In a heartbeat, Niyog unleashed a long-range shot, the ball soaring like a comet across the pitch. The goalkeeper, caught off guard, had barely begun to react when Niyog's strike met the net, a resounding thud echoing through the stadium. Realization dawned slowly, kindling disbelief among the defenders, fans, and even fellow teammates; no one had anticipated such an audacious display of skill.
Niyog's teammates rushed to embrace him, their joy a palpable contrast to the stunned silence that lingered for just a moment longer.
The cheers from the crowd cascaded like waves crashing against the shore, filling the air with a euphoria that seemed almost tangible. The Kerala Kings, now leading 3-2.
The coach of Eizar decided it was time for a change, a risky gambit to shift to the 4-1-4-1 formation. Immediately, Xavier was moved to play as an attacking midfielder . Eizar's coach made a handsignal directed toward three players—unmistakably Japanese. They had been on the field since the whistle blew from the very beginning of the match , yet strangely, they seemed detached, focused more on their own careful movements than on the game's action.
Niyog saw this strange and confusing event unfold with a gnawing uncertainty. Everyone else seemed relaxed and didn't notice anything unusual. In a game where every move mattered, he wondered why three players were staying away from the action. It felt weird to him, like an unspoken question, but he couldn't figure it out, so he ignored it.
Dheeraj suddenly noticed the trio of Japanese players on the field: Sato Minoru, the defensive midfielder; Yoshida Arata, the left midfielder; and Yoshida Haruto, the center forward. A nagging realization struck him: "Who did they substitute them in for?" The question reverberated in his mind like an unanswered prayer, amplifying the surreal atmosphere around him, as if his perception had momentarily betrayed him. It felt like a cruel trick, an unsettling glitch in the flow of the match.
"He's been there since the beginning though..." Niyog replied, breaking the silence that had engulfed Dheeraj's thoughts. There was a tone in his voice, almost tinged with disbelief, as if the very idea that these players had slipped under their radar was laughable. Yet, doubt crept into Dheeraj's mind. "Really…?" he replied, the skepticism evident in his voice, wanting to believe Niyog's words but unable to shake the odd sensation that something wasn't quite right.
"Did you not notice the other two this whole time as well?" Niyog probed, his curiosity seemingly piqued. And Dheeraj felt the tension in the air shift, like the onset of thunder before a summer storm. Arun chimed in, "Haha! Stop joking!" His laughter rang hollow, a tone of disbelief mixing in with the chaotic atmosphere around them.
It was in that moment, laden with confusion and incredulity, that a question danced in the corners of Niyog's mind. "Did no one else notice them except for me? Why didn't Dheeraj notice them? Wasn't he a former player of that team?" The internal monologue spiraled deeper as paranoia shadowed Niyog's consciousness. It felt like the ground beneath them was shifting, reality itself, in a slipstream of the bizarre.
"W-wait," Ishan suddenly exclaimed, urgency slicing through his contemplative haze. "If what you are saying is true… were they basically playing with only eight players on the field?" The words tumbled out with a force that momentarily paralyzed the others. Suddenly a veil of tension stretched across the entire team, captivated by the realization that clawed at their hearts.
the expressions on their face mirrored disbelief, quickly capturing the attention of the rest of the Kerala Kings team. They exchanged glances, a mix of uncertainty and shock. The game, which had seemed so familiar, unfolded into an enigma filled with hidden layers that only now started peeling away.
The match restarted at the 79th minute, a peculiar shift took place on the field. Minoru, with an intense focus that seemed to sharpen the air around him, had possession of the ball. It was a moment charged with anticipation; he expertly passed to Juan, who immediately made an unexpected move to the left.
"B-but there's no one there except Dheeraj. Juan wouldn't make a mistake like that," Niyog's mind raced, grappling with uncertainty that seemed to ripple through the thoughts of the entire Kerala Kings team. It was as if they were collectively holding their breath, caught in a web of confusion woven by the spirit of the game.
As the scene unfolded, a shared urgency pervaded the players' minds. Dheeraj stood firm, an immovable anchor in the chaotic wave of plays, but instinctively he sensed a shift. Out of the corner of his eye, a shadow flickered, The ball heading to the penalty area. The presence of Arata was sudden and shocking.
"W-what? I was pretty sure he wasn't there," Niyog thought with disbelief.
Through a veil of disbelief, the realization dawned on the Kerala Kings: Arata was there all along, playing a silent game of cat and mouse with Dheeraj. For a fleeting moment, relief washed over the players—there were only three figures in the penalty area: Vishnu, Raees, and Sachin. Yet this sense of safety was almost deceptive; as they took a breath, all eyes were suddenly drawn back to the unfolding drama.
And then it happened. With all the drama of a spellbinding plot twist, the ball swerved unexpectedly, a puppet tugged by invisible strings, as it hurtled toward the goal. Suddenly, the ball slipped past the defenders, appearing destined to roll out of bounds, when, in a breathtaking moment, Haruto emerged like a ghost from the shadows, timing his move to perfection. With flawless precision, he intercepted the shot just before it crossed the line, redirecting it into a surprising arc that sent the ball soaring into the back of the net. It was as if he had been hiding in plain sight all along, waiting silently for the perfect cue to spring forth from the darkness.
The air crackled with excitement; the crowd erupted in hushed whispers and gasps. Each spectator witnessed the enchantment of the game—an illusion, a clever ruse that danced along the thin line between visibility and obscurity.
"What just happened?" Niyog wondered, as the players were left grappling with a reality they had just witnessed but found hard to accept. Questions darted through their minds, mingled with disbelief.
As Haruto's goal found its mark, the score was evened in the 83rd minute.
The game had surged back to life, the excitement crackling in the air like static, and as the clock ticked into the 90th minute, all eyes were on Xavier as he made a through ball into the chaotic heart of the penalty area. Time seemed to stretch as the ball danced past defenders like a leaf in the wind, and just when it looked like the chance would fade, it curiously veered toward the right bottom corner—plump with possibility—and with a satisfying thud, nestled itself behind the net. It was Haruto again who tapped the ball in the goal.
The crowd erupted, a wave of cheers crashing like the ocean's roar, marking Eizar FC's thrilling victory at 4-3.
Sachin couldn't believe his eyes; the world around him faded into a blur as he clasped Haruto's hand, the thrill of the game sparking his imagination. As a massive anime fan, he could hardly contain his excitement, tilting his head in playful wonder and querying in his best attempt at a Japanese accent, "Ah-ru yoo a ninjah?"
The question hung in the air, and like a scene straight out of a comedy, Haruto stifled laughter, his eyes twinkling as he quipped back, "Yesu, ai ah-mu."
Sachin, ever earnest, burst forth with exuberance, "I knew it!"—his shout slicing through the air.
The connection forged in that brief exchange felt electric, with Haruto's playful response, the tensed air disappeared.