the dock, catching Asuto’s attention.
He turned back to the townspeople. They weren't just a crowd anymore; they were a tapestry of shared history. "Don't be sad, alright? You’ve got all of us on your side!" another woman cried out, waving a colorful scarf.
Asuto took a deep breath, the relief washing over him. He wasn't carrying this burden alone. He was a piece of a much larger heart.
"Oi! Asuto! It's time to go!"
Goujin was leaning over the upper railing, his face a manic mask of excitement and terror. He was waving his arms so wildly he looked like he might fall overboard. "The Captain’s pulling the lines! Get your butt up here!"
Asuto looked up. His team, his family was waiting. Hiura, Hanta, Golem, Norika, Michinari, Hiro, Hiyori, Mansaku, and even the stoic Kozoumaru were all lined up along the deck. With a final, lingering look at Kyouno, Asuto sprinted up the gangplank.
The heavy ropes were tossed into the water with a splash. The engine’s thrum rose to a roar, and the *Inakuni Spirit* began to pull away from the wood.
"FAREWELL!!!"
"TAKE CARE!!!!"
The roar from the docks was deafening. The elders stood at the front, their backs straight, their eyes full of a quiet, fierce pride as they watched their children sail away.
"Yeah! We will do it!" Goujin screamed, tears finally streaming down his face even as he laughed. "WE’RE GONNA OWN TOKYO!"
Hiro adjusted his glasses, which were fogging up from the sea spray. He waved his hand with a rhythmic, measured motion. "We will be back! I’ve calculated our return, and it’s going to be glorious!"
"We will do our best!" Golem boomed, his voice echoing off the cliffs.
"Be well, everyone! Wait for us!" Hanta shouted, her voice high and hopeful.
"Guys! We’re going to work so hard you won't even recognize us!" Norika added, her hands cupped around her mouth.
Asuto stood at the very stern, watching the gap between the boat and the land grow wider. "We will be back! Back with football!" He waved until his arm ached, his smile finally genuine, his heart finally light.
A few paces away, Kozoumaru stood with his back to the island. He stared out at the vast, open sea, his fierce eyes narrowing against the glare of the water. He didn't wave, but his shoulders were set with an immovable resolve.
Beside him, Hiyori was practically vibrating with energy. He watched the white wake of the boat, his eyes following the path they were carving through the ocean. "Gao!" he chirped, leaning over the railing. "The big water is moving! Tokyo is coming!"
The group stood together as the sun continued its slow descent, painting the world in shades of fire and gold. The island began to shrink, turning from a vibrant green home into a small, dark silhouette on the horizon.
They huddled together, laughing and giggling to hide the nerves that still fluttered in their chests.
The Inakuni Spirit cut through the waves, leaving the past behind and heading toward a city of neon lights and legendary grass.
...
The salt-crusted air of the Inakuni was replaced by the suffocating, electric hum of the Tokyo metropolitan sprawl. As the team stepped off the train at the central station, the sheer verticality of the city seemed to lean over them, threatening to swallow them whole. To boys and girls raised on the horizontal line of the sea, the skyscrapers were monolithic titans made of glass and cold ambition.
They moved through the station like a school of fish caught in a whirlpool. People in sharp, dark suits moved with a terrifying, synchronized speed, their eyes glued to glowing screens, oblivious to the group of wide-eyed islanders clutching their weathered bags.
"Stay close, everyone!" Michinari shouted over the roar of a departing Shinkansen, his voice strained. "If you get lost here, we might not find you until the next Football Frontier!"
They navigated the labyrinth of the city until the concrete jungle finally gave way to a sight that stopped them in their tracks. Standing before them was the "Thunder Gate" the entrance to Raimon Junior High.
The legendary lightning bolt logo loomed above the iron gates, glowing with a soft, prestigious light that seemed to pulse with the history of a thousand victories. It wasn't a simple school, it was a fortress of football.
"Woah..." The collective gasp was soft, almost reverent.
