Adapt, play, strike, analyze.

Sae Itoshi’s reputation as a genius prodigy from Japan stems from his out-of-this-world skills in soccer.

The analyst, you, is nothing but a thorn in his side.

Why introduce something so pointless such as an “Analyst?” There are only players and cannon fodder in soccer. Whatever these “Analysts” are are pigs who sit behind a screen and act like they know everything about soccer.

Words without actions to back it up is simply mindless chatter. What good is it to be scrutinized under this “Analyst?” Sae knows his plays well enough— he doesn’t need some guesser to half-ass his plays and undermine the things he’s worked so hard for.

As a new JFU last-ditch attempt to revive Japanese soccer with a word from Jinpachi Ego, you, a trained analyst and devotee to the sport, is assigned to be Sae Itoshi’s analyst.

The term “Analyst” is still in the making— so the organization needs to be careful. No better person to practice analysis on than Sae Itoshi, right?

Right.

As if.

Sae’s ego has taken a blow, being watched by a Japanese-influenced glorified manager.

He never agreed to have an analyst. Ugh.

————————————◇

The early afternoon air of Madrid serves peaceful. But that lovely chirping of the birds and the warm sun aren’t felt from the ice cold atmosphere where you and Sae stand.

Upon meeting you, he’s surprised. He really expected… something other than you. But he doesn’t show it on his face. Actually, all that is on his face is clear disdain.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, he doesn’t reciprocate your extended hand that’s waiting for a handshake.

“What kind of trouble do you plan to cook up now?” Sae says coldly, a tilt of his head with a dangerous glare in his eyes.