The field carried that fresh, slightly sweet scent of freshly cut grass, mixed with the gentle warmth of the late morning sun.
The wind swept through the stands, lifting banners and flags, while the murmur of the crowd formed a soundtrack of anticipation.
Isagi slowly drew air into his lungs and began stretching.
On the opposite side, Tada was doing the same, throwing out small provocations that Isagi casually ignored.
The rest of the team spread across the field, exchanging short passes, quick touches, testing the weight of the ball and the rhythm of the wind.
The crowd began to stir when the referee walked toward the center circle.
Both teams took their positions.
The referee’s whistle sliced through the air like a thin blade.
The murmurs ceased, replaced by a silent tension hanging over the field.
On the opposite side, Minamida High School displayed impeccable organization, the kind of team that breathed discipline.
Their navy-blue uniforms contrasted against Ichinan’s white and black, and the players moved like a single body, unhurried yet precise.
Their formation was clear: 4-3-3, exactly as Coach Saito had said.
Four compact defenders, a solid line, fullbacks ready to push forward whenever necessary.
The midfield trio maintained an intelligent structure: two holding midfielders anchoring the center, and an advanced playmaker controlling the rhythm of the game: Hayato Aizawa, the captain and the brain of the team.
Aizawa did not appear physically imposing, but the way he observed the field, chin raised and gaze calm, made it obvious he saw more than most people.
He barely gestured, yet his teammates responded instantly, as if they could read his thoughts.
Minamida’s offensive trio was fast.
Two aggressive wingers ready to attack down the flanks, and a center forward who resembled a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
They positioned themselves slightly higher up, pushing Ichinan’s line backward before the match had even begun.
On Ichinan’s side, the coach had maintained the traditional 4-2-2-2, with Isagi and Tada upfront, an attacking duo built entirely on contrast.
Behind them were two attacking midfielders: Shiba and Haruto, tasked with balancing creativity and defensive coverage.
Further back, Takeshi and Ryoga shielded the defense, both with clear roles: intercept and distribute quickly.
Behind them stood four defenders, ready to withstand the initial pressure.
The referee raised his arm, and Minamida’s captain positioned the ball in the center circle.
A short pass backward.
And the friendly match began!
And within seconds, Minamida High School showed exactly why they had finished second in the Winter Cup.
Captain Hayato Aizawa’s short pass reached the feet of number six, Tsubaki Ren, a defensive midfielder with upright posture and a cold expression.
He rotated his body perfectly, escaping Takeshi’s approach with a simple feint, then made a first-touch pass to the left back, Kenta Mizoguchi.
The ball rolled tightly along the sideline, matching Mizoguchi’s natural movement.
He did not even need to look back—he already knew where every one of his teammates was positioned.
He quickly delivered a precise pass to another teammate, and they continued exchanging the ball among themselves.
Ichinan advanced as a block, attempting to press high.
Tada sprinted toward the center-back, Yamane Riku, who calmly returned the pass without any rush.
The sound of footsteps echoed across the grass, the rhythm of their coordinated movements rehearsed, almost choreographed.
Minamida exchanged short, quick passes, both wide and central, always one touch before any pressure could arrive.
The ball seemed tied to an invisible string, constantly escaping Ichinan’s players by mere centimeters.
“Press!
Press!” Ryoga shouted, his voice tearing through the air.
He stepped forward, trying to intercept a midfield pass, but Aizawa saw him beforehand.
A light heel touch redirected the ball, finding right midfielder Koji Amuro, a skinny boy with messy black hair and lazy-looking eyes, but feet far too fast.
Amuro spun his body in half a second and escaped Haruto’s attempted tackle with a sharp dribble.
One short touch, then another.
The sound of the ball being struck was clean, smooth, rhythmic like a melody only Minamida’s players seemed to understand.
The crowd reacted with murmurs and low whistles.
The technical difference was obvious, and that hurt even more for those on the field.
The ball traveled once more to Mizoguchi, who surged down the left flank.
The field vibrated beneath his steps.
Takeshi tried to follow him, but Mizoguchi cut inside, body leaning, balance flawless.
The pass came low across midfield toward Aizawa, who was already rotating his body before the ball even arrived.
“Over here!” shouted right winger Rento Harada, a short, fast player with a provocative grin.
Aizawa raised his head for a brief instant and delivered a long pass with the outside of his foot.
The ball traveled in a perfect arc, landing exactly in front of Rento.
The boy let it bounce once, controlled it with his chest, and accelerated.
