Chapter Five | The Will to Fight

♣♣♣

The Emperor’s Cup second round had begun.

Starting on the bench as usual, I watched the game with a bit more ease than normal.

Our opponent was an amateur team that had upset a pro side to advance.

But in terms of skill, Koutou, with its pro-bound players, was clearly superior.

As expected, the match unfolded accordingly, with Azaki’s two assists helping Koutou take a 5-0 lead by halftime, setting a dominant tone.

I figured I’d surely get some playing time, but before the second half, Koutou subbed in three starters, and the match ended in victory without using the remaining two subs.

After the game, while helping the manager clean up, the coach called me over.

“Yutarou Makijima.”

“Y-Yes, sir!”

As always, Coach Murasaki’s expression was unreadable, glaring down at me.

“Do you know why I didn’t play you today?”

“Uh… is it a skill issue?”

“No.”

“Then, maybe because I gained a little weight?”

“No.”

“…Sorry, I don’t know.”

At my answer, the coach gave a slight smile and turned his back.

“The third round is set against Tokyo Frontier.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“The venue is Tokyo Frontier’s home ground. They’ve got Makoto Kaita and Kishihara… I saved you today so you could face Kishihara at your best. The same Kishihara who once boasted you were his greatest masterpiece.”

“…Coach.”

“Don’t slack on preparation. This could be the day that changes your life.”

The day that changes my life…

“Show them your extraordinary nose for goal. You’re not a player meant to end your career in the university league.”

“…Yes, sir!”

I thought I was in for a scolding, but instead, I felt encouraged.

Greatest masterpiece… No, that’s an overstatement.

My failures wasted those three years, and that’s why Coach Kishihara stepped down…

When I went home, my dad said the same thing: the only way to repay Kishihara, who believed in my talent, is to score.

“Goals… that’s all.”

             ☆☆

After the match, I returned to the apartment with Ayane.

Maybe sensing my disappointment at not playing, Ayane held my hand without saying much.

Lately, Ayane feels more mature, almost like an older sister.

Not long ago, she’d probably have said something like, “Pancakes to cheer you up!”

“Too bad you didn’t get to play today.”

“Sorry, Ayane. You came all the way to watch.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine! Watching you squirm on the bench was kinda fun.”

“Don’t stare at that!”

Ayane laughed, heading to the fridge to grab two glasses and pour some barley tea.

“Hey, Yutarou. After the next match, there’s something I want to talk about.”

“Something to talk about?”

“Yeah! It’s about our future, so look forward to it.”

“…O-Okay. I’m looking forward to it.”

Our future…

“Actually, I’ve got something to tell you too… if we win.”

“Oh? Last time was a confession, so maybe a proposal this time?”

“That’s way too soon! Not until I go pro and make, like, 20 million yen a year—”

“No way! I can’t wait that long!”

“Hey, don’t throw a tantrum!”

While calming Ayane down, I cleverly hid that she’d hit the nail on the head.

                       ♢♢♢

Coach Murasaki’s words—“the day that changes your life”—echoed in my mind.

With that driving me, I poured everything into training for the two weeks leading up to the third round.

“Makijima-kun! Smaller touches! You’ll lose the ball if you hold it too long!”

“Y-Yes, ma’am!”

For extra practice, I asked Aihara to put me through grueling drills—

“Yutarou, dinner’s ready!”

“…Oh, thanks.”

For nutrition, I ate the massive meals Ayane cooked, enough for three people—

“Hey, Makijima, maybe try someone else’s cooking for a change.”

“Nope. Come on, let’s get to practice.”

“What, you can’t handle anything but Sasamoto-san’s flavor now?”

“Obviously.”

“Ugh, pure love’s too much!”

I shut down Azaki’s temptations, staying disciplined in my training.

Through it all, I rediscovered my strength.

Breaking through the final defensive line with perfect timing, finishing in front of goal.

A finishing precision honed since childhood.

Maybe I was born just to score goals.

I built stamina and muscle, refining my off-the-ball movement by studying videos of Filippo Inzaghi and Dimitar Berbatov, visualizing every move.

And then—late June.

“Yutarou!”

As I sat at the entrance tying my shoelaces, Ayane hugged me from behind.

“…Today’s the day.”

“Yeah…”

After tying my laces, I turned to face her.

