Chapter Text

To MlTZY: Hahah thank you very much❤️ So sorry for the long wait. Totally understandable if interest and memory of the story has dropped. The nagisagi crumbs? Yes😔❤️‍🩹 I remember someone mentioning that they wanted more Nagisagi, so I tried adding more. But I see there is a demand for more? Please feel free to add any suggestions of what you would like to see regarding their ship. And I will see what I can do😉🤍 Obviously this applies to all of my readers/followers. I can’t promise anything though! As of now, I haven’t started on chapter 30 yet. Thank you MlTZY ! Hope you enjoy this chapter, Isagi does actually kind of defend Nagi in this chapter? You will know what I mean when you see it, I hope haha ~~

To Diva_Coded: I understand haha, I truly appreciate you commenting❤️ I am assuming there are still a lot of followers of this story that don’t comment! Or maybe not. It does feel sorta "unreal," not sure if that is the word I am looking for... but y’know a weird feeling that there is potentially a handful of readers that have also been following this story since the early days that havent commented. Haha~~ consistent😔 I do apologize for the long "break"/pause but at least the story didn’t get deleted or smth like that!

Thank you for your trust🫶 and I must say...What a crazy sweet first-comment🤍✨️ you gave me. I often feel like I am constantly repeating myself when thanking each one of you. So I am sorry if my reply isn’t unique enough🥹

I agree with you!! Reosagi is definitely cute! ~~ I never thought I would write a fanfic with Reosagi💙💜🤣

You liked the pacing of the Third Selection? That is good, I did not want to spend too much time on it. I was not rly a fan of it in the manga. But I tried to make it somewhat "interesting" or enjoyable here at least for me hehe.

Nonono, I do like writing Ness🩷. I just wasn’t sure if others liked it. And I think (Mel) also mentioned that she enjoyed the Ness-part. So I know that there are at least 2 of you that liked it haha😆 I will probably add more to their relationship but yeah imma not spoil anything🤐

I did write smut in the tags...haha, I put it there for the time being. I wasn’t sure of how the story would develop. But there hasn’t been that much smut. If I remember correctly, there was some Chigiri-solo-action. And a steamy moment between Chigiri and Isagi. SPOILER! kinda. I did write a kiss in this chapter buuuut I ended up removing it.
I can tell you when it was supposed to happen at the end-notes. Once again, thank you very much Diva_coded❤️ I hope you enjoy this chapter and comment again ~~

To SnakesInTheGardens: Someone forgiving Sae?? A rare sight! Luna though, yeah I think we all can agree that we hate that guy🤣 Yep he is disturbing and might even show to be more disturbing in this chapter or future chapters...🤐
Great to hear you like the chemistry between Shidou and Isagi. And also his chemistry with Kuronaz I enjoy it too! 😊 Rin-rin is deffo jealous even if he won’t admit.

Yess, I am happy for Bachira too, after like 20+ chapters, finally😭😭❣️

Ness amd Isagi maaaaaybe, I have some ideas that I can expand on. If I am going to write that far, depends on life and also a bit of how many are still following/enjoying this story. And ofc writer’s block/curse thingy.

Yep, Isagi should be fine! Definitely due to pushing his body to the max. Hope to see you in this chapter too ~~

To Mel🍰🍓🥀💫: That is fantastic! I am thrilled to hear that you seem to have loved my interpretation of their dynamic🫶❤️ Yes, I try my best to make it a bit spicy. Hopefully people don’t mind it too much. I can definitely understand if people don’t wanna see Nagi smiling or Rin smirking etc...

Yes, Bachi 🧡✨️ he is very cute and sweet ~~ I have been neglecting him for too long. So it was finally his time to get his moment! It’s okay, Rin tried to tell Bachira it wasn’t his fault. Rin can be sweet sometimes. I was originally planning to end the chapter or story after Bachira crying and blaming himself😅

Luna, it is enjoyable in a weird way to write him. I think he needs to be hated more haha. Like HELLO what you mean he is trying to force Sae to kiss him??! 😭😤

Yep... or well introduced himself to Isagi at least. I did write a bit about him, I don’t remember which chapter😂 but he was watching Isagi play.
Izu is actually for real Izuku Midoriya.

Glad you enjoyed the super-chapter, I hope you enjoy this chapter too, it is almost as long as the super-chapter. I am actually ashamed that it has been like a month? A MONTH since I updated this story...🫠💔 Well... better late than never right? I promise I won’t delete the Ness × Isagi interaction🫡 You and Diva_coded both seem to have enjoyed it! Or at least EXPRESSED that you enjoyed it. Sorry🙏 if I forgot and someone else commented and said they also enjoyed it. Thank you for explaining or reasoning as to why I should keep it. I will keep it in. Definitely.

Yes this comment did feel more organized🫶, now I am getting a bit self-concious, I hope my reply isn’t a disgusting mess. Oh and the whiplash😭I felt from “Im so sick” by Flyleaf and “See you soon” by beabadoobee.

END OF COMMENT REPLIES

Chapter 29:

Anyone I Want?

Sae reached the bottom step, breath shallow, eyes adjusting to the dim light. What greeted him wasn’t a small room—not even close.

A long corridor stretched out in front of him, cold and metallic, illuminated by a line of flickering overhead lights. The walls were concrete, smooth and silent, and on each side stood several heavy metal doors, each identical, each carrying no label at all. The air here felt colder… heavier… like the hallway itself was holding its breath.

But what really caught his eye was the door at the very end, the corridor also branched out, to the left and to the right. The door was in the middle.

It was thicker, reinforced and had a bright metal sign bolted across it:

AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

He moved forward automatically, the thought of Isagi pushing him onward. He reached for the handle.

It didn’t budge.

A small black panel beside the frame glowed with a thin, steady red line. Sae brushed his fingers across it instinctively.

The red light flickering once—keycard-locked.

“Damn it—” he whispered under his breath.

Voices carried across the corridor — from the right branch. They sounded close, like people walking fast down the long stretch toward the junction. Sae’s pulse hit his throat.

The horizontal corridor wasn’t a dead straight line; both left and right arms branched again, splitting into smaller passageways. That’s why the steps weren’t echoing from behind him and why the figures coming from the right hadn’t seen him yet — they were moving down one of the right-hand wings, the turns masking their view.

There was no time to stand at the junction. Sae’s eyes flicked to the nearest side door — the one tucked into the corner where the vertical met the horizontal. It was slightly ajar, a narrow wedge of shadow showing where it hadn’t been closed all the way. He didn’t know why it was open. He didn’t know who’d left it. He only knew it was an opportunity.

Sae slid to it, pushed the edge, and slipped inside. He eased the door shut until it was only a whisper from closed, then pressed his back flat against the cold metal and held himself still as the footsteps drew nearer.

The room was filled with technology far beyond anything he’d expected. High-level equipment lined the walls: sleek, dark servers humming softly; rows of monitors showing live feeds, charts, strange readouts he couldn’t decipher; wires snaked across the floor in organized lines. A faint blue glow illuminated the room like something out of a secret research lab.

Sae’s eyes scanned the surfaces until something on the adjacent wall made his stomach drop.

An emblem.

A large metallic gold T, its edges sharp and precise, gleaming like forged alloy.

A white-gold lightning bolt cut diagonally through the letter, splitting it with a clean, angular strike.

The design sat within a white shield-shaped crest, bordered in fine lines of polished gold.

Sae felt his breath hitch.

What the hell…?

His eyes flicked from the emblem to the screens, to the servers, to the neatly stacked folders on a metal table. None of this made sense. None of it belonged in a dorm facility.

He stepped deeper into the room, careful to keep his footsteps silent. The air was strangely cool, mechanical, humming in a way that felt almost alive. His fingers brushed the edge of a warm server rack as he passed, grounding him just enough to keep moving.

He approached the table. Papers were scattered across it—schematics, coded reports, lists of names he didn’t recognize. A thick folder caught his eye, partially buried under a mess of papers. Its tab was stamped CLASSIFIED. Even from here, the words on it made his stomach tighten:

“NEW GENERATION WORLD 11”

BLIP!

A sharp electronic blip sounded at the door made Sae jolt.

Someone was right outside. Maybe more than one person.

His heartbeat spiked again—not from certainty, but from dread. He shouldn’t be here. He wasn’t meant to see any of this.

Sae backed away from the table, forcing himself into the shadows between two tall server columns. His breath was thin, controlled, each inhale quiet enough to get lost in the soft mechanical hum.

Then—

The auto-lock released with a metallic click. 

Dim light from the corridor seeped through the crack, enough to cast long, shadowed shapes across the floor without breaking the oppressive gloom of the room.

Sae froze, spine pressed against the cold metal of the server rack. His pulse slammed in his ears.

Three figures stepped inside.

He recognized the first instantly—

Luna.

Of course.

Behind him were two men Sae had never seen before—one older, the other younger. They wore white uniforms with the same T emblem stitched onto the chest. 

Sae clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing his breathing silent.

Luna walked further into the room, tapping something on a tablet in his hands. “They pulled the latest data package,” he said, voice casual… too casual for a place that felt like a secret bunker. “But the system’s still unstable on the lower floors.”

The older man snorted. “That’s because the old prototype is still wired in. We told them to scrap it.”

“Yeah, well,” Luna muttered, setting the tablet down on the table Sae had just been looking at, “they want to keep their options open. As usual.”

Sae’s eyes tightened.

Options for what?

The younger man crossed the room, stopping dangerously close—just three steps from Sae’s hiding spot. “We need to check the feeds again. There’s been unusual activity in the dorm corridors.” He reached for a stack of papers on the table. “Someone might be poking around.”

Sae’s blood went cold.

Luna sighed dramatically. “Relax. Who would be stupid enough to come down here? These brats don’t even know this place exists.”

He moved deeper into the room—directly toward the server racks.

Toward Sae.

Sae held perfectly still.

Not breathing.

Not blinking.

Not daring to move even an inch.

Luna stopped right in front of the rack opposite Sae’s, humming to himself as he adjusted a panel. He was close enough that Sae could see strands of his hair catch the blue glow of the monitors.

If Luna turned around—

If he leaned just a little to the side—

If he stepped between the racks—

He would see him.

Sae’s fingers curled into fists so tightly his nails dug crescents into his palms.

The young uniformed man at the table spoke again. “We should run a sweep just in case.”

Luna’s eyes snapped, and before the man could react, he grabbed him by the collar, holding him for a tense moment before releasing him just as quickly.

“Enough,” Luna said, voice low but sharp. “Do you understand what an internal alert would mean? The moment we trigger one, they’ll have to lock this sector down and run a full sweep. And then what? The higher-ups will see it and start asking questions: why the lockdown? why the sweep? If they find nothing, it makes us look incompetent — like we can’t even handle our own sector. After the mess in Berlin, I’m not risking that.”

He leaned forward slightly, scanning the room, voice dropping to a near whisper. “If we’re going to do a sweep, it has to be tight. A small, controlled team. They report directly to me — and only me. No one else. Understood?”

The young man Luna had grabbed straightened quickly, rubbing at his collar. “Yes, sir.”

The older man inclined his head slightly, calm and measured. “Yes, commander.”

Luna straightened, brushing a hand over his uniform as if resetting himself. “Anywas... I have to go. Football practice, meetings… you know the drill.” He turned toward the door, then paused. “If Subject 19 starts screaming again, give him two TZ‑4 suppressors.”

The younger man exchanged a look with the older man and then looked at Luna, asking.

“Sir… if he starts screaming that bad, are two TZ‑4 suppressors really enough?”

Luna stopped mid‑stride, exhaling through his nose as he turned back to them.

“They’re enough for that phase,” he said. “TZ‑4 is a neuro-suppressant, not a tranquilizer. It cuts the pain response and collapses the sensory feedback loop so he doesn’t tear his throat open again. If he escalates past that—Stage Three agitation—you switch to M-Delta-X1. Half dose only, unless you want his blood pressure to crater.”

The men nodded, but Luna continued, tone drifting into something automatic, rehearsed.

“If M-Delta-X1 doesn’t hold him, you move to the heavy protocol: Vexyl‑9. One vial. Never two. He’ll stop screaming, but it’ll fog him for hours, and he can’t afford cognitive drag before tomorrow’s tests.”

He tapped a finger once against the doorframe.

“And if he pushes into Stage Four—full neurological overload—you page Dr. Mauclair immediately. Do not improvise. That’s when the seizures start, and if you stack the wrong combination—TZ‑4 suppressors with Vexyl or anything metabolized through the hepatic chain—you’re going to kill him.”

Silence dropped heavy between them.

TZ‑4. M‑Delta-X1. Vexyl‑9. Neurological overload.

None of it made sense — not the science, not the procedures — but he understood enough to feel sick.

Subject 19.

They weren’t treating someone.

They were containing someone.

And they were expecting that someone to scream.

His throat tightened. He had no idea who Subject 19 was, but the way Luna talked — tired, irritated, like this was routine — made Sae’s stomach twist. Nothing about this place was normal. No dorm needed suppressors or "heavy protocols" or a doctor who had to be paged before a someone’s heart stopped.

What the hell were they doing down here?

And why did Luna sound like he’d done all of this before?

Sae pressed further into the shadows, fingers trembling before he forced them still. He couldn’t breathe too loudly. He couldn’t think too loudly.

But the words kept replaying anyway.

“Tear his throat open again.”

“Cognitive drag before tomorrow’s tests.”

“You’re going to kill him.”

Each line hit harder than the last, leaving a pressure behind his ribs that bordered on panic.

Isagi...

Was any of this connected to him?

Was he down here?

Was he next?

Sae swallowed hard, jaw clenching.

He didn’t know what was going on in this facility — but whatever it was, it was far worse than anything he had imagined when he followed that hidden door.

And he’d walked straight into the center of it... or so he thought.

Luna stepped out, the metal door clicking shut behind him — a sound that seemed to drain half the oxygen from the room.

The moment he was gone, the younger man exhaled sharply. “God… he makes the air heavier.”

