Prologue: The First Wind

They say riding a tailwind is the greatest feeling there is, the sensation of freedom and flight— like a falcon pushing through the skies as it hunts for unsuspecting prey.

To Kazemachi Sota, that was its very definition. Every time his hands touched the leather and stitches, he was free. Riding the tailwind and letting the ball whizz past the green fields was what defined his personal freedom. 

— — —

The stadium thrummed with electric energy, a living entity of roaring fans and blinding floodlights. The Nishikawa Hawks were locked in a desperate clash with their perennial rivals, the Kurogane Titans.

Every collision was a jarring symphony of grunts and thuds, and every cheer from the stands was a thunderous surge that rattled the night. On the field, the players moved with graceful ferocity, their bodies performing a ballet of grit and endurance.

In the eye of the storm was Kazemachi Sota, the Nishikawa Hawks' star quarterback. His form was a blur of motion as he darted across the field, weaving through defenders with an almost supernatural agility. The Titans, known for their formidable defense, were closing in. The scoreboard flashed a tense tie, and the final seconds of the game were ticking away like a countdown to destiny.

A symphony of raw power and finesse, a resolute and unwavering determination that barrelled through the seemingly insurmountable defense— that was Kazemichi. And his every play was a testament to his blood sweat and tears. 

He was living the dream, bringing his team to the regionals and into the finals. The crisp air and the cacophony of the crowd's cheers overwhelmed him, and yet, his relaxed faith in his teammates didn't sway with the swirling atmosphere. 

His eyes scanned the field, searching for a gap in the Titans' defensive line. With the game hanging in the balance, he knew that the next play would determine their fate. Taking a deep breath and feeling the weight of the moment push down on him akin to a hydraulic press, he took a deep breath.

The pass had to be perfect. It had to be the one that would secure their victory. 

All or nothing.

As he set up for the throw, his muscles coiled with tension. He launched the ball with the precision of a guided missile, the leatherskin spiraling through the air with a whistling rush.

His receiver, perfectly positioned in the end zone, stretched out to make the catch. Kazemachi's heart raced as he followed the trajectory of the ball, knowing that this was the moment that would define their season.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans. Kazemachi felt a sudden, sharp pain shoot through his right foot as he pivoted to track the play. He stumbled, his balance faltering. Before he could regain his footing, a massive Titan defender barreled into him with the force of a freight train. Kazemachi's foot was trapped under the defender's weight, and a sickening crunch reverberated through the air.

CRUNCH- 

"Raaaarghhhhh~!" He let out a bloodcurdling scream, so intense that the entire stadium fell silent for a good five seconds. 

The pain was immediate and overwhelming, a fiery agony that coursed up his leg. Kazemachi's scream was swallowed by the roar of the crowd, his vision blurring as he collapsed to the ground.

The world seemed to tilt, the game's intensity fading into a distant, echoing hum. The field, once vibrant with action, was now a blur of frantic movement and chaotic energy.

As his vision dimmed, and his entire body toppled on the ground like a pile of endgame jenga, he saw his life flash before his eyes. A vivid picture of his enthralled smile as he held the football for the first time appeared in his mind.

And then there was a crack.

Like a broken mirror, the vivid picture in his head was split in half, and then a spiderweb of cracks shattered the picture, shifting his bright blue eyes into a pale gray color. 

A panoramic scene of every checkpoint, every achievement, and every game he played flashed through his mind. It's as if he was nearing death's door as the entire stadium slowed in its activity. 

Time seemed to have stopped as the realization kicked in. His dimming vision subconsciously shifted towards his right leg, a messy pile of skin, muscle, and bones, twisted into a grotesque and horrifying form. 

His dream had shattered into tiny little pieces before disappearing into thin air. 

'This is not... this is not real.' He uttered in his mind as his gaze was fixated on the towering man of pure sinew. The man's shoulders rose up and down as exhaustion kicked in and he shook his head. 

The touchdown was met, and Kazemachi's team won. 

For the first time in the history of the regionals, the underdog team, the Nishikawa Hawks, had won the finals. 

But what of it? 

The tailwind was gone, and the air in the stadium felt dry. Kazemachi's throat constricted as his entire body fell limp. 

In silence, tears streamed down his cheeks as he suffered the greatest defeat in his lifetime. It was a historical victory, and yet he had lost the war. His lifetime had ended in a blink of an eye and the sport that defined him was stripped from his identity. 

Medics rushed to his side, their faces set in grim lines as they assessed his injury. The game continued around him, the cheers and shouts blending into a dissonant noise. Kazemachi was barely aware of the commotion as he was carefully lifted onto a stretcher. His foot was immobilized, and the weight of the injury pressed down on him like an oppressive shroud.

The final moments of the game slipped away as he was carried off the field and into the cold, clinical confines of an ambulance. 

Despite his team's celebration, Kazemachi felt the despair that ate away at his broken soul. The pivotal moment of his peak crashed down, going down the drain with nothing but a smudge left. 

His first wind had ended.