"What a strike! Mikage Reo unleashes a spectacular Travela shot with his left foot—an absolute stunner headed straight for goal!"
The commentators shot to their feet, this moment demanded their full attention, eyes locked on the ball arcing through the air.
The match had barely begun, but the pressure was already suffocating with the sheer talent on the field.
And now, Reo's shot had lit the fuse.
The ball soared, slicing through the air. It drifted toward the right side of the box.
Gagamaru was already in motion, eyes tracking the trajectory.
But then it happened.
As the ball reached its peak, it twisted in mid-air—curving violently to the left like a blade veering off-course. A sick arc born of pure technique.
Gagamaru's eyes flew wide open the instant the ball curved.
What had looked like a clean trajectory to the right suddenly twisted in mid-air, veering sharply left. Reo's Travela shot wasn't just impressive—it was deceptive, bending expectation. Gagamaru had already committed his weight to one side, and now, every part of his body was screaming to correct his position.
He growled under his breath, his muscles coiling in an instant. He flung himself left with everything he had, hoping—desperately hoping—to intercept the shot.
But as he moved, a cold realization clawed at him.
He wasn't going to make it.
Even with his elite reflexes, even with his instincts, he could tell. The ball was moving too fast, curving too wide, and he was a beat too late.
And that was all it took. A beat was a death sentence.
He'd seen this move before. Not on the field, but in recordings. Over and over again. The fluid motion, the sharp curve, the near-impossible angle.
And now.
Reo Mikage had reproduced it. Ninety-nine percent accurate. That one percent difference might separate imitation from invention, but it still carried danger—and it was about to end in a goal.
Or so they thought.
"Hey, Reo."
Reo's grin froze. Gagamaru, mid-dive, felt a chill creep up his back.
From the left, a wild Isagi appeared.
He came flying into frame with frightening timing—no wasted motion, no delay. Just pure calculation.
"What's the hurry?"
He continued, voice low and laced with amusement.
"...didn't I say"
His leg extended in mid-air, precisely targeting the spinning ball.
"…that I'd try not to finish this match too early?"
With one clean touch, Isagi's foot met the ball—absorbing the impact, neutralizing the spin, killing the momentum. A masterful trap that rendered all of Reo's technical brilliance.
The ball dropped to his feet like it had always belonged there.
The goal was gone. And just like that.
So was Reo's moment.
"And here he comes—the Blue Lock Superstar!"
The commentator's voice rang through the stadium, bursting with excitement.
"Isagi Yoichi with a last-second intervention, denying Mikage Reo what looked like a certain goal!"
Reo stood frozen.
His breath caught, mind racing.
He wasn't surprised that Isagi could pull off something like this. No—he acknowledged him too much to ever underestimate him.
Reo's mind spun, cycling through everything he'd seen, everything he'd read. He wasn't like the others—he didn't just admire Isagi's brilliance from afar. He had studied him, followed him, imitated him to near-perfection. Every match Isagi played, every key moment, Reo had dissected it all like a scientist cracking the genetic code of a superior being.
He had built his evolution by chasing Isagi's shadow.
That was Reo Mikage's genius.
The Chameleon of Blue Lock.
He had built his strategy specifically to bypass Isagi's talent for sudden intervention.
And this moment was the execution of that plan.
He had seen Isagi pressing high in the attacking third, already committed forward when Chigiri made the interception. There was no way for Isagi to understand the shift in play, track the ball's path, predict Reo's decision, and cover that distance in time.
Not when Reo chose the shortest route to the goal, minimizing time and reducing the window for analysis.
It was supposed to be foolproof.
That's why he moved without hesitation. Isagi would've needed at least a few seconds to register the change, process Reo's movement, realize the danger—and by then, the ball should've already been in the net.
And yet… he was here.
'What? What's he doing there…?'
His eyes locked on the figure now in front of him. He hadn't lost sight of Isagi for even a second before the switch. In fact, he had accounted for him.
Reo's brain fumbled for an answer.
'Did he boost his speed…? No! That's not it.'
'You don't just become faster overnight. Even someone like Isagi couldn't just evolve physically like that.'
'Then what?'
All the while Reo stood frozen in that split-second spiral of disbelief—still trying to piece together how Isagi had appeared from nowhere, how all his logic and planning had crumbled—Isagi was already moving on.
With the ball now under his control, his first touch already dampening the spin and weight of Reo's Travela, Isagi pivoted sharply.
He used his left foot to send the ball sailing, angling it toward the right-back position.
"Aye aye!"
Came the quick reply.
Kurona. Already dropping back, tuned into Isagi's tempo like a second heartbeat.
He received the pass, killing the ball's momentum as he spun in place, immediately shifting into forward gear.
