(Bonus Chapter: + Five Revisions Achieved!)
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Akashi walked to the center of the court with the ball in his hands, spinning it elegantly on his fingertips. The sunlight gleamed off the polished floor, and a gentle breeze stirred the leaves in the trees, as if the entire world was watching what would happen next.
"Teams are set," he announced, his voice calm but carrying an air of authority. "Kise, Midorima, and Isagi on one side. Aomine, Kuroko, and Murasakibara on the other. I'll be the referee."
Kise pumped a fist, his golden eyes sparkling. "Perfect! The most stylish team on the court!"
"Style doesn't win games, Kise," Midorima retorted, adjusting his glasses. "Precision does."
Isagi, on the other hand, remained silent.
Aomine snapped his fingers, a lazy but predatory smile creeping onto his face. "Hah… so you're the one playing against me? Hope you can keep up, rookie."
"Depends," Isagi replied, crossing his arms. "Will you run fast enough to catch me?"
Aomine let out a short, taunting laugh. "You've got a sharp tongue for a newbie."
From the sidelines, Momoi watched everything, her gaze shifting between the two teams. Her heart beat faster than she cared to admit. The air of rivalry and curiosity was electric.
Akashi raised his hand. "Begin."
The ball went up.
In the next instant, Murasakibara leaped, his height and reach so absurd it almost blocked out the sky. But Kise reacted instantly, mimicking the movement.
A sharp impact echoed through the air as their hands collided.
The ball bounced on the floor, and Isagi was the first to reach it.
His body moved with fluidity. Though he had only played basketball a few times in his past life, he wasn't called a genius for nothing. After grabbing the ball, he began dribbling and maneuvering it with ease.
"Whoa!" Kise shouted, running alongside him. "Look at his moves, Akashi-cchi! That's total coordination!"
"Focus, Kise," Midorima muttered, already positioning himself for a shot. "Three seconds."
Isagi understood the plan. With a quick burst, he spun his body and passed the ball to Kise, who immediately launched it in a long pass straight to Midorima. The bespectacled player didn't hesitate; his movement was mechanical, perfect.
The ball sliced through the air.
*Swish.*
3–0.
Kuroko watched in silence, his nearly invisible pupils reflecting the gleam of the basket. He took a deep breath and moved. Like a shadow.
"Time to show Teikō's real basketball…" Aomine murmured, grabbing the ball Murasakibara had recovered.
His speed completely shifted the game's rhythm. It was pure instinct, a movement that defied human balance. He crossed the court in seconds, dribbling past Kise with ease and dodging Isagi's block.
"This guy…" Isagi narrowed his eyes, his body reacting before his mind. He lunged forward, sliding across the floor, intercepting the dribble on reflex.
The ball ricocheted, and Kuroko appeared out of nowhere, recovering it with an invisible pass.
"Misdirection…" Isagi muttered, his eyes deepening.
The ball was back in Aomine's hands. He leaped. Time seemed to slow. The momentum, the strength, the spin—it was like watching a bolt of lightning strike.
*Swish.*
3–2.
Kise let out an excited whistle.
"Hehehe, Aominecchi's getting serious now. I love it!"
"Stay sharp, Isagi," Midorima warned, repositioning himself. "Let your guard down, and he'll blow past you before you know it."
"I know."
The ball returned to the center, and the game resumed with a different energy. The rhythmic sound of sneakers against the floor filled the air, and the once-light atmosphere began to pulse with competitive tension.
Aomine waited, his body slightly leaning forward, his gaze locked on Isagi like a predator eyeing prey that had suddenly learned to hunt.
Midorima started the play. His pass was clean and direct, finding Kise in the middle of the court. The blond advanced, dribbling, faking out Kuroko with an elegant spin before noticing Aomine charging toward him.
"Damn, Aominecchi's too fast…" Kise thought, stepping back. Then he grinned and shouted, "Isagi-kun, your turn!"
The ball cut through the air in a low pass.
Isagi received it in motion, his body flowing naturally, and for a brief moment, Aomine felt something strange.
The posture, the rhythm, even the look in his eyes—it was identical to his own!
The dribble began.
So familiar…!
