The sun was setting on the horizon, tinting the sky orange and gold, as Isagi walked along the dirt road toward his house.
On one side, the field alternated between dry soil and patches of sparse grass, with the wind kicking up dust with every stronger gust.
On the other, tall grass swayed gently, hiding a narrow stream that lazily wound its way through, reflecting the sky like an irregular mirror.
Further back, a concrete bridge cut across the landscape, and every now and then, the muffled sound of a car passing over it broke the peaceful silence of the late afternoon.
Isagi pushed the bicycle slowly, his hands on the handlebars and his gaze lost on the ground.
It hadn’t even been a full day since he had been reborn into that world and had to adapt in a rush.
One thing, however, was certain: his current life was far more interesting than the previous one.
He adjusted the backpack on his shoulder and looked ahead.
The path continued in the same mix of dirt and grass until it disappeared around the curve.
Mounting the bicycle, he began to pedal toward home, guided by the memories of the previous owner of that body.
It didn’t take long to arrive.
After the curve, the dirt road gave way to a small paved alley, and soon the silhouette of the house appeared—a simple, modern construction, with straight lines, a light-colored façade, and two floors.
He passed through the low gate, leaned the bicycle against the stand beside the garage, and climbed the short set of steps leading to the front door.
As he opened it, he was greeted by a familiar voice.
“Welcome back, Yoichi.” Iyo Isagi appeared in the hallway, drying her hands on a kitchen cloth.
Her light brown hair was tied in a low bun, and the faint aroma of seasoning in the air indicated that dinner was almost ready.
“How was school?” “Ah, I’m back… Mom.” Isagi took off his shoes at the entrance and left his backpack leaning against the wall.
“It was… a busy day.” “Busy with what?” “Too much talking, too much training… and, I think, too much drama.
But nothing I can’t handle.” “That’s good to hear.
Go wash your hands, dinner is already on the table.” “Alright…” He quickly went upstairs to leave his phone charging.
Then, he came back down and headed to the dining room.
At the table, Issei Isagi was already seated, his glasses resting on the tip of his nose as he read a folded newspaper.
His stubble gave him a relaxed look, and his posture indicated his day had ended some time ago.
“Good evening, Dad…” Isagi pulled out the chair.
“Welcome back, Yoichi…” Issei replied without taking his eyes off the newspaper, calmly turning the page.
“Anything new at school?” “Nothing much… aside from some weird conversations at lunch.” He served himself some rice.
“But I guess that’s normal.” Issei raised an eyebrow over the paper.
“Weird like ‘new teacher’ weird, or weird like ‘girls complicating your life’?” “…The second.” Isagi answered, somewhat begrudgingly.
From the kitchen, Iyo let out a short laugh as she brought in a plate of grilled fish.
“Is it that Alya you’re always talking about, Yoi-chan?
Or that friend of yours’ sister?
Oh, and there’s also that rich girl who’s come to bring you homework a few times—according to her, at the teacher’s request… but I think it was just an excuse to see you.” “Did you become a psychic…?” Isagi sighed.
“Well, I didn’t run into Kaguya, but the other two had lunch with me.” “If you weren’t so obsessed with football, I’d say you started playing just to pick up girls.
My son’s a real stud.” Issei commented, folding the newspaper and finally setting it aside to start eating.
“Issei!” Iyo lightly tapped the table, giving him a disapproving look.
“What kind of father says that to his own son?” “Ah, it’s just a joke…” He raised his hands as if surrendering.
“But it’s still true that he’s popular.” Isagi let out an awkward chuckle and looked down at his plate.
“Let’s… just eat.” The atmosphere at the table quickly relaxed.
Between sips of tea and bites of fish, they talked about the neighborhood, commented on the latest local news, and from time to time, a joke naturally came up.
As he chewed, Isagi couldn’t ignore the contrast.
Having a home, warm food, and two people who cared about him… it was something far too distant from his previous life.