The older one ignored that comment, but his gaze drifted across the desk — and landed on the same thick folder Sae saw, the one stamped: CLASSIFIED, NEW GENERATION WORLD 11.

“Hey,” he said slowly, pointing. “Why is that here?”

The younger man froze mid-step. “…I was just… curious.”

“Curious?” The other stared at him like he’d confessed to treason. “Curious?! Do you even know what the hell this is?”

“Well— I mean— I heard rumors. About some people arriving a few days ago. New faces. I kept asking the boss about it but they never—”

“They never told you because you don’t need to know!” the older man hissed, stepping closer. “You’re not supposed to know. It’s classified for a reason.”

The younger man blinked. “…Classified like… restricted classified or—”

“If Luna finds out you’ve been snooping,” the older whispered, eyes widening, “you’re done. Not reassigned. Not written up. Done.”

Everything drained from the younger man’s face. He dropped to his knees so fast the sound echoed.

“Please— please don’t tell anyone I touched it,” he begged, clutching the older man’s leg. “I swear I didn’t read anything! I swear— I’ll never ask about it again, just— just don’t let Luna know.”

The older man pinched the bridge of his nose, equal parts furious and terrified.

“Put it back,” he said, voice low and shaking with restrained panic. “Right now. Exactly where you found it.”

The younger man nodded frantically.

“I—I will! I swear!”

“I’m assuming,” the older added, leveling a deadly glare at him, “you took it from the archive room. Yes?”

The younger man swallowed hard. “…Y-yes.”

“Then you’re going to return it,” the older man said, each word clipped and precise, “before someone realizes it’s missing. And pray no one checked the logs while you were playing detective.”

Blue Lock Facility - Med Bay

The med bay lights were dimmed to a soft, clinical blue—enough to keep the room calm without putting strain on anyone’s eyes. Isagi sat propped up on the bed, blanket pooled around his waist, a tablet balanced lightly in his hands. The screen reflected in his eyes: match summaries, highlight clips, freeze-frames of key plays. His fingers flicked through them absently, as if staying still made him more uncomfortable than the soreness itself.

The door slid open with a muted hiss.

“Isagi-kun,” Anri said gently as she stepped inside, her clipboard tucked against her chest. “How are you feeling?”

Isagi looked up. “I’m fine,” he said, though he wasn’t. “Just… sore everywhere. Feels like I ran ten full matches back-to-back.” He set the tablet down on his lap. “When’s the next game?”

“Soon,” Anri replied, pulling up a chair beside his bed. “I was hoping you’d be well enough to play. It’s Team A against Team C.”

Isagi frowned slightly. Team A — his team. Team C — Rin’s opponent from the previous match.

He hesitated, then asked, “Wait… what was the final result between Team B and Team C again?”

Anri raised an eyebrow, lips tugging into a faint, knowing smile. “Isagi-kun. I’m fairly certain you already know that.”

Isagi looked away, jaw tightening as the truth settled. “…So it’s true, then. Rin lost again. Team B, I mean.”

Anri’s expression softened. “Unfortunately, yes. Team B has only suffered losses so far.” She rested her clipboard on her knees. “Your collapse seems to have affected Rin-kun more than he wanted to admit. His performance dipped considerably against Team C.”

Isagi blinked at her… then let out a short, surprised laugh. “Huh? No way. Rin? That serious, moody guy who acts like he’s above everyone? There’s no way he’d care about me collapsing.”

The disbelief in his voice was real — and almost naïve.

Anri studied him for a moment longer than necessary.

“Isagi-kun,” she said quietly, “you’d be surprised what affects people… especially the ones who insist nothing does.”

Isagi set the tablet aside and pushed the blanket down, swinging his legs over the bedside. He pressed his palms to the mattress once, grounding himself, then stood. His balance held. His expression sharpened.

“Alright,” he said quietly, meeting Anri’s gaze. “Let’s go, I have rested long enough.”

The moment Isagi stepped into the main room, the noise hit him like a wave — shoes scuffing, voices rising, heads snapping toward him in a chain reaction.

“Yoichi?!”

Reo reacted first. He spun so fast he almost lost his balance. His eyes flew wide — shock first, then something deeper, almost shaking.

“YOCCHAN!”

He closed the distance in seconds, practically barreling toward him. The relief in his voice was raw, unfiltered, overflowing past anything he’d had time to rehearse.

“All I heard was that you collapsed—that they carried you out—no one told me anything else, man, nothing! I’ve been going crazy out here!”

People surged in behind him, crowding closer, talking over each other, but Reo’s voice cut through all of it. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t dramatic.

He was just… relieved. So relieved it looked like his chest finally unclenched for the first time since it happened.

“You’re really okay…?” Reo asked, breath uneven. “Like—actually okay?”

Isagi opened his mouth to answer, but Reo’s hands landed on his shoulders first—steady, grounding. Like he needed the physical proof that Isagi was actually here, upright, breathing.

“I’m okay,” Isagi said quietly. “Really. I’m fine now.”

“Don’t do that again,” Reo muttered, half-laughing, half-breaking. “Passing out isn’t in the training program, you know?”

Isagi gave a faint, apologetic smile—then another presence drifted closer behind Reo.

Nagi.

He looked… different. Not lazy. Not bored. Just tense in a way that didn’t fit him at all, hands tucked into his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them.

“Reo kept pacing,” Nagi said, voice flat but too quiet to be casual. “I couldn’t sleep. So… I tried to go see you.”

Reo threw his hands up. “I knew it! I knew you were gone!”

Nagi sighed deeply. “I wasn’t gone. I was… attempting a soft escape.”

Isagi blinked. “A… what?”

“A soft escape,” Nagi repeated. “Walking quietly so nobody notices.” Then, with a gloomy slump of his shoulders, “Ego noticed.”

Reo stared at him. “You got caught by Ego himself?”

Nagi nodded, clearly traumatized. “He just stood there. Staring. Not blinking. Then he said, ‘Return.’ So I… returned.”

There was a short moment of silence.

Nagi shifted, eyes lowering.

“…Okay,” he admitted quietly, “that wasn’t exactly what happened, but—”

Reo immediately cut in, eyebrows flying up. “—But what, Nagi?! What does that mean?!”

Nagi simply shrugged, refusing to elaborate. “Doesn’t matter.”

Reo stared at him like he was being tortured. “Nagi—!”

“Nope.” Nagi shook his head, expression shutting down like a door slamming shut. “Not talking about it.”

That was all he offered. Just that.

Leaving the entire room tense and wildly curious while he stared determinedly at the floor.

Reo threw his hands up. “You can’t just say that and stop!”

Nagi blinked, bored and done. “I just did.”

Reo groaned in frustration, but the stubborn crease in Nagi’s expression said it all—whatever Ego did or said, Nagi had zero intention of reliving it out loud.

The speakers crackled overhead, sharp enough to cut straight through the chatter. A burst of static—

“Testing… testing.”

Every head in the room jerked up.

Reo froze mid-groan.

Nagi stopped pretending the floor was interesting.

The entire room fell still.

Then Ego’s voice, cold and unmistakable, filled the air:

“Good. Everyone is present... We have wasted enough time.”

“It is time for the next match,” Ego continued, each word clipped and echoing. “Team A versus Team C.”

The large monitor on the wall blinked to life. Lines of code flickered for half a second before shifting into the randomized selection screen. Names spun in rows, cycling so fast they blurred.

Someone whispered, “Already…?”

Ego didn’t pause.

“And our players will be—”

The names slowed.

Slowed.

Slowed.

ka-CHUNK.

The first name locked in with a mechanical thud.

A second.

A third.

A fourth.

One by one, the teams assembled on the screen. A final sharp beep confirmed the match:

Team A: Reo, Nagi, Chigiri

Team C: Himizu, Tanaka, Sokura

For a moment, the room held its breath—

Then reactions hit all at once:

Reo lit up instantly, turning toward Isagi with a spark of excitement he didn’t bother hiding.

“Yes! Finally my turn, Yocchan. Watch me, okay?”

Nagi’s eyes brightened too, the boredom evaporating off him in an instant.

“Mm. About time. I was getting reaaally bored…”

Chigiri stretched his legs out with a restless grin, already shifting his weight like his body was begging to sprint.

“I needed this. My legs are itching to move.”

Across the room—

Tanaka froze mid nose-pick, finger hovering in the air like a guilty weapon.

“Wait… I’m fighting who?”

He grimaced.

“Ughhh, I don’t wanna deal with Isagi. Everyone talks about him like he’s some final boss.”

Sokura stiffened immediately, the memory hitting him like a punch.

“Yeah… he is.”

He swallowed. “Last time we played him we lost so badly I still see it in my nightmares…”

Himizu leaned back, grin confident.

“Isagi? Pfft. Please. He’s overrated. No sweat.”

Before he could say more, a hand came down on his head with a solid thwack.

“Ow! Hey—” Himizu yelped, stumbling back slightly.

“Stop lying,” Karasu said sharply, voice low but firm. “Focus. This isn’t the time for jokes.”

Himizu rubbed his head, still smirking despite the sting.

“Yeah, yeah… I’m focused,” he muttered, though the cockiness lingered in his tone.

A mechanical click sounded from below the massive monitor, followed by the familiar hum of the floor panels sliding aside. The row of square pillars rose into place, each topped with neatly folded jerseys—half in Team A’s black and white, the others in Team C’s black and green.

Ego’s voice cut through the low hum.

“Participants for this match, please step forward and collect your team jerseys.”

Reo moved first, grabbing his black-and-white jersey and slipping it over his head with practiced ease. Nagi followed, tugging his on while grinning in anticipation. Chigiri bounced slightly as he pulled his over, his restless energy barely contained.

On the other side, Himizu smirked and pulled his black-and-green jersey on, arms crossing briefly as he adjusted it. Tanaka, eyes glinting mischievously, flicked a booger onto Sokura’s shoulder before reluctantly putting his jersey over himself.

Sokura froze, noticing the prank instantly. “Ugh—Tanaka!” he snapped, swiping at the smear while glaring at him.

The teams readied themselves, jerseys on and tension simmering, each player already slipping into their usual mindset for the match.

The metallic hum of the chamber grew louder, drawing everyone’s attention to the massive monitor. Then Ego’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding, echoing through the hall:

“Team A, proceed through the left tunnel. Team C, the right tunnel.”

Two gates slid open on opposite sides of the chamber, metal grinding against metal as light spilled from within—one glowing a cold blue, the other a deep crimson.

Isagi and Shidou moved first, stepping purposefully toward the left tunnel.

Reo’s grin widened, and he practically shot forward to join them, his excitement bubbling over. “Finally! Let’s go, Yocchan!” he called, voice full of energy.

Chigiri’s long legs ate up the space as he jogged, throwing a teasing shout over his shoulder. “Come on, Nagi! Don’t tell me you’re lagging behind again!”

“Hey! Wait for me!” Nagi’s voice cracked slightly, half-laughing, half-frustrated, as he pushed himself to catch up, arms pumping and feet pounding against the floor.

On the other side, Team C moved with a different rhythm. Karasu’s sharp gesture cut through the hall. “Let’s go.” His tone left no room for hesitation.

Otoya’s quick nod was all the confirmation needed. “Yup, let’s move.”

Himizu lingered for a beat, his smirk playful. He turned and shot a quick wink toward Tokimitsu, who involuntarily shuddered at the gesture, his face betraying both irritation and unease. Then, with a light skip in his step, Himizu fell in behind Karasu and Otoya, the crimson light catching the glint in his eyes.

Tanaka and Sokura lingered a moment longer, exchanging a glance weighted with anxiety. A shared sigh, then a brief nod, and they stepped into the tunnel together, shoulders tense, minds racing.

The two tunnels converged into the same vast chamber—

the match room.

Reo inhaled deeply, then exhaled with a bright, focused grin.

“Alright,” he declared, clapping his hands once as Team A fanned into their formation. “Let’s do this.”

Chigiri rolled his shoulders, red hair swaying with the motion, an eager fire in his eyes.

“I’ll blast right past them. Don’t blink.”

Nagi tugged at his sleeves with a restless thrill, completely locked in now.

“I’m fired up,” he said—simple words, but carrying a crisp edge. “Let’s destroy them.”

Shidou tilted his head as they took their positions, eyes bright with that familiar, feral amusement.

“They sure sound excited, Isagi-chan~” he drawled. “All hyped up just ’cause you walked in. Very charismatic. Almost like some kinda demon… or—”

his grin curled wider, searching for the word,

“one of those… seductive monster things. You know. The kinda creature that reels people in—”

Isagi sighed quietly.

“…You mean an incubus, Shidou.”

Shidou snapped his fingers. “YES. That one.”

Then he leaned in, smirking like he’d discovered treasure.

“That’s you, Isagi. An incubus for motivation. People look at you and just—”

he clenched a fist, energy crackling off him—

“get all fired up. It’s hot.”

Isagi stared at him for a second.

“…That’s not what an incubus does.”

Shidou shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Details.”

“What matters is—your presence gets under people’s skin. Makes ’em wanna go harder. Stronger. Fight more.”

A slow, wicked grin.

“Even me.”

Isagi exhaled once, steadying himself. “Then don’t hold back.”

Shidou clicked his tongue, delighted. “When have I ever?”

MATCH START !!!

Team C took the opening kick.

Himizu tapped the ball backward to Karasu, who stopped it with the sole of his boot.

But instead of moving immediately, he stood still—head up, eyes drifting lazily across the field.

Chigiri narrowed his eyes.

What’s he doing? Looking for a pass? He’s not even paying attention to the ball…

His legs twitched, itching.

If he’s that careless… I can steal it.

Karasu’s gaze flicked toward Chigiri for a single second—

Then away, as if dismissing him entirely.

That was enough.

Chigiri launched forward, feet kicking up turf, red hair snapping behind him as he closed the distance at blistering speed. He dropped low, sliding in with perfect timing—clean, fast, flawless.

But Karasu dragged the ball back with a smooth, almost lazy motion, letting Chigiri’s slide cut through empty space.

