Chapter Text
The heat was oppressive, the kind that made the air shimmer and distort everything in the distance. Ichigo Kurosaki lay flat on his back on the school rooftop, the rough stone floor pressing against his shoulder blades through his white school shirt.
His hands were folded underneath his head, creating a makeshift pillow that did little to cushion him from the hard surface. The breeze that occasionally swept across the rooftop offered some mild comfort, rustling his shirt around him, making the fabric dance and billow in irregular patterns. His orange hair, that distinctive shock of color that had earned him countless nicknames over the years, spread out beneath his head like a fiery halo.
He held one hand up in front of his face, trying to block out the relentless sun that beat down from directly overhead. Squinting with one eye, he watched as a lone bird crossed the sky, its wings beating steadily as it traveled from one end of his vision to the other.
The bells suddenly rang out across the school grounds, their sharp metallic sound cutting through the afternoon heat like a knife. Break was over. Ichigo didn't move immediately. He just lay there for another few seconds, staring up at the now empty sky where the bird had been, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on him in a way that had nothing to do with gravity.
Finally, with a deep sigh that seemed to come from somewhere in his bones, Ichigo pushed himself up to a sitting position. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the dampness of sweat at his temples, and then stood. His legs felt heavy as he made his way to the rooftop door and down the stairs into the main school building.
The corridors were mostly empty now, with students already filing back into their classrooms. Ichigo walked slowly, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. He was almost at his classroom when he heard the sound of rapid footsteps echoing down the hallway.
He looked up just in time to see three familiar figures sprinting toward the exit at the far end of the corridor. Orihime Inoue's long auburn hair streamed behind her as she ran, her school bag bouncing against her hip.
Beside her, Uryu Ishida's glasses caught the light as he pushed them up his nose without breaking stride. And bringing up the rear was Chad, his massive frame moving with surprising speed and grace.
They passed by Ichigo in a blur of motion and urgency. Orihime's head turned toward him for just a fraction of a second, her gray eyes meeting his, and she whispered hurriedly, "Please cover for..."
"Yeah, yeah," Ichigo said, not even looking at them properly. He couldn't bear to. He kept his eyes fixed on some point in the middle distance, his jaw clenched tight.
The three of them disappeared around the corner, and Ichigo stood there for a moment in the empty hallway, feeling something cold and bitter settling in his stomach. They were going to fight. They were going to protect people. They were doing his job for him. The job he couldn't do anymore because he had lost his powers in the fight against Aizen.
It was beyond humiliating.
Ichigo forced himself to move, walking into his classroom just as the teacher was calling roll. When she got to Orihime's name, Ichigo raised his hand slightly.
"She's at the nurse's office," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. "Felt sick during break."
The teacher nodded, making a note. When she called Uryu's name, Ichigo spoke again. "He's helping her get there."
Another nod. And when she called for Chad, Ichigo didn't even wait for her to look up. "Same."
The teacher accepted this without question. Ichigo had become quite good at making excuses for his friends over the past few months. It was about the only thing he was good for these days.
He slumped into his seat by the window and stared out at the school grounds below. The world blurred around him as his mind drifted, unfocused and restless. Ever since he had lost his powers against Aizen, everything had been different. He had thought, in those first few days after the battle, that maybe he had wanted this. A normal life. A chance to just be a regular high school student without the weight of protecting everyone on his shoulders.
But it turned out that normal was terribly, achingly boring. And worse than boring, it was humiliating. He shouldn't have to be protected by his friends. That wasn't how it ever worked. It never worked that way. He was supposed to be the one standing in front of them, taking the hits, doing the fighting. Not sitting in a classroom making excuses while they risked their lives.
The teacher's voice droned on at the front of the class, something about history or literature or mathematics, Ichigo wasn't even sure which subject this was supposed to be. The words washed over him like white noise, meaningless and distant. He watched a cloud drift slowly across the sky outside, changing shape as it moved, and felt nothing.
The bell rang again, signaling the end of the school day, and Ichigo was on his feet before the sound had fully faded. He grabbed his bag and was out the door before anyone could try to talk to him, before anyone could ask him questions or invite him to do something or remind him of how utterly ordinary his life had become.
He walked home through the familiar streets of Karakura Town, his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the pavement. The walk took about twenty minutes, and he spent every second of it trying not to think about anything at all.
When he got home, he went straight to his room, dropping his bag by the door and collapsing onto his bed. He stared up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster, and wondered how it was possible to feel so empty and so heavy at the same time.
His phone vibrated on his desk at exactly five pm. Ichigo groaned, reaching over to grab it without sitting up. He pressed it to his ear.
"Yo, who's this?" he said, his voice rough with disuse.
"The fuck you mean who's this!?" The voice on the other end was loud and angry and unmistakably belonging to one of his teammates. "We have a game on in 45 minutes and you haven't even showed up!? You orange haired cunt..."
Ichigo sat up, running his free hand over his face. "Alright already, I forgot, I'm on my way, take a breather."
"Oh you cocksucker-"
Ichigo closed the phone before the tirade could continue and tossed it onto his bed. He sat there for a moment, gathering the energy to move, and then finally pushed himself to his feet.
Football. Right. He was a footballer now. As embarrassing as it was to say that, as strange as it felt every time he thought about it, he went from fighting hollows to playing football.
It wasn't like it had been his choice, not really. Not after the whole fiasco with the coach, who had refused Ichigo's refusal with a stubbornness that would have been admirable if it hadn't been so annoying.
After Ichigo had lost his powers, he hadn't had much to do. The days had stretched out endlessly in front of him, each one exactly like the last, and he had needed something, anything, to fill the time. So, as foolish as it was, Ichigo had joined the athletics club. He had started running the one hundred meters, and it had turned out that he was fast. Really fast.
