Zenin FC (3)

A chorus of concerned murmurs among the parents gathered on the sidelines, their attention shifting to Ayane, who stands quietly observing the match. Several of them gather near her, curious and questioning.

"Isn't it a little unfair for your son to be playing? I mean, he's so young," one of the parents says, glancing at Kenshi on the field. "All the other kids are at least eight or older. The youngest that usually participates is ten."

Another parent chimes in, "Yeah, don't you think it's a bit risky for him to play against bigger, older kids?"

Ayane remains silent for a moment, her gaze fixed on Kenshi. She leans against the rail, her expression calm and unwavering. She knows what Kenshi is capable of. The age difference doesn't concern her—it never did.

"No," Ayane finally responds, her voice low but firm. "This is exactly what we need to get started."

Her words hang in the air for a moment as the parents exchange uneasy glances, unsure how to respond. But Ayane's focus never wavers from the game unfolding in front of her.

Back on the field, the ball is passed to Kenshi. His small frame is immediately met with the imposing figure of Ryu, who wasted no time pressing him hard. At nine years old, Ryu was one of the most physically dominant players on the field, and he saw Kenshi—two years younger and much smaller—as easy prey.

With a fierce determination in his eyes, Ryu sprinted full speed towards Kenshi, fully intending to overwhelm him with physical pressure and force him into a mistake. He had seen players crumble under his fast, aggressive defense before, and Kenshi seemed no different. As Kenshi received the ball, he adopted a panicked expression, his movements hesitant, his eyes wide as if he was in over his head.

Ryu smirked. "Gotcha."

But just as Ryu was within inches, lunging to dispossess him, Kenshi disappeared in a flash. In an instant, Kenshi spun out of Ryu's reach with a smooth 360 turn, leaving the older boy in the dust. His panicked face was gone, replaced by a confident smirk. Kenshi was already several steps ahead, sprinting down the field, his feet moving with lightning speed. Ryu was left stunned, his momentum carrying him forward helplessly, unable to recover in time.

Humiliation washed over Ryu as he desperately tried to catch up, his face contorting in frustration. But Kenshi was far too fast, weaving through the midfield with ease. He cut sharply to the left, performing a perfect body feint, fooling another defender before cutting back to the right, sprinting straight through the center of the field.

As Kenshi scanned the field ahead, he saw Kira moving into position. Without hesitation, he launched a high, long pass over the heads of the defenders. The ball curved beautifully through the air, right on target. Kira managed to trap the ball, but his control wasn't perfect. It rolled slightly ahead of him, creating a 50/50 situation with an approaching opponent.

Kira tensed up, recognizing the danger. His natural passing talent was undeniable, but it became clear that other aspects of his game—ball control and physicality—were lacking. The opponent rushed toward him with determination, eager to win the ball back and start a counterattack.

From the corner of his eye, Haruto saw the opportunity and grinned. "Heh, this is our counterattack," he muttered confidently as he anticipated the next play.

The match was heating up, and Kenshi's impact was already being felt on both teams.

Haruto, known for his Snake Agility, had a natural dribbling ability that made him near impossible to contain. His sharp, unpredictable movements mimicked a snake's slithering, allowing him to slip past defenders with ease, twisting and turning through tight spaces like no one else on the field. It was a talent that required not only speed but exceptional intelligence and anticipation to counter, something most players in the youth division couldn't handle.

As Haruto began his approach, weaving between two defenders, it became clear how dangerous his dribbling style was. His footwork was fluid and deceptive, leaving defenders unsure of which way he would turn next. But the two red team members guarding him were smarter than the average players—doubling up, they strategically timed their movements, cutting off Haruto's angles as they applied pressure from both sides, forcing him into a corner.

Meanwhile, Kenshi was already scanning the field, his eyes keen on reading the flow of the game. He could see Haruto being forced into a tight spot by his teammates. Kenshi made a calculated move—he began a wide outward run, intentionally drifting outside of Ryu's line of sight. Kenshi had a sense of where the next play would go, his instinct honed by the constant study of his opponents.

Haruto, realizing his options were limited, saw Ryu in space and sent a quick pass his way, hoping to reset the play. As the ball sailed through the air toward Ryu, Kenshi was already in motion. His prediction was perfect.

