Wataru Endo didn’t need to shout to be heard.

As the match unfolded into chaos around him, he moved like a man walking through rain—unbothered, unhurried, yet impossibly in control. While others chased shadows, Wataru simply anticipated them, intercepting passes before they even looked dangerous.

He slid into space near the top of the box, intercepting a loose touch and pivoting smoothly, body low, eyes scanning like radar. One pass to the wing, then another run to fill the gap left behind.

From the sidelines, the coach didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to.

Endo’s performance was the kind you only noticed when it wasn’t there. Like gravity.

And when, in the dying minutes, a desperate opponent broke through the lines, sprinting toward the box, Wataru was already there. Not with flair—but with flawless timing. A clean challenge. No fuss. Just done.

He stood up, dusted off his shorts, and jogged back to his position. Business as usual.