Seishiro Nagi tilted his head blankly.

“I don’t know.”

“It’s fine if you don’t. Just try it and you’ll find out.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“You’ll know tomorrow. Anyway, let me dry your hair.”

“Okay. Thanks—you’re a good guy.”

“Hahaha, then how about you pass to me more in the next match?”

“No way! I’m scoring myself!”

“You little...”

Ryūma came out of the bathroom just then, his hair still damp. As soon as he stepped in, he flicked his hair dramatically, leapt toward Nagi’s bed, cupped his chin, and declared,

“‘I’ have arrived!”

“Behold my beauty, everyone~”

“Jyubei, if you’re that bored, go run a few laps.”

Ryūma sighed, continuing to blow-dry Nagi’s hair while giving him a helpless look.

“Mortals can’t comprehend ‘my’ beauty! ‘I’ am the king of fashion and trend!”

Ryūma paused mid-motion, a mischievous idea flashing through his mind. He smirked.

“Oh~ is that so?”

“Jyubei, you’re definitely the trendiest one here~ No one in this world could possibly outshine you~”

Jyubei froze instantly, like someone had hit pause on a video game character. Then, clutching his ears, he started thrashing his head wildly as if his brain were short-circuiting.

“Stop it! Stop it!” he yelled.

“Shut up! That name isn’t trendy at all!”

Holding his forehead, Jyubei groaned in agony.

“It reeks of some wannabe Sengoku warlord vibe—and the stench of outdated rot!”

“That name...!”

“It’s the one thing I’m truly ashamed of!”

“Let me erase it... with this trendy move—”

Seeing Jyubei about to break into another ridiculous dance, Ryūma panicked and quickly jumped in.

“Jyubei, I’m no expert on names—”

“Your name’s fine, really, but what’s good about it, Jyubei? I honestly don’t know, Jyubei—”

“Like I said before, Jyubei, I’m not an expert in this field—”

“Ahh! Stop it! Stop it already!”

Jyubei buried his head deep into his blanket, clearly not planning to come out anytime soon.

Relieved, Ryūma let out a long breath—he had no desire to watch Jyubei dance again.

Just then, Rin Itoshi finished his cool-down yoga and returned to the dorm. Seeing Jyubei curled up on his bed, he frowned.

“What’s wrong with him? Why’s he on my bed?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rin. He’s having an episode. Maybe just switch beds for tonight.”

Rin huffed but didn’t bother dragging Jyubei off. He simply went to another bed and lay down.

Ryūma yawned, put away the hair dryer, and headed to his own bed.

...

The night passed quietly.

The next day, inside the Fourth Stage room...

Bored out of his mind, Ryūma stretched lazily and muttered,

“Still no one? Guess we can stop waiting.”

“Hmph. A bunch of ants. It’s been an entire day and not one team of four has shown up.”

Rin’s tone was cold as always, and he turned to leave. Ryūma quickly called after him.

“Rin, I’ve been bored too, so I thought about something yesterday.”

“Given our level, we won’t be dropped down to a 2v2 anyway. So, to make up for what we’re lacking—”

“And to kill some time, how about we do an internal 2v2 match later? What do you say?”

Rin scoffed.

“Childish. If you want to play pretend soccer, find someone else.”

As Rin turned to leave, Ryūma’s teasing voice followed him.

“Oh? What’s this? Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“You probably don’t know—Rin and I have faced off before.”

“Too bad for him, I won by a small margin. So if he doesn’t want to play, I get it~”

Rin didn’t even bother turning around. He’d long since stopped rising to Ryūma’s provocations.

Seeing that his first tactic failed, Ryūma switched strategies.

“Hey, hey! Hold up, Rin!”

“Listen, this time there’s a bet involved!”

“Next time we play a 4v4 match, whoever wins today gets the permanent kickoff rights!”

“Well? You in or not?”

“Hmph. Just don’t cry when you lose.”

“Heh, says the guy who’ll be bawling later. I’ll head out first. See you at the training field.”

...

At the training field, all four had changed into their gear and taken their positions. Ryūma clapped his hands and called out the rules.

“Same setup as the second selection—first team to five goals wins.”

“As for fouls, just use your heads. It’s a team scrimmage.”

“Whoever fouls—I’ll laugh at you for two and a half years!”

The others nodded in agreement.

Rin Itoshi and Jyubei formed the Red Team.

Seishiro Nagi and Ryūma made up the White Team.

Luck was on Ryūma’s side this time—the White Team had kickoff.

After a quick neck stretch, Ryūma passed the ball to Nagi, and the two sprinted forward together toward the Red Team.

Nagi dribbled straight at Jyubei, while Ryūma went for Rin.

That was the plan—they’d each take one opponent.

“You got past me once during that 3v3,” Jyubei said, pointing dramatically.

“This time, ‘I’ will stop you—with style!”

“Oh? Bring it on, Mr. Trendy.”

Nagi charged left with the ball. As Jyubei moved to intercept, Nagi spun sharply, turning his back toward him.

With a quick flick of his right heel, he sent the ball to the right. Jyubei reacted instantly, cutting off the path where the ball was heading—

—but in the next second, Nagi hooked his left foot backward, dragging the ball back in an unbelievable motion, dodging Jyubei’s tackle entirely.

As the ball landed, Nagi prepared to shoot immediately—

—but Jyubei’s long legs stretched out, blocking the shooting lane at the last second.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nagi also saw Rin and Ryūma both dashing toward his shooting line.

(What do I do? Pass it or go for the shot?)

(Passing might be safer... My shot success rate’s too low.)

(Ryūma should reach it first—if he’s just a second faster than Rin...)

“Nagi! Don’t back down!”

Nagi blinked at the sound of Ryūma’s voice, their eyes locking for a split second. He suddenly understood.

No more hesitation.

He swung his leg, feinting a shot.

Jyubei leapt into the shooting lane—

—but instead of firing, Nagi stopped the ball midair and went for a second touch!

The ball floated perfectly before he unleashed a powerful strike.

It soared past the airborne Jyubei, flying straight toward Ryūma and Rin.

Watching it approach, Ryūma grinned, purple energy flaring in his eyes.

“Nice one, Nagi!”

...

(35 Chapters Ahead)

p@treon com / GhostParser