The whistle blew again, and this time it didn't carry urgency or tension. It just sounded… routine. Like something inevitable continuing to move forward.
Southside reset at the center, the scoreboard looming above them with a quiet kind of weight. 6 0. No one said it out loud anymore. They didn't need to. It was already sitting in everyone's chest.
Riku stood over the ball for a second longer than usual before tapping it back to Hiroto. There was no aggression in it, no frustration behind the touch. Just control. Just movement.
Hiroto received and immediately scanned the field, but unlike earlier, he didn't try to force anything. "We play it out properly," he said, his voice steady but low. "No rushing. No throwing it away."
The ball moved from Hiroto to Takumi, then across to Sora, and back again. It was clean. It was composed. And for a brief moment, it actually looked like Southside had found something to stand on.
But the problem was still there.
Nocturne Eleven didn't press.
They didn't scramble.
They didn't panic.
They just… waited.
"They're letting us have it," Sora muttered as he passed the ball back toward Takumi, his eyes flicking up at the defensive shape in front of him.
"They've been doing that," Takumi replied. "We just didn't notice earlier."
Yuma hovered up front, shifting his weight impatiently as he watched the ball move behind him. "Then what are we doing? Just passing it around like this doesn't fix anything."
"It's better than losing it instantly," Hiroto snapped, stepping forward to receive again. "If you want the ball, earn it properly."
Yuma clicked his tongue but didn't argue. Even he knew they didn't have the room to force things anymore.
The rhythm continued. Short passes, small movements, careful positioning. For the first time in the match, Southside held possession for longer than a few seconds, and it almost felt like progress.
Almost.
Riku eventually received the ball near midfield, his first touch clean, his posture steady. He lifted his head, scanning not just for space, but for movement. For structure. For something that actually meant something.
Yusuke shifted slightly to his right, creating a passing lane. Takumi dropped deeper. Sora drifted wide. It was better. It was organized.
But still… nothing opened.
"They're closing everything without moving," Riku muttered under his breath.
And that was the problem.
Nocturne Eleven didn't need to chase. Their positioning alone was enough to suffocate any real opportunity.
Riku passed to Yusuke.
Yusuke controlled it with a soft touch, turning slightly as Lucien closed in immediately. The pressure was tight, but controlled, forcing Yusuke to either act fast or lose the ball.
He chose fast.
One touch.
Back to Riku.
Riku took it again, but this time, instead of holding, he pushed forward. It wasn't reckless. It wasn't desperate. It was calculated.
Réservoir stepped in instantly.
"Still trying?" he said calmly, his movement precise as he cut off the angle before it fully formed.
Riku adjusted, shifting the ball slightly to the side, trying to slip past him.
For a moment, it almost worked.
Then Réservoir took it.
Clean.
Effortless.
"Not yet," he added, already turning away before Riku could react.
The transition was immediate.
Marc received next, then passed wide to Theo, and within seconds, Nocturne had shifted from passive control to structured attack.
"Back!" Hiroto shouted, already moving into position.
Theo accelerated down the wing, but this time Ren stayed with him, matching his pace and cutting off the inside lane. It wasn't perfect, but it was better.
Theo didn't force it. Instead, he slowed slightly and passed back toward the center, where Réservoir had already repositioned himself.
The ball moved again.
Quick.
Controlled.
Unavoidable.
Southside shifted with it, trying to stay compact, trying not to overcommit. But every pass pulled them just a little more out of place.
Just a little more.
Then the gap appeared.
It wasn't obvious. It wasn't dramatic.
But it was there.
Réservoir saw it instantly.
Of course he did.
He slipped the ball forward through a narrow channel, threading it perfectly between two defenders.
Jules ran onto it.
Clean.
Inside the box.
Tsubasa stepped forward, closing the angle as quickly as he could, his body low and ready.
Jules shot.
Low.
Driven.
Tsubasa reacted well, getting a hand to it and pushing it slightly off line.
But not far enough.
The ball bounced.
Loose.
Dangerous.
And just like before
Aka was already there.
He didn't rush. Didn't celebrate. Didn't even look at anyone else.
He simply stepped forward and tapped the ball into the net.
7 0.
Silence followed again, but this time it wasn't heavy.
It was expected.
Yuma let out a short breath through his nose, shaking his head slightly as he turned away. "We're not even close," he muttered.
No one responded.
Because there wasn't anything to say.
Riku stood still for a moment, his eyes lingering on the goal before shifting back to the field. His expression didn't change much, but something in his posture had.
Less frustration.
More understanding.
"They're not beating us with speed," he said quietly. "Or strength."
Yusuke glanced at him. "Then what?"
Riku's eyes moved across the field, tracking the way Nocturne repositioned themselves without effort, without urgency.
"…Timing," he said.
The word sat there for a second.
Then the whistle blew again.
Play continued.
And the gap
was still growing.