He was 0.2 seconds from breaking the world record.
The coaches had gone crazy when they saw his times. They had started talking about training regimens and competitions and the Olympics. The Olympics. Like Ichigo was going to stand on a podium and accept a medal for something that felt like cheating.
Because it had to be cheating, right? His body had gotten stronger due to his spiritual pressure, due to all those years of fighting as a Soul Reaper. Even if the powers were gone now, the physical changes remained. His speed, his strength, his reflexes, they were all beyond what a normal human should be capable of.
Or maybe it was just genetics, maybe he had always been this fast and just never knew it. It didn't matter to Ichigo one bit.
What mattered was that he didn't want to go to the Olympics.
He didn't want to take someone else's dream of being the fastest when he didn't even care about the record.
There were people out there who had trained their entire lives for a chance at that kind of glory, people for whom running was everything.
How could he just waltz in and take that away from them because he happened to have a body that had been forged in spiritual battles?
So he had quit the athletics club. But the school hadn't been willing to let him go that easily. They had practically forced him to join a sport, any sport, insisting that someone with his physical abilities had a responsibility to represent the school. The athletic club had been begging him to keep going, but the pressure had been too much. Ichigo had needed something with less expectations, less spotlight.
That's when the football coach had cornered him in the hallway one day, a stocky man with a gruff voice and eyes that saw right through Ichigo's attempts to brush him off. The coach had made him an offer, or rather, had made him a demand that sounded like an offer. Join the football team. No promises, no pressure about going pro, just play for the school and help them win some games.
Ichigo had tried to refuse. He had said no at least five times. But the coach had been relentless, showing up at his classroom, calling his house, even talking to his father. Eventually, Ichigo had given in, if only to make the man stop.
And now here he was, months later, pulling on his football kit in his bedroom and trying to remember why he had agreed to this in the first place.
He grabbed his boots from the closet, the black and white Adidas cleats that the school had provided, and sat on the edge of his bed to lace them up. Then he pulled on his coat, a dark blue jacket with the Karakura High School logo on the chest, and his jogger trousers over his shorts.
He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he headed for the door and almost laughed at the absurdity of it. Ichigo Kurosaki, former substitute Soul Reaper, savior of the Soul Society, now dressed up to play a game with a ball.
He made it to the school in record time, running most of the way, and saw the mini bus already there in the parking lot, its engine running. Through the windows he could see it was full of his teammates, all of them in their kits, all of them staring at him with varying expressions of annoyance and amusement.
The bus beeped once as soon as it saw him, a sharp sound that made Ichigo wince. His teammates immediately started pounding at the windows, their fists making dull thumping sounds against the glass.
The coach was in the driving seat, and when Ichigo pulled open the door and climbed aboard, the man's face was red with fury.
"Sit your ass down," the coach growled, not even looking at Ichigo.
Ichigo didn't say anything. He just walked down the aisle, past rows of grinning teammates who were clearly enjoying his discomfort.
"Fucking hell, just wake up princess?" one of them called out, a tall defender named Ryo Nakamura who played right back.
"He was probably busy dyeing his hair," another voice chimed in. That was Daichi Honda, the right winger, who thought he was funnier than he actually was.
Someone reached out and slapped Ichigo on the ass as he passed.
"Ginger cunt! Late as shit! Nearly missed the match! Useless git!"
The whole bus picked it up, their voices rising in unison, pounding out the rhythm by slapping the seats and stamping their feet.
"Ginger cunt! Late as shit! Nearly missed the match! Useless git!"
They weren't a bad bunch, really. Rough around the edges, sure, and they gave him endless shit, but... well that's it really.
The bus pulled out of the parking lot and headed toward the stadium. The chant gradually quieted down as they got closer, replaced by a tense silence. Ichigo could see some of his teammates getting nervous, their legs bouncing, their hands fidgeting with their kit.
He smirked at that. "Why's it so quiet all of a sudden?"
A few of them glanced at him but nobody answered. The weight of what they were about to do was settling over them like a heavy blanket. This was the finals. The Japan High School Nationals Finals. Everything they had worked for all season came down to this one game.
The coach's voice cut through the silence, loud and commanding. "Right! Listen up lads, we're in the fucking finals, don't muck about, straight into the changing rooms, and straight out, we've got 15 minutes to warm up, then I want everyone back in the changing rooms before kick off, off you go!"
The bus pulled up outside the stadium and the door hissed open. Everyone got off, filing out into the late afternoon sun, and that's when Ichigo heard it.
The screaming.
There were fans waiting outside the stadium entrance, dozens of them, maybe hundreds, pressed up against barriers that had been set up to keep them back. Most of them were girls, high school students in Karakura uniforms, but there were others too, younger kids, adults, people wearing homemade jerseys with Ichigo's number on them.
As soon as they saw him step off the bus, the screaming intensified. It was like a physical force, a wall of sound that hit him in the chest.
"Can I get a picture!" someone shrieked.
"I love you Ichigo!" another voice called out.
"Marry me!"
"Sign my shirt!"
Ichigo felt his face twist into a scowl. He hated this part, hated the attention, hated the way people looked at him like he was something special when he knew, he knew, that he was just going through the motions. He pushed through the crowd, ignoring the hands that reached out to touch him, ignoring the phones that were shoved in his face.
Behind him, he could hear some of his teammates laughing, enjoying the spectacle. A few of them stopped to take selfies with fans, soaking up the attention that Ichigo was so desperate to avoid.
Finally, he made it through the entrance and into the stadium proper, and the noise from outside faded to a dull roar.
But inside was even louder.
The stadium was massive, far bigger than any venue they had played at during the regular season. It could hold at least fifteen thousand people, and from what Ichigo could see as they walked through the tunnel toward the pitch, it was nearly full.
