“Doing better?” Mrs. Krissef asked as she finished a drawing on Despair’s forehead. “You have ten minutes of healing, kiddo. Unless Testa wants to leave this ink instead of the shield.”

Testa rubbed his face and patted Krissef’s shoulder. “Leave him the one he has. Imagine what they’ll do to him if we take away his defence.”

“Mom, can I sleep a little longer?” Desp said.

The spell painted on Hiro’s back seemed to pump boiling blood with each beat of his heart. Though it was effective, the pain remained intense. Serin sat beside him, nudging his shoulder with hers. “You all right?”

“I’ve been better,” Hiro replied, wincing slightly.

“You should put up a defensive shield for the second half, Hiro. Forget about language; we’ll use signals. As long as you keep doing what you’ve been doing, we’ll be fine.”

Hiro nodded and flexed his legs. They still felt numb, tingling, but at least he could move them now. As Serin stepped away, the referee took her seat.

“You’ve charred another suppressor,” Dorino said, holding up the broken leather brace. “Testa’s gonna have to sell his manor at this rate.”

Hiro could only nod pitifully, his gaze drifting toward the rest of the team as they headed to the playground. Testa stood between him and Despair, who was swiping at something invisible, hovering just out of reach.

Testa moved to the exit, stopping to turn at the broken door frame. “Call my ten out, Dori. What do you think, Hiro? Can you continue?”

Hiro slowly raised his arms, twisting his body from side to side, feeling his back muscles tense in protest. As he stood, a sharp pain shot from his leg up to his neck, forcing him to clench his jaw. “I think I need a bit more time,” he admitted, grimacing slightly.

A whistle blew, warning the reprise of the match was near. Then, a murmur of cheers welcomed players getting ready for the fight. Hiro’s heart tightened with frustration. He stretched again, but the pain remained, stubborn and sharp. Despite that, he raised his forearm toward Dorino. “Put it on. I can’t delay any longer.”

Dorino tied the laces on the brace with practised efficiency and reached for his brush. “So, Should I go for the translator or the healing? If healing, I can only do one of them. So tell me which one hurts more. Lower side or top middle.”

Hiro frowned in confusion. “What top middle?”

“I’m in a good mood today. Don’t spoil it,” Dorino said after a grunt. “The one between your shoulder blades. You think I can’t smell it?”

Bewildered, Hiro reached toward the spot below his neck. “Oh. Right. You know what? Leave this one.”

“An interesting first half, indeed, Mario. And devastating for Ham. One player less from the beginning and two down early on. None returning for the second. On the opposite side, the Tavern’s squad is at full. This second half looks even worse for the white-maroons.”

“It’s a lost match for Ham, definitely. The question is how much more they can hold the purple push? I think Frie’s tactics have been wrong from the start, to be honest. It’s clear that they were looking for the ‘hollow field’ to get a second half’s surrender. But, come on! You can say what you want about Ham, but what they don’t lack are tough nuts to crack in defence.”

“I agree with you, Mister Ross. Wait… Ball is on the move, and it’s pretty clear Frieren’s has already changed to a more conservative play. Quick passes and a pig trot. Vanguard’s approach in a group. Ruin won’t be able to use his hound much more. It’s a spell that consumes a lot of energy, right?”

“Correct Edu. It seems they will go for goals instead of the easy thirty. Ruin will limit his summon and use his stamina for himself.”

“Frie’s reaching last quarter, Ham’s wall is moving cohesively. Serin and Vini joining the guard’s block. Pitaco is still walking. That’s embarrassing! He seems out of the game completely. He’ll have to explain himself to his coach in the aftermath. Wait a minute! I am informed that a Ham player is ready on the sideline. Not out but delayed, folks! It’s number eight, Hiro, returning to the Game!”

At the opposite end of the field, the players from Ham and Frieren gathered, forming two opposing forces. Attempts to strike out at each other were made, but worried to attack fully, the confrontation remained a standoff. Serin and Ruin circled each other, moving in a dance of evasion and testing, each gauging the other’s intent and skill. Every movement, a subtle exchange of teasing, a game of patience where neither side dared to strike first.

