"Haaah... As I thought, we should've raised the goal limit to at least five"
Anri muttered, exhaling sharply.
The match had barely begun, yet Isagi Yoichi had already found the back of the net. The sheer speed of his goal sent shockwaves through the stadium, leaving both spectators and analysts stunned. The world had tuned in to the Neo Egoist League to witness the brilliance of established superstars—elite U-20 players and the four legendary masters leading their clubs. But within just a minute, Isagi had flipped the script.
The rising star had outshone the ones that had long ruled the sky.
Ego remained unshaken. The three-goal rule? Irrelevant. This was merely the beginning, and his calculations had already accounted for multiple possibilities. Isagi Yoichi was an anomaly, a factor that even Ego couldn't fully predict. But that only made this all the more thrilling.
"No… this is fine"
Ego stated, his ever-present smirk unwavering.
"I did anticipate Isagi Yoichi pulling this off. And? So what? Even if he ends the match in a matter of minutes, it will only reinforce Japan's dominance. If we have a striker who can dismantle clubs of this caliber, then the message is clear—Japan will claim the U-20 World Cup without question."
He leaned forward slightly, his gaze fixated on the screen.
"…However, I don't believe Isagi Yoichi alone can make that happen. Nor do I believe he's anywhere near his peak. There's still more to unearth, more growth waiting to erupt from him. And until the Neo Egoist League is over, we'll keep watching."
A glint of anticipation flickered in Ego's eyes.
"By the time this is done, Japan won't just have a rising star. We'll have a world-class striker."
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"Seriously? We're one goal down already?"
A frustrated FC Barcha player muttered as he watched Isagi Yoichi retreat to his half, the echoes of his stunning goal still lingering in the air.
At the center circle, Bachira stood with the ball at his feet. He wasn't surprised—if Isagi was involved in the attack, the probability of a goal skyrocketed. That much, he already knew.
In fact, he had anticipated it.
He had already begun tracking back before the shot even went in, preparing to defend. But just being there physically wasn't enough. He hadn't fully read the positioning in time to stop the play.
That miscalculation was his own failure.
But it didn't matter. If Isagi had scored first… then all Bachira had to do was score three goals before him.
With that thought locking in, Bachira initiated the kickoff.
A quick pass to Gomez. Without hesitation, Gomez tapped it forward to Otoya on the right wing. Otoya was primed to charge forward with the ball, but his eyes immediately caught something unusual—Bastard München's tank-like dribbler, the Left-Winger, Grim, was already in the midfield.
Grim wasn't just falling back—he was hunting for possession.
He wanted to set up Kaiser as fast as possible.
Because Isagi's goal wasn't just a threat to Barcha. It was a defiance of Bastard München's hierarchy, a direct disruption of Kaiser's role in the formation.
If that structure collapsed… and if Isagi seized possession again…
Then everything would spiral into chaos.
Otoya knew better than to hold onto the ball. Instead, he fired a quick pass across the field to Lala on the left wing, opting for a swift passing play to keep the momentum alive.
But the pass wasn't ideal. Lala had to slow down to receive it.
Even so, it was preferable to losing possession outright. Grim's aggressive press had forced Otoya's hand, but at least the ball had reached its intended target.
"Don't you know?"
A low voice cut through the air.
"For Tiki-Taka to work, you need players with good passing skills."
Lala's eyes widened. Before he could fully settle the ball, a shadow loomed before him.
Isagi.
Seeing Grim falling back, Isagi had made his decision. Kaiser was near Bachira and would likely react to any attempt to send the ball that way. So Isagi went for Lala instead.
A leap. A clean interception.
"Also…"
Isagi smirked as he brought the ball under control, his voice carrying a quiet confidence.
"You need great ball control to pull it off."
A stunned silence rippled through the stadium before an eruption of commentary and analysis filled the airwaves. The world had just witnessed Barcha's offensive momentum crumble in an instant, and now Bastard München was shifting gears for a counterattack—with Isagi leading the charge.
Isagi surged forward, alone, the ball at his feet.
FC Barcha reacted immediately, swarming in a high-intensity press to shut him down before he could build any rhythm. But Isagi had already anticipated their move.
The first defender lunged, but Isagi flicked the ball to his right with his left foot. Just as the ball moved past, he stopped it dead with his right, then flicked it sharply back to the left, leaving the defender stranded in his wake.
The second opponent closed in fast, reaching for a desperate standing tackle.
