10 Days Ago
England Wing
The automatic doors hissed open.
A soft hum echoed through the sleek, high-tech hall as the players stepped onto the elevated circular platform, its metallic sheen reflecting the sterile white lights overhead.
They had arrived.
Dozens of eyes scanned their surroundings with tense curiosity, but it was the man at the center of the room who commanded all attention. He stood tall, posture immaculate, wrapped in a Manshine City uniform.
"Hello, Blue Lockers."
He said, his voice crisp, British, and dangerously confident.
"I'm your Master."
He let the words hang. Then, with a charismatic flash of teeth, he added:
"Chris Prince."
Nagi blinked, expression unreadable as always, but his eyes locked onto the man with rare intent. Beside him, Chigiri's pupils dilated, lips parting in a small breath of surprise. Reo didn't even try to hide his shock—his jaw had clenched the second the name was spoken, and a rush of adrenaline surged through him like electricity down a live wire.
Chris Prince.
The World's No. 2. The man directly behind Noel Noa in the Global Ranking. The athlete who was more than just a footballer—he was a brand, a body, a philosophy. The face of England's next generation. A self-proclaimed "perfect striker," forged from protein shakes, a strict routine, and an unshakable belief in one thing:
Physical evolution.
He looked at them now like a sculptor studying raw stone. Evaluating. Measuring. Judging. And despite his smile, there was no warmth in his eyes—only curiosity and ambition.
"Manshine City's philosophy—"
Chris paused, taking a deliberate step forward, his sneakers clicking softly against the polished floor.
"—is Speed and Rushing."
"And!"
He continued, his grin widening,
"A Healthy Body..."
He raised his left arm slowly, the motion fluid and confident. With practiced ease, he bent his elbow, tightening the muscle until his bicep bulged beneath the sleek compression fabric. The light struck his skin just right—deliberately staged, no doubt—and for a second, it wasn't a footballer who stood before them, but a living billboard for elite physical perfection.
"...Harbors the madness to change the world!"
The final line cracked through the air like a whip.
Chigiri's brows furrowed slightly. Reo narrowed his eyes, trying to gauge whether this man was serious or just putting on a show. Nagi tilted his head, blinking slowly, as if unsure whether he'd just walked into a football club or a protein-fueled cult.
Then, as if remembering something more important than the room full of elite strikers watching him, Chris turned his head sharply toward the nearest surveillance camera.
And then, smiling like he'd just struck the perfect pose on the cover of a magazine, he added brightly:
"Got it?"
He was talking to the world.
Livestreams. Broadcasts. Reels and highlight clips. He knew the cameras were rolling, and he was giving them everything. Not a footballer—an Icon.
Chigiri leaned slightly toward Reo, lowering his voice just enough to be heard.
"…Is he seriously flirting with the camera?"
Reo, arms crossed, frowned in mild disbelief.
"I think he's in love with it."
Nagi, meanwhile, just stared blankly ahead.
"Maybe 'cuz he's a star."
Then, without warning, Chris spun on his heel.
"Hey, Ginger!"
He called out, finger aimed directly at Chigiri like he'd just spotted his next photoshoot target.
Chigiri blinked, caught off guard. His shoulders tensed instinctively.
"Huh?! Yeah…?"
He answered, eyes narrowing slightly, unsure if he was being called out or complimented.
Chris strode toward him with all the confidence of someone who had never once doubted their own coolness.
"What exactly were you hoping for,"
He asked, voice suddenly casual,
"when you chose Manshine City?"
Chigiri hesitated only a second, then answered honestly.
"...I want power... and more forceful speed..."
He said, lifting his chin.
Chris's eyes lit up.
"Oooh"
He murmured, voice tinged with excitement.
Without warning, he darted forward. The sudden motion caught even Chigiri off guard. In one fluid movement, Chris crouched down in front of him, his hands already moving.
"Huh—!?"
Chigiri flinched slightly, instinctively stepping back—but it was too late.
Chris's hands were on him, patting along his legs, his thighs, even his glutes, with the casual professionalism of a physiotherapist and the unchecked flair of a stage actor mid-performance. It wasn't lewd, but it was definitely a lot.
"All right!"
Chris declared, nodding rapidly as he examined Chigiri's physique with practiced hands.
"Got it!"
