Iron Blooded Hound

Chapter 136: Against All Odds

"What do you mean...?

Tudor woke up with a start.

Did he doze off?

No, that can't be true. Why did he come in the middle of the match when he was already sweating profusely? Will I fall asleep?

As time passed slowly, Tudor momentarily remembered the situation, just before his memory stopped.

"There's no doubt he won the ball. He evaded the Baskerville trio, shook off the highbrow pursuers, ran forward, and shot at the defender who was blocking his way. And..."

Next, I can't remember what happened.

You should have seen the goal and tried to throw the ball in, but why did you stop?

One thought led to another.

...!

And when Tudor heard that brief outline of his thoughts, he came to his senses.

"What should I do?"

Only then will his vision return to normal.

After a moment of darkness, his vision returned to normal.

The green grass of the practice field, the blue sky, the towering goal posts, and the surprised faces of friends and foes.

So far, it's the same scene I saw just before my memory faded.

The only difference is that everything is upside down.

"Huh?"

That was the first time Tudor came to his senses.

He was now stuck in the corner of the field, also upside down and in a ridiculous position.

"Ugh!?"

Tudor stood up and looked down at the dirt and grass that covered him.

He stared at the dirt and grass around his body, and Vikir stood before him with a casual look on his face.

Tudor suddenly remembered everything.

``It's that guy.'' Just before he scored the goal, I secretly pushed him on the shoulder...''

He was a man who was good at studying and seemed to be very corrupt.

For a moment, I had the evil thought that I would make his life difficult.

But the moment I approached him and tapped him on the shoulder, Tudor was shocked, as if he had been hit by a huge mountain.

He bounced and rolled on the ground, sprawled out in a ridiculous position, and momentarily passed out.

For some reason, the guy who actually got the shoulder block just stood there dumbfounded.

Tudor was about to stand up and say something to Vikir when he heard a voice.

"Class A goal!"

Tudor heard the referee yell.

Tudor looked up in surprise and saw the ball rolling under his team's goal.

When Tudor turned around to get out of Vikir's way, the ball rose and somehow managed to stay inside.

It was a happy, lucky goal, like catching a mouse on a cow's back.

But no loud shouts were heard from the crowd.

After the goal, Tudor also had a "?" mark on his head.

"What did I do? Why did I fall?"

Tudor continued to look confused.

``There was no sense of accomplishment even when I scored a goal.

It was a stupid goal that only got worse.

The question is: why did the Tudor dynasty collapse?

Tudor's career so far

Already at the age of 17, he was able to overwhelm the knights of his clan, and his talent was especially noticeable in the sports of Naphtali.

An all-rounder who can fly, run, pass, and wrestle.

Holder, kicker, punter, returner, running back, fullback, quarterback, receiver, taller, guard, center, linebacker, pioneer, all-around player who can play any position.

Unparalleled ability that surpasses Don Quixote's companions.

It was Don Quixote Tudor.

But he was beaten right in front of the learner beetle, Vikir the Redhead.

"No, that's impossible!" Even if you don't spend any mana, that's impossible!

Tudor shook his head in disbelief.

If Vikir had been a good lineman and blocked the attack, he wouldn't have allowed the goal in the first place.

``Something's wrong; let's make it right!''

Tudor straightened himself and ran back to his side of the field.

Next thing you know, B's team's goalie knocked the ball out of play.

Tudor grabbed the ball with his usual flair.

He had phenomenal possession.

"Block!"

Tudor hugged the ball and ran as fast as he could.

Huh?

Somehow, he couldn't see the Baskerville triplets, whose glowing eyes were blocking him.

"...?"

When I looked up, thinking I could see something, I saw the back side of the stadium.

The Baskerville Triplets blocked Vikir's path.

It seemed like he was being escorted.

"What are you doing? Why aren't you in touch?"

Was it because they weren't confident enough to confront him?

No, I don't think so.

Don Quixote's eldest son, Tudor, had heard rumors about the Baskerville triplets.

The strong and cunning villains of this era.

You're not the type to give up just because you've been kicked out once.

Tudor ran straight towards them.

Papapapapa!

