{Isagi's POV}
It's 6–2.
Six goals… all mine.
But that's not enough.
Not even close.
I'm going for ten.
And yet...
There's him.
Nagi Seishiro.
The lazy prodigy. The guy who looked like he'd rather sleep through the match than play in it.
Now?
He's adapting. Fast.
His footwork, his control, the way he reads my plays... it's not normal. It's like watching someone skip steps the rest of us had to claw through. Every second he spends on the field, he's growing.
It's annoying.
But it's also kind of thrilling.
Because while everyone else on Team V is falling apart, Nagi's doing the opposite.
And part of me wants to see where that leads — how far he'll go.
But I can't let him catch up.
Not now. Not ever.
If he's going to evolve, I'll be the one forcing him to do it.
That's what it means to be the one leading this game.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Nagi's POV}
The grass feels different now.
It's the same pitch.
But something's changed.
Me.
We're down 6–2.
That should mean it's over. But somehow, it doesn't feel like it.
I step onto the field again, next to Reo and Zantetsu. They're tense. Understandably.
But my head's quiet.
It used to be boring. All of this.
Kick the ball. Pass it back. Do something flashy if Reo tells me to.
But now?
I want to play.
No one had to tell me. Not Reo. Not Ego.
It was watching Isagi. The way he sees the field like a puzzle he's already solved.
I want to do that too.
I want to win.
Simple.
Second half.
6–2.
I stare at the ball placed at center. It's weird. Usually, it's just… there. Now, there's this restless energy humming inside me, a strange pull towards it. Not a plan, just… a feeling. Like something's about to happen.
Reo nudges the ball towards me with his foot. No words needed. He gets it.
I let it roll a step, my eyes just… taking in the shapes ahead. Team Z is bunched tighter, all angles and movement. That spiky-haired guy – Isagi? – is glued to my left, his eyes intense. The butterfly kid – Bachira – flits around Reo.
Thinking about what to do feels… slow. Boring.
Instead, my foot just… stops the ball. A soft touch, pulling it back without a thought. The muscle-head – Kunigami – charges in. My other foot lifts the ball, a little scoop, just because it felt right, and I drift into the space he left. The butterfly kid is suddenly in front of me, all jerky movements.
He's fast, yeah.
But my foot just… nudges the ball. Outside, then inside, rolling it away. My body just… goes with it, cleaner somehow, each step landing where it needs to.
The butterfly kid slows, just for a blink. Enough.
"Hey," I say, not even looking at Reo. I send the ball to my left. Reo waiting. "That way." My arm just… points vaguely.
He's already moving. The ball appears in front of me a second later, slicing past two of them.
My foot just… meets it. A soft touch that sends me gliding past the next guy. He's trying to block me, spreading his arms, but my foot just… knows where to go.
Zantetsu is suddenly sprinting to the side.
My foot just… flicks the ball. Weird angle, yeah? Between the last guy and the goalie. Looks wrong.
Zantetsu stops it, waits a second till I pass the last defender to send the ball through the air for me. A second later, the redhead came crashing into him.
The goalie anticipates Zantetsu's run, shifting his weight. The ball lands and bounces… and my other foot just… taps it again, a gentle nudge past the outstretched hand.
The ball graces the nets before settling down elegantly.
Goal.
6–3.
My chest… expands a little. Then went back to normal.
Not bad.
I walk back to the middle. Reo jogs beside me, his eyebrows a little raised.
"You… you just slotted it in," he mutters, a small smile twitching on his lips. "You didn't even look properly."
"Dunno," I say, my eyes already on the center circle. "Guess I just… felt like it."
—-----------
Team Z kicks off. Spiky-hair to muscle-head. They're still all bunched up, a blue wall. Feels… slow. Like they're trying to catch their breath.
The goalie is still way back. Shark-teeth is glued to Reo, like a shadow. Tall guy keeps getting in the way. Monk-guy keeps falling over. Red hair is still stuck to Zantetsu. Annoying.
The ball goes back and forth between their blue shirts. Zzzzz. They're not going anywhere. Just… passing.
Reo pushes forward a bit, moving like he's looking for something I can't see. Zantetsu stays wide, red hair stuck to him. I just… drift. Wherever feels open.
They keep passing. Tall guy passes slowly. Reo intercepts one. We get the ball back. Reo passes to me. I pass back. Still… slow.
Then, Reo just… flicks the ball out to Zantetsu. Red-hair is right there, but Zantetsu just… spins away from him. Smooth.
I start moving. Not sure where. Just… that way feels right. Reo follows, his movements quick.
Zantetsu has the ball. He looks up… or maybe he just glances. He kicks the ball back towards the middle, not hard. Just… there.
Reo gets it. Shark-teeth is right on him. Too close. Reo just… taps the ball to my foot, and I tap it back. Quick. Shark-teeth stumbles a little, trying to keep up.