Ichinan’s fullback chased after him, eyes fixed on the ball, but his opponent’s speed was absurd.
Rento made a sharp inward cut, leaving the defender planted in place.
The stands erupted into a collective “ooh!” The navy-blue winger advanced two more steps and played a short pass to center forward Naoto Kirihara, who controlled the ball with his back to goal.
The ball stopped for an instant in the middle of the box, enough for time itself to seem stretched.
But before Minamida’s striker could turn his body, a light touch—almost lazy—redirected the ball’s path.
Tac.
It disappeared from Kirihara’s feet.
By the time everyone realized what had happened, Isagi already had possession, body slightly tilted forward, expression calm, almost bored.
“With soccer this mediocre…” he said in a relaxed, almost sleepy tone, “…you’ll never become professionals.” The sentence crossed the field like silent thunder.
Minamida’s players instinctively stepped back, and the stadium seemed to hold its breath.
Isagi surged forward with superhuman speed.
Tsubaki, the defensive midfielder, moved in for the tackle, foot forward, body closed off, but Isagi twisted his ankle, touching the ball with the outside of his foot and slipping past the challenge with the natural ease of someone playing around.
The sound of footsteps and the ball blended together with the crowd’s growing murmur.
Aizawa, having predicted his trajectory the moment he stole the ball earlier, moved immediately to intercept the diagonal lane.
He extended an arm, voice firm: “You’re not getting past here, number eleven!” The boy raised his eyes, and a crooked smile appeared on his face.
“Oh really?” Aizawa stepped forward, lowering his center of gravity to anticipate the touch.
But Isagi rotated his foot with almost cruel precision.
The ball slipped cleanly between the captain’s legs in a dry, perfect nutmeg.
“Heh…” Isagi murmured as he passed him without even looking back.
“You really shouldn’t leave your legs open like that… people might think you’re easy.” Aizawa turned his head in disbelief, and the stands exploded.
Fortunately, Aizawa had bought enough time for Tsubaki Ren, who was nearby, to throw himself into Isagi’s path, opening his body to close the angle.
But Isagi slightly shifted his left foot, drawing the opponent’s attention to the wrong side, then slid the ball through the midfielder’s legs with his right.
Tsubaki twisted his body to react, but Isagi was already two meters ahead, his movements fluid, his balance impeccable.
The next to challenge him was Mizoguchi, the fullback, closing in from the left flank.
Isagi did not slow down—if anything, he accelerated.
He twisted his ankle, lifting the ball slightly, and executed a reverse elastico that passed right beside the opponent’s cleat.
After getting past two more defenders, Isagi had already reached the attacking third, advancing with the ball glued to his foot as though it were an extension of his body.
Every touch had perfect timing, every rotation of his hips avoided a leg, a sliding tackle, a desperate block attempt.
He was beautifully dismantling the opposing team.
The last defensive midfielder attempted a hard tackle.
Isagi did not stop.
With a soft touch, he lifted the ball, letting the marker slide underneath it, then brought it back down with the sole of his cleat.
The movement was so natural it seemed rehearsed over an entire lifetime.
Center-back Yamane shouted: “Close him down!” But no one could.
Isagi looked relaxed as he dribbled through the opposing team.
A quick spin to fool the fullback, followed by a backheel switch that left the marker facing the wrong direction.
The ball rolled across the grass, spinning and bouncing softly as if it were dancing.
Another touch, now with the sole of his right foot, lifting the ball just enough to pass over a defender in a miniature volley.
Aizawa tried to recover from behind, but Isagi was already ahead.
He entered the penalty area.
Tada sprinted down the right side, desperately calling for the pass with his arm raised.
“ISAGI!
HERE!
PASS IT!” But Isagi did not respond.
His eyes were fixed on the goal.
The last defender tried to block him with his body, pushing against him, attempting to throw him off balance.
But Isagi was ready.
After lifting the ball by dragging it backward and striking it with the tip of his foot, it bounced off the grass and rose above both him and the defender.
In the next instant, Isagi used the defender himself as support.
His body curved over the opponent’s back, his right foot rising into the air with millimetric precision.
The ball, in a perfect arc, met his foot with the inevitability of fate itself.
The goalkeeper jumped, but it was already too late.
The ball sliced through the air, struck the net with a clean, sharp snap, and the stadium exploded into a collective roar.
GOOOOOOOAL!
Isagi landed softly on the grass, body balanced, without falling, his expression still calm.
Silence.
The defender he had used as support was still trying to understand what had happened.
Captain Aizawa stood motionless, eyes wide, jaw nearly dropping.
