Captain Tsubasa: My Way

We were all in position on the pitch, Team White, my team, and Team Blue were the first to play.

'I absolutely have to succeed today. Imagine going back to Japan after all those goodbyes… just for a weekend? No way.'

I stretched out my legs a little, trying to stay loose, and then the whistle blew for kickoff.

We had the ball. Right away, the players on my team started showing off what they could do, more focused on impressing than actually playing smart football.

The left forward, for instance, lost the ball trying to dribble past an opposing player.

"Could've done better." said the defender as he intercepted the ball.

The other team immediately began passing it around. They were playing far more collectively than us.

"You guys should pass the ball a little more." I told my teammates.

"Like I'm gonna let some Japanese kid tell me how to play football." the left winger snapped back.

But while he was talking, the opposing players were already dangerously close to our goal.

A player from the Blue Team took a shot, but luckily, our goalkeeper managed to stop it.

"Get it together!" he shouted, launching the ball forward. It landed at the feet of our defensive midfielder, who quickly passed it to the left winger.

"This time, I've got it—" He got dispossessed again before he could even finish his sentence.

"What part of 'pass the damn ball' don't you get?" I said, frustration starting to rise though I tried to stay calm.

"Let me play my game." he snapped back.

But this time, the Blue Team capitalized on the mistake. They finished the play, goal.

"Alright, you know what… I'll do this my way." I muttered to myself, locking my eyes on the ball.

The game restarted. The ball was at the feet of our center forward, and he was just about to pass it back to one of the midfielders. But before he could, I stepped in and intercepted the ball.

"What are you doing?" the midfielder barked.

"Playing my game." I shot back calmly.

I pushed forward. One touch, then another. A sharp step-over—one defender gone. I feinted left, then cut right—two down. I kept moving, keeping the ball close, dancing between players.

Player here are stronger physically, taller, heavier, but I knew I had my speed, my agility, and above all, my feet.

"Someone stop him!" shouted a Blue Team player.

But they were too late. Another defender lunged at me, but I let the ball roll just slightly out of his reach, using his momentum against him. I slipped past and surged toward the final third.

Two defenders converged in front of me, I didn't panic. I slowed down, then used a feint and a sudden burst of pace to split between them. One of them tried to tug my shirt. The ref didn't call it, but I kept my balance.

Now I was outside the box. One last defender stood between me and the goal.

He crouched slightly, ready to pounce. I looked him dead in the eye and chipped the ball softly over his foot as he lunged.

Now I was one-on-one with the goalkeeper.

He rushed out fast, hands wide, trying to cut off my angle.

I tapped the ball gently to the right with the inside of my foot, sidestepping him.

Then a light touch with the left foot.

The net rippled.

Goal.

Silence for a beat.

Then shouts from the bench.

"Who is that kid?"

My teammates stared. Some with surprise. Some with disbelief. Even the left winger, the one who mocked me earlier, was frozen.

I walked back toward the center circle, calm but focused. No celebration. No arrogance. I'll keep that for later

The match continued, and the coach began taking notes.

Now, with a point to prove, my team started giving me the ball more often. They realized I wasn't here for nothing.

I kept feeding through passes, cutting open their defense.

Assisted one goal. Then put another one.

A defender on their side tried to muscle me off the ball, I anticipated the contact, turned quickly, and won a foul instead.

By the time the match ended, the scoreboard read.

White Team: 3 — Blue Team: 1

I had scored two, assisted one.

The coach called out names. Some players didn't make it. Heads dropped. Others looked relieved.

Then he looked up.

"Shin Orochi… Stay behind."

I clenched my fist slightly. 'The only thing that matters is that I was taken.'

Later that evening we had a team dinner with the other selected players.

Two weeks later, In the weight room.

I was deep into a set of push-ups, sweat dripping onto the mat beneath me, when Coach Medina's voice rang out across the gym.

"Alright, everyone, listen up." he said, standing near the squat racks, arms crossed with his usual focused look.

We gathered quickly, some finishing their reps, others wiping their faces with towels.

"Over the past two weeks." Coach Medina began. "you've gotten to know each other. As teammates. As competitors. As people."

He paced a bit, looking at each of us in turn.

"But now, all of that was just the preparation. What comes next… is the real beginning. The season starts now."

Some players exchanged excited glances. Others straightened up, adrenaline starting to rise.

"Our first match?" he continued, "Manchester United."

A slight buzz went through the room.

"And before you start celebrating the challenge." Medina added with a smirk, "remember, they've recently brought in a very talented addition to their youth squad. Bryan Cruyford. Dutch kid. Technically gifted. Fast. Smart."

I raised my head slightly.

Bryan Cruyford.

'I'd heard the name before. Some called him the New Tactician, a midfielder with both flair and tactical intelligence. A natural leader on the pitch. A kind of European Misugi in a certain way.'

Coach's voice snapped me back to the present.

"This will be a test, not just of your skill, but of your discipline, your cohesion, your hunger."

"Yes, coach!" we all shouted back.

I looked around. Some players looked nervous. Some were clearly fired up.

As for me?

fired up.