The ball bounced low, Isagi's body moving at impossible angles. He glided across the court without hesitation, shifting his weight between his legs and lowering himself with the same agility Aomine used.
"…No way," Aomine murmured, his eyes widening.
Isagi smirked faintly and, before Aomine could react, surged forward. A short step, then another, followed by a sharp change in direction. The movement was so fast that even Kuroko momentarily lost track of him.
Isagi's body flashed past Aomine like lightning.
With an elegant leap, Isagi shot in mid-motion, never losing balance. The flick of his wrist, the arc of the ball, the sound of the air being sliced—it all seemed perfect.
*Swish.*
6–2.
For a moment, no one moved. Only the distant sound of the ball hitting the floor filled the silence.
"He…" Kise blinked a few times, stunned. "He copied Aominecchi perfectly!"
The shock gave way to a wide, energetic grin. Kise threw an arm around Isagi and laughed loudly, "ISAGICCHI! Man, that was incredible!"
Isagi glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "…Isagicchi?"
Kuroko, standing nearby, spoke in his calm, neutral tone, "Kise only calls someone that when he truly respects them."
"Ah…" Isagi gave an ironic smile. "I see."
Kise continued, buzzing with excitement, shaking Isagi's shoulder enthusiastically. "Seriously, you copied Aominecchi's style on the first try! Even I couldn't do it that well!"
Aomine watched in silence, his eyes blazing with an intense spark. The lazy smile was gone, replaced by one of pure exhilaration.
"Heh…" he began, running a hand through his hair. "So that's how it is, huh?"
Murasakibara let out a yawn.
"Aomine, you're smiling too much… that means trouble."
"You bet," Aomine replied, leaning forward, his gaze fixed on Isagi. "Finally, someone who can copy me without looking like a cheap knockoff."
Akashi crossed his arms, observing the scene with a glint of curiosity in his eyes.
"This is getting interesting."
Isagi maintained his calm gaze.
The reason he could copy Aomine stemmed from two factors: his body, which had evolved to handle plays of this level with ease, and his innate talent. One could say he possessed a [Perfect Copy], similar to Kise's, as even in his past life, he could replicate movements and techniques with startling ease, regardless of the sport. Still, there was a subtle limit—depending on the complexity of a player's or fighter's action, he needed a brief moment of observation before executing the move identically.
This was why he dedicated himself so fiercely to training every aspect of his body. By strengthening every muscle, reflex, and fiber, he became capable of applying all his knowledge of soccer while also copying the movements and techniques of players in this world.
Was he a monster?
In terms of talent, yes, absolutely.
But his ambition went further. He wanted to master Kuroko's [Misdirection] and understand Akashi's [Emperor Eye]. That was the true reason behind his participation in this game. Of course, part of him also craved the thrill of competition, but there was a greater purpose: if he could get close to the Generation of Miracles, then, when their talents fully blossomed, he would be able to learn and adapt all those skills to soccer, making him essentially invincible!
To understand Kuroko's [Misdirection], he would need to observe every movement with precision, and for that, he would use his [Metavision]. As someone who already knew the trump card of his future self, he had spent the past month preparing to fully master this ability. Now, he could activate it at will, though no game until now had required its use.
The technique itself wasn't complex, but it demanded absurd control. Through peripheral vision, he could gather detailed information about the entire court—every player, every empty space, every shift in rhythm. His mind processed the data almost in real-time, registering positions and movements with pinpoint accuracy.
With this, he could predict openings, anticipate passes, steal balls, or cover gaps before others even noticed. The only requirement to execute [Metavision] was refined spatial awareness and a highly developed "Football IQ," which, thanks to his past life, he already possessed at a world-class level.
It was as if his mind was a radar and his eyes were cameras capable of capturing everything. To be more specific, it was like truly seeing the entire court from a "fourth dimension." And now, with the Generation of Miracles before him, there was finally a reason to unleash this power to its fullest.
Even if it was for basketball, not soccer.
Aomine grabbed the ball, his smile returning. "Now it's my turn, Isagi!"
And in that instant, the atmosphere on the court seemed to warp.
The real game was about to begin.
