Chapter 50 Part 5 — Frustration before match
Haruya's Resolve
Haruya lay flat on his bed, one arm folded behind his head, the other resting loosely on his chest. The ceiling above him was familiar—plain, quiet, unmoving—but his thoughts refused to stay still.
Yesterday's training replayed in his mind again and again.
The sound of the ball cutting through the air.
The moment of silence before impact.
The way everyone froze afterward.
"…That was fun," he murmured softly.
Genuine excitement.
He turned slightly on the mattress, staring at the wall this time. His body felt tired—no, strained. A dull ache lingered in his legs, especially around his calves and ankles. Nothing serious, but enough to remind him of an uncomfortable truth.
"This body really can't keep up yet…"
He flexed his foot slowly, testing the muscles. Compared to his previous life, this body was undeniably weaker. Lighter. Less durable. Back then, he could sprint for hours on a dusty field without thinking twice. Scraped knees healed fast. Bruises didn't matter. Pain was just part of the game.
Here, everything required control.
"I pushed too hard yesterday," he admitted to himself. "Two or three full-power kicks already felt risky."
Still—he had managed.
And that alone made him smile.
The truth was, he hadn't felt this alive in a long time.
Football wasn't just a sport to him. It was memory. Peace. Freedom. Nights at the orphanage where a single worn-out ball could erase hunger for an hour. Where laughter drowned out the noise of the world.
And now—
Now he had a field again.
A real one.
"If I'm going to keep playing…" he thought, "…then I need to make this body catch up to my mind."
His gaze sharpened.
State-level matches weren't school games. They were faster. Rougher. Full of players who trained seriously, every day. Women in this world didn't hold back on the field. They played with strength, confidence, and pride.
And Haruya was stepping into that world deliberately.
"I'll train harder," he decided calmly. "Conditioning first. Endurance. Balance."
Then—his thoughts drifted.
A different image surfaced.
A stadium, Bright lights.
A wide field stretching endlessly And himself, standing there.
A familiar name echoed in his mind.
Cristiano Ronaldo.
Not a star of this world. Not a legend in his previous life. A name that didn't exist in this world any history book, any highlight reel, any academy.
But to Haruya, Ronaldo wasn't just a player.
He was an ideal for him.
"The step-over chop… the elastico… the knuckleball…"
His fingers twitched unconsciously, tracing invisible arcs in the air.
"These moves don't exist here," he thought, a quiet thrill running through him. "No one's seen them. No one's prepared for them."
That realization sent a spark through his chest.
What would their reactions be?
When footwork they'd never learned cut past them.
When timing they couldn't read left them behind.
When techniques from another world rewrote the rhythm of the game.
"I want to try them all," he whispered. "Every single one."
But at the right moment on biggest stage.
A small grin formed on his lips.
"This world thinks it knows football," he thought. "I won't disrespect that."
He closed his eyes.
"But I'll show them something new."
The ache in his legs pulsed again, reminding him of limits that still existed right now (ಥ_ಥ).
"That means no shortcuts," he added. "If I break down halfway, it's over."
Tomorrow mattered.
The day after that mattered more.
He rolled onto his side, finally letting his body rest.
"I'll make this body strong enough," he promised quietly. "Strong enough to keep up with what I know."
Outside his room, the mansion remained silent.
Inside, Haruya's resolve settled—steady, focused, unshaken.
---
Scene Shift To Saeko Room
Saeko's room was quiet in the soft way that came after a long day. The lights were dim, curtains half-drawn, the outside world reduced to distant city sounds that barely reached her. She sat on the edge of her bed, school uniform already changed, hair loosened and falling naturally over her shoulders.
Carefully, almost reverently, she placed the bag beside her pillow.
She looked at it for a moment longer than necessary.
Today kept replaying in her mind, not as one clear memory but as scattered fragments. Haruya's kick. The way he stayed calm even when everyone else froze. How he didn't look proud or arrogant afterward, just slightly confused, like he hadn't expected such a reaction.
That was what stayed with her the most.
"He really doesn't know how amazing he is," she murmured softly.
Saeko lay down and hugged her pillow, turning her face slightly so it hid the warmth creeping up her cheeks. She wasn't thinking about grand victories or trophies. Her thoughts were smaller, more personal.
