13. Predator vs. Prey

"Big ass room," Y/n mumbled with a light laugh.

He was back in Blue Lock, back in a skin-tight suit, and back in a room that has an extremely pungent smell. His nose wrinkled and he squeezed it shut. It was nasty in here.

He mumbled again, "Did you guys even shower?"

Even so, he took in the magnificently dull room. He wasn't even gone that long, but he was shivering with the lack of eye-pleasing paint. It made him realize just what he was getting back into.

But it was loud. Really. Loud. Everyone here was more immature than a freshman boy, and he wasn't having it. There was random shouting and yelling, and it was early in the morning.

Y/n glanced up at the television, only to see two balls coming into contact with one another midair.

Awestruck, he froze. How was someone able to do that? It flummoxed him, but he quickly removed his gaze and stared at a doorway.

Missing something Ego had said was the least of his worries.

The same boy that kicked the balls was walking through them. Apparently they were supposed to go through there after warming up? Okay, sounds reasonable enough.

Y/n started toward the doors, only to be stopped by a tall body suddenly obstructing his path. The short male's brows furrowed and his lips pulled back the corners, a tick mark appearing on his forehead.

"Well excuse you," Y/n said, attitude in his tone.

The tall boy—appearing to be a brunette with a hint of yellow—turned his head to stare at Y/n.

"Oh, it's you!" Bachira chirped.

Y/n barely remembered the boy. He remembered the yellow, and they big eyes, and the voice, but his name was still a mystery. He tilted his head.

"Yeah...hi," Y/n murmured. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got doors to enter..."

Just as he was about to get going, a big hand cupped his head and ruffled his hair.

"Good luck," Gagamaru told the boy. "When we both pass, I won't go easy."

Y/n nodded and just moved forward. He waved to Gagamaru and left a perplexed Bachira with his hands on his hips.

🥀🥀🥀

The doors were cold, the walls were cold, and artificial grass was ticklish on his bare, still wrapped, feet. Even so, he was in his element. He felt free, like a dove. In reality, he was just a mere boy with a small impact on soccer players he faced. The fear he'd see in their eyes as he passed them at speeds they've never encountered before.

Relishing in the memories, dopamine spurred throughout his brain and he sighed.

Yeah...a "small" impact.

His thoughts and reminiscence were short-lived after he departed from the cool, locked, metal sliding doors. The sound of iron scraping together within a machine reverberated throughout the box-like room. A hologram appeared in the lone goal that stood tall and firm before him.

A blue man with lines all over and a red pentagon on what would be his face and a broken shackle on his neck was a clear opponent. The hologram's build was decent, he could admit.

While Y/n was busy inspecting the hologram, a ball shot out of the wall panels and died as it reached his feet. Not even five seconds later, a white circle blinked into view, trapping him inside it effectively.

The circle started to shrink. Fast.

Even if this was the case, Y/n knew exactly what he needed to do. By no means was he stupid. By no means were his skills elementary.

He understood the assignment.

His leg reeled back just like it had many times before.

But something was different.

Instead of his kick being swift and jagged, or stiff and tight, it was fluid and had an air of carefulness around it. Swift as it had been before, perhaps it had gotten even faster.

While training, Y/n had realized that his kick was always straining his legs way too much. His muscles were too tight and his knee was locked longer than it should be.

It put too much strain on his muscles.

Now his leg was like a deadly whip. He was an executioner. A resident executioner.

...Metaphorically, of course.

His foot slammed into the ball. No whistle after the ball hit the net. There was just a subtle beep and a television on the wall counting down from 100 to 99.

"So...from 0 into 1, now 0 into 100..." Y/n mumbled as he stared at the screen. "Seems easy enough."

Goal after goal, Y/n scored relentlessly. It was pure euphoria. No matter how high the difficulty was, no matter the amount of defenders, he would still score.

Ego, sitting cross-legged inside his room, had his eyes glued to the screens that portrayed several aspects of Y/n.

Diagrams, recaps, replays of certain situations—especially the bicycle kick-like moment—and many more. The screens dug deep to find whatever moment they could. Ego reached for a small glass box over a knob in front of him that read in bold letters "L/N Y/N".

What this knob had around it was a difficulty level, specially adjusted to allowing certain doors to open and other objects to obstruct the boy's line of fire.

When the goal number reached fifteen, Ego grew increasingly anxious to get his hands on that knob. It was specially designed so that the glass box would pop open when the remaining goals reached five.

Ego's raspy voice was quiet as he spoke. "You two can go get ready. He won't be much longer."

The two that stood behind Ego, feet firmly planted into the ground, nodded and turned with practiced ease.

Ego's voice grew gruff as it got louder. "Nine... Eight..."

He counted down restlessly.

"Seven..."

Y/n was improving rapidly with his new approach toward the game.

"Six..."

Ego's fingers twitched in painful anticipation.

"FIVE!"

The box popped up and the mechanical knob was now free. Ego's hand reached for it immediately and he cranked it to max difficulty. A warning sign popped up on the screen and requested either a vocal "proceed" or "cancel" to initiate the request.

"Proceed," Ego said.

The screen asked another question. "Are you sure? 'Yes' to continue, 'no' to cancel."

"Yes," Ego said.

Y/n grew highly perplexed. His confusion only grew when the hologram sported the adult league Sao Meku jersey. Two panels on the corners of the room beside the goal opened. A figure emerged from each, sporting their own jersey.

"8 and 9," Y/n mumbled.

A playful voice grew loud. "Play ball!!"