Reo has the ball again, just outside the box. He looks towards Zantetsu, who's running down the side, red-hair chasing. Reo's foot just… nudges the ball that way. A soft roll into space.
Zantetsu gets there. Red-hair is still on him. Zantetsu kicks the ball across, low. Not high, just… across.
I'm in the box. Don't remember running here. The ball's coming. The goalie moves a bit as I move to kick it, but the thing is, I didn't. Someone else does.
Reo is running too, faster than I thought he could. He just… sticks his foot out. The ball gets diverted into the goal. The ball goes in.
Goal. 6–4.
Reo turns. His face is… intense. He just nods.
Yeah. Whatever. Let's keep going.
I still need two more goals to equalize.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Isagi's POV}
6–4. They clawed two back.
I watch Reo's muted celebration for a fleeting moment. But my focus isn't on the orchestrator. It's on the anomaly, Nagi. The supposed catalyst of their comeback.
He is different. The shift isn't dramatic, not a sudden explosion of skill. It's in the subtle adjustments. The almost imperceptible change in his posture as he moves through space. The way his gaze lingers, actually reading the field instead of just passively occupying it. There's a nascent hunger there, a flicker of genuine intent behind those usually listless eyes.
So, the lazy genius is finally stirring. It's a predictable stage, isn't it? This initial spark of awakening. Every player goes through it, that moment when the innate talent starts to find direction.
Watching Nagi now, I can't help but categorize it. It's like observing a hatchling breaking free from its shell. First, clumsy pecking, then tentative steps, and now… a clumsy sprint. The raw instincts are kicking in, the dormant potential finally finding an outlet.
But instinct alone isn't enough. Raw talent needs a framework, an understanding of the bigger picture. And that's what Nagi still lacks. He's running, yes, with a newfound burst of speed. But he hasn't grasped the verticality of the game yet. He doesn't know how to truly fly.
The goal they just scored, Nagi's assist to Reo… I observed it with a detached interest. Efficient. He found the open space, made the pass. Textbook. Not bad, I concede internally. A step forward.
But one step doesn't bridge the entire gap. The real test, the crucible, will be when the pressure intensifies. When they're not just chasing a deficit but fighting for survival. That's when the cracks will appear, when the limitations of his still-developing understanding will become glaringly obvious.
Nagi's evolution is a spectacle, an interesting data point. But it's far from complete. He's scratching the surface of his potential, driven by a sudden, visceral desire. But desire without comprehensive understanding is a blunt weapon.
The whistle blows, the game restarts. The atmosphere has shifted, a palpable tension hanging in the air. Team V has found a lifeline.
My gaze flicks back to Nagi. He's breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly. But his eyes… they're locked on the game, a newfound intensity burning within them. He wants more. He's tasted the possibility of victory.
But right now, he's still just running. He's reacting to instinct. He hasn't yet grasped the intricate choreography of the field, the subtle manipulations of space and time that elevate a player beyond mere talent.
And as much as this initial awakening is… intriguing to witness, I know, with a certainty that settles deep in my core, that there's only one player on this field who truly understands the trajectory of this game. Only one player who is already calculating the next leap, the next evolution. Only one player who is poised to take flight.
And that player… is me.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I nudge the ball to Bachira, a simple continuation of possession before I begin my forward jog, my mind already dissecting the tactical ripple effects of their last goal. Bachira lays it off to Kunigami, who, with a touch, sends a routine pass back towards our defensive line.
Kunigami's pass is clean, almost sterile in its simplicity. The kind of unchallenged ball you play when you operate under the assumption of a stable foundation behind you. But this isn't a match where such assumptions hold. Not against opponents who've tasted a comeback and are now hunting for more.
Raichi, ever the bloodhound sensing weakness, lunges to intercept. But Igaguri, his eyes betraying that familiar flicker of panic, flinches instead of meeting the ball with conviction. A self-inflicted wound in our defensive structure.
Stolen. In this environment, hesitation is an invitation. Team V doesn't need a second prompting.
Reo is on it in a flash, a deft flick of his boot threading a through ball into the exposed space. Zantetsu, a blur of motion on the right flank, tears down the wing, his raw speed stretching our defensive shape, dragging both Gagamaru and Chigiri wide, creating a dangerous vacuum in the center. And Nagi, predictably central, is already in motion, his run anticipating the trajectory of Reo's pass even before it leaves his foot.
"Tch…" The sound escapes my lips.
"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT, IGAGURI!?" Raichi's frustrated bellow cuts through the air.
"I-I didn't think—!" Igaguri stammers, the deer-in-headlights gaze firmly in place.
Kunigami turns, his jaw tight, fists clenched. "My bad. Shouldn't have played it back so casually." A rare admission, etched with the sting of their swift exploitation of our error.