What if he looks at me tomorrow?
What if I actually help him on the field?
What if, just for a moment, he feels relieved knowing I'm there?
The idea alone made her heart beat faster.
"I just want to support him," she thought, fingers curling into the fabric. "That's all."
There was no strategy in her mind, no calculation. Just a quiet promise she made to herself as she stared at the ceiling.
Tomorrow, she wouldn't hesitate.
She would give her best.
If she couldn't stand beside him, then she would at least keep up.
That was enough for her.
---
Reina's room, on the other hand, felt entirely different.
Neat. Organized. Almost severe.
She sat at her desk, arms folded, eyes fixed on nothing in particular as her mind replayed the training from a completely different angle. Positions. Movements. Timing. The way certain players reacted when Haruya took control of the ball.
Her fingers tapped once against the desk.
"Ayame noticed," she thought. "She definitely did."
It wasn't the kick alone that concerned her. It was the look afterward. The way Ayame's confidence cracked for just a second, replaced by something sharper. Something restless.
Reina didn't like that.
She leaned back slightly, exhaling through her nose.
"This isn't just about winning," she concluded. "Some people aren't thinking about football anymore."
Her gaze shifted to the window, reflecting her own eyes back at her—steady, alert.
"If Haru is on that field," she thought firmly, "then I'll be there too."
Not cheering. Not dreaming.
Guarding.
She clenched her fist once, then relaxed it.
"Cross the line," she whispered to the empty room, "and I won't forgive you."
Reina stood up, already resolved.
Tomorrow wasn't something to worry about.
It was something to prepare for.
---
Days of Training, Days of Change
The next day's training began the same way as always.
Whistles. Shouting. The thud of the ball against the grass.
And Haruya's team won again.
It wasn't a crushing victory. Not a dramatic one. Just solid, controlled play that slowly wore the other side down. When the final whistle blew, some girls laughed breathlessly, some collapsed onto the field, and some stared at Haruya with mixed expressions of awe and lust, jealousy.
But that was only the beginning.
The days that followed blurred together into a repeating cycle of training matches.
Sometimes Haruya's team won.
Sometimes the opposing team managed to push back and take the win.
Each day revealed something new.
The girls learned each other's habits. Who rushed too much. Who hesitated. Who played emotionally and who stayed cold. The field became a place where personalities showed more clearly than in any classroom.
And Haruya changed the most.
At first, he had relied on instinct and experience from his previous life. Clean passes. Sharp positioning. Quick reactions. But his body reminded him again and again that this wasn't the same as before.
After matches, his legs felt heavier than they should. His breathing took longer to steady. His muscles burned in ways he wasn't used to.
So he trained.
Earlier than everyone else.
Later than everyone else.
Running laps when the field was empty. Practicing ball control alone. Adjusting how much force he used so his body wouldn't give out again. Slowly, carefully, he reshaped himself to fit this world instead of fighting it.
Saeko noticed first.
She saw how he stayed behind after practice, wiping sweat quietly, never asking for attention. How he listened seriously to advice instead of brushing it off. How he smiled politely even when he was clearly exhausted.
"He's working harder than anyone," she thought one evening, watching from the sideline. Her chest tightened with a mix of admiration and worry.
Reina noticed too—but in a different way.
She tracked how Haruya positioned himself during matches. How he avoided reckless collisions. How he read the field instead of forcing plays. She adjusted her own movements to stay closer, intercepting before things could turn rough.
"He's adapting," she realized. "Fast."
On the other side, the opposing team felt it as pressure.
Ayame's confidence wavered more with each passing day.
Every match chipped away at her earlier fantasies. Haruya wasn't dazzled by flashy plays. He didn't look impressed when she showed off. He didn't react the way she expected.
Worse—he didn't look at her.
That bothered her more than losing.
By the time the final training match approached, the atmosphere had changed completely.
This wasn't practice anymore.
This was selection.
Everyone knew it. The teachers knew it. The players knew it. Even the girls watching from the sidelines felt the weight of it.
Today's match would decide everything.
One team would move on to represent the school at the Tokyo state-level tournament.
The other would stop here.
