"You really don't plan on giving him a pointer or two?" Bachira wiped the sweat from his brow, his eyes tracking Kunigami, who was relentlessly hammering balls into the net. "That guy's got a great build."
"If he could master your high-altitude volley... he'd definitely become a beast." Bachira tilted his head. "It's just... his body is a little too stiff for it right now."
Aki shot Bachira a flat look. "Please. Weren't you the one who agreed to this?"
"I was going to turn him down, remember?"
It was true. Aki hadn't actually consented to the deal. But Bachira, lured by the promise of shared gyoza, had essentially signed Aki up for the coaching gig.
Bachira scratched his head, grinning sheepishly. "Hey, I just figured we're on the same team. Maybe the next stage is a team match."
"If we teach him something now, it might just be the edge that gets our team a goal later..."
Aki knew exactly what was going on—Bachira's stomach had done the thinking for him. Still, Aki let his gaze wander over the rest of the players on the pitch.
Everyone was searching for their "Weapon."
Isagi Yoichi was still clueless, unaware of how to weaponize his spatial awareness—or rather, his "eyes." Kunigami's flaws were even more obvious: his rigid personality and linear playstyle.
As for Bachira's dribbling... Aki understood it perfectly.
But looking at the others—Chigiri Hyoma, Igarashi, and the rest—Aki saw almost zero value. If they stepped onto a real pitch in their current states, this team would have the offensive bite of a toothless dog.
Aki exhaled a long, weary sigh and started walking toward the center of the pitch.
Bachira followed, his smile widening like a comet's tail.
"Hey. Stop for a second," Aki said, stopping behind Kunigami.
Kunigami flinched, nearly slicing his kick. He turned around to see Aki, his face etched with exhaustion.
Aki sat down directly on the grass and gestured for Kunigami to join him.
Kunigami remained silent for a few seconds. He didn't sit. "It's not my break time yet," he said, his voice gravelly.
As he turned to retrieve his ball, Aki's voice rang out.
"Do you really think this kind of training is effective?"
"Repeating the same motion over and over can deepen muscle memory, sure. But on a pitch that changes every split-second, a weapon built on a whim might be the very thing that shatters your confidence."
Aki looked up at him. "If you think I'm right, sit down."
Kunigami pursed his lips. Finally, he gave in and sat.
After a moment of silence, Aki pointed toward the others training in the hall. "Do you think their training is useful?"
Kunigami looked. Isagi was practicing basic shooting. Igarashi was running drills with another player. Everyone was working hard.
"What do you mean?" Kunigami asked, genuinely confused.
"Everyone here is a striker," Aki said calmly. "They've all shown a certain level of skill on the pitch. That translates to 'potential'."
"And then, there's the Weapon."
"Weapon?" Kunigami blinked. "You mean our specialties?"
Aki shook his head. "No. A Weapon is a formula for scoring."
"It's the manifestation of a player's unique identity. Look at Bachira." He jabbed a thumb at the boy beside him. "He can pull off the most incredible plays on the pitch because he doesn't just rely on his skill..."
"Dribbling?" Bachira interjected.
Thump.
Aki's fist landed accurately on Bachira's head. He continued, "A scoring formula isn't just about technical ability. It requires Ego."
"Why do you want to learn the high-altitude volley? It's for the same reason. You want to stand out. You want to fire off that one incomparable shot that makes the whole world stop and look at you."
"That is Ego. When that selfishness merges with your physical weapon, only then do you become a true player."
Kunigami rubbed his chin, a glimmer of understanding dawning in his eyes. "So... you think I'm missing something?"
"But I don't see the problem. If I want to learn a technique, I have to master it, integrate it... Even if I fail on the pitch because of it, that's on me. To get stronger, I have to learn more things."
Aki laughed, his eyes seeming to peer straight through Kunigami's soul. "If that's what you believe, I have nothing left to say."
He slapped his knees and stood up.
As he walked away, he glanced back over his shoulder. "The high-altitude volley doesn't just require practice. It requires extreme physical flexibility. Your body... it isn't built for that kind of movement."
"My advice? Forget the volley. Focus on a long-range power strike from a fixed point."
Kunigami said nothing, staring at his hands in thought.
Bachira caught up to Aki, looking skeptical. "Aki, I've never heard you talk that much. Does that guy really have that much potential?"
Aki nodded. "Kunigami's physical specs are top-tier. His conditioning allows him to maintain high-intensity sprints. On the pitch, he's basically a bulldozer."
"With the right training, his ceiling is massive. I only told him all that because he needs to stop wasting time on things that don't fit him."
"Is that so?" Bachira's lips curled into a smirk.
After several days of relentless training, the players had reached their peak condition.
Back in the shared dormitory, the monitor flickered to life once again. Ego Jinpachi appeared, casually slurping a cup of instant noodles as if he didn't have a care in the world.
"Yo, superstars. It looks like you've enjoyed your little vacation..."
"The rest period is over."
He set aside the noodles, and a graphic appeared on the screen.
"Including your own, there are five teams in this wing. You will now participate in a round-robin selection tournament. Only the top two teams will advance."
Raichi fumed, his shark-like teeth bared in a snarl. "Hey, hey! Are you kidding me? We're all forwards! How are we supposed to play a match?"
Ego grinned, as if he'd anticipated the question.
"In the early days of football, there were no 'positions.' There was only the goal. I need you to strip away everything you think you know about the sport."
"Forget the common sense of the outside world. Burn new concepts, new ways of playing, into your brains."
"And finally, condense it all into a single shot."
"The world doesn't need a 'team' right now. It needs a Hero born from this ruthless game!"
Aki's grin mirrored Ego's. A hero?
Why not just call it what it was: a slaughterhouse.
The matchup list appeared on the screen.
[Team X vs. Team Z]
The new round of elimination had begun.