I inhale sharply, a controlled breath to quell the rising tide of annoyance. This sloppiness, these fundamental errors… they've been tolerated for too long.
I allowed their initial surge. I granted them the space to adapt, to test the waters of their evolving abilities. Perhaps a detached curiosity lingered, a desire to quantify the extent of Nagi's awakening.
But the observation period is over. The data points are becoming increasingly unfavorable.
I'm done watching. The time for analysis from a distance has passed.
I drop back with a sudden burst of acceleration, my focus locking onto the immediate threat. Nagi hovers at the edge of our penalty area, a deceptively languid predator poised to strike. Reo threads another pass, low and crisp, slicing through the unraveling threads of our defense. Our scrambling defenders are a step too late, the earlier cracks in our formation now gaping fissures.
I'm the only one with the necessary speed and spatial awareness to cut off the passing lane. I time my interceptive run with clinical precision, anticipating the ball's trajectory. The pass arrives. Nagi's weight shifts, a familiar tell. The slight lean back, the coiling of his leg. He's loading up for a powerful volley.
Not this time. My muscles strain as I push harder, closing the gap, intent on suffocating the shot, reclaiming possession, and shutting down this burgeoning threat. I reach him just as his leg begins its powerful arc.
But— a subtle hesitation in his swing. His momentum freezes mid-motion.
My body, committed to the block, carries me forward, my momentum used against me. He baited me with that infinitesimal pause. A feigned strike, executed with that unnerving fluidity, his body mimicking the prelude to a thunderous volley, only to abruptly halt, the weight transferring with deceptive ease.
And just like that, I've overcommitted. My slide carries me uselessly past him, a desperate lunge into empty air.
"Nagi—!" The shout is involuntary, a frustrated recognition of his clever manipulation.
He doesn't even spare me a glance. Doesn't need to. His focus is solely on the exposed goal. With a single, fluid step inward, he pulls the ball closer, setting it with the instep of his other foot – a perfect platform. And then, with an almost casual flick, devoid of apparent tension, he buries the ball into the bottom left corner of the net. The satisfying thwack as it connects with the inside of the post punctuates their comeback more. Now they only need another goal to equalize.
6–5.
Well played. Lazy genius. But it won't happen again.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The shift in tempo after their desperate comeback is almost comical. They anticipate a flustered response, a chaotic scramble to reassert dominance. What we offer is the antithesis: calculated precision, a tightening of the noose.
Kira, his earlier nonchalance replaced by a focused intensity, drops deep into the midfield maelstrom, his movements economical. One touch to secure the loose ball, a second to subtly shield it from the encroaching pressure. I make the call, my voice cutting through the din, but he doesn't force the immediate pass. He surveys, his gaze sweeping across the congested space, patiently dissecting the defensive lines. Then, he sees it – a hairline fracture, a momentary lapse in their coverage – and threads a pass to Bachira with the surgical precision of a master craftsman. The ball whispers through the tightest of spaces.
Textbook execution, I register, a flicker of approval despite the underlying tension.
Bachira receives it in stride, instantly altering the rhythm of the attack. He bursts forward, a whirlwind of unpredictable movement, drawing three Team V defenders towards him like moths to a blinding light. They converge, their bodies closing in, seemingly trapping him in a suffocating cage. But just as they anticipate a desperate lunge or a panicked sideways pass, Bachira unleashes a moment of pure, unadulterated flair – a no-look backheel flick, the ball peeling off his heel with audacious precision, slicing into the open space behind the closing defenders.
My internal calculations have already placed me there. My spatial awareness, honed by countless hours of dissecting the beautiful game, anticipates the trajectory, the precise landing spot.
Touch. Turn. A seamless transition, my body absorbing the ball's momentum and redirecting it towards the left wing. I lay it off to Chigiri, who's already a coiled spring on the left flank, his eyes locked on the vast expanse of open field. "Take it wide!" The command is clipped, unnecessary.
The Red Panther ignites. It's not just speed; it's a breathtaking display of controlled acceleration, poetry etched in motion. His strides lengthen, powerful and effortless, each footfall devouring the turf, leaving a vapor trail of pure velocity. Team V's defense scrambles, their movements suddenly clumsy and reactive. Zantetsu, for all his raw power, can't match this pure, unadulterated pace. Nagi is still loping back, his initial burst of energy seemingly depleted. And Reo? A flicker of panic crosses his face as he tries to anticipate both the cross and my impending run into the box, his focus fractured, his control dissolving.
Too late. The moment has slipped from their grasp.
Chigiri raises his head, his gaze precise, locking onto my position. The ball leaves his boot, a perfectly weighted cross that seems tethered by an invisible string, arcing through the air with deadly accuracy.
I charge into the penalty area, my timing calibrated to that single, crucial instant, the trajectory of the cross burned into my mind. Reo, belatedly recognizing the danger, closes in, his eyes glued to the flight of the ball, his focus solely on the aerial threat.