Asuto stepped forward, his sneakers crunching on the pristine pavement. He looked up at the logo, his heart drumming a rhythm he hadn't felt since before the field was torn up. "I feel like... I can hear them," he whispered. "The voices of the ones who stood here before. The ones who saved football."
"T-this place is nuts!" Goujin roared, his neck craning so far back his cap nearly fell off. He spun in a circle, pointing at the towering clock tower and the sleek, modern wings of the campus. "It’s not a school! It’s a palace! Where are the mud puddles? Where are the goats? This place is too clean!"
"So this is where we are set to play again..." Norika said, her hands trembling slightly as she adjusted the strap of her bag. She looked at the perfectly dressed students walking past girls with impeccably pleated skirts and boys with blazers that didn't have a single stray thread. Compared to them, the Inakuni team, with their slightly faded tracksuits and salt-worn bags, looked like a band of colorful refugees.
"Gao! H-i-y-o-r-i is fired up!" Hiyori suddenly screamed, dashing past them like a streak of orange lightning. He skidded to a halt a few yards away, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "Woah..."
He immediately lost his focus, spinning around to watch a high-tech drone hovering near the school's library. "Look! Metal bird! Gao! Is that food?"
"Don't eat the school equipment, Gao-san!" Hiro shouted, adjusting his glasses which were reflecting the glint of the sunset off the school’s glass windows.
They followed Michinari deeper into the grounds, and that was when they saw it. The training field.
The turf was a vibrant, manicured green that looked like a velvet carpet spread across the earth. High-intensity floodlights stood like silent sentinels around the perimeter, and the air smelled of fresh rubber, mowed grass, and the sharp tang of high-level competition.
"This is so emotional!" Hanta sobbed, her eyes turning into literal fountains as she clutched her bento box. "The grass... it doesn't have any rocks in it! It’s so beautiful!"
"Now, now, Han-chan..." Golem said, petting her shoulder with a massive, gentle hand. He stepped onto the turf, his breath catching. Even through his slippers, he could feel the springiness of the ground. It didn't feel like the hard, unforgiving dirt of Inakuni. It felt like an invitation. "Woah..."
"But why?" Hiro asked, his analytical mind struggling to bridge the gap between their small island and this titan of a school. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his gaze sharp. "Why would the reigning Football Frontier champions take us in? A team from a school that doesn't even exist anymore?"
"Maybe that's because this school doesn't actually have a football club right now," Michinari said, his voice dropping an octave.
"Eh?" The team froze, their heads snapping toward their captain in unison.
"What do you mean 'no club'?" Norika asked, her eyes wide. "This is Raimon! The legend!"
"I don't know all the details," Michinari admitted, crossing his arms and looking toward the main building. "But it seems they’ve been suspended for the time being. Something happened after the last tournament. The team was disbanded, or sent away as part of the 'Reinforcement' program. That’s why we’re able to use the facilities while they’re out. We aren't just guests; we’re placeholders."
"Gao!" Hiyori hopped in front of them, his face scrunched in a rare moment of deep thought. "Does that mean H-i-y-o-r-i and H-i-y-o-r-i’s friends play football next week? On the big stage?"
"Yep," Michinari nodded, a grim but determined look on his face. "The first match is already set."
"Gao!?" Hiyori jumped back, his hair bristling. He looked around at his friends, his eyes darting from face to face. "Gao! Gao! H-i-y-o-r-i’s friends know? Everyone knew?"
"Yep," Norika nodded, a sympathetic smile on her face.
"From the way things were heading back on the boat, it was pretty obvious," Mansaku said, leaning against a goalpost and checking the laces of his cleats.
"Yup," Golem added, nodding his massive head.
"Gao!?" Hiyori’s jaw dropped, his little heart racing with a mix of terror and pure, unadulterated joy.
...
As they continued their tour of the perimeter, the gleaming glass and steel began to fade, replaced by an older, more secluded part of the campus where the trees grew thick and the shadows lingered.
