As the players returned to the field, the spectators—who had briefly gone quiet—quickly came alive again.
"Nino, sit down already. You're blocking my view," Nakano Miku grumbled, tugging irritably at Nino's skirt.
Nakano Ichika cupped her cheeks and smiled teasingly. "Everyone knows how much you care about Shirase-kun's match, but don't you think you're getting a little too worked up?"
"I'm not anxious, it's just…" Nino sat back down, her face flushing bright red.
"Shirase-kun's pass just now was so cool!" Nakano Yotsuba's eyes sparkled as she stared at the field. "It's exactly like those highlight clips online! Their teamwork was perfect!"
Ichika's grin widened. "That's true. But if Shirase-kun keeps dazzling everyone like this, a certain someone's going to panic when we all start falling for him~"
"Ichika!" Nino's voice rose, her face now completely crimson.
Ichika chuckled but her gaze subtly shifted to Itsuki, who was sitting stiffly to her right. She'd seen it earlier—at the exact moment Shirase made that pass, both Nino and Itsuki had clenched their fists and stood up at the same time, holding their breath.
And when the goal went in, both girls had exhaled in unison before joining Yotsuba in cheering.
Now, with Ichika deliberately teasing Nino, Itsuki too had gone red to the ears, awkward and flustered.
If Ichika had only suspected before, now she was sure.
"This is all Shirase-kun's fault," Ichika murmured to herself, watching the familiar figure racing across the field.
The referee's whistle signaled the start of the second half—and just as Shirase and Hayama had predicted, Toritsu High immediately turned up the aggression.
Even though Hasebe, their ace, was still completely locked down by Shirase, the rest of the team wasn't weak—someone always stepped up.
By the 61st minute, a flawless three-man combination tore through Aoyama's defensive line. The ball slipped past the keeper and into the net.
1–1.
The defenders and goalkeeper knelt on the turf, faces twisted in frustration. They'd given everything, but Toritsu's strength was undeniable.
To everyone's surprise, it was the usually anxious captain who spoke first—encouraging his teammates, even apologizing to Shirase and the others.
"It's fine," Shirase said calmly, glancing at the celebrating opponents. "They're not satisfied with just equalizing. They'll keep pressing hard. Unless they're three or four goals up, they won't relax."
Hayama and the others exchanged looks.
That meant their chance to counterattack would come soon.
The next few minutes weren't as flashy, but they were brutal. Aoyama's team held their ground through sheer grit and guilt-fueled determination, while Toritsu pressed forward relentlessly, pride pushing them to reclaim control.
The tension kept building.
"Now entering the 68th minute," the commentator's voice boomed, "with just over ten minutes left, both teams' stamina is clearly fading. Hasebe still can't shake off Shirase, but his teammates have steadied the tempo. At this point, it's all about who scores next."
"It seems Toritsu High has studied Shirase-kun's style carefully. We've only seen one of his trademark sprints so far—he's being cautious about triggering an offside."
"Right now, Shirase's acting as the team's engine, constantly linking up play. He's their tactical core, trying to break this deadlock."
The commentator went on and on. Behind him, several Toritsu officials exchanged looks that screamed, Whose side are you on? At least praise our players a little!
"Hasebe's pass is intercepted again—but this time not by Shirase! It's Number 9, Hayama Hayato! He boots it forward—it looks like it'll go out of bounds! Toritsu will get another possession—wait! Who's that?! Number 10, Shirase! He's sprinting!"
The commentator's tone shot up several octaves.
Just when everyone thought the ball would roll out, Shirase's muscles coiled—and exploded.
The sudden burst of speed was so ferocious it stunned the entire stadium.
By the time the defenders realized he was chasing the ball, Hayama and the others were already reacting—they'd practiced this exact play in training.
Run, Shirase.
"Unbelievable! His stamina's still maxed out! Look at that acceleration—this is unreal! Compared to Shirase's explosive sprint, everyone else looks like they're standing still! He's caught up with the ball! He's left Hasebe in the dust! Incredible! This high-schooler just outran a soccer ball!"
Shirase stopped the ball smoothly, pivoted, and burst forward again without losing momentum.
The crowd erupted as they witnessed it: Hasebe and another defender chasing with everything they had—and still failing to close the gap.
"The last time I saw something like this was Kaká in Serie A!" the commentator cried. "Shirase's speed, control—this is pure artistry!"
The defenders were breaking.
We can't catch him!
No matter what, we can't catch him!
The helpless frustration of running full-speed and still falling behind crushed their spirits.
Their last hope was the defensive wall forming ahead.
"Shirase's charging straight for the goal! Toritsu's defenders are stepping up! Aoyama's players have caught up too—Number 9, Hayama Hayato, is right behind him! Will they link up again? Wait—what?! Shirase raised his leg! He's going for a shot from there?!"
Hasebe, still sprinting desperately, shouted in panic, "Stop him!"
"Toritsu's defense is closing in—but it's too late!"
"Shirase takes the shot—"
"Goal!!!"
The commentator's voice cracked with excitement as Shirase's cannon of a strike sliced through the air, too fast for the goalkeeper to even react.
The ball slammed into the net with a thunderous boom.
For a moment, the entire stadium froze.
Even Shirase's teammates stood still, stunned.
Only the commentator found his voice again. "What a strike! By my estimate, that was from twenty-five, maybe twenty-eight meters out! Who could've imagined Shirase had that kind of power?! Aoyama High retakes the lead! This goal was all him—speed, strength, precision—a complete solo masterpiece!"
The crowd exploded into cheers, a wave of ecstatic noise rippling across the stands.
Yukinoshita Yukino's eyes were fixed on Shirase, her pulse quickening without her even realizing.
On the pitch, Shirase didn't celebrate right away. He simply walked over to Hasebe, who stood there frozen, and said quietly,
"After facing your team over a hundred and thirty times in my dreams, I realized you're weak against long-range shots. Though I'm guessing your intel didn't mention I'm good at those."
Hasebe's head snapped toward him, face twisting with fury as Shirase jogged back to join his celebrating teammates.
His expression flickered between rage and disbelief.
A hundred and thirty times?! At least make your nonsense consistent, you bastard!