Hinami was completely shut down in the first half, with the score still tied at zero for both sides. Despite the challenging situation, the conversation in the dressing room remained much the same. Once again, the Hinami players rallied and motivated each other, gearing up for another round of action on the field.

This time they wouldn’t return back to the dressing room without a clear winner between the two teams.

It was all or nothing.

Gonda looked skeptical at the start of the match, but finally, as if God himself had smiled upon the Pirates, Kame Hama committed a mistake in defense. The pressing finally worked.

“GO TORAAAA!”

The craziest fans mounted atop the high fence gates separating the pitch shouted with all they had, as Toraichi capitalized on the mistake, stole the ball and was through on goal with the keeper.

“Come on! Toraaa!” Umio, Reo and the rest of the bench ran to the front line, anticipating the moment half of them had even dreamt of last night.

Toraichi looked between the goal and the keeper, his eyes resolute and his posture not betraying a single hint of anxiety.

He was composed.

He struck the ball with force, and it sailed past the keeper. Not even in his wildest dreams could he have saved that!

Time seemed to freeze in those fleeting seconds that passed. The ball sliced through the air, and finally, reached its destination.

Clang.

The ball collided with the post, shattering the hopes of the players and fans alike. It felt as though the goddess of fate had transformed their anticipation into bitter disappointment, leaving the crowd and bench to exhale collectively in defeat.

Αρχή φόρμας

“Aaah…”

“Damn it! Damn it! Shit!”

The usually composed Toraichi kicked at the grass and ruffled his hair. He knew as a striker that he should have scored. However, the small but passionate Totori gave him a friendly slap on the back.

“Don’t mind it, Take! You’ll score the next one!”

If there was a next one.

The mighty Tora thought, before shaking it off and continuing.

“Right!”

Like the crowd had sensed the back and forth, everybody started raising their voices once more. The stadium was on its feet once again, reawakened by the big chance. Hinami was out for blood.

“HI – NA – MI!”

“KAI – ZO – KU!”

Yet no matter how fervently the fans cheered, their collective wishes seemed insufficient to guide the ball into the net. Kame Hama managed to evade conceding a goal by the narrowest of margins several more times, adding to the tension. As the clock ticked towards the 80th minute, the sense of urgency grew even more palpable for the Pirates.

Only ten minutes to go. Only ten minutes away from being…

Eliminated.

The overall score from the last game was still 2-1 after all. If things stayed like that then Hinami…

Gonda was sweating, and Shuna was just about ready to jump in and grab someone by the neck.

The coach exhaled, and turned back to the bench.

Yuzuru Sakanami had read all of his players. He had seen through their movements, their skills, everything, Hinami needed someone unpredictable. Someone fast and clinical.

A star. A hero of the hour.

As his eyes fell upon a single blonde player, the middle aged man’s eyes shone with a newfound excitement.

“Umio, you’re up.”

“Yessir!”

One of the two already warmed up players nodded, and got to wearing his uniform. With the number 17 on his back, he was ready to step onto the pitch.

“Oh, and…” Gonda walked up to the boy. The ace up his sleeve. “Reo, you’re up too.”

It was time. Reo thought, his knees almost ready to give out from the anticipation.

“Shuna, give him a jersey!”

“Right!” The girl quickly moved to the team’s big duffle bag. “Uh…”

“What is it?”

“We only have this one…” She offered a wry smile as she unpacked a black Hinami jersey. Displayed prominently on both the back and front was a double-digit number, carrying known significance for the team.

“The number 10?!” Umio almost chocked.

Historically, the heaviest number of all. It was the number many stars of football had shone while wearing. From the best Argentinians, to dazzling Brazilians, from English superstars to the top of the world’s stage…

Number 10 was the best there was.

“Give it to him, we don’t have time to waste.”

As Reo received a shirt that was more than worth its weight in gold, his heart just wouldn’t stop pounding a hundred miles per second.

The young man looked back onto the weary scoreboard.

84th minute. 0 – 0

Reo couldn’t contain his smile.

He knew what he had to do.