The miss should have been a victory.
Aka's shot had gone wide.
Southside survived.
The score remained 0–0.
Everything should have settled after that.
Instead—
the pressure got worse.
Because now Aka was smiling.
Players slowly returned to position while the crowd continued buzzing from the near goal.
Yuma wiped sweat from his forehead.
"...That was too close."
"No shit," Daichi muttered.
Tsubasa placed the ball down for the goal kick.
His hands felt heavier than usual.
The match wasn't even that old yet.
And already it felt exhausting.
The kick sailed toward midfield.
Takumi won the first challenge.
The ball bounced loose.
Hiroto collected.
"Move!"
Southside pushed forward immediately.
Quick passes.
Fast movement.
Trying to capitalize before Nocturne reorganized.
For a moment—
it worked.
Takumi slipped between defenders.
Sora overlapped.
Yuma charged into the box.
"NOW!"
Takumi threaded a pass forward.
Beautiful.
Perfectly weighted.
Yuma reached it first.
One touch.
Shot.
BLOCKED.
Marc Pelletier stepped across at the last possible second.
The ball ricocheted away.
"TCH!"
Yuma kicked the grass violently.
Nocturne recovered instantly.
One clearance.
One pass.
And suddenly the attack belonged to them again.
Pambara felt it immediately.
The transition.
The speed.
The organization.
Every player in black moved together.
Like pieces connected by invisible strings.
His eyes tracked the movement.
Theo drifting wide.
Lucien dropping deeper.
Réservoir sliding into space.
And Aka.
Still watching him.
"...Why?"
Pambara muttered under his breath.
The ball reached Réservoir.
He controlled effortlessly.
Looked up.
Then smiled.
"...You're distracted."
Pambara's stomach dropped.
The pass came instantly.
Straight toward Aka.
Aka received.
Turned.
Accelerated.
Again.
Kaito stepped forward.
Aka rolled past him.
Ren closed next.
Aka slipped away.
Everything looked familiar.
Too familiar.
The crowd rose from their seats.
"STOP HIM!" Yuma shouted.
Easier said than done.
Aka moved differently from everyone else.
His body never seemed committed to any direction.
Every feint looked real.
Every movement felt wrong.
He approached the edge of the box.
Daichi stepped up.
Aka slowed.
For half a second—
everything froze.
Then Aka looked directly at Pambara.
And passed.
The entire defense reacted late.
Because nobody expected it.
Theo received wide open.
"SHIT!"
Theo struck first time.
Tsubasa exploded sideways.
SAVE.
The crowd erupted.
The goalkeeper crashed into the post but held onto the ball.
No goal.
Still 0–0.
Southside exhaled collectively.
Tsubasa stood slowly.
Breathing hard.
"...We're letting them do whatever they want."
Nobody argued.
Because he was right.
The game restarted.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Every attack felt dangerous.
Every mistake felt fatal.
Southside weren't losing.
But they weren't controlling anything either.
Twenty minutes passed.
Then twenty-five.
Then thirty.
The scoreboard remained unchanged.
0–0.
Yet somehow—
it felt like Nocturne was winning anyway.
The crowd sensed it too.
The momentum.
The control.
The feeling that something inevitable was approaching.
Near midfield, Pambara intercepted a loose pass.
His first instinct was panic.
His second instinct was passing.
The ball reached Hiroto.
Then Takumi.
Then Yusuke.
A rare opening appeared.
"GO!" Hiroto shouted.
Yusuke surged forward.
Past one defender.
Then another.
The crowd finally came alive for Southside.
This was their chance.
Yusuke reached shooting range.
The goalkeeper adjusted.
He pulled his leg back.
Then—
Réservoir arrived.
Not with a tackle.
Not with a foul.
Just pressure.
Enough pressure.
The shot drifted slightly wide.
The chance vanished.
Réservoir watched the ball roll away.
"...Almost."
Yusuke clenched his jaw.
"...Shut up."
Réservoir laughed softly.
"...Getting emotional again."
The first-half clock continued ticking.
Thirty-five minutes.
Thirty-six.
Thirty-seven.
The match slowly transformed into a battle of endurance.
Southside defending.
Nocturne probing.
Southside surviving.
Nocturne waiting.
And through all of it—
Aka never stopped looking toward Pambara.
Not constantly.
Not obviously.
Just enough.
Like he was studying a puzzle.
Learning it piece by piece.
Pambara hated it.
Because deep down—
he knew what was happening.
Aka wasn't trying to beat him anymore.
He was trying to understand him.
And once Aka understood something—
he usually broke it.
The first half entered its final minutes.
The crowd buzzed.
The players looked exhausted.
The tension grew heavier with every second.
And then—
Réservoir received possession near midfield.
Looked up.
Smiled.
"...There you are."
Nobody knew who he was talking to.
But Pambara suddenly felt cold.
Very cold.
As Nocturne launched another attack.