But only for a moment.
The next instant, the roar of the crowd echoed through Ichinan Academy’s stands, a mixture of ecstasy and disbelief at Isagi Yoichi’s spectacular goal.
The ball still shook the net, and Minamida High School’s players stood in stunned silence, contrasting against the explosion of enthusiasm from Ichinan’s students.
“NO, NO WAY!
HOW DID HE DO THAT?!” “ISAGI YOICHI, OH MY GOD!!!” “HE SPUN IN MID-AIR?
HE SPUN AND SHOT?!” “BRO INVENTED A NEW GOAL!
THAT DOESN’T EVEN EXIST!” “I AGREE WITH YOU!
NO WAY!
I NEED THE REPLAY!
I NEED TO SEE THE REPLAY RIGHT NOW!” “I SWEAR I SAW THE BALL CHANGE DIRECTION MID-AIR!
WHAT KIND OF CURVE WAS THAT?!” “That’s called a violation of physics!!” “…” “If that’s not Goal of the Tournament, I’m transferring schools!” “…” “HEY, ISAGI!
YOU CRAZY MAN!
MARRY ME!!” “ISAGI-SAMA!!
TEACH ME THAT SHOT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!” “That looked like the final scene of an anime, man.
All that’s missing is ‘Winner’ playing in the background!” “The opposing coach looks pale!
Dude’s in complete shock!” Among the excited spectators, Kaguya watched Isagi with an expression that mixed fascination and admiration.
Her hands, normally folded elegantly together, were slightly clenched, as though she were trying to contain the emotions awakened by Isagi’s goal.
Even though she was not a football expert, she recognized the brilliance of that play—the precision, the audacity, the absolute confidence.
It was impossible not to be impressed.
“That was… extraordinary,” she murmured.
Beside her, Hayasaka merely sighed upon seeing the lovestruck expression on her lady’s face.
Her own eyes settled on Isagi; even she was surprised by that goal and the boy’s abilities.
Meanwhile, Yuki maintained her elegant posture, legs crossed and hands resting on her lap, but her eyes shone with an intensity that betrayed her fascination.
Beside her, Kuze waved the black-and-white flag with his usual laziness, but even he looked impressed.
“Damn, Yuki, since when is Isagi this good?
Like, ‘sports anime protagonist’ good.” He shot his sister a teasing glance.
“Bet you’re already imagining him as the hero of your next favorite manga, huh?” Yuki turned her face away, the faint blush on her cheeks revealing that Kuze was not entirely wrong.
“Don’t be foolish, Masashika.
I am merely… appreciating the talent of a classmate.
And you are correct, he has improved tremendously compared to last year.
From the rumors about him becoming the soccer team’s new Ace, I already expected something impressive, but his skills exceeded my expectations.” “Hmm…” Kuze fell silent as he watched his friend.
Maybe being friends with a future star would have its advantages someday, he wondered… While the two spoke, several students enthusiastically began discussing Isagi’s dribbles and goal.
Sitting silently, Alya kept her arms crossed, eyes fixed on Isagi, but for the first time, the jealousy that normally consumed her had taken a backseat—she did not even care about Marin’s shouting.
Isagi’s goal had been so incredible that even she, with her tendency to get irritated over everything, could not avoid admiring it.
He was… incredible.
The way he crossed the field, dribbled past half the opposing team, and finished with a perfect bicycle kick seemed to defy logic itself.
“Ты невероятный…” (You’re incredible…) She murmured in Russian almost unconsciously, her soft tone filled with fascination.
Beside her, Masha watched Isagi with a sweet smile, her eyes sparkling with almost dreamy admiration, a blush coloring her cheeks.
“He looks like a prince on the field, doesn’t he, Alya?” Alya huffed, but the corner of her mouth betrayed a smile.
“A prince?
Don’t exaggerate, Masha.
He’s just… good.
Really good.” She looked away, trying to hide just how impressed she truly was.
But deep down, she knew that moment only made it harder to ignore her feelings.
Isagi was not merely a classmate or a desk neighbor anymore… “You’re smiling, Alya,” Masha teased, leaning closer with a mischievous grin.
“Shut up, Masha,” Alya shot back, her face flushing intensely.
She looked toward Isagi, who seemed perfectly calm despite scoring an “impossible goal.” And the game had barely started!
_____________________ (A/N: First of all, thank you for reading this story.
Your support there also helps a lot in keeping the story updated consistently.
I hope you continue enjoying Isagi’s completely cursed new life in this crossover world.)