The main training grounds echoed faintly with the rhythmic shouts and whistle-blown cues of Raimon's morning drills. From above, it might've looked like just another day of focused practice—grueling, yes, but structured. Familiar. Safe.
But far below the surface, buried beneath layers of reinforced flooring and forgotten hallways, was something else entirely.
A hidden chamber. Cold. Silent.
And inside it—Sangoku Taichi stood alone.
The air was stale, heavy with the scent of sweat and rubber. The lights were dim, casting long shadows across the padded floor, and barely illuminating the walls around him. The only thing that shone clearly was the glowing red text on the digital panel above the sleek machine before him:
Level 6
The machine loomed like a beast—its central chamber spinning slowly, loaded with ball after ball. Metallic arms twitched in readiness. Above it, the countdown began.
"Initiating next volley in 3... 2... 1..."
Whirr—
THUNK!
A ball screamed through the air.
Sangoku moved on instinct—but the lighting was poor. Shadows shifted in the corners of his vision, and for a split second, he couldn't track the spin—
THWAM!
It hit the back netting, missing his gloves by inches.
He landed hard on his side, breath punched from his lungs.
But he didn't stay down.
Chest heaving, Sangoku rolled to his knees, teeth gritted, the sweat dripping down his jaw. He could barely feel his arms anymore, but he planted his hands on the ground and pushed himself upright again.
No comfort.
No break.
Just the machine resetting with a mechanical hiss.
He locked his eyes forward.
Again.
Whirr—THUNK!
Another ball. Faster. Lower.
Sangoku lunged, body twisting—
SLAM!
It smashed into his gloves with the force of a cannon, nearly knocking him off balance. His boots scraped across the ground, but he didn't fall.
"Again," he hissed through gritted teeth.
Whirr—THUNK!
A third came immediately after. This one curved upward, aiming for the top corner—unforgiving and fast.
Sangoku pushed off with both legs, launching himself into the air. He extended every inch of his reach—
SLAM!
Caught.
The shock rattled down his arms, but he landed—hard—on one knee, breathing loudly in the silence.
His fingers twitched. His shoulders ached. But his eyes never lost their edge.
He stood. Again.
He stood.
But then—finally—the machine powered down with a low hum, its lights dimming as the digital panel flickered off. The silence that followed rang louder than the shots.
Sangoku took a shaky step back, exhaling long and slow.
For the first time in what felt like hours, the chamber's overhead lights brightened—just enough to reveal the full size of the room. It was larger than he'd thought. Circular. Seamless. Everything about the space was built for one thing:
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THE PAIN - Inazuma Eleven Go Fanfic
FanfictionWhy do so many people rely on him? Do they realize they're already putting too much pressure on him and giving him pain? Why aren't they able to see his distress? Are people really so clueless, even to the most obvious? Is it really possible for the...