Just as the ball was about to land at Ryu's feet, Kenshi came rushing in from behind him, completely unseen. Timing his jump flawlessly, Kenshi leapt into the air and trapped the ball with his chest, cushioning it as he descended to the ground. The move was effortless—fluid even—and left Ryu in complete shock. He turned to see the smaller Kenshi now in possession of the ball, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

The crowd of parents gasped, Ayane's expression still calm but her eyes sharp with focus. A murmur ran through the spectators, everyone buzzing with excitement. Kenshi had not only anticipated the pass but executed the interception with such finesse that it was hard to believe he was just six years old.

Kenshi didn't hesitate after trapping the ball. With a quick flick of his foot, he knocked it down in front of him and sprinted forward, leaving Ryu standing in stunned silence. The red team was now on the counterattack, and Kenshi was leading the charge.

As Kenshi charged down the field, his eyes locked onto the goal, he sensed someone closing in from behind. It was Haruto, matching his speed stride for stride. Haruto's presence was undeniable—he had a quickness and unpredictability that rivaled Kenshi's, a dangerous combination of speed and agility.

"You're not going anywhere," Haruto said slyly as he neared Kenshi, confidence dripping from his voice. His Snake Agility talent made him one of the most elusive players on the field, and now he aimed to shut down Kenshi's attack.

But Kenshi was ready.

Just as Haruto thought he was closing the gap, Kenshi came to an abrupt stop, shifting his weight suddenly. Haruto, caught off guard by the move, had to skid to a halt, narrowly avoiding bumping into him. Kenshi remained completely composed, not rattled by Haruto's pressure. Instead of continuing to push forward, Kenshi began juggling the ball, keeping it up with precise taps from his feet and knees, effortlessly maintaining control as if he was simply toying with the situation.

Haruto's eyes widened slightly in surprise, and for a split second, the entire field seemed to hold its breath, watching the young prodigy as he juggled the ball, his mind calculating the next step. But Kenshi wasn't about to get tunnel vision. He knew soccer was about teamwork, not just individual skill.

With a sharp movement, Kenshi broke the rhythm of his juggling and, without missing a beat, launched a pinpoint pass to one of his teammates who had been pushing up the left side of the field. The pass was perfectly weighted, landing right in front of his teammate in stride, keeping the momentum of the counterattack alive.

Haruto blinked, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Not bad," he muttered under his breath, realizing that Kenshi wasn't just fast—he had incredible awareness and the ability to make decisive plays under pressure.

The game was heating up, and everyone was starting to realize that Kenshi wasn't just a promising player. He was a problem that even Haruto would have trouble solving.

As Kenshi made the pass, his charge didn't relent. His body moved fluidly, like an unstoppable force as he darted past defenders. His teammate, who had received the pass, quickly noticed Kenshi still on the move, determined and hungry for the ball. Trusting his instinct, the teammate passed it right back to Kenshi, knowing something big was about to happen.

Kenshi took the ball in stride, his eyes scanning the field like a predator sizing up its prey. That's when he spotted the tall teammate lurking near the right post of the goal, completely unmarked. Without hesitation, Kenshi chipped the ball high, perfectly lofting it just above the heads of the blue team's defenders. It soared through the air, curving toward the far side of the goal.

The tall teammate, seeing the opportunity, timed his jump and went for it—his head connected with the ball perfectly, sending it flying into the back of the net with a powerful header.

Goal!!!

The red team erupted in cheers, celebrating the well-executed play, while the blue team was left fuming. Defenders smacked their lips in frustration, some shaking their heads in disbelief.

"Man, that was pure luck!" one of the blue defenders grumbled, his face scrunched up in frustration as he kicked the ground.

"You've got to be kidding me," another muttered, glancing around at his teammates. "How did we let that slip?"

Ryu, visibly annoyed, spat on the ground and rolled his eyes. He stomped toward the center of the field, clearly not taking the goal well. His fists were clenched, and he threw a quick, sharp look toward Kenshi and his celebrating teammates.

"You got lucky this time, twerp!" Ryu called out, his voice full of resentment and forced bravado. "Don't get cocky. We'll get another goal. Just you wait!"

