Chapter 17: The Final Decibel
In the shadows of the control room, the only light came from the flickering monitors reflecting off Jinpachi Ego's glasses. He was leaning so close to the screen that his breath fogged the glass, blurring the image of the boy in the #290 jersey.
"Spatial awareness..." Ego whispered, his voice a dry rasp of excitement. "And that balance... it isn't a gift. It's a scar. He's spent years carving that stability into his own bones."
Ego tapped a finger against the monitor, right over Eshan's stoic face. "He's not just an egoist. He's a conductor. He's taking the 'Zero' of Team Z—that chaotic, noisy mess—and turning it into a perfect, silent 'One'. He's not playing against Team X... he's rewriting the laws of the game."
Ego leaned back, a jagged, manic grin spreading across his face. "Let's see how the 'King' likes being a footnote in someone else's masterpiece."
The Final Ten Minutes
Back on the pitch, the atmosphere was suffocating. The score was 2 - 2, but the air felt like it was being sucked out of the stadium.
Barou Shouei stood at the center circle for the restart, but he wasn't the same man who had started the match. His eyes were bloodshot, his breathing ragged. He looked at Eshan not as a rival, but as an existential threat. To Barou, if he wasn't the King, he was nothing. And Eshan was currently erasing his kingdom.
"I'll kill you..." Barou muttered, the words barely audible over the hum of the stadium lights. "I'll rip your heart out!"
The whistle blew.
Barou didn't wait for his teammates. He didn't look for a pass. He lunged forward, but it wasn't a calculated drive. It was a desperate, violent scramble. He was trying to force the "Pulse" to return to him, but Eshan's Absolute Awareness was already steps ahead.
Eshan moved before Barou even touched the ball. He didn't sprint; he drifted. To the spectators, it looked like Eshan was a psychic, moving to the exact spot the ball was going to be. In reality, he was simply reading the tension in the air and the frantic, telegraphing movements of a broken King.
"Raichi! Step up! Left side!" Eshan commanded.
Raichi, who would usually bark back, actually moved. The sheer authority in Eshan's voice was undeniable. By shifting Raichi, Eshan forced Barou to veer right—straight into the trap Eshan had envisioned three seconds ago.
Barou tried to power through, but his Balance was beginning to fail under the weight of his own frustration. He took a heavy touch.
There.
Eshan didn't even look like he was trying to steal the ball. He simply walked into the space Barou had vacated. Ghost Touch. He didn't kick the ball away; he invited it to join his stride.
"My ball," Eshan said quietly as he bypassed Barou.
"NO!" Barou screamed, turning to chase, but Eshan was already gone.
The Unimaginable Finish
Eshan drove toward the Team X goal. The entire defense collapsed toward him, five players forming a wall of red. They knew they couldn't beat him one-on-one, so they tried to bury him under a mountain of bodies.
"Isagi! Bachira! Move to the posts!"
As the defenders swarmed, Eshan did something truly unimaginable. He didn't shoot. He didn't pass with his feet.
He popped the ball up with his heel, catching it on his thigh. As a defender lunged with a sliding tackle, Eshan used his Hard-Trained Balance to hop over the sliding legs while keeping the ball balanced on his knee. While mid-air, he twisted his torso, catching the ball on his chest and rolling it up to his chin.
He was juggling the ball through a forest of defenders using every inch of his frame.
The stadium held its breath. It was a display of Whole Body Ball Feel that made the "National Treasure" Kira look like an amateur. Eshan was a machine of soft touches and rigid stability.
He reached the edge of the six-yard box. The keeper rushed out, spread-eagled to block the angle.
Eshan didn't use a foot.
He leaned back, catching the ball on the crown of his head, and with a sharp, snapping motion of his neck, he "flicked" the ball in a looping arc over the keeper's head.
The ball didn't have power. It didn't have spin. It just had the cold, mathematical certainty of a man who knew exactly where the "Void" was.
The ball hit the grass inside the goal line and rolled softly into the back of the net.
Team Z 3 - 2 Team X.
The whistle blew three times. Game Over.