"The pass to Ness would've been intercepted by Bachira—but Isagi steps in at the last second, keeping the attack alive!"
"He's done it again! Isagi is driving forward!"
The commentators' voices rang through the stadium as Isagi surged ahead, the ball glued to his feet.
Ness's expression twisted with frustration. These Blue Lock players were nuisances.
Isagi had already been a thorn in their side, but now, Bachira was adding to the chaos. In that crucial moment, both had outplayed him. If not for Isagi's last-second intervention, Bachira would have seized control.
Bachira's gaze remained fixed on Isagi's back as he pushed forward with the ball. His instincts had led him to pounce on Ness's pass, already prepared to steal it away—but in the same instant, Isagi had anticipated the play and cut in first, intercepting it cleanly before Bachira could even react.
Isagi pressed on, his eyes flickered across the field, scanning like a machine calculating every moving part.
Then, he spotted his next challenge.
A defender from FC Barcha was closing in fast, his strides long and powerful, determined to halt Isagi's advance before it gained momentum. But as he neared, he hesitated.
Isagi had already shown them his dribbling ability, breaking past others with skillful footwork. Rushing in blindly would be reckless. The defender knew this. So he slowed his approach, watching, analyzing, waiting for Isagi to make the first move.
Isagi's pace remained steady, controlled. He could feel the defender's eyes drilling into him, trying to predict his next move. Left or right?
The tension between them thickened. The defender inched forward, ready to react to the slightest shift in Isagi's stance.
Then—Isagi moved.
A subtle lean to the left.
The defender took the bait. His body instinctively adjusted, shifting weight onto his right foot to block off that side—but that was exactly what Isagi wanted.
With a swift motion, Isagi dragged the ball back with his right foot, pulling it away just as the defender committed. In the same fluid motion, he pivoted and exploded to the right.
The moment he broke free, he kept moving, his strides strong, each step keeping the ball glued to his feet.
But he wasn't alone.
Behind him, another presence loomed—fast, relentless.
Bachira.
The defender Isagi had just outplayed was no longer an obstacle. As Isagi surged ahead, Bachira sped past the same man with ease, not slowing for even a second. His golden eyes gleamed with mischief, and his signature grin stretched across his face.
He was coming for Isagi. Again.
This wasn't over. Not for him.
To Bachira, Isagi was a challenge. A goal. Someone he had to surpass.
He wanted Isagi to chase after him. To recognize him.
And the only way to do that was to beat him.
Bachira's strides were relentless, his pace quickening as he closed the distance between himself and Isagi. His grin widened—he was right there, within reach.
His hand shot out, fingers stretching toward Isagi's shoulder. It was a calculated move, a brief touch meant to unbalance him just enough—to slow him down, throw off his rhythm, and pry the ball away.
But the moment his hand landed, it felt like he had grabbed hold of a statue.
Isagi didn't budge.
The impact should have been enough to jolt him, but instead, it was Bachira who felt the shock. The force he had expected to shift Isagi simply wasn't enough. It was like trying to shove an anchor embedded deep into the ground.
Bachira surged forward, his foot poised to snatch the ball away, but just as he reached for it, Isagi dragged it back with a sharp stop. The sudden halt forced Bachira to move past him, momentum carrying him a step too far.
Realizing what had happened, Bachira dug his foot into the ground and spun around, his sharp gaze locking onto Isagi.
And there he was—just standing there, the ball at his feet, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
Bachira's eyes widened for a split second before his grin stretched even further. Excitement buzzed through him, his pulse quickening. Isagi wasn't just trying to shake him off—he wanted this. A direct one-on-one.
"Are we dancin'?"
Bachira's voice dripped with amusement, his grin stretching wide as he locked eyes with Isagi. His golden irises gleamed under the stadium lights, reflecting his growing excitement. This was exactly what he wanted—just him and Isagi, caught in their own world, their own game within the game.
Isagi didn't hesitate. His own smirk played at the corners of his lips, his gaze unwavering.
"Obviously."
For a fleeting moment, the field seemed to shrink around them.
Time slowed. Neither moved, both waiting, both anticipating. The tension between them coiled like a spring, wound impossibly tight.
Then—Isagi struck.
A sharp jolt to the left.
Bachira's muscles tensed, instincts flaring as he reacted instantly. But he knew better than to fully commit—Isagi had tricked him before. His feet shuffled just enough to mirror the movement, waiting for the inevitable feint.
