"...Wh-what? I'm third?"
Ness's voice faltered, his usual smooth composure slipping for just a second as he stared at the ranking board. His eyes darted between the glowing numbers and the figure standing just ahead of him.
Isagi Yoichi. Second place.
That didn't sit right.
Ness had always known his role—Kaiser's right hand, his midfield orchestrator. He wasn't just another player in Bastard München; he was the one who ensured Kaiser could dominate, the one who made his plays seamless and absolute. That position was his by design.
And yet—he had been overtaken.
By Isagi.
His gaze flickered toward the dark-haired striker. He had studied Isagi before—because Kaiser had been interested in him. After the U-20 Match, he had analyzed Isagi's movements, his decisions, his growth. He had acknowledged him, sure.
But never as someone who would surpass him.
At least—not like this.
His fingers curled into his palm, not quite a fist, but tight enough to feel the tension.
His lips pressed into a thin line.
It wasn't a devastating blow, but it was an irritation—one he didn't plan on ignoring.
Ness wasn't the only one struggling with the reality of the rankings.
Kunigami stood just a few feet away, his gaze locked onto the board, his expression unreadable. But the tension in his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists, told a different story.
Fourth.
It shouldn't have bothered him. It shouldn't have mattered since it's already quite high.
And yet, the number beside his name felt like a weight pressing down on his chest.
He had fought, clawed, and suffered through the Wild Card program. He had faced an unforgiving, hellish training regimen designed to forge him into a weapon—one that could rival the very best. His body was stronger than ever, his reflexes sharper, his stamina nearly endless. He had pushed himself beyond his limits, enduring countless brutal sessions meant to carve him into something closer to Noel Noa.
And still—Isagi was ahead of him.
Again.
Just like before.
Kunigami had lost at Blue Lock after his elimination, convinced that the only way to surpass the players who had beaten him was to evolve in ways they couldn't imagine. He had chosen to walk the path of a lone warrior, discarding everything that made him who he was, remaking himself from the ground up. And yet, the first real test of his growth—the first time he stood among rivals again—he found himself trailing behind Isagi once more.
The frustration burned in his gut.
It wasn't as if he doubted Isagi's skill. He had seen firsthand what Isagi was capable of. But to see him standing above him, even after everything Kunigami had endured… it stung.
Kunigami exhaled slowly, pushing down the emotions threatening to cloud his mind.
It wasn't over.
This was just the beginning.
If Isagi was ahead of him now, then he would simply surpass him here.
The rankings weren't set in stone.
And no matter what it took—Kunigami refused to stay in fourth place.
Raichi grunted at the list, realizing he was four spots away from the lineup, while Isagi and Kunigami were already part of it.
As the players let their rankings sink in, a mix of emotions settled over them—determination, frustration, quiet resolve. Yet, there was no time to dwell on it.
One by one, they turned away from the glowing numbers and started moving toward their rooms, their minds already shifting toward the next goal—improvement.
The next phase began quickly. No wasted time, no gentle transition. Bastard München's training facilities were nothing short of cutting-edge, and every player dove headfirst into their regimen, eager to climb higher.
For Isagi, the most exciting part was the Kinetic Vision Training. The high-tech system pushed his perception to its limits, sharpening his ability to read movements, track the ball, and anticipate plays at a near-instantaneous level. His eyes darted rapidly across the glowing display, processing countless shifting patterns.
'This is amazing…'
He could feel it—his ability to see the game was improving with every session. The numbers, the positioning, the angles—it was like solving a puzzle in real-time, and he was getting faster.
Then came the Off-the-Ball Training.
Another area where Isagi felt completely engaged. Navigating the field without the ball, moving with precision to break through defensive gaps, reading space before anyone else—this was his specialty. Every drill reinforced what he had already begun to master.
And yet—
His rank didn't rise.
Isagi frowned as he checked the latest results. He had expected progress, expected to push ahead quickly—but that wasn't happening.
Kaiser's still ahead.
For now.
It wasn't discouraging, just… unexpected. But he pushed the thought aside as the next training module was introduced.
The One-Touch Minigame
This was different. This was practical.
It wasn't just mindless training—it was direct competition. And not just against his fellow Blue Lock players, but against Bastard München's elite.
This game tested precision, reaction speed, and passing under pressure. Every touch had to be perfect. Every movement had to be calculated.
Isagi immediately felt the benefits of his Kinetic Vision and Off-the-Ball Training. His reactions were quicker, his positioning sharper, and his ability to read his opponents more refined. He could tell—his movements were becoming second nature, automatic.
.
.
.Germany 4-Man WingHiori, Kurona, Yukimiya, and Isagi found themselves sharing a room, their bodies heavy with exhaustion from the relentless training at Bastard München.
