Chapter 15

The door to interview room three had a small brass plaque mounted at eye level.

I paused on the polished linoleum, taking a slow breath through my nose. 

I knocked three times with my knuckles.

"Enter," a voice called out from the other side.

I turned the metal handle and pushed the door inward.

The room was smaller than the lecture hall, arranged with a long conference table set opposite a single metal chair. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, cutting across the wooden floorboards in bright geometric patches.

Our homeroom teacher had told us yesterday that this meeting was just a formality. 

Our sports recommendations had been signed in October, which meant our spots were already guaranteed by the school board. This interview was supposed to be a simple character check before orientation in April.

Yet, sitting across the table was a panel of four people watching me walk inside.

On the far left sat an older teacher in an oversized cardigan, leisurely sipping green tea from a ceramic mug. 

Beside him sat a high school boy with a sharp haircut and a pristine uniform, sitting with his back completely straight. 

Next was a girl holding a thick clipboard, wearing the official navy blazer of the soccer club management staff. From her red tie, she should've been a second-year.

And right in the center sat Coach Sawada.

The head coach leaned back in his chair with his hands folded over his stomach, his dark eyes crinkling with an easy smirk.

"Shimazu Yama, from Fuchu Sengen Middle School," the girl with the clipboard read aloud, her voice crisp and efficient. "Welcome."

"Good morning," I said, stepping up to the metal chair and offering a clean bow. "Thank you for having me."

"Have a seat, Shimazu-kun," the older teacher said, waving a hand toward the chair. "Before we begin, a very crucial question. What is your shoe size?"

I blinked, keeping my hands resting on my knees as I sat down. "Twenty-six centimeters, sir."

"Fascinating," the teacher murmured, nodding with profound gravity as he made a note on his pad. "A sensible size. Truly a foundation for academic excellence."

The high school boy beside him let out a flat, weary sigh.

"Sensei," the boy said, not even turning his head. "Shoe size has zero correlation with academic excellence. Please stop trying to confuse the incoming freshmen."

"You lack vision, Captain," the teacher replied smoothly, taking another sip of tea. "As people say, 'the feet carry the brain.'"

"No one ever said that," the captain pointed out, his voice completely deadpan.

"Excuse me, Captain," the girl with the clipboard snapped, rapping her plastic pen against the tabletop with a sharp click. "Both of you, stop your comedy routine. We have eighteen players to process before lunch."

She turned toward me, offering a polite tilt of her head. 

"Please ignore them, Shimazu-kun. I am the head manager, Shinano Takahashi. This is our club advisor, Kengo Sasaki-sensei, and our newly appointed captain for next season, Yusuke Kuga."

"Understood," I said, managing to keep my face completely straight. 

Coach Sawada cleared his throat, and the table settled into quiet attention.

The coach rested his forearms against the table, his weathered face softening into an approachable smile. 

"Let's start with something simple, Shimazu," Sawada said, his tone conversational. "When did you actually start caring about this game? A boy with your habits usually has an interesting origin story."

I looked at the grain of the wooden table, thinking back through the years.

"I was seven years old," I answered honestly. "It was the middle of the night in May. I woke up thirsty, walked into the living room, and found my father sitting in front of the television with the lights turned off."

"He was watching a replayed match of the 2007 Champions League final between AC Milan and Liverpool. I sat on the carpet beside his chair and watched Filippo Inzaghi score two goals."

A faint chuckle escaped Coach Sawada's chest. 

"Inzaghi," Sawada murmured, his eyes narrowing with amusement. "The man who lived on the offside line. He didn't dribble, he didn't dazzle, but the ball seemed to hit his shins and roll into the net."

"Yes," I said, smiling along. "He's born offside too."

"Surely he was," Sawada smiled back. "And I take it, he is your inspiration."

"At first," I admitted. "Then I realized poaching inside the penalty box requires too much wrestling with more physical center backs. So I dropped deeper to find space where nobody thought to stand."

"I see," Sawada nodded. "As I thought, it's Müller, isn't it?"

I met his gaze and nodded. "Yes. Müller is my role model."

Beside the coach, Captain Kuga tilted his chin upward, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

"Louis van Gaal used to say it all the time when he ran Bayern Munich," Kuga said, quoting the Dutch manager with fluent rhythm. "Müller spielt bei mir immer. Müller always plays in my team."

"That is the quote," I replied respectfully.

"A great quote," Kuga said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the desk. "Except for one minor detail, Shimazu. Müller ran eleven kilometers every single match. You, on the other hand, lasted sixty minutes on a middle school pitch before your coach had to substitute you out."

