Phantom Force Awakens
The next morning, the team gathered once more on the academy's main field. The sun was bright, but the tension in the air made the temperature feel cooler than it was. Coach Tenjo stood in front of them holding a clipboard, his expression as unreadable as ever.
"I've filled out the entry form for the Type 1 Tournament," he announced. "There's just one problem…" His gaze lifted. "We don't have a team name."
Before the silence could settle, Volt immediately raised his hand like an overexcited student. "Easy! Let's call ourselves Sprite Striker! It's got flair, punch, and—"
"Rejected," Coach Tenjo replied without a moment's hesitation.
Volt stared. "You didn't even think about it!"
With a dramatic sigh, he crossed his arms and muttered, "Fine. Then how about Mythos Eleven?"
The team stared back at him in silence. Not a single nod. Not even a groan.
"Tough crowd," he said under his breath.
Then, from beneath the tree near the edge of the field, Alex—calm as always, his headphones resting around his neck—spoke without looking up. "Phantom Force," he said.
The name floated in the air like a whisper. Everyone turned slightly.
Coach Tenjo arched a brow, repeating the name under his breath. "Phantom Force…" A slow nod followed. "Mysterious. Strong. Gets the point across. I like it."
Volt looked personally insulted. "You like that but not Mythos Eleven? Unbelievable."
Jim just smiled. "Phantom Force… has a nice ring to it."
Two days later, the team returned to the pitch for a new kind of training session. No sprites. No powers. Just raw football.
Coach Tenjo blew his whistle and called out, "Alright, listen up! No sprites today. I want to see your real potential—just skill, grit, and instinct."
The announcement caused a stir. Most players hadn't touched the ball without a sprite in months.
For Jim, though, this was exactly the chance he needed.
He was placed into the practice match like a filler, an extra body to even the teams. But the moment the ball reached his foot, something clicked.
He moved like a different person.
With sharp turns, lightning-fast footwork, and calculated vision, he weaved through defenders with ease. He didn't need glowing effects or roars beside him. He had something else—clarity.
He scored once. Then again. Then a third time.
A hat-trick.
Silence fell across the field. Teammates and opponents alike stood frozen.
"Is that… the same guy who sat on the bench all season?" someone whispered.
From the sidelines, Volt was grinning ear to ear. Alex stood quietly, his eyes sharper than ever. Coach Tenjo folded his arms with the faintest nod.
Jim stood at the center of the field, chest heaving, sweat trickling down his brow. But inside, something stirred. A flicker. A pulse. A presence. Something ancient. Something waiting.
Not yet awakened—but definitely watching.
Coach Tenjo clapped once. "Jim."
He turned toward the coach.
"You're selected," Tenjo said.
Jim blinked, uncertain. "As…?"
"Backup striker," the coach replied, then added, "For now."
Jim nodded, the fire in his chest burning hotter. He wasn't finished yet. He was just getting started.
One week later, the stadium was electric. The stands were packed, banners waved in the wind, and camera flashes lit the sky. Spectators roared as sprites soared overhead—roaring tigers, soaring eagles, and dragons wrapped in lightning.
The Type 1 Tournament had officially begun.
But before Phantom Force's match could kick off, one final decision remained. Coach Tenjo had yet to choose the team's 1st backup striker.
Two names remained on the list: Jim and Zankoku.
The players stood face-to-face at the center of the field. Zankoku, broad-shouldered and brimming with aggression, cracked his knuckles and stepped forward with a cruel grin.
"This time," he growled, "I'm going to break your hands and feet, Jim. I'll send you to the hospital and end your pathetic dream forever."
Jim didn't respond. He just stared back with steady eyes.
Coach Tenjo stepped between them. "You want the striker spot? Settle it now." He raised his whistle. "Two minutes. One-on-one. Whoever scores more, starts."
The shrill whistle cut the air.
The match began.
The field went dead silent. Everyone expected Jim to crumble.
But the moment the ball rolled forward, he exploded into motion.
No sprite. No boosts. Just raw talent.
Jim dribbled past Zankoku with ease, spinning and slipping through with perfect balance. In just ten seconds, he smashed the ball into the net.
One–nil.
Zankoku stared in shock. "What the hell did you just do…?"
Jim simply met his eyes. "This is just the beginning."
Zankoku responded with brute strength, muscling past Jim to score one goal. Then another. 2–1.
But Jim didn't lose focus.
He turned the pressure into fuel.
With speed and precision, he danced through again. 2–2. Then 3–2. His third goal came with the grace of a professional and the hunger of someone who had been underestimated too many times.
The match clock ticked down. Zankoku roared in frustration and managed to equalize once more—3–3.
Only five seconds remained.
Jim stood at midfield, panting, his heart racing.
Then it happened.
A strange heat crawled up his spine. His vision sharpened. His body felt weightless, yet grounded. Something inside him cracked open—a presence deep within his chest, wild and ancient.
He saw a glimpse—a towering winged beast with glowing green eyes and thunder beneath its breath.
Something had awakened.
Jim surged forward, the ball glued to his feet. With explosive strength, he leapt into the air and struck.
The ball screamed past Zankoku and into the net.
The whistle blew.
Final score: 4–3.
The field went silent again, but this time it wasn't from shock—it was awe.
Jim stood tall in the center of the pitch, chest rising and falling, as if something inside him had finally breathed.
Coach Tenjo watched him for a long moment. Then, with no emotion in his voice, he made the decision.
"1st backup Striker position goes to Jim."
Zankoku lowered his head, defeated.
On the sideline, Volt clapped slowly, eyes wide with pride. "You just showed them, bro."
Alex said nothing, but the faintest flicker of a smile touched his lips.
Jim didn't smile.
Not yet.
This… was only the beginning.