Football Evolution System

Chapter 9: The Waiting Room

Miya watched as the white doors slid open with an agonizing slowness, revealing another stark, white room. This one was different, though. It wasn't empty. Almost a dozen people were scattered throughout, their eyes immediately locking onto Miya as he entered. The room was silent, save for the soft hum of unseen machinery, the air thick with unspoken tension.

Miya's gaze swept the room, finally settling on an unoccupied sack bed in the corner. He made his way over, feeling the weight of their stares, and sat down cautiously. As he perched on the edge of the bed, his mind began to replay the chaos that had led him here, to this strange, sterile limbo, when suddenly—

"Hey, senior! You survived!"

The voice was unmistakable, and Miya's heart sank. The strange, cheerful guy who had caused the explosion—Mikey—stood before him, grinning as if nothing had happened. Miya's blood boiled. He wasn't about to let this slide.

"You psychopath!" Miya roared, his voice echoing off the white walls. "You almost killed me!" If it weren't for his deep-seated respect for some higher power, Miya might have committed murder right then and there.

Mikey, unfazed, tilted his head, his large blue eyes wide and innocent. "I'm not a psycho. I'm Mikey!" he corrected, his tone almost childlike.

Miya exhaled sharply, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "Your skills... they're something else. Your football... it's like water."

Mikey's grin widened, his eyes sparkling with pride. "Thanks! But you can be like me too. All you need to do is read a lot of manga and—"

"Pfft! Is that stupid manga talk again?" another voice cut in, dripping with disdain.

Miya turned to see a tall player with long red hair and a muscular build lounging on a nearby bed, a phone in his hands. He was clearly engrossed in whatever game he was playing, only half-listening to their conversation.

Mikey's cheerful expression faltered, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "Manga isn't stupid! It's the most complex thing the human mind has ever come up with!" he shot back, glaring at the red-haired player, who merely rolled his eyes and continued tapping away at his phone.

The red-haired player finally paused his game, giving Mikey a look of amused curiosity. "So you're telling me you got this good at football because of manga?"

Miya watched the exchange in silence, intrigued despite himself. He had to admit, Mikey's dedication was... unusual.

Mikey crossed his arms, his expression serious now. "I'm not just good because of manga. Reading manga is more than just looking at pictures or reading words. It's about the mentality. Every character has different goals, different ways of seeing the world, different paths to getting what they want. I've learned how to push myself to the peak of my football skills by understanding those mentalities and applying them."

The room fell silent. Even the red-haired player seemed taken aback by Mikey's earnestness. He finally nodded, a hint of respect in his eyes. "I see... So that's what Limit Breaker is."

Miya frowned, his curiosity piqued. "Limit Breaker?"

The red-haired player leaned back, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's a mix of us who play football with a mentality that craves growth, who want to reach the top. We come from small places where our football careers would end without ever reaching the nationals or leagues. But we don't want to just give up... I see it now."

Miya nodded slowly, absorbing the words. He had felt something similar ever since he arrived at Limit Breaker—a feeling he couldn't quite put into words.

The red-haired player turned to Miya, his gaze piercing. "I'm Kitakyushu Hinawa," he introduced himself, then paused, waiting for Miya's response.

"M-Miya Shikamaru," Miya replied, still trying to wrap his head around everything.

Hinawa nodded, then asked the question that had been burning in Miya's mind. "So, what's your drive for football? What inspires you? What makes you constantly evolve your skills?"

Miya hesitated, furrowing his brow. What was his drive? His inspiration? Gaming. He had always seen football as a game—an endless, thrilling game. But could he really explain that to them?

Hinawa watched him closely. "For me, it's gaming. I see football as an endless game. That's my inspiration. Mikey's is manga. What's yours?"

Miya was silent for a moment, lost in thought. He recalled the countless games he'd played, the adrenaline that surged through him during those critical moments, the feeling that everything was on the line. "I live for high stakes," he finally said, his voice low but steady. "Something clicks in me when I know playing is more than just losing and going home. It's like a war when losing means death."

Hinawa and Mikey stared at him, their expressions unreadable. Miya's words hung in the air, heavy with meaning.

Hinawa finally nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "So you thrive on the life-and-death stakes of Limit Breaker, huh?"

Miya didn't respond, but he knew Hinawa was right. There was something about this place, about the intensity of the competition, that called to him.

Just as the tension in the room began to dissipate, a flat screen on the wall flickered to life. The dog-faced masked man appeared, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at them with a twisted sense of authority.

"At Limit Breaker, we have night times," the man announced, his voice echoing ominously through the room.

The bright lights overhead dimmed in an instant, casting long, eerie shadows across the room.

"This will be your room for now," the dog-faced man continued, "and in here, there are only three other rooms aside from this general bedroom: a toilet and a training field. For this first phase of Limit Breaker, you will become accustomed to these three rooms. I suggest you get some rest."

"Wait!" Mikey suddenly yelled, his voice slicing through the silence. "What do we get as a reward after we pass the first phase?"

Everyone turned to stare at Mikey in disbelief. Of all the questions to ask...

Mikey didn't flinch under their scrutiny. "I'd like some manga, please. Especially if you could get me the entire editions of that pirate manga."

The dog-faced man let out a low, guttural laugh, a sound that sent shivers down Miya's spine. "Instead of a pathetic tryout for under-eighteen football," he sneered, "what if I offer you a chance to play in the next season? And if you do well enough, you could find yourself walking side by side with legends like Ronaldo or Messi. I offer you life and death."

Miya's heart pounded in his chest. This was it. This was the kind of football he had always dreamed of—a game where everything was on the line.

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