The jab was delivered with a smirk, but the fact was undeniable. 

I didn't take offense. It was the absolute truth recorded on every tournament scoresheet from the summer.

"With respect, Captain," I said, keeping my voice calm and steady. "Van Gaal originally said that phrase to emphasize Müller's tactical necessity in his system, not his stamina. Fans only started using it to praise his fitness years later because he never suffered severe injuries and is always available to play."

Captain Kuga blinked once, his dark eyebrows rising in surprise.

A quiet chuckle slipped from the club advisor beside him, while the female manager hid a smile behind her clipboard.

Kuga stared at me for three seconds, before letting out a soft breath. 

"Good catch," Kuga conceded, giving me a firm nod. "Appreciate the fact check on this one. I respect that."

It seemed the captain was a reasonable person. Having an upperclassman like him was not going to be a pain in the neck at least.

Then suddenly, the air in the room vanished.

The warmth that had lingered over the table evaporated in a split second. 

The club advisor stopped sipping his tea, setting the ceramic cup down onto its wooden saucer without making a single sound. The captain leaned back, his easy smile vanishing into stone.

Across the table, Coach Sawada was no longer smiling.

He sat forward, propping his chin in both hands, his dark eyes locking onto my face with an unblinking gaze. 

"Tactical necessity, huh? That's certainly correct," Coach Sawada said, his voice flat and cold. "You sure have a bright mind, Shimazu, so let's cut to the chase."

My spine stiffened against the metal frame of my chair.

"You watched our semifinal against Kugayama," Sawada continued, the words dropping like stones into the quiet room. "You saw how we operate. We play a high defensive line with an aggressive high press that lasts for ninety minutes. We sprint, we suffocate, and we push our bodies to control the pitch."

He paused, letting the silence hang heavy between us.

"Yama Shimazu, 15 years old. Ambidextrous. Predominantly plays as an attacking midfielder but can operate well on the wings and as a forward." He said as he continued reading out the paper in front of him. "Points to consider: Lack of defensive tracking, and below average athleticism, especially low stamina reserve and endurance." 

"Shimazu. Let me get this straight." He set his eyes back to me, "These weaknesses have no place in our philosophy. Those are liabilities."

Even though I understood that fact, the bluntness of his critique was like an open palm across the jaw. 

My pulse spiked in my throat, but I forced my hands to stay flat against my knees. I couldn't look down, and I couldn't flinch here.

"I am aware of my physical shortcomings, Coach," I answered, keeping my voice level. "And I also understand how this school plays."

"Do you?" Sawada asked, his tone entirely devoid of warmth.

"Yes, sir," I said, holding his gaze. "Which brings an obvious question. If my glaring weaknesses are such a liability to your program, why was I chosen?"

A heavy stillness settled over the conference table. 

Captain Kuga shifted slightly in his chair, while the head manager looked down at her papers with visible discomfort.

Coach Sawada didn't hesitate for a fraction of a second.

"Why? Let's see.." Sawada stated plainly. "What if I tell you, you were just a sweetener."

The word hung in the cold air, ugly and bare.

"When our scouts and I approached Fuchu Sengen in the autumn, we wanted Jougasaki to be our next tip, and we wanted Nomura to give us creativity and flair to our offense," Sawada explained without an ounce of shame. "It is clear that you three have a very tight chemistry both in and outside the pitch. If we didn't offer a recommendation to the third boy, the other two wouldn't sign their letters."

Sawada leaned back, opening his palms in a casual gesture that dismissed my entire middle school career.

"I need a complete forward, and I need an electric playmaker," Sawada said. "Adding a third scholarship spot to close the transaction was an acceptable cost. As things stand right now, I project you for the C-team roster. And you might make the B-team bench if you're diligent."

He folded his hands over his stomach, his eyes daring me.

"So," Sawada said softly. "What are you going to do about it, Shimazu?"

The room felt ice cold.

For a brief, flickering heartbeat, my instincts stirred in the dark corners of my mind.

The voice whispered in my ear: He's right. You got into an elite private school for free. Isn't that already good enough? Take the C-team spot. You can play games on Sunday mornings, avoid the brutal competition against other players, and never throw up in a restroom stall again because you'll only play in low level matches. I can move at my own pace even in highschool. It'll be easier this way, right?

It was safe. It was easy. It was fine as long as I could have fun playing soccer.

Then, a sudden memory cut through the comfortable fog.