Tudor, a virtual pro when it comes to leading dribbling, once again beat the Baskerville Triplets and fired a shot deep into the B team's goal.

``Someone likes a loach.''

Highbrow Baskerville approaches Tudor.

...Hmm!

Highbrow muscle and bone, strengthened by the protection of the River Styx, clashed with Tudor muscle and bone.

However, the Tudors were decisively inferior in close combat.

``This is not martial art, my friend.''

Tudor slipped through the cavity under Highbrow's flank in one fluid motion and ran straight backward.

Suddenly, the goal was in sight.

However.

This time it wasn't the gate, but Vikil, who was standing far behind.

Even without mana, Tudor was confident.

The power of intense training concentrated on his lower body, upper body, soles of his feet, hips, and hips, and exploded into his palms.

Tudor's arm flew like a giant spear and pierced the target in front of him.

"There will be no coincidences this time; just try it!"

And.

...Pack!

That was Tudor's last thought again.

* * *

For now. Vikir clicked his tongue as he watched Tudor collide with him and move away.

"Why does he always come here?"

The atmosphere is such that you cannot be upset because the other person is upset.

Vikir glanced at his position with an irritated expression.

But.

This time I hit it so hard that Tudor was completely battered and couldn't move at all.

It looks like I'll pass out a little longer than last time.

Dollars...

The ball rolled and fell at Vikir's feet.

Hmm, hmmm.

Vikir stared at the ball rolling on the ground.

But to my surprise, no one came to pick it up.

Tudor's unparalleled performance kept everyone at bay, friend and foe alike.

Well then. There was a big celebration in the B team's stands.

"Who is he? Are you in class B?!"

"Tudor is in the grass! Now is your chance!"

"But why did Tudor collapse?"

"I don't know! It doesn't matter now! At this rate, we'll lose to Class A!''

``Run! It's almost time for the match!''

``But who is he?''

He's in our class, so please support him!''

Everyone in Class B, who was about to lose 0-1, started cheering for Vikil.

Vikir let out a quiet sigh, as if he were talking to himself.

He didn't want to draw attention to himself, but in a crisis as high-profile as this, doing nothing would only make him stand out more.

Vikir couldn't resist and reached out his hand to grab the ball.

But the situation was pretty hopeless.

All my allies either fell or were far away after being pierced by Tudor.

Only A ran towards them.

Vikir faced a dilemma. Will he lose the ball like that? If you do that, you risk being labeled a traitor and attracting attention as the school year progresses.

But he also didn't want to attack with the ball, score goals, or become a star.

In the end, Vikir compromised on his own.

Swoosh.

Vikir picked up the ball and pulled his arm back.

There were only a few seconds left until the end of the game. The B-class students who were cheering on the scene cried out in disbelief.

``Unfortunately, the game is over with 5 seconds left.''

``I can't believe we lost to Class A since the beginning of the semester.''

``...?'' Look at him. What is the boy trying to do with the ball?"

"What are you doing? He has 3 seconds left."

Everyone was frustrated.

Team A's linemen also slowed down when they realized the game was over.

Then.

Dawn.

Vikir's arm moved.

One litter.

The ball flew. Straight to heaven.

But what's the point of the ball coming at you when there's still one second left in the game?

One by one, the students who were watching the sporting event packed up their bags, and he left the stand as if he hadn't had any fun.

Only some students who are unusually particular about winning stare at the trajectory of the ball with regret.

...but?

The ball flew a little farther.

It's a little too far.

Zoom, zoom, zoom.

The ball continues to rise even though it is beyond the distance that common sense suggests would stop it.

Added.

And now it has begun to draw a gentle curve.

"...?"

"Huh!?"

Both Team A and Team B widen their eyes.

The game ended when time ran out.

However, the ball remains in the air, and they keep moving forward, not caring that the game is over.

Then.

Bang

The ball hit one of the Y-shaped goal posts and slid into it.

And.

....

The middle of the field is silent.

All the students in the stands and on the field were speechless.

The professor in charge of the game dutifully put the pipe into his mouth and muttered vaguely.

"...buzzer beater."

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