When I leaned in to kiss her, Ayane stopped my lips with her index finger.

“After the match, okay?”

“…Y-Yeah, you’re right.”

“When it’s all over, I’ll let you kiss me as much as you want.”

Hearing that, my motivation skyrocketed—I’m such a pushover.

I mean, who wouldn’t feel this way with a girlfriend this cute?

Ayane, once called a national treasure-level beauty by the world.

But to me, she’s more than that—she’s becoming my entire life.

Before, soccer was all I had. Now, something just as precious, just as loved, has joined it.

Kiraboshi Ayane—no, Sasaki Ayane—is the one thing I want to cherish more than anything.

“Ayane… I always wanted to be the protagonist. But things kept going wrong, and I couldn’t live up to everyone’s expectations.”

“What’s with the sudden intensity?”

“…I want to be the protagonist in front of you, Ayane. I want to defeat the toughest opponent and show you the coolest version of myself.”

Saying that, I slung my shoulder bag over my arm.

“Then show me tonight. Show me the heroic Yutarou Makijima.”

“…Yeah, I’m off.”

I patted Ayane’s head one last time and left the apartment.

The Emperor’s Cup third round, Tokyo Frontier versus Koutou University, was about to begin—

                           ♡♡♡

The venue for the Emperor’s Cup third round was Tokyo Frontier’s home stadium.

The moment I stepped onto the pitch behind the seniors, my adrenaline surged.

It’s been a while since I was here with Ayane for a stadium date, but standing on this pitch might be my first time since my days with Tokyo Frontier Jr. Youth.

Back then, I think I only played a few warm-up matches before pro games, so this do-or-die, high-stakes battle is a first.

From the slightly damp pitch, I scanned the stands.

Tokyo Frontier supporters’ chants flooded the field, matched by Koutou’s cheers refusing to be drowned out.

In the away section, I spotted Ayane sitting next to Aihara.

I wouldn’t have made it this far alone.

Meeting Sasaki Ayane at that group date, hanging out together, having sleepovers (?), watching soccer, eating pancakes, eating more pancakes, visiting the aquarium, eating pancakes again, and yet more pancakes—somehow, Ayane became my motivation.

Even if it was a misunderstanding, the day I fought Ryushin Kanagawa for Ayane led me to where I am now.

Today, my dream of facing my mentor and final boss, Coach Kishihara, is coming true.

I stared at Coach Kishihara, standing by the opponent’s bench in a tracksuit.

Since becoming a coach, he’s shaved his beard and ditched that ratty old coat.

Suddenly, our eyes met.

“…”

“…”

Facing Kishihara like this—it’s all thanks to Ayane.

Everything I have, Ayane gave me.

So for her, I’ll keep delivering results.

To become someone worthy of standing beside my national treasure-level girlfriend.

“Makijima, you hyped up?”

Azaki, his buzzcut now a signature look, called out from behind.

“Starting together on this huge stage—it’s a thrill, partner.”

“Yeah, same here, Azaki.”

That’s right—for the first time, we’re fighting together from the start.

♣♣♣

The formation is 4-2-3-1.

Yutarou’s at the top as the lone striker… I think.

Lately, I’ve been picking up a bit about soccer.

Well, I’m still just learning, though.

“Ayane-chan, it’s finally starting!”

“Yeah, it is.”

Yuzu-chan, sitting next to me, is suppressing her urge to cheer for Tokyo Frontier to join me in the away section.

“You don’t have to force yourself…” I said, but she replied, “Just for today, I’m a Koutou supporter!” and sat beside me.

“How was Makijima-kun this morning? Was he nervous?”

Yuzu-chan’s question made me think back to Yutarou before he left the house.

He suddenly wanted to kiss, so I don’t think he was too nervous.

“N-No, he seemed pretty relaxed, maybe?”

“Wow, that’s so like Makijima-kun.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Before he left, Yutarou said something.

He said he’d be my protagonist…

I clasped my hands together, as if in prayer.

“I hope Yutarou wins…”

With the referee’s whistle, the match kicked off with Koutou in possession.

                       ♢♢♢

Phew. Here we are, Makijima.

I, Seiichi Azaki, run my hand over my buzzcut as part of my pre-kickoff routine.

Back in high school, I joined the local pro team’s practices plenty of times, so I thought I was used to the pro atmosphere… but today, I’m nervous for the first time in a while.

