Graphic by me

Somehow, I managed to bluff my way through the first practice.

I knew this would not be a good decision in the long run, but I could not bring myself to confess. I had to fight toes and nails in the studio to become a soloist, and I was determined not to start at the bottom again. Keeping up with conditioning was not too bad, and the rest of practice was simply spent in skill studies. By the end of the day, I felt confident enough with the positions I memorized that I managed to return to the hospital having convinced myself I could keep up this charade tomorrow.

I only started panicking when we boarded the school bus after school the next day.

As I was jostled into the parking lot by my teammates and the upperclassmen analysts, I found myself beside the pale, plum-haired boy who had been my first impression of Mikage Sennou. "Where are we going?" I asked dryly, knowing he was not one for jokes. He shot me a two-worded reply that caused me to wobble, then jogged ahead too soon before I could ask for an explanation.

I was brought back as it occurred to me this was the perfect opportunity to confirm a few things with Sugimori. But as I tried to locate said boy, I found out so did just about everyone else. And so I ended up beside a player with hikimayu, while Arata made shy smalltalk with Sugimori two seats in front of us on the other side of the aisle. Oh well. I doubted Sugimori knew much more than me about our benefactor anyway. This was also a great opportunity to ask another question only an experienced member of the club could answer.

I turned to my disinterest seatmate with a friendly smile. "Terakawa-san, right?," I inquired, "Does Toyama-kantoku frequently receive letters in envelopes that are like an off-white color, made with heavy paper and sealed with stamped red wax?" After a moment of consideration, I pulled out my envelope. "Something like this?"

Terakawa gave it a glance. "No, but I can probably still tell you where it came from, if you don't already know it yourself." A rattlesnake's tail flicked at the tip of his tongue.

I carefully contorted into a submissive role, like how I used to please Misako when we were children. "I don't know," I apologized softly, lowering my gaze earnestly, "I'm trying to figure it out. That's why I'm asking."

Terakawa closed his eyes and sighed. "Look, I don't know if you're a spy from Teikoku. Someone obviously pulled strings to earn you and Caribbean's stronghold jerseys here. No offense that I haven't heard your name before, I'm sure you're a brilliant player who will ditch us as soon as you complete your objective. Maybe that man sent you to watch kantoku. Maybe you infiltrated our school to investigate kantoku and Kageyama's connections. I could really care less, to be honest. No one cares about Mikage Sennou's students. Anyway, my guess is that those letters are from Kageyama."

"I care," I objected, but the words pierced my ears like plastic and cut Terakawa's cheek.

His beady eyes twitched as the rattle intensified. He turned the other way. "Go back to the man behind you if you do. Talk to me when my friends and I are valued more than glorified lab rats."

"I-"

...would shut up. Stale protests would not be enough to earn his trust.

When we arrived, I squeezed beside Arata as Sugimori was distracted by some other club members. There was something different about Arata until said captain noticed my presence. "It's nice to have you with us, Suishou-san," he stammered.

"Why are we at Teikoku Gakuen?"

"I should have told you yesterday. It completely slipped my mind, my bad," Arata apologized, then explained, "Mikage and Teikoku are on good terms, so our soccer teams hold practice matches every so often to help each other train."

"It's not quite so mutual if they never have to step outside their grounds," I heard someone mutter on my other side. When I followed the complaint, I could not identify the speaker among my classmates. Arata put a hand on my back and pushed me through the front gate.

The walls of Teikoku Gakuen were as intimidating as its soccer reputation. Gunmetal buildings loomed beside us, creating the illusion of a vignette around the angular tower that grew increasingly impressive as we approached. And I thought Mikage Sennou's facility was fancy; velvet tapestries were displayed at the end of every hall here like its students were actually royalty. Upon closer inspection, I recognized embroidered penguins. I wondered what our mascot was. I opened my mouth to ask Arata, then changed my mind when I saw his face. The serious visage I observed earlier had replaced the warmth I knew once again.

Toyama led us into the elevator that would take us up the tower. After a smooth ascent, we got off at the second to top floor and entered the largest room I had ever set sights on.

To call the place an indoor soccer field would be an understatement. It was a professional-grade stadium complete with rows upon rows of stacked seats, capable of housing an entire school. No, I realized, as stares from the vacant chairs pricked the back of my neck, it's a stage: we were standing in the diamond cage that we had tilted back our heads and squinted past the glare to see earlier. It's a fighting ring.

A contemporary Coliseum.

Toyama pulled me aside when I nearly followed Arata into the boy's locker room. "There's a bathroom in the hallway," he offered.

When I returned with my hair pinned neatly into a ballerina bun and the number sixteen on my back, the rest of my teammates were already gathered on the field. Toyama chased me down once again and handed me a set of wires as he mimed an arc from above his ear to the back of his head. I looked down at the foreign nodes, then at the stretching boys, all of whom had the same device affixed around their head.