The dodge was effortless.

A soft, disappointed exhale left Karasu’s lips.

“You’re a real dumb-dumb, you know that?”

He nudged the ball forward and started dribbling toward Team A’s goal, movements fluid and controlled.

Chigiri clicked his tongue, pushing up from the turf in one fluid motion.

“Tch—don’t get ahead of yourself!”

He sprinted after Karasu, closing the gap in seconds, his speed swallowing distance like nothing.

Fine, if technique won’t work—then I’ll just run you over!

He threw his body into Karasu from the side, a clean, calculated collision aimed at knocking him off balance and stealing the ball.

But Karasu didn’t budge.

Not an inch.

His body absorbed the impact like Chigiri had bumped into a pillar. His expression remained calm, unimpressed, as he kept the ball shielded with chilling precision.

“You’re attacking the wrong thing,” Karasu said coolly, eyes sharp but voice annoyingly patient. “Going for my strength only gets you crushed.”

He pushed forward, forcing Chigiri back a step.

“If you want to win—attack weaknesses, not strengths. That’s the fastest, surest path in competition.”

Chigiri clenched his jaw, frustration burning hot in his chest. “Tch—dammit…!”

Chigiri kicked off the ground, but Karasu’s strength matched his speed effortlessly.

He felt himself being pushed back.

Bit by bit.

Until—

“Reo! Nagi! I need backup!”

The words slipped out sharp and frustrated.

Karasu’s reaction was immediate—

a low laugh, smug and razor-edged.

“Oh? Already calling for help?” he asked, tilting his head mockingly as he guided the ball past Chigiri’s reach. “How valiant. How heroic.”

Karasu’s eyes flashed with amused cruelty. “Or maybe you just realized you can’t beat me alone?”

The taunt dug under Chigiri’s skin like a hook. Before he could snap back, Reo’s voice cut through—strong, loud, unshaken.

“Oi, Chigiri! Ignore him!”

Reo sprinted in from the left, eyes sharp, footwork already shifting into his adaptive rhythm. “I’ve got you!”

A burst of relief flickered through Chigiri’s chest, but he never looked away from Karasu.

Reo slid into position beside him, stance widening to block Karasu’s angle.

“We’ll shut him down together!”

Karasu only smiled wider, tapping the ball lightly between his feet, calm as ever. “Good. Come at me in pairs if you want.”

His voice dropped into a deep, amused murmur.

“It won’t make a difference.”

Karasu smirked faintly, reading Chigiri’s desperation perfectly.

“Oi, Otoya!” he called sharply, voice carrying just enough for his teammate to hear.

Before anyone could react, Otoya slipped through the chaos, silent, ghost-like, taking advantage of everyone’s blind spots. In a heartbeat, he was behind Nagi, completely unseen.

Karasu tapped the ball forward with a precise flick, sending it arcing straight toward Otoya.

Otoya trapped it effortlessly, crouched low over the ball. A sly grin curved his lips as he muttered,

“Whoosh.”

Nagi’s eyes went wide—too late to react.

“Wha… how did he…?”

Shidou slid in front of Otoya with a grin, leaning slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“You’re sure sneaky, seaweed ninja,” he teased, voice low but sharp.

Otoya smirked, eyes glinting. “Niiiiiice.”

With that, he tapped the ball back toward Karasu, who had just broken free from Chigiri and Reo’s chase.

Shidou, full of playful energy, called out happily, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you~!”

Otoya blinked, tilting his head. “…Hm?”

Just as the ball was about to reach Karasu, Isagi slid into the lane with lightning precision.

“Chomp, chomp!” he called out, voice sharp and low, carrying a dangerous edge that made even Karasu pause. “That pass… isn’t going anywhere.”

Karasu froze, surprised—and more than a little frustrated—as Isagi’s body blocked his path.

He noticed it immediately: Isagi’s stance, his strength, the way he anchored himself against the momentum, he owned the space.

Before Karasu could react further, Isagi leapt. Midair, he met the ball with his chest, absorbing the impact perfectly.

Landing solidly, he trapped the ball under control, eyes scanning instantly for his next move.

Karasu’s jaw clenched, a mix of shock and respect flickering across his features. This wasn’t just blocking—this was mastery.

I’ve pored over dozens of videos of him… But seeing him in person… he’s even more amazing. …But this doesn’t change what has to be done.

Karasu shouted toward the defense—Himizu, Tanaka, and Sokura—urging them to hold their positions.

“Don’t just charge in! Play for time so Otoya and I can get back to defend!”

Tanaka ignored him entirely, lunging forward anyway.

Isagi slid past him effortlessly, leaving Tanaka stumbling, frustration written across his face. Karasu groaned in dismay as his orders went unheeded.

Himizu and Sokura hesitated for only a moment before taking Karasu’s advice seriously.

They shifted to block Isagi’s immediate paths, moving cautiously, keeping their distance while forcing him to slow down and adjust his dribble.

“Don’t let him through too quickly,” Himizu muttered, eyes narrowed, already calculating where to cut him off.

Sokura mirrored him, sliding slightly to the side, trying to herd Isagi toward the edge of the field, buying precious seconds for Karasu and Otoya to return.

Isagi’s eyes flicked between them, calm and calculating. Their tactic was predictable, but effective enough to make him pause briefly, forcing him to adjust his speed and angle. He wasn’t rattled—just reading, waiting for the right moment to exploit the opening.

And then he saw it. A tiny gap between Himizu and Sokura.

Without hesitation, he fired. The ball shot precise and fast, slicing straight through the narrow space and rocketing toward the goal.

Himizu’s eyes went wide, a cold jolt firing down his spine.

“No way—between us?!” he choked out, twisting back just in time to see the blur of the ball vanish past them.

Sokura froze for a split second, disbelief hitting him like a punch.

“He threaded that? Through that tiny gap?” he muttered, his voice cracking with outrage. “What kind of psychopath accuracy is that…?!”

Blue Lock Man didn’t even see it coming. Time seemed to stretch as the ball slipped past him and slammed into the net, catching everyone on the field completely off guard.

GOOOOOOOOOOOOOAL !!!!!!!!!!!!

Team A ( 1 ) vs Team C ( 0 )

Karasu clicked his tongue and muttered aloud, impressed:

“Isagi Yoichi… he really is a monster.”

Everybody froze, stunned, trying to process just how effortlessly the goal had been executed.

Reo’s eyes went wide, his voice cracking with exhilaration.

“Yocchan! That calculation—did you see everything?!”

Chigiri let out a sharp breath, hair swaying as he spun toward him.

“That speed… that shot came out of nowhere. I didn’t even track it!”

Nagi blinked slowly, staring at Isagi like he was a puzzle he wasn’t sure he’d ever solve.

“That chest trap was perfect… and you found that tiny shot course immediately? That’s such an Isagi-thing to do…”

And then there was Shidou.

Instead of shouting, he strode straight up to Isagi with a wide, feral grin stretching across his face.

Without hesitation, he thrust out his fist.

Isagi met it with his own—sharp, solid, electric.

Shidou’s grin curled even wider, eyes gleaming with savage delight.

“Knew it,” he said, voice low and thrilled. “I knew you’d devour that pass from that seaweed rat to crow-boy.”

Meanwhile, Team C remained stiff and shell-shocked, the reality of who they were playing against, Isagi’s presence settling heavily over them like a darkening storm.

Team C had gathered near their half, the atmosphere was thick and tense. The aftershock of the goal still lingered, but Karasu snapped them back to reality with a sharp clap of his hands.

“Enough standing around,” he said, voice cutting through the fog. “Reset your heads. It is just one goal, the match ain’t over yet dumbasses.”

Himizu exhaled shakily, rubbing the back of his neck. “That shot… I didn’t even see it leave his foot…”

Sokura’s brows were drawn tight, frustration simmering. “He didn’t hesitate for even a second. How do you stop someone who shoots the moment the gap appears?”

Otoya jogged back into position, hands tucked loosely behind his head, his expression unreadable but serious. “He dribbled right past Tanaka. If we let him move like that again, we’re done.”

Tanaka clenched his fists, jaw tight with embarrassment. “I won’t fall for it next time. I’m not letting him humiliate me again.”

Karasu shot him a cold glare. “You will fall for it again if you charge in without thinking, idiot.”

He stepped forward, voice low and steady—commanding. “We’re not stopping Isagi by brute force. Not individually.”

His eyes lifted toward the center of the field where Isagi stood, surrounded by his teammates’ praise.

Before Karasu could continue, Otoya slid in next to him, hands draped behind his head, his steps light and silent.

“Yeah, but…” he said casually, eyes half-lidded as he watched Isagi from afar,

“…we’re not stopping him by calculations either.”

Otoya smirked faintly, tilting his head.

“If he’s the one with the better vision and the faster brain, trying to beat him at his own game is just asking to lose.”

Himizu blinked. “Then what do we do?”

Otoya shrugged, grin widening.

“We make the field messy. Unpredictable. Stuff he can’t puzzle his way through.”

Karasu exhaled sharply through his nose—annoyed, but not dismissive.

“…Tch. Fine. As long as you don’t get reckless.”

Otoya’s grin sharpened.

“No promises.”

Karasu muttered under his breath, turning back toward the center line. “This is why I hate working with you…”

But Otoya heard him, and the soft laugh he let out only confirmed it.

Match restart!

Team C started with the ball again.

Karasu didn’t hesitate—he snapped a quick side pass to Otoya, the ball gliding sharply along the turf.

“Tanaka, Sokura—stay back and defend!” Karasu barked without looking. “No charging in unless I say so!”

Tanaka swallowed his frustration and nodded stiffly. Sokura sighed but obeyed.

Karasu jerked his chin toward the front.

“Himizu! With me and Otoya—we’re taking the offense.”

Himizu straightened, tension still clinging to his shoulders, but he pushed forward beside them, trusting Karasu’s judgment.

Otoya received the ball with a feather-light touch, letting it roll just slightly across his foot before pulling it into stride—casual, smooth, and deceptively calm. As they advanced, a subtle smirk curled at the edge of his mouth.

“Alright then,” Otoya said quietly.

He redirected the ball to Himizu with a quick, precise touch, then immediately slid forward, angling his run into a blindspot.

“Let’s make a little… chaos.”

Himizu pushed the ball ahead, following the lane Otoya opened.

Karasu advanced alongside them on the opposite side.

Isagi narrowed his eyes from ahead—he saw the shift immediately. 

This… was something different. They weren’t moving with their usual structure. Their spacing was tighter. Their rhythm… deliberately unstable.

They adapted after the goal.

Isagi’s thoughts accelerated, snapping details into place.

They’re either trying to overwhelm my senses—flood the field with noise and unpredictable movement…

Otoya slipping into blindspots, Himizu suddenly joining the attack, Karasu holding the shape steady like an anchor.

…Or they’re doing the opposite—sticking together on purpose. A tight triangle. No isolated duels. No weak links to pick apart.

His eyes sharpened.

They’re refusing to face me individually… trying to smother my individuality entirely. Fine. Let’s see how far that gets you. I still have Reo, Nagi, Chigiri, and Shidou with me. They won’t be outdone by weaklings like you.

Himizu advanced with the ball, eyes forward, deliberately steering away from Isagi’s lane.

He didn’t challenge him.

He didn’t test him.

He didn’t even consider drifting close.

Yeah… he’s avoiding me...

Isagi thought, recognizing it instantly.

Karasu moved beside Himizu, reinforcing the triangle’s shape as they pressed forward together.

Shidou came charging in from the side, grin sharp, eyes lit with predatory excitement.

“Gimme that!”

The moment Shidou closed in, Himizu immediately played the ball sideways to Karasu—clean, safe, no hesitation.

Shidou skidded to a stop, head snapping toward Himizu with a crooked grin.

“Oiii… what’s this?” he taunted, leaning in.

“You scared or something?”

Himizu didn’t answer with words.

He just glanced back—

and winked, cheeky and evasive—

before sprinting past Shidou to rejoin the attack.

Shidou snorted, amused. “Cute.”

Karasu now carried the ball, already adjusting his stance to fire a pass toward Otoya—

but a crimson streak cut across his vision.

Chigiri.

“Round two, dipshit,” Chigiri hissed, stepping in front of him with perfect timing.

“Tch—get lost redhead.” Karasu extended an arm, shielding the ball as he spun, dragging it away from Chigiri while keeping his body between them.

For a split second, he felt confident—

he had created space.

But he failed to notice the presence slipping silently behind him.

Reo.

In his blindspot.

By the time Karasu sensed it—it was already too late. Reo’s foot tapped the ball free.

“Thanks for the opening Chigiri,” Reo chimed, excitement bubbling in his voice.

Chigiri grinned, delighted. “Nice steal Reo!”

Shidou’s smile widened. “Now that’s what I call coordination!”

Karasu’s jaw clenched, frustration bursting out in a low growl.

“Shit—!”

It became Tanaka and Sokura versus Reo—or so they thought.

Reo approached Tanaka at full speed, eyes locked on him… then abruptly slowed, almost stopping.

Tanaka flinched, confused.

Reo’s gaze shifted—not at Tanaka, but toward the left flank.

Nagi.

Nagi was sprinting down the touchline, smooth and inevitable as a tide rolling in.

Tanaka’s instincts kicked in and he turned toward Nagi, preparing to intercept the pass he assumed was coming.

And that was when Reo struck.

While still looking at Nagi—body language, eyes, posture, everything telegraphing a left-side pass—Reo flicked the ball to the opposite direction.

Straight into the lane where Isagi was already cutting into Sokura’s blindspot.

Tanaka’s breath caught.

“A no-look pass…?! This guy’s got crazy skills too—!”

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he caught movement—Isagi, threading between people, eyes locked on the ball.

Panic surged through Tanaka’s chest.

“Sokura!! ISAGI’S BEHIND YOU!!”

Sokura whipped around instantly—but Isagi wasn’t there. Isagi had already veered around him, slipping ghostlike into the opposite side of his vision.

So when Sokura turned, all he saw was empty space.

