The narrow alleys of Saitama were filled with the smell of fried food and the sound of bicycles rattling over broken pavement. In a cramped apartment tucked away behind the station, a boy sat alone on a patch of worn tatami, lacing up his shoes. They were torn at the sides, the laces frayed and stiff, but to him they were treasures.

His name was Kaito Tanaka, fifteen years old.

The small room was dimly lit by a flickering bulb, casting long shadows across the stacked boxes of part-time delivery jobs his mother took whenever she could. Kaito tied the last knot tightly, breathing deeply, as though he could force determination into his tired chest.

From the kitchen, the clatter of dishes rang out. His mother, Ayaka, thin from years of overwork, called softly:

“...Kaito, you’re heading out again? It’s late. You’ve trained all afternoon already.”

Kaito paused, looking at the cracked tips of his shoes. His voice was quiet, but steady.

“Yeah. If I stop now, I’ll fall behind. The trial’s tomorrow. I have to be ready, Mom.”

Ayaka leaned against the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on her apron. The wrinkles under her eyes deepened as she smiled, though it was a tired smile.

“You push yourself too hard. Your father was the same...”

The name lingered in the air like a ghost. Kaito’s fists tightened. His father had died when Kaito was five—an accident on the construction site. Since then, it had only been Ayaka, Kaito, and the twins.

From the bedroom, two small voices interrupted.

“Ni-chan!”

Aoi and Yumi, his ten-year-old twin sisters, peeked from under their thin blanket, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Don’t stay out too long!” Aoi shouted, her short hair sticking up in every direction.

“Yeah, you’ll get sick and then who’ll play soccer tomorrow?” Yumi added, her twin’s voice almost a mirror.

Kaito turned toward them, his expression softening. “I’ll be fine. Go to sleep. You’ve got school in the morning.”

The twins pouted in unison. “Only if you promise to score a goal!”

Kaito chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll… try.”

He didn’t tell them he had never even scored in any of the trial matches before. He didn’t tell them that every time, he was overlooked—just another poor boy who didn’t have the right training, the right equipment, the right connections.

He grabbed the ball tucked under his futon and slipped out into the night.

---

The empty lot a few blocks away had once been a parking lot. Now it was cracked concrete with weeds sprouting between lines. A single streetlamp flickered above, its light catching the faint mist of Kaito’s breath.

He placed the ball down. His shoes scuffed against the uneven ground as he began to dribble, the ball bouncing awkwardly over the cracks.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Every strike was sharper than the last, his movements honed from years of repetition. He trained alone, no cones, no coach, only the rhythm of his heart and the sound of his breath. Sweat clung to his hair, sliding down his jaw, soaking through the collar of his shirt.

In his mind, the voices of his classmates replayed.

“Kaito? He’ll never make it.”

“His family’s broke. He should just get a part-time job.”

“He’s not even good—look at his shoes.”

He bit his lip hard enough to draw blood.

“Shut up...”

He drove the ball forward, striking the wall with a sharp kick. It rebounded, and he chased it down, repeating again and again, as though punishing himself.

Finally, he collapsed onto the ground, staring up at the night sky. His chest heaved.

Somewhere in the distance, fireworks from the summer festival burst, painting the clouds with brief sparks of color. Kaito’s eyes reflected them, but there was no smile on his face.

I have to change something. I can’t let Mom keep working herself to death. I can’t let Aoi and Yumi live like this forever.

He sat up, gripping the ball tightly in his hands.

“I’ll prove them wrong. No matter what it takes... I’ll make it.”

---

Back at home, Ayaka stood by the window, watching the night where her son had disappeared. She pressed a hand to her chest, whispering into the quiet room.

“Kaito... You’re so much like him.”

From the bedroom, the twins’ sleepy voices carried softly.

“Ni-chan’s going to be a star one day... just watch.”

The night swallowed the words, leaving only silence.

And somewhere within that silence, the world stirred—waiting for the boy who didn’t yet know what awaited him.