…You’re feeling it too, right, Makijima?

My job’s to control the game. Yours, as the lone striker, is to score.

At kickoff, the ball rolls to my feet at the center circle.

I take a touch with the sole of my foot, look up, and see Japan national team player Makoto Kaita closing in.

With a face pretty enough to rival any girl, long white hair flowing, and a nimble 167cm frame, he’s Tokyo Frontier’s little bandiera.

Makoto Kaita… seeing him up close, he’s got a vibe that hits you right in the gut.

Sorry, but I’m not into guys. This battle’s on the pitch, not in bed.

I try to fend off the charging Kaita with my left arm and spin past him with a left-sided roulette, but… I can’t shake him at all.

“What the—”

“Too naive, college kid.”

No point tangling with Kaita here. To push the line forward, I send a long ball deep into their half.

This guy’s a forward, but he’s defending like crazy.

“Hey, what’s your teammate Makijima like?”

“…What? Chatting during the match?”

“Why not? I heard from Kishihara-san that Makijima’s my junior. I’ve been curious about him.”

Kaita’s fiery, competitive gaze shifts to Makijima up top.

“Makijima’s got something you can’t match. His quality in front of goal? It’s better than yours.”

“Oh, really?”

Kaita flashes a fearless smirk, then suddenly sprints toward Koutou’s goal—what the hell?

Why… what’s he doing?

Koutou still has possession.

The moment I think that, the ball Koutou was circulating up top gets snatched by a brutal tackle from Tokyo Frontier’s center-back, who blasts it forward to the sprinting Kaita.

No way—Kaita’s run was the trigger for that interception!?

…Come to think of it, our coach mentioned before the match that Tokyo Frontier’s new coach, Nobuo Kishihara, is famous for building a soccer style centered around a single player.

Ten years ago, when Seijin Academy clinched back-to-back High School Championship titles, he crafted a soccer system around the current Barcelona star, Shiro Takato. More recently, during the three-year dark era, he placed full trust in Yutaro Makijima, shaping a Makijima-centric game plan.

The first approach succeeded, while the second flopped, but his ideal soccer is fundamentally a one-man show.

In high school soccer, where players change every year, entrusting the tactics to one individual seems logical—simple and effective—but is that coach doing the same thing even in the pros?!

Caught off guard by the opponent’s counter, I end up chasing Kita.

“A college kid better than me…? Don’t make me laugh. I’ll show you just how naive you are!”

Makoto Kita’s pace picks up even more.

That small frame, honed for sprints, and the bulging veins in his powerful leg muscles the moment he exerts force.

This… is bad.

             ☆☆

“They got the first goal…”

“…Ayane-chan, look at Makijima-kun.”

“Yutaro?”

I was so captivated by Makoto Kita’s incredible goal that I turned my gaze back to Yutaro, and… he’s…

“Yutaro… he’s smiling.”

Even though he should be panicking after conceding first, Yutaro’s face is lit up with a smile.

It’s not a smug grin, carelessness, or laziness.

What I feel from him is overwhelming confidence…

Back when we first met, he was always making that stern face, muttering “extra practice, extra practice.”

To think he can smile on a stage this big—Yutaro’s grown to have that much faith in himself.

I thought he’d awakened during the Emperor’s Cup first round, but the potential I sense from him now surpasses even that.

I’d like to think it paid off—me feeding him every day, holding back on couple-like stuff until this match, and keeping his focus solely on soccer.

The world of competition doesn’t guarantee everything will go smoothly, but for him, this match is the big one—settling the past and paving the way for the future.

This is where it all concludes and where it all begins.

“…Yutaro, make it happen.”

                       ♢♢♢

Tokyo Frontier’s counterattack came through, and with Makoto Kita’s goal, they took the lead in an instant.

Despite being behind, I couldn’t help but find this situation thrilling.

I used to think Azaki, who always played with a smile, was just messing around, but now I get why.

When your focus peaks and you’re about to enter the zone, that’s when people laugh.

It’s the kind of surge of power that makes you want to laugh.

“Makijima.”

Azaki, with a serious expression, places the ball at the center circle and speaks to me.

“Azaki? What’s up?”

“…Just focus on the goal. Today, sloppy post play is fine.”

“Huh? But the coach—”

“On this pitch, I’m the heart of Koto. I’ll keep the blood pumping, so you go smash that goal.”

