Kise stared at Midorima.
At that smile.
That overwhelming joy.
That dominance.
His face twisted.
"…I want that too."
His fists clenched.
"I want to crush everyone… and score my own goals."
His eyes sharpened.
"I'm relying too much on my team…"
A breath.
"…I need something that's mine."
The match continued.
Midorima marked Kise closely.
Kise moved—
Observed—
Thought.
What can I do…?
His teammates began focusing entirely on stopping Midorima.
Double marking.
Cutting passing lanes.
Forcing him to pass.
The game slowed.
Until halftime.
Second half.
Kise stepped onto the field again.
Then—
It clicked.
If I can copy everything he does…
Then I already know what he'll do.
His pupils narrowed.
"…I can see it."
The game resumed.
Duel after duel—
Kise improved.
Step by step.
Reading.
Adapting.
Predicting.
Midorima noticed.
"…He's changing."
A smile spread.
"…This kid is insane."
Kise's thoughts repeated—
I'm close.
I'm close.
I'M CLOSE.
Obsession.
Pure hunger.
Then—
The moment came.
A high ball.
Midorima moved to receive it.
Kise moved first.
Time slowed.
Silence.
Flow.
He jumped—
Stole the ball mid-air.
"…What?" Midorima's eyes widened.
Kise landed.
Focused.
One goal.
Then another.
Then another.
Three goals.
Win.
He dribbled past one—
Two—
Three players.
He prepared to shoot—
Stopped.
At the last millisecond.
A cleat cut through the air.
Midorima.
"…You read me?"
Midorima grinned.
"…You're not the only one."
Kise smiled.
Wide.
Wild.
"…Take this, green head."
He shifted direction instantly.
Midorima fell behind.
Kise shot—
GOAL.
He ran.
Screaming.
Pure euphoria.
On the ground—
Midorima laughed.
"…This world is insane."
His eyes were terrifying.
"…I want to destroy it."
On the bench—
Coach Hiroshi dropped his board.
"…What the hell…"
His hands trembled.
"…Are these kids monsters…?"
"…Did they absorb Messi and Ronaldo or something?"
"…They're five years old…"
Midorima walked to midfield.
"…10 minutes left."
He exhaled.
Then—
Everything disappeared.
Flow.
Crush.
Crush.
Crush.
His brain accelerated.
Every mistake.
Every pattern.
Every movement.
He saw everything.
Meta vision.
Unnecessary motion—
Gone.
Efficiency—
Perfect.
His body moved like a machine.
Like instinct.
Like inevitability.
Kise stepped forward.
"I can read you—"
Midorima vanished.
A brutal direction change.
"…What—?!"
He passed one—
Then another—
Flicked the ball upward—
Ran—
Reached it before anyone else.
At the edge of the box—
No control.
No hesitation.
At the highest point—
He struck.
The goalkeeper didn't move.
Frozen.
GOAL.
Midorima roared.
"I'LL NEVER BE BELOW YOU!"
And in that moment—
Something was born.
The next 8 minutes—
War.
Exhaustion.
Evolution.
Every second—
Growth.
Final whistle.
6 – 5.
Midorima: 6
Kise: 5
Kise lay on the grass.
Breathing heavily.
"…You bastard…"
A weak laugh.
"…So this is losing…"
Tears formed.
A shadow covered him.
Midorima.
"…Don't cry."
Kise looked up.
"You're the most talented player I've ever seen."
"…Then why did I lose?"
Midorima adjusted his glasses.
"Because I'll be the best among the best."
Silence.
Then—
Kise laughed.
"…I'll destroy you next time, Midorima-chi!"
Midorima made a disgusted face.
"…Never call me that again."
"It gives me chills."
Kise burst out laughing.
And just like that—
They became something more.
Rivals.
Friends.
Five years later — Shikoku Region
Finals.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Sometimes Midorima won.
Sometimes Kise.
3 years — Midorima.
2 years — Kise.
But every match—
A spectacle.
After one final—
Winter.
A park.
Kise walked in, wearing a coat.
"…Where is he…"
Then he saw him.
Midorima.
Sitting on a bench.
Taking care of his foot.
Kise laughed.
"Midorima-chi… I'll never understand your obsession with that."
Midorima smirked.
"That's why you only won twice."
"I won three."
Kise almost slipped.
"You bastard!"
"I only lost this year because I was sick!"
"You got lucky!"
Midorima laughed.
Then—
Silence.
"…I'm going to Brazil."
Kise froze.
"…What?"
"Flamengou scouted me."
"My family helped."
"I got into their football program."
Kise frowned.
"So I'm going back to playing against weak teams that can't even make me smile?"
Midorima stood up slowly.
"If you get used to beating the weak…"
"…you'll become weak."
Kise pointed at him.
"…Are you calling me weak, you bastard?!"
He threw a snowball.
Midorima dodged, laughing.
"…In 6 years, I'll come back."
He extended his hand.
"Improve."
"Then beat me—if you can."
Kise looked at his hand.
Smiled.
"…I'll destroy you."
They shook hands.
A promise.
To be continued.
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