He shifted his weight slightly, adjusting the angle of his touch like he was fine-tuning a race car.
"Uh-huh... Gotcha... strong hamstrings, clean knee alignment, nice glute tension—very good! You've got the hardware, Ginger!"
Chigiri stood frozen, both alarmed and stunned by what was happening. His face was somewhere between a grimace and a blush.
"Wh-What even is this...?"
He muttered.
Reo had one hand to his temple, shaking his head slowly.
"I don't know if this is coaching or harassment…"
Nagi blinked again.
"Feels like both."
Chris, still crouched, gave Chigiri a final double-thumbs-up before pivoting toward the next player with the same unsettling energy. His movements were like a blur of charisma and chaos, as he proceeded down the line—touching, testing, poking, praising, and analyzing with gleeful professionalism that no one had quite asked for.
Each player tensed when it was their turn. Some flinched. Others stood still, trying to keep their dignity intact as Chris rattled off body metrics like a talking scanner.
Eventually, after the whirlwind of physical examination ended, Chris bounced back to the center of the room and spun on his heel.
"All right!"
He shouted.
"I've got a good idea of your bodies now. Yep! I can see how you made it this far…"
His voice rang out with unshakable confidence, but something in his tone was shifting.
"…But let me tell you something."
The smile on his face didn't vanish—but it changed. What had been bright and flamboyant now curved with the edge of something colder.
And then, without raising his voice, he dropped the first hammer.
"You're too reliant on your talents."
Chris's voice lowered, each word clean and deliberate.
"And talent… without self-awareness..."
He took a step forward, the soles of his shoes echoing faintly on the polished floor.
"…withers away."
.
.
.PresentBastard Munchen Locker Room
"Wow… That had to be the most unexpected outcome of all."
Naruhaya's voice cut through the hum of the locker room, his tone a mix of disbelief and admiration. He sat on the bench, eyes still glued to the match footage playing on the monitor. The glow from the screen cast soft flickers of light across his face as he turned to look at Isagi.
Across the room, Isagi sat with a towel draped over his shoulders, his chest still rising and falling with the faint rhythm of exertion. He raised a bottle of water to his lips, took a sip, then met Naruhaya's gaze with a quiet smile.
Naruhaya wasn't wrong.
He had done something incredible today.
Three goals.
All on his own.
Each one was carved out not by chance, but by complete domination displayed through his abilities.
And to top it off—he'd had a one-on-one with Lavinho. A direct clash with one of the most flamboyant football minds in the NEL. A duel of styles, of vision, of ego.
And Isagi had come out on top.
The locker room buzzed softly in the background—equipment being shuffled, light chatter, the occasional squeak of cleats on tile. But around Isagi, it all felt muted. Distant.
Because this wasn't just another win. This was a statement.
He had entered the heart of Bastard München's system, the crucible of Noel Noa's philosophy—and he didn't just survive it.
He thrived in it.
Owned it.
This was only the beginning of the Neo Egoist League, yet the mark Isagi left today was unmistakable. It wasn't just the crowd that noticed. The entire league felt it—players and the audience alike.
Yoichi Isagi had just raised the bar.
For the competition.
For the fans.
And for himself.
"Yeah, you're topping the charts right now."
Hiori's voice came from nearby, calm as always but tinged with a quiet pride. He held out a tablet, the screen already open to the NEL goal ranking board.
Isagi blinked once, then reached for it.
NEL goal ranking.
1st – Isagi Yoichi – 3 goals
2nd – Itoshi Rin – 2 goals
3rd – Bachira Meguru – 1 goal
3rd – Shidou Ryusei – 1 goal
There it was—his name, Isagi Yoichi, sitting cleanly at the very top.
But what stood out more than just the numbers… was the names that weren't there.
Not a single foreign player.
The entire ranking was dominated by Blue Lock players.
The very same 'unknowns' the world had doubted—now claiming the spotlight from the so-called stars.
It was unexpected. Unbelievable to some.
And yet, undeniable.
The Neo Egoist League had barely begun, but its tone was already shifting.
This wasn't just a stage for showcasing existing talent—this was a proving ground.
And the ones proving themselves… were all born from Blue Lock.
"I'll be sure to get on that field by next match."
Raichi muttered, arms crossed, his eyes locked on the digital display showing Bastard München's current starting lineup. His jaw was tight, frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
He hated being benched. Hated watching from the sidelines while others got the spotlight.