Azaki gives my shoulder a pat and returns to his position.

He seems unusually on edge today.

Normally, he’d say something like, “Oh crap, I was checking out Makoto Kita’s butt and they scored on us.”

As I stand alone in the center of the circle, Makoto Kita passes by me.

“Give me a good show, junior?”

…Makoto Kita knows who I am?

That alone is an honor, but… I can’t let it go to my head today.

I came here today to surpass Makoto Kita and Coach Kishihara.

And to Ayane… I finally want to show her a cool side of me.

“Just you wait…”

The whistle blows, and I kick the ball from the center circle toward Azaki.

Koto, trailing by one, pushes up their entire line to mount an offensive.

♣♣♣

Sitting on the Tokyo Frontier bench, I was watching the match with my arms crossed as the team’s coach, but before I knew it, my gaze was locked on the back of the player wearing number 16.

Yutaro Makijima… perhaps I’ve always seen you like my own son.

That’s how deeply I’ve fallen for the talent that is Yutaro Makijima.

Yes, it was about four years ago…

— Four years ago.

Back when I was still the coach of Seijin Academy, I traveled all the way from Toyama to Tokyo with a scout to find the next ace, attending a Jr. Youth tournament.

But none of these middle schoolers stood out with anything special.

It’s the same with studies or anything else—lately, kids are molded by adults to handle everything competently.

For instance, my daughter’s good at singing and says she wants to be an idol someday, but my wife insists she focus on studies and sports, forcing her into cram schools against her will.

The idea that being good at everything gives you an edge in job hunting, or that being well-rounded helps in life, is just adult ego.

A person who can’t produce a single standout quality will never rise above anyone.

And these middle school kids in front of me now—probably raised in soccer schools with the mantra “eliminate your weaknesses!”—are no different.

“Coach Kishihara, Coach Kishihara! Tokyo Frontier’s Jr. Youth team is strong again this year! The defensive midfielder, Takarashi-kun, is great at dribbling and passing, and he can do it all. The winger, Matsushima-kun, is fast with clean touches! Plus, he defends well from the front! Should we approach him as a candidate for the next ace?”

The two players suggested by the scout…

…These guys won’t cut it.

Players who can do dribbling, speed, shooting, passing, and defense all at an average level—my team doesn’t need that.

It’s the ones with a single, sharp talent who end up succeeding, no matter what.

Team sports are about compensating for weaknesses with teammates and overwhelming others with individual strengths.

“I don’t need a perfectly polished diamond. I want a rough, jagged gem that glints.”

“Huh? What are you even saying?”

Met with the scout’s disbelief, I took a swig from my bottle while watching the match from the stands.

A dull game, but it might at least serve as a drinking snack.

As I chugged away in broad daylight with that thought, a player who came on as a substitute caught my eye.

“…Hmm? What’s with that guy?”

His position seems to be forward.

A slim build, about 170 cm tall.

His face is refreshingly handsome for a middle schooler, quite a looker, but he doesn’t give off the vibe of someone who can play soccer.

But… compared to the other kids his age, his eyes are different.

Since the match started, he’s been standing still near the opponent’s back line—like he’s living there, barely moving.

Even when the coach yells, “Makijima! Drop back and join the build-up!” he just stands rooted at the offside line.

“Hey, scout. What about that number 18?”

I ask the scout sitting next to me to look into him.

“Uh, his name’s Yutaro Makijima? A third-year middle schooler. From Yamanashi, seems to be part of Tokyo Frontier’s youth affiliate, ‘Tokyo Frontier Jr. Yamanashi,’ set up a few years ago. Height’s 168 cm. He’s second in the tournament’s scoring list, but… what do you think? He just looks like he’s standing around lazily between the center backs.”

What? Standing around? Is this guy blind…?

He’s not just standing there.

That kid… he’s only got eyes for the goal.

The next moment, he makes an eerie move.

The ball drifts to the right side, and everyone’s attention shifts there, but he alone ignores it, slipping away to the left.

A normal forward would follow their teammates, joining the attack. But he chooses the opposite—wait, no.

“Could it be…”

He sprints from the left side back to the center in one fluid motion.

And the moment a cross comes from a teammate, he suddenly appears in front of the goal, scoring with a one-touch finish.

