Chapter 15: The Frictionless Command
The restart whistle didn't just signal the beginning of the next play; it signaled the end of the game as Team X knew it.
Eshan Sato stood over the ball at the center circle. He didn't look at the scoreboard, which tauntingly displayed 0 - 2. He didn't look at the frantic, sweating faces of his teammates. His gaze was fixed on the space behind the Team X midfield—the "Void" that he was about to occupy.
"Isagi, Bachira," Eshan said, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a weight that forced them to listen. "The King thinks he owns the pitch because he's the only one making noise. I'm going to show him what happens when the noise is deleted."
He didn't wait for a nod. He tapped the ball forward.
Normally, the striker taps the ball back to a midfielder to reset. Eshan didn't reset. He drove. He moved into the heart of Team X with a stride that was terrifyingly calm. He wasn't sprinting; he was gliding. Every step was a calculation of balance, every touch of the ball a silent conversation between his nervous system and the leather.
Team X's midfielders, sensing an easy steal, swarmed him. Two players converged from his left and right, their eyes locked on the ball. They moved with the aggressive confidence of players who thought they had already won.
Eshan didn't change his pace.
As they reached for the ball, Eshan performed a move that defied the standard logic of a dribbler. He didn't use his feet. He popped the ball up with a sharp flick of his toe and caught it on his right shoulder. With a fluid, controlled shrug of his deltoid, he rolled the ball across the back of his neck to his left shoulder, letting it drop behind the defenders' heads.
It was Whole Body Integration. He had bypassed two professional-grade prospects without the ball ever touching the grass.
"What...?" one of the defenders gasped, spinning around only to see Eshan's back.
Eshan continued forward. Barou Shouei, seeing his subjects humiliated, abandoned his post and charged down the pitch like a tidal wave of muscle and ego.
"You brat!" Barou roared, his face contorted. "I told you—I am the only one who matters here!"
Barou didn't go for a clean tackle. He threw his entire frame into a shoulder barge that would have sent a normal player into the medical wing.
Eshan didn't fight the force. He utilized his Balance. The moment Barou's massive shoulder made contact, Eshan tilted his body at a precise 15-degree angle, absorbing the kinetic energy and redirecting it. He used Barou as a pivot point, spinning 360 degrees in a frictionless rotation. He looked like a dancer in a hurricane, staying perfectly upright while the "King" stumbled forward, his momentum betrayed by Eshan's lack of resistance.
"Bachira! Diagonal!"
Bachira, whose eyes were wide with a manic, joyful light, sprinted toward the left wing. He didn't even have to look for the pass; he felt it coming. Eshan delivered a Ghost Touch—a pass so silent and low-vibration that it seemed to skim under the air.
Bachira caught it in stride, dancing past a fullback before whipping a chaotic, spinning cross back into the center of the box.
The cross was a nightmare. It was too high for a standard volley and too awkwardly placed for a header. It was the kind of ball that usually resulted in a messy scramble.
"Clear it!" the Team X captain yelled, leaping into the air.
But Eshan was already there. He didn't jump for a header. He twisted his body mid-air, his spine arching with a flexibility born of seven years of specialized yoga and core training. He met the ball with the small of his back.
Absolute Ball Feel: Whole Body.
The ball, which had been spinning violently, hit the flat of his back and died. All of its momentum was sucked away as Eshan cushioned it perfectly. He landed on his feet with the ball pinned between his shoulder blades for a micro-second before letting it roll down his spine and onto his laces.
The stadium went dead silent. Even the referee drones seemed to hover in shock. No one handled a ball like that. It wasn't just "good" football; it was "impossible" football.
"Move," Eshan said to the goalkeeper.
He didn't use power. He used a Zero-Spin Flow strike. His foot met the center of the ball with surgical precision. The ball didn't rotate; it traveled through the air like a stone skipping across glass. The keeper dived right, but the ball suddenly "shuddered" in mid-air—a physical reaction to the lack of spin—and veered left, clipping the post and snapping the netting.
Team Z 1 - 2 Team X.
The Silence of the King
Eshan didn't celebrate. He didn't pump his fist or scream. He simply walked into the net, picked up the ball, and began walking back to the center circle.
The Team Z players were staring at him as if he were a stranger they had just met. Even Raichi was quiet, his mouth hanging open as he processed the "back-trap" he had just witnessed.
"Hey," Eshan said, stopping in front of Isagi. He wasn't "soft." He looked Isagi dead in the eye, his expression focused and sharp. "That's the 'One.' Do you see it now?"
Isagi nodded slowly, his heart hammering against his ribs. "The ball... it does whatever you want it to do. You didn't even use your hands, but it looked like you were holding it."
"Because I don't treat the ball like an object to be kicked," Eshan replied, tossing the ball to the referee drone. "It's an extension of the body. If you treat it like an enemy, it will fight you. If you treat it like a limb, it will obey."
He looked over at Barou. The King was standing in the middle of the box, his chest heaving, his face a mask of pure, humiliated rage. He had been bypassed, spun, and outplayed by a player who didn't even seem to be breathing hard.
"You..." Barou hissed, his voice trembling. "You think that fluke changes the hierarchy? I'll kill you for that."
Eshan didn't even give him the satisfaction of a glare. He just turned his back on Barou and looked at his own team, who were finally starting to shake off their paralysis.
"Kuon, forget the rotation. It's dead," Eshan commanded, his voice echoing in the quiet stadium. "Isagi, stay three paces behind my shadow. Bachira, keep the wings wide. If you see a gap, take it. If you don't, give me the ball and get out of the way."
It wasn't a suggestion. It was the command of a man who had finally decided to take over the world he had been reborn into. The "Cool Dude" who sat in the back of the room was gone. In his place stood the #290 Ace of Team Z, and for the first time in the match, Team X looked afraid.
"We have twenty minutes left," Eshan said, looking up at the clock. "That's more than enough time to delete a King."
In the shadows of the control room, Jinpachi Ego leaned into his monitor, the glow of the screen reflecting in his glasses. He wasn't eating his yakisoba anymore. He was staring at the replay of Eshan's back-trap.
"Perfect Ball Feel..." Ego whispered, a jagged, manic grin spreading across his face. "You didn't just score a goal, Sato Eshan. You just insulted the very concept of gravity. Let's see how the 'King' responds to Him."
The whistle blew for the restart. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and the looming shadow of a comeback.