Amateur mistake, I analyze, a cold satisfaction settling within me.
The cross is impeccable, dropping perfectly into my stride. I don't need a touch to settle it; any hesitation would be fatal.
I meet it first time, left foot connecting with the sweet spot of the dropping ball on the half-volley. The contact is clean, pure. The angle is tight, demanding precision, and the shot is driven low, a venomous strike aimed at the near post.
It slices through the air, a blur of motion, nutmegging Reo with a brutal efficiency, a tangible representation of their defensive breakdown.
And before their orange-haired keeper can even register the danger, before his reflexes have a chance to engage, the net snaps violently, the sound echoing the definitive reclaiming of our dominance.
7–5.
Reo's still staring between his legs. Stunned.
The ball's already nestled in the net, but his eyes are frozen where it slipped through. I slow my pace, walking past him — calm, composed, but brimming with venom.
I lean just close enough to make sure he hears it.
"Looks like your genius duo just got exposed."
Reo flinches, eyes twitching to me.
"Tell Nagi—no matter how many tricks he pulls…" I tap the side of my head.
"You'll always be two steps behind me."
I pause. Let it sink.
"You built your whole game around unlocking Nagi, right?"
"Congrats." I point to the scoreboard.
"He's awake now. But I'm the one putting you both back to sleep."
And then I jog away, grinning.
Because that goal wasn't just a strike.
It was an act for the donkeys to see who truly was at the top.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Reo's POV}
No. No way.
That just happened?
I'm still frozen—feet planted, mind scrambled—as the ball rolls out from behind me, kissed into the net with clinical disrespect. A nutmeg. Through me.
By him.
Isagi Yoichi.
The same guy from that clip I've seen more times than I'd ever admit. The one where he humiliated Kira, slipping it past the keeper and then him like it was nothing. I remember watching that on loop back then, thinking, Damn, that's savage.
Even laughed.
Thought I'd never be on the receiving end of something like that.
Guess I was wrong.
I blink back into reality, the scoreboard screaming the updated score at me.
7–5.
My stomach twists.
Footsteps beside me.
"Yo," Nagi says, casually like we're back in our dorm talking smacks or something. "You good?"
I don't answer. Not at first.
I just mutter, "The demon wants us to sleep…"
Nagi tilts his head. "Huh?"
I glance at him. "Isagi. He said he's putting us back to sleep." I clench my fists. "That goal wasn't just a flex. It was personal."
Nagi stretches his arms behind his head, yawns exaggeratedly. "Tch. Well… I wouldn't mind some sleep right about now."
I glare.
He grins.
"But I kinda wanna win more."
I blink.
He looks serious. Calm, but serious. That weird glint in his eye again.
"I don't like losing. And I really don't like getting talked down to," Nagi adds, rubbing the back of his neck. "So let's shut that guy up, yeah?"
I stare at him for a second… then nod.
Time to wipe that smirk off the Blue Demon's face.
No more getting embarrassed. No more highlight reels.
Next one's ours.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Narration | Mixed POV — Begins in Reo's, shifts to Neutral for the play}
The shrill blast of the whistle pierces the tense air.
Team V takes the initiative. I waste no time, a sharp, controlled flick of my boot sending a short pass to Zantetsu, who returns it instantly. Tiki-taka. Quick, precise, the ball a metronome keeping our rhythm tight. That clumsy monk, Igaguri, lunges with his usual lack of grace, a desperate swipe that misses by a mile. Raichi shuffles clumsily to his left, trying to plug the gap, but my pass is already on its way back to Zantetsu, a seamless continuation of our intricate weave. That stoic defender, Kuon, steps forward, attempting to disrupt our flow, but his movement is telegraphed, a fraction too slow to intercept.
We slice through their initial press as if it were nothing more than a gentle breeze, their defensive efforts dissolving before our coordinated movement.
I barely need to lift my gaze before launching a lofted through ball, a perfectly weighted parabola arcing over their midfield, aimed with pinpoint accuracy towards Nagi, who has ghosted into a high forward position. He anticipates the trajectory with his uncanny spatial awareness, his feet still tapping forward in that deceptively languid rhythm – graceful, loose, a surface laziness masking a predatory anticipation.
And that's when his eyes register the looming threat.
Gagamaru.
That silver-haired anomaly is sprinting towards the dropping ball with those long, seemingly uncoordinated limbs – a chaotic blur of motion that somehow managed to arrive at the moment.
Nagi still has the aerial advantage, his height and timing should allow him to reach it first. Would've. Should've. If Gagamaru hadn't launched himself into a desperate, physics-defying scorpion kick.
