Chamber B-5 was certainly not a football pitch.
The space was a clinical, white hexagon, completely lacking any markings. Its walls and ceiling radiated a gentle, all-encompassing light that created an atmosphere free of shadows. The air hung quietly, cleansed of any fragrance, creating a serene atmosphere.
At the heart of the room, there was a solitary, elegant terminal positioned with precision. The room was a pristine space for contemplation, crafted to remove all outside distractions. Ego grasped the essence of his new specimen with complete clarity.
Kyomu made his way towards the terminal. The screen lit up, showing not a warm welcome but a series of progressively difficult cognitive tests.
Recognising patterns at a pace that could trigger headaches for many, tackling intricate tactical challenges from past matches where crucial details are intentionally left out, and analysing the psychological profiles of renowned players with a straightforward, repeated inquiry: How can you overcome this?
This was not an examination of one's football abilities. The situation served as a rigorous evaluation for his processor. A standard for the weapon that Ego had welcomed into his dwelling.
Kyomu's fingers glided effortlessly over the interface, his replies coming in an instant. He not only addressed the problems but also uncovered the flawed assumptions that lay beneath them.
Faced with a traditional defensive setup, he chose not to outline a conventional attacking strategy.
He described three distinct manoeuvres aimed at turning the defenders against one another, taking advantage of subtle stylistic variations in their profiles to create internal discord.
His approach wasn't to overpower the formation; rather, it was to cause it to implode from within.
A final prompt appeared on the screen: ANALYSE SUBJECT I-01 (ISAGI YOICHI). PREDICT HIS BREAKING POINT.
A live stream emerged from the 100-player battle royale, centring on Isagi. Kyomu observed for a precise duration of forty-seven seconds. He witnessed the desperation, the hurried calculations, and the instant of connection with Bachira.
"He will not break in the usual way," Kyomu declared, addressing not the room but the microphone he understood was attentive to his words. "His ego is not constructed from pride or natural ability; rather, it is rooted in a fundamental desire to unravel the mystery."
"He will reach his breaking point when an unsolvable variable is introduced. Not merely a stronger opponent, but rather a logical paradox that unfolds on the pitch. A challenge that evolves more quickly than he can keep up with."
"To defeat him, you would not shatter his spirit. You would demonstrate that his fundamental approach is no longer relevant. It would not be a dramatic event; rather, it would be a quiet, complete failure of the entire system."
For a brief moment, the screen went completely blank. Suddenly, one word emerged.
CALIBRATION_COMPLETE.
A portion of the wall emitted a soft hiss as it slid open, unveiling a long hallway beyond. At the conclusion, there was a typical Blue Lock personal room.
His cell.
Upon entering, he discovered a standard issue Blue Lock tracksuit neatly arranged on the bed. Next to it, there lay a second tracksuit, identical in every way except for one striking detail: the roman numeral 'V' emblazoned on the back was not blue, but rather a rich, blood crimson.
The message was unmistakably clear.
He was a player, yet he stood out in a unique way.
He represented the variable.
•••
The initial official training session for the chosen players unfolded as a fascinating example of organised disorder. The atmosphere within the expansive training centre buzzed with a fresh, vibrant energy. The initial shock faded away, giving way to a fierce and competitive drive.
Kyomu stepped out from the player's tunnel, clad in the familiar blue uniform. He had left the one marked in crimson in his room. At this moment, remaining anonymous proved to be a more effective strategy than making any declarations.
He carefully watched the drills. Everything felt incredibly... organised. Concentrating on personal technical enhancement. It felt akin to honing scalpels while lacking a grasp of anatomy.
His team was given a possession drill while facing pressure. In the midst of the chaos, the players hurriedly moved about, and a hurried pass from a flustered defender unexpectedly found its way to his feet. In an instant, two opponents moved in on him.
The herd observed intently. This marked their initial genuine observation of the player that Ego had specifically highlighted. They anticipated a display of remarkable talent, an overwhelming surge of velocity.
Kyomu failed to catch the ball. He allowed the ball to roll by him, using the inside of his heel to softly nudge it backward, right into the path of the defender who had originally misplayed the pass.