The stands rose up on all sides, tier after tier of seats packed with spectators. Banners hung from the railings, some supporting Karakura, others supporting Aomori. The Karakura section was a sea of blue and white, their school colors, with fans waving flags and scarves and beating drums.
The noise was incredible. It wasn't just loud, it was overwhelming, a constant roar that seemed to come from everywhere at once. Chants echoed around the stadium, competing with each other, rising and falling in waves. The air itself seemed to vibrate with the energy of thousands of people all focused on the same thing.
The lights were bright, professional grade floodlights that illuminated the pitch in stark detail even though the sun hadn't fully set yet. The grass was perfect, a rich green that looked like it had been manicured by hand, with crisp white lines marking out the boundaries and boxes.
Ichigo saw some of his teammates go pale as they took it all in. Hiroshi Yamamoto, their goalkeeper, looked like he might be sick. Takeshi Sato, the left back, had stopped walking entirely and was just staring up at the crowd with wide eyes.
But Ichigo felt nothing. No nervousness, no excitement, no fear. He had faced down impossible odds before, had stood in front of enemies that could destroy cities, had fought battles where the fate of entire worlds hung in the balance. A football match, even one this important, didn't make his heart rate raise even a single beat.
They made their way to the changing rooms, a long rectangular space with benches along the walls and hooks for their coats and bags. As soon as they were inside, one of the lads, Shoji Ito, pulled out a portable speaker and connected his phone.
Music blasted out, a pop song that Ichigo vaguely recognized. "Nice to meet you, where you been? I can show you incredible things..."
The boys started singing along immediately, their voices loud and off key, dancing as they stripped off their coats and trousers. The nervous energy from a moment ago transformed into something else, something manic and excited. They shoved each other, laughed, kept singing at the top of their lungs.
Ichigo took off his coat and trousers in silence, folding them them on the bench. Then he headed for the door.
"Where you going?" Kenji Tanaka called after him, the midfielder who usually fed Ichigo his best passes.
"Out," Ichigo said simply, and pushed through the door onto the pitch.
The roar of the crowd intensified the moment he appeared. The shouts got even louder, a wall of sound that would have been deafening if Ichigo had let himself pay attention to it.
He gave a little wave, barely raising his hand, and the screams got even stronger. He could hear his name being chanted, could hear people calling out to him, but he tuned it all out and started jogging along the sideline.
Then he heard it. A new chant, starting in the Karakura section and spreading rapidly through the crowd.
"Orange bastard! Oi oi oi! Orange bastard! Oi oi oi! Scores for fun! Yeah yeah yeah! Ichigo! Ichigo!"
The rest of the team came out onto the pitch a moment later, and they started their warm up routine. Light jogging first, running the length of the pitch and back, getting their muscles loose.
On the other side of the field, Ichigo could see Aomori High School doing the same thing, their players in red and white kits.
After the jogging, the team started running through drills. Passing exercises, shooting practice, defensive positioning. Ichigo watched them for about thirty seconds and then scowled, sighed, and walked off toward the changing rooms.
He had barely made it five steps when he felt a hand clamp down on his arm. The coach had appeared beside him, his face red and his jaw clenched.
"Ichigo," the coach said, his voice low and dangerous. "You need to do these drills, especially you."
Ichigo looked down at the hand on his arm, then up at the coach's face.
"Fuck that," he said simply, and shrugged the hand off.
He walked away, ignoring the coach's sputtered protests, and went back into the changing rooms. He pulled out his phone and collapsed onto one of the benches, scrolling through social media without really seeing any of it.
Football wasn't difficult for Ichigo. The game made sense to him in a way that was almost instinctive. He could see where the ball was going to go before it got there, could read the movements of other players like they were written in a book.
And his speed, that ridiculous speed that had almost taken him to the Olympics, made him nearly impossible to defend against when he decided to actually try.
But he didn't take it seriously. Not one bit. He just did it because he didn't want to be around his friends, didn't want to see them going off to fight while he stayed behind.
At least here, on the football pitch, he had a purpose. It was a stupid purpose, a meaningless purpose, but it was something.
The team finished their warm up and came back into the changing rooms, sweaty and breathing hard. The music was still playing, a different song now. "Oh I think I found myself a cheerleader, she's always right there where I need her..."
"Oi! Turn it off now!" the coach shouted, his voice cutting through the music like a knife.
The music cut off immediately. Shoji fumbled with his phone, nearly dropping it in his haste to comply.
"Right get in a huddle," the coach said, his voice still hard but slightly calmer now.
Everyone grabbed their shirt, pulling it tight against their chest, and moved into a tight circle in the center of the room. Ichigo stayed on the bench for a moment, but Kenji reached over and grabbed his arm, pulling him into the circle.
The coach stood in the middle, looking at each of them in turn.
"This is it lads, yeah? Everything we've been working towards for months, this is the moment. Remember the systems, don't get greedy, and if there's space, Ichigo will be able to get there, just pass the ball. The game's ours boys yeah? Karakura on three."
The boys started screaming, their voices rising in anticipation. "One, two, three, Karakura!"
Ichigo didn't join in. He just stood there, his face blank, waiting for it to be over.
One of the lads, Daichi, started barking like a dog, a weird pre game ritual that he had started a few matches ago. The others picked it up, barking and howling as they filed toward the door in single file.
The coach had forced Ichigo to be at the front of the line, said it was good for team morale or some shit like that.
So Ichigo led them out, walking through the tunnel and back onto the pitch.
The other team was right beside them, filing out of their own changing room at the same time. Ichigo didn't look at them. In his mind, they weren't really there. The game was as good as over.