Isagi launched the ball skyward and leapt, executing a flawless Rainbow Flick over the stunned defender's head. A gasp rippled through the stands as Isagi landed smoothly.
FC Barcha prided themselves on technique and creativity, the very essence of their football philosophy. Their intricate footwork, rapid passing, and artistic flair were meant to be untouchable.
Lavinho, the Master dribbler and FC Barcha's Captain, watching the match with keen interest. His signature tinted goggles rest on his nose, reflecting the intense play unfolding before him. Despite his usual carefree demeanor, his eyes narrow as he focuses on Isagi.
Bachira's words from the past echo in his mind.
"Everyone! Get back! Tighten the defense!"
Otoya's voice cut through the air as he sprinted from the right wing toward the left midfield, his sharp instincts kicking in. His eyes locked onto Isagi, who was already weaving through defenders like a phantom. Otoya had no time to hesitate—he had to intercept him.
Isagi, fresh off a dazzling rainbow flick past an opponent, regained possession in one fluid motion. Without breaking stride, he cut sharply to the left, using the momentum of Otoya's aggressive sprint against him. The very effort Otoya had put into closing the gap was now being turned into his downfall.
"Damn it!"
Otoya cursed under his breath. He had rushed in too hard, trying to make up for his earlier mistake—a bad pass that had given Isagi this chance in the first place. And now, most of FC Barcha players were out of position, stranded in their offensive mindset.
Gritting his teeth, he forced his body into an abrupt stop, pivoting with remarkable agility. His cleats scraped against the turf as he swung himself around, planting his stance directly in Isagi's path.
Their eyes met for a split second.
'Hmm... was Otoya always this good at turns? That was as smooth as Kurona's turns'
The thought flickered through Isagi's mind as he came to an abrupt halt, his path blocked by Otoya.
Isagi's brain worked in overdrive. He analyzed the field, reading every movement, every opening. In an instant, he saw it—the most logical and thrilling way to break through.
A pass.
The best possible receiver was right there.
Isagi shifted his body to the right, planted his foot, and prepared to launch the ball. His posture was textbook-perfect, as his foot hit the ball. Otoya, anticipating the pass course, extended his right leg, aiming to intercept—
But it was all a lie.
Just as the ball was about to leave his foot, Isagi twisted his ankle sharply, stopping it in place. His foot, which had seemed committed to the pass, shifted seamlessly into a feint, trapping the ball before it could be launched.
Otoya's eyes widened in shock. His body was already committed to blocking a pass that never came.
It was a subtle move, something many elite players could attempt—using an ankle feint to deceive opponents. But what Isagi had just done was on another level.
He had mimicked the exact mechanics of a real pass, even down to the shooting—only to cancel it mid-flight with perfect control before the ball goes out of reach.
Kaiser, who had been locked onto Isagi's every movement, narrowed his eyes. Otoya, still frozen in place, struggled to process what had just happened. And above them all, seated in their respective stands, two men watched with interest—Noel Noa and Lavinho.
Their gazes sharpened.
The level of control Isagi displayed was intriguing to them.
With the fakeout executed, Otoya was left behind as Isagi pushed forward, controlling the ball with precision. His body angled toward the right flank, running dangerously close to the touchline.
As the defenders began to draw in, he struck.
With a single powerful swing, Isagi launched the ball across the field—a diagonal pass slicing through the air from midfield toward the left wing.
The defenders, drawn to him, could only turn their heads in shock as the ball abandoned Isagi's feet and soared across the pitch.
Among those stunned was Michael Kaiser.
He had started to run back, fully prepared to rip the ball away from Isagi himself—to crush him before he could make another move outside his control. His instincts had screamed for dominance, for absolute control.
And yet, in the moment when he thought Isagi would fight for himself—he passed.
And not just to anyone.
The ball curled toward the left wing—toward Grim.
Kaiser's breath caught.
A pass to Grim meant only one thing—a direct path into his system.
His mind reeled, breaking apart the logic in real time. Why?
The moment Genser had passed the ball to Isagi earlier, their system had already cracked. That wasn't supposed to happen. Isagi had made it clear that he wasn't going to submit to the hierarchy of Bastard München. After that, the players who were part of Kaiser's system wouldn't pass the ball to Isagi; instead, they were going to isolate him.
And yet, Isagi—the one who rejected Kaiser's authority—was now feeding into it?
It didn't make sense.
This wasn't ego. This wasn't rebellion, nor an attempt to stake his own claim as the team's king. It was a calculated move, a decision made not from pride, but from pure logic.
