Night fell over the Phantom Force training facility, but the floodlights in the tactical room stayed bright. The players gathered around a digital board, their faces tense under the soft hum of the projector. Coach Tenjo stood in front of them, arms crossed, his eyes unusually sharp.
"This is not just any team," he began, voice low but firm. "Crusher Eleven. You all know the name."
Jim leaned forward. Even Volt, usually laid-back, was silent. Only Alex's calm expression remained unchanged, but even he was gripping his notebook tighter than usual.
"They're notorious for what they call 'tactical disruption.' What it really means is dirty fouls, brutal tackles, time-wasting… anything to throw you off your game." Tenjo's fingers moved quickly, switching to clips on the screen.
The room fell silent as video footage played: elbows thrown, legs swiped, taunts whispered into ears. Opposing players limped off, some stretchered out.
"They don't play to win fairly," Tenjo continued. "They play to break you mentally and physically. And their coach? He encourages it."
The final clip froze on a still image: a towering player, muscles rippling, golden eyes glaring into the camera with a smirk that radiated malice.
"That's their captain—Raiku Soga. Position: Striker. Sprite: Saber Lion."
A sharp intake of breath filled the room. The image of the Saber Lion behind Raiku looked feral, its mane flaring like a solar storm.
Tenjo glanced at Jim. "And there's one more thing. Their right midfielder… Rento Vare. His sprite is a Hydra." And Tokito te main defender with black turtle sprite in short the unbreakable wall of type 1 tournament
"They say his sync rate's the highest among the team. Cold, analytical, brutal. He's the brain. Raiku's the brawn."
Jim couldn't look away from Rento's image. The Hydra sprite behind him was lean and agile—, eyes intelligent and cold. A strategist. A rival.
The room was thick with tension, until Volt suddenly blurted out, "So… they're strong, dirty, and ugly. Got it." He shot a grin around the room, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Tenjo cracked a faint smile. "Rest up. We'll need every ounce of strength."
Later that night, on the balcony outside the dorms, Jim leaned against the railing, staring at the moonlit field. The wind was quiet, but his heart wasn't.
Footsteps approached. "Can't sleep either?" Alex stood beside him, hands in his pockets.
Jim nodded. "A team like that… one wrong move and someone's off the pitch."
Alex didn't answer immediately. He looked up at the stars and then said quietly, "You've grown a lot, Jim. From the boy who couldn't summon his sprite, to someone leading our team to the semis."
Jim looked at him, surprised.
Alex smiled faintly. "Now it's time to show the world it wasn't a fluke."
Jim felt warmth rise in his chest. Coming from Alex, it meant more than any crowd's applause.
Just then, Volt burst through the door behind them. "What is this, a romance scene? Should I leave you two lovebirds alone?"
Jim rolled his eyes. "Shut up, Volt."
Volt leaned on the railing too. "I'm joking, chill. But hey… even I'm nervous, man." He chuckled. "Never thought I'd say that. But those guys… something about them feels dangerous."
There was silence between the three of them, the kind only close friends could share. A moment of stillness before the storm.
The Next Day – Press Conference
Jim sat under harsh lights, a mic in front of him. Reporters packed the room, flashes blinding him with each question.
"Jim, you failed to summon your sprite mid-tournament. How can the team trust you now?"
"Do you think Phantom Force has any real chance? Or are you just hoping to not get humiliated?"
Jim clenched his jaw, searching for words.
Before he could speak, Coach Tenjo, sitting beside him, leaned forward.
"We'll let our game do the talking," he said calmly, with a cool smile. "The field decides, not headlines."
Another reporter turned to Alex. "Do you think Jim can handle the pressure?"
Alex didn't blink. "He already has. More than anyone realizes."
Hours Before Kickoff – Stadium Tunnel
The Phantom Force squad stepped into the tunnel, their cleats echoing on the concrete. On the other side, Crusher Eleven waited.
Raiku Soga leaned against the wall, spinning the ball in his hand. He looked up and grinned.
"Well, well. The underdog clowns have arrived."
Jim stopped, face blank.
Raiku pointed at him. "You. The dinosaur boy. Let's see if you roar… or whimper."
Next to him, Rento Vare stepped forward, eyes calm but cold. "I've heard of you. Dino right? Fast… but predictable. Don't blink tomorrow. You might not see what breaks you."
Volt's fists clenched, but Alex placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Not here," he whispered.
Raiku laughed. "Oh, don't worry. We'll break you fairly—one foul at a time."
Kickoff Approaches – The Field
The stadium was electric. Fans chanted, flags waved, and the scoreboard glowed bright with the names Phantom Force vs Crusher Eleven.
The two teams lined up, tension sharp as blades.
Just before the whistle, Jim looked across at the opponent's formation—and something clicked.
His eyes glowed green.
Predator Instinct: Activated.
What he saw sent chills through him.
Their backline wasn't just tight—it was a trap. Movements choreographed to bait attackers into a crushing counter. But there was something darker—an unnatural sync between Raiku and Rento. Something… dangerous.
A whisper escaped Jim's lips.
"This… isn't just football anymore."