“What—?!” Sokura staggered, turning again—

only for Isagi to appear at his back yet again.

Tanaka watched, stunned.

“Get the ball!! SOKURA!!”

But Sokura’s legs weren’t cooperating.

The sharp turns had thrown off his balance; his vision swam and his footing wobbled. In that moment of chaos, Isagi took a clean touch—

tap

—and trapped the ball effortlessly beneath his foot. Sokura spun a final time, dizzy and off-balance, and saw—Isagi.

Karasu’s jaw tightened, voice sharp and cutting as he barked at Sokura:

“Seriously, Sokura?! You’re spinning around like a headless idiot while he’s running circles around you? Get your act together!”

Otoya let out a faint smirk, muttering,

“Yikes…” his eyes still fixed on Isagi, clearly impressed but amused by Sokura’s floundering.

Otoya accelerated, slipping past the chaos with uncanny timing, and slid in front of Isagi.

He planted his feet firmly, hand extended like a barrier. “Road’s closed, buddy,” he said, voice calm but edged with warning.

Isagi’s lips curved into a faint grin. “Looks pretty open to me,” he said, feinting to the right before swiftly cutting left.

Karasu’s eyes narrowed, stepping into the path. “Not so fast, Isagi!”

“Oh—oh, okay,” Isagi muttered, dropping his body low and shielding the ball with precision. His eyes flicked to Reo, who waved frantically.

“Reo! I’m sending it!” Isagi called out, sending a fast, low ground pass toward him.

Tanaka lunged, voice cracking with effort. “Got it—!”

But the ball slipped past by mere centimeters, grazing the tip of his shoe without altering its course.

“Dammit!” Tanaka yelled, stumbling as he tried to recover.

Reo caught the ball cleanly, grinning. “Nice one!”

Karasu groaned. “Damn it… he’s everywhere at once!”

Otoya let out a faint smirk. “Yikes… and he’s calm the whole time,” he muttered, eyes never leaving Isagi.

Isagi shifted his weight, already preparing his next move. “Your turn,” he said quietly to Reo, a spark of anticipation in his voice.

Reo laughed, pumping a fist. “Leave it to me, Yocchan!”

Karasu snapped back into command mode, pointing sharply as Reo started driving forward.

“Himizu! Cut off his shooting course—now!” he barked.

Himizu flinched but obeyed instantly, sprinting in a wide arc to close the angle. His eyes darting nervously between Reo and Isagi—as if getting too close to either of them might get him eaten alive.

Reo saw it all—the panic, the hesitation, the desperate adjustment.

And he smiled.

A thin, electric grin.

The air around him seemed to thrum.

Reo’s pupils sharpened, a vibrant purple spark igniting behind them like wildfire catching dry grass.

“Perfect timing…” he whispered, lowering his center of gravity.

Karasu’s expression twisted. “Shit—he’s going to pass to Isagi again!”

Otoya’s eyebrow twitched upward. “Oh boy. I think it is something else Karasu…”

Himizu skidded in front of Reo, trying to predict his angle, his breath hitching. “I—I’ll block him—!”

Reo’s outline blurred.

Chameleon – Mode Karasu activated.

A cold, effortless calm fell over him—Karasu’s trademark arrogance made manifest.

Reo extended an arm, posture shifting into that same controlled, predatory stance Karasu had used earlier.

“Move,” Reo said, voice low and razor-edged—almost a perfect imitation of Karasu’s tone.

Himizu lunged in with a desperate stride—

—and Reo spun.

A smooth, fluid drag-back that pulled the ball out of reach with insulting ease.

Himizu’s foot sliced through empty space.

“Wha—?!” he blurted, stumbling forward.

Reo barely looked at him as he shielded the ball with his shoulder, body language dripping with Karasu’s quiet confidence.

Karasu felt his stomach drop.

“No way… don’t tell me he’s copying me—!”

But Reo wasn’t done.

Himizu corrected his footing and threw himself again to the inside, trying to cut off the shot course like Karasu told him—

—and Reo dragged the ball back again, the motion so eerily identical to Karasu’s earlier play that even Otoya laughed under his breath.

“Man… that’s definitely Karasu’s style. He even got the attitude right.”

Himizu gasped, unable to track which side Reo would shift to next.

Reo leaned in, eyes glowing purple.

“Watch closely,” he said, voice dripping with confidence that wasn’t his own,

“because I only need the parts of Karasu that work.”

Himizu froze—split-second hesitation.

Chameleon – Mode Otoya activated.

Reo’s posture shifted instantly.

The grounded, confident Karasu-like stance evaporated—

and his presence lightened, becoming slippery, weightless, impossible to pin down.

Otoya’s eyes widened.

“Ohhh damn… he’s switching again?”

Karasu snapped his head toward him, scowling.

“Oi—don’t sound impressed.”

Reo’s steps blurred—quiet, soft, ghostlike.

He skimmed the turf like he wasn’t touching it.

Then—

He disappeared from Himizu’s field of awareness.

“Wh—where’d he—?!” Himizu choked out.

Reo had slipped behind him exactly like Otoya would—cutting into the blindspot with an elegance that bordered on mockery.

Otoya let out a low whistle. “Heh… that’s my move.”

Karasu’s eye twitched violently.

“OTOYA—stop PRAISING him!!”

But Otoya was too busy watching Reo to care.

Himizu spun—too late.

Reo was already there, sliding past him with a whisper of purple fire in his eyes.

“Whoosh,” he murmured, drifting through the blindspot and bursting into open space.

He was perfectly set to strike, pass, or dismantle them further.

But the moment his foot touched the turf again, something changed.

The ghostlike fluidity of Mode Otoya faded.

Karasu noticed immediately.

“Tch—he switched out of it…!”

Himizu scrambled to recover, gasping.

“What—what’s coming next—?!”

Reo didn’t answer.

He didn’t even look.

He centered his weight, right foot drawing back with a clean, controlled snap—

no mimicry, no borrowed movement.

Just Reo’s own polished technique.

Karasu lunged. “Don’t let him shoot—!!”

Reo exhaled, pupils burning with fierce violet intensity.

“Sorry,” he said almost casually,

“but this goal is mine.”

He swung his leg through in a smooth, powerful arc—not flashy, not chaotic, not sneaky—just perfectly timed.

The shot exploded off his foot, ripping through the air toward the goal.

The ball screamed toward the net and the keeper’s hands barely twitched before it ripped past him.

THWAM!!

GOOOOOAL !!!!

Team A ( 2 ) vs Team C ( 0 )

The net bulged violently.

Reo straightened, chest rising with a controlled breath as he lowered his kicking foot.

A slow, satisfied grin spread across his face.

“Told you,” he murmured, violet sparks still lingering in his eyes,

“that one was mine.”

Karasu clicked his tongue sharply. “Tch—damn copycat…”

Otoya slid in beside him, hands behind his head, smirking lazily.

“Copycat or not… he’s rank 10 for a reason,” he said. “You really thought he wouldn’t score if you gave him that much space?”

Karasu shot him a sideways glare. “Shut it.”

But Otoya only laughed, eyes following Reo as he jogged back with that sharp, violet glint still fading from his pupils.

Reo jogged back toward his team, the aftershock of the shot still buzzing in his veins. His expression was composed—satisfied, controlled—but inside he could feel the adrenaline sparking under his skin.

Shidou was the first to reach him.

The pink-haired striker slid an arm around Reo’s shoulders, grin sharp and wicked.

“Daaamn, Reo-chaaaan~,” Shidou purred, voice dripping with that dangerous, zesty lilt of his. “Didn’t know you could make a goal sing like that. That shot, no... that entire play was my type of explosion. I’m kinda turned on.”

“Shut up Shidou, too much information,” Reo muttered instantly, ears going red—because Shidou’s compliments always sounded like a threat and a proposition at the same time.

Before he could peel him off—

“REO!!”

A pair of arms slammed around him from the front.

Hard.

Reo made a strangled “hkk—!!” sound as Isagi Yoichi squeezed him with full emotional force, practically crushing the air out of his lungs.

“That was insane, Reo!” Isagi beamed, completely oblivious as Reo’s spine bent like a question mark. “You’ve gotten crazy strong!”

Reo’s hands flailed uselessly, tapping Isagi’s back like he was sending Morse code for help.

“A—Yocchan—! Can’t— breathe—!!”

But Isagi, vibrating with pride and adrenaline, didn’t loosen at all.

A shadow fell over them—then a hand.

Reo blinked.

Nagi stood there, expression calm but eyes bright with genuine excitement.

He lifted his hand high. “Reo. High five.”

Reo, still crushed, could barely lift his arm. It flopped weakly upward.

Isagi finally blinked, noticing something was off.

“Oh—wait—sorry!”

He released Reo, who stumbled forward, sucking in air like he’d just resurfaced from the ocean.

Nagi didn’t lower his hand.

Reo, still dazed, finally slapped his palm against Nagi’s.

SMACK.

Nagi’s lips curled into a small, rare smile.

“That play was sick. Do it again.”

Chigiri jogged up right after, practically glowing with energy.

“That shot was amazing, Reo!”

Reo, still recovering from oxygen deprivation and embarrassment, managed a breathless grin. “Thanks… I—I kinda felt it, you know? Everything just clicked.”

Both teams shifted into formation.

Otoya planted the ball under his foot, glancing sideways with a faint smirk.

Match restart!

He tapped the ball lightly toward Karasu. 

Karasu barely had time to shift his weight before a shadow dropped over him.

Shidou slid in close—too close—grinning wide, eyes burning pink.

“Well hellooo, Karasu-chan,” he purred, leaning in with predatory delight. “You ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

Karasu scoffed, irritation flashing across his face. “Move, freak.”

He snapped into a flurry of stepovers—crisp, fast, stylish—each one forcing Shidou’s center of gravity to twitch.

Shidou’s grin only widened.

“Whoooa—sweet technique!”

Karasu ignored him and burst forward—

—but froze the moment he locked eyes with Isagi.

Isagi was right there.

Focused.

Reading him.

Waiting.

Karasu felt his pulse spike.

Tch… not him. I’ve gotta avoid him. Someone—someone to pass to…

Then he saw it.

“Himizu!!” he barked. “Incoming—go!”

He fired the pass forward with a sharp swing of his foot.

Isagi clicked his tongue in frustration, legs already pushing off the turf.

“Tch…”

The ball soared toward Himizu just as Chigiri came tearing across the pitch—fast enough to blow the grass sideways, eyes locked on the falling ball.

Himizu trapped it cleanly with a soft touch.

Chigiri arrived a split-second later.

Himizu leaned back, lips curling into a slow, mocking grin.

“Oooooh—you’re reeeeeeally faaaast,” he sang in a stretched-out, taunting voice. “Sooooo… whaaaaat shooould I doooo?”

His whole body tilted right—

Chigiri followed instantly—

And Himizu snapped left.

Chigiri slammed on the brakes, skidding, pivoting hard in the opposite direction.

Then Himizu twisted again.

Then again.

Sharp, tight cuts—like he was testing how many times Chigiri’s joints could handle a full-speed directional change.

“Chigiri!! STOP!!” Isagi’s voice cracked across the pitch.

Chigiri’s breath quivered. “B-But—!”

“You’re gonna BREAK if you keep matching his turns!”

But Himizu only smirked wider.

“Oh? Sounds like your friend is worried about your le—”

He didn’t finish.

Because the moment he beat Chigiri with one more cut—

—he slammed chest-first into a wall.

A pink-haired, grinning, bloodthirsty wall.

Shidou.

Their bodies collided with a dull THUD, the ball ricocheting loose.

Himizu staggered back, clutching his chest.

“Wh—YOU?! Weren’t you with Karasu?!”

Shidou tilted his head, grin stretching, eyes shining with wild delight.

“Did you really think,” he purred, leaning in close,

“I was gonna stay in the same spot the whole time?”

He flashed a row of sharp teeth.

“I go where the fun is.”

Himizu’s eyes went wide—

too late.

Shidou shouldered him aside like he weighed nothing, sending Himizu stumbling into the turf.

The ball rolled free—straight toward Otoya.

Otoya swept it up in stride, body dipping low as he accelerated.

Shidou snapped around.

“TOPKNOT!! Get the damn ball!! Don’t let him shoot!!”

Reo clicked his tongue and pushed off with explosive urgency.

“I’ll make it in time,” he muttered, legs burning as he sprinted. “I can block his shot—!”

Otoya neared the penalty arc.

His shoulders squared, hips angled, eyes locked on the far corner. A clear shot-posture.

Reo lunged in, swinging his arm across Otoya’s chest to cut the angle.

“Got you—!”

But Otoya’s mouth curled into a sly, foxlike grin.

“Do you?”

He didn’t shoot.

He passed.

A short, sharp, perfectly weighted touch—

slipping under Reo’s arm and skimming across the grass.

Reo’s eyes widened, momentum carrying him too far forward.

“What—?!”

Otoya chuckled as he slid past him.

“You thought I’d shoot with you breathing down my neck? c’mon Reo… you should know better than that.”

The ball was already rolling toward—

Karasu, storming in from the outside lane.

The pass skipped across the turf, straight into Karasu’s stride.

His eyes lit up.

A thrill ran through him, sharp and electric, like black feathers scattering on a sudden updraft.

“Heh… perfect.”

Karasu didn’t slow down.

He slid his foot over the ball, setting the angle with a smooth, hungry precision—and then he struck.

THWACK—!!

The shot ripped off his boot like a jet of black fire, skimming low and fast, the faint shimmer of crow-like feathers seeming to spiral off its path in his wake.

Team A’s Blue Lock Man dropped—too slow.

The ball blasted past him and hammered into the net.

GOOOOOAL !!!!

Team A ( 2 ) vs Team C ( 1 )

Karasu straightened, breath sharp with adrenaline, a grin stretching across his face—wide, wild, alive.

“Hah! That’s what I’m talking about!”

Otoya jogged up beside him, hand shooting out with a grin.

“Nice one, Karasu!”

