The halls of the hospital were quiet, but the tension in the room was loud.
Jim lay unconscious on the hospital bed, a bandage wrapped around his head. Electrodes beeped softly from the monitor beside him. Volt sat on a bench near the window, fidgeting with a juice box. Alex stood by the bed, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Jim's motionless form. The rest of the Phantom Force team lingered around the room, trying to stay calm.
The door opened, and the doctor stepped in with a soft smile.
"He's stable," the doctor said. "No fractures. Just a minor concussion. He lost consciousness due to the impact, but he's going to be fine."
A collective breath of relief swept the room.
"Thank God…".
"I thought we lost him…".
Alex's shoulders relaxed slightly. Volt leaned back on the bench with a loud sigh.
"Tch. I told you he's too stubborn to die," Volt said, trying to lighten the mood. "We need him. Who else will make dumb decisions and carry us at the same time?"
Everyone chuckled. But inside, worry still lingered.
While Jim's body rested, his mind was far away—lost in a deep dream.
Inside Jim's Mind
A soft violet haze swirled around him. He was floating in a space that felt both familiar and foreign.
Then—memories began to surface.
He saw himself as a child. A baby, cradled in weak arms.
A man coughed violently nearby, trying to hide his pain behind a soft smile. His body was frail, thin. But his eyes burned with something deeper—fire, pride, regret.
He wore a torn purple jersey.
And standing behind him was something… divine and terrifying—a tall, shadowed sprite with purple wings and a scythe of light. The Angel of Death.
The man whispered into baby Jim's ear:
"My son… will win the world one day. For our proud nation."
A sharp flash.
Jim now saw the man as a teenager—number 10 on his back, tearing through defenders. Stadiums roared. Commentators screamed his name.
They called him the "Purple Demon."
Unstoppable. Elegant. Ruthless. Loved by the crowd. Feared by rivals.
And then, suddenly, it all disappeared.
The image of a doctor holding up a scan. Words like lung cancer, stage two, and no more football echoed.
At just 17, the Purple Demon retired. Quietly. With no press, no farewell.
One last shot: baby Jim reaching out to his dying father, too young to understand.
And then… silence.
Back in the Hospital
Jim's eyes shot open.
"Papa!" he gasped, sitting upright.
Volt dropped his juice box. Alex stepped closer, calm but concerned.
"Easy," Alex said. "You're safe. Don't move too much."
Jim looked around, dazed. "What happened…? The match—did we win?"
Volt raised a brow. "Wow. I was expecting something like, 'Volt, you were amazing!' or 'I've never seen a more handsome hero than you!' But no… You woke up yelling 'Papa.' I'm hurt."
Jim blinked, confused. "Huh?"
Alex answered gently. "Yes. We won. You got injured. Taken off the field. Volt scored the winner in extra time."
Volt puffed up. "Crushed Raiku with wind pressure, broke the goalpost, crowd went wild. Not that I'm bragging or anything."
Jim chuckled weakly.
Then he grew quiet.
"I… I saw something."
Alex leaned in. "What did you see?"
Jim stared at the ceiling, his voice barely above a whisper.
"A dream. Or maybe… a memory. My father. I saw him. He was a footballer. A legend. They called him the Purple Demon. He wore a purple jersey… and his sprite—was something else. The Angel of Death."
The room fell silent.
"He told me… I'd win the world one day. That was his dream. But he got sick. Lung cancer. Had to retire before he ever played for the national team."
Jim looked down at his hands. "People forgot him. But I won't."
Alex's eyes narrowed. "…What was his name?"
Jim turned.
"Tim."
A sharp inhale from Alex.
He looked away, stunned. "Tim… your father was Tim?"
Jim nodded slowly. "Yeah. Why?"
Alex stepped back, his voice low.
"My father… used to talk about him. Said he was the greatest talent Japan ever produced. Said if Tim hadn't retired… Japan would've won the World Cup years ago."
Jim's eyes widened.
"Wait… Your father knew him?"
Alex gave a small nod. "More than that. He said Tim was the only player he ever considered a rival."
Volt looked between them, stunned. "Whoa. Now this is getting interesting."
Final Lines
Jim closed his eyes.
That voice still echoed in his head.
"My son… will win the world."
He clenched his fist.
"Then I will."
"I'll carry his dream. And mine."
The scene faded to black.