He dragged his feet reluctantly onto the field, the weight of the looming match pressing down like a storm cloud. Thrust into the chaos as a second-half replacement, he could feel sweat already trickling down his brow, tracing a path along the bridge of his nose. Was it the heat—or his nerves?
The borrowed skates clamped tight around his feet, unforgiving and stiff. Each step sent aches crawling up his legs, but there was no alternative. No choice. No turning back.
His hands darted into action—first forming a confident triangle beneath his chin, as if to signal readiness. Icandothis, he thought, his inner voice a secret only for the reader. Outwardly, his teammates merely saw a quirky ritual, never suspecting that his silence was not by choice but by nature.
Goodnessgracious, he mused, his heart thudding, whathaveIgottenmyselfinto?
He moved toward Orenji with an awkward, almost comedic shuffle, raising his hand as if to ask a question. His eyes darted to the seasoned coach a few meters away. Though his gestures were animated, no one suspected they masked his inability to speak.
"TRIAL BY FIRE!" Orenji barked, a grin flickering across his face. "We know you're a newbie, so we'll cover you. You just leave it to us."
There was strength in Orenji's voice. Steady. Reassuring.
He exhaled, trying to mimic the calm of his teammates. Ifonlytheyknewhoweverywordinmyheadgoesunsaid...
"But," Orenji added, tilting his head, "once you're passed the ball... you're on your own."
The calm shattered. Panic surged through him like lightning.
"You'd better not miss."
The words landed like a blow. He stiffened, the pressure mounting, his fingers twitching at the frayed edge of his borrowed jersey—a nervous habit that bordered on comedy when combined with his awkward, unspoken questions.
Thisisdefinitelyano-no, he thought, half-laughing at the absurdity. Butseriously, whatthehell...
PEEP!
The whistle shrieked, slicing through the air.
The game was on.
The two captains leapt for the center jump, but the ball slipped into the hands of the opposing leader. Without hesitation, that player stormed forward, cutting through the defense like a blade.
"Left to right! Right to left! Post up! STOP THEM!" The field exploded in sound, voices merging into one frantic chorus. Meanwhile, the Kaiju stood frozen—a silent, almost comical statue in skates—as chaos whirled around him. A pass flew his way—and smacked him square in the face.
He stumbled, dazed.
The scoreboard glared: 1–3.
His team trailed, and the opposing captain—blonde, fast, and frighteningly focused—was coming again. This time, it was up to him to stop the advance.
Great, he thought. I'mnotevenadecentplayer. Coordination was a joke. He could throw, sure, but skating? Timing? Strategy? He was a mess. And, of course, he had no voice to reassure himself aloud.
The blonde tore down the field, the ball dribbling effortlessly beside him.
"Move, or I'll kill you," the boy growled.
The Kaiju blinked. What? Killme? The intensity in the boy's eyes was unmistakable—like a predator on the hunt. Outwardly, he merely raised his eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief, a gesture that earned a few stifled chuckles from nearby teammates who assumed it was all in good fun.
He saw the rival coming fast, bouncing the ball as if it were an extension of himself. He'samonster, the Kaiju realized silently. Strong, skilled, utterly in control.
Okay... okay...Icanstophim. He braced himself. Leftorright? Comeon... I'mnothuman. Icandothis. Thisshouldbeeasy.
But it wasn't.
The blonde spun into a flawless roulette, twirling past with a cocky grin—and the Kaiju went down in a most undignified heap, sprawling on his backside as his breath was knocked out of him. The fall, a mix of clumsiness and misfortune, elicited a few lighthearted snickers from onlookers, completely oblivious to the truth behind his silent struggle.
Thatturn... thatspeed... what just happened?
"How comical!" the blonde jeered. "Losers like you belong on defense. Just stay there and watch like the rest of the NPCs."
Stunned, he watched as the ball found the net again.
He got past me... how? What is he—another Kaiju? His thoughts raced.
He scrambled for an explanation, eyes darting across the field. They're all better. Faster. Smarter. Their stamina... is insane.
The game had seemed simple before. Not anymore.
This isn't just a game, he realized internally. It's a war zone.
A laugh—almost manic—bubbled up inside him, a private reaction hidden behind his exaggerated grimace as he wiped dirt from his face.
And yet... I'm kind of excited.
"HEY! WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!" Orenji's voice boomed. "Don't just stand there!"
Oh, now he says something, the Kaiju thought bitterly, as he gestured wildly in response—his arms flailing in a mix of frustration and humorous mimicry. His teammates assumed his silent antics were simply his quirky way of keeping his competitive spirit alive.
Orenji laughed, oblivious to the silent truth. "One more time. Let's try not to lose this time, yeah?"
He could only nod, his expression a blend of determination and resignation, his inner voice silently screaming the words he could never utter aloud. To everyone else, his silent nod was just another one of his characteristic, enigmatic moves.
Still... Orenji was right.
The strong survive, he told himself in his private thoughts. No more. No less.
He inhaled slowly, calming his mind. What did I agree to? It didn't matter.
The second half was just beginning.
Keep the ball away from the blonde. That's the key. Shadow him. Stop him. Beat him—and that makes me better than him. One step closer to being number one.
As the game resumed, it started to click. His balance improved. The skates, once unfamiliar, began to feel like extensions of his legs. He observed every move, learned from every misstep, and adapted with every shift in momentum.
For the first time, something stirred in his chest.
Joy? he wondered internally.
His lips twitched into what could only be called a determined smile, his breath quickening. He clenched his fist and struck it into his palm—a silent vow.
Let's give this one more try.
His eyes grew sharp, unreadable to those around him but conveying volumes to the reader. His heart was all in, even if his voice never joined the fray.
No more hesitation.
Just the game.
Just the fight.
Just the fire.