I remembered the winter frost on the railings of the National Stadium. 

I remembered sixty thousand people roaring under the glass roof, the wall of forest green banners waving behind the goal, and the wild thrill of twenty-two players running until their lungs caught fire. 

I remembered the desire that had settled in my chest that afternoon. I didn't want to watch from the terraces anymore. I wanted to stand on that turf, wearing that green and black shirt, fighting for every blade of grass, in front of the dancing forest green wall.

My fingers twitched against the wool of my blazer.

Beneath the navy fabric, right over my chest, the purple silk amulet pressed firmly against my ribs.

I remembered Top Road's voice coming through the speaker in the dark of night. 

I remembered her confessing how terrified she was, how her hands wouldn't stop shaking, and how the weight of the public's expectations felt like heavy stones tied to her ankles. 

She had entered the Kisaragi Sho with a massive gamble that could make or break her career. She had stepped into a field of monsters, stared down the favorite, and thrown herself into the fire without asking for an easy exit. 

She had fought with everything she had, and she had taken her victory.

If I sat in this metal chair and accepted a comfortable spot on the C-team, I would be a coward. 

I would never be able to look her in the eye again.

The tension drained from my shoulders, replaced by a quiet stillness that settled deep into my marrow.

I looked directly into Coach Sawada's eyes and let a faint smile pull at the corner of my mouth.

"I will force you to choose me, Coach," I said.

The head manager’s pen stopped moving across the paper. Captain Kuga’s eyes widened slightly, leaning forward on his elbows.

Coach Sawada’s left eyebrow arched upward, a spark of curiosity flickering behind his pupils.

"Really?" Sawada asked, his voice low. "How?"

I didn't blink.

"Because I'm here," I said, measuring every word with absolute conviction, "and I am your only guarantee to win."

The silence in the room stretched for two full seconds.

Then, Coach Sawada threw his head back.

"Hahahahaha!" 

His laughter erupted like thunder, loud and sudden, echoing off the high ceiling of the room. He slapped the wooden armrest of his chair, grinning with genuine amusement.

"My word!" Sawada chuckled, shaking his head. "I certainly don't mind clever words, boy!"

Then, in the span of a single breath, the laughter stopped.

His expression flattened into indifference. 

The warmth vanished from his features so completely that it felt like the laughter had never happened at all. 

"But words are just words, after all," Sawada said, his voice entirely flat.

He picked up a blue pen, looked down at the desk, and pulled the next manila folder into the center of his blotter. 

He didn't look at me again.

Beside him, the manager let out a nervous breath, adjusting her glasses with an awkward tilt of her head.

"The interview is concluded, Shimazu-kun," she said softly, offering a polite bow from her seat. "Thank you for your time. Please step into the corridor and ask Nomura Yuuki-san to enter the room."

"Thank you very much," I said.

I pushed back my metal chair, stood up straight, and offered a formal, ninety-degree bow toward the panel.

I turned on the polished linoleum and walked toward the exit. 

My footsteps were silent against the floor, my shoulders loose, and my hands completely steady at my sides. 

I opened the heavy wooden door, stepping across the threshold and out into the quiet hallway.

Yuuki was pacing frantically near the opposite wall, muttering economic terms under his breath.

The second the door clicked shut, Yuuki whipped around, his face pale with panic.

"How was it?!" Yuuki whispered urgently, rushing over to grab my sleeve. "Did they ask about the prefectural budget?! What did the coach say?!"

I looked at my best friend's terrified face.

I thought about the word sweetener. 

I thought about the C-team roster, the package deal, and the cold reality of why my name had been printed on the recommendation list.

I didn't say a single word. 

They had earned their scholarships with their own sweat and talent. They didn't need to carry the burden of my pride, and they didn't need their victory tainted by what the Coach had done to close the deal.

"It was completely normal," I said smoothly, offering an easy smirk. "They just asked about your favorite players and basic tactics. You'll be fine and now it's your turn, chop chop."

"Really?!" Yuuki exhaled in massive relief, wiping his sweaty forehead. "Thank god! I was losing my mind out here!"

"Nomura Yuuki-san, room three please," the manager’s voice called from the open doorway.

"That's me!" Yuuki squeaked, hastily fixing his tie as he marched toward the door like a soldier marching into battle.

With Yuuki gone, I looked toward the end of the corridor, where the winter sunlight washed over the glass exit doors leading out into the cold world. 

I won't quit this time.

The easy slacker who took his time through matches and hid behind clever excuses was no longer needed.