The blue team, though visibly rattled, started to regroup, their frustration simmering. But behind their tough talk, they knew Kenshi and his squad weren't just lucky—there was real skill on display. And that realization stung.

Kenshi smirked, his playful demeanor unfazed by the mounting intensity on the field. With his tongue sticking out mischievously, he glanced at Ryu and Haruto. "One more point and that's game," he teased, his eyes closed, exuding a carefree confidence. But underneath, he knew the battle wasn't over yet.

Ryu and Haruto's expressions darkened, their jaws clenched in frustration. The weight of Kenshi's words hit them hard. Were they really about to lose to younger kids? The thought gnawed at them, sparking something primal.

"I'll be damned!" Ryu growled, his voice sharp and filled with determination. His eyes took on a strange, swirling pattern, reflecting the shift in his mentality. He wasn't just playing for fun anymore—he was playing to win, no matter what. Haruto, wiping the sweat off his face, had the same intense glow in his green eyes, a piercing glare that cut through the air.

"Yeah, like hell we'll lose," Haruto echoed, his voice cold and resolute. "Let's show these kids real soccer."

The atmosphere on Team Blue shifted dramatically. The air around them felt heavier, almost suffocating with the sheer force of their competitive drive. Some of the older players on Team Blue stood tall, their experience evident in the way they carried themselves. For them, this was no longer just a match—it was a battle.

On the other side, Team Red's players were visibly shaken. They weren't used to this kind of intensity, especially against older opponents. "Man, I didn't know there would be a ton of monsters here today..." one of Kenshi's teammates muttered nervously, his voice trembling as he watched the blue team's fierce energy boil over.

Kenshi's smile faded, replaced by a laser-sharp focus. His golden eyes narrowed, glowing with a dangerous light. This was it. He wasn't just entering any ordinary focus—he was unlocking what he called the "Zone." Even on his best days, Kenshi's natural state was intense, but when he entered this level of focus, it became something more—a Zone x Zone state, where everything else disappeared except for the goal in front of him.

This was the True Zone, a level of performance that surpassed 120% of his usual capabilities. Kenshi felt the surge of power through his small frame, every muscle ready, every nerve firing. It was as if his body was temporarily unlocking potential far beyond his age, rivaling the physical abilities of boys much older than him. But even with all that power, Kenshi knew this would be a challenge. Haruto and Ryu weren't ordinary players—they were monsters in their own right. And now, they were on par with him.

The whistle blew for the kickoff, and the energy on the field crackled with tension. Haruto started with the ball at his feet, a confident smirk curling on his lips as he scanned the field. His eyes met Kenshi's for a brief moment, and the challenge was clear. "Turn up the volume!" Haruto shouted, his voice filled with raw excitement. "Because this is a funeral for the living!"

Team Blue roared in response, and the game was on again. The intensity had reached a whole new level. Haruto charged forward, his Snake Agility making his movements almost impossible to predict, while Ryu flanked him, their synergy undeniable. But Kenshi was right there, locking onto their movements with deadly precision.

It wasn't just a match anymore. It was a war.

As the intensity on the field skyrocketed, the atmosphere off the field mirrored it. The parents, who had been casually chatting moments before, were now locked in, their eyes glued to the game. It wasn't just another kids' match anymore—this was something else entirely. Ayane stood at the railing, her usually calm demeanor replaced by visible tension. She gripped the metal bar tightly, her knuckles white, her heart racing as she watched Kenshi square off against Ryu and Haruto. This was no ordinary exhibition.

The other parents, many of whom had previously dismissed the match as harmless fun, now found themselves on edge, biting their lips or nervously tapping their feet. The pace, the skill, and the raw intensity coming from the field were more than they had expected. A mother standing next to Ayane leaned over, whispering anxiously, "These kids... they're playing like pros. Is this even safe?"

Ayane didn't answer immediately, her focus still on Kenshi. Her son was the youngest on the field, yet he was standing toe-to-toe with older, more experienced players. But she had seen that look in his eyes before—the deadly, focused gaze that meant Kenshi wasn't backing down. "No," she finally whispered back, her voice steady but low. "This is exactly what he needs."

