Chapter 142: Beyond Perception?
“Let go of him, Tentacle Freak! Or I’ll kill you first!”
Shōei Barō clenched his left fist tightly, ready to swing at Ryusei Shido at any moment. Fortunately, Kudo Tōya quickly intervened.
“Enough, Ryusei. Let him go. Violence isn’t allowed in Blue Lock!”
“And forget about this guy.”
“A brainless, rage-driven idiot like him won’t be of any use anyway.”
“Hmph. In the end, this match is between us—and Rin Itoshi and Ryūma Banjō.”
“Everyone else? Just a bunch of background extras.”
Ryusei Shido shot Barō a disdainful glance before releasing his grip, then casually draped an arm over Kudo Tōya’s shoulder.
With a teasing smirk, he said,
“Hey, little Tōya, you could say this one’s your revenge match too.”
“Hmph. This time, I’m the one who’s going to win!”
Once everyone had taken their positions, a mechanical female voice echoed through the field.
The five-on-five match begins now!
The first team to score five goals wins!!
Goalkeeping duties will continue to be handled by BLUELOCK MAN!!
The first match of the Third Selection’s ultimate challenge, “The Adaptive Training” begins now—Team A versus Team B!!
Team A in possession. Rin Itoshi to kick off from the center circle!
“Charge, charge, charge!”
“Shut up and keep up with me!”
As soon as the match started, Rin Itoshi passed the ball straight to Ryūma Banjō.
The moment the ball touched his right foot, Ryūma launched forward at full throttle toward the center of Team B’s half.
But this time was different—
The purple gleam that once filled his eyes had vanished, replaced by pure gold.
It was a sign—Ryūma had entered the “Slow-Motion World” from the very first play.
And much of that progress was thanks to Yo Hiori.
...
Let’s rewind to a few hours earlier.
After making his team choice, Yo Hiori decided to hit the training grounds. There was still plenty of time before the match, so he figured he’d work on his ball control and touch.
But when he arrived, he could already hear the sound of someone practicing inside.
When he stepped in, he found Ryūma Banjō, drenched in sweat, tirelessly training alone.
“Eh? Ryūma?” Hiori blinked. “How long have you been training here? You’re already soaked!”
Ryūma ran a hand through his hair and grinned. “Well~ I’ve only been here three hours.”
“Huh? Why do you sound so worn out all of a sudden, Ryūma?”
Ryūma froze for a moment, then wrapped an arm around Hiori’s neck and gave him a playful noogie.
“Oh, so you’ve gotten cheeky now, huh? Haven’t seen you in ages and you’re already getting cocky?”
“If I don’t knock some sense into you, you’ll just keep running your mouth!”
“Alright, alright, I give up!” Hiori groaned, clutching his head. “I’m sorry, Ryūma! I won’t say another word! Let me go~”
“Heh!”
Once released, Hiori fixed his hair and said, “I didn’t mean it like that, Ryūma. I’m just wondering how you got that sweaty in only three hours.”
At that, Ryūma fell silent.
He didn’t know how to explain it.
The recent matches had pushed him into a bottleneck—he wasn’t sure what to work on anymore.
His speed, physical strength, and shooting—all had reached their limits.
One more step, and his speed would be on par with Julian Loki.
His physical ability was nearly at Adam Blake’s level.
And his shooting techniques were already diverse and powerful enough to be called complete.
But reaching world-class? That was another story.
He was only seventeen—not yet in his physical prime.
Right now, his body had hit its ceiling. Without guidance from world-class players, he couldn’t move forward on his own.
Still, Ryūma knew of one skill that could push him beyond—one that appeared later in Blue Lock’s development.
“Metavision.”
A high-level ability that several others eventually mastered. With his talent, Ryūma believed he could too—if he worked hard enough.
But this time, he failed.
For the first time since his rebirth, he couldn’t learn it—no matter how much he tried.
His Metavision was simply too weak, his side vision too blurry.
Even when he forced himself to analyze the field using his peripheral vision while dribbling, it didn’t work.
He couldn’t clearly make out what was happening around him, and even when he could, there wasn’t enough time for his brain to process it.
And that was while moving slowly. If he tried this at full speed, he’d probably collapse outright.
The sweat pouring down his face wasn’t from fatigue—it was from frustration and anxiety.
Ryūma might always joke around, but deep down, he knew—
if he stopped growing now, these geniuses would soon leave him behind.
Seeing his silence, Yo Hiori patted Ryūma’s shoulder with a gentle smile.
“What’s wrong, Ryūma? First time I’ve ever seen you like this. Something bothering you?”
Ryūma sighed and told him everything—his plateau, his fears, and the thought of being overtaken by others.
After listening quietly, Hiori smiled faintly.
“Never thought you’d be the one to feel insecure or scared, Ryūma.”
“Don’t tease me, Hiori. I’m really panicking here.”
Seeing Ryūma sitting dejectedly on the ground, Hiori sat beside him and asked, “So what exactly are you practicing?”
Ryūma rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“A powerful technique. Normally, we focus our sight directly ahead—that’s called ‘central vision.’”
“But there’s also the hazy vision on the edges—that’s ‘peripheral vision.’”
“The technique I’m trying to learn uses peripheral vision to constantly track the positions of both teammates and opponents, along with the ball, and process all that information in real time.”
“But it’s not going well. When my focus is on the ball, I can’t monitor my surroundings. And with my high speed, it’s impossible to stay aware of everything while dribbling.”
“Even when I force myself to, it slows me down—and by the time I process what’s happening, the opponent’s already made their move.”
Hiori’s eyes brightened with realization, but just as he was about to speak, Ryūma cut him off with a wry grin.
“If you’re about to ask how I know about this technique, don’t bother asking. ╮( •́ω•̀ )╭”
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