Kaiser's fingers curled into fists as he surged forward.
Was Isagi submitting to his rule?
Or worse—was he pulling Kaiser into his?
Kaiser's eyes locked onto Grim as he surged ahead, the pulse of the game aligning with his rhythm. He had no time to think about Isagi anymore.
This was it. The second goal was in his hands.
His timing was perfect. The moment Isagi sent the ball wide, the entire attack shifted in his favor. FC Barcha's defense, already scrambling from the sudden pass, had no time to readjust. Grim had space. And Grim, unlike Isagi, was part of his system.
Kaiser sprinted toward the penalty area, his body moving on instinct.
The play was already set in motion.
As much as he hated to admit it, Isagi was a monstrous player. His physicality, technique, and ball control were beyond elite—that much was undeniable. The data from training had already backed it up. If Kaiser had to rank him purely on ability, Isagi was at the absolute top.
But—that didn't matter.
Because Isagi wasn't him.
Kaiser didn't waste energy on unnecessary movements. He wasn't someone who needed to dance around defenders or pull off flashy tricks.
He was a goal-scorer. A finisher.
His game was built on positioning, anticipation, and execution. His strength wasn't in holding the ball but in appearing where the goal was inevitable.
And that system—the very foundation of Bastard München—was his.
Ness was his key, orchestrating plays to deliver him the perfect ball. The rest of the team acted as his structure, keeping the gears turning for his inevitable success.
And now, Isagi had played into it.
A smirk tugged at Kaiser's lips as he approached the box, his body perfectly aligned for what came next.
No matter how much Isagi fought it—
He was still helping Kaiser win.
The goal belonged to him.
It always did.
Grim bulldozed forward, his sheer physicality carving out space as he advanced down the left flank.
Ahead, Kaiser was already moving.
His acceleration was razor-sharp, cutting through the chaos toward the penalty area. If Grim could just get the ball to him, the second goal would be as good as scored.
But the moment Grim scanned the field, doubt crept in.
The penalty box was a warzone.
FC Barcha's defense had collapsed inward, clogging the area with bodies, their movements frantic yet effective. There was no clean lane to Kaiser—not without risking the ball being swallowed in the congestion.
The safest option was to switch play—send the ball across to the right wing, where Kunigami had positioned himself.
But then Grim hesitated.
The way Isagi had played at the start made Grim question everything for a split second.
Would Kunigami even pass to Kaiser?
Would he, like Isagi, choose logic over hierarchy like just now?
That single moment of uncertainty made Grim choose the safest bet.
He whipped the ball toward the midfield.
Straight to Ness.
Ness received it with a smooth first touch, instantly raising his gaze to assess the next move.
The control of the attack had shifted again—this time into his hands.
Thanks to Isagi's earlier movements pulling defenders toward the right, Ness had the luxury of space. Time. Two things that were rarely afforded in a high-speed battle like this.
And he would use them wisely.
He pushed forward, drifting subtly to the right, every motion intentional. His body language suggested he was following Kunigami's run, a deception designed to stretch FC Barcha's defensive line.
But his true target was already set.
Kaiser.
Both Grim and Genser, positioned strategically near the penalty box, sprinted in unison as decoys. Their coordinated movement across the field was designed to perplex the FC Barcha defense, creating a moment of confusion. This clever tactic opened up crucial space for Kaiser, enabling him to seamlessly infiltrate the defense and exploit the gaps.
Kaiser positioned himself deeper into the penalty box, Kaiser had orchestrated his own fate—finding the one spot where the ball had to be delivered.
Ness's eyes gleamed.
The pass was struck.
A curved delivery, not too fast, not too slow— just enough weight to fall cleanly into Kaiser's strike zone.
It was perfect.
Kaiser could already feel it—the rhythm of the moment syncing to his breath, to the pulse in his veins.
This was his goal.
He took his final prep step, shoulders turning, body winding up to erase the net with a Kaiser Impact—
However, that feeling lasted only a fleeting moment.
As the ball cut through the air, curving toward Kaiser like a promise on a silver platter—it happened.
A figure surged into its path.
A single body, rising against the script they had all written in their heads.
Kaiser's sharp blue eyes widened ever so slightly, a rare break in his usually unshakable composure. Around him, defenders and attackers alike followed the arc of the ball—only to see it intercepted mid-course by the one player they had all dismissed.
Isagi Yoichi.
He hadn't appeared out of nowhere. He had calculated this—anticipated the very moment the pass would be made, the exact trajectory it would follow, and the precise second to act.
