Stepping onto the pitch the following day for practice, Ryo felt a subtle excitement as he prepared to test his new skills for the first time.
After a few quick drills to warm up, the team transitioned into a scrimmage against the second team. However, for this training session, Matsumoto introduced a slight handicap for the first team.
Right before the game started, he called them over and surprised all of them with a new rule: they were not allowed to use their dominant foot to pass or shoot.
This restriction was implemented for one main purpose. Although the first team is far superior to the second team, Matsumoto's intention was much simpler. He wanted his players to become more comfortable with their non-dominant foot.
Throughout the regional tournament, whether it was Ryusei or their opponents, there had been multiple situations where promising attacks broke down simply because a player was unable to use their non-dominant foot well. If they hadn't needed a second touch to hit off their stronger side, a quick counterattack or shot on goal could have been possible.
Shortly after the scrimmage began, it became obvious that the first team played nowhere near their usual level. Sure, they were still strong, but it was the difference between getting an A+ in a class and settling for a B.
Their tactics, positioning, and intuition were just as good as before; however, their ball control and technique left much to be desired.
Of course, Ren is the one who is least bothered by this change. His passing and ball control are still superb.
Ryo's own left-footed abilities were also fairly solid, but much like during his tryouts for the first team, there were times when he felt a goal wasn't guaranteed with his left foot, even though he would've been completely confident using his right foot.
And if he was being completely honest with himself, although he didn't shy away from using his left foot while playing, he had never truly made training it a central part of his routine either.
Now, however, he consciously forced himself to use his left foot every time.
This is difficult… It's no wonder why Coach Matsumoto gave us this handicap.
Even so, Ryo wasn't nearly as bothered by it as he had expected. Much of that was thanks to his new passive skill: Danger Indicator. As his first S-rank skill, it definitely behaved as powerfully as it sounded.
The first time he noticed it was near the beginning of the scrimmage, after recovering a poor pass that immediately invited pressure from an opponent.
He already knew he was being challenged, but his opponent was careful to set up his tackle properly. Ryo, aware that his opponent could tackle him whichever way he went, quickly shifted towards the middle in hopes of finding a pass or catching him off guard.
Instead, the defender had anticipated exactly that and was already moving to intercept him.
Seeing this, Ryo cut back toward the outside, and although he didn't realize it at the moment, his passive skill had been triggered.
In that moment, a slight, perceptible warp in the air seemed to travel towards the ball. An instant later, the opponent's foot traced that exact path and kicked the ball away.
Ryo barely noticed the phenomenon at the time, and it wasn't until after the play had settled that he connected the dots.
Was that my Danger Indicator skill? How is that helpful at all? I barely had any time to react!
His complaints resounded in his mind for the first few times he experienced it. However, the more it activated, the more he began to understand when it appeared, how it activated, and, most importantly, how to use it.
First, it seemed that the skill activated whenever an opponent genuinely threatened his possession of the ball. The best way Ryo could describe it was that it detected the opponent's intent. If that intent were directed toward him or the ball, then the skill would reveal it.
The effect itself was rather strange. It wasn't quite like the hazy distortion that appeared during the bonus activation of his misdirection skill, yet it wasn't entirely different either. It resembled what Ryo would expect from a blurry, low-resolution holographic projection of their intent extending from the relevant body part, showing the movement before it actually happened.
What fascinated him even more, though, was that the ball itself also followed that same intent. Ryo could briefly see the path it was about to travel, both before and immediately following the tackle.
The second thing he learned was that both the clarity of the projection and the skill's precognitive ability depended entirely on the quality of the tackle. If an opponent approached sloppily or their movements were too obvious, then the projected movement would be clearer and appear earlier, giving Ryo a larger window to react to the tackle and subsequently evade it.
Against cleaner, more well-timed and properly executed tackles, however, that window became much shorter.
Ryo estimated that the skill's warning window ranged from roughly two hundred milliseconds for excellent tackles to almost a whole second for poorly executed ones.
Knowing how The System and its skills generally worked, Ryo postulated that as his own level of play ameliorated, the definition of a good or bad tackle would scale accordingly.
After all, if every tackle had a fixed level of intent behind it, then the best tackles from the world's greatest defenders would only trigger the skill a few dozen milliseconds beforehand.
And that could barely count as an advantage. But perhaps, if he became a world-class player himself, even world-class tackles would fall in that same 200–1000 millisecond premonition range. Only years of playing would tell him whether his theory was correct.
Lastly, Ryo started to understand the true power behind his skill. Certainly, seeing a tackle before it happened could allow him to avoid—or at least expect it.
Its true potency, however, lay in the situations where nothing appeared. It wasn't until the end of that day's scrimmage that he fully realized why. Any serious football player would understand why that was such a big deal.