He would score his goals, they would win, and then he could go home and try to forget about all of this for a few hours.
"Hey you."
The voice was young and sharp and directed at him. Ichigo glanced over and saw nothing.
Then he looked down and saw a short boy with pink hair staring intensely into his eyes.
"Oh sorry, didn't see ya there," Ichigo said. "What?"
The boy's eyes narrowed.
"Didn't see me huh, that's funny."
He took a step closer, and Ichigo could see that he was maybe five foot four at most.
"Bet you'll see me when I fucking destroy your team."
Ichigo felt a genuine smile cross his face for the first time all day. "Right, like I'll let a manlet ever beat me."
The ref came in and blew his whistle, signaling for the teams to come out onto the pitch.
Ichigo stuck his tongue out at the short kid and turned away.
Behind him, he heard one of his teammates whisper urgently. "Oi isn't that 'Aomori's Messi'?"
Ichigo looked back at his teammate, Takao Watanabe, the team captain and central defender. Takao's face was stone serious, but his lip twitched slightly.
Ichigo let out a loud laugh, and Takao laughed with him.
"Can't wait to see this," Ichigo said, still grinning. "Probably gave him that nickname cause of how short that cunt is."
"Oi stop fucking about," the coach hissed from behind them, his voice aggressive but quiet enough that the ref wouldn't hear.
The teams walked out onto the pitch properly now, and the crowd's roar reached a new level of intensity. The national anthem began playing over the stadium speakers, a solemn melody that seemed out of place with all the noise and energy.
The teams stood in opposing lines facing each other, each player grabbing their shirt over their heart. Ichigo stood across from the short pink haired kid, who was still staring at him with that intense expression.
The anthem played through to the end, and when it finished, everyone clapped politely. Then the teams broke apart and went to their positions.
Ichigo was the striker, of course. He wore the number one on his back.
The ref summoned the captains to the center circle for the coin toss. Takao jogged over from his position in defense, and from the other team came the short pink haired kid.
Ichigo blinked in surprise.
The ref flipped the coin, and after a brief discussion, Aomori won the toss. They chose to kick off.
Ichigo stretched lightly as he walked to the center circle, rolling his shoulders and shaking out his legs.
The Aomori striker, a tall kid with a shaved head, stood next to him waiting for the whistle.
Up in the commentary box
"Right here we are. Finals, Karakura vs Aomori, some people are very surprised that Karakura has made it this far and not without reason seeing as it hasn't seen the finals since 1907, but most say that it is due to one player."
The second commentator jumped in immediately. "Yep, Ichigo Kurosaki, star player of the team, 23 goals in 17 games, an insane stat."
"Yes he's without a doubt a very anticipated player by the media. He's already being called a generational striker."
"Yes although, some people say that he's only good at this level due to his speed, and he has very low technical ability."
"Well that's obviously a little exaggerated, not without-uh-reason, he's definitely more of a shooter than a dribbler."
"Let's take a look at the formations."
A graphic appeared on the big screens at either end of the stadium, showing Karakura's setup.
They were playing a 4-1-4-1, with Ichigo alone up top as the striker. Behind him was a line of four midfielders: Daichi Honda on the right wing, Kenji Tanaka and Shoji Ito in the center, and Kaito Suzuki on the left wing.
Sitting just in front of the defense was their defensive midfielder. Then came the back four: Ryo Nakamura at right back, Takao Watanabe and another center back in the middle, and Takeshi Sato at left back. Hiroshi Yamamoto stood in goal.
"Very attacking formation from Karakura," the first commentator noted. "They're clearly banking on Kurosaki's ability to hold the ball up and finish chances."
"And look at Aomori's setup, much more balanced."
Aomori were playing a 4-3-3, with three forwards spread across the front line and three midfielders sitting deeper. Their defense was similarly structured to Karakura's, but the overall shape was more compact, more defensively solid.
"Aomori will be looking to control possession and build through the midfield. Their captain, Hajime Nishioka, will be key to that."
"Interesting that he's their captain despite being one of the youngest players on the pitch."
The ref blew his whistle, and the match began.
The Aomori striker touched the ball back to their midfielder, who immediately passed it wide to the right wing. Karakura's players pressed forward, trying to win the ball back early, but Aomori were patient, passing it around the back, probing for openings.
After about thirty seconds of possession, Aomori's left back played a long ball forward toward their striker. Takao read it perfectly, stepping in front of the Aomori player and heading the ball clear. It fell to Shoji Ito, Karakura's defensive midfielder, who controlled it with his chest and then passed it forward to Kenji Tanaka.
Kenji took a touch, his left foot cushioning the ball, and then looked up to assess his options. Ichigo was already moving, sprinting forward into space, and Kenji saw him immediately.
But before Kenji could make the pass, an Aomori midfielder closed him down, forcing Kenji to take another touch. This one was heavy, the ball bouncing a bit too far in front of him, and the Aomori player lunged in to try and win it.
Kenji reacted on instinct. He spun away from the challenge, his body rotating in a perfect pirouette, the ball somehow staying glued to his foot throughout the entire movement. He came out of the spin facing forward, the Aomori player left behind him, and the crowd roared in appreciation.
"Beautiful skill from Tanaka!" the commentator's voice boomed over the speakers. "That's the kind of technical ability that makes him such a valuable player for Karakura."
Kenji pushed forward, driving into Aomori's half. Ichigo was still running, his hand raised, calling for the ball.
"Kenji!" Ichigo shouted, his voice cutting through the noise of the crowd.
Kenji didn't hesitate. He played a pinpoint pass forward, the ball rolling perfectly into the space ahead of Ichigo, weighted so that Ichigo could run onto it at full speed.