But Isagi pushed farther, sprinting deeper to the left. The shift was subtle but intentional, a calculated move to bait Bachira further.
Bachira took the bait, if only slightly—just enough for his weight to shift forward, for his body to lean in preparation.
And that's when Isagi made his real move.
A sharp cut—a flawless lane change.
Though Bachira didn't give up, he forced himself to the right, blocking Isagi's path once more. His muscles burned with the effort, his body already reacting before his mind could fully process it. He wouldn't let Isagi slip away so easily.
But Isagi had already factored that in.
With perfect timing, he executed a Roulette, spinning effortlessly as the ball stayed glued to his feet. A sharp pivot, a shift in momentum—just like that, he was gone, slipping to the left and bypassing Bachira cleanly.
The moment felt suspended in time. Bachira's foot struck only air, his weight tilting just slightly off balance.
And then—without warning—Isagi flicked the ball with the outside of his right foot.
A subtle touch. Almost insignificant.
But it wasn't random.
Because in that precise moment, from the shadows, Otoya emerged.
Silent as ever, he had slipped into Isagi's blind spot, waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. The instant Isagi surged past Bachira, Otoya pounced, his timing razor-sharp, ready to snatch the ball away in one smooth motion.
But the ball—
It was already gone.
The flick had sent it right through his legs.
A nutmeg.
Otoya's foot met nothing but air. His eyes widened—a rare flicker of surprise breaking through his usually composed demeanor. He had calculated everything flawlessly. The entry, the approach, the tackle—it was perfect.
Yet, somehow, Isagi had still seen through it all.
By the time Otoya turned, Isagi was already gone, the ball still at his feet, sprinting deeper into enemy territory.
Otoya stood frozen for a split second, mind racing.
He had been invisible. His movement was undetectable. No one should've noticed—no one ever does.
Yet Isagi had not only sensed him, but reacted in real time—as if he had eyes at the back of his head.
Isagi surged forward, the ball glued to his feet as the chaos around him intensified. Kaiser and Kunigami were advancing.
Kaiser drifted to the right, his movement smooth, calculated. Even though he knew Isagi wouldn't pass, he still positioned himself in the best possible spot—just in case.
Kaiser had studied Isagi. He had seen his plays in the U-20 match.
Isagi wasn't just a dribbler. He wasn't some selfish ball hogger who refused to pass. If anything, he was one of the most rational players on the field. A player who would always choose the best option.
And right now, Kaiser was the best option.
A perfect position. A rational decision.
Isagi knew Kaiser was open. He knew it was an easy pass.
But that was exactly the problem.
It was too simple. Too predictable. Too dull.
And Isagi didn't want to be rational. He wanted to crush everyone with his own vision.
So, he ignored Kaiser completely and kept pushing forward.
The defensive line of FC Barcha was already shifting, their movements tightening like a net. They had learned their lesson. Isagi had scored the last goal with a long-range power shot, and they weren't about to let that happen again.
They were ready this time.
They moved to shut him down—cut off his shooting angles, close the gaps, suffocate him before he could find the space he needed.
Isagi grinned.
He had already found his way through.
Ness, who had been watching intently, moved instantly. Unlike Kaiser, he wasn't waiting for a pass. He knew Isagi wasn't going to share the ball.
So he went straight for him.
But the instant Ness committed—
"Since when did you join FC Barcha, Ness?"
Isagi said as he cut inside.
It was an effortless movement, so quick, so fluid, that Ness barely had time to react. He had committed to the challenge, expecting to take the ball, but instead, he found himself reaching for nothing.
Isagi had already slipped past.
But he wasn't done yet.
His eyes locked onto the goal, and in that instant—he saw it.
A tiny sliver of space.
It was blocked. The goalkeeper and defenders had positioned themselves to deny his shot. But they had unknowingly given him exactly what he needed.
A wall.
A perfect screen.
Isagi angled his body, positioning himself so that Ness's body obstructed the goalkeeper's view.
And then—
With one precise movement, he struck the ball with the outside of his right foot.
A Trivela shot.
The ball sliced through the air with a sharp curve, bending around Ness, bending around the defender—bending toward the top-left corner of the goal.
The goalkeeper saw it too late.