Their palms collided with a crisp slap, the sound echoing briefly across the field. Otoya laughed, eyes sparkling. “That’s the way to do it!”

Karasu’s grin widened, a sharp gleam in his eyes. “Heh… you feel that, Otoya? That’s pure excitement.”

Himizu jogged up next, grinning, and slapped his palm against Karasu’s.

“Nice goal, Karasu!” he said, full of energy.

Karasu’s grin spread, black-feathered energy swirling around him. “Nice work beating Chigiri. Keep it up, and mind yer positioning—stick to him, but avoid Isagi Yoichi, ya hear?”

Himizu laughed, nodding. “Of course!”

Meanwhile over at Team A, Isagi jogged up to Reo. “You think you could handle Himizu if you had to?” he asked casually, almost rhetorical.

Reo raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t Chigiri already on him?”

Isagi shook his head slightly, eyes serious. “Yeah… but look. Himizu’s moves—those sharp, sudden turns—he’s going to force Chigiri into repeated pivots and stops. Even though he’s recovered, his ACL isn’t invincible. One wrong angle, one slip… he could re-aggravate it.”

Reo blinked, processing the weight behind Isagi’s words. “Ah… you mean I take him on so Chigiri doesn’t risk that knee again?”

“Exactly,” Isagi said, nodding. “You’ve got the skill to mirror and counter him. That way we keep Himizu contained and Chigiri safe. Smart play, not reckless heroics.”

Isagi added, “If you don’t want to switch onto him, I can take Himizu instead.”

Reo shook his head almost instantly. “No. I’ve got it.”

He straightened up, confidence steady. “If it keeps Chigiri safe, I’ll handle Himizu. Leave it to me.”

Isagi nodded once. “Alright. Then I’m counting on you.”

Match restart!

Isagi took the ball, scanned once, and fired a clean pass up the field.

Shidou received it in stride. “Thanks, Isagi!” he barked, already exploding forward with manic energy. His feet hammered the turf—one touch, two—before someone snapped into his path.

Tanaka.

Shidou skidded to a halt, annoyed. “Tch—on me fast, huh?”

A grin curled. “Doesn’t matter. A small fry like you can’t stop me—YAHAH!”

He lunged, bulldozing past with raw force—but the ball didn’t follow.

Shidou’s eyes widened. “Hah?”

Someone was behind him.

Sokura.

The thief straightened with the ball at his feet, sharp and composed. Shidou snarled as he spun around. “A 2v1, huh? Clever little punks…”

Sokura ignored him, already slipping a pass wide.

Himizu received it with a delighted hiss, split tongue flicking over his lips. “Fufufu… sweet.”

Chigiri burst toward him instantly—but Reo’s voice cut through the air like a command.

“Chigiri! Back off!”

Himizu’s eyes flared with excitement. “Oh? Perfect chance!”

He slashed forward, trying to blitz past—but Chigiri reacted with lightning reflexes, cutting across him.

Himizu clicked his tongue and snapped into brutal, jagged turns, twisting and pivoting with malicious intent.

Chigiri planted hard—and pain shot through his knee.

“—gh!”

He grimaced, momentum stuttering.

Himizu’s grin stretched wide, pupils trembling with mania. “Kihihi—look at that! Wide open!”

He wound up to shoot—

“GRAHH!!”

Reo crashed into him with overwhelming force, body-to-body, ripping the ball away.

“You’re three seconds too slow, asshole.”

Himizu’s face contorted with frustration. “Tch!!”

Before Reo could transition the ball away, Karasu swooped in from the flank, feathers-in-dark-motion, offering support.

Himizu snapped the pass toward him, jaw clenched.

But the pass never arrived...

Nagi cut in exactly on the passing line, his step light but decisive. He lifted his leg high and angled his foot, catching the ball out of the air with a crisp, perfect trap.

His eyes burned—dark grey mixing with black fire, sharp and hungry.

Karasu’s pupils tightened. “—Nagi?!”

Nagi’s voice came low, electrified. “Bet you forgot about me.”

Nagi rolled the ball down his instep and burst forward—

—and that was when Tanaka and Sokura slid into position, blocking his lane.

Tanaka gritted his teeth, eyes locked on Nagi’s burning gaze. “Sokura—together! We’re stopping him here!”

Sokura nodded sharply, muscles tensing. “Right behind you!”

Nagi didn’t slow.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t even acknowledge them.

He just kept dribbling, smooth and fast, the black-grey fire in his eyes intensifying into something darker—something that felt like a death omen more than emotion.

A cold, skeletal aura unfurled behind him, a looming shadow shaped like a grinning skull.

“Just try to stop me,” Nagi murmured, voice low and laced with lethal intent.

Tanaka and Sokura both flinched—their bodies shuddering despite themselves.

Tanaka’s jaw tightened, eyes flicking between Nagi and Sokura. “Sokura… what the hell do we do?!”

Sokura’s hands clenched, knuckles whitening, but his gaze never left Nagi. “We… we have to contain him. Stick close. Don’t give him an inch.”

Nagi’s foot tapped the ball upward, lifting it in a soft lob that floated above Tanaka and Sokura. Both players froze, eyes following its slow rise, confusion tightening across their faces.

“What… is he doing?” Tanaka muttered, stepping back slightly.

“Did he… screw up?” Sokura whispered, eyebrows knitting as he hesitated, unsure whether to press forward or stay back.

But Nagi didn’t hesitate. He leapt, twisting in midair, and met the falling ball with a razor-sharp side-kick. The ball sliced through the space between them with precision, landing at Isagi’s feet like it had been guided there by invisible hands.

Isagi, who had been weaving through blindspots and gaps unnoticed, caught the ball cleanly, planting his stance.

Tanaka’s breath hitched the moment the ball dropped perfectly to Isagi’s feet.

“Wait—that was on purpose?!” he blurted, eyes snapping between Nagi and Isagi. The realization struck like lightning. “They planned that?!”

“Shit—it was a pass, watch Isagi!” Sokura barked, panic creeping into his voice.

Karasu’s voice cut through the confusion.

“Otoya! Man-mark Isagi—now!”

Otoya grimaced, shoulders tensing as he broke into a sprint.

“Hmph… fine,” he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. “But I don’t know about this Karasu… I’ve got a bad feeling.”

“It’ll be fine,” Karasu shot back sharply. “Himizu—go to Nagi! Don’t let him breathe!”

Himizu darted off, and Otoya closed in fast on Isagi.

The moment Otoya stepped in range, Isagi scooped the ball up with a swift, fluid motion.

A perfect rainbow flick.

The ball arced over Otoya’s head—clean, effortless, and humiliating.

Otoya’s eyes went wide.

“—You’ve gotta be kidding me!” he gasped, twisting too late as Isagi slipped past him, already accelerating into open space.

Karasu’s confidence shattered the instant the ball sailed over Otoya’s head.

Otoya was still turning, desperately trying to recover, while Isagi exploded past him like a released arrow.

Karasu’s jaw clenched, a cold spike of panic stabbing through his chest.

“Tch… damn it,” he muttered under his breath, eyes locking onto Isagi. “If I don’t stop him right now… he is going to score.” He pushed off hard, breaking into a sprint.

Karasu was closing in fast—but Isagi caught the rhythm instantly. He angled his body, ready to shield the ball with his left arm and fire off a shot. Then he saw him—

Otoya, already recovered, already sweeping in front to block his shot course.

They had boxed him in perfectly.

Isagi clicked his tongue, a small smile curling at the edge of his mouth. “Well… I don’t mind an assist.”

With a sharp, almost casual motion, he popped the ball up with his heel—

then flicked it backward with the same foot, blind and clean, threading it through the tiny lane between Karasu’s outstretched leg and Otoya’s lunge.

Both players froze.

Otoya’s voice cracked. “H-He passed that with his heel?!”

Karasu’s eyes widened, words spilling out in disbelief. “That is unbelievable…!”

But the ball was already gone—rolling perfectly into Nagi’s path.

Nagi’s eyes blazed, pupils dilating, a surge of adrenaline exploding through him like a spark to dry leaves.

He stepped toward the ball—

Then—

A sudden weight pressed into his back. Himizu.

Two more players rushed toward him—Tanaka on the left, Sokura on the right.

Three bodies collapsing onto him at once.

Nagi didn’t stiffen—he thrummed. Every nerve lit up. His breath hitched, not in fear—but excitement.

“Here I go, egoists,” he whispered, voice trembling with raw thrill.

Time thickened around him.

Himizu’s arm clamped around his torso—

“Wha—he’s still moving?!” Himizu gasped, feeling Nagi’s muscles.

Tanaka’s foot stabbed for the ball.

Sokura lunged to smother any space—

“He’s gonna do something crazy, restrict his movements!!” Sokura yelled, eyes wide.

Nagi’s body ignited.

His right foot lifted—not loose, but sharp and controlled, vibrating with energy.

He let the ball roll slightly up the side of his foot, absorbing it with calm precision.

Then he exploded.

A spinning twist—violent, fast, unrestrained—his shoulder tearing past Himizu’s chest, his hips slicing under Tanaka’s arm, his planted foot carving a harsh line into the turf.

“WHAT—?!” Himizu’s voice cracked, stumbling off balance.

“How did he slip out?!” Tanaka choked.

The ball skimmed up his shin—

caught air—

And with a fierce snap of his leg, he struck.

“…I am death.”

TWACKK!!

“Block it—block the shot—!” Sokura shouted.

A distorted, corkscrewing-shot launched the ball upward—curving, dipping, rising again, a bizarre spin that defied its own trajectory.

It bent past Sokura’s outstretched boot, slid over Tanaka’s head as he leapt with all his strength, legs straining… and still, the ball soared beyond his reach.

Tanaka’s teeth clenched, chest heaving. “No… I can’t get it…!”

Himizu could only stare, breath caught in his throat. “What is that shot…?”

Blue Lock Man finally saw it—

just as it veered again, impossibly.

He dove.

Too late.

The ball slammed into the upper netting with a vicious snap.

GOOOOOOOOAL !!!!!!

Team A ( 3 ) vs Team C ( 1 )

Then Nagi landed, chest heaving, adrenaline roaring through him, eyes widened with pure ecstasy.

A breath…

and then he almost yelled, voice cracking with exhilaration—

“DAMN, THAT FEELS GOOD!”

His grin was feral.

He looked alive.

He felt unstoppable.

Isagi stood a few meters away, eyes locked on him—a stunned smile tugging at his lips.

“…Nagi…” he whispered, almost in disbelief, watching his fired-up close friend burn with a rare, explosive energy.

Before Nagi could even turn around, a blur of red hair slammed into him.

“THAT WAS SICK, NAGI!!”

Chigiri launched himself onto Nagi’s back with a full-force leap.

“Wha—Chigiri?!” Nagi yelped as the momentum carried both of them down.

They crashed onto the turf in a tangled heap, Chigiri laughing breathlessly while Nagi exhaled in a mix of surprise and lingering adrenaline.

Isagi jogged toward them, unable to stop the grin spreading across his face as he watched his teammate—his partner—glow in a way only Nagi could.

Nagi groaned as he hit the grass, Chigiri still practically draped across him.

“Chigiri… get off…” he muttered, though the grin breaking across his face betrayed how fired up he still was.

Chigiri pushed himself up slightly, laughing. “Nagi, you deserved that! Who the hell shoots like that? That was insane!”

He paused mid-laugh, eyes sliding toward Isagi.

“…Actually, never mind. You two psychos do this kinda stuff all the time.”

Isagi blinked. “Huh?”

Chigiri pointed between them, exasperated.

“Nagi pulls off crazy shots that look like they shouldn’t physically exist, and you—” he jabbed a finger at Isagi “—you’re out here doing impossible plays, aiming through gaps no human should even see, and bending shots with curves I didn’t even know were possible!”

He ran a hand through his hair, laughing in disbelief.

“Honestly? I’d almost believe it if someone told me Isagi was some artificially-made genius or got secret training from a shady underground organization. Hah!”

Nagi snorted. “Yeah. Would explain a lot.”

Isagi blinked. “Uh—what kind of backstory are you giving me right now?”

Before anyone could reply—Reo jogged up, his expression a mix of awe and amusement as he came to a stop beside Isagi.

“Whoa… Nagi! That might have been your best goal yet!” he exclaimed, giving his teammate a firm, congratulatory slap on the back. “Seriously, that was insane. How do you even…?” He trailed off, glancing between Nagi, Isagi, and the still-laughing Chigiri.

Shidou was close behind him, arms crossed but eyes sharp and curious. “Yeah, what’s going on here? Are you three making a scene over one goal?” He glanced between them, genuinely interested. “Though… I have to admit, that goal was something.”

Isagi’s eyes widened slightly, and he let out a dry laugh. “‘Something’? Are you kidding me? That goal wasn’t ‘something’—it was insane.”

Shidou’s eyes narrowed, a sharp edge in his tone. “Whoa, Isagi-chan.... are you picking a fight with me over wording?”

Isagi crossed his arms, leaning slightly forward. “Not picking a fight… just calling it like it is.”

Shidou clicked his tongue, annoyance and amusement blending together. “Look, I like you, Isagi. Like A LOT. You’re one of the few people I actually enjoy being around.”

Then he shot him a sharp glare, his expression twisting into something openly pissed off.

“But don’t think being cute—or hot—gets you immunity. Don’t piss me off. I’ll still hit you if I feel like it.”

Isagi didn’t even blink. “You really think you can beat me in a fight?”

His tone wasn’t loud—just sharp, almost bored, like the idea itself was pathetic. “Try it. You’ll find out fast you’re not half as tough as you think.”

Chigiri, who had been watching the tension spike like a bomb timer, finally stepped in with a sharp exhale.

“Alright, stop,” he said, sliding between them before the air could ignite any further. “Can you two not start a murder attempt in the middle of a conversation?”

He glanced at Shidou first.

“Shidou, you start fights without even thinking. Just chill for a second.”

Then he turned to Isagi—eyes narrowing because, for once, Isagi looked way too ready to swing back.