Especially Isagi.
From the bench, Naruhaya leaned back against the lockers with a half-shrug, casually observing Raichi's brewing irritation.
"Noa explained it already," he said, voice even. "If you wanna be in the starting eleven, you've got two options:
Score goals... or create chances that lead to goals.
Basically, you need to outperform everyone else in contribution stats."
He gestured at the screen.
"You can either ignore Kaiser and hunt goals on your own… or follow his movements and play into the system he's built around himself."
Raichi clicked his tongue, not bothering to answer.
Hiori stepped forward, arms relaxed at his sides, eyes sharp with quiet calculation.
"Well, I'm choosing Isagi,"
He said, voice calm but resolute.
"He's already proven himself. Made it into the lineup and topped the rankings."
Raichi glanced sideways at him.
"If we build a 'Blue Lock System' around Isagi,"
Hiori continued,
"and show that we can feed off his vision and contribute efficiently, Noa might start to see us as essential pieces."
He paused, gaze flicking back to the screen where Isagi's name sat at the top.
"That's how we get off the bench. That's how we stay on the pitch."
Raichi didn't respond immediately, but his scowl had less bite now. He understood the logic. Hated it—but understood it.
It wasn't just about pride anymore.
It was about survival.
"…As if I'm ever following him,"
Raichi finally muttered, eyes drifting toward Isagi across the room. His tone carried both stubborn defiance and a tinge of bitter admiration.
Naruhaya, unfazed, folded his arms and tilted his head slightly.
"Well, it's not like we have to follow him,"
He said evenly.
"But we do need to follow someone."
His eyes narrowed as he laid it out, like a tactical fork in the road.
"It's either Isagi—who's clearly aiming to dominate by scoring on his own…
Or it's the Bastard München system, where everything is designed to feed Kaiser the final ball."
Naruhaya's voice didn't rise, but it grew colder.
"You either become part of that—
Or carve your own path and gamble everything on a solo run."
He paused.
"Test your luck… and see if you're worth the screen-time."
The silence after was thick with unspoken pressure—an invisible countdown ticking over every player's head.
Raichi gritted his teeth. That last part stung because it was true. In a place like this, where even talent could be replaced, the luxury of ego came at a high price.
Isagi, who had been quietly listening from the bench with a water bottle in hand, exhaled as he stood up. He stretched his arms overhead, the subtle pop of joints breaking the silence around him.
"Well, whatever you guys choose…"
He rolled his shoulders once, loosening his body as he walked past them toward the exit.
"…It won't matter if you don't get your stats up and break into the Top Eleven."
Without waiting for a response, Isagi slipped out of the locker room, his footsteps echoing briefly in the hallway beyond.
As he stepped into the corridor, he caught a glimpse of someone turning the corner up ahead.
Yukimiya.
The older forward was walking away with calm, measured steps, but there was something stiff in his shoulders—something held back.
Isagi paused for half a second.
'So he was listening the whole time…'
Isagi's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't chase after him.
Instead, he turned and headed toward the showers, letting the rising steam blur his thoughts.
"Ah... I didn't get in the team through favouritism."
The thought flickered across his mind with a tired edge.
"So there shouldn't be any problems with this sinking ship."
With that, a quiet shift began to stir within Bastard München.
Isagi's performance hadn't just earned him a place in the starting lineup—it had lit a fire under every single Blue Lock player.
That spark had turned into a full-blown blaze.
Now, during training hours, the air was charged with a new intensity.
The usual background noise of drills and running was replaced by sharper sounds—cleats digging harder into turf, balls striking against walls with venom, players shouting as they pushed their limits. Sweat soaked through shirts, and not a single movement was wasted.
Each player was deep in their own world.
Raichi slammed through dummy defenders with iron determination, working on sharper tackles and tighter ball control. Every grunt was a challenge—to himself, to Isagi, to anyone ahead of him.
Naruhaya focused on diagonal runs and split-second positioning, trying to carve out spaces where none should exist. His passes were faster. His thinking quicker.
Hiori, alone with a small group of cones and rebound nets, trained silently. His passes were like clockwork—precise, intentional. But now, they carried something extra: urgency. His vision sharpened with every rep, imagining countless patterns of movement where he could become the irreplaceable brain beside Isagi's instinct.