"Where's Arata-san?" I noticed. At that moment, Teikoku's team stepped onto the pitch behind the red cape that acted as their flag bearer. Toyama flinched and glanced at a corner of the ceiling as he urgently pushed me towards my peers.

They were indeed the boys on the tickets, in the flesh. The tall boxer with tribal tattoos trained his eyes on the stern Sugimori with a feral grin, who suddenly seemed to grow to new heights in front of my eyes. In fact, most of Teikoku's players had their attention focused on Sugimori. The conclusion sank in that none of us here were any match for any one of the nation's elite, save for Caribbean's ex-keeper.

My eyes landed on Sugimori's armband at the same time as the boy that stood at the top of Japanese youth soccer's. "Nice to meet you, Captain," he smirked, "How is Shimozuru-kun?"

"Arata-kun will play," Mikage Sennou's new captain growled at the eyes behind the goggles.

"I look forward to it," the boy chuckled cruelly as he turned around, pulling his cape behind him, "Maybe Mikage will finally be able to stop a shoot now. It's a shame that if you were only three years younger, you would most probably call me senpai."

"You flatter me but I politely decline your invitation."

Formation Four Four Two Grid.

I found my legs moving by themselves before I recognized the order. Everyone else headed toward their positions. In a daze, I walked to the bench which the analysts had already claimed and sat down at the end beside the portable satellite dish they had set up.

Arata joined us soon afterward, but he appeared so lifeless that I did not notice his presence until the referee blew the starting whistle. Much to my dismay, his fellow striker did not pay his demeanor any mind, as if Arata's dejection was not worth his attention.

"Shimozuru-kun! Heads up!" a terse taunt cut through the air. Arata raised his eyes too late and met the brunt of Teikoku's pass, which of course hit its target perfectly and bounced into their captain's control.

"Kidou-san, shall we try it?" Teikoku's striker shouted across the field. Kidou planted the ball beneath his foot as he gave it a second of consideration, then licked his lips and grinned.

"Let's go. Sakuma-kun! Jimon-san!"

Defense Pattern Gamma Three! Hurry!

This time I flinched and tore off my headpiece. I was not playing anyway, so it would not matter. Unfortunately, there were not enough players between Kidou and the two players he named for Mikage to take back the ball before the trio closed in on Sugimori.

"Witness our best!" Kidou sneered and held his fingers up to his lips. Upon his whistle, attentive penguins poked their heads out of the ground.

Our keeper gave the creatures an incredulous glance. "Who's afraid of that?" He kept to his word as he charged up for Shoot Pocket, until the two aforementioned forwards made an unpredicted pincer movement behind the ball.

Sugimori hesitated, then brought out the reliable dome at last. "Koutei Penguin 2gou!" Sakuma, Jimon, and Kidou echoed and a ghostly torrent of penguins rushed for our goal, only to disperse centimeters away from the large blue bubble. The ball sank into the force field like it was a cushion and fell gently into Sugimori's hand, casting a tranquility over the room.

Then someone on the field gave out a hoot, and the rest of the Mikage Sennou followed with tenfold enthusiasm. Even I felt a tug in my chest at this powerful display of camaraderie. How did it feel to be Sugimori, a man who carries the hopes and dreams of his companions? Was that the cause for the sunken wrinkles carved into his face, or was this what once fueled Arata's passion? I was left grasping for the answers an outsider would not be able to find.

Kidou cursed. "What's wrong with it, Sakuma-kun? We timed it perfectly."

The tanned light hair striker with the eyepatch who had proposed the hissatsu earlier gritted his teeth. "It's the power. We're not synchronized yet."

Kidou nodded and turned to the other forward. "Jimon-san, kick harder. I'll pass with less force next time so it'll be easier to watch Sakuma-kun. This way you can focus more on your strength instead of the timing." The reverence and devotion Kidou's teammates held for him were well deserved: he shouldered the responsibility when they could not. Just like Sugimori is doing. My eyes drifted toward Arata once again. His condition had not improved with the addition of the bruise on his temple.

A particular memory called for my attention. I frowned as I tried to retrieve it. Taiyou...Taiyou once told me...

"Just watch. Kidokawa isn't playing with their full capabilities yet."

"Why not?" I asked innocently, baffled by his words, "Haven't they noticed that they'll lose the match at this rate?"

"Well..." he drawled, lying down backwards, "It's not that they aren't, really. It's more like they can't. Of course they know that they would need to play better if they were to move up, but they don't know how to do so."

I gasped.

Mikage needed Arata, their Arata, not this shadow of himself, just like how Kidokawa needed Yoshida. They were the matches that lit the torches to guide the way to victory. But how could I get the message across? Borrowing Toyama's microphone was not an option.

As if on cue, everyone in gray uniforms turned toward me.

"What..." I shrunk under their expectant stares. My eyes caught the other forward beckoning me frenziedly. Slowly, I looked down and saw the severed connection in my hands.

Wait, I'm just a small town girl who haven't even kicked a ball in her life!