Meanwhile, in the VIP section where the Zenin FC coaches and managers were observing, the mood had shifted dramatically. Raiden, who had been overseeing the match, leaned forward in his seat, his usually calm and composed face now tight with anticipation. He exchanged a glance with one of the head coaches, Hirata, whose eyes were fixed on the game with a rare, intense focus.

"I've never seen kids this age play with such fire," Hirata muttered, barely blinking as he watched Ryu, Haruto, and Kenshi face off. The coaches around him murmured in agreement, some whispering about the potential they were witnessing. One of them, Coach Nakamura, was scribbling notes furiously, his pen moving faster with every second. "This is beyond just talent," he said under his breath, "This is... pure instinct."

Raiden nodded. "Kenshi's completely in the zone. His awareness, his reactions, everything—it's like watching a pro." But it wasn't just Kenshi. The way Ryu and Haruto responded to the pressure, elevating their own game, showed that this match had become something more than anyone had anticipated. This was now a test of not only skill but willpower, drive, and determination.

Even some of the assistant coaches who had been more relaxed earlier were now on the edge of their seats. Every pass, every dribble, every fake had them reacting, some even leaning forward with anticipation as if they were the ones about to make the next move.

The tension in the stands was palpable. Parents were muttering to each other, some gasping whenever a close call or a particularly skillful move was made. One father from Team Blue's side slapped his knee in frustration. "Come on, Ryu! You can't let that little kid show you up!"

Meanwhile, another mother on the red side stood up, her fists clenched. "Go, Kenshi! You got this, honey!" she shouted, her voice trembling with excitement.

The whole field seemed to pulse with energy. Even the sun above seemed hotter, the air thicker, as both teams braced for the next onslaught. The match had turned into an all-out war, and everyone watching knew it.

Ayane's heart pounded as she watched Kenshi. She had never seen him like this before—not even in their practices at home. This was a new level, one that even she hadn't expected so soon.

[]

Haruto's focus was razor sharp, every movement calculated and precise as he danced his way through Kenshi and the other defender. His unique "snake agility" talent allowed him to slither past their attempts to stop him, his feints and quick hip movements leaving them scrambling. His feet were a blur as he shifted his weight, moving effortlessly around their defense.

Kenshi's eyes followed Haruto closely, but even he had to admit that this was on another level. The precision of Haruto's dribbling left no openings—he was practically untouchable. Kenshi gritted his teeth, more determined than ever, but for now, Haruto had the advantage.

Charging up the field, Haruto now faced Kira, who stood firm in the midfield, ready to halt his advance. But there was a gleam in Haruto's eyes, a confident smirk forming on his face as he approached. He wasn't just playing—he was enjoying every second of it, fully immersed in the thrill of competition. Without breaking stride, he flicked the ball upward with a delicate touch, lifting it into the air with a perfectly executed rainbow flick.

The ball sailed effortlessly over Kira's head, and the crowd gasped. Even the coaches and parents watching from the sidelines couldn't hide their amazement at the audacious move. It was a moment that seemed to freeze time—an instant where Haruto's brilliance shone the brightest.

Kenshi's golden eyes widened slightly, a flash of excitement crossing his face. "That was impressive," he muttered under his breath, but there was no time to dwell on it. Haruto was still on the attack.

Just as Haruto landed from the flick and regained control of the ball, Ryu called out from upfield, his voice booming across the pitch. "Haruto, pass!" Ryu's eyes were burning with intensity, eager to make a move. He had positioned himself perfectly, ready to strike and level the score. His fists were clenched, and his body tensed like a coiled spring, ready to explode forward the moment the ball came his way.

But Kenshi was already on the move, sprinting back with lightning speed, his mind racing to predict the play. Haruto had them on the ropes, but Kenshi wasn't about to let him dictate the game any longer.

As Haruto effortlessly chipped the ball over the heads of the defenders, it sailed in perfect alignment toward Ryu. The timing was impeccable, and Ryu was already in motion, his eyes laser-focused on the ball as it dropped through the air. His heart pounded in his chest as he ran forward, adrenaline surging through his veins. The moment was electric—everyone, both on the field and in the stands, held their breath.

Ryu slowed his stride for just an instant, letting the ball hit the ground once before it bounced back up. He reeled his leg back, muscles tensing as he prepared for a strike that would leave the field in awe. The energy in the air shifted time seemed to freeze for a split second, and an almost tangible force swirled around the field as he swung his leg forward with immense force.