The action was remarkably straightforward, so entirely devoid of confrontation that it thoroughly disarmed the two players who were pressing forward. The defender, taken by surprise, stumbled for a moment but ultimately regained composure.
"Your head tilted slightly to the left, keeping an eye on the presser positioned to your right," Kyomu remarked, his tone steady despite the surrounding grunts and shouts.
"It led you to misjudge the passing lane by a distance of six inches. Focus on what lies ahead, not on what is beside you."
The defender looked on, utterly bewildered. He was receiving guidance and support. Amidst the ongoing drill. From an adversary.
The drill went on without interruption. Time and time again, Kyomu found himself receiving the ball. He did not engage in dribbling at all. He seldom moved ahead. He executed straightforward, safety-oriented passes, yet each one was paired with a subtle, precise awareness.
"Your centre of gravity tends to be elevated when you are under pressure during reception. After each touch, you will feel off-balance for half a second."
"You are expecting the pass even before it departs from my foot. That is merely an assumption. I work with data. Refrain from making assumptions."
He was not engaged in playing football. He was conducting a live autopsy. With each word, he wasn't merely defeating players; he was revealing the delicate workings of their abilities, highlighting the wear and tear, the rust, and the loose screws with a calm and unsettling accuracy.
The players surrounding him became increasingly restless. Their movements turned awkward and self-aware. Their minds had shifted away from the drill; instead, they were focused on their own imperfections, exposed by the unchanging tone of the voice. The standard of the performance around him declined significantly.
High above, in an observation room, Ego Jinpachi watched intently, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in his hand. A sly smirk danced across his lips. "Intriguing."
"He isn't making a difference in the game. He is making a significant impact on the players. He is a harmful influence on the mind. He isn't merely defeating them; he's causing their situation to deteriorate even further."
On the pitch, Isagi Yoichi completed his drill and observed Kyomu's group, a frown creasing his forehead. He observed the impact. He noticed the frustration etched on the faces of the other players. He noticed how the rhythm of their game faltered and came to a halt each time the ball reached the composed boy in the blue uniform.
"He's not focused on winning the drill," Isagi quietly said to Bachira.
Bachira's typical playful smile was nowhere to be found. "No. He is engaged in a different activity. It feels as though he is... adjusting them with care. Or shattering them."
Their observation came to an abrupt end as the groups were rotated. Whether it was mere coincidence or a deliberate choice by Ego, Kyomu's upcoming drill consisted of a straightforward 2v2 shooting exercise. His partner was Isagi Yoichi.
As Isagi approached the small practice pitch, he sensed a cold knot tightening in his stomach. This was the moment. This was his first direct experience with the "irregular."
Kyomu stood by the cone, waiting, his expression as inscrutable as calm water. He offered no greeting. His eyes followed Isagi with ease, taking in his stance, the rhythm of his breath, and the subtle tightness in his shoulders.
"Subject I-01," Kyomu stated, the phrase resonating with an unsettling blend of foreignness and chilling accuracy. "The runs you make when not in possession of the ball show an 83% connection to the defensive weakness you spotted just 1.2 seconds earlier."
"It truly is remarkable. And it was predictable."
Isagi stood still, caught in a moment of surprise. It was as though his mind had undergone a thorough examination, with the unrefined information laid out before him for careful consideration.
The sound of the whistle echoed through the air. The drill commenced. Isagi, guided by instinct and years of practiced routine, executed his signature run, deftly manoeuvring between the two dummy defenders.
The pass did not arrive.
Kyomu, facing little pressure from his defender, had already passed the ball back to the reset man, thereby concluding the possession.
"The hypothesis has been confirmed," Kyomu declared. "You embody the essence of ideal answers."
"You recognised that the pass was the play with the highest success rate."
"You were right. However, you overlooked one crucial variable."
Isagi stared, his mind racing. "What variable?"
Kyomu finally directed his complete attention towards him. It felt as though I was being examined closely, as if under a microscope.
"It's me," he stated plainly.
"The fact that I may have an alternative hypothesis to examine is now a data point you need to factor into your calculations. The model you have is incomplete."
He turned and made his way back to where he began, leaving Isagi standing solitary in the box, the very foundations of his Meta-Vision beginning to fracture beneath the burden of one daunting question.
What if the puzzle had no desire to be solved?