Chapter 10: The Taste of the Bottom
The adrenaline from the tag game lingered in the air like ozone after a lightning strike. As the sliding doors hissed open, Team Z filed out of the room, the silence heavy and jagged. Isagi walked with his head down, his gaze fixed on the spot where Ryosuke Kira had just been erased from the world of football. The "National Treasure" was gone, and the weight of that reality was settling into the bones of everyone present.
Eshan walked at the back of the group. He wasn't vibrating with nervous energy like Igarashi, nor was he lost in a moral crisis like Isagi. His 27-year-old mind had already processed the exit. It was the first "death" of the program, but in his eyes, it was a necessary one. He didn't see his teammates as mere tools—he saw them as variables in a high-stakes equation—but he also knew that sentimentality was a luxury they couldn't afford.
"Don't get stuck in the past, Isagi," Eshan said quietly as they rounded a corner. He didn't stop to lecture; he just let the words hang in the air as he passed. "The hero is gone. You're the one still wearing the uniform. That's the only truth that exists in this hallway."
Isagi looked up, his eyes searching Eshan's face for a sign of coldness, but he found only a calm, grounded reality. "Don't you feel... anything? We just ended a career."
Eshan gave a small, dry tilt of his head. "I feel hungry. And I feel the weight of what's next. If Kira was the 'Absolute' he claimed to be, he wouldn't have been hit. You didn't kill a hero; you just exposed a flaw."
The Cafeteria
The team reached the communal dining hall, a massive, sterile space that felt more like a high-tech laboratory than a kitchen. Above the serving stations, digital screens flickered with the ranks of the players. Eshan stood in line, his eyes scanning the room. His Absolute Field Awareness was active in short, sharp bursts—mapping the exits, the locations of the cameras, and the "heat" coming from the other players.
"Oh, come on!" Igarashi's voice cracked as he stared at his tray. "Rice, miso soup, and... natto? That's it? Where's the protein?"
Kunigami looked at his own tray with a grimace. "Rice, soup, and pickled radish. Rank 292 is a joke. I can't build muscle on this."
Eshan stepped up and scanned his ID. The machine whirred, and a tray slid forward: a bowl of white rice, thin miso soup, and a small portion of salted seaweed.
He took his tray to a long table and sat down. Further down the hall, players with higher ranking– were eating plates of grilled steak and steaming curry. The smell of seared meat drifted through the air, thick and mocking.
"Look at those guys," Bachira hummed, sitting across from Eshan and poking at his own seaweed. "They're eating like kings. Our ranks really are the bottom of the barrel, aren't they?"
Eshan picked up his chopsticks and took a bite of rice. He didn't join in the complaining. He knew Ego's game. The ranking wasn't an insult; it was a psychological trigger. He knew, as a reborn soul, that every room was being told they were the "lowest" to provoke their hunger.
"Eat," Eshan said, his voice level. "The food is a psychological anchor. Ego wants you to look at that steak and feel inferior. He wants your stomach to dictate your ego. If you're busy crying about a side dish, you've already let him inside your head."
"But it's not fair!" Igarashi muttered. "How are we supposed to compete?"
Eshan didn't look up from his bowl. "A steak doesn't make the striker. The discipline to eat what you have and move forward does. This is just fuel. Treat it like that."
As the meal continued in a morose silence, Eshan's eyes drifted across the table. He wasn't looking at them as objects, but he was analyzing their potential.
Kunigami had the frame of a powerhouse, but his movements were too "honest." Bachira was a spark of pure chaos, unpredictable but currently lacking a focal point. Isagi... Isagi was the most interesting. He was a bundle of nerves, yet his eyes were constantly darting, subconsciously trying to process the space of the room.
Eshan felt a pull of responsibility. He wasn't their coach, but his mature perspective made him realize that for him to succeed, Team Z had to survive the first selection.
"Hey, Eshan," Isagi said, breaking the quiet. "In the tag game... you didn't just dodge. You looked like you knew exactly where the ball was going to go before it even touched you. It was like you were sensing us."
The table went quiet. Even Raichi, who had been grumbling about the soup, looked over.
Eshan set his chopsticks down. He didn't want to explain how his Absolute Awareness was already mapping the room, picking up on the vibrations of the floor and the subtle shifts in their breathing—that was a secret he wasn't ready to share. "It's not magic, Isagi. It's sensitivity. It's like the field speaks to you."
Bachira giggled, eyes sparkling. "The field speaks? I like that."
Later, in the communal sleeping quarters, twelve futons were laid out in a row under a dim, rhythmic blue light. The facility felt cold, the silence punctuated only by the distant hum of the ventilation system.
Eshan lay on his back, hands behind his head. His 16-year-old body was physically tired, but his mind was sharp. He was finally here, inside the story he had once loved from afar. But the variable that changed everything was him.
His thoughts turned inward, focusing on his own evolution.
Zero-Spin Flow is my foundation, Eshan thought, staring up into the dark blue shadows of the ceiling. It got me through the district finals, but here, it's just one tool in a box that needs to be filled. Against the monsters in this building, a single 'special move' is just a pattern waiting to be solved. If I want to be Absolute, I can't just have a finishing move; I need to be the finish. Every touch, every part of my body—my chest, my knees, my head—needs to be a threat. I need to be able to score when the ball is at my feet, when it's behind me, and when there isn't even an angle to shoot.
He knew he needed to develop more ways to kill a game. The Ghost Touch was for the build-up; the Zero-Spin was for the strike. He needed a bridge between them—something that made him a scoring threat from any micro-moment.
A soft rustle came from the next futon. Isagi was tossing and turning.
"Eshan? You awake?"
"Yeah."
"I... I keep thinking about what you said. About the choice to kick the ball. I'm rank 299. I'm at the very bottom. Do you really think a number like that is a lie?"
Eshan turned his head slightly. In the dim light, Isagi looked like a boy trying to find his footing on a shifting mountain.
"Luck is just the residue of design, Isagi," Eshan said, his voice a low, steady anchor in the dark. "You didn't 'get lucky.' You chose to act. That choice is the only thing that's real in this room. The rank? It's a tool for manipulation. Don't let a screen tell you who you are. Let the ball tell you."
Isagi didn't respond for a long time, but his breathing slowed, becoming more rhythmic. "...Thanks. You're... different, Eshan. It's like you've already seen all of this before."
Eshan closed his eyes, a small, invisible smile touching his lips. In a way, I have. "Go to sleep, 299. Tomorrow, the field gets louder."
The Morning
The morning was heralded by a piercing, electronic chime. A screen slid out from the wall, and the gaunt, bug-eyed face of Ego Jinpachi stared back at them.
"Good morning, unpolished gems. I hope the tatami was comfortable. Today, we begin the 'Physical Reinforcement' phase. We're going to strip away the delusions of your high school careers and see what your bodies are actually capable of."
A list of tests scrolled across the screen: 20m Sprints, Vertical Jumps, 3000m Endurance, and Core Stability.
Ego sneered. "And remember... your rankings are the only things that dictate your worth in this facility. Move it."
Eshan stood up, feeling the familiar, coiled strength in his legs and core. He had been training for this since he was nine years old—building the balance and stability required for Absolute Ball Feel. He looked at the number on his shoulder: 291.
He knew the rankings were a psychological trick, a lie to fuel their desperation, but he still intended to climb. Not because he believed Ego's number, but because he wanted to see how far his reborn body could push the limits of the simulation.
Time to show them what 'Absolute' really looks like, he thought.