Chapter 837: The Feast!

The media buzz was deafening.

Within minutes of the final whistle, the headlines were already circulating.

"Hiro Takahashi: Four Goals, Four Assists in 8-0 Demolition" — Sports Nippon

"The King Returns: Hiro Dominates Vietnam in Historic Performance" — Nikkan Sports

"Japan’s Secret Weapon: How Hiro Reinvented Himself" — ESPN FC

"Ryu’s First Goals: The Rise of Japan’s Next Generation" — Football Digest Japan

The internet exploded.

@JapanFan99: FOUR GOALS. FOUR ASSISTS. HE WAS INVOLVED IN EVERY SINGLE GOAL. THIS IS INSANE.

@TacticalAnalyst: Hiro’s positioning tonight was unreal. He didn’t sprint once. He just appeared, like a ghost.

@VietnamFan: We lost 8-0. But honestly? I’m just glad I got to watch him play live. That was art.

@FootballPurist: The scary thing is that he’s still not at 100%. The World Cup is just a few months away. Imagine what he’ll be like then.

@RyuFanClub: RYU SCORED TWICE! THE FUTURE IS HERE!

The pundits debated, the fans argued, and the whole world watched. Hiro’s performance had left his haters in the dust.

Those who doubted his abilities had hidden themselves, and as for his fans, their words screamed of excitement.

However, as for Hiro, he didn’t concern himself with the things circulating on the internet. He had performed well, and that’s all that mattered to him.

He had fulfilled his obligation, and now whatever was being discussed wasn’t his concern.

The hotel banquet hall had been transformed.

Long tables ran the length of the room, laden with sushi and tempura, steaming bowls of ramen and rice, grilled fish, and platters of fresh fruit.

The aroma alone was enough to make a hungry man dizzy. The players filled the room with loud, joyful voices, and the tension of the match had melted away into the easy warmth of a team that had just won.

Ryu sat near the center of the table, still glowing from his first international goals. Shun sat beside him, recounting his own heroics with exaggerated drama, though in truth Vietnam had hardly given him anything to do.

"And then, whoosh, I dove to my left with my fingertips stretching, and I just barely tipped it over the bar!"

Ryu blinked. "There were no shots on target."

"Exactly! They were so intimidated by me that they didn’t even try!"

The table erupted in laughter, and even Taki Kurosawa, sitting quietly at the far end, let a small smile cross his face.

But Hiro wasn’t at the table.

He had slipped out during the second round of toasts, a quiet exit that most of the room never noticed. Ryu glanced at the empty seat and then away, and across the hall, Kurosawa’s eyes followed the door as it closed.

Outside, the balcony was empty. The night air was cool against Hiro’s skin, and the city stretched out below him, a sea of gold and white lights that flickered like something alive. He leaned against the railing and let out a long breath.

Eight goals. Four scored, four assisted.

Not bad.

Footsteps sounded behind him. However, he didn’t bother to check whose they were.

"You’re not much for celebrations, are you?"

Hiro turned.

Kazuki Yamada stood in the doorway with a glass of water in his hand. He was dressed casually, in a simple white shirt and dark trousers, and his expression was relaxed and friendly.

However, his eyes looked rather sharp.

"I needed some air," Hiro said.

"Fair enough." Kazuki crossed to the railing and leaned beside him. "Congratulations on the match. That was something else."

"Thank you."

They stood in silence for a moment while the noise of the party hummed faintly behind them. Then Kazuki said, "You’ve changed."

"I’ve been told."

"No, I mean it. The way you move and the way you see the game are different. You aren’t the same player I faced last season."

Hiro glanced at him. "Is that a compliment or a concern?"

"Both." Kazuki smiled. "It’s a compliment because you’re better, and it’s a concern because you’re better."

Hiro laughed softly. "You’re honest."

"I try to be."

The conversation drifted to quieter ground.

"How’s the leg?" Kazuki asked.

"Better. I’m almost there."

"Almost?"

"I’m not at a hundred percent yet, but I’m close."

Kazuki nodded slowly. "That’s impressive. Most players need a year to come back from an injury like that, and you did it in three months."

"I had good people around me."

"Still... It’s remarkable."

Hiro didn’t answer, and Kazuki took a sip of water and looked out over the lights.

"You know," he said quietly, "I’ve faced you five times, and I’ve lost four of them."

Hiro looked at him.

"But this time," Kazuki went on, "I think the outcome might be different."

"Oh?"

"Yes." His tone was calm, but there was steel underneath it. "This Real Madrid isn’t only a collection of talented players. It’s more like a team now."

He paused.

"We have Rafa. He’s eighteen, one of the most explosive, and the kind of player who can change a match in a single moment."

The club had been looking for a replacement for Vinicius. However, their attempts had been rather unsuccessful till now.

Hiro nodded. "I’ve seen him play."

"And Matteo. He’s seventeen and Italian, a defender, but he’s more than that. He’s a wall. He reads the game like a veteran, and I think he’s going to be one of the best in the world."

Hiro said nothing.

Hiro had faced multiple defenders till now, and during his encounters he had learned that experience mattered more when it came to playing as a defender.

There were exceptions, like the golden boy, Pau Cubarsi, who had burst into the first team of Barcelona at a tender age of 17.

However, the same couldn’t be said about others; after all, such talents were hard to come by.

Hence, he didn’t think much of him.

"And then there’s Nico." Kazuki’s voice softened. "Nico Paz. You’ve heard of him?"

"I have."

"He’s the best player I’ve ever played with." His eyes met Hiro’s. "Better than me, and better than anyone. He’s the reason I believe we can win."

This time, he didn’t argue. He had seen Paz play, and he acknowledged his talents. Unlike those who talked big and performed less, he was the kind of player who made those around him better.

Hiro was quiet for a long moment. Then he said, "You have a strong team."

"We do."

"But so do we."

Kazuki raised an eyebrow.

"Julian," Hiro said. "One of the best strikers in the world, and he’s carried our attack for months."

"He’s good."

"He’s exceptional."

"And?"

"And Lee Kang-In. He’s the heartbeat of our midfield. He’s grown so much in the past few months that he isn’t just filling my spot; he’s making it his own."

Kazuki nodded slowly.

"And Romero." Hiro’s voice was steady. "Our captain, the captain of Argentina, the man who won the World Cup. He’s the wall at the back, and he doesn’t break."

Kazuki studied him. "You’re confident."

"I’m realistic."

They stood together with the lights flickering below them. Then Kazuki said, "It’s going to be a good match."

"Yes."

"May the best team win."

"May the best team win."

They shook hands, a firm, respectful grip between two men who each wanted the same thing and were willing to say so. Then Kazuki turned and walked back inside, and the sound of the party swelled for a moment as the door opened and shut.

As for Hiro, he stayed on the balcony a little longer, looking up at the night sky.

Two weeks. The derby. Real Madrid.

A smile crept across his face.

I’ll be ready.