The tension in the air was electric as the victorious players gathered in the waiting hall. Kaito’s body ached from the match, but his mind buzzed with the thrill of his win. He had proven himself, if only for now. The room was quieter now, the pool of players significantly smaller. The defeated had been escorted out, their dreams snuffed out in the merciless crucible of competition.
Kaito leaned against the wall, catching his breath, when a shadow loomed over him. Looking up, he met the cold, piercing eyes of a tall, lean boy with spiky silver hair and a sharp, predatory grin.
“You’re Kaito Suzuki, right?” the boy asked, his voice smooth but laced with menace.
Kaito straightened, sensing the unspoken challenge in the boy’s tone. “Yeah. And you are?”
The boy’s grin widened. “Renji Takahara. Remember the name.” He extended a hand but didn’t wait for Kaito to take it. “I saw your match. Impressive... for someone who’s still figuring out how to handle pressure.”
Kaito’s jaw tightened. “You’ve got something to say, say it.”
Renji laughed, a low, almost mocking sound. “Relax. I’m just observing. You’ve got potential, Suzuki. But potential isn’t enough here. You’ll need more than clever tricks to survive the next round.”
With that, Renji turned and walked away, leaving Kaito with a mix of irritation and unease. Renji’s presence felt different from the others—a calculated, confident energy that made it clear he wasn’t just here to compete. He was here to dominate.
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The next test was announced soon after. The players were led into a massive, enclosed dome with an unfamiliar setup. The field was divided into four sections, each marked by bright, glowing lines that resembled a video game grid. In the center, a digital scoreboard lit up with the title: KING OF THE FIELD TEST.
Kuroda’s voice boomed across the dome. “In this test, you’ll play a new kind of football. The field is divided into zones. Each player starts in a different zone with a ball. Your goal is to claim as many zones as possible within 15 minutes. To claim a zone, you must score a goal into the designated mini-nets scattered across the field. The player with the most zones at the end wins.”
The players exchanged uneasy glances. This wasn’t just football anymore—it was a war for territory.
Kuroda’s voice grew colder. “Remember, you’re not here to make friends. You’re here to survive. If you’re not willing to fight for your place, leave now.”
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No one moved.
“Good,” Kuroda said. “Begin.”
The whistle blew, and chaos erupted.
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Kaito sprinted into his starting zone, gripping his ball tightly. The mini-net was close, but so was the looming presence of another player—a wiry, quick-footed boy who darted toward him like a hawk. Kaito quickly sidestepped, shielding the ball as the boy lunged. With a deft flick, Kaito chipped the ball over the boy’s head and into the net.
Zone claimed.
A green light flashed in Kaito’s zone, and the scoreboard updated with his name. But there was no time to celebrate. Another player had already entered his territory, and this one wasn’t looking to play fair.
The larger boy slammed into Kaito with his shoulder, knocking him off balance. Kaito stumbled but managed to keep possession of the ball. The boy grinned, clearly enjoying the physicality of the game.
“You think you can hold this zone?” the boy taunted, lunging again.
Kaito didn’t reply. Instead, he used the boy’s momentum against him, spinning away and launching the ball toward the net. It hit the target just as the boy recovered, and Kaito dashed out of the zone before he could retaliate.
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The game was a blur of motion, strategy, and survival. Kaito moved like a predator, claiming zones wherever he could and avoiding confrontations when necessary. But no matter where he went, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched.
And then he saw him.
Renji Takahara was cutting through the field like a knife, his movements eerily smooth and precise. Every time he entered a zone, he didn’t just claim it—he dismantled his opponents. He moved with a predatory grace, reading the game like a chessboard and striking with ruthless efficiency.
Kaito’s chest tightened as Renji’s eyes locked onto him from across the field. A cold smirk spread across Renji’s face, and he began moving toward Kaito’s zone.
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As Renji entered Kaito’s territory, the air seemed to thicken. Kaito positioned himself defensively, ready for anything. Renji approached with the ball, his movements casual but calculated.
“You’ve done well so far,” Renji said, his voice calm. “But let’s see how you handle real pressure.”
Without warning, Renji surged forward, his speed and control overwhelming. Kaito tried to block him, but Renji feinted so sharply that Kaito’s footing slipped. In the blink of an eye, Renji was past him, firing the ball into the net with surgical precision.
“Zone claimed,” the system announced as Renji’s name flashed on the scoreboard.
Kaito clenched his fists. He wasn’t going to back down.
As the clock ticked down, Kaito and Renji clashed repeatedly, each trying to outmaneuver the other. Kaito pushed himself to the limit, using every trick he knew to keep Renji at bay. But Renji was relentless, his skills honed to an almost inhuman level.
With less than a minute left, Kaito saw his chance. Renji had overextended, leaving a narrow opening. Kaito surged forward, intercepting the ball and firing it into a mini-net just as the final whistle blew.
The scoreboard updated: Takahara – 8 Zones. Suzuki – 7 Zones.
Kaito had lost the duel, but he wasn’t eliminated. The next round would decide everything.
As Renji walked off the field, he glanced back at Kaito with a faint smile. “Not bad, Suzuki. You’ve got guts. But guts won’t be enough next time.”
Kaito didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. The fire in his chest burned brighter than ever.