The counterattack had begun.
"Get back!"
Chigiri's voice rang out like an alarm bell, sharp and urgent.
The Manshine City players, caught mid-transition, snapped to attention. The warning was clear—this wasn't a normal counter. This was a Bastard München counterattack.
And worse—it was one with Isagi.
They had seen what Isagi Yoichi could do when left unchecked—how he carved FC Barcha apart with three goals scored entirely by himself.
So when that ball left his foot and Bastard München shifted into their attack, it wasn't just the defenders who scrambled.
It was the whole of Manshine City.
They weren't worried about the ball.
They were worried about him—Isagi.
The man who didn't need a team to break you.
And now, he was already sprinting upfield, eyes blazing, hunting for his next goal in the most menacing way.
Kurona matched the rhythm without missing a beat. He surged forward along the right channel, keeping his touches tight.
He wanted to make a contribution in this match to keep his place in the lineup secured, making a mistake here isn't an option.
"Not so fast, Braids."
But Reo had recovered.
Snapping out of his stunned state, his mind rebooted instantly. He cut a sharp diagonal run across the pitch, eyes narrowing on Kurona.
Kurona glanced once—Reo closing in. And now, another.
Ness.
Coming in fast, a glitter of possessiveness in his eyes as he veered in from the opposite angle, fangs bared.
"It's not your time to shine!"
Ness snarled, voice cracked with obsession.
"That goal belongs to Kaiser!"
Kurona didn't even blink.
"Expected. Expected."
His voice was barely audible, detached.
And then—snap.
With the back-heel of his right foot, Kurona flicked the ball behind him, a little to the left.
Because he'd already played out this moment dozens of times.
In practice. In simulations.
He didn't need to look.
He had the best support in the world behind him—Isagi Yoichi.
Reo and Ness both turned at once, eyes snapping to the source—only to see Isagi already in motion.
And then, without hesitation, he lobbed it right back—a one-two. The ball arced high over Reo and Ness's heads, curving perfectly into Kurona's path as he slipped between the two like a ghost.
"Keep up the tempo."
Isagi's voice came calmly, almost chilling in how assured it was.
Kurona didn't need to respond.
He already was.
His legs had already responded, keeping stride with the tempo his partner dictated.
Reo, however, had seen enough. He disengaged from Kurona, trusting Arthur to pick up the defensive responsibility, and redirected his focus.
Straight to Isagi.
Because if there was one lesson hammered into him, it was this:
You don't leave Isagi Yoichi unmarked. Not even for a second.
As he closed in, the full scale of what made Isagi Isagi became clear once again.
He wasn't just another genius. He wasn't just smart or skilled.
He was complete.
A body seemingly engineered for football—lean, balanced, agile.
His movements were precise—not merely elegant, but calculated to the millimeter. Every turn of the ankle, every shift in his center of gravity, was refined for maximum effect.
His ball control was like silk fused with steel. Every touch, every motion radiated a kind of exactness that seemed unfair.
And then came the speed.
Reo had reviewed the stats. 5.5 seconds to top sprint.
That was Olympic-level—matching Usain Bolt's record. But unlike the sprinting legend, Isagi could maintain it for the full 90 minutes, somehow maintaining that elite burst without bleeding stamina.
And he didn't move in straight lines like a sprinter. Isagi weaved through angles with near-impossible precision, shifting directions mid-run with the poise of a seasoned dancer.
You could list his strengths for hours, dissect every facet of his play, and still not touch the full scope of what made him terrifying.
And the world knew it.
They didn't just recognize his talent—they braced for what came next. Because what Isagi represented wasn't just dominance.
It was destiny.
And Reo, for all his imitation, for all his growth and vision, now had to face the one player you couldn't completely copy...
Because Isagi was a prototype that no one else could replicate.
Because Isagi Yoichi wasn't made to be copied.
He was made to be feared.
Isagi was slicing across the pitch in a diagonal run. Reo kept pace beside him, shoulder to shoulder. Their bodies collided briefly—Reo leaning in hard, trying to disrupt the trajectory—but Isagi barely shifted. His momentum was unbroken, legs pumping forward with the stubborn force of inevitability.
Reo didn't even bother to look surprised. He had studied Isagi more than anyone else on this field. He knew about his balance—how Isagi could take a hit without losing even a fraction of his pace. And yet, even with all that knowledge, Reo still went up against him.
Ahead, Kurona had already cut through the midfield. With Arthur left behind and Driver moving to intercept, Kurona spotted the gap and sent a swift, powerful pass toward Isagi.
Isagi veered right to meet it. Reo was still on his shoulder, clinging close, trying to keep pace. But then something changed.
Isagi shifted gears.
He pushed.
