Football Evolution System

Chapter 13: Four on Four Match

The air was thick with tension as the teams assembled on the field. Two groups stood apart, each team wearing their respective colors: Red for Miya's team and Blue for their opponents. Miya clenched his fists, his mind racing as he studied the field and the players before him. For the first time, it truly struck him just how enormous Limit Breaker was, with its countless fields and training grounds. A labyrinth of competition, designed to push players to their limits.

He couldn't shake the thought: Why had I never heard of Limit Breaker before now? It was a question that lingered in the back of his mind, but the present demanded all his focus.

Miya turned his attention back to the Blue team. Their lineup was intimidating: a muscular brute who looked like he could bulldoze through any defense, a wiry player whose agility was evident in his lithe frame, and two others whose stoic demeanor made them difficult to read. But one player stood out—a boy with striking blue hair who radiated an aura of quiet menace. His eyes locked onto Miya's, unblinking and sharp as if he were studying every twitch of his muscles.

Is he analyzing me? Miya wondered, unnerved by the intensity of the stare.

Before he could dwell on it further, the distorted voice of the dog-masked man tore through the air, shattering the silence.

"Well, well, well. Look at what we have here," the man drawled, his tone dripping with mockery. "Apologies for the wait. The first three matches have already concluded. It's finally your turn."

Miya's heart sank. Three matches? Already? It hadn't even been ten minutes since the games began. How could they have ended so quickly?

"You might be confused," the masked man continued, almost reading their thoughts. "How could the first matches end so fast? Simple. Limit Breaker is not for the weak. That's why this format exists: four-on-four matches, three goals to win. No room for error, no time for second chances."

The stakes became painfully clear as the man elaborated.

"The winning team will keep their stars and enjoy luxurious food and housing tonight. The losers, however…" He paused for effect, letting the weight of his words sink in. "The losers will lose a star and sleep on the cold, hard floor. No food. No comfort. Just regret."

Miya's stomach churned. The stakes were higher than ever—not just for survival, but for dignity. The dog-masked man clapped his hands, signaling the start.

"Now, Team Red and Team Blue… Play on."

---

Team Red had possession, with Miya leading the charge. Their formation was basic but effective: Miya and Mikey as the attackers, while Eri and the bulky new addition, Josh, held the defensive line. As all four were strikers by nature, deciding roles had sparked a heated argument before the game. But now, they had to make this work.

Miya placed his foot on the ball, his sharp eyes scanning the field. The Blue team's formation puzzled him. Three players pressed forward aggressively, leaving only the blue-haired boy stationed at the back. It was unorthodox, almost reckless.

Why would they leave just one defender? Miya thought. Something about it felt off.

"Let's go, Miya!" Mikey's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

The two sprinted forward in unison, maintaining a calculated distance to avoid being boxed in. As they advanced, the Blue team mirrored their movement. Two players charged at Miya and Mikey, while the third aimed directly for their defensive line.

It was a bold tactic, designed to corner them.

They're trying to split us up, Miya realized.

Thinking fast, he feigned a pass toward Mikey, hoping to outmaneuver his immediate opponent. But the Blue striker was quicker than expected. He anticipated the move and darted to intercept.

"Idiot," Miya muttered under his breath. Instead of passing, he executed a perfect nutmeg, slipping the ball between his opponent's legs. The crowd erupted in a mix of cheers and gasps as Miya raced past, the Blue striker stumbling in frustration.

"Dammit!" the striker yelled, giving chase.

Miya didn't look back. He focused on the path ahead, where the blue-haired defender stood like an immovable wall. His presence was unnerving, yet Miya refused to falter.

One more obstacle. I just need to pass him and we're clear.

He glanced at Mikey, who was shadowed closely by his marker. Passing wasn't an option—not yet. The blue-haired boy crouched slightly, his muscles coiled like a spring.

"Small fry," the boy muttered, his voice low and calm.

Then, without warning, he bolted toward Miya with inhuman speed.

Too fast! Miya's instincts screamed at him to act.

Instead of panicking, he relied on his analysis. At that speed, he can't change direction quickly. If I time this right…

As the boy lunged for a tackle, Miya sidestepped at the last second, narrowly avoiding contact. "Too easy," he muttered, smirking.

But his relief was short-lived.

Before Miya could react, a thunderous force slammed into his side. The first Blue striker, the one he had nutmegged earlier, had recovered and blindsided him with a shoulder charge.

"Argh!" Miya staggered, struggling to maintain control of the ball.

The impact was too strong. The ball slipped from his grasp, rolling toward the Blue team's towering striker.

"Now, John!"

The towering figure didn't hesitate. With a single, devastating kick, he sent the ball hurtling through the air. The shot was powerful and precise, slicing through the field like a missile.

Miya could only watch in horror as the ball sailed past his teammates and slammed into the net.

A sharp whistle pierced the air, followed by an automated announcement:

"Team Red 0, Team Blue 1."

---

The field fell silent. Miya stood frozen, his mind racing to comprehend what had just happened. They had been so close—everything was in their favor. How had it gone wrong so quickly?

A slow clap echoed across the field, drawing everyone's attention. The blue-haired boy stood tall, a smug grin plastered across his face.

"That was an easy goal," he taunted, his voice dripping with arrogance.

Miya clenched his fists. "You bastard… You baited us."

The boy's grin widened. "Of course we did. You played right into our hands. Dogs chasing a bone."

The words hit harder than Miya cared to admit. They had been outmaneuvered, tricked into overcommitting. And now, they were at a disadvantage.

Miya took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. It's not over yet. We still have time to turn this around.

"Get ready," he said, his voice steady but firm. "We're not losing this match."

Eri stepped forward, his dark eyes gleaming with determination. "You'd better have a plan, Miya. Because they're not going to make this easy for us."

Miya nodded. "I do. But we need to work together. No more mistakes."

The tension was palpable as the teams reset for the next play. The stakes had never felt higher.

As the whistle blew to signal the restart, Miya's eyes locked onto the blue-haired boy.

You think you've won? he thought, a fierce resolve burning within him.

This game is far from over.