But Ichigo's first touch was terrible. He tried to control it with the outside of his right foot, but he caught it all wrong, and the ball bounced away from him at an awkward angle. It rolled toward the sideline, heading out of play, and the Aomori defenders immediately relaxed, assuming it would be their throw in.
They had made a mistake.
Ichigo exploded into a sprint, his legs pumping, his body leaning forward. He was fast, faster than anyone else on the pitch, and he closed the distance to the ball in a heartbeat. Just before it crossed the white line, Ichigo threw himself into a slide, his boots scraping across the grass, and he managed to hook the ball back into play.
"There's that speed of his!" the commentator shouted. "Fastest up and coming player in the country, his weapon is definitely dangerous!"
Ichigo scrambled to his feet, but the Aomori defenders had recovered now. Two of them were in front of him, blocking his path to goal, their bodies low and balanced.
Ichigo tried to dribble around them, pushing the ball to the left and then trying to cut back to the right, but one of the defenders read the move and stuck out a leg. The ball deflected away, rolling toward the touchline again.
"Good hustle from Kurosaki," the commentator said. "He's not the most technical player but you can't fault his work rate."
Ichigo ran for the ball again, getting there just before an Aomori midfielder. He shielded it with his body, feeling the other player pressing against his back, and then managed to turn and win a few yards of space.
He was thirty five meters away from goal now, maybe more. Too far to shoot, surely. The sensible thing would be to pass it back, retain possession, build up the attack properly.
Ichigo took a touch forward with his right foot, and then, without any warning, he struck the ball with his left.
It was like a gunshot. The sound of his boot connecting with the ball echoed around the stadium. The ball took off like a rocket, rising rapidly, curving through the air in a vicious arc.
The Aomori goalkeeper saw it late, his eyes going wide as he realized what was happening. He threw himself to his right, his arms stretching out, his fingers grasping for the ball.
But it was too fast, too perfectly placed. The ball curved past his outstretched hands and smashed into the top corner of the net, hitting the underside of the crossbar with a metallic clang before dropping down behind the goal line.
The stadium exploded. The Karakura section erupted in a roar of pure joy, fans jumping up and down, waving their flags and scarves. The chant started up again, louder than ever. "Orange bastard! Oi oi oi! Orange bastard! Oi oi oi!"
Ichigo's teammates mobbed him, jumping on his back, ruffling his hair, screaming in his face. Ichigo let them, his face showing the barest hint of a smile.
"What a strike!" the commentator was yelling. "Absolutely sensational from Ichigo Kurosaki! Thirty five meters out and he just decides to have a go, and what a goal! Top bins, the goalkeeper had no chance!"
"That's what he does," the second commentator added. "He might not be the best dribbler, might not have the best first touch, but when he shoots, it's like a cannon. Absolutely unstoppable when he catches it right."
The celebration died down and the players jogged back to their positions. The scoreboard at the end of the stadium updated: Karakura 1, Aomori 0.
Aomori kicked off again, and this time there was a new urgency to their play. They passed the ball quickly, moving it from side to side, trying to pull Karakura's defense out of position.
The pink haired kid, Hajime, was at the center of everything. He dropped deep to collect the ball from his defenders, then turned and drove forward, his small frame somehow making him harder to tackle. He played quick one twos with his teammates, always moving, always looking for space.
"Aomori are responding well here," the commentator noted. "They're not letting that early goal affect them, they're sticking to their game plan."
Hajime received the ball on the edge of Karakura's box and immediately played it wide to his right winger. The winger took a touch and then whipped in a cross toward the back post. Aomori's striker rose above Takao, his head connecting with the ball, but Hiroshi in goal was perfectly positioned. He caught the ball cleanly, clutching it to his chest.
"Good save from Yamamoto, although that header was right at him."
Hiroshi rolled the ball out to Ryo at right back. Ryo took a touch and then played it inside to Shoji. Shoji turned and looked for Kenji, but Kenji was marked tightly. Instead, Shoji played it back to Takao.
Takao had time on the ball. He looked up and saw Ichigo making a run down the left channel, drifting away from the Aomori center backs. Takao hit a long diagonal ball, trying to find Ichigo's run.
But the pass was slightly overhit, and Ichigo had to stretch to reach it. His control let him down again, the ball bouncing off his shin and rolling away. An Aomori defender was there immediately, clearing it upfield.
"Kurosaki's technical limitations on display there," the commentator said. "If he could control the ball as well as he can shoot it, he'd be unstoppable."
The game settled into a rhythm. Aomori had more possession, passing the ball patiently, but Karakura were dangerous on the counter attack. Every time Ichigo got the ball, the crowd held its breath, waiting to see if he would produce another moment of magic.
In the twentieth minute, Hajime picked up the ball in midfield and started driving forward. He was quick, his feet moving in a blur, and he skipped past Shoji's challenge with ease. Kenji came across to cover, but Hajime played a quick pass to his striker and kept running.
The striker laid it back first time, and suddenly Hajime was through on goal, one on one with Hiroshi.
The stadium held its breath. Hajime took a touch to steady himself, and then side footed the ball toward the bottom corner.
Hiroshi dived, his body stretching out, and somehow got a hand to it. The ball deflected wide for a corner.
"What a save!" the commentator screamed. "Yamamoto denies Aomori the equalizer with a fantastic stop!"
The corner came in, a dangerous inswinger, and bodies flew everywhere in the box. The ball pinged around, deflecting off shins and chests, before finally falling to an Aomori midfielder on the edge of the box. He struck it first time, a clean connection, but the ball flew just over the crossbar.
"So close for Aomori! They're really putting the pressure on now."
Karakura tried to respond. Kaito Suzuki, their left winger, got the ball and drove down the flank. He beat his man with a nice bit of skill and then cut the ball back toward the penalty spot. Ichigo was there, his foot raised to shoot, but an Aomori defender slid in and blocked it. The ball looped up in the air and the goalkeeper caught it easily.
