The morning sunlight spilled through the curtains, brushing the tatami mats in warm gold. Eshan Sato stretched his small limbs and blinked at the ceiling. Everything felt familiar, yet subtly different. He was nine years old again, in a body that was smaller, lighter… younger.
At the low kitchen table, his mother, a kind and gentle woman in her early thirties, was preparing breakfast. She had raised him alone after his father, a devoted man, had passed away a few years ago. Life had been quiet but filled with love, routines, and a resilient strength that Eshan admired deeply.
"Eshan," she said softly, "Breakfast is ready. Eat well before practice, okay?"
He nodded. Part of him should have been confused — a reborn soul in a new body, with memories of another life — yet the warmth and care were instinctively reassuring. I'm safe here, he thought. I can grow, I can live.
Over miso soup and rice, his mother chatted about neighbors, school, and the weather — simple daily matters.
"Yes, Mom," Eshan replied politely, though his mind was elsewhere. Years of watching football in his previous life filled his head: professional strikers, tactical patterns, and instinctive decisions.
He wasn't a player yet, but his instincts were sharp. The memory of every game he had seen gave him insight beyond his nine-year-old body.
I'll be a striker. I'll score. I'll feel the ball like it's part of me.
The ball already called to him. He didn't fully understand it yet, but he could sense Absolute Ball Feel forming — the tactile connection to the ball, precise and natural.
Arrival at the Club
The Nishikawa Elementary football field buzzed with activity. Older kids ran drills, passed sharply, and shouted instructions. Eshan stepped onto the grass, observing everything with a calm intensity.
When the first pass came toward him, his foot moved instinctively. The ball responded like it had a mind of its own.
Absolute Ball Feel, he thought quietly. This… this is mine.
He pivoted around the first defender with minimal effort and guided the ball into open space. A teammate sprinted forward. The older kids stared, the coach's brow furrowed in disbelief.
As the game progressed, Eshan began noticing subtle patterns:
A defender's shoulder shifting before a change in direction
Teammates' runs into spaces that were briefly open
Tiny gaps appearing just before the ball reached them
It wasn't full understanding yet — just fleeting glimpses, instincts guiding him.
He didn't name it yet. He simply moved, dribbled, and passed with uncanny precision, feeling the field respond around him.
Three older players converged on him simultaneously. Any ordinary nine-year-old would panic. Eshan smiled faintly.
Not ordinary.
He let the first defender's momentum carry him slightly off-center, sliding the ball around the others. Another defender lunged, but with a flick of his foot, he sent the ball past them silently. He noticed a tiny gap between the last defender and the goal — a sliver of opportunity.
With a swift, clean strike, he shot.
The ball curved naturally, landing in the net.
Goal.
The older kids froze. The coach's jaw dropped. Even his teammates blinked in awe.
"You… scored?" the coach asked incredulously.
Eshan only nodded, exhilarated but calm. The thrill wasn't in the applause — it was in feeling the ball and the game as one.
Returning Home
Walking home with his mother, the sun low on the horizon, Eshan reflected quietly.
"Did you have fun today?" she asked, brushing a few leaves from his uniform.
"Yes," he replied. "But… it wasn't just fun. I felt… something. The ball, the field… I could sense where to move, even before anyone else noticed. It's like it's alive."
She tilted her head, curious. "The field is alive?"
Eshan nodded. "Sort of. I can't explain it yet. But the ball… it feels like part of me."
She smiled softly, pride and concern mingling. "Just remember, Eshan, it's wonderful to be talented. But don't forget to enjoy it too."
He chuckled lightly, placing a hand over hers. I will. But I can't stop now.
Night Reflections
Later that night, under the soft glow of his lamp, Eshan sat cross-legged with a notebook. He didn't write about victories or praise. He wrote about patterns and instincts:
How defenders shifted
How teammates ran into spaces
Timing and angles for passes and shots
He didn't fully understand it yet, but each observation trained him. The flashes of awareness were there, hints of something greater — what would one day become Absolute Field Awareness and Absolute Ball IQ.
For now, he only named what he could feel fully: Absolute Ball Feel.
Eshan lay in bed, gazing at the stars through the window. He imagined larger fields, faster opponents, and more goals to score.
"I'll stand on that field with the best one day," he whispered. "I'll play. I'll score. I'll see how far I can go."
Not for fame.
Not for glory.
Not for anyone else.
Because he could.
And somewhere deep inside, the spark of something absolute had begun to burn.
The journey had begun.