Ryūma watched Yo Hiori beating himself up, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“What’s wrong, Hiori? I never blamed you. It’s just one goal. I’ll even the score on the next kickoff.”
“What’s with you today? You’re impatient and self-critical—it’s not like you at all.”
Hiori froze, at a loss for words, stammering,
“N-no… I just… because of the ball…”
“Come on, Hiori. We’ve known each other long enough.”
“Why can’t you just say what you’re thinking instead of stumbling over it?”
Ryūma grinned, slinging an arm around Hiori’s shoulder. He truly valued him—not for his passing or anything technical, but because of his personality.
“Ryūma… I just feel like I barely contributed in the last match. This time, I wanted to prove myself.”
“I want to keep up with your pace. If I keep dragging you down , how could I ever be your shadow striker in the future…?”
Ryūma hadn’t expected Hiori to remember that promise. Shaking his head, he chuckled.
“Haha, Hiori, you’re usually so sharp. Why do you freeze up over stuff ?”
“Keep up with me? Hold me back? That’s for me to decide.”
“Have some confidence. You’ve got talent—don’t get impatient.”
“And no matter how many times you fail, I’ll always trust you to get the ball where I need it.”
“Enough sulking. I’m taking the kickoff. Keep your eyes on me, Hiori. You never know when I’ll need your support.”
Watching Ryūma walk toward the center circle, Hiori gradually calmed down thanks to his words.
(Yeah… he’s right. Ryūma never blamed you. Why are you being so dramatic, Hiori?)
(Stay sharp. Find Team Y’s weak spots. And always be ready for Ryūma—if he passes to me, I can’t let it get stolen, no matter what!)
At the center circle, Ryūma smirked to himself.
(Tsk. So this match is going to be about who can break through first. Offense, huh?)
“Then let’s see whose attack is stronger!”
His pupils glowed purple as he burst forward with the ball.
Ryūma was irritated now. His specialty was one-on-one—direct battles. You dribble, I intercept. I drive forward, they block. But Team Y’s players never held the ball for more than three seconds, and it drove him nuts.
Seeing Ryūma charge, Kobayashi Shima and Hisakawa Mii dropped back quickly, leaving only Matsutani Kageaki in front. Two more players shadowed behind Matsutani, while the rest spread out to block lanes.
Ryūma blinked, then smirked.
(Oh? Leaving Matsutani alone to guard me one-on-one? Bold move.)
He dropped his shoulder, cutting left. Matsutani reacted quickly, sliding over to block.
In an instant, Ryūma spun into a Marseille turn, dragging the ball wider left. Then he exploded past Matsutani, who was still stuck mid-block.
(Who gave this guy the courage? Those two behind him?)
As the two shadowing players closed in, Ryūma feigned another left dash—then flicked the ball to the right.
The first defender stepped in, ready to counter a feint. The second stayed back, positioned to cut off Ryūma if he tried a split dribble.
They looked certain of themselves. Ryūma laughed.
“You really think you can stop me?”
With the inside of his right foot, he angled the ball forward. It slipped perfectly between both defenders’ legs.
At the same moment, he exploded into a sprint.
“Damn! Forgot about that nutmeg of his—and at that speed…”
Before they could react, Ryūma was already past them, chasing down his own ball.
“Now! While this freak’s off guard—it’s our best chance!”
Out of nowhere, another figure appeared and stripped the ball away.
(Tch. Where did he come from? Another blind spot?)
(Wait—they’ve figured out my Metavision isn’t flawless.)
(And they realized I’d been underestimating them. They used that against me, setting someone to wait out of sight.)
(So the ones I beat earlier were bait to lower my guard?)
(But their shocked reactions didn’t look fake. What’s with this team?)
“This might be one of my weaknesses…”
“…but it’s not something…”
“…you weaklings can exploit at will!”
Before the Y-team player could pass, Ryūma tore in from behind.
With a left-footed Marseille turn, he pulled the ball back under his control.
The opponent panicked, grabbing for him, but Ryūma blasted forward again, shaking free instantly and charging into Team Y’s backfield.
Five defenders stood between him and the goal. Kobayashi and Hisakawa, who had dropped back, braced to intercept. Three more—two fullbacks and an attacking midfielder—held the box.
“Ryū, we’re here too!”
Hiori called from just ten meters to his right, while the triplets were over ten meters back on his left.
They were all marked, but Ryūma wasn’t worried. The main defenders were focused on him; he didn’t believe passes to those “extras” would be cut off.
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“Relax, everyone. From this range, they can’t stop me.”
With a faint smile, Ryūma adjusted his stance and shot.
“Hah? Is he insane? Shooting from 30 meters out? And that ball’s flying way too high!”
“No—look! It’s dropping!”
Just as Kobayashi said, the ball, once soaring, suddenly dipped toward the goal.
Its angle was nearly unstoppable, aimed at the far corner. If it had been Team Z’s keeper, Yushu Furukawa, he might have scraped it.
But Team Y’s keeper wasn’t Furukawa. Despite his desperate leap, the ball slammed into the net.
GOAL!! Team V 2:2 Team Y