Under the bewildered gazes of the spectators, Hiro intercepted the pass. The crowd could sense it—this wasn’t the end, but the beginning of something spectacular.
The supporters of red and white erupted, their voices rising as the stadium grew livelier with each passing second.
Hiro didn’t waste a moment.
Upon receiving the pass, Hiro turned without wasting a second. However, as he turned around, he found himself before the opponent whose pass he had stolen, charging at him at a blistering pace.
Though Hiro had outrun him initially, the opponent hadn’t given up. In fact, he charged even more furiously, as if desperate to redeem himself.
The stifling pressure dawned on Hiro. He could see the fierceness in his opponent’s gaze—the look of intimidation, the burning resolve.
But Hiro didn’t waver.
He had faced such situations countless times before. This was nothing new.
As a mad bull unleashed, the opponent pounced at him, lunging as if he wanted to take Hiro down rather than the ball. But Hiro didn’t flinch. His cold gaze narrowed as he braced for the tackle.
Then, just as the defender swept his leg—Hiro moved.
First, he struck the ball with the outside of his left foot. Then, without wasting a second, he struck it again with the inside of the same foot—a rapid, mesmerizing double-touch that sent the ball gliding past his opponent.
The opponent struck air.
But even so, he refused to admit defeat. Despite missing the ball, he twisted his shoulder, attempting to use his massive frame to strike Hiro down.
Hiro avoided it with ease—a fluid sidestep that made the opponent’s momentum work against him.
Still, the opponent didn’t give up. He gritted his teeth and stretched his arms, grabbing at Hiro’s shirt.
’Even if I can’t tackle you down, I’ll stop you here at all costs.’
Desperation fueled his grip. But his faltering balance betrayed him. Had he approached calmly, he might have succeeded. But his reckless momentum made it impossible to gain a foothold.
Hiro overpowered him with sheer agility, slipping through his grasp like water through fingers.
The opponent stumbled.
Hiro didn’t pause. Instead, he accelerated.
’Phantom Steps!’
He knew he had to take advantage of this situation as soon as possible. He knew he couldn’t afford to waste a second.
Though he was deep in his own half, he didn’t hold back. He refused to reserve his arsenal for later. When the moment felt right, he would unleash everything, and this was one such moment.
So he didn’t hesitate.
He sprinted, his steps nimble and light. Before long, it appeared as though he were soaring through the air rather than running, like he was gliding across the pitch with an almost supernatural grace.
Though the spectators had witnessed his pace countless times before, they still couldn’t help but feel mesmerized. No matter how many times one witnessed it, it always felt surreal—like watching something impossible unfold in real time.
Some even argued that he might be faster than a sprinting horse.
Under their mesmerized gazes, Hiro accelerated further.
His teammates rallied around him, each sprinting toward the opposing goalpost. Julian, however, kept stealing glances at him as he moved—watching, learning, awed.
Soon enough, Hiro faced another opponent—a new obstacle threatening to halt his charge.
But he didn’t pause.
He scanned his options with a glance, but his feet never stopped moving. Instead, he charged straight at his opponent.
With swift, nimble steps, he danced through the defender—a fluid, effortless sequence that left his opponent gasping in his wake.
He made it seem as though he wasn’t even struggling.
Like he was born to do this.
However, his problems didn’t end there.
Right after breaking through his previous opponent, another emerged. This one looked even tougher than the last.
But Hiro remained confident.
He didn’t panic. His face was as emotionless as a mask, betraying not a shred of hesitation or fear. He had faced worse. He had overcome greater things.
He could get through this opponent just as he had done with the others. But this time, it wasn’t that simple.
His opponent hadn’t rushed in alone. He had brought reinforcements. Their formation appeared to be like a web of a spider meant for trapping him.
Though Hiro could still attempt a breakthrough, he didn’t feel like gambling. He was confident in his skill, but he didn’t want to waste this opportunity. Not when the stakes were this high.
So he began looking around for options.
His gaze swept across the pitch, searching for the most suitable piece to utilize. From positioning alone, Julian seemed like the better choice. Their link-up play was sharp, and Julian understood his intentions well.
Julian.
He seemed like the obvious option.
But just as Hiro prepared to release the pass, something inside him held back. A flicker of instinct. A whisper of doubt.
He stretched his leg as if to make the pass. But he didn’t make the pass.
The defenders behind him shifted. Where Julian had been free moments ago, a defender was now rushing toward him, closing the space.
’They anticipated it.’
’What?!’
His opponent before him gasped, his expression twisting in surprise. He had been expecting Hiro to make that pass—had been preparing to intercept or block the ensuing move.
But to his shock, Hiro changed direction.
’He faked the pass.’
Instead of releasing the ball, he shifted his weight and charged in the opposite direction—leaving his opponent frozen, caught between two realities.
The defender’s eyes widened.
’He saw through us.’
The trap wasn’t an obvious one, and one would have trouble noticing it considering the intensity of the match.
However, Hiro had seen through their trap.
’That must be a fluke!’
He thought as he rushed to intercept Hiro.
However, Hiro kept sprinting to the flank. For a moment, it even seemed as if he wasn’t even interested in the goal.
What was he attempting to do?
Hiro’s actions confused both the players and spectators alike.
If he wanted to go for the goal, then the obvious choice would have been charging from the center.
Since one of their defenders had rushed to intercept Julian, the center was rather open. But he wasn’t utilising that open space and was instead rushing to the flanks.
Just what was going on?
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