As the teams lined up on the field, Haruya took a slow breath, feeling the grass beneath his shoes, the distant murmur of voices, the steady beat of his own heart.
He wasn't thinking about winning for attention.
He wasn't thinking about proving anything to anyone.
He just thought—
"I'm ready."
Not because he was the strongest.
But because he had earned his place here.
And when the whistle blew, the field seemed to hold its breath.
---
Ayame in the Locker Room (Cracks Beneath the Smile)
The corridor outside the shoe lockers was quiet compared to the field.
Too quiet.
Mizuno Ayame stepped inside, the door swinging shut behind her with a dull thud. Rows of metal lockers lined the walls, their surfaces scuffed from years of use. The air smelled faintly of polish and sweat, the lingering trace of training that never really left this place.
She stood there for a moment, hands clenched at her sides.
Every day.
Every single day.
Training. Matches. Watching him move across the field like he belonged there.
Ayame dropped onto the bench and yanked off her shoes harder than necessary. One landed crooked near the locker door. She didn't bother fixing it.
"Tch…"
Her reflection stared back at her from the locker's dull surface. The confident smile she wore in public was gone. What remained was irritation, frustration, and something she hated admitting to herself.
Humiliation.
She had imagined this differently.
In her head, Haruya was supposed to be impressed. Curious. Drawn in. Someone she could overwhelm with confidence and charm. Someone who would notice her above everyone else.
Instead—
He treated her like air.
Just… neutrally and even ignore. As if she were no different from anyone else on the field or not even exist for him.
That hurt more than outright rejection.
She remembered today's drills. The way he moved past her without hesitation. The way his eyes stayed focused on the game instead of her. The way Reina always seemed to be there, blocking angles, disrupting plays, protecting him without saying a word.
And bullshit Saeko—
Ayame's jaw tightened.
Saeko didn't even look threatening. Soft-spoken. Gentle. Always hovering close, always supportive. And yet, Haruya looked at her differently. Warmer. Safer.
Ayame slammed her fist into the locker.
BANG!.
The sound echoed sharply through the room.
"Ah—!"
Pain shot through her hand, sharp and immediate. She sucked in a breath, clutching her knuckles as they throbbed.
"Fu… fu fu…" Her laugh came out strained, almost broken. "That hurts… damn it…"
She pressed her forehead against the cold metal, breathing slowly until the pain dulled.
Why is this happening?
She had trained harder than most. Pushed herself. Refused to back down. And yet, the more she tried to force her presence, the further Haruya seemed to drift from her reach.
Her earlier plans replayed in her mind—beating Saeko and Reina on the field, humiliating them, proving she was superior, stepping forward confidently once they were crushed.
But reality was cruel.
Those plans hadn't just failed.
They'd backfired.
Reina was stronger than she expected. Saeko was more resilient than she looked. And Haruya—
Haruya wasn't a prize waiting to be claimed.
That realization twisted something ugly inside her chest.
She straightened slowly, staring at her reddened knuckles.
"The pain I'm feeling today…" she muttered quietly, eyes darkening, "I'll give it back. Double to those basterds."
Not just to Saeko.
Not just to Reina.
But to anyone standing between her and what she wanted.
Her fingers curled slowly, ignoring the ache.
"I won't lose like this," she whispered. "Not again."
Somewhere outside, voices echoed from the field. Laughter. Footsteps. Life continuing as if nothing had cracked.
Ayame slipped her shoes back on, movements controlled once more. By the time she stood, her expression had smoothed out again—cool, composed, dangerous in its calm.
The smile returned.
But this time, it didn't reach her eyes.
— To be continued…
——————
Author Note
Sorry in advance if there are any grammar mistakes or if I messed up some Cristiano Ronaldo moves. I'll be honest—I don't know every single move perfectly 😅
Also, this chapter was written late at night while I was half asleep, and I posted it today before my brain fully rebooted. So yes, sleepy-author damage may exist.
That said, I'd really love your feedback.
How are the characters feeling so far?
Do their personalities come across clearly?
If something feels off, confusing, or just not working, feel free to tell me directly—I'm listening.
Thanks for sticking with the story and being patient with me. You guys keep this novel alive. 🙏
—king_fuzu_