The warm-up before the match ended, and when we headed back to the locker room, the manager had already prepared our uniforms.
Hanging in the locker was Koutou University’s traditional crimson jersey.
A single white stripe ran across the shoulder, and on the chest were the brand logo and the university emblem.
My number was 18.
Normally, it’s a number given to a semi-ace, but in our case, the coach randomly assigned numbers from 11 onward, so it didn’t mean much.
Azaki, whose locker was next to mine, wore number 10.
The B-team’s “ace,” meanwhile, was lying on the bench scrolling on his phone.
“Azaki, you’re starting, right?”
“Hmm? Yeah.”
“You sure you should be that relaxed?”
“It’s fine. If I can’t afford to relax at this level, I won’t survive in pro soccer anyway.”
“If you wanted to go pro, you should’ve joined right after high school.”
“Quit nagging me. I wanted to enjoy the college girls too, alright?”
And this trash is supposed to be our ace. The world’s doomed.
“I’m done. Talking to you pisses me off.”
“Come on, Makishima, don’t be so cold.”
Just as I moved away from Azaki, the coach walked into the locker room.
“Everyone, sit.”
Coach Minei, in charge of Koutou University’s B-team.
He’s seventy years old, a veteran with long white hair that covers his eyes and a thick beard grown over decades.
“Press from the front today. The last line absolutely must not fall back. And the balance between the lines—leave that to Azaki.”
“Got it.”
Even in front of our intimidating coach, Azaki answered casually as always.
This guy had no fear at all.
After a short five-minute meeting, everyone gathered their gear and headed out to the field.
I put on the green bib the manager handed me and sat down on the bench.
Sasaki came to watch, huh.
The pitch was close to the stands, so I could actually recognize people sitting there.
When I looked around, I found a girl with medium-short hair and a black mask sitting near the edge.
“…Well yeah, of course she came.”
I talked big in front of Sasaki and said I’d score no matter what—but deep down, a part of me didn’t want *her* to be the one watching.
Sitting next to her… was that Aihara?
Those two… were they that close?
The whistle blew, and the match finally began.
This was the B-team’s third match of the Independence League—Koutou University vs. Komagome Commercial University.
The opening minutes were calm, but with a high defensive line and fast vertical attacks centered around Azaki in midfield, Koutou began taking control.
Despite being the same guy who was grinning at his phone earlier, Azaki showed a surprisingly sharp side on the pitch.
He gave accurate instructions even to upperclassmen, and he knew exactly how to draw clever, borderline-dirty fouls.
Koutou stayed dominant, but today lacked a finishing touch.
Four mid-range shots from Azaki, eleven total from the team—but none hit the net, and the first half ended 0–0.
When we returned to the locker room, Coach was standing in front of Azaki with a whiteboard, discussing something.
I helped the managers distribute squeeze bottles while watching them, but something felt off—their eyes kept turning toward me.
What the hell are they talking about?
Soon after, the coach walked over.
“Azaki’s throwing a tantrum.”
“A… tantrum?”
“Makishima, you’re going in for the second half.”
I looked at Azaki—he was grinning.
This guy will really do anything, huh.
✳︎✳︎
This was actually my first time watching a soccer match from the stands. (Which is pathetic considering I used to be a manager during the championships—even though I barely knew the rules.)
The match itself was kind of boring since they were just passing the ball around, and honestly, I kept watching Makishima warming up behind the bench instead of the pitch.
Makishima was properly preparing.
Apparently soccer substitutions aren’t as flexible as basketball, so like Aihara-san said, he’d probably come out in the second half.
Ugh. To be honest, I still don’t really understand the rules. (Especially that offside thing.)
When the first half ended, I stared blankly at the field until Aihara-san poked my shoulder.
“Sasaki-chan, do you watch soccer often?”
“Well… sometimes. (I watched the finals once from a studio.)”
“Really? Then do you have a favorite team?”
“U-Uhh…”
I don’t know any soccer teams at all!
Just say something—anything!
Right!
“S-Starsei Academy… maybe?”
“No way, you’re a high school soccer fan!? You’re so hardcore!”
“A-Ahaha…”
What? Being a high school soccer fan is a thing?
“…Oh! So that’s why you left the group date with Makishima-kun!”
“Huh?”
Why bring up the group date now?
“Makishima-kun is from Starsei, and since you’re a Starsei fan, that’s why you two clicked, right?”
“…Eh? W-Well…”
“I see, that makes sense! He made it sound so meaningful, so I thought something weird was going on between you two. But now it all adds up!”
I didn’t totally get it, but… did things just work out nicely?
“Meaningful”… what did Makishima even say?
“Ah, the second half’s starting.”
“Second half? …!!”
The green bib was gone, and there he was—number 18, wearing the bright crimson jersey.
Under my mask, I couldn’t help letting my lips curl up.
All my life I had been the one people cheered for—but maybe this excitement, seeing your “oshi” appear on stage, felt just like this.
“Sasaki-chan, he finally came out.”
“Yeah…”
Makishima stepped onto the pitch while talking with that curly-haired number 10.
He looked… different from usual.
Tall, slender, and serious.
His sharp eyes and focused expression made him look… kind of cool.
This was Makishima Yuutaro—the guy who came to Koutou University without ever making it to the nationals in three years.
“Go for it, Makishima.”
✳︎✳︎
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