Hiro trotted slowly as he attempted to warm up his legs. Each step brought a sting of pain shooting up from the back, reminding him of the vulnerable situation he had dived in. The last-minute cream Mrs. Krissef had applied seemed to work better than any of the healing spells, but it came with a burning sensation through his skin as unpleasant as the nauseating smell it created.

Reaching the midpoint of the field, Hiro raised his hand hesitantly, his fingers twitching with the hope this unexpected jinx on his up back was a secret weapon Rina had drawn. The absurdity of it all churned. a bitter cocktail of confusion and frustration. Why would the magician do that? Why without a single explanation? His head throbbed, a dull ache willing to join the sharp pains on his body.

“Fire... Flame,” he whispered under his breath, more for himself than anyone else. He glanced around nervously, half-expecting someone to have noticed, someone to laugh at his futile attempts. The sting of embarrassment crept in. He bent down, feigning the act of tying his shoelace, and then clapped his hands together before touching the ground with a sigh. “Not like that either, huh?” he muttered, disappointment weighing down his shoulders.

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“Where did that come from?” he whispered as he resumed his walk.

Serin, locked in a fierce exchange of blows with her opponent, but unable to land a true hit, she shouted something across the field. Her words, though foreign to him, carried a tone of fear. They were sharp, urgent. He didn’t understand, but the meaning behind them was a clear warning.

Panic bubbled inside him as his eyes darted around, finally resting on the sight of one of Frie’s guards closing in. The man was massive, his frame imposing, and his grin... unwelcoming.

Hiro's instincts screamed to run as the guard approached with menacing intent. The gap between them shrank too quickly, and in the rush of fear, Hiro skipped backward. His hopes, placed on the wish the upcoming enemy didn’t have a spell of speed or strength.

As the brute closed in, sliding forward with frightening speed, Hiro’s breath caught in his throat. His prayers, whispered with such hope, had gone unheard. The man’s movements were unnervingly fast, but as his fist loaded from behind his shoulder, ready to strike, the world around slowed. Time stretched out, as though frozen by the sheer terror of the impending blow. Everything, the players, the field, even the sounds of battle, became muted and sluggish. Only Hiro’s thoughts raced, driven by the primal instinct to survive.

His lungs inflated painfully slowly as he gasped, the massive fist barreling toward his face in excruciating slow motion. The sheer size of it, the raw power behind the swing, made it seem inevitable that it would crush him. Panic clawed at him, while a fleeting, instinctive reaction moved his body out of danger. Equally slowly. Hiro forced his head to the side, and the guard’s knuckles grazed his cheek, close enough to tear the skin but sparing him from the full impact.

His breath returned in a rush, his chest heaving as the world snapped back to its normal pace. The guard staggered, turning around for another attack, but Hiro dodged the second strike with surprising ease. There was no time to think, only react. And each time a blow threatened to reach, the world slowed down, giving him the time to react accordingly.

Frieren’s guard charged again, releasing his frustration with a drawn-out yell. But Hiro sidestepped with a swiftness his opponent could hardly believe. Excitement rushed, and for the first time, a flicker of confidence bloomed. But then, just as quickly, Hiro’s legs betrayed him.

Without warning, his body faltered. His vision blurred at the edges, and the strength in his limbs drained. He barely dodged the next punch, which blurred toward him like a phantom grazing his shoulder. His legs, trembling under the weight of his failing body, gave out. He crumpled to his knees, the world spinning at high speeds instead of slowing any longer.

A leg rose in his peripheral vision, aimed straight at the head. Desperately, Hiro raised his hands, sluggish and weak, just in time to shield his nose from the kick. The impact rattled him, sending him sprawling onto his back once more. He lay there, winded, staring up at the sky, feeling the familiar sense of helplessness creeping in again.