His heel snaps upwards behind him in a violent, unnatural arc, connecting with the descending ball with a sickening thwack, sending it arcing forward in an improbable trajectory that looked almost accidental in its audacity. Then – bam – the sickening thud of collision. Gagamaru crashes into Nagi mid-air, a tangle of limbs and groans as both players sprawl onto the turf from the impact. Nagi lets out a guttural groan, clutching his side. Gagamaru blinks, disoriented but quickly regaining his footing. The announcer signalled an advantage in the scorecard.
Play on. No foul. The brutal efficiency of Blue Lock.
The deflected ball ricochets perfectly into open space near the center circle, a cruel twist of fate.
Kunigami reacts with predatory speed, controlling the unpredictable bounce with a single, sharp touch of his instep and immediately unleashing a laser of a pass forward. It slices through the air, aimed directly at Kira, who is already slicing between the left and center backs with impeccable timing, his run perfectly synchronized with Kunigami's delivery. Beautifully executed.
Kira steps into the penalty box, the white lines a stark contrast to the green.
The orange-haired keeper braces himself, his weight shifting, eyes locked on Kira's advancing form.
Kira chooses brute force, opting for power over finesse. He swings his leg with unwavering confidence, aiming for the near post, a shot designed to overwhelm with sheer velocity.
Thump! The sickening sound of leather meeting palm. Saved.
A solid, authoritative parry with his left hand. The keeper reads Kira's intention with unnerving ease, slapping the powerful shot away as if it were a predictable elementary school drill. The rebound spins wide, rolling harmlessly towards the left flank. And then going off the field for a corner kick.
Kira freezes mid-stride, the confident swagger draining from his posture.
His mouth hangs slightly agape, a silent testament to his disbelief.
His eyes twitch, a flicker of frustrated incomprehension.
"…Damn it." The curse is barely a whisper, laced with bitter disappointment.
He doesn't even need to turn his head yet – the prickling sensation on the back of his neck is unmistakable. He knows.
He knows who's watching, whose presence is a constant, looming shadow.
And his heart sinks with a leaden weight as he hears the unmistakable sound of cleats pacing closer behind him, each step a silent condemnation.
Isagi…
A wince contorts Kira's features, a pre-emptive strike against the inevitable verbal jab.
"…Please don't say it."
Not now. Not after that pathetic attempt. The weight of that missed opportunity, coupled with Isagi's impending commentary, presses like a vice around Kira's chest.
Isagi steps up beside him, voice low but sharp.
"…Alright, I won't say it."
Kira exhales—relieved, for a second.
"But only if you take the corner," Isagi adds, tone cutting. "And give me a cross I can score from."
A pause. Then the dagger:
"If you mess that up too… get ready. I'm not holding back, Kira."
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Kira's POV}
I step up to the corner flag, ball in hand, but my thoughts are anywhere but here.
I hate that miss. I hate that I'm still thinking about it. I hate that I'm terrified of what he'll say next.
Isagi's voice from earlier cuts through the noise of the stadium like it always does in my head—
"If you mess that up too… get ready."
God, he didn't even have to shout. That calm tone makes it worse. Just like back then… back in the Matsukaze match.
"You were never a rival. Just a stepping stone."
I flinch. I didn't even realize I had whispered it under my breath.
That one sentence has haunted me since that day. It's tattooed into my memory. I've replayed it thousands of times. Every time I close my eyes before a big moment—it's his voice I hear.
I can't give him more ammo.
This cross... this has to be it. If I screw this up, it's not just another mistake. It's another layer to the trauma that already has its claws in me.
My focus narrows on the white sphere nestled by the corner flag. I take a few steps back, visualizing the flight, the trajectory, the exact spot I need to hit. This has to be perfect.
I launch the cross. It's not just a hopeful punt; it's calculated, aimed precisely for the near post, the heart of the penalty box. And just as I pictured it, Isagi's already there. It's almost eerie how he anticipates these moments, always two steps ahead.
Zantetsu is marking him, a shadow trying to cling. He goes for the early jump, but there's a hesitation, a slight miscalculation. Pressure? Maybe. Whatever it is, it's enough.
Then Nagi's in the air too, a graceful leap alongside Isagi. For a split second, a flicker of doubt – will he get there first?
But no. Isagi climbs higher, his movement clean, powerful. He sheds Nagi midair, a mere obstacle in his ascent. Then, the unmistakable thwack.
The sound reverberates, a solid connection of forehead and leather. My eyes track the ball as it hurtles towards the far post. It's in.
The scoreboard flickers: 8–5. Another one. Isagi. Of course.
I don't even realize I'm crying until I feel the tears sting at the corner of my eyes.
I did it...
The cross actually landed. The header went in. He scored.
That was all it took?
A decent cross?
The pressure that's been crushing my chest this whole match loosens — just a little. Like I've been holding my breath since the miss… and finally let some of it out.
Not because I'm proud.
Not because I think I'm redeemed.
But because I didn't screw it up worse.
Because this time... I didn't add another scene to the highlight reel of my own downfall.
