Chapter 38 – Domination

Reo's mind was spinning, overwhelmed by the grim realization settling deep into his psyche. 'They've cut off every option for me,' he analyzed frantically. 'Zantetsu is trapped by Raichi and Chigiri, Nagi can't even get near the ball with Kira suffocating him. And no matter what I try—whether I pass or dribble—I'm punished, forced to lose possession.'

A hollow feeling began to gnaw at him, his eyes dimming with the weight of despair. Team Z had full control of the game, dictating the tempo, and Reo felt himself sinking further into helplessness. 'Are Nagi and I really going to lose…?'

As he knelt on the pitch, his gaze dropped in defeat. A hand suddenly appeared in his line of sight. Startled, Reo looked up. Kira stood before him, his hand extended, smiling with a seemingly angelic kindness. But to Reo, that smile was nothing short of mockery—a sneer aimed at his broken spirit.

Without thinking, Reo slapped the hand away with his right, but Kira swiftly caught his wrist, gripping it firmly. Reo's confusion deepened as he yanked his arm back.

"What the hell do you want?" Reo barked, the bitterness in his voice barely masking his frustration.

"Whoa, easy now! You should show a little respect to your teacher, rich boy," Kira said, his tone playful yet condescending. His upbeat voice only served to aggravate Reo further.

"What are you even talking about!? Let go of my hand," Reo spat, tugging against Kira's grip.

Kira's expression didn't waver, his smile fixed in place, but his eyes burned with something darker—an unsettling mixture of obsession and superiority. "Zantetsu is your other weapon for breaking through, but he's neutralized. You're SO fixated on Nagi scoring, and that's why you can't break through yourself." Kira's words were sharp, dissecting Reo's simple plan with ease. Reo stared back at him, the fire in Kira's gaze igniting an unsettling realization in his chest. This wasn't just an opponent—Kira was playing him, like a cat toying with a cornered mouse.

"Everyone's moving exactly as I've envisioned," Kira continued, his voice lowering into something almost sinister. "Your white pieces and my black pieces—they're all dancing in the palm of my hand." Kira bent down, locking eyes with Reo, forcing him to confront the truth he'd been avoiding. Reo felt his breath catch in his throat as the depth of his disadvantage became all too clear. 

Kira's grin stretched wider, ear to ear, his joy barely contained as he watched the fear and frustration etch across Reo's face. "Now, get up. Let us continue the lessons," His voice dripped with a smug satisfaction, delighted by Reo's crumbling resolve.

Off on the wing, Nagi caught sight of Reo in distress. Something stirred inside him—a strange, unfamiliar feeling. He clenched his fists.

"Reo…" Nagi murmured, his usual indifference cracking ever so slightly.

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"The N-box," Ego muttered, his eyes glued to the monitor as he replayed all the goals scored by Team Z. The sudden shift in Team Z's aggressive attacking style had piqued his curiosity. The seamless flow of their movements, the precision of their tight, lock-down defense, and the way it all effortlessly led to goals—it was a masterclass in control and coordination.

"What's the N-box?" Anri asked, her voice tinged with awe as she watched the game unfold. She had been mesmerized by Team Z's strategies, the fluidity with which they moved across the pitch. It was as if they were a singular entity, moving in perfect harmony, while Team V staggered behind—nothing more than 11 isolated individuals. Everything Team V attempted was dismantled effortlessly, as though Team Z had anticipated their every move. It was a beautiful and almost hypnotic display of football.

Ego leaned back, his gaze still fixated on the game. "The N-box is a tactical formation designed to maximize the abilities of Nanami Hiroshi, Japan's unparalleled genius playmaker," he began to explain. "It's centered around a five-man midfield that maintains an exceptional balance between them, creating a numerical advantage in both attack and defense. Because the players are positioned so closely together, even the smallest adjustments in their movements can shift the entire formation, adapting to any situation on the field."

Anri listened carefully, her brow furrowing as she processed Ego's explanation. "But executing that level of coordination is difficult even for professional teams, let alone high schoolers," Ego added, his eyes narrowing with intense focus. On the screen, the heart of the formation pulsed with energy as Team Z moved in perfect synchronization, their playmaker orchestrating the field like a conductor guiding a symphony.

Anri tilted her head in thought. "But if what you're saying is true, wouldn't Team V have a chance to counterattack? If Team Z pushes so many players forward, it should leave their defense vulnerable, right?"

Ego barely glanced at her, a small smirk curling on his lips. "A valid point," he acknowledged. "But one player from Team Z has minimized that risk, allowing them to employ the N-box strategy without compromising their defense." His cryptic response left Anri perplexed, her eyes scanning the players on the field, searching for an answer.

"That's impossible," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "No single player could—" Her words trailed off as Ego pointed to the screen, his eyes sharp with a glint of knowing.

"Right there," he said softly, his voice tinged with reverence. "The demon responsible for orchestrating the movements of not just his team, but his opponents as well—Ryosuke Kira."

Anri's eyes widened in shock, her breath catching in her throat as she finally saw it—the quiet yet terrifying brilliance behind Kira's actions. Every pass, every defensive maneuver, every shift in positioning on both teams seemed to revolve around him. The realization hit her like a tidal wave, and her shock only deepened as Ego continued.

"In other words, all 22 players on the pitch right now are being controlled by Kira alone."

Anri's gaze remained fixed on Kira, her mind racing. It was no longer just a game—it was a battle of wills, and Kira was pulling all the strings.

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The scene shifted back to the field, where Team V struggled in vain to break through or even maintain possession of the ball. Their movements were sluggish, panicked, and chaotic, as if they were playing into an invisible trap. At the heart of it all was Kira, seated comfortably at the back, orchestrating the chaos with an eerie calm. His sharp eyes scanned the field, directing his teammates with subtle gestures, effortlessly herding the opposing players like sheep toward inevitable defeat.

"Isn't this fun, little eggs?" Kira muttered under his breath, a wicked smirk twisting his lips. His gaze locked onto Reo, whose face was now a mask of desperation. The once-confident playmaker was clearly overwhelmed by Team Z's suffocating defense, his movements erratic, his composure shattered. Panic radiated from him, his body language betraying his crumbling resolve.

Kira's grin widened, almost maniacal, as he reveled in the psychological torment he was inflicting. "Yes, keep dancing to my will," he whispered, his eyes gleaming with sadistic delight. "Right to the place of your slaughter."

A visible shiver coursed through Kira's body, the sheer ecstasy of domination electrifying him. His smirk stretched impossibly wide, threatening to split his face in two. Every moment on the pitch, every ounce of control he exerted, sent waves of pleasure through him. He lived for this—this feeling of total command, where every player moved like pieces on a chessboard at his whim.

"Truly," Kira murmured to himself, his voice trembling with satisfaction, "the best feeling in the world."