The moment his foot connected with the ball, it was as if the world cracked open. The sound of impact reverberated through the field like a gunshot, the force so intense that the image of Ryu's leg seemed to blur from the sheer speed of his movement—an anime-like impact frame, frozen in time, capturing the power behind the shot.

The ball rocketed through the air, slicing past the defenders, who could only watch in shock as it blazed its path toward the goal. The goalkeeper barely had time to react before the ball slammed into the back of the net with a thunderous whap.

GOAL!!!

The crowd erupted in cheers and gasps, the sheer brilliance of the play leaving everyone stunned. Ryu's eyes were wide with intensity, his fingers clenching into fists as he screamed in triumph. Sweat poured down his face, but his expression was one of pure exhilaration.

"YES!" Ryu shouted, his voice raw with emotion. He turned to look at Haruto, who was already running down the sidelines with his arms wide open, a grin stretching across his face. They had done it.

"Haruto!!" Ryu called out, beaming with pride as they locked eyes. Haruto, with his snake-like agility, smiled back, sharing the moment. He pointed toward the coaches, knowing this goal had cemented their performance as top tier.

The moment the ball slammed into the back of the net, the entire sideline seemed to explode—but not just in cheers.

"What just happened?!" one parent gasped, clutching their chest as if the sheer force of the shot had hit them, too.

Another parent, who had been mid-sip of water, choked on their drink, spluttering as they watched in disbelief. "H-He... he kicked that from midfield! That's not normal for a kid his age!" they stammered, wide-eyed and coughing.

One mother, who had been sitting quietly earlier, let out a strangled gasp, almost dropping her phone as she fumbled to record the replay. "Did you see that?! Did you SEE that?! These are just kids, right?!" She turned to her husband, who looked equally dumbfounded.

Several fathers were on their feet now, faces red with shock. "No way, no way," one of them kept repeating, wiping his forehead as though he had just finished running a marathon himself. Another parent, completely at a loss for words, blinked several times before letting out a loud, stunned laugh. "That… That looked like something out of a pro game!"

Ayane, too, felt a momentary pang of disbelief, though she kept her composure better than most. She leaned forward, arms on the rail, eyes sharp but inwardly impressed. That was no ordinary goal. The fact that these kids were pulling off these high-level plays was astonishing even to her.

There were mutters of disbelief all around, parents exchanging wide-eyed glances and shaking their heads. Some were even clutching their chests, their hearts racing as if they themselves had been on the field. "These kids… They're monsters," one whispered, the word "monsters" almost reverent in the way they said it.

The intensity of Ryu's strike had left more than just the players breathless. The parents were reeling, and the coaches—once calm and composed—were now huddled, speaking rapidly, their clipboards full of frantic notes.

"What are we watching?" another parent murmured. "Is this… Is this even youth soccer anymore?"

It was as if no one could believe that these kids, some barely older than ten, were playing at such an insane level.

[]

As the stunned parents tried to regain their composure, the coaches remained laser-focused, their eyes glued to Ryu and Haruto, now celebrating on the field. The tension in the coach's booth had gone from mere observation to intense scrutiny.

Coach Aoyama, the head coach of Zenin FC, scribbled furiously on his notepad, his usually calm demeanor replaced by a rare look of excitement. "Haruto and Ryu…they're not just raw talent," he muttered to himself. "This kind of play… It's polished, instinctual. These two have been honing their skills for years."

Coach Takeda, standing beside him, nodded, his arms crossed. "Ryu's power and precision—that volley kick was something you'd expect to see from a much older player. That wasn't just about strength, either. His timing, positioning, and understanding of space… it was all perfect." Takeda shook his head, clearly impressed. "He's got the making of a forward who can lead an offense."

Aoyama tapped his pen on his notepad, glancing over at the stats sheet on Ryu. "His speed is solid, and that technique... he's dangerous from almost anywhere on the field. I'm leaning Class A for him at the very least." He paused, then added, "Maybe even Class S if he keeps this up. He's got that hunger, that killer instinct."