Isagi won't say it. Not this time.
And that… that's enough to make my chest clench. That's enough to make my eyes water.
Tears slip down. Quiet, unnoticed in the noise.
I'm not crying because I won.
I'm crying because I survived.
I don't have more trauma. Thank you, God.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Naruhaya POV}
I didn't even bother standing anymore. Just sat near the backline, a ghost drifting through the match.
They didn't need me.
They never needed me.
I watched the chaos unfold from a distance — Isagi barking orders, scoring goals, commanding the pace like he's some kind of midfield tyrant. The more I watched, the more I realized something: no matter how many flashy plays Team V pulled out… the ball always found its way back to him.
When Team V made their comeback — 6-4, 6-5 — I felt it. A flicker of joy.
Seeing Isagi rattled, even for a second, was… fun.
For a moment, he wasn't omnipotent.
For a moment, he was human.
And then he wasn't.
That volley he slammed past Reo? Cold. Efficient. Cruel.
Trash talk right after, like rubbing salt into a wound.
I watched Kira cry after assisting him.
Tears of relief and joy.
That was the kind of grip Isagi had now — turning teammates into terrified messes who celebrated just for not failing him. I scoff, but it catches in my throat.
How can they be scared of him?
How can they give him that much power?
…
I guess I know why.
Because I was scared, too.
Still am.
Even now, my skin crawls remembering that voice — steady, ruthless.
"Then rot in the depths of hell, Naruhaya."
A cold shiver runs down my spine. That wasn't just trash talk. That was a sentence.
A judgment.
And maybe I deserved it.
But then the match snaps back into motion. I blink. Team V is advancing again, crisp passes flowing between Zantetsu and Reo, creeping into our half.
Then it happens.
Reo chips one toward Nagi, a perfect arc aimed between the lines.
But Isagi… of course Isagi blocks it.
Not cleanly — the ball ricochets awkwardly, like fate got confused.
It lands. Right in front of me.
Everything stops.
For a second, time freezes.
Team Z is static. Too shocked. Too confused.
Team V is yelling, motioning, desperate.
And Nagi?
He starts to fall back, sensing the moment vanish.
But I...
I look down at the ball.
The choice.
I think of everything.
Of Isagi.
Of how no matter how hard I try, how far I go, I'll never reach him.
Even if I revolt… even if I scream…
I'll never score past him. I'll never defy him.
So if I can't kill the demon…
I'll help someone who can.
"I may go to hell, Isagi…" I mutter, lining up my form to make a pass.
"…but I'll still take you there with me."
I look up — and I pass.
Straight to Nagi.
Confusion. Betrayal.
Team Z's eyes were wide. Team V? Equally stunned.
Nagi's the only one who reacted fast enough. Maybe he saw the desperation in my eyes. Maybe he just understood.
He cuts in.
Shadow surging toward him.
Isagi.
Fast.
But not fast enough.
With perfect calm, Nagi plants his foot, spins, and fires a low shot inside the right post.
Iemon dives. Just short.
The net ripples.
8–6.
I don't celebrate. I don't even smile.
I just stand there.
Watching the scoreboard.
And waiting for the demon to turn around.
Because I know he will.
But I think that taking some trauma is a small compensation for betraying this team. I just hope it's not too much and I don't have nightmares about it.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Isagi POV}
I saw the pass leave his foot.
I couldn't believe it.
Not at first.
But then Nagi struck.
And the net bulged.
8–6.
…
Everything inside me went quiet.
Not rage. Not a surprise.
Just stillness.
Like the calm before the slaughter.
I turned.
And there he was — standing like a wet rat caught in the middle of the highway.
Naruhaya.
Again.
I walked toward him slowly. The noise of the celebration of Team V out behind the blood pumping in my ears.
He didn't move.
Didn't run.
Didn't breathe.
"Was one humiliation not enough?" I asked, voice low. Measured. Cruel. "You needed a sequel?"
He flinched. Good.
"Tell me something, Naruhaya… was it fun?"
I stepped closer.
"Watching from the back, like a little parasite?"
Another step.
"Was it thrilling? Playing Judas while real strikers fought?"
He didn't answer.
So I kept going.
"Let me remind you how this ends — again."
"You're not clever. You're not dangerous. You're not even a proper traitor."
I leaned in. Close enough for him to see the disgust in my eyes.
"You're just background noise in someone else's story. A disposable pawn looking for scraps of relevance."
His jaw trembled.
"Enjoy your little moment."
I turned my back to him.
"Because next time the ball comes to you—"
I looked over my shoulder.
"—I'll be the one that rips your legs out from under you."
Pause.
"And if that still doesn't work?"
"I'll just bury you so deep in the rankings you'll never see sunlight again."
No response.
Just silence.
Exactly where he belongs.
Isagi didn't spare him another glance. He didn't need to.