“And you—why are you provoking him like you actually want this? You do realize he’ll take you up on it, right?”

Otoya practically materialized beside them, eyes glittering with excitement.

“No, no—don’t stop them,” he said, grinning like a fox. “Let them fight. I want to see this. Shidou vs. Isagi? That’s premium entertainment.”

Karasu pinched the bridge of his nose so hard it looked like it physically hurt.

“Are you all brain-dead?”

He pointed at the ball still sitting on the field, abandoned.

“We’re in the middle of a match. A match. And you idiots want to actually fight? Unbelievable. I can’t believe we are losing to you guys.”

Before anyone could process the rising tension, Shidou suddenly moved.

A sharp, explosive jump—

Shidou’s leg swinging through the air with the full intent of kicking Isagi’s head clean off.

Chigiri shouted,

“SHIDOU—!!”

But Isagi wasn’t there anymore.

With a perfectly timed slip of his footing, he dodged beneath the arc of Shidou’s leg—

Just a hair’s breadth from taking his head off—

And Isagi’s hand snapped upward, grabbing Shidou’s leg mid-swing.

Shidou’s eyes widened, shock flickering across his face. “Huh—? You dodged that?”

Isagi’s grip around Shidou’s leg tightened.

Then, without a single wasted second, he yanked Shidou downward with brutal strength.

Shidou’s body slammed into the ground with a heavy thud.

“G—gh!?” Shidou hissed, the air blasting out of his lungs as pain shot up his back. His hand clawed at the dirt, teeth grinding.

Everyone froze.

Otoya’s jaw dropped.

“HOLY—OH MY GOD YES THAT WAS AMAZING—”

Karasu looked like he’d aged ten years in one second.

“WHY. ARE. YOU. LIKE. THIS.”

Reo yelled, panicking,

“YOCCHAN!! STOP—STOP—STOP—!”

But Isagi wasn’t listening.

He stepped forward, eyes locked on Shidou with a cold, unblinking intensity.

He raised his leg — high, deliberate, aiming straight down. Isagi was absolutely going to stomp Shidou’s face in.

Before he could bring it down, a shape slid between them.

Nagi.

He planted himself directly in front of Shidou, one hand held out firmly.

“Ookay… that’s enough,” Nagi said flatly. “We’re not doing a murder today.”

Isagi froze mid-motion, chest rising and falling with restrained adrenaline.

Nagi tilted his head, sighing.

“Seriously, Isagi? I know he deserved it… but don’t make it my problem by getting kicked out of Blue Lock.”

Behind him, Shidou wheezed, still flat on his back.

Otoya whispered, awestruck,

“Isagi just folded Shidou like laundry—”

Karasu snapped, “SHUT UP OTOYA.”

Reo rushed over, grabbing Isagi’s arm, voice shaking. “Yocchan—enough. Please. Please just stop before you get kicked out of Blue Lock, arrested, or worse.”

Isagi’s expression softened just slightly at the sound of Reo’s voice… but his eyes never left Shidou.

Shidou coughed, wincing, but still grinning like a lunatic. “Heh… that all you got…?”

Isagi let out a slow exhale, the edge finally leaving his stance.

He lowered his foot and stepped back, rubbing the tension out of his jaw.

“Relax,” Isagi said, voice calm again. “We’re done.”

Shidou blinked, surprised at how quickly the rage had dropped.

Isagi nodded toward the ball. “Come on. Let’s finish the match.”

Shidou pushed himself up on an elbow, breathing hard.

Then, unexpectedly, he let out a low laugh—less wild, more genuine.

“You’re crazy, you know that?” he said, shaking his head. “Dodging my kick… slamming me like that… That was fun.”

Isagi snorted. “Fun? You almost took my head off.”

“Yeah,” Shidou grinned, “and you stopped me. Fair trade.”

For a moment, something unspoken passed between them—mutual acknowledgment, mutual thrill, mutual respect born from almost beating the hell out of each other.

Shidou stuck out his hand.

“Come on, Isagi. No hard feelings?”

Isagi looked at it, then at Shidou—and grabbed his hand, pulling him up.

“No hard feelings,” he said, steady. “Just don’t try to kick me again.”

Shidou huffed a laugh. “No promises.”

Isagi’s grip tightened just enough to make the point clear. “Then I’ll just beat you up again.”

Shidou froze for half a second—then burst into a wild, delighted laugh.

“Ohhh, that’s hot,” he said, grinning like a maniac.

Otoya whistled low. “Okay, so they’re friends again?”

Karasu dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t care. Please. For the love of football. Can we play now?”

Shidou dusted off his jersey and stood beside Isagi, cracking his neck with a wicked smile.

“Alright. I still need to score a goal.”

Isagi smirked. “Try it.”

Chigiri blew out a relieved sigh and flicked his hair back. “Finally.”

The field reset around them, feet hitting turf, players spreading into formation.

Karasu stepped up to the ball, placing his boot lightly on top of it. And with a swift tap, he sent the ball rolling—the match was back on.

Match restart!

Karasu passed the ball smoothly to Himizu, calling over his shoulder, “Do it again, Himizu.”

Himizu caught it cleanly, eyes narrowing as he set his target on Chigiri. Every muscle tensed.

Chigiri noticed Himizu dribbling straight toward him and instinctively looked down at his knee. It was trembling slightly, betraying the tension building inside him.

Reo ran past Chigiri, ruffling his hair lightly in a gesture meant to reassure him. Chigiri’s shoulders twitched at the touch, a small, almost imperceptible shiver of relief running through him. His lips pressed together, trying not to show it, but inside he felt grateful—like Reo’s presence had anchored him.

Himizu’s expression darkened as he met Reo’s stance. “You again…” he muttered, clearly annoyed.

Reo tilted his head, voice calm but teasing. “Oh? Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Himizu tried a feint, then moved to dribble past Reo—but Reo anticipated it and blocked him instantly.

Himizu attempted another feint, but Reo read that one too, cutting him off again without breaking a sweat.

Frustration flickered across Himizu’s face. He clicked his tongue, licked his lips, and then made a decision. Instead of feints, he started dribbling with a series of sharp, sudden turns.

Chameleon – Mode Himizu activated.

Reo’s eyes narrowed. He shadowed Himizu perfectly, matching every sharp turn, every feint, every sudden acceleration. Wherever Himizu tried to open a gap, Reo was already there, sliding to block it, cutting angles, closing space.

Himizu attempted a sudden spin to the left, trying to fake Reo out—but Reo anticipated it, adjusting his stance instantly, positioning himself to intercept the ball if Himizu pushed forward.

A stutter-step, a rapid burst forward—Himizu tried everything, staccato stops and sudden starts—but Reo mirrored each movement flawlessly, never leaving an opening.

Himizu’s eyes narrowed, jaw tight. He lunged for a sharper cut, aiming to slip past Reo’s side—but Reo shifted as if reading his mind, stepping into the path and forcing Himizu to veer away.

“Ugh… how—” Himizu muttered, frustration mounting.

He tried a double feint, left-then-right, hoping to create space—but Reo flowed with him, matching each fake, every pivot, every weight shift.

From far back, Tanaka shouted, “Go, Himizu! What are you doing?”

Himizu snapped, glaring. “I can’t! This guy—he won’t let me!”

Sokura’s voice rang out even louder. “Just go, Himizu! Stop overthinking it!”

Himizu clenched his jaw, scowling. “Fine…!” He forced the move, driving forward with all his strength.

But Reo was ready. With a swift step, he intercepted, stealing the ball cleanly. Himizu stumbled, almost losing his balance entirely.

“Argh! Dammit—Sokura! Tanaka!” Himizu shouted, glaring at them both as he tried to recover.

Reo didn’t let them have a second to think. With a controlled flick, he sent the ball rolling into open space, already calculating the next move.

Otoya froze, eyes wide. “Wait—who’s he passing to? There’s nobody there!”

He darted toward the ball, adrenaline spiking.

“Look out!” Karasu shouted, pointing toward Otoya.

Just as Otoya reached the spot, a blur of movement shot past him.

Chigiri came full speed, sliding in front of Otoya and snatching the ball with perfect timing. Without a pause, he sprinted forward, ball at his feet, charging down the field at full speed.

Sokura stepped in front, trying to block him—but Chigiri twisted sharply to the left, then cut back right, slipping past him as if Sokura weren’t even there.

Tanaka moved to intercept next, bracing himself—but Chigiri bent his body, leaned into a sudden sideways motion, and darted past him in a blink, leaving Tanaka lunging at empty air.

Then, without breaking his stride, Chigiri came to a sudden stop, planting his foot firmly beside the ball. He drew back his leg and struck. The ball surged forward, instantly enveloped in a red-pink blaze that shimmered and flickered around it, like fire streaking through the air.

It spun crisply as it cut toward the goal. The keeper lunged, diving, but Chigiri’s shot placement was perfect—low and to the far corner, beyond reach.

The ball slammed into the back of the net with a satisfying thud, the red-pink blaze still clinging to it for a moment in the air before fading.

GOOOOOAL !!!!

Team A ( 4 ) vs Team C ( 1 )

Chigiri slowed, breathing hard, the adrenaline still coursing through him. His teammates’ cheers filled the field, but one hand shot out before he could even register it.

Reo jogged up beside him, chest heaving, sweat glistening on his forehead. Without a second thought, he raised his hand for a high-five.

Chigiri smirked and slapped it. The force sent a tiny spray of sweat flicking across his eyes, stinging for a split second, but he didn’t flinch.

“Gah—hey! Watch it!” Chigiri exclaimed, blinking rapidly and wiping his face.

Reo laughed, breathless and wide-grinned. “That’s what happens when you work hard for a goal!”

Chigiri wiped his own hand on his jersey, chuckling despite the sting. “Yeah, yeah… just don’t blind me next time.”

As the rush finally settled in his chest, Chigiri turned his head—instinctively—to find Isagi.

Isagi was already watching him from across the field. When their eyes met, Isagi’s lips curved into a small, proud smile.

Just a quiet, solid “good job” between two players who knew exactly what that goal meant.

And Chigiri straightened a little, pulse still racing—but now for a different reason.

Himizu walked up to Karasu, frustration written all over his face, every step sharp and tense. The moment Chigiri’s celebration faded, he leaned in just enough so only Karasu could hear him.

“We can’t win like this,” he muttered, voice tight with irritation.

Karasu glanced sideways at him. “What are you talking about?”

Himizu jerked his chin toward Isagi, who was already jogging back into position with that cold, focused expression.

“He figured us out,” Himizu said, bitterness slipping through every word. “He switched everything. Instead of letting Chigiri take me, he put Reo on me. On purpose.”

“Reo isn’t just blocking me,” Himizu continued. “He’s copying me. Every feint, every turn, every pace change—he’s already moving before I even finish. I can’t lose him.”

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

“And those two—” he nodded slightly toward Tanaka and Sokura, who were too far to hear a word “—they’re not helping. They’re not fast enough, not good enough. All they do is shout. I’m stuck.”

Karasu let out a long breath through his nose, gaze tightening on the field.

“So?” Himizu asked, voice low, strained. “What now?”

Karasu shook his head once, slow.

“I’m out of ideas.”

Karasu’s admission sat between them like a final verdict. Himizu stared at him, waiting for some kind of follow-up… but there wasn’t one.

“No plan? Nothing?” he asked quietly.

Karasu shook his head again, jaw tight but eyes steady. “Like I said… I’m out of ideas.”

Himizu stared at him, waiting for any hint of a strategy—some backup plan, some spark—but nothing came.

“…So it’s over,” Himizu muttered. “There’s no way we’re making a comeback.”

Karasu didn’t argue. He didn’t even try to soften it. He just exhaled—long, resigned, almost calm.

“We lost the moment Isagi saw through us,” he said. “Everything after is just… formality.”

Himizu clicked his tongue, frustration bubbling up before sinking into something heavier.

Karasu glanced at him, voice low but certain. “That’s the truth of it.”

Himizu let out a slow breath, accepting the reality he didn’t want to face. “…Yeah.”

He hesitated for a moment, then turned slightly toward Otoya. “…What about you?” Himizu asked quietly. “Did you see this coming too?”

Otoya didn’t even look surprised by the question.

He just shrugged, hands behind his head, expression annoyingly relaxed.

“I mean… yeah,” he said bluntly. “I knew we were gonna lose before the match even started.”

Himizu frowned. “What? Why?”

Otoya gestured lazily toward Isagi with his thumb. “We’re up against the number one. You really think we were gonna outsmart him?”

He added with a half-grin, not unkind—just honest, “Be glad we lasted this long.”

Himizu grit his teeth, but he didn’t argue.

He couldn’t.

Because Otoya was right.

They stepped back into position—not with determination, but with the defeated pace of players simply seeing the match through.

Match restart!

Otoya tapped the ball forward and immediately passed it to Karasu.

Nagi, buzzing with excitement, darted in the moment Karasu received the ball.

“Heh… c’mon, Karasu—show me what you’ve got.”

Karasu barely had time to shift before Nagi pressed into him hard, forcing an instant clash.

Karasu dropped his center of gravity, shielding the ball with sharp, deliberate movement while Nagi prowled around him, trying to slip a foot in, testing every angle.

Their duel tightened—quick, tense, physical.

“Yer a real pain in the ass…” Karasu hissed under his breath.

But with a smooth pivot, he rolled the pressure off and nudged the ball backward—

Right into Otoya’s path, who had slipped perfectly into Chigiri’s blind spot.

Otoya caught the pass cleanly, grinning.

“Good pass, Karasu!”

He barely took two steps forward before a Shidou cut across his lane.

He slammed his foot down in front of Otoya’s dribble line, forcing him to halt instantly.

Shidou leaned forward with a sharp, mocking grin. “Nope,” he said flatly. “Not a good pass.”

Otoya blinked. “…Huh?” 

Frustration flickering across his face, Otoya decided to go for it anyway—aiming straight at the goal. He swung his leg, striking the ball cleanly, sending it flying with power toward the net.