Their personal data had been updated.
Isagi leaned forward, his fingers hovering over the display as he studied his numbers.
Isagi Yoichi
Speed: A - 88
Offense: S - 97
Defense: A - 85
Shooting: S - 100
Passing: S - 90
Dribbling: S - 90
His overall rating flashed at the bottom of the screen.
Overall Rating: S - 94
His brows furrowed.
'Why is my OVR so low?'
Statistically, he had the edge against Kaiser in almost every major category. The only area where Kaiser outclassed him was speed, but even then, the gap wasn't massive. His fundamentals were solid—no, more than solid. His offense was nearly maxed out, his shooting unmatched, and his ability to move off the ball had improved dramatically since joining Bastard München.
And yet, compared to Kaiser…
Michael Kaiser
Speed: S - 91
Offense: S - 96
Defense: B - 74
Shooting: S - 98
Passing: B - 79
Dribbling: A - 86
Overall Rating: S - 97
Isagi exhaled sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. Kaiser's overall was three points higher despite having lower passing and dribbling stats and a noticeably weaker defensive rating. It didn't make sense at first glance, but as he thought about it, the reason became clear.
Numbers weren't everything.
Stats were just measurements of skill, but the real game wasn't played on a spreadsheet—it was played on the field. Kaiser had already proven himself on the World-Stage. His ranking wasn't just about raw talent—it was about how efficiently he utilized that talent on this stage.
Kurona blinked.
"Wait… what?"
Hiori leaned closer to Isagi's screen, his usually calm demeanor cracking into one of pure disbelief.
"This is insane…"
Isagi had the best stats among all of the Blue Lock Players
For comparison, the second-highest-rated Blue Lock player was Kunigami, who had managed an impressive A - 89.
Kurona sat up, rubbing his temples.
"You're telling me that even with this level of skill, you're still behind Kaiser?"
Isagi's grip tightened around the tablet.
"Yeah… because stats don't mean everything."
Hiori exhaled, nodding.
"It's about output. You might have these abilities, but until you prove them in an actual match, they don't hold the same weight."
He was right.
There were ten days until the match. Ten days until they could finally step onto the field and showcase their growth. But despite the relentless training, none of them were making significant progress in the rankings.
None except one.
Naruhaya.
The once-forgotten striker, who had barely scraped by during Blue Lock's grueling selection process, was now climbing. He had pulled himself from dead last to 17th place, a testament to his sheer determination and refusal to fade into irrelevance.
As the days bled together in a haze of drills, strategy meetings, and endless conditioning, the weight of the upcoming match pressed down on them. Every session was a war against exhaustion, every touch of the ball a desperate attempt to refine their weapons before the moment of truth.
And then, at last—
The day of the match arrived.
.
.
.
The Latest Ranking-
21st - Kiyora
20th - Hiori
19th - Kurona
18th - Gagamaru
17th - Naruhaya
16th - Raichi
15th - Neru
14th - Yukimiya
13th - Schneider
12th - Bachman
11th - Mensar
10th - Birkenstock
9th - Sachs
8th - Ndiaye
7th - Ali
6th - Grim
5th - Gesner
4th - Kunigami
3rd - Ness
2nd - Isagi
1st - Kaiser
As the list climbed, the names carried more weight. Bachman, the goalkeeper, settled at 12th, despite originally ranking below Mensah, who placed 11th. Their roles were swapped—Bachman's experience under the bar securing his place in the starting lineup.
Lineup for the match-GK- Bachman
CB- Birkenstock, Ali
RB- Ndiaye
LB- Sachs
CDM- Gensar
CAM- Ness
LM- Grim
RM- Kunigami
ST- Kaiser
ST- Isagi
Isagi was quiet satisfied with the lineup. It was solid—strong, even—but he couldn't help but wish he had been placed as the central midfielder. That was where he could dictate the flow, control the tempo, and shape the game as he saw fit. But Noel Noa had different plans, and for now, Isagi had to comply.
Once the match began, all restrictions would fade away. He would play his game—on his terms.
On the sidelines, frustration hung in the air like a heavy fog. Naruhaya, Raichi, and Yukimiya sat among the substitutes, their expressions tight with disappointment. Ten days of relentless training, ten days of pushing themselves beyond their limits—and yet, they still hadn't broken into the starting eleven.
Raichi clenched his fists. His efforts were undeniable—endless sprints, grueling physical battles, tactical refinement—but his ranking remained stubbornly the same. Yukimiya had polished his technique, refined his vision, yet even he found himself stuck.
Naruhaya, though, was the outlier. His climb had been slow but steady. He had adapted, absorbed the lessons of position play, sharpened his finishing instincts. His name had crept up the rankings, proof of his progress. But he was still behind Raichi and Yukimiya—still just short of where he needed to be.