Kise, Midorima, Kuroko, and even Murasakibara instinctively stepped back. None of them dared to interrupt what was about to happen. Since this wasn't an official game, they had no concerns about it, and more importantly, when Aomine decided to take something seriously, it was better to watch from a distance. Even Akashi crossed his arms, intrigued.
The ball began to dance in Aomine's hands.
His dribble was impossible to predict, his shoulders relaxed, his feet moving in a natural, instinctive rhythm.
This was the purest street basketball!
"That's Aominecchi's style," Kise murmured, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Free basketball. The kind of game no manual can teach."
Aomine moved.
The first step was quick, but the second… impossible.
A sharp crack echoed on the floor as his body vanished from normal vision. Isagi, however, didn't blink. His eyes, now with concentric circles slowly forming like a radar, tracked every micro-movement—every tilt of the hip, every rotation of the ankle.
[Metavision — Activated.]
The world slowed down.
The sound of sneakers, the echo of the wind, the bounce of the ball—it all felt fragmented, sectioned into perfect frames. Isagi saw every angle of Aomine's body as if observing from multiple perspectives at once.
Aomine tried to advance to the right, but Isagi was already there.
He attempted to switch the dribble, but Isagi had read the move before it even began.
The two crossed paths in half a second, the sound of the ball echoing in a frenzied rhythm.
The low dribble, the lateral slide, the sudden spin—it was a ballet of pure speed and instinct. The ball seemed to come alive between their fingers.
Murasakibara, leaning against the post, let out a long sigh. "So fast… can't even follow with my eyes."
"Isagi's keeping up perfectly," Akashi replied, his tone calm but his eyes sharp. "No. He's going beyond that."
The floor trembled with every change of direction. Aomine lunged forward, his body arched, his momentum brimming with power, but in the next instant, Isagi replicated the exact same move, down to the smallest detail.
"He… copied him again," Kuroko murmured, his gaze fixed. "But… there's something different."
Isagi wasn't just imitating.
While Aomine moved instinctively, driven by raw talent, Isagi observed and analyzed. Every dribble, every step, every micro-adjustment in his opponent's body was absorbed through his [Metavision], processed, and returned in a slightly refined version, adapted to his own style.
In other words, he wasn't just copying Aomine…
He was evolving in real-time.
All thanks to his monstrous talent.
The ball bounced firmly in Aomine's hands. The sharp sound of dribbles mingled with the distant rustle of trees and the squeak of sneakers on the floor. He leaned forward, shoulders relaxed, his gaze locked on Isagi. His legs bent, his weight perfectly distributed. Every fiber of his body screamed readiness.
Isagi stared back, his concentric eyes spinning slowly, [Metavision] processing everything—the movement of the chest, the slight shift in gaze, the tension in the ankle hinting at the direction of the break.
Aomine moved first. The push from his right foot sent his body shooting forward like a spring, the dribble so low the ball grazed the floor, almost invisible. His left hand shielded it, his hips swiveled, and his speed doubled in a blink.
Isagi responded without hesitation. A lateral step, his pivot foot glued to the ground, maintaining perfect balance. When Aomine tried a shoulder fake, Isagi had already shifted his torso in sync, matching the rhythm and angle, successfully defending the charge.
But that didn't stop the boy.
Aomine switched the rhythm. He suddenly slowed his dribble, as if stopping, then exploded to the other side. The crossover was clean, his body spinning in full rotation.
It was the kind of move that left any defender behind.
But Isagi didn't fall for the fake. He tracked the spin in real-time, his pupils contracted, his muscles relaxed and ready to respond. His right leg moved first, then his left, and he followed the cut with terrifying ease.
The ball switched hands. Aomine executed a behind-the-back dribble, passing the ball through his back and reversing his body's direction in one fluid motion. His right elbow dipped, and his torso bent almost to his knee. It was a blend of instinct and art, unpredictable.
Isagi read it before the touch. The inner circle of his [Metavision] spun, calculating the ball's trajectory and the speed of the wrist's rotation. In the same instant, his body dropped in sync, mirroring the move.
By instinct, Aomine spun his body again and attempted a full acceleration. The first step was a short, explosive bolt of pure elasticity. But Isagi responded before the second touch, blocking the line of advance.
