Both sides were evenly matched—it all depended on which team could seize the other’s mistakes. So Ryūma didn’t question how things had turned out.
“I told you, this ti you’re not beating .”
Ignoring Jyubei Aryu’s dramatic monologue, Ryūma grinned at Rin Itoshi.
“You’re on fire, Rin. That short ga just now—you fooled at least eight tis, didn’t you?”
“Hmph. Well, tricking an idiot isn’t that hard.”
“Huh? You calling an idiot, huh?”
“You are pretty easy to fool, Ryūma.”
“Seriously? Even you, Nagi? T﹏T”
As they joked around, the group left the training ground—only to run into Yoichi Isagi, who looked like he’d been waiting there for quite so ti.
Before Yoichi could say a word, Ryūma spoke first.
“Oh? Spying on our training, Isagi?”
“Huh? No, no! I just got here and ran into you guys by chance!”
“Don’t get the wrong idea, I just ca to—”
Seeing the flustered Isagi, Ryūma couldn’t help but laugh.
“Alright, alright, relax. What are you so nervous about?”
“Even if you did watch our training, what of it?”
Ryūma paused, a faint flash of purple light flickering in his eyes as he continued,
“You don’t seriously think you can beat us, do you?”
Green flas flickered in Isagi’s eyes, his fighting spirit blazing.
“Yeah, the victory’s gonna be ours.”
“Let’s settle this!”
Ryūma’s grin widened.
“Oh? Looks like the four of us are all set then.”
“Nice work, Isagi—you even brought over our last opponent.”
When it ca to trash talk, Ryūma was a professional.
...
Twelve hours later...
“Why are we still the Red Team? I miss the white jerseys from day one.”
“Stop whining! Just finish warming up—we’re gonna crush them!”
“Pass the ball to ! I’m gonna score in the most trendy way possible!”
“Haha, alright then—let’s go!”
As Ryūma and his team stepped out of the tunnel, the White Team was already waiting on the field.
Up front stood two players: Hyōma Chigiri, his long red hair swaying behind him, and the self-proclaid “King,” Shōei Barō, whose hairstyle was as loud as his ego.
Behind them were guru Bachira, his black hair tipped with yellow, and Yoichi Isagi, who was crouched down tying his shoelaces.
(Hmm...)
(Who should I go up against? Barō or Chigiri?)
(Nagi’s really fixated on Isagi—when we asked who he wanted to mark, he claid him right away.)
(Well, guess I’ll take Chigiri then. I’ll leave Barō to Aryu.)
Just as Ryūma turned to tell Aryu his plan, he saw that the guy had already sprinted straight toward Chigiri.
Barō frowned.
“Huh? What’s your problem?”
“Here to provoke us, huh?”
Bachira watched with amusent, clearly enjoying the show.
“Hey, redhead over there...”
Chigiri blinked, surprised that Aryu had approached him.
“Huh? What?”
But instead of talking trash, Aryu reached out, running his fingers through Chigiri’s hair.
“What conditioner do you use?”
Chigiri stared at him, completely lost.
“Huh...?”
(What the hell is wrong with this guy...?)
“Uh... just the regular kind everyone uses at the public baths.”
Aryu didn’t see anything odd about it. He kept touching Chigiri’s hair curiously.
“But your cuticle layer’s so trendy...”
“Such healthy shine too.”
“So that ans—you’re naturally stylish!”
Chigiri’s patience was about to snap.
(What the hell is he even talking about!?)
“Hey...”
“Don’t touch my hair, weirdo!”
He slapped Aryu’s hand away, glaring warily at him.
Finally realizing he might’ve crossed a line, Aryu quickly apologized.
“Ah, my bad!”
“It’s just so beautiful—I couldn’t help myself.”
“I’ve got zero resistance to trendy, man.”
He then extended his hand for a handshake.
“It’s an honor to face soone this stylish.”
“Let’s shake on it!”
“Looking forward to it, Hyōma Chigiri!”
Chigiri also extended his hand, quietly sizing him up.
(So this is my opponent—Jyubei Aryu, huh?)
“So tall...”
“Your na’s surprisingly old-fashioned. Doesn’t match your look at all.”
“Nice to et you, Jyubei!”
Hearing that from afar, Ryūma felt his stomach drop.
(Ah, crap... I forgot about that.)
(Chigiri, couldn’t you have used his full na!?)
Sure enough, the mont Aryu heard his first na, he froze solid like a statue.
A second later, he began shaking his head violently, as if trying to fling the mory away.
Startled, Chigiri stumbled back several steps, staring at him in shock.
His expression said it all: What kind of weird disease does this guy have?
Aryu finally stopped shaking, then said through gritted teeth,
“Shut up! That na isn’t trendy at all!”
“It reeks of Sengoku warlord vibes—and the stench of ancient decay!”
“That na... is the one thing I’m actually ashad of!”
He suddenly spread his arms wide, striking a dance pose.
“So I’ll erase it—with this super-trendy move!”
Chigiri jumped back again, completely freaked out.
(What is wrong with this guy!?)
He quickly ran over to Isagi.
“Hey, Isagi, what’s with this dude!?”
Isagi looked equally baffled.
“Uh... I think... it’s gotten worse than before!?”
Ryūma pressed a hand to his temple, sighing as he stepped forward.
“Can you not lose it right before a match, Aryu? Keep dancing and you’ll burn half your stamina before kickoff.”
Aryu stopped moving but clutched his forehead dramatically.
“I can’t... That panicked look he gave is still burned into my brain... So embarrassing!”
anwhile, Isagi and Chigiri whispered to each other nearby.
“Huh...”
“Are they really that strong?”
“Yeah. Their skills are no joke.”
Barō’s patience finally ran out. He roared,
“Hey! You idiots are too damn loud!”
“Get in formation already—the ga’s about to start!”
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