58'
Kasugano press again.
Iseri (CM) receives between the lines —
Sera is late stepping up this time.
Minato (CF) drops in, a clean inside channel opens for a split-second.
It's the perfect trigger for their third.
Iseri slips the through ball forward — not to feet — into space.
Gen (CB) steps to cover… but he's half a stride off the angle.
The runner is Fujimori (LMF), bursting through the seam.
For a heartbeat, Kasugano have the goal laid open.
Tobita (GK) starts to rush out.
Then—
Domon moves.
Not fast.
Not elegant.
But exactly on time.
He doesn't dive in. He doesn't panic-tackle.
He mirrors Fujimori's touch and shepherds him outward, just like Tenma taught — body across the lane, not the ball first.
Fujimori tries to shift it inside again — Domon blocks the angle with his hip, nudging him off the line.
The break dies.
Stoppage. The Kasugano bench even murmurs.
Kasugano's bench looked relaxed—right until that moment.
When Domon braced his frame and rolled his shoulder through contact, pinning the forward off the ball with a clean shield, a low chuckle left the Kasugano coach.
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes bright.
> "Oh? Body usage at this level? I didn't think I'd see that here."
It wasn't mockery.
It was excitement—like he'd just spotted something rare in the mud.
The Kasugano substitutes turned, confused by his sudden interest.
Domon didn't notice any of it. He just ripped the ball free with a firm touch and straightened.
> "Captain, here!"
He didn't think—just trusted—swinging a firm pass straight up to Gen.
Everyone froze for half a breath.
Gen hadn't been given the ball like that all match. For a moment, even he looked caught off guard.
But instinct snapped back quicker than the rest. He immediately scanned ahead. Sera was calling, but slower—breathing hard, legs heavy.
Gen saw it.
One touch later, he skipped Sera entirely and fired it diagonally toward the left.
> "Yuki! Turn!"
Kasugano's back line reacted a step late.
Even their midfield paused—surprised that Kitonohara suddenly linked from sweeper → captain → free forward with actual tempo.
Yuki received with space.
The stands didn't cheer, but there was a tiny shift—like tension being pulled inward.
Kasugano weren't rattled.
But they weren't coasting anymore either.
Their coach leaned back, a slow grin spreading.
He crossed his arms, eyes tracking the ball.
> "This might get interesting."
58' — continued
Yuki (SS) takes the pass in space, body open.
For a second he has time — not much, but enough.
Kasugano's line shifts; they're cautious now, not careless. Iseri (CM) and Minato (CF) both glance forward, searching for runs. Gen (CB) holds his position, ready to cut any dangerous pass.
Yuki looks up, measures a lane. He lifts the ball — a short, lofted pass that drops in front of Akira (CF), timing it so the defender can't step in. It's not pretty; it's precise.
Akira meets it first-time — a clean volley right on the drop — and the ball rockets low and hard into the net.
3–1 — Kitonohara.
The strike is quick, sharp, decisive. For a moment the field is very loud with movement: Kasugano scrambling, Gen punching the air once, Domon stepping forward with a look that says, we did it.
On the bench, Hina and Domon hug the spare jacket like it's a talisman. The Kasugano coach watches with a narrow smile — impressed, not surprised; good teams notice good moments even in opponents.
Gen grabs Akira by the shoulder as players run back to restart.
"Keep going. Don't stop now," he says, steady; no wild celebration, but the captain's voice is firmer.
Kasugano reset quickly for kickoff. They still control much of the game, still look the more practiced side. But the momentum has a new edge — Kitonohara showed they can punish a moment, and that fact sits heavy on both teams.
Full-time (short wrap)
Final score: Kasugano 3 — 1 Kitonohara.
The final whistle fades out.
Both sides move toward the halfway line.
Kasugano players offer brief handshakes — calm, not arrogant. A few nod toward Domon and Yuki in particular.
Gen leads Kitonohara in a short bow to their opponents.
Then they walk to the touchline where the Kasugano coach is waiting.
He crosses his arms lightly as they bow again, deeper this time.
> "Thank you for the match."
The coach lets out a quiet laugh — not mocking, just warm.
> "Mm. When you've got eleven… call us again. I don't want to play six next time."
It lands exactly as he means it — you're worth playing again — not pity.
Yuki and Akira both look up a little straighter.
Domon blinks like he didn't expect praise at all.
Gen answers for the team:
> "We will. Next time — properly."
The coach nods once, satisfied.
Kasugano's bench waves casually as they start packing up.
Kitonohara returns the goodbyes — small smiles, tired but proud in a quiet way — then they head back toward their own half of the field, slower, letting adrenaline wear off.
The encouragement sticks.
Not a lecture.
Not sympathy.
Recognition.
It's a loss, but the result doesn't tell the full story: Kitonohara carved out a late, deserved moment — Domon's defending and Yuki → Akira's finish — that proves this team isn't without fight or potential. Gen's leadership, Sera's passing, Akira's finishing and Tobita's saves all left marks; Hayato's burst and injury showed raw promise.
Kasugano leave with the win and a few notes in their coach's head; Kitonohara leave bruised but with something more dangerous than morale — evidence they can grow into a system if they get the guidance.
They drift back toward their bench area.
Sera (CM) just drops to the grass, breathing out hard — legs jelly, shirt clinging with sweat. Tobita (GK) hands on knees, still replaying all the shots in his head.
Gen (CB) crouches near Hayato, checking the ankle again.
> "Still swelling. You did more than enough — don't move on it."
Hayato tries to shrug it off, but he doesn't argue this time.
Akira (CF) strolls over and points at Domon.
> "Today's MVP: the human wall."
Jirō (CB), deadpan as always, folds his arms:
> "Yeah. If you didn't block that… we'd be picking the ball out of the net right now."
"E-eh—?!"
Domon freezes, ears turning red.
Akira bumps his shoulder lightly:
> "Look at you. First match and you saved us."
Domon tries to hide his face, mumbling,
> "I-I just… did what I can for the team…"
Even Yuki gives a small grin from the side, nodding once like "good job."
The mood softens — not celebration, but pride they haven't felt in a long time.
Gen stands and claps once, lifting the tone:
> "This is our starting point. We're not done."
The others nod.
Even tired, they look forward now, not down.
---
Elsewhere — unseen
From behind the fence near the back corner of the field, a man in a long coat watches the team pack their equipment.
Coach Takeda.
Hands in pockets.
Expression unreadable — until a faint smile appears.
> "…they aren't that bad."
He turns away.
And on the opposite side — half-hidden behind the utility shed — another figure finishes watching too.
Tenma.
No applause.
No words.
Just a soft exhale… and a small, quiet smile — the kind you wear when something you weren't sure about finally proves itself.
He steps off the gravel path and starts walking.