The trial pitch glowed under the summer sun, a synthetic turf that shimmered like emerald glass. The bleachers surrounding it were packed—not a professional stadium, but for boys chasing dreams, it felt like one. Parents, siblings, and scouts filled the seats, their voices crashing together in a storm of anticipation.

Kaito stood in line with the other trialists, sweat already prickling the back of his neck. His jersey clung awkwardly to his thin frame. Everyone else looked taller, faster, sharper. He could feel their eyes sliding over him, dismissing him before the whistle even blew.

“Tanaka Kaito, forward.” The coach barely glanced at him during roll call. The way he clipped his tone made it clear: Kaito was filler, another number on the sheet.

Murmurs rose in the crowd:

“Isn’t that the kid who failed the last two trials?”

“He doesn’t even look like an athlete. Too scrawny.”

“He should just stop embarrassing himself.”

Kaito’s fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. He wanted to scream that they didn’t know him. That they didn’t see the hours he spent alone, chasing a ball until his legs collapsed. But no words came out.

---

The referee’s whistle sliced through the air.

Kick-off.

The ball zipped across the turf with crisp precision. Team B’s coordination was instant—they pressed like wolves, cutting off space, forcing errors.

Kaito sprinted forward, waving for a pass. Nothing. His midfielders locked eyes with him, then deliberately chose other options. The sting of being ignored was sharper than the summer heat.

Then, disaster. A perfect through-ball split the defense like paper. Team B’s striker dashed between the center-backs, his touch flawless. The keeper lunged, but too late—

BANG!

The net rippled violently.

GOAL!

“YEEEAAHHHH!!!” The stadium erupted, voices shaking the bleachers. Drums thundered. Whistles pierced the air. The scorer slid across the grass on his knees, roaring, his teammates piling onto him.

The announcer’s voice bellowed from the loudspeakers:

“Team B takes the lead! One-nil!”

Kaito froze, staring at the ball bouncing back from the goal. The speed. The timing. It was perfect. That fast?

---

The game restarted, but the pressure never lifted. Team B swarmed like they could smell blood. Kaito darted into space again, shouting—

“Here! I’m open!”

But the ball veered elsewhere. A midfielder scowled at him. “Shut up. Don’t overrun.”

Kaito’s chest burned.

And then—another flash of brilliance from the enemy winger. He sliced through two defenders like slicing silk, feinted the keeper, and coolly tapped the ball into the net.

GOAL!

“OOOOHHHHH!!!” The crowd went wild. Parents and friends stood, fists raised, chanting the scorer’s name. The sound of celebration cut like a blade.

The scoreboard glared: 2–0.

Kaito’s teammates groaned.

“Mark him tighter!”

“Tanaka, you’re not tracking back!”

“What are you even doing out here?”

Their words piled on, heavy as chains. He opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat.

---

The third goal came like a dagger.

A high, arcing cross soared across the field. Team B’s forward leapt, chesting it down with grace before unleashing a volley that screamed past the keeper. The sound of boot to ball was like a gunshot.

GOAL!

The net snapped back. The stadium exploded again, fans stomping, clapping, chanting. “THREE! THREE!”

Team A – 0 | Team B – 3.

The humiliation was suffocating.

Kaito bent forward, hands on his knees, gasping for air. His shirt clung, drenched in sweat. He felt invisible—ignored by teammates, dismissed by coaches, and crushed by opponents who didn’t even see him as competition.

---

And then—he looked up.

On the far side of the stands, in the cheap seats almost hidden from view, he saw them.

His mother, Ayaka. Her uniform still smelled faintly of the restaurant she had rushed from. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, but her hands were clasped together in prayer, her lips trembling with unspoken words.

Beside her, the twins stood on the benches, cupping their hands to scream as loud as they could.

“Ni-chan!!!” Aoi’s voice cracked, desperate, raw.

“You can do it!” Yumi cried, her face red, her little fists clenched.

The crowd drowned them out, but Kaito’s ears caught their voices. He always did.

