Chapter 23: The Overload
The restart was different. The air on the pitch had turned from clinical to hostile.
As Team Y stood at the center circle for the kickoff, the "Total Defense" formation shifted. It was no longer a compact block; it was a sprawling, jagged web. Niko Ikki stood at the center, his eyes hidden behind his bangs, but the way his head snapped from left to right told a different story. He was re-calibrating.
"Okawa, Kameyama—push up," Niko commanded. "We're not waiting for them anymore. If we let the #290 touch the ball in our half, we lose. We kill the supply line."
The whistle blew. Instead of the slow, methodical build-up they had shown before, Team Y exploded into a High Press.
The ball moved from Okawa to Niko, who immediately fired a long, piercing diagonal toward the corner flag. It was a "One-Counter" ball, but played with a new level of desperation. Team Z's defense, still riding the high of Eshan's goal, was caught flat-footed.
"Back! Get back!" Kuon screamed, his voice cracking.
Eshan didn't sprint back into the defensive box. He stayed near the halfway line, his Awareness scanning the chaos. He watched as Team Y's wing-backs abandoned their defensive duties to flood the midfield. Niko wasn't just trying to score; he was trying to "Overload" the center of the pitch so that the ball could never reach Eshan again.
The Psychological Grind
For the next ten minutes, the game turned into a physical brawl. Team Y was hacking, pulling, and clashing with Team Z's midfielders. Every time Isagi or Bachira tried to turn with the ball, they were met with two or three white jerseys.
"Damn it! Give me some room!" Raichi yelled as he was shoved out of a header by the stocky Okawa.
The ball was a chaotic blur in the center circle. It was no longer "beautiful football"; it was a war of attrition. Niko was directing the pressure perfectly, ensuring that Eshan remained an island. Whenever the ball looked like it might spill toward Eshan, Niko himself would step up, sacrificing his positioning to block the lane.
"You're not part of this game anymore," Niko said as he brushed past Eshan during a dead ball. "I've sealed the vacuum. Your 'Absolute Ball Feel' is useless if you never touch the leather."
Eshan looked down at him. He wasn't frustrated. He wasn't even sweating heavily yet. Seven years of conditioning had taught him one thing: Efficiency.
"You're burning your players' lungs just to keep me quiet, Niko," Eshan said smoothly. "Look at your wing-backs. They're breathing through their mouths. In five minutes, your 'Overload' becomes a graveyard."
Eshan was right. By the 30th minute, the frantic pace Team Y had set began to take its toll. Kameyama was slower to recover after a sprint. Suzuki was leaning on his knees during a throw-in.
The Glitch in the Simulation
In the 35th minute, the ball finally broke loose. Isagi, showing a flash of his own vision, intercepted a lazy pass from Niko.
"Eshan! Now!" Isagi roared.
The pass was a high, lofted ball—deliberately aimed into the space behind Team Y's exhausted wing-backs. It was a race.
Eshan ignited.
This wasn't a tactical run; it was a display of raw, athletic superiority. He covered thirty yards in what felt like a heartbeat. Suzuki, who was supposed to be marking him, tried to grab Eshan's jersey, but Eshan's shoulders were so broad and his momentum so high that Suzuki was literally dragged for two steps before he had to let go.
Eshan met the ball at the edge of the eighteen-yard box. He didn't wait for it to settle. He used his Absolute Ball Feel to cushion the high-velocity drop with his chest, letting the ball roll down his ribs and onto his thigh without it ever touching the grass.
It was a masterclass in physics. He was moving at 30km/h, yet the ball was as still as a stone on his body.
"Stop him! Slide! Anything!" Niko screamed, sprinting from the midfield, his face pale with panic.
Saito and Kameyama converged on him from both sides, performing a simultaneous sliding tackle. It was a "scissors" move—one high, one low—meant to take Eshan out of the game entirely, even if it meant a red card.
Eshan saw the collision coming. His Awareness registered the timing. He didn't jump. Instead, he performed a "Gravity Trap." He stepped on top of the ball, using it as a pivot point. As the two defenders collided beneath him, Eshan literally "walked" over their sliding bodies, the ball staying glued to his sole as he hopped through the wreckage.
He was through. Again.
Just him and Tanaka, the goalkeeper. Tanaka was shaking, his eyes darting to the left, then the right, haunted by the "Knuckle-Curve" from earlier. He didn't know which way the ball would break. He was paralyzed by the choice.
Eshan didn't use a curve this time. He didn't use a trick. He saw the gap between the keeper's legs—the most humiliating lane on a soccer pitch.
Thwack.
A low, driven shot. A "Nutmeg" goal.
The ball zipped through Tanaka's legs before he could even close his knees. It hit the back of the net with a dull, heavy thud.
TEAM Z 2 - 0 TEAM Y
Scorer: Eshan (#290)
Eshan stood in the goal-mouth, his shadow stretching across the turf. He turned to look at Niko, who had collapsed to his knees at the edge of the box.
"That's two," Eshan said, his voice cold and final. "How many more simulations do you need to lose before you realize you're out of your league?"