The aftermath of the King of the Field Test left Kaito drained but determined. Every step back to the dormitory felt like a victory and a warning: he was good, but not good enough. Renji Takahara’s precision and dominance haunted him, replaying in his mind like a taunting reminder of what he lacked.
Kaito sat on the edge of his bunk, staring at his boots. Around him, the other remaining players were scattered, some silently stewing in frustration, others talking strategy in hushed tones. The air was thick with tension and ambition, but beneath it all was an unspoken truth—only one would survive.
He clenched his fists. "I have to be better."
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Later that night.
The lights in the dormitory flickered off as the players settled in for a restless night. Kaito lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Sleep felt impossible. His thoughts churned, a storm of frustration and resolve. He needed to figure out how to break through the walls that separated him from players like Renji.
Unable to stay still, he slipped out of bed and into the training hall. The massive indoor space was eerily quiet, lit only by the faint glow of emergency lights. Rows of training equipment and goalposts stretched out before him like a ghostly reminder of the challenges ahead.
Kaito stood in the center of the field, a single ball at his feet. He began to practice, running through drills, focusing on his footwork, and trying to replicate the precision and speed he had seen from Renji. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing.
“You’ll wear yourself out before the next round, you know.”
The voice startled Kaito, and he spun around to see Renji leaning casually against a goalpost, his silver hair glinting faintly in the dim light.
“What are you doing here?” Kaito asked, narrowing his eyes.
Renji smirked. “Same as you. Figuring out how to stay ahead. But unlike you, I know when to stop pushing myself.” He stepped onto the field, his movements unhurried but purposeful. “You looked pretty lost out there today, Suzuki. What’s eating at you?”
Kaito’s jaw tightened. “I don’t need advice from you.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Renji chuckled. “Who said I was giving advice? Just making an observation. You’ve got heart, no doubt about it. But heart won’t get you to the top. You need something more.”
Kaito bristled. “Like what? Arrogance?”
Renji’s grin widened, but his eyes darkened. “No. A striker’s instinct. The ability to read the field, to predict not just your opponent’s moves but your own. When I see the ball, I don’t think. I act. You hesitate, Suzuki. And hesitation is the death of a striker.”
Kaito stared at him, his frustration boiling over. “And how am I supposed to just… stop hesitating?”
Renji’s smirk faded, replaced by a rare seriousness. He picked up a ball and balanced it on his foot, his movements impossibly smooth. “You stop overthinking. When you step onto the field, you don’t have time to second-guess. You trust your instincts, your body, your drive. The moment you start doubting, you’ve already lost.”
He flicked the ball into the air and caught it with his hand, then tossed it to Kaito. “Prove it.”
“What?”
“Right now. One-on-one. No stakes, no time limit. Just you, me, and the goal.” Renji’s grin returned, sharp as a blade. “Let’s see if you’ve got what it takes.”
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The impromptu match began, and Kaito quickly realized what made Renji so dangerous. His movements weren’t just fast—they were calculated, as if he could see three steps ahead of every play. Kaito found himself struggling to keep up, constantly on the defensive as Renji weaved around him with ease.
“You’re too reactive,” Renji said, flicking the ball past Kaito and taking a casual shot at the goal. The net rippled, and he turned back with a shrug. “You wait for me to make a move instead of forcing me to respond to you. Be the aggressor, Suzuki.”
Kaito clenched his teeth, his frustration mounting. But he forced himself to focus. The next play began, and this time, Kaito didn’t wait. He charged at Renji, using his speed to close the gap and disrupt Renji’s rhythm. Renji adjusted quickly, but Kaito anticipated his counter and spun around him, driving the ball toward the goal.
He shot—and the ball soared into the top corner of the net.
For a moment, there was only silence. Then Renji laughed, a genuine sound that surprised Kaito. “Not bad,” he said, brushing his silver hair out of his face. “You’ve got fire, I’ll give you that. But fire alone won’t get you through the next round.”
Kaito frowned. “What do you mean?”
Renji’s expression darkened slightly. “This place isn’t just about skill. It’s about mentality. Survival. The next test will push you harder than anything you’ve faced so far. If you don’t have the guts to make the hard choices, you won’t last.”
“What kind of choices?”
Renji’s grin returned, but it was sharper, colder. “The kind that separates the hunters from the hunted.”
Before Kaito could press further, Renji turned and walked away, leaving Kaito alone in the dimly lit hall. His words echoed in Kaito’s mind, a chilling reminder of the brutal reality of the competition.
As Kaito stared at the ball, his determination hardened. He didn’t know what the next test would bring, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t hesitate. Not anymore.