The first half continued in this vein, back and forth, both teams creating chances. In the thirty fifth minute, Aomori finally got their equalizer.
It started with Hajime again. He received the ball in the center circle and immediately turned, facing forward. He played a quick pass to his right winger and then sprinted forward, calling for the return ball.
The winger played it back first time, and Hajime was away. He drove into Karakura's half, his legs pumping, the ball seemingly tied to his feet. Takao came across to challenge him, but Hajime dropped his shoulder and went the other way, leaving Takao grasping at air.
Now it was just Hajime and the other center back. Hajime slowed down slightly, his eyes on the defender, waiting for him to commit. The defender lunged in, and Hajime touched the ball past him, accelerating into the box.
Hiroshi came off his line, trying to narrow the angle, but Hajime was too quick. He took one more touch and then slotted the ball past Hiroshi's outstretched leg, into the bottom corner.
The Aomori section of the crowd erupted, their red and white flags waving frantically. Kaito ran to the corner flag and slid on his knees, his teammates piling on top of him.
"Goal for Aomori!" the commentator shouted. "And it's their captain, Hajime Nishioka, who gets it! What a run, what a finish! He made that look easy!"
"That's why they call him Aomori's Messi," the second commentator added. "That kind of dribbling ability, that composure in front of goal, he's a special player."
The scoreboard updated: Karakura 1, Aomori 1.
Ichigo stood in the center circle, his hands on his hips, watching the Aomori players celebrate. He felt nothing. Just the same empty feeling that had been with him all day.
Karakura kicked off, and immediately went on the attack. They were stung by the equalizer, and they wanted to restore their lead before half time.
Kenji got the ball in midfield and played it wide to Daichi on the right wing. Daichi took a touch and then whipped in a cross toward the back post. Ichigo was there, rising above the Aomori left back, his head connecting with the ball.
But his header was weak, lacking power, and the goalkeeper caught it easily.
"Kurosaki should have done better there," the commentator said. "That was a good chance."
Two minutes later, Karakura had another opportunity. Shoji won the ball in midfield with a crunching tackle and immediately played it forward to Kaito Suzuki on the left. Suzuki drove toward the byline and then cut the ball back across the face of goal.
Ichigo was there again, his foot outstretched, but an Aomori defender got there first and cleared it for a corner.
The corner came in, and there was a scramble in the box. Bodies everywhere, arms and legs tangling, and then suddenly the ball squirted out to Kenji on the edge of the area. Kenji controlled it with his chest and then volleyed it toward goal.
The shot was goal bound, but an Aomori defender threw himself in front of it, blocking it with his body. The ball deflected out for another corner.
"Karakura are really pushing for a second goal before half time," the commentator noted. "They know how important it would be to go into the break with the lead."
The second corner came in, and this time Takao got his head to it. His header was powerful, directed toward the bottom corner, but the Aomori goalkeeper dived and pushed it around the post.
"Another great save! Aomori's goalkeeper is keeping them in this game."
Hajime got the ball and sprinted forward, but Shoji tracked back and made a perfectly timed tackle, winning the ball cleanly.
The ref blew his whistle for half time. Karakura 1, Aomori 1.
The teams trudged off the pitch, and Ichigo could hear the coach already starting to shout instructions before they even reached the changing room.
"Right, listen up! We're playing well, we're creating chances, but we need to be more clinical! Ichigo, you need to be more aggressive in the box, don't wait for the perfect chance, just shoot! Kenji, you're doing great, keep finding those passes. Defense, tighten up, don't let that little shit run at you, close him down early..."
Ichigo tuned it out. He sat on the bench and pulled out his phone, scrolling through messages he had no intention of answering.
The fifteen minute break passed quickly, and then they were back out on the pitch for the second half.
Karakura kicked off this time, and they started brightly. Ichigo passed the ball back to Kenji, who immediately played it wide to Daichi. Daichi drove forward and then cut inside, playing a one two with Shoji before shooting from the edge of the box.
The shot was well struck, but the Aomori goalkeeper was equal to it, diving to his left and pushing it wide.
"Good save again! Aomori's goalkeeper is having a fantastic game."
The corner came in, and once again there was a scramble. The ball bounced around the box before eventually being cleared.
Aomori countered, Hajime driving forward with the ball. He played it wide to his left winger, who took a touch and then crossed it into the box. Aomori's striker got his head to it, but his header went just wide of the post.
"So close for Aomori! This game is really opening up now."
In the fifty fifth minute, Aomori took the lead with a goal that would be replayed for years to come.
Hajime received the ball in his own half, just inside the center circle. He took a touch and looked up, surveying the field. Then he started running.
He drove forward, the ball at his feet, and immediately an Aomori teammate made a run to his left, dragging a Karakura defender with him. This created space for Hajime, and he accelerated into it.
Shoji came across to challenge him, but Hajime dropped his shoulder and went right. Shoji lunged in, but Hajime was already gone, the ball rolling past him.
Now Kenji was there, trying to block Hajime's path. Hajime slowed down, his eyes on Kenji, and then suddenly he pushed the ball through Kenji's legs, nutmegging him. The crowd gasped, and Hajime was through, sprinting into Karakura's half.
Takao came across, the last defender, his face set in concentration. He stayed on his feet, backing off, trying to shepherd Hajime away from goal.
But Hajime was too good. He feinted to go left, and Takao shifted his weight. Then Hajime went right, his foot flicking the ball past Takao's outstretched leg. Takao tried to recover, spinning around, but he lost his balance and fell.