This whole sequence played out like a perfectly drawn picture, but a one-touch goal that precise… no way a middle schooler could pull that off.

“…Well, I’ve stumbled onto something interesting, huh.”

“Coach Kishihara?”

“Get Yutaro Makijima to Koto right now. Bow down, beg, do whatever it takes to bring him. I’ll raise him myself.”

“W-Wait, you’re overhyping him just because he scored now, aren’t you?”

“Just bring him here.”

These days, one-touch goal-scoring, old-school strikers aren’t in vogue—dedicated post-playing forwards or speedy types are what the big shots always say are in demand.

But—that’s not it, is it, Makijima?

Right now, this very moment, Tokyo Frontier’s home stadium is trembling.

             ☆☆

The first half has just begun, but having conceded first, Koto has no choice but to go all out.

Azaki told me not to do post play.

That’s a signal for me to focus solely on the goal.

In modern soccer, a lone striker is expected to handle various tasks—post play to drop the ball to teammates, runs behind the defense, pressing from the front, and more.

As for what type I am…

I’m bad at post play, bad at dribbling, bad at pressing… honestly, I’m not the kind of player who should be leading the line on a stage like this. But I have confidence in the quality I showed in front of the goal during the Emperor’s Cup first round.

I’ve always scored with one-touch finishes, but from a modern soccer perspective, I might just be a burden to the team.

But right now, I have Seiichi Azaki with me.

With a player like Azaki who can create differences with his dribbling, there’s no need for post play.

As Azaki advances, supplying passes to the team as the heart of the squad, our eyes meet.

Well, I’m not entirely sure if they did, but I felt my instincts and the gears of Azaki’s ideas clicking into place.

——Here it comes.

Soccer is a sport where meticulously crafted tactics turn players into pieces on a board, and goals only come from outplaying the opponent with each move.

Whether it’s spontaneous or a signaled attack, it doesn’t matter.

To surpass Tokyo Frontier, we have no choice but to charge head-on.

Just move forward… bring it, Azaki!

Even against pros, Azaki overwhelms with his exceptional ball control, breaking through the center alone with his dribble.

This guy really is on another level.

If he didn’t have that goal of hooking up with a high-educated, busty Koto University girl, he might’ve gone pro or even overseas straight out of high school.

That’s how much his focus and sharpness stand out when he’s serious.

The Koto seniors, stunned by Azaki in this zoned-out state, didn’t even dare call for the ball, but I’m different.

“Azaki… pass it already!”

“Alright, I’ve brought it just as you wanted… Makijima!”

From the vital area (just outside the penalty box), that’s not your job as a midfielder.

It’s my job as a forward…

While all eyes are on Azaki, the ball slides neatly to my feet as I demand it.

                       ♢♢♢

I’m holding the ball in the vital area, facing two opposing center-backs.

Azaki’s pro-level dribbling and pinpoint passing have shattered the balance in an instant.

My options are clear: dribble past the two defenders in front of me and take a shot in the penalty area, go for a mid-range shot from here, or pass to a teammate pushing up.

I need to make this count…

As I prepare to swing my right foot, the East Flow defender, reading my move, clasps his hands behind his back and shifts into a blocking stance.

As expected from a pro… he’s cutting off my angles perfectly.

What do I do in a moment like this?

Instinct alone won’t beat a pro.

If that’s the case, I have to fight with my head.

Should I pass back and see how things play out…?

While I’m hesitating, the other center-back slams into me with his body.

No time to overthink—Azaki’s help ends here.

A forward is always alone.

Carrying the enemy on your back, shouldering the team’s responsibility.

That’s why, Kishihara-san… it’s my fault we didn’t make it to nationals those three years.

“But I’m… I’m still playing soccer to repay you!”

This is it—I have to decide this on my own!

“…!”

I fake a shot with my right foot, using the split-second it buys to thread the ball through the legs of the blocking center-back.

The crowd roars with a “Whoa!” as it happens.

The two center-backs collide, leaving me completely free—or so I thought. The ball I nutmegged rolls right to the goalkeeper.

Crap, he’s gonna get it—

As I desperately stretch out my leg, the keeper reacts too, and we end up in a scramble in front of the goal. The ball flies off in some random direction.

What a wasted chance…

If it goes out of bounds, it’s definitely a goal kick.

The ball trickles toward the left corner flag with a pathetic bounce.