The substitutes sat rigidly on the bench, their gazes locked on the field where the starting eleven stood ready.
And standing next to the substitutes, standing with the quiet authority of a ruler observing his kingdom, was Noel Noa—the Master of Bastard München, the ultimate striker, the man they all aspired to surpass.
Across the field, familiar figures emerged from the ranks of FC Barcha. Meguru Bachira and Eita Otoya.
Bachira's golden eyes scanned the opposing squad, flickering with curiosity—until they landed on Isagi. A small smile formed on his face. Without hesitation, he broke formation, jogging across the field toward him with that same carefree stride that ignored the tension surrounding him.
"Yo, Isagi!"
Bachira's voice rang out before Isagi could even react, and in the next second, a familiar arm slung around his shoulder. His touch was casual, familiar—just like old times.
There was no hesitation in Bachira's expression, only unfiltered joy at seeing Isagi again. Of course, he had expected him to make it to the lineup—there was no doubt in his mind. But that didn't matter. What mattered was that he was here, standing across from him, and that meant only one thing.
A chance to show him.
A chance to prove how much his dribbling had evolved.
"I made it into the lineup too!"
Bachira beamed as he spoke, his grin practically stretching from ear to ear. It wasn't just a statement—it was a declaration. A reminder that he hadn't been left behind, that he was still running alongside Isagi, still carving his own path forward.
Isagi met his enthusiasm with a smirk.
"Glad you made it. It'd be boring otherwise."
There was no malice in his words—only mutual understanding. A game without Bachira's unpredictable, free-flowing dribbling wouldn't have been nearly as exciting.
For a second, Bachira simply basked in the moment—until his gaze flickered past Isagi and landed on someone unexpected.
His playful grin faltered.
"Wha—? Kunigami!?"
Standing tall in his Bastard München kit, Kunigami met Bachira's wide-eyed stare with a stoic, unreadable expression. No warmth, no acknowledgment—just that quiet intensity he carried now.
Before Bachira could say anything else, the sharp whistle of the referee pierced the air.
The time for reunions was over.
Bachira clicked his tongue in disappointment, backing toward his team's formation. But before turning completely, he flashed Isagi one last mischievous grin, his golden eyes brimming with excitement.
"It won't end like last time, my monster is not in the cage anymore"
And with that, he slipped seamlessly into FC Barcha's ranks.
The players took their positions, each standing at the ready as the anticipation in the stadium thickened. Isagi exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed ahead. This was it—the beginning of the Neo Egoist League.
A low chuckle broke through the tension.
"You better keep up, Yoichi."
Kaiser.
His voice carried that familiar arrogance, but beneath it lay something else—expectation. He hadn't come all the way to Japan, hadn't bothered with this experimental league, just for it to be a waste of time.
Kaiser wanted to get attention of the world, so that he could get a better offer to leave this team.
Isagi Yoichi, Hero of Blue Lock was someone he was intrigued by and now wanted to have fun with him.
Isagi smirked but refused to look at him.
"Try not to enjoy my presence too much."
Kaiser scoffed, but there was no immediate rebuttal. Instead, a knowing smirk tugged at his lips before he casually sent the ball rolling to Ness, smoothly initiating Bastard München's first attack.
And just like that—the game had begun.
The moment Ness received the ball, FC Barcha's players rushed in. A coordinated press.
But Ness remained unfazed. He glanced around and made his choice.
He kicked the ball.
A perfectly threaded pass between the pressing players.
The ball slipped past defenders and landed precisely at the feet of Grim, who was already surging forward on the left wing.
FC Barcha's defenders reacted instantly, their press tightening. But Grim was built for this. A Tank Dribbler, he plowed ahead, using his sheer physicality to bulldoze through the opposition.
His gaze flickered toward the center—too clustered. Passing there would be suicide.
Instead, he sent a booming long ball to the right, bypassing the midfield chaos entirely.
And charging onto the right wing—was Genser.
Kunigami was officially the right winger, but Genser, the team's central defensive midfielder, had ghosted forward. It was an intentional, calculated movement—a bait to pull defenders wide and destabilize the press.
Also to increase Kaiser's options up front.
Grim noticed.
Genser was different from Grim. Where Grim forced his way through, Genser weaved like a phantom, his delicate dribbling and precise touches slipping past defenders with ease.
But FC Barcha adjusted.
Their players closed in, surrounding Genser in a suffocating pocket of space.
Yet, instead of panicking, Genser smirked.
"Let's see what you got, Dick cheese," he muttered.
With a swift motion, he sent a lofted pass high into the air.
To Isagi.
And Isagi was ready.
