Shuto Sendo clenched his teeth and forced himself up, glaring furiously at the figure walking toward him after scoring.
“Fine! Ban… jō… Ryūma Banjō!!”
“Next, I’ll show you what happens when you piss me off!”
“Heh. Useless rage.” With that, Ryūma Banjō walked toward the center circle without even glancing back.
“Hurry up and kick off. Let me see how scary the ‘enraged Shuto Sendo’ really is.”
Ryūma Banjō stood just outside the center circle with a hand on the back of his neck, shouting impatiently.
This time, Shuto Sendo said nothing. He quietly stepped into the circle to restart the game.
After kickoff, he didn’t rush forward. Instead, swallowing his anger, he muttered to Ryūma Banjō, “If you get hurt, don’t blame me.”
Ryūma paused, nearly laughing out loud right then and there. Even against world-class players, he—Ryūma Banjō—had never gotten injured.
And now you, Shuto Sendo, say “don’t blame me if you get hurt”?
What, did you bring a knife in your pocket?
Although Shuto Sendo’s run was full of openings that Slow-Motion World picked up instantly, Ryūma still didn’t move.
He really wanted to see what trick Shuto was trying to pull.
As Shuto charged closer, he suddenly veered right—while kicking the ball left.
The sight made Ryūma burst out laughing internally.
(Oh, a split dribble, huh?)
(Here I was wondering what big move he had planned, and it’s just this?)
(And look at him—no fear at all that I’d react in time to block him.)
(So he thinks he can beat me not only in physical contact… but in speed too?)
(Huh? He’s actually aiming to ram into me? Haha… been a while since someone tried to challenge me physically.)
(Kind of gets me hyped.)
“Heh. Go cool off on the ground.” Ryūma grinned and crashed straight into Shuto Sendo.
Shuto had only meant to slow Ryūma down so he could get to the ball first.
He had no idea how fast Ryūma actually was, and since Ryūma didn’t look like a muscle-bound tank, he thought a body check wouldn’t be too bad.
But what Shuto didn’t know was this:
Try to outrun Ryūma—you’ll only get left behind.
Try to body-check him—your fate is even worse.
Just like now. The instant they collided, Shuto was blasted a full meter backward.
Ryūma, meanwhile, didn’t even lose speed.
Ryūma intercepted the ball, turned around, and dribbled to where Shuto lay on the ground. With a genuinely apologetic tone, he said:
“Sorry, Shuto. Didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”
“Your shoulder okay? Honestly, I didn’t think you were this weak.”
Most of Shuto’s anger had already faded. Holding his aching shoulder, he slowly got up and stared at Ryūma in disbelief.
“You… where’d all that strength come from?”
“That surprised you?” Ryūma dropped the apologetic act, face turning cold.
“We’re not even on the same level. In other words, you’ll never beat me in your entire life.”
“Damn it!!” Shuto charged again, as if that could somehow stop Ryūma.
Just as he reached him and prepared to make a small foul, Ryūma scoffed:
The moment he said it, Ryūma shot forward like lightning, sprinting toward the goal.
Shuto froze, completely at a loss.
At the goal, Ryūma showed zero hesitation. One Blitz Shot—and another point.
GOAL!! Ryūma Banjō 2–0 Shuto Sendo
Ryūma even felt sorry for his own goalkeeper—sending him out there was basically making him stand around doing nothing.
The spectators fell silent. Hirotoshi Buratsuta turned around and left the field, leaving only two words behind: “Waste of time.”
It was Oliver Aiku on the opposite side who finally broke the silence with a sigh.
“Shuto lost. He’s not even anywhere close to that kid’s level.”
“The gap is insane… like an adult going up against a child.”
The three beside Aiku nodded.
“It's really that big of a difference? How would you compare, Aiku?”
“This must be brutal for Shuto…”
“Feels like you could at least draw with that kid.”
“No. I wouldn’t beat him either. And that wasn’t even his full power.”
Aiku shook his head. He knew Ryūma had been holding back.
Ryūma’s string of outrageous plays finally snapped the other spectators back to reality.
“Hey, that Ryūma Banjō guy—really the same age as us?”
“Yeah, coach said he’s only seventeen. Still years from his prime. So what is this guy?” The source of this content ɪs NovєlFіre.net
“A monster? That speed and physical strength…”
“Or maybe Shuto’s just too weak?”
“Shh! They’ll hear you!”
Ryūma was oblivious to the whispers. Even if he knew, he’d just laugh.
He’d been used to this “being worshiped by normal people” feeling since his first year of high school.
On the field, when Ryūma turned and saw Shuto still frozen with a stunned expression, he sighed inwardly.
(Alright, that’s enough. Let him off.)
(Those two goals were lesson enough. Let’s just finish this quickly.)
If he kept messing with the kid, he really might break him mentally.
More than ten minutes later, Shuto was once again sent tumbling, staring hopelessly at Ryūma’s retreating back.
GOAL!! Ryūma Banjō 5–0 Shuto Sendo
Yes—Ryūma didn’t drag things out. He ended the game cleanly.
Shuto knelt on the ground with his head down, looking completely crushed. The sight actually made Ryūma feel guilty.
(Poor kid… maybe I went a bit too far?)
Thinking that, Ryūma walked over, held out his hand, and said:
“Alright, Shuto. Get up.”
“I wasn’t targeting you. One-on-one was just to fight for the forward spot.”
“And those two goals where I toyed with you? That was just a quick lesson.”
“You mocked me plenty earlier—oh, and you mocked Sae too.”
“So I just helped you recognize your limits. You should be thanking me~”
Ryūma had started out genuinely wanting to comfort him…
but somehow, the more he talked, the more it sounded like he was mocking him instead.