Chapter 1: Murderous Football
The 21st World Cup—live broadcast.
"GOAAALLLL!!!!!!"
With a thunderous roar that shook the heavens, the passionate blond American host shot up from his seat in the studio, screaming wildly into his microphone. His voice seemed powerful enough to pierce the sky, echoing across the enormous stadium.
In an instant, a tidal wave of enthusiasm surged from all directions. The already excited American audience could no longer contain themselves after this goal. Like strings of lit firecrackers, they sprang up from their seats.
They cheered and leapt about, waving their bright, vibrant American flags as if trying to announce to the entire world: Look! The United States is the greatest nation on Earth! We are the undisputed rulers of this green battlefield!
Down below, countless ultra-HD cameras zoomed in like predators smelling prey, locking onto the miraculous moment.
Flashes burst like stars, forming a dazzling sea of light—determined to deliver this legendary goal to every corner of the world where people were watching via TV or livestream.
It had just happened—on the field where the United States and France were locked in a fierce duel. At only fourteen years old, the Japanese-American prodigy of Team USA—a streaking meteor—faced four French defenders alone.
With agile movements and dazzling footwork, he weaved through the defense, slipping past their tackles with masterful dribbling. Then, from quite a distance away, he lofted a perfect chip shot. The ball traced a graceful arc through the air and landed precisely in the goal's blind corner.
This breathtaking goal didn't just ignite the stadium—it instantly became one of the eternal highlights of this World Cup.
Meanwhile, French fans sat slumped in despair—cursing, crying, breaking down.
To them, France was the strongest team in the world. Victory had seemed within reach. And now, a U.S. team that had hovered around the Round of 16 in recent years had become the largest obstacle to their championship dream.
The once-guaranteed trophy now teetered dangerously on the pedestal—awaiting whichever side fortune favored.
Winners take all. Losers mean nothing.
The first half had been a spectacular war. In the first 20 minutes, the United States and France clashed head-on, rocketing the score from 0:0 to 2:2. Then, for the next several dozen minutes, neither team backed down—every attack and defense carried sparks of conflict.
As time passed, the tension grew. Both sides tightened their defenses, opening a 50-minute defensive standoff. Players sprinted relentlessly, fighting for every inch of turf. Spectators sat stiffly, hardly daring to breathe—no one dared leave their seat, not even for a second. The match was too brilliant to miss.
And just moments ago, the U.S. prodigy had pierced the 2:2 tie, pushing the match to a climax.
On the field stood two very different armies.
On one side—the "Gathering of Beasts," the mighty French fleet: Gallic Rooster. Physically imposing, technically skilled, seamlessly coordinated. At their core was Noel Noah, the man hailed as the world's greatest striker—drawing global attention the moment he set foot on the pitch.
Alongside Noah were players who were regulars on magazine covers, favorites on sports forums, and top-tier stars in football games—including the new-generation supernova, the lightning-fast prodigy Julian Loki.
With such a luxurious lineup, no wonder France entered the tournament as the hottest favorite.
On the other side—the U.S. "Spider Assault Squad," the Ghost Spiders', a battalion of elite individual units. Their players possessed formidable personal ability and flexible tactical creativity—often shutting down France's fearsome offense.
In the last century, the U.S. had once taken third place. Yet this century, they stalled at the Round of 16, largely because America's many thriving sports—basketball, American football, and others—drew away potential football talent.
But six years ago, an 8-year-old Japanese-American boy turned everything around. After joining the U.S. youth training program, he transformed the entire team—bringing explosive growth. Today, among the blond and dark-skinned players, this black-haired, fair-skinned Asian captain stood out sharply. His presence alone drew gazes; his technique ranked among the best in the entire tournament.
Beasts vs. Spiders.
And a moment ago, he had rewritten the battle.
The score: 3:2.
If France failed to score within the next 10 minutes, the trophy would belong to the U.S.
"Loki, I need your speed," Noel Noah, the world's No. 1 striker said.
"Heh~ Perfect. My ball sense has never felt sharper," replied Julian Loki, France's Speed Prodigy.
Five minutes later—the score was 3:4.
The stadium flipped. American fans fell silent; French fans erupted.
In just five minutes, the entire world was stunned—Noah and Loki included.
Their FLOW state was flawless—ball control sharper than ever, their coordination beyond human norms. Together, they broke through the Japanese-American prodigy's defensive "wall" and scored twice.
Top players watching around the world rose to their feet. Their jaws dropped. Under U.S. pressure, the French squad had evolved explosively—not just Noah and Loki, but the entire team.
Under such conditions, the American team felt tremendous pressure.
Crrrrk—
Perhaps an illusion, but the Americans seemed to see tiny spiders dropping onto the Japanese-American captain's pant legs—colorful, countless, spreading like a tide.
In seconds, the spiders crawled across all 10 other U.S. players.
The prodigy commanded the midfield like a general, eyes gleaming with five golden stars.
The defenders—hailed as the "Guardian Sentinels," the charging "Wing Paladins," the elusive "Football Fairies"—were soon wrapped in layers of spiders. Eyes shut tight, they appeared cocooned in webs.
And when they opened their eyes—each of their pupils shone with bright five-pointed stars.
The crushing pressure had awakened their latent potential.
The entire U.S. team entered FLOW—the transcendental state of absolute focus.
Then, the spiders expanded outward, weaving a massive web over the entire field—a breathtaking, chilling spectacle.
"Too late."
Noel Noah felt the air grow heavy. His perfect logical analysis told him the U.S. team had just risen to match France's level. The scales were now balanced. But with less than eight minutes left, he doubted the exhausted Americans could form one last attack.
But a variable remained—
The lone Asian player, the U.S. captain. His expression didn't show despair. It showed… finality.
Noah knew him—
The Japanese football traitor: Daigo Otoshi.
Or—the U.S. football savior: Arthas.
Noah didn't know the full story. The U.S. kept information about Daigo heavily sealed. Rumor only said U.S. medical technology was strangely tied to him.
But none of that mattered now.
The ball was at Daigo Otoshi's feet. Far from the goal.
The match almost over.
Noah watched Daigo's shooting motion—and for some reason, his whole body went cold. As if staring at death itself. In his eyes, everything slowed except Daigo.
[…Cannot analyze… Dodge… DEATH!!!]
In Noah's golden eyes, the scene reflected clearly.
The ball touched Daigo's right toe—and warped like a water balloon bending under massive force. A chilling crack followed, like bones breaking.
Then the ball left his foot.
Time snapped back.
"BANG!!!!"
A sonic explosion rocked the stadium.
The goal frame shook as if struck by a cannon. Half the anchoring nails ripped from the ground, tearing out chunks of turf and soil.
The French goalkeeper froze mid-motion, then collapsed like a man who had survived death itself. For that one second, he had felt the presence of the Grim Reaper. His body couldn't even attempt a save.
His instincts screamed:
That shot could have killed everyone on the field.
[Murderous Football]
Daigo Otoshi's ultimate technique—
The reason he was the U.S. team captain.
Score: 4:4.
Two minutes left.
In Japan, many had stayed up to watch.
A caramel-haired boy, after putting his four younger siblings to bed, picked up the dumplings his older sister brought home from work. Turning on the TV, he witnessed the moment he would never forget.
On the field, a Japanese boy—someone just like him—stood under countless flashes. Expressionless. Staring quietly at the goal he had just destroyed.
The boy touched his chest.
His heart was pounding uncontrollably.
"…So cool…"