Hajime was through on goal now, one on one with Hiroshi. The goalkeeper came off his line, making himself big, but Hajime was ice cold. He took one touch to the left, opening up the angle, and then fired the ball across Hiroshi's body into the far corner.
The net bulged, and the Aomori section of the crowd went absolutely mental. Hajime ran toward them, his arms spread wide, and his teammates chased after him, screaming and laughing.
"Oh my word!" the commentator was shouting. "What a goal! What an absolutely sensational goal from Hajime Nishioka! He's just dribbled through the entire Karakura team! He nutmegged one, sent another to the shops, and then finished with absolute composure! That is a goal worthy of winning any final!"
"That's world class," the second commentator added, his voice full of awe. "That's the kind of goal you see in the Champions League, not in a high school match. Hajime Nishioka has just announced himself on the biggest stage."
The scoreboard updated: Karakura 1, Aomori 2.
Karakura kicked off, and this time there was real urgency in their play. They were behind in the final, and time was running out.
They pushed forward in numbers, committing players to the attack. Daichi got the ball on the right wing and drove toward the byline. He cut the ball back to Kenji, who took a touch and then played it to Ichigo.
Ichigo was twenty eight meters from goal, with two defenders in front of him. He took one touch with his right foot, and then, without any backlift or warning, he struck the ball with his instep.
The ball took off like it had been fired from a cannon. It curved violently in the air, bending around the defenders, rising and dipping. The Aomori goalkeeper saw it late, his eyes going wide, and he threw himself to his right.
But the ball was already past him, curving into the far top corner, hitting the side netting with a satisfying thud.
The Karakura section erupted again, and Ichigo's teammates mobbed him once more. The chant started up, louder than ever. "Orange bastard! Oi oi oi!"
"He's done it again!" the commentator screamed. "Ichigo Kurosaki with another absolute screamer! Twenty eight meters out and he just bends it into the top corner! The goalkeeper had no chance, absolutely no chance!"
"That's two goals from outside the box, both of them unstoppable," the second commentator added. "When Kurosaki shoots, you just have to hope he misses, because if he catches it right, there's nothing you can do."
The scoreboard updated: Karakura 2, Aomori 2.
The game was level again, and both teams knew that the next goal would be crucial.
The match became increasingly frantic. Both teams were tired now, legs heavy, lungs burning, but neither would give an inch.
In the sixty eighth minute, Aomori scored again. It was a simple goal, nothing like Hajime's solo masterpiece, but it counted just the same.
An Aomori midfielder played a long ball over the top of Karakura's defense. Their striker made a run, timing it perfectly to stay onside, and suddenly he was through. Hiroshi came off his line, but the striker got there first and poked the ball past him.
It rolled toward the goal, seemingly in slow motion, and crossed the line before Takao could get back to clear it.
"Goal for Aomori!" the commentator shouted. "They've retaken the lead! Karakura 2, Aomori 3!"
The Aomori fans were delirious, singing and chanting, believing that their team was about to win the championship.
But Karakura weren't done yet.
They kicked off and immediately went on the attack. The ball moved quickly through midfield, from Shoji to Kenji to Daichi. Daichi drove down the right wing, beating his man with a burst of pace, and then cut the ball back toward the penalty spot.
Ichigo was there, his foot raised to shoot, but an Aomori defender slid in and blocked it. The ball deflected out to Kaito Suzuki on the left side of the box.
Hajime took a touch and then crossed it back into the middle. There was a scramble, bodies everywhere, and then suddenly the ball fell to one of Karakura's midfielders, unmarked, six yards from goal.
He struck it first time, and the ball flew into the net.
"Goal!" the commentator screamed. "Karakura have equalized again! What a game this is! We're level at 3-3 with twenty minutes to play!"
The Karakura section was going wild, and the players celebrated frantically. They knew they had been given a lifeline, and they couldn't waste it.
The final twenty minutes were absolute chaos. Both teams created chances, both goalkeepers made saves, and the crowd was on their feet for every attack.
In the seventy fifth minute, Hajime had a chance to complete his hat trick. He received the ball on the edge of the box and took a touch to create space. His shot was well struck, curling toward the top corner, but Hiroshi threw himself through the air and tipped it over the bar.
"What a save from Yamamoto! That would have been another sensational goal from Hajime Nishioka, but the Karakura goalkeeper denies him!"
Three minutes later, Ichigo had a chance. Kenji played a perfect through ball, splitting the Aomori defense, and Ichigo was through on goal. He took a touch, and then another, trying to round the goalkeeper, but he took too long and an Aomori defender got back to make a last ditch tackle.
"Kurosaki should have shot earlier! He's overthinking it, and it's cost him a chance at his hat trick!"
The game entered the final ten minutes, and the tension was unbearable. Every pass was met with a roar or a groan from the crowd. Every tackle was scrutinized. Every decision from the ref was questioned.
In the eighty seventh minute, Karakura won a free kick in their own half. Ryo stood over it, looking upfield, trying to find a target.
He saw Ichigo making a run down the left channel, drifting away from the Aomori center backs. Ryo hit a long ball, high and looping, trying to find Ichigo's run.
The ball came down, and Ichigo controlled it on his chest. It dropped to his feet, and he took a touch forward, into the box.
Two Aomori defenders were closing in on him, trying to block his path to goal. Ichigo knew he didn't have time to dribble past them. His technical ability wasn't good enough for that.
So he did the only thing he could do. He shot.
He was on the edge of the box, maybe fifteen meters from goal, at an impossible angle near the byline. The goal was almost entirely blocked by the goalkeeper's body and the near post.
But Ichigo struck the ball anyway, his left foot connecting with it perfectly, and the ball took off like a thunderbolt.
It traveled in a perfect arc, bending impossibly around the goalkeeper's desperate dive, curving away from the near post and then back in toward the far corner. The ball seemed to defy physics, moving in ways that shouldn't have been possible.