And there, nestled between two ancient oaks, was a strange, dilapidated wooden cabin. A weathered wooden board hung crookedly above the door, the words "Football Club" etched into the grain. The paint was peeling, the roof looked like it had survived three decades of storms, and it looked completely out of place amidst the futuristic architecture of the rest of the school.
"This is..." Hiro started, his voice trailing off as he walked toward the shack.
"M-maybe it's the actual clubroom?" Norika whispered, stepping onto the creaky porch. She peered through a grimy window, seeing stacks of old lockers and dusty benches.
"It definitely looks like it isn't being used," Michinari noted, running a hand over the rough wood. "The main team must have used a high-tech facility in the new building."
"But it definitely looks like a good luck charm," Hanta said, her eyes sparkling as she looked at the humble structure. "It looks like it has a soul."
"Yes," Asuto said, his voice ringing with a sudden, clear certainty. He stepped to the front of the group, his shadow falling across the old door. "This is where we start. It doesn't matter how fancy the rest of the school is. This little room... it feels like Inakuni. It feels like home."
He turned back to his friends, his eyes burning with the same fire that had led them across the sea. "We have to train hard this week. We have to beat Seishou Academy. I'm sure this 'luck charm' will help us get there. We’ll show Tokyo that it’s not the building that makes the team it’s the heart inside it!"
"Well said, Asuto!" Goujin screamed, punching the air so hard he almost fell over.
"Yes!" the team shouted in unison, their voices echoing off the high-tech walls of the main campus, a defiant, islander roar that announced their arrival to the city.
As the team began to drop their bags and explore the small clubhouse from outside, laughing and bickering about how to open the door, they didn't notice a figure standing on the balcony of the main building.
A girl with long, blond hair and sharp, intelligent eyes stood perfectly still, her hands resting on the railing. She wore the elegant Raimon uniform, but her expression was one of cool, detached curiosity. She watched the Inakuni players these loud, unpolished, and strangely vibrant outsiders who looked so utterly out of place in her world.
She adjusted her gaze, focusing on Asuto as he laughed at something Hiyori did. Her eyes narrowed. They were a mystery a variable that the "system" hadn't fully accounted for.
To her, they looked like a tragedy waiting to happen. To them, she was just another part of the Tokyo skyline they hadn't noticed yet.
...
One week had passed since the islanders stepped foot in Tokyo, and now they stood in the tunnel, the concrete vibrating beneath their cleats. Outside, the artificial suns of the floodlights carved the darkness into a brilliant, blinding white.
"Welcome to the Holy Ground Stadium everyone! Today we are kicking things off with a exciting game! Raimon VS Seishou Academy!" The announcer shouted.
The atmosphere was a physical weight. Thousands of fans draped in the blue of Seishou and the yellow of Raimon created a tapestry of shifting color. Flags whipped in the air, and the rhythmic chanting of the crowd sounded like the beating heart of a giant.
"Raimon and Seishou Academy players are scattering around the field for today's game!"
The announcer’s voice it boomed through the very bones of the players. "Raimon has completely changed its whole team from the previous year! What plays will these unknown islanders show us today!?"
On the massive digital billboard, the Raimon formation flickered into life.
Asuto stood at the center circle, his chest heaving as he tried to pull oxygen from the thick, electric air. Beside him, Hiura was squinting, his eyes watering against the glare. "They look... so much bigger than in the videos," Hiura whispered, his breath hitching as he stared at the Seishou lineup. They stood like statues of obsidian, calm and terrifyingly coordinated.
"Doesn't matter," Kozoumaru Sasuke muttered. His voice was a low, raspy growl that seemed to anchor the team. He hadn't moved an inch, his gaze fixed solely on the grass beneath his feet. "Strength is just a wall. You either climb it or you break it. Today, we break it."