The two collided lightly, shoulder to shoulder. Neither backed down. The impact was sharp, their balance impeccable. The ball bounced a hand's width to the side, and Aomine reclaimed it in mid-air, controlling it with his fingertips.
He tried an in-and-out dribble, a move that seemed like a crossover fake but stayed on the same side. The touch was so fast it produced a double echo. The ball went from left to right and back to left in under half a second.
But Isagi intercepted it calmly.
Aomine stepped back and accelerated again. The dribble shifted, now mixing cross, hesitation, spin, and a double cut. His body seemed to bend space, disappearing and reappearing a meter ahead.
But Isagi was already ahead of the move.
Aomine attempted a final spin, his entire body rotating around his pivot leg, preparing to jump. But as he raised his arm to shoot, Isagi was there. One step ahead, a perfect read, his hand intercepting the motion before it reached its peak.
Clean steal.
The ball slipped away, and Isagi controlled it with his fingertips, spinning on his axis and retreating. One touch, then another. The hand switches were precise, rhythmic, hypnotic. He accelerated. His body leaned forward, his feet slicing through the air.
Aomine tried to keep up, but he realized: Isagi was using his own style, the same fluid dribble, the same sequence of cuts and hesitations, but every detail refined. Less space between touches, less waste, more speed.
Isagi spun his body, his hips following the motion, and at the last moment, he switched the rhythm again, completely breaking Aomine's axis. A short step, then a light leap, his body rising with impeccable balance.
The ball left his hands in a clean arc, the spin perfect.
Time seemed to freeze.
*Swish.*
The net sang.
Aomine stopped for a moment, panting, looking at Isagi with a smile that was half-disbelief, half-ecstasy.
Isagi landed lightly, saying nothing. His eyes still concentric, his breathing controlled, his posture relaxed. He didn't need to speak. His body said it all.
He had copied Aomine's style.
And perfected it.
Aomine took a deep breath, leaning forward, ready to attack again. The smile still gleamed in his eyes, but now there was a hint of tension—Isagi was reading his every move with almost supernatural precision. Every dribble he attempted, every fake, every cut, was anticipated, blocked, or countered before it could fully form. The ball seemed to glide in Isagi's hands as if it had a life of its own, reacting before expected.
"Impossible…" Aomine muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
But he didn't back down. On the contrary, the frustration only ignited his competitive fire. He accelerated even more, combining low dribbles, crossovers, sharp spins, and rhythm changes that defied human physics. Every attempt to get past Isagi was met with disturbing ease. The boy didn't even seem to be trying, merely moving with the same fluidity as Aomine, but adjusting every detail slightly better.
The impact was constant—the sharp sound of steps, the bounce of the ball, the scrape of the floor, all echoing across the court.
Isagi finally saw the opening: a move from Aomine he knew would be the final fake. A short step, followed by a leap that would normally have been impossible to block. But this time, Isagi anticipated it. The ball slipped from Aomine for just a moment before Isagi recovered it with a gentle touch, spinning in the air and charging toward the basket.
*Swish.*
Two more points.
Aomine's smile widened, adrenaline coursing through his body. Frustration and excitement blended into one. "Hah! Finally, someone who can keep up with me… and even surpass me!"
Akashi, watching with his arms crossed, quickly intervened.
"Remember, Aomine, Isagi. We're still playing as a team. Don't forget your teammates."
That snapped everyone watching the duel back to reality.
Murasakibara, leaning against the post, let out a heavy yawn.
"Ugh… now I have to work… help him defend…?" He sighed, moving slowly to cover the court.
As if he had vanished, Kuroko disappeared from everyone's sight, making it impossible to track his position. Silence hung for a moment—no one knew where he was or if he was about to interfere.
Isagi didn't waste time. With the ball in his hands, he glanced at Kise, the blond bouncing with excitement, arms raised. A quick, precise pass, and Kise received it, instantly ready to charge toward the basket. Midorima also returned to his position, adjusting his glasses and preparing for the next shot.
The rhythm shifted instantly.
It was no longer just a duel between two monsters; now it was a true team game.
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