Shidou reacted instantly. With a lightning-quick step to the side, he extended his leg just enough to clip the ball’s outer edge with the tip of his boot. The contact was minimal—but precise.

The ball’s flight shifted slightly, veering just enough to throw off the keeper’s angle. It slammed into the post with a sharp…

CLANG!

It bounced back into play.

Otoya groaned, eyes widening in disbelief, while Shidou smirked, clearly reveling in the perfect touch.

“Almost had it,” Shidou muttered. “Better luck next time.”

The ball bounced away from the post and rolled directly toward Himizu’s feet.

He leaned down, settling his stance, preparing to dribble, only to freeze when he saw Reo sliding smoothly into position in front of him—like he had been expecting this exact moment.

Himizu’s eyes narrowed, frustration bubbling. “Of course… it’s you again.”

Reo’s expression stayed calm, almost casual, as if reading Himizu’s thoughts.

“Can’t you go bother someone else for once?” Himizu muttered under his breath, voice low but laced with simmering annoyance. “You’re like my personal stalker at this point.”

Reo tilted his head, a faint grin spreading across hia face. “I’m just making sure you don’t get away with anything.”

Himizu’s eyes flicked toward the side, voice low and quick. “Hey… look behind you. Isn’t someone sneaking up?”

Reo’s head turned fractionally, just enough to test Himizu’s reaction—but not fully. His eyes immediately snapped back to the ball, unwavering.

Himizu groaned, muttering under his breath, “Figures… can’t fool this guy.”

Himizu sighed, frustration finally winning over effort. He nudged the ball backward with a sharp pass, sending it all the way to Tanaka.

Tanaka stopped it with his foot, eyes wide, confusion written across his face. “Wait… what? Why me?”

Himizu muttered something under his breath, shoulders slumping. He gave Reo one last glare before stepping back, defeated for the moment.

Tanaka looked between Reo and Himizu, uncertainty twisting his expression. “Uh… okay… now what?”

“Tanaka!” Tanaka froze as a sharp shout from Sokura pierced the moment. “Pay attention!”

Before he could react properly, Isagi came barreling through, his momentum unstoppable. He collided squarely into Tanaka, sending him stumbling backward.

“Ah! W-Wait! Help! Somebody—!” Tanaka’s voice pitched high as he flailed, panic flooding his movements.

Otoya’s eyes went wide, his mouth dropping slightly. He just stood there, hands half-raised, staring at the chaos.

“…What the hell is he doing?” Otoya muttered under his breath, completely bewildered by Tanaka’s panicked shouting.

Tanaka lunged forward, desperate to keep the ball under control, but the sudden chaos from Isagi’s earlier collision threw him off. The ball slipped free, rolling just far enough for Isagi to intercept it effortlessly.

Isagi’s eyes followed it, adjusting his stride. He caught the ball cleanly, trapping it beneath his foot with precise control. He glanced down at Tanaka, who was still flailing and trying to regain balance, and offered a small, almost playful nod.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice calm, almost teasing, before pivoting and pushing off for the next move.

Sokura, seeing the gap opening and Isagi moving past, didn’t hesitate. He dropped to the turf in a slide tackle, legs extended, aiming to knock the ball away before Isagi could gain full momentum. Dirt and turf kicked up around him as his boot shot forward.

Isagi’s eyes flicked down in a measured, instant calculation. Timing it perfectly, he lifted the ball with a subtle flick of his ankle, sending it just high enough to clear Sokura’s sliding legs. He landed lightly on the other side, keeping the ball glued to his feet as he rolled forward, unbroken and balanced.

Sokura skidded past, chest heaving, hands digging into the turf as he struggled to stop his momentum. His eyes followed Isagi’s rapid escape, frustration and disbelief etched across his face.

But Otoya had anticipated this. He had circled around after seeing Tanaka’s earlier panic, placing himself directly between Isagi and the goal.

“Good job, Otoya!” Karasu shouted from behind, impressed by the coverage.

Isagi slowed slightly, drawing Otoya in. He feinted, angling his body as if preparing for a direct strike.

“Not so fast, genius!” Otoya shouted, extending his leg, eyes locked on the ball. 

The moment Otoya’s leg shot out, Isagi executed the trick flawlessly—his shot was a fake. With a subtle shift of his hips and a controlled flick of his ankle, he sent the ball veering off in a slightly different direction, keeping full control as he pushed forward, leaving Otoya momentarily off-balance.

“Hey—a fake?!” Otoya exclaimed, scrambling, eyes widening in surprise as he realized he had fallen for the feint.

Karasu closed the distance fast, cutting in from the side. Isagi didn’t slow.

He angled his body again, winding up as if preparing for a powerful shot. Karasu braced himself, reading every twitch, every shift in Isagi’s hips.

But at the last second—

Isagi cut his foot under the ball.

A clean, controlled lift.

The ball popped upward in a tight arc, rising just above Karasu’s reach.

Karasu’s eyes widened.

“…A lift?!”

Karasu didn’t hesitate.

The moment the ball popped upward, he lunged forward, rising slightly off the ground, ready to shut it down with a header.

But Isagi was already reading him.

As the ball began to fall—just inches from Karasu’s forehead—Isagi darted a half-step forward and lifted his foot, catching the ball at its drop with perfect timing.

With a smooth upward flick of his toes—

tok

—the ball popped upward again, rising cleanly over Karasu’s attempted header.

Karasu landed awkwardly, eyes blown wide.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me—he lifted it twice?!”

Himizu stared, half impressed, half horrified, “…What kind of technique is that…?”

Otoya didn’t give up. He recovered quickly, eyes narrowing, body poised as he lunged toward the ball with precise timing.

Isagi launched himself into the air with explosive power, timing his jump perfectly with the ball’s descent. Otoya rose to meet it, eyes locked on the ball, ready to contest the ball with a header. But Isagi struck it with controlled force, a sharp, precise volley midair that sent the ball rocketing past Otoya’s reach. The momentum carried it straight toward Shidou, slicing through the gap in their defensive formation.

Shidou barely had a moment to think. The ball rocketed toward him with unstoppable force, perfectly timed and placed by Isagi’s strike. As it reached him, he couldn’t help but shout, “Isagi… you’re the best!”

Without hesitation, Shidou swung his leg back and connected.

A sharp, concussive thwack split the air. The ball compressed under the force of Shidou’s strike, snapping forward like a cannonball. Dirt kicked up where he planted his foot, sending vibrations up his leg. Every muscle in his body tensed, coiling and releasing in a single, violent motion.

The ball screamed through the air, a streak of pure power. Blue Lock Man lunged, eyes wide, hands reaching—but the strike tore past him before he could react.

It slammed into the net with a thunderous crash, the mesh quivering violently under the force. Not a goal, but an explosion—one perfect instant of raw, concentrated power.

GOOOOOOOAL !!!!!!!!!!!

Team A ( 5 ) vs Team C ( 1 )

A mechanical chime echoed from the field’s speakers.

“Third Selection, is now over.”

“Team A vs Team C:

Final score, 5–1. Team A wins.”

Shidou leapt high into the air, fists pumping, letting out a wild, triumphant “YAAAHHHH!!!” He tore across the field toward Isagi, grin stretched wide and eyes blazing.

But in his tunnel-vision excitement, he didn’t see Himizu stepping sideways into his path.

WHAM—!

Shidou slammed straight into Himizu, shoulders clashing hard. Both of them stumbled, but Himizu took the worst of it, skidding a step back before catching himself.

“The hell is your problem?” Himizu snapped, glaring daggers as he rubbed his shoulder.

Shidou rounded on him instantly, face contorting with irritation. “My problem? You walked into me, dumbass.” He jabbed a finger forward, expression looked like he was ready to explode. “You wanna start something?”

Himizu’s brow twitched. “Oh, you think I won’t?”

Shidou leaned in, eyes sparking with that unhinged, feral grin. “Try me.”

Shidou and Himizu collided shoulder-first, shoving, snarling. Himizu shoved back, louder this time.

“Talentless shithead!”

Shidou’s grin twitched. “Say that again, you little—”

Isagi stepped in, grabbing Shidou’s arm. “Cut it out Shidou. We won already. Let’s just leave.”

But Himizu scoffed and shoved Isagi too. “Tch—get out of the way.”

That was a big mistake.

Isagi’s expression switched instantly — cold, no emotion, almost like a different person. He let go of Shidou in a single smooth motion, stepping closer to Himizu.

“Don’t touch me.”

Himizu blinked, thrown off for half a second by how fast Isagi’s voice dropped in temperature. 

Himizu straightened, scoffing.

“Relax. All I did was—”

Isagi drove a punch into his gut, cutting the words right out of him.

“HGGK—!!”

Himizu folded over Isagi’s fist, choking on nothing, knees buckling.

“Hht—! Wa-wait, ple—”

Isagi didn’t let him finish.

He shifted slightly and hit him again, this time slamming his fist into the right side of Himizu’s torso, a deep, brutal shot that lit every nerve on fire.

“—GHHHH—!!”

Himizu collapsed completely, hands clutched around his stomach as he writhed on the turf.

Shidou stepped forward beside Isagi, cracking his knuckles, grinning like he’d been waiting for this.

“Oh? Not talking big now?” Shidou taunted, looking down at the crumpled Himizu. “Where’d all that attitude go?”

Himizu tried to push himself up on trembling elbows. “St…stop… I didn’t mea—”

Shidou cut him off with a savage kick, his heel smashing into Himizu’s shoulder.

“HHKK—!!” Himizu cried out, flinching violently as pain radiated through his arm and ribs. He collapsed onto the turf, gasping, his face nearly scraping the ground.

Shidou leaned over him, grinning. “Thought you were going to get up?”

Himizu coughed—blood mixing with spit—trying desperately to crawl backward.

“Y-You’re crazy—both of you—!”

Shidou crouched over him, grabbing the back of Himizu’s head and yanking it up so he was forced to look at them. “You started it,” Shidou hissed into his ear.

Himizu shook, panicked. “L-Let go—!”

Shidou smirked, glancing at Isagi. “Wanna do the honors?”

Isagi cracked his knuckles slowly, eyes cold. “Gladly.”

He stepped forward, raising his leg high for a crushing axe kick aimed straight at Himizu’s head.

BEEEEEEEEEP—!!!

KZZZTWHRAAAAK—!!!

A violent column of blue-white lightning blasted down around them.

Isagi and Shidou’s bodies seized instantly, backs arching as electricity ripped through them.

“G—GHHH—!!”

“NGHHH—!!”

The shock crushed them to the turf. Their limbs jerked, then went limp.

Both of them collapsed beside Himizu — unconscious, smoke rising faintly from their clothes.

Himizu lay twitching, barely alive, blood seeping into the grass.

The speakers clicked on.

Ego’s voice dropped across the field:

“Unbelievable.”

“......”

“I never thought I’d have to activate the anti-riot system.”

Japan Football Union - 22nd Floor

Conference Room

On the top floor of the JFU headquarters, inside the conference room, Itoshi Sae sat casually at the far end of a long polished wooden table.

With one leg crossed over the other, posture lazy but eyes sharp and bored. Hoichi stood stiffly beside Buratsuta, arms folded, jaw ticking. Buratsuta himself paced a few steps, the polished shoes of a tired bureaucrat clicking nervously.

“Let's get straight to it,” Buratsuta said, forcing a genial tone. “Your demands—”

“I watched them,” Sae cut in, voice flat. “Your so-called U-20 team.”

Hoichi stiffened. Buratsuta went still.

“I watched every clip you sent.” Sae’s eyes slid toward Hoichi like a scalpel. “They’re trash.”

Hoichi’s breath hitched, disbelief twisting into anger. “Excuse me?”

“Trash,” Sae repeated, tone flat and clinical, as if diagnosing a terminal illness. “Especially the forwards. Honestly…” He exhaled through his nose. “It was painful. Like watching a high-school cultural festival put on by kids who forgot the script.”

Buratsuta swallowed.

Sae continued, voice low and precise.

“They have no timing. No intuition. Their positioning is a joke—half the time they’re standing in places where I don’t even know what they thought would happen. Their touches are stiff, predictable… mechanical. As if their legs are controlled by someone watching a two-second delay.”

Hoichi’s jaw trembled with suppressed anger.

“And the finishing?” Sae let out a quiet, humorless breath. “Garbage seasoned with barf. It made me wonder if you coach them using blindfolds. Every shot was either a weak apology or a wild prayer. Half of them looked like the players were actively trying to miss.”

Sae leaned back in the chair, eyes half-lidded.

“It wasn’t even disappointing,” he said quietly. “Disappointment requires expectation. What you showed me was just… embarrassing. I don’t know how you managed to convince yourselves this is the national standard.”

Hoichi’s fists clenched so tightly his knuckles went white then he exploded. “You brat—! Who do you think you are?” He took a step forward, face red. “These are national representatives—my players—”

“Hoichi.” Buratsuta raised a hand, trying to calm him with the desperation of a man handling two bombs at once. “Please. Please. You need to be the adult in the room.”

Hoichi’s glare stayed locked on Sae, but he fell silent, breathing hard.

Sae let the moment stretch, unfazed. “…If that team is really the best you can give me,” he said quietly, rising from his chair, “I’m dropping out.”

Both men froze.

“I’m not wasting my time playing alongside a high school–tier squad,” Sae said as he adjusted his jacket. “Find another poster boy.”

He turned toward the door.

“W–wait—wait!” Buratsuta darted after him so quickly he almost tripped. “Itoshi Sae-kun, please—don't be hasty!”

Sae didn’t stop walking.

“You don’t like the forwards?” Buratsuta blurted. “That’s fine. That’s okay. We can get new ones! Anyone you want!”

Sae stopped.

Slowly, he looked back over his shoulder. “…Anyone I want?”

Buratsuta swallowed, seeing the hook sink in. “Y–yes! Of course! Anyone! An over-age player, a legend—hell, we can give you Ramos or Kazu if that’s what it takes!”

Hoichi stared at him in disbelief. “Chairman, are you insane—?!”

