Transported Into Another World With A System

volkov

I forgot to post your chapter sorry.....

Ryo stood alone in the middle of the field, the final echo of the ball hitting the net still ringing in his ears. His muscles were burning, and his lungs felt tight from the hours of intense training, but he didn’t care. The **Razor Shot** was getting sharper with each attempt, his control and precision improving at a pace even he hadn’t expected. But as he stared at the net, his mind wasn’t on his progress—it was on the looming Pro League Showcase, and the fact that players like Alexei Volkov would stop at nothing to prove themselves.

Volkov's words lingered: "It's about adaptability." Ryo knew that was true. Every player in the Showcase would have something to prove, and every match would be a test of not just skill, but who could evolve under pressure. It wasn’t just about technical ability or raw talent anymore; it was about how quickly he could react, adjust, and push beyond his limits. That was where his **Meta Vision** would give him an edge—and, if needed, his **Limit Breaker** could push him past even the toughest walls.

With one last deep breath, Ryo turned to leave the field. His body craved rest, but his mind remained sharp, running over strategies, thinking about how he could refine not just his shot, but every aspect of his game. He knew that the next time he faced Volkov, or anyone like him, it would come down to more than just technique. It would be a battle of wills.

---

The next morning, Ryo woke early. The tournament was set to start in two days, but he couldn't afford to take it easy. He arrived at the training grounds, hoping to squeeze in more work before the official matches began. This time, though, the atmosphere was different. The other players were already there, the tension palpable. Everyone had the same focus—fine-tuning their game before the big event.

As Ryo entered the field, his eyes landed on a familiar face—Volkov. The Russian striker was working on a combination of footwork drills and finishing, his movements swift and calculated. It was clear Volkov’s focus was just as intense as Ryo’s, if not more so.

But Ryo didn’t linger. He had his own work to do.

He took his position and began running drills, alternating between short sprints and quick passes, working on building his stamina while maintaining control of the ball. With each touch, each step, his focus deepened, his **Meta Vision** processing every movement, analyzing the field, the angles, the positions of imaginary defenders. He pushed himself harder, faster, until sweat dripped from his brow and his muscles screamed in protest.

As the sun rose higher, the heat intensified, and soon, other players began to gather on the sidelines, watching as Ryo continued to push himself to the limit. They weren’t just spectators, though—these were his future opponents, studying his moves, his style, and no doubt forming their own strategies.

Ryo paused to catch his breath, feeling their eyes on him. He knew what they were thinking: *Who is this kid?* Most of them probably hadn’t heard of him before the National Finals. But Ryo didn’t mind being underestimated. In fact, it was an advantage.

Just as he was about to start his next drill, a voice called out from the edge of the field. "Kazuki, right?"

Ryo turned to see a tall, lean player approaching, his hair tied back in a loose ponytail. His sharp, confident stride matched his imposing presence. Ryo recognized him instantly—**Diego Morales**, the Brazilian phenom known for his incredible dribbling skills and lethal finishing. Diego had been dominating the South American leagues for the last two years, and his arrival at the Pro League Showcase had been hyped almost as much as Volkov’s.

"Yeah, I’m Ryo Kazuki," Ryo said, wiping sweat from his brow. "You’re Morales."

Diego grinned, a glint of competitiveness in his eyes. "I’ve been watching you train. That **Razor Shot** of yours—it’s dangerous. You’ve got some serious potential."

Ryo could feel the weight of the compliment, but he knew what was coming. Players like Diego didn’t just hand out praise—they were sizing up their competition, getting a feel for who they’d be facing on the field.

"Thanks," Ryo replied, keeping his tone neutral. "But I’m still refining it."

Diego crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. "I’ve seen a lot of players come and go. Most of them focus on perfecting their one signature move, thinking it’ll carry them through. But let me give you some advice: if you’re relying on just one shot, or one skill, you’re going to get crushed in this tournament. The competition here? They adapt fast. You need to be able to change your game on the fly."

Ryo nodded. "I know. That’s why I’m here. I’m not just looking to perfect one thing—I’m looking to push past my limits."

Diego’s grin widened, but there was a hint of respect in his eyes now. "Good. I like that. We’ll see if you can keep up when the real games begin."

With that, Diego jogged back to his own training area, leaving Ryo alone with his thoughts. Once again, the message was clear—adaptability would be the key to winning this tournament. His **Meta Vision** gave him a huge advantage in reading the game, but Diego was right. If Ryo didn’t stay flexible, didn’t evolve with each match, he could fall behind.

Taking a deep breath, Ryo resumed his drills, this time focusing on integrating everything he had learned. He wasn’t just working on his **Razor Shot** now—he was practicing his positioning, his off-the-ball movement, his ability to switch up his strategy at a moment’s notice. He imagined defenders closing in from every side, forced himself to think three moves ahead, all while maintaining speed and precision.

For hours, he pushed himself until the field blurred and his muscles trembled with exhaustion. But with each moment, his determination only grew. He could feel the evolution happening in real-time—the adjustments, the micro-changes to his game. His **Meta Vision** was evolving, and his body was adapting to keep up with it.

When he finally stopped, drenched in sweat, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows over the field.