But what made Kaiser's stomach twist wasn't just the interception.
It was Isagi's face.
That smirk—not one of arrogance, but of pure, unfiltered joy.
Not the grin of someone who got lucky.
The smile of someone who had placed everything on a gamble—his awareness, his instincts, his logic—and won.
A look of sheer, undeniable satisfaction.
As if every piece had fallen into place exactly as he had foreseen.
The moment seemed to stretch infinitely.
Suspended mid-air, Isagi's body in a vertical stance, his chest expanding as he absorbed the weight of the play unfolding before him. The pass—Ness' pass—was meant for Kaiser. The entire field had moved under that assumption, players adjusting their positions accordingly.
And yet—he was here.
It pissed Kaiser off.
Yet, at the same time, it made his heart race.
Because Isagi's position wasn't optimal.
He was too upright. His legs weren't aligned for a direct shot. He had two choices—both predictable.
A header pass— sending it right, where Kunigami was surging forward. With the way the defenders were clustered near the penalty box, it would be a clean cut through.
Or—
Trap the ball. Absorb it, take the hit, and go for the goal himself.
Kaiser's mind worked in overdrive.
If Isagi passed, he had to react now.
The space was wide, but not impossible to close—he could cut it off before Kunigami struck.
If Isagi trapped it, then the rest was up to FC Barcha's defenders. They were already collapsing in, ready to swarm him. That would buy him enough time.
'What's it gonna be, Isagi...? A Header? Trap?'
Kaiser's brain raced. His body was already shifting—charging toward Kunigami, committing to the read.
But then—
He stopped.
It wasn't hesitation. It wasn't miscalculation.
It was because Isagi's next move shattered everything.
The ball dropped toward him, and in that split-second, where anyone else would have relied on convention—trapping or heading it to a teammate—Isagi rewrote the moment entirely.
He didn't trap it. He didn't pass it.
Instead—he shifted his right shoulder forward, tilting his upper body just enough to meet the ball at the perfect angle.
A sharp, calculated motion—the impact subtle, but the effect devastating.
The ball lifted.
Not just any chip shot—a shoulder chip.
It arced high, soaring over defenders, moving toward the top left corner.
Kaiser's eyes widened.
He had moved to intercept something that never existed.
A pass? A trap?
Neither.
Isagi had never planned on playing it safe.
The moment he stepped into position, this was already decided.
His grin stretched wide, unfiltered joy radiating from his expression. Not arrogance—but something more dangerous.
Thrill.
This is the type of play he wanted.
A play that made his heartbeat race. A gamble where every piece had to align perfectly—and it had.
Kaiser's chest tightened as he watched, his brain scrambling to process what had just happened.
He had been completely outplayed.
This wasn't just another calculated play—this was chaos given form. A move that only someone with an instinct for gambling everything on the perfect play could have executed.
And right now, Isagi was reveling in it.
The ball had already left his shoulder, floating into the air in a perfect, impossible arc.
For an instant, the world seemed frozen.
The stadium held its breath.
For a split second, the goalkeeper froze, too stunned to react. His body refused to move—not just because of the sheer audacity of the shot, but because his brain couldn't process what had just happened.
But instinct kicked in. He lunged.
The ball seemed too high, on course to sail over, but he couldn't take that risk. His gloves stretched toward the trajectory, his body twisting mid-air—but it wasn't enough.
The ball was too precise.
Too far into the top left corner.
It kept dipping.
The moment it kissed the post, the world felt like it had slowed down.
The rebound angle—it was going in.
Until-
"Not Yet!"
A voice rang out.
A flash of black and yellow cut across the penalty box.
A body surged forward.
Sliding in at the last possible second—just before the ball crossed the line.
A desperate save.
The ball stopped—mere inches away from sealing Isagi's goal.
Isagi, now sprawled on the ground from his landing, snapped his head up.
The one who had stopped it—
Bachira.
He lay there, chest heaving, his body having just crashed into the post from the sheer force of his momentum. But his face—
It was beaming.
Not from relief.
From excitement.
The first thing Bachira did after hitting the ground wasn't to check his body.
It was to look straight at Isagi.
His smile stretched wide—ecstatic, exhilarated.
Because at that moment, in the aftermath of his impossible save—
nothing excited him more than the look on Isagi's face.
Isagi was not any different; he felt the impact of seeing Bachira interrupt his exhilarating style of play.
He had the same smile on his face.
He hadn't truly realized it yet, but Isagi was undeniably similar to Bachira
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