I’d lost my balance in the scramble with the keeper, but I spring up, scanning my surroundings.

“Makijima! Over here!” Azaki shouts, having pushed up.

I need to recover the ball and link up with my teammates—

“No… wait.”

At that moment, a play flashes in my mind.

—Two days ago.

“Yutaro, if you’re up for it… wanna watch some soccer videos together?”

The night before bed, Ayane, out of the blue, suggested we watch soccer videos together.

Sitting side by side on the bed, we scroll through soccer clips on a video site.

Ayane’s always said she wasn’t interested in soccer, so I’m happy she’s showing some enthusiasm, but honestly, I don’t want her to force herself.

“Hey, Ayane, you don’t have to try to like soccer just for me—”

“Look, Yutaro! This play by the goal line! It’s so amazing, I can’t even tell how he pulled it off!” she exclaims.

“Huh?” I blink.

Ayane excitedly points to a legendary turn by that genius player.

Left goal line, inches from going out of bounds. He catches up to the ball, and the moment an opponent closes in from the right, he pulls off a left-spinning turn right at the line. Before you know it, the ball slips past the defender. Pure magic—lightning-fast.

“Yutaro, you should do that!” Ayane says.

“Don’t be ridiculous! I can’t handle the ball like that—”

“There’s no such thing as impossible! You’ve proven that these past few months!” she insists.

“Ayane…” I trail off.

“My Yutaro is serious, hates to lose, and can do anything if he tries… That’s the kind of guy you are,” she says with a gentle smile.

“And I think you could use more variety in your dribbling in front of the goal. Shouldn’t you watch more game footage to learn?”

Since when did Ayane get this much soccer knowledge? At this rate, I won’t have any excuses when I mess up.

“O-Okay… I’ll keep that in mind,” I mumble.

“If you pull it off, I’ll praise you tons and give you lots of kisses!” she teases.

“You said it, right?”

“So give it your all!”

And now—on this big stage—that silly couple talk comes rushing back.

Okay, maybe not the kissing part.

“Hey, Makijima! Hurry up and cross it!” Azaki shouts.

“Makijima!”

“Over here!” teammates call.

Sorry, Azaki, seniors…

“Number 16’s got no footwork! Crush him and clear it!” an East Flow defender yells.

They’re underestimating me…

But props to the pros’ scouting—they know I’m no good at dribbling.

I manage to stop the ball just before the left goal line, feeling the opponent closing in from the right, and I recall that play.

A left-spinning turn, kicking the ball through the opponent’s legs as they approach from the right.

Visualize it…

“What—!” the defender gasps.

The moment he touches my back, I plant my right foot firmly, spin my left foot backward in a quick turn, and face the startled defender head-on. I fire the ball with my right foot right through his legs.

“What…! This guy’s supposed to have no footwork!” he shouts.

I quickly recover the ball after nutmegging the defender, deftly dodging him right at the goal line.

“This is… the Berbatov Turn!”

I charge into the penalty area from the left side at a zero-degree angle.

The opponents assume a shot’s impossible from here, so they focus their marking on Azaki and the seniors in front of the goal.

That’s just how it is—a zero-degree angle is considered impossible for scoring in soccer.

But…

“Ayane, there’s no such thing as impossible, right…?”

A razor-sharp focus surges through my legs.

And then—I swing my right foot, aiming for the space above the goalkeeper’s head from that zero-degree angle.

The ball smacks the crossbar with a clang, and the crowd’s cheers explode even louder.

This moment, this scene—it’s the best.

             ☆☆

June 18th. The Emperor’s Cup third round, Tokyo Frontier vs. Koto University, kicking off at 6:00 p.m.

The stage: Tokyo Frontier Stadium.

Three minutes into the first half, Japan national team player Makoto Kureta scores, sparking an open, back-and-forth battle.

And then, at the 18th minute of the first half—

It was the moment a genius was born.

Yutaro Makijima, 18 years old.

He doesn’t boast exceptional speed or a gifted physique.

His passing is poor, his trapping even worse, and his dribbling far from skilled.

Yet, trusting solely in his one weapon—a nose for the goal—he stepped into the world of university soccer.

In high school, he wore the number 9 for the prestigious Seishin Academy but never once graced the national stage, an uncrowned striker.

The play he made in this match became the singular moment that sent his name roaring across the nation.