The bell rings, sharp and metallic, and the last echoes fade through the room.The teacher leaves with a polite bow, sliding the door shut behind him.
Silence remains—heavy, expectant.
All eyes drift toward Riccardo.
He feels it.The pressure isn't subtle; it presses against his skin like heat.Still, he steps forward.
One step.Two.
He stops beside the teacher's desk, his shadow stretching across it. The class stiffens, waiting.
Riccardo takes a breath.
"Before you all leave," he begins, voice steady but edged with something sharper, "I want to clear things up."
Murmurs ripple in the room.No one interrupts—yet.
"I ended up living in Japan because of my father's job. I don't know how he got the principal's recommendation… or why he pushed for it this hard." He grits his teeth for a moment, then releases the tension. "But I need to say this: I never took the physical tests. I didn't ask for special treatment. I didn't ask to skip anything. So this situation? It's not something I chose."
For a moment, there's a flicker of uncertainty among the students.But suspicion is stubborn.
A chair scrapes the floor.
Nishimura stands up, head slightly tilted, eyes narrowed—not with rage, but with calculation. The kind that hurts more.
"Maybe you didn't want this situation," he says calmly, "but that doesn't change the reality."He takes a step forward. "A recommendation is still a recommendation. Even if you fail the physical tests… you're likely to pass anyway. Special routes always leave doubts."
A few students nod.Others don't move, but their silence speaks louder.
Riccardo meets their gazes one by one.
"That's a reasonable doubt," he admits, surprising a few of them. His voice drops lower, colder. "But it won't matter."
A student frowns."…What do you mean?"
Riccardo lifts his chin slightly, unflinching.
"I mean I'll prove myself to all of you—both in class and on the field."His eyes narrow. "So suspect me all you want. It won't change the ending."
The tension in the room tightens like a wire.Someone clicks their tongue.Someone else looks away, irritated.
Riccardo grabs his bag slowly, deliberately, as if showing he's not running from anything.Then he turns his back to the room.
The stares on his spine burn, but he forces himself to keep walking.
The door closes behind him with a snap.
Outside the classroom, Nishimura lets out a long breath he didn't know he was holding. He picks up his bag and duffel bag.
A familiar voice calls him.
"Hey!"
Shimizu stands waiting, also carrying his gear. He waves lightly, though his face is unreadable.
Nishimura joins him, and the two start down the hallway.
"Tough day?" Shimizu asks.
"You heard everything?"
"Pretty much. I think the whole hallway did, to be honest."
Nishimura exhales through his nose, frustrated.Shimizu glances at him sideways.
"You know…" he murmurs, "I actually agree with him."
Nishimura pauses mid-step. "…Why?"
"Well," Shimizu shrugs lightly, "he didn't know anything. He didn't ask for any shortcut. His world changed overnight and suddenly he's the outsider here. If anything, I think he just wants classmates who support him instead of judging him right away."
Nishimura walks in silence.His eyes lower, shadows crossing his expression.The words hit deeper than he expected.
"…Yeah."
They continue through the stairwell, the building humming faintly around them.
"Anyway," Shimizu adds, brightening the mood on purpose, "let's change topic. The coach probably won't show up today either."
"That makes it four days straight…"
They stop in front of a door with peeling paint and a small metal plate reading Male Soccer Club.
A reminder of ten years of failure.
"I think," Shimizu says with a dry laugh, "that in these first fifteen days at Shūdan-teki, you've figured out why our club has been labeled the worst."
Nishimura sighs. "Yeah. I understood it… loud and clear."
Shimizu slides the door open.
The room inside is dim, quiet, almost lifeless.
They step in—and the door closes behind them with a dull thud.