After they finished, Isagi gently pushed his chair back.
“I’m going to head to the field near the house to train a bit…” “At this hour?” Iyo asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Just a little, I promise…” Without waiting for a response, he went upstairs, grabbed the ball leaning in the corner of the room, and changed into a light training outfit.
As he hurried down, almost skipping two steps at a time, he heard his mother’s voice coming from the living room: “Yoichi!
How many times have I told you not to run on the stairs?!” “Sorry!” he replied without stopping.
Already putting on his sneakers at the door, he stepped out into the cool night, the sound of his footsteps fading until they disappeared into the street.
It didn’t even take five minutes to get there.
The field was small, with uneven grass and some patches yellowed by the sun, surrounded by a low metal fence.
Beside it, the neighborhood square was empty, only a swing creaked in the wind, and a streetlamp began to light up, casting a yellowish glow over the concrete ground.
The air carried that fresh scent of the newly arrived night, mixed with the faint aroma of damp earth.
Isagi walked through the gate with the ball under his arm and took a deep breath.
The silence was almost complete, broken only by the rustling of leaves.
He left the ball beside a bench and began to stretch.
He rolled his neck, loosened his shoulders, and then calmly stretched his legs.
His muscles were stiffer than he remembered from the peak of his previous life, and his endurance wasn’t the same yet.
Even so, there was stored energy, as if his body was ready to move.
He placed the ball on the ground and started with light touches, feeling its weight and bounce.
Soon, he moved on to juggling, first slowly, then with more rhythm.
Within seconds, he was alternating between both feet effortlessly.
When he tried using his left, he noticed something strange.
The ball didn’t fall.
On the contrary, the movement was just as natural as with his right.
Isagi paused for a moment, surprised.
Had he become ambidextrous?
To confirm, he started again: right, left, left, right… no mistakes.
There was no hesitation, nor that slight adjustment typical of someone using their weaker foot.
Control, strength, precision—everything was the same.
A smile appeared on his face.
“I didn’t notice this before, with so much happening… but it seems I got a bonus in this life.
In the previous one I was left-footed, and since this body is right-footed… it makes sense.
In the end, I ended up with both sides at the same level… this is perfect.” He let the ball drop, positioned himself, and prepared the first shot.
The movement came out clean.
The ball shot off like a projectile and hit the top corner with a sharp sound.
“Hah…” The sensation came instantly—familiar and addictive.
Then he truly began.
He advanced along the side of the field, dribbling with his right, cut sharply to the left, and finished again.
Another precise shot, now into the opposite corner.
He ran to retrieve the ball, maintaining a high pace.
He started dribbling improvised obstacles made of water bottles, alternating control, rhythm, and direction.
Short touches, quick changes, explosive feints.
Everything flowed.
There was no imbalance when switching legs.
He could feint with his left and finish with his right, or the opposite, without losing precision.
He tested himself with shots from different distances.
From the edge of the box, using both legs, he hit the target repeatedly.
From outside the box, he increased the power and began testing the curve of the ball as well.
With his right foot, he applied an outside spin that curved around the post before going in; with his left, he reproduced the same play with frightening accuracy.
Sweat began to run down his forehead, but his breathing remained under control.
Next, he decided to train complete plays: dribble, feint, change direction, and finish.
He also began creating imaginary scenarios—defenders closing spaces, the goalkeeper advancing, pressure coming from the sides.
With each simulation, he finished in a different way: a placed shot into the corner, a powerful strike to the top, a delicate chip.
At one point, he placed the ball at midfield and decided to test control in progression.
He sprinted with his right, switched to his left, accelerated on the penultimate touch, and finished from outside the box, the ball smashing into the side netting.
He repeated the same path starting with the left, achieving exactly the same result.
After nearly an hour at that intense pace, he decided to try something bolder.
He tossed the ball into the air, spun his body 360 degrees mid-air, and struck it with his left—the ball went cleanly into the corner.
He grabbed it again and repeated the movement with his right.