His eyes widened. His muscles tensed. His arms shot up, body reacting on instinct—
But it wasn't enough.
The ball ripped past his fingertips and slammed into the net.
The netting billowed violently, the impact sending a deep thud reverberating through the stadium.
GOAL.
The commentators' voices flared to life, charged with the sheer unbelievability of what had just happened.
"UNREAL! WHAT A SENSATIONAL SOLO GOAL! ISAGI YOICHI SCORES HIS SECOND GOAL OF THE NEO EGOIST LEAGUE!"
The cameras cut to Isagi, standing amidst the chaos, his chest heaving as he took in the sight of the ball settling in the net. A second goal. A goal that belonged only to him.
Kaiser stood frozen for a split second, eyes narrowed. Bachira's grin stretched wider, excitement glinting in his golden eyes. Otoya's expression remained unreadable, but his fingers twitched, replaying the nutmeg in his head.
Ness, who had tried to steal the ball, turned slowly, his breath caught in his throat.
And the goalkeeper… was still kneeling, his hands gripping the turf in disbelief.
Kaiser clenched his jaw, his irritation bubbling beneath the surface.
This wasn't how it was supposed to go.
At first, he thought he could enjoy himself—show off, stand out, and secure his future with an even bigger salary with a different club. That was the plan.
But now, all eyes were on Isagi.
The cameras, the momentum of the game—it was all shifting toward him.
Kaiser could feel it. The weight of expectations slipping from his grasp, the attention that should have been his being stolen away.
And the worst part?
Isagi wasn't doing it to prove anything to him.
He wasn't chasing Kaiser. He wasn't trying to surpass him. He was just playing his game.
And that was the real threat.
If he didn't step up now, if he didn't crush Isagi with his full strength—
Then his so-called throne would be gone.
Kaiser exhaled sharply, his teeth grinding.
From the very start, he had played his perfect game—his calculated movements, his flawless positioning, his dominance on the field.
But it wasn't enough.
Isagi had torn through his expectations, dismantling his flow, shifting the entire game around his vision. If Kaiser kept playing the way he had until now—
He would be left behind.
His perfect play was no longer perfect.
If he wanted to score—no, if he wanted to win—he had to change.
Adapt. Evolve.
Because if he didn't—
Isagi would take everything.
Back to Isagi, he didn't stop to celebrate.
He turned on his heel and jogged back to his half, his expression unreadable. Not because he wasn't satisfied—he was. The goal had been perfect, carved out through his own vision, his own ability.
But there was no one to celebrate with.
The stands were empty. No roaring crowd to chant his name, no teammates rushing to embrace him.
Kunigami wasn't interested. He only cared about his own goals.
The rest of Bastard München players were all about Kaiser.
His success wasn't their success. His goals weren't their goals.
But that was fine.
Because he didn't need them.
There was still one more goal left to score—the goal that would end this match.
And when that moment came—then he would celebrate.
Bachira jogged toward the net, retrieving the ball with a flick of his wrist before tucking it under his arm.
2-1.
They were still behind.
But to him, that didn't matter.
What mattered was Isagi.
The thrill of their exchange still buzzed under his skin, electric and addictive.
His golden eyes gleamed as he carried the ball back to the center.
He needed more of Isagi.
That wasn't enough.
Not even close.
His heart pounded as he glanced at Isagi, who stood coolly in position, waiting for the match to resume.
"HA! That's the spirit, Highlights! You got my blood pumping! This is some serious dope entertainment!"
A booming voice cut through the tension, brimming with raw excitement.
From the FC Barcha bench, Lavinho shot up to his feet, the sheer thrill of the moment making it impossible for him to stay still any longer. With a wide, wolfish grin, he tore off his signature goggles, his golden curls bouncing slightly with the motion. He had been watching, waiting, restraining himself—but now, now that the heat of the match had reached its peak, there was no holding back.
"Star Change System! I'm comin' in!"
Lavinho declared, stepping forward with infectious energy.
Gasps erupted from the Bastard München bench. Players exchanged wide-eyed glances.
"Wh-what?! Lavinho's gonna play?!"
Raichi blurted out, his disbelief echoing through the sidelines.
Out on the field, Bachira's grin stretched wider, the excitement in his eyes mirroring Lavinho's.
But before anyone could fully absorb the weight of Lavinho's entrance, another presence stirred.
A deep sigh cut through the moment, one heavy with reluctant authority.
