Hiro looked at him like a chess master studying the pieces on a board—calculating, detached, already several moves ahead.
Their gazes locked for a brief moment before Yang swept his leg to win the ball. For the past few seconds, Hiro had stood motionless, almost like a statue. His expression was unreadable, and his body language betrayed nothing.
Despite that, Yang relied on his instincts to predict his move.
He had watched Hiro’s dribbles countless times, studied the footage, and analyzed the patterns. He had identified a somewhat usable rhythm in his movements.
And now, he trusted that analysis.
While relying on those patterns, he lunged—convinced, for a fleeting moment, that he had finally conquered Hiro. That he had decoded the enigma.
I’ve got you.
But just as he swept his leg—
The ball vanished.
It happened so fast that it left him startled. Even before panic settled in, desperation clutched his heart as he scrambled to trace Hiro’s presence.
But Hiro had already moved.
He coiled around Yang like a serpent—fluid, silent, lethal—his movements impossible to calculate. The dark glow in his pupils appeared almost ominous, gnawing at Yang’s resolve.
Yang’s expression twisted, his brows furrowing. Sweat accumulated on his forehead, snaking down his cheeks before dripping off his face.
Desperate.
He stretched his arms, attempting to limit the space around him. He knew—he couldn’t allow Hiro even the tiniest window to operate. A fraction of a second, a sliver of space—that was all he needed.
And that would be the end.
This wasn’t their first encounter in the game. Matter of fact, the two had faced each other on countless occasions—even after that goal that had changed the course of the match.
But each time, the result remained the same.
Hiro always found a way.
And Yang was running out of answers.
Even now, it seemed as though nothing had changed. He had thought he had figured Hiro out—decoded his patterns, predicted his moves. But now, as he faced him again, his belief was starting to crack.
He gritted his teeth, mustering every ounce of strength.
Despite being just a teenager, the wrinkles on his forehead became visible as he fought to redeem himself. He couldn’t afford to be defeated here. He had been defeated before—by this very man, by this very presence.
I have to avenge my fallen brothers.
This fight, this duel—it wasn’t just his. It carried the accumulated emotions of everyone Hiro had defeated. The hopes of his teammates rested on his shoulders. He was their last line of defense.
If he crumbled here, the team would suffer.
Hence, even if it meant breaking apart into pieces, he had to stop Hiro at all costs.
He just couldn’t afford to lose sight of Hiro.
I must stop him.
Though he continued to fail at intercepting the ball, he refused to relent. He pressed Hiro relentlessly, denying him any easy path forward. No matter how many times he faltered, he picked himself up and tailed him like a shadow—refusing to let go.
It didn’t matter if he made a fool of himself. It didn’t matter if he looked like a clown while trying to stop Hiro.
He couldn’t care less about his appearance or his dignity.
At this very moment, he had to be a persistent cockroach—ugly, resilient, and nearly impossible to kill.
You won’t get past me.
Not again.
Not ever.
The glow in his pupils burned deeper as the emotions swirling inside him acted like fuel, propelling him forward.
In just a matter of moments, he had been defeated countless times. The ball had passed between his legs, and the entire crowd had burst out in laughter. There had even been a moment where he had lost balance and stumbled, making a fool of himself.
Yet, despite those repeated failures, he continued to chase Hiro—continued to be a stubborn thorn in his path, refusing to let him leave.
You persistent fool... Just fall, will you?
Though Hiro appeared as calm as ever, even he was starting to feel the strain. Considering the relentless pressure he had been dealing with over the past several seconds, it was justifiable.
He could feel other opponents closing in.
During the time he had been occupied with Yang, the opposing players had recovered enough to join the duel. He could tell—if he remained stuck here any longer, he would soon be outnumbered.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to find his teammates either. He had looked around for help on numerous occasions. But the opposition had positioned themselves too well, sealing off every passing lane. They had left him with only one option: retreat.
If it had been any other time, he would have accepted it without shame. But for some reason, after coming this far, he couldn’t bring himself to retreat. He had pushed too deep into the opposing defense to turn back now.
Having had enough, he once again tried to shake this cockroach of a man off him.
First, he feinted left. Then he feinted right.
Yang didn’t fall for the first feint. But he bit on the second—and it cost him his balance. For an instant, it seemed as though he wouldn’t recover from this challenge.
But to everyone’s surprise, he collected himself almost instantly and started chasing Hiro again.
Hiro, however, wasn’t done yet.
Just as he sensed Yang close enough to reach him, he dropped his tempo.
Yang failed to control his momentum. His body lurched forward, tumbling like a ball across the grass.
[Ding!]
[The host has completed the quest.]
He fell face first on the ground.
The crowd gasped.
But for some reason, they couldn’t bring themselves to laugh. Though the sight looked hilarious—the pink-haired youth sprawled on the pitch—something about his relentless pursuit commanded respect.
He just won’t stay down.
Utilizing the opportunity he had created, Hiro wasted no time. He charged toward the goal, the posts looming before him like a promise of victory.
The opposing goalkeeper became alert, his eyes perking up as he braced himself for the doom closing in.
But just as it seemed as though Hiro was about to shoot—
A piercing scream echoed through the stadium.
"AHHH!"
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