Chương 236: Bliss (236)
The stadium held its breath as Nagi and Nakada engaged in a silent battle of wills, each stride pushing their bodies to the limit. Barcha's defenders, caught off guard by Nagi's self-pass, scrambled to catch up, but the blue blur was relentless.
Nagi, a whirlwind of controlled chaos, reached the edge of the penalty area just as the Barcha goalkeeper charged out. With a lightning-fast feint, Nagi sent the goalkeeper sprawling, leaving him a clear shot on goal. However, a new obstacle stood in his path: Nakada, the ever-present predator, positioned himself perfectly to block the shot.
Nagi, known for his otherworldly trapping ability, slowed down ever so slightly. His body, a taut spring coiled with tension, held the ball seemingly frozen in mid-air. In that split second, his mind raced, pushing its creative boundaries to the absolute limit.
With a single, impossible flick of his foot, Nagi sent the ball spinning in a bizarre corkscrew motion. It wasn't a powerful shot, nor did it boast impossible curves or angles.
It was a bizarre, unpredictable dance, defying the laws of physics as it twisted and turned around Nakada's outstretched leg.
Nakada, caught off guard by the unexpected trajectory, lunged desperately, his fingertips brushing against the spinning ball but failing to deflect it.
The stadium erupted in a cacophony of gasps and cheers as the ball, barely escaping Nakada's grasp, continued its bizarre journey.
It arced through the air, a blur of blue and white, before dipping sharply just before reaching the goal line.
The Barcha goalkeeper, scrambling back after being deceived by Nagi's feint, could only watch helplessly as the ball slammed into the back of the net with a thunderous thud.
Nagi, coming to a standstill, a solitary figure amidst the stunned silence, cracked a smile.
As the net rippled behind the Barcha goalkeeper, the stadium fell into a stunned silence.
But that silence was shattered by a single, primal scream that tore through the air. It wasn't a roar of victory, nor a celebratory yell; it was a torrent of raw emotion, a guttural release of everything pent up within Nagi.
He sank to his knees, the weight of the moment threatening to overwhelm him.
His hands slammed against the ground, the impact echoing his inner turmoil. It wasn't just the goal, though the feeling of the ball hitting the back of the net was something he wouldn't soon forget.
It was the struggle, the mental battle against Nakada and the self-doubt he'd battled within himself.
"It felt so goddam good!" he screamed, his voice hoarse with emotion. Tears welled up in his eyes, a mix of relief and exhilaration washing over him.
He had doubted himself, questioned his abilities, but in that moment, he had silenced all the doubts. He had proven to himself, and to everyone else, that he belonged on that field.
He rose to his feet, a slow, almost dazed movement.
The cheers of the Manchine supporters finally reached his ears, a wave of sound that washed over him. But he barely registered it. He was lost in his own world, replaying the goal in his mind, savoring the feeling of overcoming the seemingly impossible.
Nagi, on his knees, reveled in the raw, unfiltered joy of the goal. Tears streamed down his face, a mix of relief and exhilaration washing over him. He had silenced the doubts, not just from others, but from within himself.
However, the moment was short-lived. Across the field, Nakada stood, his gaze fixed on Nagi. The predator's eyes held no malice, no anger, just a hint of... disappointment?
"Get up," Nakada's voice cut through the din of the stadium, devoid of its usual arrogance but laced with a firm challenge. "The match isn't done yet. So unless you want to lose, get back up."
The words snapped Nagi back to reality. He wiped his tears roughly, the lingering emotions replaced by a steely determination. He wasn't done yet. He had proven something to himself, but the game wasn't over. He rose to his feet, a silent acknowledgement of Nakada's words.
Nakada didn't care that Nagi was his opponent. In his eyes, Nagi was the only player on the field offering a true challenge. If Nagi felt fulfilled after a single goal, the game would lose its appeal for Nakada. He craved competition, the thrill of pushing himself and his opponents to their limits.
"There's still 15 minutes left," Nakada continued, his voice devoid of emotion as he walked away from Nagi. His gaze flickered towards the scoreboard for a fleeting moment, taking in the score: Barcha 5, Manchine 4. A small, predatory smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.
A glint of defiance flickered in Nagi's eyes as he rose to his feet, wiping the lingering tears from his cheeks. The raw emotion of his celebration had subsided, replaced by a steely resolve. "I'm not done yet," he declared, his voice husky but firm.
Nakada, a predator ever-aware of his prey, turned towards him, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I hope as much," he replied, his voice devoid of malice but filled with a playful challenge. "Don't burn out too quickly on me."
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