Ten days remained before the first match of the “Neo Egoist League” against Spain’s FC Barcha.
Inside the training facility of Bastard München, the air was thick with the heavy breathing of the players.
The training schedule devised by Noel Noa was calibrated down to the twitch frequency of every single muscle.
Every run, every pass, and every set of strength training was monitored in real time by biosensors attached to their bodies, transformed into cold streams of data, and fed into the massive database known as “Rationality.”
Under this system, players were alienated into precision parts.
The German players were long accustomed to this boring yet highly efficient polishing; they were like a swarm of silent worker ants, strictly adhering to regulations down to the exact milliliters of water they drank.
However, on merely the second day of training camp, this precise German machine suffered a glitch—all because of a single grain of sand named Rin Kazuki.
“Stop, stop, stop!
Are you a pig?
Oh wait, that’s an insult to pigs—pigs can at least dig up cabbages, while all you do is send the ball straight to my feet!”
In the center of the pitch, what was originally supposed to be a half-court 5v5 scrimmage had now devolved into a one-sided “public execution.”
Rin Kazuki wore the training bib symbolizing No.
1, one foot resting on the ball, one hand still shoved in his pocket, while his other hand pointed at Theo, Bastard München’s left-back, whose face was currently flushed the color of pig liver.
“Look at your data panel, your body fat percentage is pretty low, so how come the fat content in your brain is so high?”
Kazuki shook his head in a exaggerated display of disappointment, his tone dramatic like a kindergarten teacher scolding a kid who just wet their pants.
“That passing lane just now, were you trying to pass to the cleaning lady in the stands?
‘Oh, dear lady, please accept this local souvenir from Germany’—is that what you were thinking?”
“You bastard…!” Theo trembled all over with rage.
As a regular starter for Bastard München, when had he ever suffered such humiliation?
“Don’t shake, don’t shake, Parkinson’s is an old person’s disease, you’re still young.” Kazuki showed not the slightest intention of holding back.
Shifting his gaze, he looked over at Ness, who had just been preparing to rush over and cover the defense.
Ness had originally maintained that mysterious, unpredictable smile like a magician, but now, that smile was frozen solid like a cheap mask.
“And you, purple-haired freak.” Kazuki curled his lip in disgust.
“You call that dribbling past someone?
You look like you’re performing a shamanic dance.
Twisting left and right—are you trying to make the defenders die of laughter so you can inherit their boots?
If I were you, I’d shave off that colorful mop of hair.
Not only would it reduce wind resistance, but it could also reflect light and blind the opponents’ eyes.
That’s what you call ‘rationality,’ get it?”
Ness clenched his fists so hard his knuckles popped with sharp cracks.
The docile demeanor he usually displayed toward Kaiser, obeying his every command, was completely gone, his eyes gleaming with murderous intent.
“Rin…
if you say one more word…”
“What?
Want to bite me?” Kazuki put on a terrified expression, then quickly ducked behind Isagi Yoichi, who was silently observing the situation from the sidelines.
“Woah, Isagi, look at these German guys.
They can’t win an argument so they resort to violence.
Absolute savages, not gentle at all.”
Used as a human shield, Isagi Yoichi’s face was covered in black lines: “…”
In truth, it wasn’t just the Germans; even a few of the Blue Lock guys were suffering terribly as victims.
Just ten minutes prior.
Raichi Jingo had been practicing sprint intervals when Kazuki strolled past and lightly threw out: “Raichi, your panting sounds like an old, dilapidated tractor.
Are you really not considering going to a repair shop to swap out your lungs?”—Raichi had gone ballistic on the spot, and if Gagamaru Gin hadn’t held him back, he would’ve probably rushed forward to bite him.
On the other side, Yukimiya Kenyu, wearing his goggles and practicing street-style dribbling breakthroughs, hadn’t been spared either.
Watching Yukimiya’s flashy feints, Kazuki had let out a huge yawn: “Hey, Mr.
Model.
With so many feints, are you trying to knock over the photographer, or are you trying to prove your waist works great?
Stop playing cool.
In a real match, before you even finish your flashy setup, the ball would’ve been read and stolen a hundred times over.”—Yukimiya Kenyu, who always maintained an elegant composure, had been so furious his hands were trembling as he pushed up his glasses, wishing he could throw them straight at Kazuki’s face.
The most tragic one was Rensuke Kunigami.
This “dark hero” who had returned from hell was currently performing ultra-high-intensity strength training alone in a corner, attempting to numb himself with silence and sweat.
In the end, Kazuki had walked over, patted the weight plates on the barbell he was bench-pressing, and said with deep earnestness: “Nice training.
Your physique right now is really suited for moving bricks on a construction site.
As long as you don’t speak, the foreman will definitely give you an extra chicken drumstick.”
In that single instant, because of Rin Kazuki’s solitary presence, the entire training ground—whether German or Japanese—had surprisingly reached a bizarre “united front.”
That was: if they didn’t rip Rin Kazuki’s mouth apart, this game couldn’t be played at all!
“Enough!
I’m not training anymore!”
Finally, one of Bastard München’s forwards could endure it no longer.
He slammed his water bottle to the ground, glaring at Kazuki with bloodshot eyes.
“I want to duel you!
Not football, real fighting!
I’m going to knock your teeth out one by one!”
“Count me in!” Raichi Jingo roared as well.
“I’ve endured this bastard for way too long!”
