Chapter 14: The Weight of Zero
The scoreboard flickered: Team Z 0 - 1 Team X.
The goal hadn't just put Team X ahead; it had stripped the "fairness" right out of Team Z. The silence that followed Barou's strike lasted all of five seconds before the shouting began.
"What the hell was that, Isagi!?" Raichi was already in Isagi's face, his spit flying. "You lost the ball! You're the reason we're down!"
Isagi looked like he wanted to disappear into the turf. "I... I was following the rotation, I thought—"
"The rotation is trash because you're trash!" Raichi turned his glare toward Kuon. "And you! Mr. Strategist! This plan is a joke!"
Eshan stood a few yards away. He didn't look worried, and he definitely didn't look "soft." He watched the bickering with a look of clinical boredom. To him, this wasn't a tragedy; it was just a waste of time.
Eshan walked over, not to "comfort" Isagi, but to stop the noise. He didn't wait for an opening in the conversation. He simply stepped between Raichi and Isagi, his presence forcing them apart. He didn't shove; he just occupied the space with the weight of someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
"Shut it, Raichi," Eshan said. His voice wasn't loud, but it had a biting clarity that cut through the yelling. "You're barking at a guy who's playing out of position because you abandoned your post at Center Back to hunt for a goal. You're the hole in the defense. Own it."
Raichi's face turned a deep shade of purple. "What did you say to me!?"
Eshan didn't blink. He didn't even look angry. He just stared at Raichi with a calm, heavy gaze that made the taller boy hesitate. "I said you're loud and out of position. Fix one or the other. Preferably both."
Eshan turned his back on Raichi before the striker could even respond, dismissing him entirely. He looked at Isagi. There was no "pity" in his eyes, just a blunt expectation.
"Don't apologize to him, Isagi. It makes you look weak. If you're going to lose the ball, lose it while doing something useful. Now get back to the circle. We're wasting daylight."
The match resumed, but the "cool" authority Eshan had shown at the restart couldn't stop the rot. Team Z was still playing like eleven strangers.
Team X was playing with a brutal, simple logic: Feed the King. They didn't care about "fairness" or "rotations." They knew Barou was their best weapon, so they functioned as his delivery system.
Eshan stayed on the wing, but he was no longer just "playing his role." He was hunting. Every time the ball came near his zone, he exerted a pressure that the Team X wingers couldn't understand. He wasn't tackling them; he was suffocating them. Using his Phantom Pocket Shift logic, he kept appearing in their peripheral vision, forcing them to make hurried, sloppy passes.
Then, the collapse happened again.
Igarashi tried a desperate "Malicia" play, diving near the halfway line to draw a foul. The referee drone buzzed right past him—no whistle. Team X's Rank 2 scooped up the ball and immediately sent a diagonal ball toward the corner.
"Cover him!" Kuon screamed.
Eshan was already moving. He didn't sprint; he intercepted. He arrived at the ball at the exact same time as the Team X winger. Most players would have gone for a shoulder charge, but Eshan used his Absolute Balance. He let the winger lean into him, absorbed the impact without moving an inch, and used a Ghost Touch to flick the ball over the defender's foot.
It was a move of pure contempt—so efficient it made the defender look like a child.
Eshan turned to start the counter, but he saw the mess in front of him. Raichi was screaming for the ball while being marked by three people. Kunigami was being crowded. Nobody was finding space.
"Tch." Eshan clicked his tongue. He didn't pass. He took a touch inside, moving with a relaxed, upright posture that mocked the frantic energy of the players around him.
"Hey! Pass it!" Raichi yelled.
Eshan ignored him. He saw a Team X midfielder charging at him with a sliding tackle meant to take his legs out. Eshan didn't panic. He waited until the last possible millisecond, then nudged the ball an inch to the left. The defender slid past him like a fool, his cleats scraping harmlessly against the turf.
But the "noise" of Team Z was too much. As Eshan looked for a real opening, Igarashi—trying to be "helpful"—literally ran into Eshan's path, bringing his own marker with him.
The ball went loose. Barou was there in a flash.
"Out of the way!" Barou roared.
Barou didn't even look at the goal. He drove forward, shoulder-checking a stunned Igarashi out of the way. He was at the edge of the box again.
Thump.
Another thunderous strike. Iemon got a finger to it this time, but the power was too much. The ball deflected off the post and into the side netting.
Team Z 0 - 2 Team X.
The stadium was silent, save for Barou's heavy breathing.
Eshan stood near the center circle, brushing a bit of black rubber from his knee. He wasn't "sad" about the goal. He was annoyed. He had spent seven years perfecting his body so he wouldn't have to deal with this kind of sloppy, low-level football.
Isagi was staring at the grass, his spirit visibly breaking.
Eshan walked over to him. This time, there was no "gentle" encouragement. He grabbed the front of Isagi's jersey and pulled him up so their eyes met.
"Look at me," Eshan said. His voice was cold, sharp, and undeniable.
Isagi blinked, startled by the sudden intensity. "Eshan... we're going to lose. We can't stop him."
"We can't stop him because you're all playing like you're afraid of the grass," Eshan said, releasing the jersey with a flick. "You're waiting for someone to give you a 'One.' You're waiting for a plan to save you. Stop waiting."
Eshan looked over at Barou, who was currently barking orders at his teammates.
"He's a King because he's the loudest person in the room," Eshan said, his eyes narrowing. "But I've spent seven years in silence. And I'm telling you now, Isagi—the noise ends here."
Eshan didn't wait for a response. He walked to the center spot and took the ball from the referee drone himself. He didn't look at Kuon or Raichi. He didn't ask for permission.
"Isagi. Bachira," Eshan called out. It wasn't a request. It was a summons. "Stay close. If you can't keep up with me, stay out of my way."
The whistle blew for the restart.
Eshan didn't stay on the wing. He didn't follow the rotation. He drove the ball straight into the heart of Team X. He wasn't the "cool dude" anymore; he was a precision instrument of destruction.