Whatever was going through Naruhaya's mind now… he'd earned it.
"The trauma for that one goal… it wasn't worth it. Where the hell does he come up with those lines?"
Naruhaya stood frozen. Eyes glossy. Lips trembling.
On the verge of tears.
And the worst part?
No one was looking at him.
Because no one cared.
[E.N- Poor Naruhaya..]
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Bachira POV}
Heh… they're all so tense now.
Eyes locked in, jaws clenched, legs stiff.
It's like I'm looking at a bunch of puppets wrapped in wires.
But me?
I feel light.
Like I'm dancing on strings only I can see.
The instant Isagi nudges the ball my way at kickoff, bam—the cage in my head rattles open.
The monster's stretching, yawning, ready to play.
My pulse drums a wild beat against my ribs. My feet? They're already dancing, a step ahead of my thoughts. The ball's practically glued to my boots, a rhythmic thump-thump that sings in my ears.
First up, a random NPC defender. He charges like a bull, arms windmilling, thinking raw pressure can just stop this feeling.
I just laugh, a little bubble of air escaping. Pop! The ball lifts, a tiny rainbow arc over his clumsy lunge. Tap-tap, it kisses the ground again on the other side.
Nutmegged!
"Whoops~ Too slow, sleepyhead!"
Next, another random NPC defender slides in. More controlled, more hesitant. But still… predictable. Like a robot with limited moves.
Sole control. The ball rolls, a lazy circle under my foot. A feint to pass back, just a twitch of my hips, and then flick! A Maradona spin, the ball a blur around him.
Poof! He's gone, chasing air.
Seriously, where do these NPCs come from? Another one barrels towards me next. No fancy footwork here, just trying to bulldoze me.
But I'm a shadow, a slippery eel. A quick dip of my right shoulder, he lunges, and zip! I'm past him on the left, leaving him stumbling.
Three down already. This is getting fun.
Four eyes next, his pace and acceleration carrying him again. He's closing the distance faster than any of them.
I slow my pace, a little taunt. He tries to match my sudden shift in rhythm, his movements jerky.
Rookie mistake. [A.N:- well they made an upgrade in their mistake. Amateur to a rookie. Wait, which is better btw?]
A drag back with my heel, a sharp pivot, and whoosh! He rockets past me, a missed shot.
"Oops, bye-bye, speedy!"
Then Reo. His eyes are cool, assessing. Like he's studying a chessboard, planning ten moves ahead.
I don't give him the chance to make one.
Two quick taps. A single step. A sharp feint to the left, then an explosive burst to the right. A delicate flick of my ankle, and the ball slips past his outstretched foot. A grin stretches across my face as his mouth drops open. Gotcha again, pretty boy.
And now… Nagi.
He's just there. Watching. Breathing. Not even a blink.
He doesn't rush in, doesn't try to intercept. He waits.
A test.
So I stop too.
And then whirlwind! A hard spin, my body a blur. I push the ball wide, loop around his shoulder, and suddenly—I'm in the box.
The goalie tenses, ready.
But this isn't my goal. Not this time.
I see him.
Isagi. Charging into the box, his eyes locked on mine like he already knows the script.
So I send it. A perfectly weighted roll, slicing across the six-yard box, a smooth invitation.
Tap.
Isagi meets it, his connection clean and powerful. The ball explodes into the near post.
Thwack!
9–6.
The net shudders.
Silence hangs in the air.
Zantetsu's frozen, staring blankly. Reo looks like his calculations just crashed. Nagi… he finally blinks.
The others look like they just got tackled by a truck.
I jog over to Isagi, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Oi, monster… was that flashy enough for ya?"
Isagi smirks back, his breath coming in short bursts, his eyes shining with that familiar intensity. "More than enough."
Fist bump. Solid.
One more. Just one.
Let's finish this little dream of theirs.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Nagi's POV}
...I didn't know football could look like that.
Not just getting past defenders – he was making them dance on his strings.
Butterfly boy? — No more like a Buzzing bee… he wasn't desperate running. It was a performance. The ball wasn't just an object; it was his partner, twirling and leaping. The field wasn't just grass; it was his stage.
Isagi's plays before? They felt like a precise surgery – every cut calculated, the outcome inevitable.
But this Buzzing Bee? This was pure, messy, exhilarating play.
I blink, watching the net still quivering behind the goalie.
9–6.
Tch.
We trudge back for kickoff.
"Let's go," Reo bites out, his voice low, tight with a focus that feels brittle.
Zantetsu's already vibrating, coiled like a spring about to snap.
No time left. This has to be it. Our last gasp.
The ball rolls back, a tap, and boom. Zantetsu explodes down the right flank, a raw burst of speed like he's been fired from a cannon.
The redhead chasing him – Chigiri, right? – he's not closing the gap. His stride looks heavy. Legs finally burning out? Maybe just the weight of this game.
