As the final stage approached, the players were split into makeshift teams of eleven, with goalkeepers rotating among them since there weren't enough to cover every team. Ryo found himself placed on Team 9, set to play in the third set of matches for the day.
Unfortunately, he wasn't paired with Ren. Instead, his team consisted mostly of upperclassmen, fifth- and sixth-years, with only a single fourth-year breaking up their ranks. That left Ryo as the youngest by a wide margin. To make matters worse, the coaches had assigned him to left fullback—a defensive role. One of the worst positions for showcasing his attacking ability.
They definitely did this on purpose… Ryo frowned. Of course, Ren-nii just had to run his mouth to the coaches about me. Now they want to see if I can handle being disadvantaged.
Glancing across the pitch at their upcoming opponents, Ryo's instincts told him this would be far from an easy test. The other squad was stacked with experienced players—big and confident; the kind who already moved like they owned the field. Still, Ryo's pulse quickened with anticipation rather than fear. If he could keep pace with Ren, who was already considered one of the best young strikers in the region, then there was no reason to back down here.
One of the older players broke the silence with a scoff, his irritation written all over his face.
"Hey, kid. If you somehow get the ball, just pass it to one of us. We'll handle it." His tone made it clear he thought Ryo was a liability. What were the coaches thinking, sticking a first-year in with us?
Ryo met his gaze calmly. "If I see a good reason to pass, I will."
He turned away before the boy could respond, letting the words hang. Not that I expect to see many good reasons to pass, he thought, a small, confident grin tugging at his lips.
As the players shuffled into position, the staff lingered on the sidelines, murmuring to one another. Coach Takigawa leaned toward the head coach, his tone low with concern.
"Are you sure it's wise to throw a first-year in with the sixth-years? Drills are one thing, but in a scrimmage, he'll be eaten alive."
Coach Matsumoto didn't look away from the pitch. "Do you know who he is?"
Takigawa frowned. "No… should I?"
"You've probably heard of him, even if you didn't realize it," Matsumoto replied, eyes narrowing slightly in Ryo's direction.
Takigawa's brow furrowed, running through possibilities in his head. A kid that young? Why would I have heard of him?
"He's Aoyama Ren's younger brother," Matsumoto finally said. "Ren mentions him sometimes—when he's in a good mood."
A realization washed over Takigawa's face. "Ah, that's right. I remember now. After an impressive and crucial tackle last season, Ren was asked how he read the opponent so well. He laughed and said, 'My brother's beaten me with a similar move too many times, so I knew how to stop it.' I assumed he was talking about an older brother. But younger?"
Matsumoto nodded. "That's right. Ren once told me his brother can hold his own against him in practice—on both offense and defense. If that's true, then he's more than just talented."
"In that case, why not fast-track him? Put him straight on the first team," Takigawa whispered excitedly.
"No," Matsumoto said firmly, his gaze hardening. "Talent means nothing if he can't survive against players older and stronger than him. If he breaks down here, I won't even start him on the second team."
His eyes followed Ryo as he adjusted his position on the field. Prodigy or not, composure under pressure is what matters most.
After a few minutes of organization, Coach Takigawa blew the whistle to start the scrimmages. Immediately, the tension across the pitch thickened. With four sets of games to cycle through, each one only lasted twenty minutes, so everyone was desperate to leave an impression.
For Ryo, though, things weren't going well. No matter how many times he called for the ball, his teammates passed elsewhere. It wasn't the usual case of being overlooked—he could feel they were deliberately leaving him out—as if he were an infection. As a defender, that meant he was practically invisible; the ball rarely came to the back line, and even when he pressed forward, his teammates played elsewhere.
Five minutes ticked by, and he hadn't touched the ball once. That was unnatural, especially since he wasn't standing idle. Ryo narrowed his eyes. Alright, I see how it is. If you're going to play dirty, then I'll just have to play smarter.
He wasn't about to sabotage the team, but if they refused to involve him, he'd force himself into the game.
The chance finally came when the left forward sent a lazy pass back toward the center-back. The ball lacked power, floating in no man's land. Ryo had already crept forward, anticipating something sloppy. So seeing the botched pass, he pounced, cutting in to recover the loose ball.
"Hey! What are you doing? Pass it!" the left striker barked, furious at having his pass intercepted.
No, you're marked now.Besides, I'm about to run past you. The right forward is covered, too. That leaves me—so I'm taking it.
Ryo drove the ball up the middle. The nearest midfielder lunged to challenge him, but Ryo slipped past with ease. Two defenders scrambled to close him down, but their movements weren't coordinated—one a step too early, the other too late. That made them no different than defenders attacking individually.
Ryo surged past the first with raw speed, then feinted right, wrong-footing the second before darting left. That left only one more defender between him and the goal. Ahead on the wing, Ryo saw the right striker had managed to stay onside while shaking off his mark.
Alright, you are in a good spot, so I'll pass it to you. The smart play is to one-touch it back so I can line up the shot. But if you keep it for yourself… things won't end well.
Ryo sent a clean pass, landing perfectly in front of the striker. But, just as he expected, the striker ignored the follow-up and kept charging. At such a sharp angle, his shot would not be a big threat. Sure enough, he fired straight at the keeper, who easily punched it over the crossbar. A wasted chance that had only resulted in a corner kick.
Ryo exhaled slowly. There was an eighty percent chance he wouldn't return it. And of course, he didn't.