From the Bastard München bench, Noel Noa—arguably the greatest striker in the world—stood up.
With a look of mild irritation, he exhaled.
"No one's going to learn anything if you throw off the balance…"
He muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
"What a pain in the ass."
With one fluid motion, he shrugged off his tracksuit jacket, revealing the pristine Bastard München's kit beneath. His movements carried the weight of inevitability—slow, deliberate, yet suffocatingly absolute.
The Bastard München bench erupted as Noel Noa stepped onto the field, his mere presence sending a ripple of anticipation through the team.
"Holy crap!"
Raichi muttered, still processing what was happening.
"Noa's gonna play as well."
Hayate, on the other hand, practically vibrated with excitement. His eyes gleamed as he turned to the others.
"We're about to witness a world-class battle! A direct clash between legends!"
On the field, Lavinho and Noa stood face to face, the weight of history thick between them.
Lavinho smirked, his usual carefree expression laced with something sharper.
"Has it been since the Champions League finals?"
"It was the semi-finals, you idiot…"
Noae corrected, not bothering to mask his disdain.
"You lost to us last year. It's pathetic to try to revise the past."
Lavinho's smirk twitched, but rather than back down, he leaned into his usual bravado.
"Ohh, look at Mr. Data Cyborg,"
He teased.
"I feel bad for your team… getting indoctrinated into 'Rational Football.'"
Noa barely reacted. His gaze shifted away from Lavinho as if he weren't worth the energy.
"Well, I feel bad for your team of unchaperoned children…"
Lavinho's grin cracked as an irritated vein popped on his forehead. His entire body tensed before he suddenly stepped forward, getting right in Noa's face.
"I'mma gonna kill you!"
Noa walked past Lavinho without another glance, his focus shifting elsewhere. His sharp blue eyes locked onto Kunigami, who stood near the center of the field, fists clenched.
Stopping in front of him, Noa spoke—his tone flat, unwavering.
"Rensuke Kunigami, I'd like to hear your reasoning."
Noa said, his voice cold and precise.
"I think you understand this already, but… The two ways this team fights are...
1. Become a new option to support Kaiser's attack.
And 2. Prove that you're a striker whose skills surpass Kaiser's."
Noa's gaze didn't waver. There was no anger, no disappointment—just fact.
"Unlike Isagi Yoichi...You failed at both of those. Do you have a rebuttal?"
Kunigami's fists clenched at his sides. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to argue, to push back—but he had nothing.
He had stolen the ball from Genser and disrupted Kaiser's movement instead of helping. He had taken a shot and failed to convert. Every misstep gnawed at him.
His teeth ground together.
"No. Dammit."
As Noa heard Kunigami's answer, he gave a slight nod before turning around.
"That's a good, coolheaded answer."
Without another glance, he faced the Bastard München bench, his voice carrying effortlessly across the field.
"Listen up, all of you…
The opposite of 'A Chance' is 'A Dilemma.'
When a chance comes to you and you let it slip away, you find yourself in a dilemma of equivalent scale.
The risk and return are equal. Wrap your heads around this truth of the world."
His words settled over the team like a heavy weight—unshakable, absolute.
Noa's gaze shifted back to Kunigami, his judgment final.
"Rensuke Kunigami… you failed to grasp that. So now, you will pay the price."
With that, Noa stepped onto the field, entering the game as a striker.
Kunigami, silent and seething, was subbed out.
Despite Isagi's two goals, the hierarchy remained unchanged. Kaiser was still the U-20 team's main striker. As a result, Isagi was shifted to the right wing.
Lavinho strode to the center of the field, his usual swagger in full effect. His golden curls bounced slightly as he turned toward Bachira, a sharp grin tugging at his lips.
"Did you achieve your goal, Highlights?"
Lavinho asked, his tone playful yet expectant.
Bachira's eyes gleamed with excitement. With a wide grin, he nodded.
"Yep. I did beat Isagi"
He said, the thrill of their battle still buzzing under his skin. Then, his smile turned sharper.
"Though next time, I want to do it all on my own."
Lavinho let out a chuckle, adjusting his stance as he stretched out his arms.
"That's the spirit! Then let's go wild, Highlights!"
The air crackled with anticipation.
Bachira was ready.
And so was Lavinho.
The game was about to ignite once more.
.
.
.
.
.
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