Same result.
In the end, with heavier breathing, he picked up the ball and gave it a few light touches, just to feel its texture under the sole of his foot.
There was no doubt: he had acquired something few in the world possessed—a natural ambidexterity in football, an extremely rare weapon!
And not only that… He stopped, staring at the goal in the distance.
A wide smile spread across his face.
“It seems my talent for football was enhanced by the fusion of souls.
I can reproduce any dribble, shot, or play I’ve ever seen, whether from my past life or from my predecessor’s memories.
It’s like a true [Perfect Copy], similar to Kise Ryota’s from Kuroko no Basket, but applied to football instead of basketball… Yes, that’s what I’ll call this ability.” His eyes shone intensely.
“If I can perfectly reproduce any play after seeing it just once… then all I need is a body strong enough to execute world-class movements.
In that case… I’ll be unstoppable.” He laughed softly, satisfied.
“Incredible… Could this be that so-called ‘Mahosagi’ adaptability?
He already ‘devoured’ others’ movements and techniques, like he did with Naruhaya… and more recently in the World Cup, stealing that move from Onazi.
Although in that case he adapted it to his own style… deep down, that’s still a form of copying, isn’t it?” He paused briefly, organizing his thoughts.
“If that’s the case… then the fusion expanded this ‘devouring.’ It’s no longer just about adapting—I can reproduce.
Any play, any movement and dribble… as long as my body can keep up.” As he reflected, he pulled the ball toward himself and casually tucked it under his arm, slowly walking out of the field.
Isagi arrived home with his breathing already more stable, sweat drying on his forehead, and the ball still under his arm.
He entered through the low gate and, without making noise, pushed open the front door.
The house was quiet, except for the soft sound of dishes being arranged in the kitchen.
He headed straight there, leaving the ball leaning against the wall before opening the refrigerator.
He grabbed a bottle of cold water, unscrewed it, and took long gulps, feeling the freshness go down his throat.
Iyo, who was putting away some utensils in the cabinet, cast a sideways glance.
“Yoichi…?” “Yes…?” “You stink.
Go take a shower before your body cools down.” Isagi simply nodded.
“Alright…” He quickly passed through the hallway, went upstairs to his room, grabbed a change of clean clothes and a towel, and went back downstairs, heading straight to the bathroom.
The hot water fell over his shoulders, relaxing every muscle.
Ten minutes were enough to dissipate the fatigue from training and the dust from the field.
Afterward, he dried himself quickly, put on light clothes, and returned to his room.
As soon as he opened the door, his gaze fell on the walls.
The many Noel Noa posters were really something he didn’t want to face every time he woke up… With a sigh, he started tearing them down one by one, folding some, crumpling others, until the walls were clean.
He lay down on the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight.
He picked up the phone that had been charging and unlocked it, the screen’s light illuminating his face.
The first thing he saw was a message on LINE.
Alya: “Did you do the homework?” Isagi blinked twice, showing no surprise.
He let out a sigh, making a mixed expression of fatigue and defeat, as if he had taken an invisible kick to the stomach.
“…Homework…” he muttered.
His eyes widened in the next instant, struck by a painful realization.
After replying to Alya with a “yes” accompanied by a cute emoji, he got up from the bed, grabbed his backpack from the corner, and dumped its contents onto the desk.
Notebooks and papers spread out as if they had a life of their own.
“Alright… let’s get this over with…” He sat down, picked up a pen, and began writing with the focus of someone who knew that if he left it for later, he would end up forgetting again.
Math equations, history notes, grammar exercises… each page was a small challenge, but he kept moving forward, crossing off task after task with determination.
Time passed without him noticing.
When he finally put the pen down and leaned back in the chair, the clock showed thirty minutes had passed since he started… “Phew…” He stretched his arms upward, feeling his shoulders crack.
“That was more tiring than training…” Then he went to bed to sleep—his first day in that world had been exhausting… _____________________ (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.)