He had seen this moment before it happened. It was a canon event, unfolding step by step.
Isagi wasn't sure if it would unfold like the canon.
However, the instant Genser moved forward, Isagi felt that there is a chance that it would unfold like canon and chose to bet on this exact pass.
And it came.
The defenders reacted late. Isagi had already created the perfect pocket of space.
With a push, his palm pressed against the chest of the defender trying to mark him—just enough to disrupt his balance without drawing a foul.
As the lofted pass descended, he flicked the ball over the defender's head with a single, fluid touch—his timing flawless. The pressing opponent lunged forward, expecting a trap, but Isagi had already slipped past.
The ball sailed over the defender's reach, and before he could react, Isagi was already on the move. He reclaimed possession seamlessly, his body shifting into an attacking stance as his eyes locked onto the goal.
Then—he felt it.
The defensive pressure.
Most of FC Barcha's backline was glued to Kaiser, their movements frantic, desperate to contain him. Another pair of defenders hovered near Kunigami, their attention split as he edged dangerously closer to the penalty box.
But in their tunnel vision, they made a fatal mistake.
They underestimated him.
They didn't respect the shooting range of Isagi Yoichi.
And he was about to make them regret it.
With a sharp inhale, Isagi adjusted his posture—his right foot coiling back like a loaded spring. His entire body moved in perfect synchronization, his spatial awareness calculating every angle, every opening.
And then—he unleashed.
BOOM!
His shot was a missile.
The ball tore through the air, slicing past defenders before they could react, its speed ruthless, its precision lethal.
The goalkeeper dove—too late.
The ball buried itself into the bottom right corner, striking the net with a violent snap.
Every single person watching—on the Bastard München bench, or glued to their screens on BLTV—was frozen in disbelief.
The first attack of the Neo Egoist League. The game had just begun.
And Isagi Yoichi had already turned it into a goal.
Kaiser looked at Isagi, Kaiser had seen the shot made by Isagi in the match against U20, but experiencing it with his own eyes was different.
Kaiser had been heavily marked, but that hadn't stopped him. He had anticipated the defensive pressure, manipulated it, and carved out space for himself—a true striker's instinct at play.
He had created a chance.
A chance for Isagi to send him the ball.
And he knew Isagi was capable of it.
He had also seen the plays Isagi crafted during the U-20 match. He had witnessed his ability to make pinpoint passes in impossibly tight situations. In that instant, Kaiser had expected the ball to come his way.
But Isagi made a different choice.
He didn't pass.
He didn't defer.
He claimed the moment for himself.
For a moment, Kaiser just stood there. His smirk returned—something between amusement and something else. Something unreadable.
Because in that instant, it was clear—
Isagi Yoichi wasn't here to serve.
He wasn't bowing to anyone.
The scoreboard flickered.
[ 1 - 0 ]
The first goal of the Neo Egoist League. The first goal of this match.
And the name that shone on the screen?
Isagi Yoichi.
Ness clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath his composed exterior.
Isagi didn't pass.
This team—Bastard München—was built around Kaiser. Every attack, every strategy, every movement revolved around him. That was the system. That was the rule.
Yet Isagi had ignored the Emperor.
He had looked at Kaiser's open run, acknowledged the chance he had created—
And still chose to claim the goal for himself.
Unacceptable.
In this team, everyone was supposed to bow to Kaiser.
But Isagi had just made it clear—
He wasn't here to follow.
He was here to rule.
Isagi made his way back to the center, as he walked, he came across Genser—Bastard München's CDM, the one who had sent him that crucial pass.
Isagi had seen it.
The way Genser threaded that lofted ball under pressure, marked by two defenders but still delivering it perfectly into open space. It wasn't just luck. It was skill, precision—an understanding of the field.
Without breaking his stride, without even turning his head, Isagi spoke.
"Nice pass."
His voice was calm, deliberate. Not flattery. Not obligation.
Acknowledgment.
A simple yet sharp recognition of the effort behind the play.
Genser's eyes flicked toward Isagi, slightly caught off guard.
Kaiser and Isagi had made their rivalry painfully clear from the very first day they met.
At first, Genser almost thought Isagi was taunting him—mocking him for passing the ball to someone Kaiser would call an enemy.
But in the next instant, he understood.
This wasn't about ego.
Isagi didn't care about the rivalry Kaiser was trying to enforce.
He wasn't playing into the power struggle.
He wasn't trying to prove himself to Kaiser.
He was simply enjoying playing the kind of football that he had come to love.
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[A/N] : H-Hi Guys!
U-umm...
I'm aware about my actions.
I'm Sorry,
My condolences.
.
Let us not resort to our baser instincts and handle this, Like civilized men to move on.
Let's talk in the community.