After the monitor flickered to black, the survivors of the first trial were officially initiated into the program.
While the air in the room remained thick with the lingering tension of the game, two people were already operating on a different wavelength. Yoru Ryoshu and Bachira were casually debating what to have for dinner.
Isagi Yoichi, perhaps emboldened by the rush of survival, stepped forward. His voice was steadier than before.
"Hello. I'm Isagi Yoichi."
Aki looked a bit surprised but reached out to shake the boy's hand. He wasn't a cold-blooded animal; he knew how to return a gesture of goodwill. It was only on the pitch that he became something... else. Something terrifying.
"That high-altitude volley was incredible," Isagi said, skipping the awkwardness. "But... why did you choose that guy? Specifically?"
It was the same question Bachira had asked. Isagi had also noticed the surgical intent behind the strike.
"Why?" Aki rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I just wanted to test my limits? It's a high-difficulty maneuver. Combining precision with a prediction of everyone's movement... the idea just popped into my head at the last second."
He smiled, a flash of white teeth. "And in the end, I pulled it off."
Isagi's eye twitched. He couldn't wrap his head around it. He made that judgment in the middle of the kick? Just because he wanted to 'try it out'?
A cold shiver ran down Isagi's spine. Wasn't he afraid of missing and getting himself eliminated?
Before Isagi could press further, Aki had already bypassed him, heading toward the cafeteria.
Per Ego Jinpachi's rules, a player's rank dictated their lifestyle. This started with the food. While some were served steak, others were left with nothing but natto.
It was a meritocracy at its most primal. Improve your rank, or stay hungry.
Bachira stared at his "garden salad" with a look of pure betrayal. Then he looked at the steak bowl in Aki's hands, his eyes widening to the size of saucers.
"Steak! Aki, why do you get steak?!"
Aki chuckled. "Rank privilege, Meguru. Didn't you hear the guy in glasses? If your rank is high enough, you can even get imported gourmet food."
"Ehh?!" Bachira wailed, looking like his world had ended. He clearly hadn't been paying attention to the fine print.
Aki sighed and used his chopsticks to move half of his steak into Bachira's bowl. Bachira looked like he was about to drop his tray and hug Aki right there in the cafeteria.
"I knew it! Aki, you're the best!"
Bachira wasn't the only one suffering. Almost everyone in the lower ranks was staring down at unappetizing piles of pickled radishes and fermented beans. Aki watched them with a lack of appetite; he wouldn't have been able to stomach that stuff either.
As he finished his meal and prepared to leave, a shadow fell over the table. Kunigami Rensuke sat down across from him.
He held a plate of gyoza, his eyes fixed on Aki. He clearly had something on his mind. Aki glanced at him, feeling a flicker of curiosity. He didn't dislike Kunigami; a man who lived by a code of fairness and rules wasn't inherently bad. But Aki wasn't looking to make "friends" of that sort.
Just as Aki stood up to leave, Kunigami spoke.
"Wait... I have something to ask you."
Aki raised an eyebrow and sat back down. Unlike Isagi and Bachira's questions, Kunigami's tone was one of a seeker asking for guidance.
He wanted to know the mechanics of the high-altitude volley. How could Aki achieve such precision? How did he master the timing to strike a ball with that much force in mid-air?
Every striker knew the theory. A volley wasn't "hard" to do, but it was incredibly hard to master. The angle of the strike determined whether it would be blocked or fly into the stands. Aki's execution had been absurd—striking a high-velocity, spinning ball the moment it reached his strike zone.
In Kunigami's eyes, he himself couldn't do it. At least, not yet. A volley usually required immense practice just to land it within a general area of the goal. Aki had hit a person.
If you gave a hundred strikers a hundred chances to replicate that, most would fail.
"It was just luck," Aki said dismissively.
Kunigami shook his head. "No. I can tell. That wasn't luck. That was absolute confidence in your own ability."
As a man who obsessed over physical conditioning, Kunigami had seen the way Aki's thigh muscles had coiled before the strike. He had been ready. The volley was a weapon in his arsenal.
That was why Kunigami had sought him out. For a striker, a new weapon was a chance to transcend.
Aki shrugged. "Believe what you want. But why would I teach you? Everyone here is an enemy. Why would I sharpen the blade that might be used to cut my own throat?"
Kunigami was silent for a few seconds. He looked at his plate of gyoza and pushed it toward Aki. "Until I learn it, I'm willing to share half of my daily food rations with you."
"How about it?"
Aki blinked, then burst into a genuine laugh. "You're an interesting guy... you really think I'd sell a technique for a few dumplings? You're overthinking this."
A few days later.
The Blue Lock training regimen was in full swing. The survivors of the first stage were given a grace period to adjust.
In the training hall, Aki stood leaning against a wall, watching the chaos. Bachira was nearby, rhythmically feeding balls toward the goal.
Kunigami was leaping repeatedly, trying to replicate the mid-air volley. Sometimes he succeeded in hitting the ball, but more often than not, he missed the connection entirely or sent the ball flying into the ceiling.
Isagi walked into the hall clutching a ball and spotted Aki immediately. "You're here too!"
Aki nodded. Over the past few days, the tension among Team Z had thawed slightly. Isagi, in his earnest, somewhat dense way, had lost his fear of Aki and now approached him for conversation regularly. Aki was actually starting to get used to it.
Seeing Kunigami's relentless effort, Isagi felt a surge of motivation. "Is Kunigami practicing your volley? Man, I need to step it up too!"
He turned to Aki. "Speaking of which, aren't you going to train? They said the next stage starts in a few days. If you get dropped..."
"Stop nagging," Aki said, shaking his head. "Just focus on your own training. Don't worry about me."
Isagi frowned but didn't push it, heading onto the pitch to join the others.
As Isagi walked away, Aki leaned back against the wall, lost in thought. It wasn't that he didn't want to train—it was that he was busy. Every minute was spent mentally calibrating his new body. The S-Rank Constitution had boosted his speed and power so drastically that his previous "muscle memory" was now obsolete. He was like a driver trying to handle a supercar after a lifetime in a sedan.
He checked his Emotion Points. They were accumulating steadily, but the shop prices were still astronomical. Even if he sold his soul, he couldn't afford the top-tier skills yet.
Aki exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting across the vast, empty expanse of the hall. He was waiting for the moment his body and mind finally clicked.
The game was about to get much louder.