Football Evolution System

**Huff! Huff! Huff!**

Now I understand why they say training is crucial for playing well in every match... However, experience is the key to winning.

This was our first encounter against the West University team. It was also our final year and the final match. We were supposed to be on top of everything—our game, dribbling, passing, running, and scoring. The other team was supposed to stand no chance against us. After all, weren't we the ones winning three to one?

But something felt off. I couldn't shake the feeling of unease, especially with our coach screaming at the top of his lungs from the sidelines. What was he saying again?

Oh yes...

"You have to win! This is the finals! We can't afford to lose!"

What did he mean by that? Weren't we in the lead?

I glanced at the scoreboard and felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead. We were wearing the white uniforms with the East University symbol, but the score was clear. Was I really that bad at math, or was I just confused because the scores were written in English?

Oh shit, I had been reading it instinctively, assuming we were ahead. The reality was that we were the ones with only one goal.

I scanned the field, watching my teammates tirelessly strive to put the ball behind the net. Our ball possession was pitifully low; the other team dominated the field, passing the ball around with ease. The longest we managed to hold onto it was less than a second.

The only thing keeping them from scoring more goals—twelve, at this rate—was our strong defense. East University had a few huge, armored, and skillful players who managed to intercept their assaults before they reached our goalkeeper.

But what was I doing? I was supposed to be a striker, yet here I was, standing among the defenders, blocking the opposition and waiting for our team to score. I had once been a striker, but I got tired of scoring. I lost the passion, and the coach, perhaps out of pity, moved me to defense. Even now, I didn't have the enthusiasm to run and stop the strikers charging towards us.

That's how they scored their three goals—by simply running past me. I felt the sting of failure as I realized I had let everyone down.

My gaze shifted to our star striker, hunched over and sweating profusely, his last shot easily caught by the opposing goalkeeper. We looked pitiful. The crowd's cheers had dwindled into silence, replaced by boos—most likely directed at me.

"Come on, Miya! I still believe in you!" a fellow defender shouted, his voice tinged with desperation. I turned to see him, his face tense and determined.

That was why I was standing in this very spot—because they believed in me. But I hadn't moved an inch. They believed in me, but I didn't believe in them... or myself.

Then why do I play football?

The question echoed in my mind, accompanied by the shouts of the crowd and the relentless pressure of the game. The final match of our final year, and I was paralyzed by doubt and regret. Every second ticked by, heightening the suspense, as the West University team continued their relentless onslaught. The ball was constantly at their feet, a stark reminder of our failing efforts.

The crowd's boos grew louder, mingling with the voices of my teammates urging me to snap out of it. But I stood there, rooted to the spot, my mind a swirling vortex of confusion and self-doubt. The game was slipping away from us, and so was any hope of redemption.

I glanced at the coach, his face red with frustration and anxiety. This was more than just a game—it was our future, our legacy. But in that moment, all I could think about was how much I hated this feeling of helplessness, of letting everyone down.

But why do I still refuse to move?