The goalkeeper was still in the air, his arms outstretched, when the ball nestled in the top corner of the net.
For a moment, there was silence. The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath, unable to believe what they had just seen.
Then the Karakura section exploded. The noise was deafening, a wall of sound that shook the very foundations of the stadium. Fans were jumping up and down, hugging each other, crying, screaming themselves hoarse.
Ichigo's teammates mobbed him, pulling him to the ground, piling on top of him. The coach was on the sideline, pumping his fists, screaming at the sky.
"GOAL!" the commentator was screaming, his voice cracking with emotion. "ICHIGO KUROSAKI HAS DONE IT AGAIN! WHAT A GOAL! WHAT AN ABSOLUTELY SENSATIONAL GOAL! FROM AN IMPOSSIBLE ANGLE, HE'S SOMEHOW BENT IT INTO THE TOP CORNER! THAT IS ONE OF THE GREATEST GOALS I HAVE EVER SEEN!"
"I don't believe it," the second commentator was saying, his voice full of awe. "I genuinely don't believe what I just saw. That angle, that curve, that power. That's not human. That's absolutely not human."
The scoreboard updated: Karakura 4, Aomori 3.
There were only three minutes of normal time left, plus whatever stoppage time the ref would add on.
Aomori kicked off, and they threw everything forward. They knew this was their last chance. Hajime was everywhere, demanding the ball, trying to create one more moment of magic.
But Karakura's defense held firm. Takao was immense, winning every header, making every tackle. The midfield dropped deep, helping out, and Aomori couldn't find a way through.
The ref looked at his watch and held up his board. Four minutes of stoppage time.
Aomori kept pushing. In the second minute of stoppage time, they won a corner. Everyone went forward, even their goalkeeper, desperately trying to force an equalizer.
The corner came in, a dangerous ball whipped toward the near post. Bodies flew everywhere, and the ball pinged around the box. It fell to Hajime, six yards from goal, and he struck it first time.
But Hiroshi was there, throwing his body in front of the shot. The ball hit him in the chest and deflected away for another corner.
"What a block from Yamamoto! He's putting his body on the line for Karakura!"
The second corner came in, and this time Takao got his head to it, clearing it upfield. The ball bounced once, twice, and then rolled out of play.
The ref looked at his watch. Thirty seconds left.
Aomori took the throw in quickly, and they pushed forward one last time. The ball moved from player to player, desperately trying to find an opening, but Karakura's defense was resolute.
Finally, with ten seconds left, Shoji won the ball with a crunching tackle. He looked up and saw Ichigo sprinting forward, and he played a long ball upfield.
Ichigo chased after it, but he was too tired now, his legs heavy. An Aomori defender got there first and cleared it into touch.
The ref blew his whistle. Three short blasts. The game was over.
Karakura had won. 4-3. They were the champions.
The Karakura players collapsed to the ground, some of them crying, others laughing hysterically. The fans in the stands were going absolutely mental, singing and chanting and waving their flags.
Ichigo stood in the center circle, his hands on his knees, breathing hard. He felt his teammates grabbing him, pulling him into hugs, screaming in his face, but it all felt distant, like it was happening to someone else.
The trophy presentation happened in a blur. The Karakura team lined up, and one by one they went up to receive their medals. When it was Ichigo's turn, the presenter shook his hand and hung the gold medal around his neck. It was heavy, heavier than Ichigo had expected.
Then came the trophy itself, a large silver cup with blue and white ribbons attached to the handles. The presenter handed it to Takao, the captain, and Takao immediately turned and gave it to Ichigo.
"You lift it," Takao said, grinning. "You won it for us."
Ichigo wanted to refuse, wanted to say that it was a team effort, that everyone had contributed. But his teammates were already pushing him forward, chanting his name, and he found himself standing in front of them, the trophy in his hands.
He lifted it above his head, and the crowd roared. His teammates cheered from behind him, jumping up and down, and confetti began to fall from the roof of the stadium, blue and white pieces of paper drifting down like snow.
Ichigo stood there, the trophy held high, and felt absolutely nothing. The emptiness inside him hadn't gone away. If anything, it felt bigger now, a vast hollow space that no amount of goals or trophies could fill.
Eventually, the celebration died down. The team took photos, did interviews with reporters, and then finally made their way back to the changing rooms.
By the time they got back on the mini bus, it was late. The adrenaline had worn off, and exhaustion had set in. Ichigo was the last one to board, and when he climbed the steps, he saw that everyone else was already asleep. They were slumped in their seats, heads resting against windows, mouths open, completely dead to the world.
Ichigo made his way to the back of the bus and sat down. The coach started the engine, and they pulled out of the stadium parking lot.
Ichigo stared out the window as they drove through the dark streets of the city. The lights blurred past, and he felt the weight of the medal still hanging around his neck. He should take it off, should put it in his bag, but he couldn't summon the energy to move.
The drive back to Karakura took about an hour. When they finally pulled up outside the school, Ichigo was the only one still awake. The coach looked back at him through the rearview mirror.
"Good game, kid," the coach said quietly.
Ichigo nodded but didn't say anything. He stood up, grabbed his bag, and stepped off the bus.
The walk home was quiet. The streets were empty, most people already asleep. Ichigo's footsteps echoed off the buildings, a steady rhythm that matched his heartbeat.
When he finally reached his house, he saw that the lights were off. His family was asleep. He unlocked the door as quietly as he could and stepped inside.
There was a letter on the table in the hallway, a plain white envelope with his name written on it in neat handwriting. Ichigo picked it up, frowning. He didn't recognize the handwriting, and there was no return address.
He tore open the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. "Blue Lock huh?"