His throat tightened. His heart hammered so hard it hurt.

Memories from last night echoed—

“Promise you’ll score, Kaito.”

“We’ll be cheering the loudest.”

Kaito bit down so hard his jaw ached. His body felt heavy, his lungs burned, but his heart screamed louder than the crowd.

He whispered to himself, barely audible over the chaos.

“…Not yet. I can’t give up yet. Not here.”

The scoreboard glared mercilessly: 0–3.

Kaito bent forward, sweat dripping from his chin onto the turf. His chest rose and fell like a broken engine. Every breath burned. Around him, his teammates barked in frustration, blaming each mistake on him. The referee’s whistle shrilled again, and the game restarted.

But in the crowd—someone else was suffering.

---

Ayaka Tanaka gripped the railing so tightly her knuckles were white. She hadn’t eaten since her morning shift; the fatigue of double shifts pressed into her bones. But none of that mattered now. All she could see was her son—her eldest—drowning on the field.

“Kaito…” she whispered.

Every stumble of his feet was a dagger in her chest. Every jeer from the audience was a slap she couldn’t shield him from. She wanted to leap down, run onto the pitch, and hold him like she did when he was small, when a scraped knee was the worst pain in the world. But she couldn’t.

She had told herself to be strong for him. To smile, to clap, to believe. But when the second goal went in, her lips trembled. By the third, her hands shook.

She glanced at her daughters.

---

Aoi’s voice was hoarse. She had been screaming Kaito’s name from the first whistle. Her little fists banged against the metal railing until her knuckles turned red.

“Run, Ni-chan! Don’t give up! You promised us!”

Her throat burned, but she refused to stop.

Beside her, Yumi’s eyes welled with tears. She tugged at her sister’s sleeve, her voice small but fierce.

“He’s trying, Aoi-chan… He’s trying so hard…”

Yumi’s lips quivered, but she raised her little arms and cupped her hands around her mouth. “We believe in you, Ni-chan!!!”

Her voice cracked, swallowed by the roar of the crowd, but it carried across the field in Kaito’s heart.

---

On the pitch, Kaito’s vision blurred for a moment. The chants of the enemy drowned him, but faintly—just faintly—he heard those voices. His sisters’. His mother’s.

Still cheering…? Even now…

Something inside his chest twisted painfully. He was failing them—again. Failing his sisters who skipped meals so he could eat more rice. Failing his mother who smiled through exhaustion.

The shame was suffocating. His lungs felt like lead. His legs screamed to stop.

But deep inside, something else whispered—low, sharp, almost inaudible.

No. Not yet.

He dragged his gaze up from the turf. Across the pitch, the opposing forward grinned smugly, pointing two fingers like a gun toward Kaito before smirking at the girls in the stands. His teammates laughed with him.

“Pathetic,” one of them muttered loud enough for Kaito to hear. “Just quit already.”

Kaito’s blood surged, his nails digging into his palms. He staggered upright, chest heaving, eyes locked on the ball at midfield.

His voice came out rough, almost a growl.

“…I’m not done.”

The crowd didn’t hear it. The referee didn’t care. But his mother’s gaze caught the fire in his eyes, and her breath caught.

---

Ayaka whispered, almost to herself. “Kaito…”

Her trembling stopped. Tears burned her eyes, but her lips curved into the faintest smile. Her boy wasn’t broken yet.

Aoi saw it too. She leaned forward, gripping the railing until her little arms shook. “That’s it, Ni-chan! Show them!”

Yumi wiped her tears and shouted with everything in her tiny body. “Fight, Ni-chan! Fight!”

Their voices carried like fragile threads of hope through the storm of jeers and chants.

---

The ball rolled back into play.

Kaito stood straighter, fire burning in his chest, though his body screamed in protest.

The humiliation still weighed on him. But now it was fuel.

Not for me.

For them.

He wasn’t ready to win. He wasn’t ready to shine. Not yet.

But he wasn’t going to vanish either.

