Chapter 805: The Legacy Continues

The net rippled violently, and for a fraction of a second, a hushed silence fell upon the stadium.

Then—

"GOAL—"

The entire arena erupted.

A deafening roar surged through the stands as thousands of voices collided into one thunderous wave of euphoria.

Julian’s teammates rushed toward him. However, the scorer himself stood frozen for an instant, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he stared at the net.

He had done it.

They had done it.

Despite losing their most dangerous player. Despite the chaos that had engulfed the stadium just moments earlier. Despite the weight of uncertainty pressing down on their shoulders—the red and white had scored yet another goal.

"That was incredible!" shouted one of Julian’s teammates as he threw himself onto him.

Another followed, wrapping both arms around him in a tight embrace. The rest of the team joined soon after, a pile of bodies celebrating a moment of triumph.

For a moment, it looked like an ordinary celebration—the kind that would be replayed on highlights for days to come.

Then something flickered in Julian’s gaze.

His expression shifted. His eyes drifted toward the tunnel—the dark passage where Hiro had disappeared moments earlier.

The smile on his face froze.

He loosened the grip around his shoulder, stepping away from his teammates. They stared at him with confusion, their joy faltering.

Does he not want to celebrate?

They wondered, exchanging uncertain glances.

But Julian didn’t answer their unspoken questions. He simply stood there, his gaze fixed on that dark tunnel—his mind elsewhere, his heart heavy.

The celebration halted as he started walking towards the stand.

The crowd took notice of his action. For a split second, his antics confused them. Even so, their gaze followed him.

Then, somewhere in the upper stands, a single voice rang out.

"Hiro!"

The voice was weak, almost inaudible.

"Hiro!"

Then another voice followed.

This time, it was crisp and audible.

"Hiro!"

Soon enough, the entire stadium started chanting Hiro’s name. Just within seconds, the entire stadium was shaking.

"HIRO!"

"HIRO!"

"HIRO!"

The chant echoed throughout the arena.

Diego stood, sweeping his gaze around, his mouth agape. He felt thrilled to be part of this moment.

The entire stadium was echoing with the name of someone who wasn’t even present in the stadium.

His heart swelled with pride as his eyes moistened.

Though he knew about Hiro’s craze, he hadn’t expected it to be this fervent.

On the pitch, Julian still stood motionless.

His fingers were curled into a fist, and for some reason he couldn’t help but feel a certain tightness in his jaw.

With his head lowered, he raised his fist, almost as if dedicating this goal to his dearest friend.

Though he didn’t utter it, there wasn’t a need for him to do so.

The stadium did it for him.

Soon enough, almost the entire team joined him and followed his gesture.

**** ****

Far beneath the noise of the stadium, the world was strangely quiet.

Hiro opened his eyes.

He had been clinging to his consciousness as tightly as he could—but he couldn’t even remember when he had lost it. Everything between the pitch and this moment was a void, a blank space in his memory.

White.

That was the first thing he saw.

A white ceiling. Bright, sterile lighting that stung his eyes. Then the faint outline of a person’s face appeared above him, blurry and indistinct. He struggled to recognize this figure—but somehow, it didn’t feel alien. It felt familiar, like a memory just out of reach.

Even the smell of chlorine that wafted around this place rang a bell of nostalgia within him.

"Stay still."

A doctor’s voice—calm, almost too calm.

He didn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to. His mind was still clouded, a thick fog of fatigue lingering in every corner of his consciousness.

He tried to move.

But somehow, moving felt much more excruciating than breathing itself.

Even so, he didn’t give up. He kept trying, pushing against the weight that pinned him down.

Then—his fingers wiggled.

The sensation of control slowly returned to him, faint but present.

He tried moving his legs.

And just as he did—

A searing pain exploded through his body.

His eyes widened. His breathing came in ragged, uneven gasps.

"Urgh!"

He groaned, gritting his teeth against the agony.

"Don’t move."

The doctor immediately placed a firm hand against his shoulder, steadying him.

"I suggest you don’t move in your condition," the doctor said, his tone firm yet measured.

Upon hearing him, Hiro gritted his teeth. The pain subsided as he followed the doctor’s instructions—though it didn’t disappear entirely, it faded enough for him to think clearly.

Feeling a bit relieved, he wandered his eyes around the room. Machines beeped softly, their screens displaying numbers he didn’t recognize. Medical equipment lined the walls, and on a tray atop one of the tables, a few instruments lay arranged with surgical precision.

Then there was this unusual calm—a stillness he couldn’t bring himself to accept.

With each passing moment, he felt something amiss. The calm was soothing, yes. Under normal circumstances, it should have helped ease the turmoil brewing inside his heart. But for some reason, it only unsettled him further.

He closed his eyes, hoping to figure out this gnawing feeling.

Then an image flashed past his mind.

The moment before the disaster. The scene from the stadium.

"The game..." He gasped.

His sudden cry startled the doctor, who jerked in surprise. He stared at Hiro, concern flickering across his face.

"What?"

"The match." Hiro’s voice grew urgent. "What’s the score?"

The doctor frowned.

"You should be worrying about yourself right now."

Hiro didn’t answer.

"What’s the score?"

The doctor exchanged a glance with the medic standing nearby.

"Hiro—"

"Please."

There was something in his voice—not desperation, not panic. Just a quiet, unwavering insistence.

The doctor sighed.

"3-1. Your team won."

Upon hearing the final result, a wave of relief washed over Hiro. His expression relaxed, and so did his racing heart.

But he couldn’t help but ask one more question.

"Who scored?"

The doctor paused, checking his notes.

"It was Julian, Guiliano, and Eric."

Hiro’s lips curled into the faintest trace of a smile.