The driver didn't comment on the conversation. They pulled up to a massive complex on the outskirts of Tokyo, made with glass and steel. It had security checkpoints, armed guards, and biometric scanners. The Apex Sports Tech Training Center looked more like a military installation than a football facility.
Inside, the reception area was as cold as the surgical suite had been. The receptionist looked up as Naoya approached, her expression scrunched to the point of disgust.
"Name?"
"Naoya Sato."
Her fingers flew across a holographic keyboard. "Ah yes. You're one of the Tokyo integration survivors. Follow me, please."
She led him through a series of corridors, each one progressively wider until they finally emerged into a massive open space.
It was a warehouse converted into a training facility, with high ceilings supported by industrial beams and a floor that looked like specialized synthetic turf.
People were scattered throughout the space. Naoya counted maybe thirty of them, clustered in small groups or standing alone. Some were Japanese, but most weren't. He spotted several with dark skin, Africans, probably from the Lagos or Johannesburg centers. Europeans with their various builds and features. A few who looked South American.
They all turned to look at him when he entered.
One of them, a white guy with european features and blonde hair pulled into a small bun, scoffed audibly.
"Naoya Sato?" His English had a British accent, posh and cutting. "What are you doing here?"
The others began to whisper, some pointing at him. Naoya caught fragments of conversation.
"—the one who missed—"
"—can't believe he actually—"
"—look at his hair, what is that—"
Naoya's hand instinctively went to his head. His hair had always been an anomaly, naturally white-blonde from his American father's genes, a stark contrast to the black hair expected of someone representing Japan.
He usually kept it short to minimize attention, but he hadn't bothered with a haircut in weeks. Now it hung shaggy and unkempt, making him look even more out of place.
He found a corner and moved toward it, ignoring the stares and whispers.
[SOCIAL HOSTILITY DETECTED]
[RECOMMENDATION: MAINTAIN DISTANCE]
"Yeah, thanks for the tip," Naoya muttered.
The British guy said something that made his group laugh. More people were arriving now, filtering in through different entrances. The space was filling up, the noise level rising with each new body.
Then, without warning, a mechanical whir echoed from above.
Naoya looked up just as a panel in the ceiling slid open. A football dropped through, caught by some kind of pneumatic system that launched it across the space at high speed.
"Welcome, candidates." A voice echoed from hidden speakers, genderless and artificial.
"First assessment begins now. Use the ball to eliminate as many opponents as possible. If the ball touches you, unless you are actively kicking it, you are eliminated. Good luck."
The ball hung in the air for a split second.
Then the guy with the long blonde hair moved.
His leg blurred as he caught the ball mid-flight and redirected it in one fluid motion.
Straight at Naoya.
"Shit!" Naoya's mind went blank. They hadn't explained anything! No rules, no preparation!
This wasn't fair!
The ball screamed toward his face.
And then everything stopped.
Time didn't actually freeze, but his perception of it changed. The world slowed to a crawl. The ball hung in the air, spinning, every panel and stitch visible in crystal clarity. He could see the trajectory, the exact point where it would hit him between the eyes.
[THREAT DETECTED]
[ANALYZING...]
[PROJECTILE SPEED: 87 KM/H]
[TIME TO IMPACT: 0.4 SECONDS]
[CALCULATING OPTIMAL RESPONSE...]
And then Naoya saw it.
His entire life flashed across his vision, every match, every practice, every moment he had ever touched a ball.
The system had catalogued it all, and now it was feeding him options, possibilities, paths forward that his conscious mind couldn't process fast enough but his body somehow understood.
Time snapped back to normal speed.
Naoya's body moved on instinct. He twisted, his foot coming up in a motion he had performed ten thousand times before, but this time, it was different.
It was more perfect.
His foot met the ball with a crack that echoed through the warehouse.
The ball rocketed back across the space, twice as fast as it had come, straight toward the long-haired guy who had kicked it.
And Naoya stood there, breathing hard, green text scrolling across his vision.
[FIRST ENGAGEMENT: SUCCESS]
[FOUNDATION SYSTEM: ACTIVE]
The real test had begun.