Takeda flipped through the pages on his clipboard, stopping at the section where Haruto's stats were listed. "Haruto's different, though." He pointed at the agility column. "That snake-like dribbling… it's almost untraceable. The way he moves, it's not just about speed, it's about control. His Unique Talent is rare, and it's going to be tough for any defender to deal with him one-on-one."

Aoyama nodded, his eyes narrowing as he watched Haruto move across the field again. "I noticed that too. He thrives in tight spaces. Even when he's double-teamed, he finds a way to slip through." He jotted down a note: Class S candidate?

"But he's not just a dribbler," Takeda added, his voice rising with excitement. "That chip pass to Ryu was calculated, precise. He knew exactly how to position the ball. If we develop him right, we could have a top-tier playmaker on our hands. He's got vision, and that's not something you can teach easily."

Coach Aoyama leaned back, folding his arms as he considered. "Both of them, Ryu and Haruto, are pushing past the limits of what's expected at this age. I think they're already too advanced for Class B." He looked up at Takeda, a slight grin forming on his face. "Class A seems almost guaranteed, and Class S is in sight if they keep playing like this."

Takeda glanced over at the other coaches, who were all furiously writing down notes, nodding in agreement. The consensus was clear: Haruto and Ryu had displayed skills far beyond their peers.

"Class S is for the elite, the players with the potential to go pro," Aoyama said, almost to himself. "But these two... they might just be ready for it. If not now, soon."

Takeda raised an eyebrow. "Looks like we've got some tough decisions ahead. But I think we all know where this is heading."

As the two coaches continued to analyze the match, they knew one thing for sure—Ryu and Haruto were no ordinary players, and both had just made a powerful case for being placed at the very top of the ranks.

The coaches would then shift their gaze towards Kenshi with growing intrigue, but none of them could quite put their finger on what made him so different. He stood there, frozen on the field, his hand covering his mouth as if deep in thought—completely absorbed. It wasn't normal for a kid this young to stay so composed after witnessing such a spectacular goal by Ryu. Most players would be rattled. But Kenshi? He was thinking. Plotting his next move.

Coach Aoyama shifted in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at his fellow coaches. "What is that kid doing?" he murmured, a hint of frustration in his voice. "He's not reacting like any of the other players. It's almost like he's waiting for something."

Coach Takeda nodded, equally perplexed. "He's not just standing there... he's observing. He's too calm. Normally, kids would get swept up in the heat of the game, but Kenshi... it's like he's planning something we can't see yet."

One of the assistant coaches leaned forward, watching Kenshi's every move. "I've never seen a player this young stay so composed after a goal like that. You'd expect him to panic or at least try to rush a counterattack, but he's... waiting."

Coach Aoyama scribbled something on his clipboard but didn't take his eyes off Kenshi. "He's waiting because he's thinking. He's trying to figure something out, isn't he? The way he's just standing there, not rushing, not reacting emotionally... it's almost unsettling."

"Maybe he's just one of those cerebral players," another coach suggested, his tone unsure. "You know, the kind who plays the game more with their mind than their body."

Takeda furrowed his brow. "That's rare at his age, though. Most kids don't have that level of mental discipline. And this isn't just some normal focus—he looks like he's on the verge of doing something... big."

The air around the coaches grew tense. None of them could shake the feeling that something unusual was about to happen, but they couldn't quite put their finger on why. There was no way Kenshi, a six-year-old, was about to pull off something extraordinary, right? But the longer they watched him, the more that uneasy feeling grew.

"Could he be Class S material?" Coach Aoyama wondered aloud, the thought slipping out before he could stop himself. The other coaches exchanged uncertain glances, not sure what to say. They didn't have enough data on Kenshi yet to make that kind of judgment, but his calm, his focus—it felt like they were witnessing the early stages of something they had never seen before.

"No idea," Takeda responded, shaking his head. "But whatever happens next, we're about to get a much clearer picture of what this kid's capable of."

Kenshi's eyes, sharp and focused, locked onto the ball. He hadn't moved yet, but something was brewing. The coaches could feel it. The next play would reveal everything—and they were all on edge, waiting for the boy to finally show them what he had in store.

"Let's see what you've got, kid..." Coach Aoyama muttered under his breath, his eyes never leaving Kenshi.