Chapter 1
Part One:-
The morning sun hit the sleek glass of Valkyrie Academy, glinting off the prestigious crest on the gate. It was a place for the elite, but for Yuuma Tsuchida, it was simply a tactical map he had walked for years.
"Yuuma! Seriously, man, look at the weather! It’s a perfect day for a clean sheet!" Ryouta Izumi was practically vibrating, his blonde hair caught in the light as he threw a heavy, energetic arm around Yuuma’s shoulders. "The U-18 qualifiers are coming up. Our first year in the High School division... I can already feel the grass, can’t you?"
Yuuma didn't look at the grass. He looked at the pavement, his dark blue eyes heavy with the familiar weight of a sleepless night spent staring at footage of a rival winger from Teikou High. "I feel like I need three espressos, Ryouta. Keep your voice down."
"You're always so gloomy for a guy who’s the second-most popular kid in the year!" Ryouta laughed, flashing a grin that usually had the girls in the hallway swooning.
"I'm not popular," Yuuma muttered, his long, wavy black hair shifting as he tilted his head. "I'm just the guy who plays behind you."
"Tsuchida-kun! Still playing the 'brooding prince' role so early in the morning?" A sharp, playful voice cut through the air. Standing by the gate was Sakura Kujo. She looked perfect—strawberry blonde hair falling neatly over her shoulders, her hazel eyes locked onto Yuuma with a predatory focus of her own. She stepped directly into Yuuma’s path, crossing her arms.
"You know," she teased, leaning in close enough that Ryouta awkwardly took a step back, "I heard the girls in Class 1-B are starting a betting pool on whether you actually sleep or if you’re just a vampire. If you want, you could come over to my place and I’ll help you catch up on your 'rest'."
She gave him a wink that would have paralyzed any other boy in the academy. Ryouta gave Yuuma a frantic 'Are you seeing this?!' look.
Yuuma didn't blink. He didn't even slow his stride. He neatly stepped around her with the same effortless fluidity he used to bypass a high-press.
"It’s not insomnia, Kujo-san. It’s just preparation. And if you're worried about my health, you should focus on your own hydration. You looked a bit sluggish during the PE shuttle runs yesterday. Your recovery time was three seconds slower than the class average."
He walked past her, his voice cool and clinical.
Sakura froze, her teasing smile twitching. She turned around, watching his broad, jacked frame disappear into the crowd of students. "He... he analyzed my shuttle runs? Is he serious?!"
"Nice evasion, Yuuma. But she’s still tracking you. Use the peripheral. Look back once. Just a glance. Keep the mask secure."
Yuuma sighed internally, his eyes narrowing as he caught sight of a flyer on the school bulletin board. A picture of a flashy, grinning winger from a rival school was pinned there. The "Mark" for the weekend.
"Later, Dad," Yuuma thought, his heart rate finally beginning to climb. "I have a Phase 1 to finish."
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Part Two:-
Ryouta was still vibrating with disbelief as they entered the classroom. "Yuuma, seriously! You can’t just tell the prettiest girl in school that her recovery time is sluggish! You're gonna end up alone in that big house with nothing but your football boots for company!"
Yuuma didn't answer. He just dropped into his seat, the mahogany of the desk feeling cool against his forehead as he slumped forward.
I'm already not alone, Ryouta, Yuuma thought, his eyes closing. I have a ghost who won’t stop talking about social optics and a notebook full of a scumbag’s sins. I'm practically crowded.
As the morning light filtered through the classroom windows, the air beside his desk shimmered. Rentaro Tsuchida manifested, sitting cross-legged on the empty desk next to his son. He wore his old team jacket, his eyes sharp and analytical, scanning the room before settling on Yuuma.
"You're sloppy today, son," Rentaro’s voice echoed in Yuuma’s mind, though to the rest of the class, Yuuma was just letting out a low, rhythmic mumble. "Your eyes are bloodshot. You spent too long at 'The Den' last night."
"I had to be sure, Dad," Yuuma whispered under his breath, sounding to his classmates like he was just complaining about the early hour. "Phase 2 was... productive."
Nightclubs, Yuuma thought, his jaw tightening against the wood of the desk. Seiryo High’s ‘Golden Boy’ winger, Haruki Saeki. The ‘Technician.’ More like the ‘Predator’ of the wrong kind. Taking middle schoolers into places with strobe lights and overpriced drinks. He’s not just taking the game lightly; he’s taking life lightly. It’s an insult to the pitch. Yuuma monologued
"He's a second-year," Rentaro noted, tapping a ghostly finger on his chin. "Thinks he’s untouchable because he’s got a Nike sponsorship and a highlight reel on TikTok. He’s fast, Yuuma. Faster than the ones you hunted last month."
"He’s fast until he’s tired," Yuuma muttered, his fingers twitching as if he were already marking the man. "He spent four hours in that club. His lungs won't be ready for the 60th minute. I’m going to run him into the dirt."
"Remember the Code," Rentaro warned, his voice turning stern. "We don't just win. we neutralize. You play like a ghost. You defend like a wall. By the time the whistle blows, he shouldn't just be tired. He should be terrified to touch the ball again."
"And I'll take his cleats," Yuuma added internally. "Custom-molded, $300 a pair. He doesn't deserve to wear them if he's going to use his status to lure kids into trouble. I’ll add them to the bag in the basement. A souvenir for a career I’m about to derail.
"Yuuma? You okay?"
Yuuma bolted upright. Sakura Kujo was standing over him, her hazel eyes narrowed with a mix of concern and intense curiosity. She’d followed him in. "You were talking in your sleep. Something about... 'neutralizing'?"
Yuuma blinked, the "Sleepy Mask" sliding back over his face instantly. He rubbed his eyes and gave a small, awkward yawn.
"Just... biology homework, Kujo-san," he said smoothly, his voice returning to that friendly, slightly detached tone. "The way white blood cells neutralize pathogens. Very fascinating stuff. Almost as fascinating as the lack of arch support in your loafers. You're going to get plantar fasciitis if you keep wearing those."
He turned back to his bag, pulling out a textbook to hide the sarcastic smirk playing on his lips.
"Pathogen. Yeah. That’s exactly what Saeki is. And on Saturday, I’m the immune response."
"You're a weirdo, Tsuchida-kun," Sakura huffed, though she didn't move away. She sat in the seat next to him, the one his father was currently hovering over.
"She's sitting on my lap, Yuuma. Disrespectful. Glance at her. Now. Tell her her hair looks nice or something. Build the cover."
"No, Dad," Yuuma thought, clicking his mechanical pencil. I have a match to visualize. "If I smile at her now, she’ll follow me to the locker room, and I can’t exactly have her seeing me sharpen my studs for Saeki’s ego."