“Include me.” Ness rolled up his sleeves sinisterly.
Watching the hulking men surrounding him, each with fierce eyes as if they wanted to eat him alive, Kazuki not only didn’t show a hint of panic, but instead blew a whistle in excitement.
“Oho?
Want to gang up on me?
Come on then, perfect timing since I haven’t done enough warm-ups.
Are we doing a one-on-one or a group fight?
A one-on-one means I fight your whole group alone, and a group fight means your group gets beaten up by me alone.”
Just as a brawl among football players was about to escalate into full-blown physical violence—
*BEEEP—!!!*
A sharp, piercing electronic whistle echoed through the venue’s loudspeakers, making everyone’s eardrums ache.
The door to the control room on the high platform opened, and Noel Noa walked out with a face as cold as frost.
Holding his signature tablet in hand, his gaze scanned the pitch like an X-ray, finally freezing on the figure in the center of the crowd who wanted nothing more than to watch the world burn.
The entire field instantly fell silent.
Although everyone was filled with raging fury, under the pressure of the world’s number one, they still quietly fell back into formation.
“Rin Kazuki, step out.” Noa’s voice carried no ripples.
Kazuki shrugged and walked out with an innocent face: “What’s up, Uncle Noa?
Do you feel like my trash talk is also a form of psychological attack strategy?
This is my personal secret technique, not usually passed on to ordinary people.”
Noa ignored his banter, turning the tablet around to show it to Kazuki.
On the screen was a line graph.
“This is the chart showing the team’s overall training efficiency fluctuations over the past 48 hours.”
Noa pointed at the curve that had originally been rising steadily, but had instantly plummeted off a cliff after Kazuki joined, and said coldly, “The data shows that when you intervene in team training, the average heart rate of all players increases by 30%, cortisol (stress hormone) levels surge by 200%, and tactical execution accuracy drops by 45%.”
“What does this prove?” Kazuki blinked.
“It proves everyone is really excited and full of vitality!”
“It proves you are a rotten apple!”
In the calmest tone, Noa delivered the harshest evaluation.
You are using your verbal violence to destroy the precision operational logic of this team.
Although your individual ability is S-rank, your contribution to team chemistry is negative infinity.”
Hearing these words, the surrounding players all nodded wildly in their hearts: *So true!
This guy is a cancer!*
“Therefore, based on the judgment of ‘absolute rationality’.”
Noa pulled back the tablet, looked at Kazuki, and made a decision that caught everyone off guard.
“From now until the match against Barcha begins: Rin Kazuki, you are forbidden from participating in any form of joint team training.”
Dead silence fell over the entire venue.
Then—
“Holy crap?
No training?” Kazuki froze for a moment, then his eyes lit up.
“You may use any facility in the base, you can go sleep, or even play video games, as long as you do not appear in front of these people.” Noa pointed at the players glaring at Kazuki with hatred.
“This is my ‘special arrangement’ for you.”
This sounded like a punishment, but in a sense, it was practically a supreme privilege!
No need to listen to boring tactical classes, no need to do mechanical, repetitive training, and complete freedom to manage his own time!
Isagi Yoichi and Rensuke Kunigami were completely stunned.
Was this the privilege of the strong?
Because he was too strong and too punchable, even the coach had given up on disciplining him?
“Since you made a bet with me to solve everything on your own,” Noa added indifferently, “then as for training, I assume you have your own ‘irrational’ methods.
Don’t get in the way of others getting stronger—that too is a form of ‘rationality’ for the sake of victory.”
“Deal!”
Kazuki snapped his fingers, the bright smile on his face making the surrounding people want to punch him.
“You should’ve said so earlier, Uncle Noa.
I also felt that training with this group of noobs was dragging down my IQ.
Since you’re so reasonable, I’ll gladly comply.”
Having said that, regardless of the expressions on the others’ faces that looked as if they had swallowed flies, Kazuki turned and walked toward the exit.
After taking two steps, as if remembering something, he suddenly turned back and flashed an extremely punchable smile at his teammates still standing in place.
“Hey, you trash over there.”
“Train hard, okay?
Don’t wait until the match and end up crying and screaming for me, ‘the guy who doesn’t need to train,’ to save the day.
Especially you, tattoo boy with the blonde hair.” Kazuki pointed at Kaiser, who had been keeping a dark face without speaking.
“Don’t let your crown fall to the ground—the sound would be way too noisy.”
Having finished, he clasped both hands behind his head, humming an off-key tune, and swaggered out through the training ground’s main doors.
Until his back completely vanished, the training ground maintained that bizarre silence.
Roughly five seconds passed.
“You bastard!!” Kaiser finally erupted, kicking the football at his feet hard against the wall, the massive echo deafening.
“That damned clown…
I will make him pay the price!
Absolutely!!”
“I’m going to kill him…
I have to kill him…” Raichi Jingo’s eyes were bloodshot as he rushed back onto the treadmill, turning the speed up to maximum.
“To beat that bastard…” Isagi Yoichi gritted his teeth tightly, the puzzle pieces in his eyes spinning frantically.
“No matter how agonizing the training is, I can endure it!
I must devour him!”
Even Ness, who was usually calm, started high-intensity dribbling practice with a darkened face, muttering curses under his breath.
Above on the high platform, Noa watched this scene—watching those “data machines” that were originally lifeless, now exploding with unprecedented training enthusiasm like powder kegs whose fuses had been lit (even if the motivation stemmed from rage).