The next day, a few hours before the match against Team Y, Haise was summoned to Ego’s office.
SHIIIIIIIK.
The automatic door slid open with its characteristic sound, and Haise stepped inside with his hands behind his back and that posture that wasn’t exactly relaxed but also refused to be tense, like someone who carried the same fundamental indifference into every place he entered.
“You wanted to see me, old man?” Haise said, his eyes briefly scanning the office before settling on Ego.
“Yes, you stupid brat.” Ego replied, turning his chair toward him with that presence that occupied the room far beyond the amount of physical space he actually took up.
“How do you feel now that you know what your own Ego is?”
Haise fell silent for a moment.
It wasn’t hesitation.
Not even close.
It was simply the time required to retrieve that feeling from wherever he had stored it, revisiting every layer of what had happened on that field—the moment the mirror fragments had begun spinning with a different urgency than ever before, the instant the goal had ceased to be a possibility and become an inevitability that he himself had constructed brick by brick.
His fists slowly clenched.
“It felt like being born again,” he began, his voice carrying a sincerity he rarely used, but when he did, it left no doubt about its weight.
“I was overflowing with euphoria. My mind was running at a thousand miles per hour, and above all else, I wanted to satisfy myself. That goal was the fulfillment of a desire that came from my Ego.” A brief pause.
“And I’d like to fulfill every one of those desires.”
Ego stared at him with those eyes that analyzed before responding, processing not only the words but the way they were spoken, his posture, his expression, everything that existed at the edges of what was being communicated.
“I see,” he finally said, adjusting his glasses with a finger.
“That’s exactly how someone feels when they awaken their Ego. By experiencing that sensation, you can come closer to yourself than ever before. You become aligned with what you truly are.” A pause.
“And from there, you’re able to understand your talents and capabilities with a level of clarity that wasn’t available to you before.”
Haise gave a slight nod, absorbing the explanation without resistance.
This time, Ego paused for longer, accompanied by a sigh that wasn’t quite impatience, but signaled that the next step of the conversation was what truly mattered.
“Then can you tell me what your weapon is?”
His violet eyes glimmered faintly.
It wasn’t the uncontrollable flame that had burned within them during the match.
It was something quieter, something more internal, like the light that remains after a fire has passed and reveals what was truly underneath.
For a fraction of a second, remnants of images crossed his gaze—fragments of something still being processed, organized, and transformed into language that could be communicated.
Haise remained silent for a moment.
Not the silence of someone who didn’t know the answer, but the silence of someone choosing his words with the care of a person who understood they needed to carry the exact weight of what he meant.
“I have a theory,” he replied, his voice carrying a conviction that didn’t need volume to be felt.
“But I need to formulate it properly before drawing any conclusions.”
The smile that spread across Ego’s face stretched from ear to ear, genuine and completely devoid of restraint—the smile of a madman who had gambled on a card that was proving to be exactly what he had imagined, and perhaps a little more.
“Very good,” he said, and there was something close to anticipation in his voice.
“And what would that be?”
Haise met his gaze.
There was no hesitation in those eyes.
No doubt.
No need for the approval that such a question might have provoked in any other player in the project.
There was only the straightforward seriousness of someone who was about to say something and wanted it to be received with the weight it deserved.
“Philosophy.”
…
Haise returned to Team Z’s dormitory and found everyone already in the process of getting ready for the match.
The atmosphere carried that specific, silent tension that comes before something real.
Different from the nervousness of the elimination game—more focused, more aware of what was at stake.
“Ah, is it already time?” Haise asked, looking toward Hiori, who had already finished changing and was adjusting his uniform with his usual composure.
“Yeah. Catch.”
Hiori tossed Team Z’s black jersey toward him without ceremony.
Haise caught it out of the air with an ease that made the gesture seem completely casual, as though his hands simply knew where a ball—or anything else—would be before it arrived.
“Then let’s get going, Mr. Femboy,” he said while pulling on Team Z’s jersey with the same indifference he would have shown toward any other task.
He failed to notice the blush that immediately rose to Hiori’s face after hearing the nickname.
They moved with the familiarity of people who knew each other well enough that they didn’t need instructions during their preparations.
Eleven players who had made it this far on their own merit.
And that meant something.
Haise’s eyes swept across the opposing team with that automatic analytical gaze that had become part of how he processed any environment filled with moving people.
Then they stopped.
On a short, slender player with dark, curly hair and a fringe that naturally covered his left eye, in a way that seemed less like a fashion choice and more simply the way he existed.
There was something about the way he moved during the warm-up.
Something that wasn’t present in the others.
A quality that Haise recognized immediately, despite not yet being able to fully put a name to it.
