“Hey! Who do you think you’re evenly matched with?”
Ryūma Banjō stood before Shingen Tanaka, expressionless, not a trace of a smile on his face.
“This ti, brat, I won’t let you score!” Shingen Tanaka glared at him fiercely.
“We’ve already figured out how to restrain you—”
Before Shingen Tanaka could finish, Ryūma Banjō had already stolen the ball. From right behind Tanaka, his cold voice rang out:
“When did you ever get the illusion that you were my equal?”
As he spoke, the pupils in Ryūma Banjō’s eyes turned a deep purple. Violet flas swirled around him—he was dead serious now.
“Wha—what? Quick! Everyone fall back and stop him!”
Shingen Tanaka scread desperately to his teammates.
At his command, the entire W Team scrambled back to intercept Ryūma Banjō.
“Get lost, trash!”
Ryūma’s eyes blazed purple as he surged forward in massive strides, tearing through the field. The defenders rushing to block him couldn’t even slow him down.
Instead of easing off, he pushed harder—zigzagging through five players in succession before breaking into the backfield.
The last line of defense appeared—Kyohei Shiguma, sprinting back with everything he had.
“You won’t get past ! I’m the last wall—and I won’t fall for your tricks again!”
He locked his eyes on Ryūma Banjō, bracing himself.
(Huh? He’s pushing the ball left with the inside of his right foot. Is he really trying to cut left? No—it’s a feint!)
Just as Shiguma predicted, Ryūma feinted left—then instantly exploded right!
(I read it! Damn, that acceleration’s insane! But if I stretch, I can barely reach him—I’ll stop him here!)
Shiguma slid to his left, throwing out his foot.
But Ryūma struck back with another Chop Feint—this ti cutting left again, faster than before!
“What—?! His second Chop Feint is even faster than the first? I’ll stop you even if it breaks !”
With his right leg still extended, Shiguma threw out his left as well, his body nearly splitting apart on the turf.
Ryūma’s calm, rciless voice cut through the mont:
“So what if you can react?”
Just as the ball was about to strike Shiguma’s foot, Ryūma spun—executing a Marseille Turn, twisting the ball back to the right.
“Go ho and train a few more years, scrub!”
With even more speed than before, he stord past Shiguma’s right side.
(Three Chop Feints—and each faster than the last?! What kind of body does this guy have?)
(After that first explosive Chop Feint, no normal player could stop their montum. But he still surged into another direction—even faster!)
(That power… and that body control—it’s monstrous!)
(And the third cut… even scarier! To stop dead after that speed, flow into a Marseille Turn, and accelerate even faster?!)
(One second he was in front of —the next, he vanished and reappeared behind !)
Before Shiguma could even finish the thought, Ryūma Banjō was already at the edge of the box, winding up to shoot.
“Boom!”
“It’s over! The keeper can’t stop that shot—what kind of monster is this guy?!”
Shiguma watched in despair as Ryūma unleashed his strike.
But just before the ball could rocket into the net, Shingen Tanaka burst in out of nowhere—blocking the shot with his face. Fighting through the pain, he roared:
“It’s not over yet! Don’t give up—counterattack!”
The W Team looked at him like a savior. But just as they echoed his cry, a blur of movent streaked past. Tanaka turned in horror toward the ball he had deflected with his face—
...and saw that it was already being claid.
Rin Itoshi had positioned himself about seven ters away—the exact optimal scoring spot he’d calculated.
But soone shattered his numbers with raw speed.
Rin’s eyes widened in shock. His face seed to scream: What kind of burst speed is this?!
It was Ryūma Banjō! The instant the shot was blocked, he had already launched himself forward, sprinting for the rebound with terrifying acceleration.
As he reached the ball, his eyes glowed a blazing purple.
He pushed off the turf, leaping forward. His legs tucked beneath him midair in a kneeling stance, his torso leaning forward in perfect balance.
His arms whipped back, storing every ounce of power in his body. As the ball dropped into the perfect spot, he unleashed it all through his right foot.
“BOOM!!”
The sound thundered across the field, like he might’ve blasted the ball to pieces.
This was the peak of Ryūma Banjō’s current mastery of the Kaiser Impact—channeling nearly 70% of his body’s tension into a single strike.
His natural talent for soccer made learning such techniques almost easy. But mastering them in battle depended entirely on his freakish physicality.
Ryūma’s most terrifying trait was his stamina—seemingly endless. He could get tired, but he would never break down.
And his control over his body was inhuman. That was why he could learn so many advanced skills—and unleash them at their fullest.
GOAL!! Team V 5:0 Team W
Beep!
At that mont, the final whistle blew. A chanical female voice echoed:
“Ti’s up! First match of Blue Lock Building 5—Team V wins 5:0.”
On the field, W Team’s players stood hollow-eyed, drained of hope. Even Shingen Tanaka and Kyohei Shiguma stared at Ryūma Banjō and Rin Itoshi in despair.
Stamina, speed, dribbling, finishing—Ryūma Banjō crushed them in every area. And Rin Itoshi seed able to anticipate their every move.
Only now did they realize the monsters they had faced. So even felt the urge to abandon soccer altogether.
“Alright, boys, ti to change. Shower if you need, eat if you’re hungry, sleep if you’re tired. Get ready for our next win!”
Ryūma Banjō smiled, heading toward the locker room. Yo Hiori and Rin Itoshi walked alongside him.
The rest of Team V followed close behind.
With this match, their montum had fused into one. They no longer looked like a patchwork squad, but a true eleven-man team.
All thanks to Yo Hiori’s precise passing—and the devastating finishing power of Ryūma Banjō and Rin Itoshi.
Just as Jinpachi Ego had said—
A team’s unity, its very essence, is built upon the strength of its strikers.
When a striker can score again and again, the team’s montum soars. Without such a player, the team rots away.
One goal can change everything. Continuous scoring fuels all eleven players with growing confidence and strength.
That is the striker.
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