Good.
Zantetsu eats up the ground, his strides powerful, relentless. He cuts inside, a sharp change of direction that leaves a sliding tackle grasping at air, and now he's surging into the penalty area.
I try to shake free of my marker, a subtle shift, a feint to create space. Reo's doing the same on the opposite side.
But we're both suffocated, bodies pressed tight. No clean line for a pass. Zantetsu doesn't even glance up – head down, just pure forward momentum.
The guy who stopped me before and crashed into me. The flexible guy steps up, a wall of a man. Arms spread wide, a clear interception threat.
Zantetsu hesitates for a fraction of a second, then drives even further, squeezing himself into the impossibly tight angle on the right side of the goal.
Smart keeper. He reads the danger, shifts his weight to cover the near post.
Zantetsu still takes the shot.
Near post. Predictable, given the angle.
The keeper's fist punches the ball away, a solid block. Denied.
The rebound spills out towards the edge of the box – and the flexible guy is there again, a surprising burst of speed for such a big guy.
No hesitation. First time. His boot connects with a thwack, sending the ball soaring back upfield in a long, booming clearance.
Another chance evaporates like smoke.
My shoulders tighten. My teeth grind together.
Time's running out.
And that damn monster… he's still buzzing, radiating that chaotic energy. I watch him surge forward again, an almost telepathic link with Bachira – their boots tap and weave, a conversation in motion.
Tiki-taka. A delicate touch from Bachira, a sharp return from Isagi. A subtle shift of weight, a quick give-and-go that slices through the midfield. Bachira receives again, a cushioned touch with the inside of his boot, drawing a defender in before a lightning-fast layoff back to Isagi, who's already peeling away into space. Advance.
It's a mesmerizing sequence, almost arrogant in its fluidity. They're not just trying to score; they're painting patterns on the pitch, making everyone else look clumsy and lead-footed. Like they're having a private practice session at our expense.
My body reacts on instinct, a primal urge to stop this.
Zantetsu and I break into a desperate sprint. No strategy, no coherent thought. Just raw speed, chasing shadows. Chasing that infuriatingly skillful duo.
Reo stays rooted at the halfway line, a statue of stillness.
Maybe his engine's finally sputtered out. Maybe he sees the inevitable.
But I can't surrender yet. Not like this.
We're closing the gap just as Isagi drifts to the edge of the penalty area. A perfectly weighted pass from Bachira floats towards him, hanging in the air like a tempting fruit.
He's already adjusting his body, lining up a clean volley.
No. I can't let that happen.
I launch myself into a sliding tackle, a desperate, last-ditch effort. All or nothing.
And then… he shoots.
But the ball just spins on his thigh. It was a replica of my fake volley shot that I had done before in the match. Which sent Isagi sliding.
His eyes flick down to me, a predatory gleam in their depths.
A voice, cutting through, sharp with smug satisfaction:
"You're the last piece, right?"
"I wanted you right here—front row seats."
Then the cold dread washes over me. Again. That infuriatingly clever brain, always three steps ahead.
My planted leg tries to adjust mid-slide, a desperate twist of my body. Balance lost.
My trailing foot catches the unforgiving turf.
CRACK.
Agony explodes in my ankle. I hit the ground hard, the momentum carrying me past him as he smoothly shifts his weight.
From the dirt, through the haze of pain, I watch him take one elegant step, one clean, decisive strike.
The ball curls, a beautiful, cruel arc around the outstretched fingers of the diving keeper, nestling itself into the far corner of the net.
Thwump. The net bulges.
And then… the shrill blast of the whistle.
Full time.
10–6.
It's over.
Silence inside my head.
Isagi walks past. Slows down just enough to glance over his shoulder.
"Thanks for the new little trick, lazy genius."
Smirk. Gone.
I don't even have the strength to be mad.
I just stare at the sky, chest heaving, mind spinning.
How can one game do this to me?
All this frustration…
All this adrenaline…
All this fun?
I never thought I'd feel this much from just chasing a ball.
And yet—
I want more.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author Notes:
YO!
With this chapter, the First Selection is almost wrapped up. Just one more before we dive into the chaos of the Second Selection.
Me and NB had a blast putting this one together, and we hope you all enjoyed it too! This chapter clocked in at around 7,000 words, and the entire game sits at roughly 13,000 words—yeah, a massive one, right?
Also, for those who might've missed it—
Nagi's goal on Isagi? Yep, it's the same move he pulled off against Rin in the Second Selection.
And that final goal by Isagi? A perfect copy of that, just to spite Nagi. Petty king behavior.
With that said, we'd love it if you could drop us a few power stones, reviews, or comments—anything to let us know how you're liking the ride.
Signing off,
– SG
Editor's Notes:-
This chapter was so funny.
SG really hates Naruhaya….
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter.
-NB