「 Jin Kiyora — ST 」
“Maybe he has a good philosophy.”
The thought emerged the same way it had with Nishioka—that particular anticipation of someone who detects something interesting before fully understanding what it is.
It wasn’t certainty.
It was instinct.
And Haise’s instincts had already proven themselves to be a reliable tool.
PIII!
The whistle sounded, signaling the start of the match, and possession went to Team Y.
“Hm… Let’s see…”
Haise glanced at Hiori beside him and spoke with the straightforward objectivity of someone who had already decided on his approach before stepping onto the field.
“I’m going to focus on the short guy with the bangs. Mark anyone who stays around him and increase his passing options.”
“Okay.”
Start!
Haise positioned himself in front of Kiyora as he received the ball.
Then he did something that had probably never been done before in a situation like this.
He asked a question.
“What’s your philosophy?”
Kiyora blinked.
“Huh?”
“I’m curious.”
Haise moved toward him with the relaxed cadence of someone having a conversation in a hallway, not marking an opponent in a decisive football match.
“What’s your philosophy? Why do you play football, and how do you play it? Can you answer me?”
Kiyora redirected the ball before the question could be fully processed, instinct responding before the absurdity of the situation had a chance to paralyze him.
The fringe-haired boy spun with the ball and cut to the right with an unannounced fluidity.
Haise moved at the exact same moment.
His shoulder closed off the route in an interception that left no room for negotiation.
Baam!
Strong!
The thought shot through Kiyora’s head as his body processed the impact.
And he’s fast too.
What kind of physique is that?!
The duel was lost.
Kiyora’s body dropped toward the ground along a trajectory that should have ended the play before it could go anywhere meaningful.
Not yet!
But it didn’t.
His hands touched the turf before the rest of his body did, and for a fraction of a second Kiyora was on all fours in a way that seemed to defy the logic of any normal fall.
What came next was even more improbable.
With a mobility that didn’t belong to football but somehow worked perfectly within it, he reached the ball through a breakdance-like motion that completely reorganized the geometry of the play.
Haise stood still for half a second. Find the original chapter at g.com.
“Wow.”
Baam!
The ball was sent toward one of Kiyora’s teammates as he rose to his feet with the naturalness of someone who had simply chosen a different route to reach the same destination.
Then he started running.
With Haise immediately becoming his shadow.
“Don’t run away, bangs,” Haise commented, already beside him, his stride maintaining pace without any apparent effort.
“Tsk!”
On the other side of the field, Hiori had already found the player carrying the ball and was processing what he saw with the silent, rapid analysis that defined him.
‘Average speed.
Low stance.
Decent ball control.
His field vision is pretty good, too.’
His eyes never left the opponent as he closed the distance, calculating the perfect moment.
‘But he’s still mediocre.’
His foot extended before the player could react properly.
And panic did what panic always does.
It sent the ball away without any real calculation.
Straight toward where Hiori’s other foot had already been waiting.
“I told you.”
Baam!
The interception was clean, precise, and completely free of wasted motion.
The ball sliced through the air toward the center of the penalty area along a trajectory that had been created in two touches but looked as though it had been planned over ten.
“Ah, Hiori was perfect,” Haise murmured, a smile forming at the corner of his mouth as his eyes were already calculating the next movement.
“But this guy behind me…”
The shadow passed before he could finish the sentence.
Kiyora had exploded out of his position in a way that wasn’t preceded by any visible preparatory motion, his feet and body moving in a sequence that once again brought breakdancing into football as though the two had always belonged to the same vocabulary.
He reached the ball.
And shot.
GOAL!
Team Z [0] — [1] Team Y
“He doesn’t give up that easily.”
The words left Haise almost sounding impressed.
There was no irritation from being caught off guard in a negative way.
It was genuine excitement, the kind that appears when something completely escapes what was predicted and, instead of becoming a problem, turns into exactly the sort of thing that makes the game worth playing.
The smile never left his face.
Breakdancing and football.
Who would have imagined the two would blend together so naturally?
That the mobility of one would become the perfect vocabulary for the demands of the other?
That a fringe-haired boy could use the ground not as the destination of a fall, but as the foundation for a play that had no name in any football manual that existed?
Haise had thought about many things before that match.
He had envisioned several scenarios with perfect clarity.
But the unexpected factor was Kiyora.
He had not existed in any of those scenarios.
And that, in a way few people would understand, was exactly why the smile remained.
…
Even after conceding a goal right before his eyes, the smile does not leave the face of the genius who has encountered a new and unexpected fusion!
NEXT CHAPTER → Philosophy of the Breakdancer