In the secluded luxury of the VIP section, the atmosphere was far more cynical. A group of girls from the elite circles of Tokyo’s private schools sat with their legs crossed, hidden behind designer fans and expensive snacks.
"I wonder how well these people from the 'Inazuma Kids F.C.' will actually play," one girl giggled, swirling her soda. "It’s like watching a village play against a kingdom."
"Oh, just stop," her friend sneered, checking her reflection in her phone. "They’re from that Inakuni place. It’s basically an overgrown rock in the middle of the ocean. It doesn't change the fact that they’re a bunch of amateurs."
"I bet they’re bad at football," the third girl sighed, leaning back. "They look so slow. Look at that one with the white hair is he even wearing proper shoes?"
"Silence."
The word was sharp, cold, and final. The girls froze, their giggles dying in their throats.
The girl who had spoken was sitting at the front of the box, her hands resting calmly on the railing. She was the same girl who had watched that day. Her sharp, serious gaze never left Asuto.
"On the other side, we have Seishou Academy, the tournament favorites!" the commentator shouted. "In the ranking match, they beat the infamous Royal Academy to take the title! We are about to see a clash, my friends!"
Asuto took a deep, shuddering breath. He looked down at his hand, the palm that had felt the sting of a thousand training sessions. *Asuto, football will never disappear. As long as you need it... it will always be there.*
His mother’s final words echoed in his mind, turning the static of the stadium into a focused silence. He looked up, his eyes narrowing into slits of pure, golden determination.
"Watch me, Mom," he whispered.
The Raimon sub-coach, standing near the bench, wrung his hands together until his knuckles were white. He looked over at the head coach, who was currently occupied with picking a piece of lint off his extravagant shirt.
"The result is obvious before we even start," the sub-coach hissed. "How could you pitch them against a demon of the field like Haisaki right out of the gate? Are you trying to destroy these children's spirits?"
The head coach didn't look up. He simply crossed his arms, a mischievous, enigmatic smirk playing on his lips. "Hohohohohoho~"
*TRIIIIIIIIIIIIIT!*
The referee’s whistle pierced the air. The game began.
"And it’s begun! Raimon versus Seishou Academy!"
Seishou didn't hesitate. They moved like a single, predatory organism. The ball was a blur of black and blue, zipping between players with a precision that felt mechanical. They were trying to overwhelm the islanders in the first thirty seconds.
"Gao!"
A Seishou midfielder gasped as a shadow darted into his peripheral vision. Before he could even register the movement, Hiyori had intercepted the pass with an animalistic pounce, his body low to the ground.
"What the- !?" the Seishou player shouted.
Hiyori didn't waste a second. He flicked the ball back toward Goujin, who caught it on his chest. Goujin’s dribbling was aggressive, his face twisted in a snarl of effort. He charged forward, his powerful strides eating up the distance as he bypassed the Seishou midfielders.
"Raimon makes a swift attack!" the commentator roared, the crowd leaning forward in their seats.
Kozoumaru was already sprinting, a silent phantom moving toward the goal. As two Seishou defenders lunged at Goujin, Goujin smirked. He didn't try to power through them, he back-heeled the ball into what looked like empty space.
The defenders scoffed, thinking he had fumbled. But then, Asuto appeared. He passed through them like a ghost, his timing so perfect it seemed as though he had teleported.
"Inamori goes with the ball!"
He, Goujin, and Kozoumaru formed a perfect attacking arrow, a spearhead aimed directly at Seishou’s heart.
Asuto flicked the ball to Goujin, received it back in a quick one-two, and bypassed the final line of defense. The sharp-eyed girl in the VIP box stood up, her fingers gripping the railing.
The Raimon's head coach grin widened. "Heh. The biggest mistake of the century is about to begin..."
Asuto saw the defenders closing in. He didn't panic. He saw Kozoumaru in the corner of his eye and sent a crisp, low pass through the gap.
"Inamori makes a pass to Kozoumaru!"
Kozoumaru smirks. "Smart kid."