But Buratsuta didn’t dare break eye contact with Sae.

Sae turned fully, expression unreadable. “…Is Blue Lock also available?”

For a moment, Buratsuta hesitated. Just a flicker.

Then he nodded, fast, too fast. “If there are any players there you want by your side—just say the word. I’ll make the arrangements.”

Silence pulsed through the room.

Then—

A faint shimmer radiated off Sae, like air warping over flames. His aura flared around him, red tinged with pink, sharp and dangerous. The pressure in the room tightened; Hoichi stepped back instinctively.

“…Good,” Sae finally said, voice quiet but absolute. “Then we can talk.”

Blue Lock Facility - Control Room

In the dim, concrete-walled command room, Ego Jinpachi sat alone in his swiveling chair. The glow of dozens of monitors washed over him—bars of data, shifting numbers, heat maps, reaction speeds, shot vectors, decision trees. Some screens displayed Blue Lock players. Others showed the Japan U-20 squad.

He held a tablet loosely in one hand, scrolling with a lazy flick of his thumb through a long, seemingly endless list of names.

“Next… next… next…” he muttered under his breath. The list rolled seamlessly until he stopped abruptly.

Nagi Seishiro.

Mikage Reo.

Ego’s gaze lingered on Reo’s recent performance data—sharper reactions, more precise positioning, a smoother flow with his teammates. He leaned back, lips pressing into a thin line. The improvement was subtle but undeniable. Reo was now among the top echelon, and Ego noted it with quiet, measured approval.

“Mm.”

He flicked past them—only to stop again.

Itoshi Rin.

His index finger tapped the side of the tablet.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Then he double-tapped on Rin’s name.

Three new windows burst open on his tablet and simultaneously on the central monitor: shooting metrics, vision mapping, emotional volatility graphs. Ego’s eyes narrowed, reflecting the shifting green and red numbers.

Slowly, he lifted his head and looked to the far-right monitor—one showing a rotating video of Itoshi Sae with several stats to the side.

Ego stared at Sae for a moment, his expression deep in thought. Then he lowered his gaze back to Rin.

“…Maybe,” he muttered, closing all three windows with a flick. “But potentially… catastrophic.”

He returned to scrolling.

Isagi Yoichi flashed past—not unremarkable, far from it. His name stood out like a bold signal in the endless list. Ego’s thumb hesitated over it for half a second.

But he scrolled anyway.

Only to stop.

Slowly, deliberately, he dragged his finger back up until Isagi’s name sat centered on the screen again.

“Hmph.”

He double-tapped Isagi’s name.

A detailed status panel expanded—vision utilization rate, technique score, anticipatory accuracy, dominance index, cooperability quotient, clutch factor. Nearly all of them spiked upward in steep, accelerating climbs.

A progression pattern that defied normal athlete development—faultless, rapid, and still climbing.

Ego’s eyes narrowed, reflecting the rising lines of data. He reached for his mug and took a slow sip of coffee, gaze glued to Isagi’s panel as if searching for the flaw that had to be there.

It wasn’t.

He set the mug down with a soft clink and minimized the window.

Scroll. Scroll.

Bachira Meguru.

Chigiri Hyoma.

Karasu Tabito.

Otoya Eita.

Tokimitsu Aoshi.

Kurona Ranze.

Hiori Yo.

Raichi Jingo.

Gagamaru Gin.

Barou Shoei.

Aryu Jyubei.

Niko Ikki.

Nanase Nijiro.

Midoriya Izuku.

Ego stopped... Using two fingers, he zoomed in on Midoriya until the name filled half the screen.

He scratched the side of his neck lazily.

“…Mm. Dead weight.”

He pinched his fingers outward to zoom back out.

Double-tapped.

A single option appeared beneath Midoriya’s profile:

REMOVE PLAYER

Ego stared at the button.

Silent.

Motionless.

His jaw shifted once.

He exhaled through his nose—something between a sigh and a tired scoff—then tipped his head back, eyes following the industrial ceiling pipes overhead.

Knock. Knock.

A soft mechanical chime followed, and the metal gate slid open with a hydraulic fssssh.

Anri Teieri hurried inside, clutching a clipboard.

“Sorry to interrupt, Ego-san,” she said, slightly breathless. “How’s the selection process going?”

Ego lowered his head slowly from the ceiling and turned his chair toward her.

His thumb still hovered over the glowing REMOVE button.

Ego didn’t press the button.

Not yet.

Instead, he flicked his eyes toward Anri, studying her as if she were another data point on one of his screens.

“It is going,” he said simply, voice flat as steel. “As expected.”

Anri stepped closer, glancing briefly at the monitors—numbers crawling, footage looping, silhouettes running. Her gaze dipped to Ego’s tablet, and she froze for half a beat when she saw Midoriya’s profile open… and the bright red REMOVE PLAYER button waiting for confirmation.

Ego finally set the tablet down on the desk, though his finger never fully withdrew from its orbit around the screen.

“Some talents,” he continued, lacing his fingers together, “need to be removed so others can shine. That is the natural order here.”

Anri swallowed but stayed composed. “I… see.”

Ego leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking.

“What do you think of him?” he asked suddenly.

Anri blinked. “Midoriya Izuku?”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. It was obvious.

Anri looked back at the monitor displaying Midoriya’s last match—grainy footage of him pushing through players faster, cleaner, more desperate than his usual self.

“He’s… hardworking,” she said slowly. “Not really flashy. Not gifted the way others here are. But in the last match he—”

“Improved.” Ego finished the sentence for her, voice almost bored.

“Yes,” she admitted.

“Effort,” he said, lifting the tablet again with two fingers, as if holding something fragile and worthless. “A double-edged sword. Players like him work until their bones break, and call it progress.”

Anri hesitated. “…You don’t think his improvement is worth considering?”

Ego’s glasses glinted with the cold light of the monitors as he looked at her.

“That is exactly what I’m doing,” he replied. “I don’t remove players blindly. I evaluate them. I analyze their anomalies. I discuss them with you.”

He tapped the corner of the tablet lightly—once, a measured click.

“Considering his improvement,” Ego continued, “means dissecting it, understanding what caused it, and determining whether it has any long-term value. That is what I’m doing.”

He tilted the tablet so that the frozen frame of Midoriya’s last sprint flickered across the screen.

Anri’s eyes darted to the glowing REMOVE button, then back at Ego’s unreadable face. Her voice dropped slightly, urgent but measured.

“Ego-san… please,” she said, stepping a little closer. “Can we put Midoriya-kun on hold for now? Just… hold off on removing him. Let’s focus on evaluating the other players first.”

Ego’s fingers hovered over the REMOVE button for just a moment longer—then, with a slight exhale, he tapped the screen and the window minimized.

“Very well,” he said, calm, almost casual. “We will put him on hold.”

Anri blinked, surprised at the sudden acquiescence, but didn’t argue.

Ego swiped through the tablet with a practiced flick and stopped on a new name: Kurona Ranze. With a double-tap, a detailed status panel expanded instantly—metrics, passing accuracy, positioning tendencies, decision-making maps—all neatly displayed.

Ego tilted the tablet toward her. “And what do you think of him?”

Anri leaned slightly closer to get a better view of the stats and the paused footage. Her voice was measured, analytical, but there was a touch of admiration as she spoke.

“He has very good chemistry with Isagi Yoichi,” she said. “He reads Isagi’s movements almost instinctively, always ready to create space or pass at the right moment. He also connects easily with Bachira-kun and Hiori-kun.”

She tapped the screen lightly, indicating one of Kurona’s passing graphs. “His ability to revolve around the field and funnel the ball to Isagi can elevate Isagi-kun even further. If he keeps feeding those opportunities, Isagi could reach a level we haven’t seen yet.”

Ego’s lips twitched faintly—barely a hint of amusement—as he absorbed her words. “Hmm,” he murmured, tapping one finger against his tablet. “I see. So he is less about individual brilliance and more about amplifying the brilliance of others.”

Anri nodded. “Exactly. He’s not flashy, but he can unlock the potential of those around him—especially Isagi-kun.”

Ego leaned back in his chair, studying the numbers and the footage for a long moment. “Interesting,” he said quietly. “This is the kind of variable I like to keep in play.”

Ego’s fingers danced across the tablet with precise, deliberate movements, tapping and swiping through multiple panels. Low, almost inaudible humming and clicking noises escaped his lips as he typed, muttered calculations and observations in fragments.

“Mm… 5.37… synergy… potential… hmm…” he murmured, brows furrowing slightly. “Connection strength with Isagi… reinforced… good. Excellent. Compatible…”

He stopped and checked a small box labeled Compatible with Top6, the faint click echoing in the quiet room. Then, with another flick, he placed a bright star marker at the bottom of Kurona’s profile, pinning it clearly against the other metrics.

Curiosity welling inside her, Anri’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Ego-san,” she asked cautiously, “what is the star for?”

Ego didn’t immediately answer. He leaned back slightly in his chair, eyes still scanning the tablet, lips pressed into a thin line. Finally, he spoke, voice quiet but deliberate:

“A marker of interest,” he said simply. “Not just performance. Potential. Influence. Utility. A reminder that this player warrants special attention in the selection hierarchy.”

He tapped the tablet once more, confirming the notation, before returning to scroll through the roster, leaving Kurona’s star clearly visible.

Ego continued scrolling, the soft flick… flick… flick of his thumb echoing in the low hum of the control room. Names blurred past until the tablet halted on Shidou Ryusei—highlighted in neon pink on the interface, as if even the software recognized the chaos attached to him.

Ego exhaled a slow, thoughtful breath.

“Anri-chan,” he said without looking up, “I’ve been considering a shift to a three-top formation.”

Anri blinked. “A… three-top?”

“Yes.” Ego rotated the tablet slightly so she could see Shidou’s name glowing. “An offensive trident. Utilizing the explosive attack power of Itoshi Rin… Shidou Ryusei…”

His thumb slid sideways, pulling up Isagi’s profile briefly before minimizing it again.

“…and Isagi Yoichi.”

Anri’s breath caught for just a moment. “Those three… together?”

“Theoretically,” Ego continued, voice flat and razor-sharp, “it maximizes goal threat from every angle.”

Anri stepped closer, eyes fixed on the data streams linking their profiles.

“But Rin-kun and Shidou-kun… they’d tear each other apart.”

“Yes,” Ego said immediately.

As if that weren’t a flaw—but a feature.

He finally raised his eyes to meet hers, glasses reflecting the violent contrast of Rin’s cold blue and Shidou’s feral pink.

“That is why Isagi Yoichi goes in the middle.”

“The middle…?” she repeated.

Ego nodded once.

“Rin and Shidou will fight over him. Over his passes. Over his plays. Over his approval.”

His lips curved—not into a smile, but into a knowing, analytical tilt.

“That battle for dominance will force both of them to sharpen their weapons even further.”

His thumb hovered over the visual mock-up:

Rin – Isagi – Shidou

A triangle of volatile brilliance.

Anri stared at the projected trident—Rin, Isagi, Shidou—her expression tightening just a little.

“Ego-san…” she started, cautious.

He kept adjusting spacing values on the tactical model. “Hm?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt your planning but…” She hesitated. “Did you perhaps… forget something?”

Ego paused mid-swipe, eyes narrowing in mild annoyance. “Forget?”

Anri silently gestured toward the bottom-right monitor.

The security feed flickered to life.

Two separate high-security containment rooms came into view.

Isagi Yoichi and Shidou Ryusei lay on reinforced steel gurneys—restrained in full immobilization rigs reminiscent of a maximum-security psychiatric transport. Thick matte-black straps pinned their wrists, forearms, shoulders, torso, thighs, and ankles with absolute precision. Additional braces locked their heads in place, permitting only the faintest movement of their breathing.

Both wore transparent oxygen masks, fogging softly with each slow, sedated inhale. A quiet beeping from heart monitors echoed in the background. They looked less like athletes and more like dangerous assets being stabilized.

Anri spoke gently, but her voice held a firm undertone.

“You had to administer high-voltage shocks to subdue them. The medical team won’t release them until their vitals settle and the neuromuscular spasms stop.”

Ego watched the feed with the same neutral expression he’d give a particularly complex graph.

No concern. No discomfort. Just analysis.

“Hmph. A temporary inconvenience.”

With a flick of his thumb, he minimized the feed entirely and returned to the offensive trident diagram glowing on the screen.

“On the field, their aggression is not toward teammates. It is toward the goal. Toward victory. Toward the opponent who stands in their way.”

His glasses caught the white-blue glare of the monitor.

“There is no safer place for a monster,” Ego said, voice low and absolute,

“than on the battlefield it was designed for.”

Anri stared at him, stunned.

A sharp vibration rattled across the desk. His phone lit up.

BZZZZZZ... BZZZZ...

He clicked his tongue.

“…Tch. What now?”

Anri glanced over. “Ego-san?”

Ego didn’t answer her.

Because the moment he looked at the screen, his jaw tightened.

Chairman Buratsuta.

His eye twitched a fraction—barely visible, but for Ego, it was practically a shout. With clear reluctance, he accepted the call and lifted the phone to his ear.

“What is it?” Ego said flatly.

A muffled voice spoke rapidly on the other end.

Ego’s expression didn’t change—but the air around him sharpened.

“Is this a joke?” he asked, tone dropping even colder.

Anri wasn’t sure if he meant the information… or the chairman himself.

More babbling from Buratsuta.

Ego exhaled through his nose—the kind of sound that made the room feel 5 degrees colder.

“…Fine,” he said. “I understand.”

A pause.

A few last words from the chairman.

Ego stared straight ahead at the monitors, eyes narrowing with clear disdain.

“Is there anything more?” he asked.

Another short response.

“…Very well,” Ego answered. “I’ll have Anri send over what you requested.”

He lowered the phone with deliberate calm and ended the call without a goodbye.

The silence that followed felt heavy.

Anri swallowed. “Ego-san… what happened?”

Ego didn’t answer yet—still glaring at the darkened phone screen. Then the word tore out of him:

“...Shit.”