And as the game thundered on, as the clock ticked toward halftime, something stirred deep inside him—something no one else could yet see.

Something waiting to awaken.

The referee’s whistle blew again. The match wasn’t over.

The scoreboard flashed mercilessly: 0–4.

The fourth goal had been a dagger. The opposing striker slipped through Kaito’s line with ease, flicked the ball past the goalkeeper, and jogged back laughing as if it were practice. The stadium roared with celebration, drowning out the weak protests of Kaito’s teammates.

The referee’s whistle shrieked again, and the first half came to an end.

Kaito dropped to his knees, palms pressed into the turf, his chest convulsing as he gasped for air. His jersey clung to him, soaked with sweat. His legs trembled, refusing to stand.

“…Useless…” one of his teammates spat, glaring down at him. “You’re just dead weight.”

Another muttered, loud enough to sting: “Why the hell was he even invited to the trial?”

The words tore into him, deeper than any kick could.

---

Up in the stands, Aoi slammed her fists against the railing. “Shut up! Ni-chan is not useless!” she screamed, but her voice drowned in the storm of laughter and cheers from the opposing fans.

Yumi buried her face into her mother’s sleeve, trembling. “Mama… are they right? Is Ni-chan really…”

Ayaka stroked her daughter’s hair, forcing her voice to stay steady even as her throat ached. “…No, Yumi. He’s trying harder than anyone out there. That’s what makes him different.”

But inside, Ayaka’s heart fractured with each word hurled at her son.

---

Kaito clenched his teeth so hard his jaw ached. The humiliation, the jeers, the pitying eyes—he wanted it all to vanish. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole.

Why…?

Why can’t I keep up?

Why am I always—

And then, it happened.

The world froze.

Not slowed. Not blurred. Stopped.

The jeering voices cut to silence. The referee froze mid-step, the players mid-motion, the ball mid-bounce. Even the banners waving in the stands halted, as though the air itself had been shackled.

Kaito’s breath caught. His chest burned, but no sound came out. His wide eyes darted around—everyone was still, as if trapped in ice.

Then—

A sound. Low. Mechanical. Like metal grinding against itself.

> [SYSTEM INITIALIZING…]

The words didn’t come from outside. They echoed directly in his skull, vibrating against his bones. He flinched, clutching his ears, but there was no sound—only the voice inside him.

> [Welcome, Candidate.]

[System Authorization: 0%.]

[Designation: ???]

[Potential Detected… Access granted.]

Kaito’s pulse hammered in his neck. His breath came out in ragged gasps. He tried to move, but his body felt both impossibly heavy and terrifyingly light, as though he were floating between reality and a dream.

“…W-What… is this…?” His voice cracked.

No one responded. The players remained frozen statues. His mother, his sisters—all locked in place.

Then, new words appeared. Not heard, but seen—burning across his vision like fire.

> [Trial Commencement.]

[Prediction Protocol – Awakening.]

[Choice Detected: Break or Endure.]

Kaito’s throat closed. His trembling hands dug into the turf. His mind screamed to wake up, to escape, to reject whatever this was.

And yet—deep in his chest, another voice whispered. A voice that wasn’t the system’s. A voice that was his own.

Endure.

The letters on his vision blazed brighter.

> [Acknowledged.]

[Prediction Protocol Unlocked – Level 0.]

Then the world lurched violently back into motion.

The whistle blew for halftime. The roar of the stadium returned, crashing into his ears. The players jogged off, laughing, shouting. His teammates cursed under their breath. His sisters screamed his name from the stands. His mother clapped with trembling hands.

No one else noticed. No one else saw.

Only Kaito knew that, for a moment, the world had stopped.

Only Kaito felt the weight of those words still burning in his chest.

---

Kaito staggered to his feet, his legs barely holding. He was pale, sweat dripping down his face, but in his eyes—a spark flickered.

He didn’t understand what just happened. He didn’t know what the voice meant, or what “Prediction Protocol” was.

But one thing was certain.

This trial was no longer just about soccer.

Something bigger had begun.