The same atmosphere of sharpened intensity extended to the Manshine City Wing.
Inside the pristine training facility, Chigiri dashed across the field in explosive bursts, a ball tightly controlled at his feet. His crimson hair trailed behind him like a whip, his breathing sharp, every motion tuned to perfection.
His focus? Maintaining top speed while keeping his dribble tight. Speed without control was just wasted motion—and he was done wasting anything.
Not far off, Reo was working under the careful observation of Chris Prince. Resistance bands wrapped around his waist and shoulders as he moved through coordinated drills. His goal: build a body that could flawlessly replicate any play, anytime, without faltering.
Precision. Control. Repeatability. Reo was chasing mastery with quiet obsession.
Then Nagi wandered into the training hall.
Phone in hand, eyes half-lidded, he casually tapped away at his screen while strolling across the turf. But just a few steps in, he stopped. His face soured ever so slightly.
With a quiet sigh, he turned the phone off and slid it into his pocket.
Chigiri, mid-recovery, caught the whole thing.
"What's the matter?"
He asked, catching his breath with a towel around his neck.
"Weren't you taking a break?"
Nagi looked up, exasperated.
"I was playing… until Isagi started calling me to play online."
He scratched his head lazily.
"Every time I go online, he bombards me with invites. And if I ignore him, he just starts calling me. Over and over. Until I give in."
There was a twinge of frustration in his voice, the same kind of weariness someone has for a persistent fly.
Chigiri laughed under his breath, already familiar with the strange bond between those two.
"Yeah… You guys started playing together back in the Third Selection, right?"
Nagi gave a soft grunt in reply, eyes drifting to the ceiling as if recalling something distant.
"Yeah… it's been a while…"
His voice trailed off for a second, giving the impression he was caught in a rare, sentimental moment.
Chigiri watched him curiously.
But then Nagi added flatly—
"…And he's still a noob."
Chigiri blinked, then cracked up.
Reo, who had been watching from the side while hydrating, couldn't help but laugh too.
Even in the midst of pressure and grind, some things never changed.
"Hmm… Hey! Blue Lockers!"
Chris's voice rang out across the training hall like a gym-class whistle. The players turned toward him as he stood at the center with hands on his hips, sparkling like a one-man spotlight.
"Get back to training! You all need to develop your optimal physique—the one body that lets you pull off the plays only you can do!"
He pointed dramatically to the ceiling, then dropped into a bodybuilding pose with startling smoothness.
"And I, Chris Prince, am here to sculpt that greatness with you!"
Then, without missing a beat, his tone shifted into polished sales mode as he spun around and held up a sleek, branded bottle to the nearest surveillance camera.
"So stay hydrated! That's why this—"
He shook the bottle for effect
"—is better than cola!"
The label sparkled under the lights:
PRINCE WATER™
"Hydration Fit for Royalty."
"This,"
Chris said with the gravity of a preacher,
"spreads through the body… with its perfect hydration!"
Reo, Nagi, and Chigiri stood side by side, towels slung over their shoulders, watching as Chris continued to strike poses for the surveillance camera like it was a runway spotlight.
"…He's talking to the camera again"
Reo muttered, one brow raised.
Nagi didn't even blink.
"It's like an ad."
Chigiri exhaled lightly, a half-laugh escaping.
"Yeah… though it's live."
They all stood there, watching as Chris winked at the camera and flexed again, proudly holding up the Prince Water bottle like it was sacred.
This was just another day in Manshine City.
Though the training hall was filled with banter and the bizarre theatrics of Chris Prince, a silent tension pulsed beneath it all.
In ten days, Manshine City would be facing off against Bastard Munchen.
And for Nagi, Reo, and Chigiri——It was the match.
Because on the other side of the pitch… stood Isagi.
Each of them had their own reasons. Their own pride. Their own battles.
But they shared one thing in common—
They wanted to surpass him.
Isagi had become their target.
Their wall.
Their benchmark.
The one they had chosen to chase in order to reach their own personal peak—
to break through their limits… and grasp the state of Flow.
.
.
.
.
.
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[A/N]:
To everyone who has supported this story — thank you. Your encouragement, comments, and belief in my work mean more than I can express. Whether you've been here from the beginning or joined along the way, I truly appreciate each and every one of you.
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