The tavern’s player loomed over him, a smug grin stretching across his face as he prepared to finish the job. His fingers locked together, raising above his head like a hammer. Hiro, dazed and exhausted, barely had the strength to react. He squinted, bracing for the inevitable. But the blow never came.

A sudden shock reverberated through the field, and the air itself seemed to shimmer, distorting like the heat waves of a desert. Hiro blinked in confusion. The guard, who had been too close to delivering a last strike, froze mid-attack, his muscles locked in place. Hiro struggled to move as well, his body heavy, unresponsive.

Another wave of that strange energy pulsed through the field, and the guard’s grip loosened. His expression shifted, as if something had compelled him to abandon the fight. Slowly, as if in a trance, he stepped back and moved away, leaving Hiro in disbelief. Everything around was hazy, the sounds of the game distant and disjointed. Through the swirling fog of his mind, he saw Serin rise, her arm bloodied, and the remnants of the battle fading away. Behind her, Frie’s players exchanged amused glances, while the Ham team hung their heads in disappointment. Mira trotted to the side of the field, shaking her head as Testa tapped her shoulder before disappearing through the changing room’s door.

Hiro’s legs gave out again, sending him crashing to the ground. The hard impact knocked the wind from him, and he lay there on his back, staring up at the sky. He was feeling far too familiar with this position. Frustration overtook him.

“I’m so useless,” he whispered, words barely escaping between shallow breaths.

“What an amazing play, Mario! Ladies and gentlemen, 8-0 for Frie’s after an outside hands down by Coastal who, after seeing the incredible gap Pitaco had left him, went all in towards the goal. Steward’s summon couldn’t stop the charge of a much bigger man and Coastal leaped forward with the little fur on his shoulders. Afterwards, Miranda’s pet didn’t take it very well and even though the goal was declared, he started clawing at the Frie’s player, leaving him with a bloody face.”

“The reaction of Ham’s beast was disappointing, without a doubt. I think Miranda should learn a couple of things from Ruin. Look how his beast handled Serin. That animal knows exactly when and where to bite. Ready to his master's command for what needs to be done.”

“Like always, Mario, you are right. So, black flags have been raised, and the field frozen. I have to say this break has helped Ham a bit. Number eight from being knocked out and Serin’s arm could be way worse by now.”

“But at what a price, Edu! Miranda pays for the lack of fair play of his pet and is thrown out of the game. Leaving Ham with one less!”

“Well, this is over. Ham’s eight, Hiro seems out as well. And with four down and no caster on Castle. Frieren will score without stopping. With what’s left, should Ham’s coach, Carlo Testa, call for surrender?”

“I don’t think he will. They still have players and the ones left are tough to beat. Now with possession, what they will do is waste time, maybe look for castling, and see the punches coming. Reach the end of the match with the least difference in goals possible.”

“Ham’s number eight stands and walks forward. Well. he is scrambling. Seems to fall? No! he is holding on. You can’t say that he is at least not trying. Am I right?”

“Well, yes, but whether he stands up or falls, he is more out than in, Edu. I would take a nap with him before the tavern folks realise it and use his head as a broom.”

A deep sense of failure swelled within Hiro, crushing his spirit. The guard who had struck him moved away, confident and arrogant. His smirk, his gaze, all himself a bully laughing at the little fellow he had left behind.

His legs refused to move forward despite Serin’s voice echoing in the distance, shouting his name in a desperate call to action. With every muscle heavy and unresponsive, all his attempts felt useless.

Gritting his teeth, Hiro forced himself into a raise and then into a shaky trot, pushing his body to obey. Few steps further, he stumbled, doubling over as a wave of nausea crashed over him. He vomited violently, bile burning his throat. Before he could wipe his mouth or even regain his balance, his knees buckled and his head landed over the mess he had just expelled.

The sense of failure, more than the pain, left him hollow. “Why?” he murmured, mind blurring into a dizzying haze. “Damn it. Why?”