A hard, deliberate drive of the shoulder, and Reo staggered back half a step.
"Argh...!"
Reo gritted his teeth. He knew Isagi was strong, but not like this. Isagi didn't usually win with brawn. This wasn't the strategic Isagi that danced around defenders with cold calculation. This was brute force. Uncompromising. Relentless.
A charging bull.
And Isagi wasn't a fan of playing like that. It wasn't his preferred way—but in that split second, he didn't have the luxury of style.
Because someone else had seen it too.
"Nice pass, Lapdog."
That voice.
Kaiser.
From the side, timing his arrival with almost perfect clarity, the Emperor leapt into the passing lane. His eyes were locked on the ball that Kurona had sent in. He leapt toward the ball, ready to intercept and steal the spotlight.
But Isagi had already responded.
He launched himself forward—right at the collision point.
Their boots reached at the same time, but Isagi made the first touch.
A flick.
With the outside of his right foot, he flicked the ball up—smooth and controlled, popping it just over Kaiser's head.
Kaiser skidded to a stop, blinking in disbelief.
"Brute bastard…"
He muttered under his breath.
He hadn't expected that. Not from Isagi. Not the raw, untamed force. Not the physical shove to shed Reo.
Now, with the ball at his feet, Isagi charged ahead. His pace didn't falter even with the ball at his feet.
But just ahead, another obstacle emerged.
"Not so fast, you show-off."
Agi.
His voice rang out, his stance was solid. Agi had planted himself between Isagi and the goal like a wall made of limbs—his wide reach and spatial control turning that space into a minefield.
The match-up was set.
Isagi versus Agi.
The smile on Isagi's face didn't vanish—it only widened. Agi wasn't an easy man to beat. His defensive range was wide, and his recovery was fast. It was a challenge Isagi welcomed with open arms.
As Isagi approached, Agi kept his body low and ready, waiting for that first tell—any signal to pounce. And when Isagi entered the radius of danger, Agi lunged with a quick, precise sweep of his long leg, aiming to trap the ball and shut the whole sequence down in one motion.
Just as Agi moved in, Isagi dragged the ball back with his right foot in a sharp, deliberate pull. The turf tore slightly beneath his studs as he pivoted, shifting his balance in an instant. His left foot nudged the ball forward again, and then again—small, soft touches that were almost invisible to the eye, but deadly in execution.
He cut past Agi cleanly, slipping through the gap the moment it opened. No flair. No stepovers. Just pure, efficient motion—blinding acceleration matched with flawless control.
Agi's eyes widened as he twisted to follow, but it was already too late.
Until now, he had only heard about Isagi's acceleration, even while dribbling.
And now he was seeing it.
All the while, the field continued to shift.
Kurona, weaving his way through the crowd, had slipped past Driver and was now running parallel to the play—just behind the midfielder. He was in a pocket of space, unseen by most, but not by Isagi.
Isagi spotted him immediately. His peripheral vision locked onto Kurona's path, and for the briefest moment, his posture shifted—left shoulder dipped, right foot drawing back. He was shaping to deliver a long pass to the right wing, leading Kurona into the clear.
But it was bait.
A trap.
A trap for Kunigami who lunged forward, reading the cue, moving in to cut off the pass—eyes sharp, expression filled with frustration.
"Hello, Hero."
Isagi's voice came low, amused, as he twisted away mid-motion, completely bypassing the interception. Kunigami's foot sliced the air.
The fake had worked perfectly. Isagi never intended to pass.
He darted left instead, his body already shaping into the next motion.
But then—another voice cut through.
"Sorry, Isagi…"
It was Yukimiya.
Isagi's eyes flicked up—and sure enough, Yukimiya had read the sequence. He was already cutting in from the left, his speed just enough to reach Isagi.
"…but I'm running out of time."
There was no anger in his voice. Just a quiet desperation—buried deep under his usually collected tone. This wasn't a move made out of rivalry.
It was survival.
And now, for the first time in this play, Isagi was flanked.
Two of his own—Yukimiya ahead, Kunigami behind—closing in, not as teammates.
But as predators.
The window was shrinking.
But if anyone could break through it…
It was him.
.
.
.
.
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[A/N]:
Quick Update
For a while now, chapters have been following a weekly release schedule. That's going to change moving forward.
From here on out, there will no longer be a fixed schedule — I'll be writing and posting chapters as soon as they're ready, just like I used to on Webnovel.
This means:
Some chapters may come within a day.
(Which would be pretty rare unless the story is on an interesting turn.)
Others might take a few days, depending on the plot and flow.
But no chapter will ever take longer than a week.
This shift allows me more creative flexibility, and hopefully, it means even better chapters for you all.
Thanks as always for your support and understanding!