The referee’s whistle pierced the air.
The second half had begun.
Kaito wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist, sweat stinging his eyes. His legs felt like stone. Every step weighed him down, but something was different now. His chest burned—not only with exhaustion, but with the memory of that voice.
> [Prediction Protocol – Level 0.]
He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Just… focus. Focus, damn it.”
The opposing team passed with ease, their confidence swelling with every touch. They toyed with the trialists, knocking the ball back and forth like a cat tormenting a cornered mouse.
“Kaito, mark him!” a teammate barked.
He pushed forward, though his legs screamed. The striker received a pass, shifting his weight—about to cut left.
And then—
The world slowed.
Not frozen like before, but slowed. The striker’s ankle flexed, the ball rolled, his hips twisted. For a split second, it was as if lines of possibility stretched out before Kaito’s eyes: arrows showing where the ball might go, where the player might run.
Kaito’s breath hitched.
Instinctively, he lunged left. His foot intercepted the ball, knocking it loose.
“Wha—?!” The striker stumbled, shocked.
Kaito blinked. The lines vanished. The world snapped back into normal speed.
Did he… predict that?
The ball tumbled free. Cheers erupted from the stands—not many, but enough. His sisters were on their feet, screaming his name.
“Ni-chan! That was amazing!” Aoi yelled, her voice echoing.
Yumi’s face lit with joy. “He stopped him! Mama, he really stopped him!”
Ayaka’s hand covered her mouth, eyes wide with trembling relief.
Kaito’s chest heaved, his heart pounding. He didn’t understand what just happened. But he didn’t have time to question it.
---
The opposition pressed again. They were relentless, eager to crush any flicker of hope. A midfielder darted forward, feinting one way before slashing the ball through.
Again—time slowed.
Kaito saw the line. The pass trajectory burned in his vision, faint but sharp. His body moved before thought, sliding across the grass. His foot connected—clearing the ball inches before the striker could latch onto it.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
His teammates stared. Some with disbelief, others with grudging respect.
“…What the hell?” one muttered. “Where did that come from?”
Kaito staggered back to his feet, panting. Sweat dripped down his jaw. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t answer. Because he didn’t know.
All he knew was that for the first time in the match—he wasn’t helpless.
---
The opposition grew frustrated. They pressed harder, faster. Kaito’s body screamed in protest—his lungs burned, his muscles throbbed. Each interception tore more strength out of him. His vision blurred, his legs wobbled.
And yet, the predictions came again. And again.
Every cut. Every pass. Every movement—faint glimpses of what was about to happen flashed before him. They weren’t perfect. They weren’t always right. But they were enough to slow the tide.
The score remained 0–4.
But for ten long minutes—the slaughter stalled.
---
Up in the stands, Aoi clung to the railing, tears shining in her eyes. “Ni-chan’s amazing…! He’s stopping them all by himself!”
Yumi jumped up and down, screaming so loudly her voice cracked.
Even Ayaka allowed herself a small smile, though her heart still ached watching her son’s exhausted form.
---
Then it happened.
A midfielder, furious, broke past one of Kaito’s teammates and charged straight for him. The ball struck like a bullet.
Kaito saw the path—too late.
His body dove, but his legs failed. His chest slammed into the turf.
The striker curved around him and smashed the ball into the net.
0–5.
The stadium erupted again.
Kaito lay on the grass, trembling. His vision swam. His predictions weren’t perfect. He wasn’t strong enough to keep up.
Above him, the system’s voice whispered faintly.
> [System Synchronization: 3%.]
[Endurance Limit Approaching.]
Kaito gritted his teeth, forcing himself back up. His nails dug into the turf. His breath came in ragged gasps. His body screamed to quit.
But in the stands, he saw them.
Aoi, fists clenched, tears on her cheeks.
Yumi, screaming herself hoarse.
Ayaka, standing tall despite her trembling frame.
His family. Watching him. Believing in him.
He couldn’t quit.
Not yet.
---
The whistle blew again—signaling the end of the match.
The scoreboard read 0–6.
They had lost. Miserably.
But whispers spread through the crowd. The unknown boy who had endured. Who had stopped what should have been an easy massacre. Who stood up, again and again, even when crushed.
Kaito staggered off the pitch, sweat and dirt clinging to his body. His eyes hollow, but his spirit—unbroken.
And deep within, the system pulsed.
> [Prediction Protocol – Level 0 Activated.]
[Progress: 7%.]
[Awaiting next challenge…]
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