In a game where so many ways to move a ball existed, there were equally many ways to trick the opponent with it. The entire concept of freestyle football, and especially the popularity of street football, arises from how well and elegantly a player can manipulate the ball. The purpose of these derivatives of the sport is to entertain an audience, and the flashier and more seamless the moves, the more of a reaction they got.
Being able to read a defender's movements was the difference between a successful and a failed trick. In that aspect, Ryo possessed an incredible advantage.
If Danger Indicator failed to show any intent, then that meant his opponents were either unable or unwilling to tackle him.
If Ryo had understood that during its very first activation, the outcome of that earlier duel may have been completely different. Seeing that his opponent's intent did not show up, Ryo could have known his opponent predicted that he would cut back, and he would have kept running forward instead.
His skill wasn't merely useful because it showed the path of a tackle. Sometimes the absence of that information was even more informative
It was easily the most convoluted skill he had yet received. Ryo could benefit from both what it revealed and from what it didn't.
His other new skill, Burst Step, differed greatly from Danger Indicator in both purpose and application, but it complemented his current playstyle perfectly.
Ryo played a very active brand of football, so he always moved, both on and off the ball. He relied on his fast transitions, quick pace, intelligent positioning, and technical ability to advance the play.
In some respects, he possessed qualities that suited a striker.
However, Ryo much preferred playing in the midfield. It allowed him to influence all aspects of the game, from attacking to defending, while also actively participating in virtually every set piece.
So, as a player who played aggressively yet often behaved as a playmaker or defensive anchor to support his team, Burst Step fit him exceptionally well.
During the scrimmage, Ryo eventually found himself trapped along the touchline by two opponents. Even after attempting to feint a few dribbles, Ryo saw no opportunity to get past the players, nor did he have a good angle to pass to his teammates.
With Burst Step, however, Ryo abandoned the idea of beating the two players with fancy footwork and dribbling, but instead relied on sheer speed.
Ryo kicked the ball hard upfield, sending it right along the touchline into an open space. He immediately followed up by activating his skill. The two defenders had intentionally left that channel open, assuming they could simply outrun him to the ball. Instead, they were caught completely off guard when Ryo actually charged straight into it.
They quickly turned to chase after him, but Ryo, having activated his skill, left them behind in an instant. The boost the skill gave him wasn't a magical increase in his acceleration, but it felt as if his muscles fired with twice their usual efficiency.
As such, his acceleration increased drastically in that moment, so he reached his full sprint far sooner than either of his two opponents.
It was a skill much more straightforward in theory, but it was still a great asset for Ryo to have.
By the end of the scrimmage, Ryo had completely drained himself, pushing his exhaustion all the way up to 86, and even managed to score a goal from well outside the box despite using his left foot.
More importantly, though, he had learned how both of his new skills worked, how they felt in actual play, and how to improve his game with them. Each new skill added more complexity to his style, which Ryo found absolutely exhilarating.
Lying flat on the grass with his chest heaving, his legs and the soles of his feet aching, and sweat soaking his hair despite the approaching winter, Ryo quietly reflected on everything he had gained.
Crowd Support, Mental Fortitude, Misdirection, Anchor, Danger Indicator, and Burst Step… All these skills, without even counting my titles that improve my constitution and focus, allow me to compete seriously against children years older than me.
But I don't know what awaits us at Nationals.
Are there exceedingly prodigious players that surpass even Ren? Are there whole teams of them? Or do they have teamwork and tenacity that completely outclass Ryusei's?
Right there, in the middle of the pitch, Ryo could not keep a smile from appearing on his face.
I can't wait for Nationals.
There would be teams coming in from all over the country. Ryo could have a chance to see the other budding talents that Japan had to offer.
Each of them would come from a different background; each would have different stories, and each would have a distinct style. But in that amalgam composed of vastly varying individuals, they would all be connected by their love and passion for football.
And soon, Ryo, Ren, and everyone else on the first team would stand together on that stage.
Slowly getting back to his feet, Ryo looked around at all his teammates until he eventually stopped on his ever-kind, endlessly passionate older brother.
Thinking about all they had already accomplished together, and the endless possibilities in the future, almost overwhelmed Ryo.
But at that exact moment, Ren spotted him, immediately broke into a bright smile, waved enthusiastically, and began talking about some trivial moment from the scrimmage.
Nothing he said really registered to Ryo, but that didn't matter to him.
The sun slowly descended behind the buildings, casting long shadows from the school, the players, and even the smallest blades of grass across the ground.
Ren stepped into the last rays of sunlight as he talked, and for a fleeting moment, the golden sphere seemed to rest atop his head as it disappeared beyond the horizon.
At that moment, Ryo's mind was cleared of all but one thought.
What a beautiful game this is.