With a tricky cut that left the Seishou forward stumbling, Kozoumaru found his opening.
"There it goes! The Raimon's attack!"
He back-heeled the ball high into the air, the sphere spinning against the stadium lights. He followed it up, back-flipping with a grace that defied his stocky frame.
As he landed, the grass beneath his feet seemed to wither. A stream of swirling, violent fire erupted around him. He leaped into the air, spinning clockwise, his legs becoming a literal tornado of flame.
"FAIYAA TORNADOOU!"
The impact was a thunderclap. The ball ignited, turning into a spinning vortex of crimson heat that streaked across the pitch, leaving a trail of scorched turf behind it.
A Seishou midfielder froze, the heat singeing the air around him as the ball screamed past.
The Seishou goalkeeper didn't even have time to crouch. The ball slammed into the back of the net with the force of a meteor, the nylon mesh straining as if it were about to snap.
RAIMON: 1 | SEISHOU: 0
The silence that followed was absolute. For three seconds, the only sound was the crackle of the lingering heat. Then, the stadium exploded.
"UNBELIEVABLE!!!! AN UNEXPECTED DEVELOPMENT!" the commentator screamed, his voice cracking.
Kozoumaru landed and simply raised a single fist, his expression arrogant and immovable.
"The... Fire Tornado..." Goujin whispered, his jaw literally hitting his chest. He had been trying to master a move like that for months, and seeing it executed with such perfection left him in a state of shock.
"WE DID IT! WE SCORED!" Norika screamed from the other side of the field, her fist held high.
"Gao!!!" Hiyori howled, running in circles around her like a wild pup.
Mansaku slapped Kozoumaru’s shoulder. "Woah... you’re actually the real deal, huh?"
"Urgh," Kozoumaru sighed, shaking him off, though a small glint of satisfaction was in his eyes.
"Nice one." Michinari smiles, slightly relieved.
The Seishou players stood in a daze, staring at their own net. But in the center of the field, the atmosphere began to curdle.
"What will you do now... Haisaki..." the Seishou coach whispered to himself, his eyes fixed on his ace striker.
One of the Seishou Academy's forwards stood with his head down, his long hair casting a deep shadow over his face. "What was that...?" he asked, his voice low and dangerously calm.
The Seishou team went quiet, looking at him.
"I didn't hear about this," He said, his voice beginning to tremble not with fear, but with a terrifying, bubbling mirth.
"Yeah, them having a hissatsu wasn't in the data," a white-haired midfielder noted, her gaze cooling.
"Their running power is higher than predicted. Maybe the investigation team was wrong." A purple-haired forward player said, slightly annoyed.
"No..." Haisaki said, putting a hand over his face. His fingers clawed at his skin, and when he pulled his hand away, his red eyes were glowing with a predatory light. His smirk was wide, jagged, and unhinged.
"They just brought out their so-called 'Inner Power'..."
"Keke... Kekekeke!"
The laugh started as a wheeze and grew into a full-blown, manic roar that chilled the blood of everyone on the field. Haisaki threw his arms wide, looking up at the sky as if receiving a dark blessing.
"Kyakakakakakakakakakakka! FINALLY!" he screamed. "I finally found it! The light you were talking about... Kidou!"
The stadium fell into an uneasy silence as Haisaki’s laughter echoed off the concrete walls.
Asuto stared at him, his heart hammering. This wasn't the kind of football he knew from the island. This was something darker, yet, he wasn't going to give up.
Far back on the Seishou bench, a boy with pink hair sat down, while a boy with a regal blonde hair stood up.
"Their eyes..." The pink haired boy said, tilting his head.
"What's wrong with them?" The blind haired boy says, putting his hands on his pocket.
"Do you think they actually enjoy playing football?"
The blond haired boy hissed. "Tsk. Not a chance. Not against him."
"I'll bet..." Mizukami sighed, leaning back.
...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Impressive. You managed the Inakuni members actual personalities. I'm excited to see more!
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