{Reo's POV}
The final match of this wing.
We already had enough wins under our belt to cruise through the selection.
And seriously? Team Z? Tch. They weren't even worth the warm-up.
Even if they hadn't lost a match till now, neither have we. With me and Nagi on the same field, we're unstoppable.
And who the hell were in Team Z to stop us?
Nobody.
Because Nagi…
He's my treasure.
"Nagi, you excited to play today?"
He was still half-asleep, his hair a mess, controller probably still warm from another all-nighter.
He rubbed his eyes lazily. "Huh? Oh… hmm. Maybe."
He answered. Wow.
"You guys are ignoring me again,"
I sighed as a familiar voice rang out from my right.
Zantetsu. Ugh.
"You're making me feel invincible!"
Not this again.
"Idiot Zantetsu, it's invisible, not invincible. But… sure. I'll make you feel both if that helps."
"I said the same thing though," he pouted.
Yeah, you didn't.
Despite everything, I couldn't help but grin. These two—annoying or not—were my team.
We finally reached the end of the tunnel, stepping out onto the pitch.
The lights hit us. The crowd buzzed, even if it was just staff and players.
And there they were—Team Z.
I looked over the squad, scanning each of their faces.
Then—
I froze.
Wait…
...That's him.
The one from the videos on the internet about the double nutmeg goal.
That's the Blue Demon.
Isagi Yoichi.
[AN:- Ego recorded the matches. But he felt that giving them the recordings would ruin the surprise, and he wouldn't get to see how much they could improvise on the spot without the instructions from a coach.]
His eyes…
There was a terrifying stillness in them.
Not rage.
Not excitement.
Just... clarity.
Like a beast that had accepted what it was.
Cold. Precise. Certain.
And for the first time in this entire selection...
I felt a chill crawl up my spine.
I turned toward Nagi and Zantetsu, my grin curling wider. "Hey… you see that guy?" I nodded toward the center of Team Z's formation. "That's Isagi Yoichi."
Zantetsu blinked. "He looks… intense."
Nagi yawned, stretching like a cat. "Hmm. Still doesn't look like much."
I smirked. "You'll see. This match might actually be fun."
We took our positions as the whistle blew. Team V got the kickoff.
Nagi nudged the ball back to me before jogging forward at his usual lazy pace.
Zantetsu immediately took off on the right flank like a missile, full sprint.
Tch. Typical.
I spotted Nagi drifting into space near the left side of the final third and flicked the ball into the air. A lob pass—slightly off, not my cleanest—but whatever.
He'd handle it.
And just like always…
Nagi stopped the ball midair with a soft flick of his heel—ridiculously casual—before rolling it to his left with a smooth backheel tap.
Zantetsu was already there.
One touch.
A twist of the body.
And then—boom.
A curved finesse shot, rising to the top left corner of the net.
The goalkeeper barely even moved.
1–0.
Just like that, we were on the board.
I laughed to myself as we ran back to formation.
"Let's see what kind of game the Blue Demon brings to the table."
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Kira's POV}
It was a normal start for Team Z.
Same as always—Isagi letting the opponent take the first goal.
I used to think it was recklessness.
But now… I'm starting to think it's something else.
Something scarier.
Isagi lets them celebrate.
Let's them believe.
Just so he can tear it all down in the most brutal way possible.
Sadist? Maybe.
Strategist? Definitely.
Or maybe it's his way of gathering data. Watching.
Testing the waters… gauging what the enemy is capable of before revealing his hand.
I don't know which it is—and maybe neither does he.
But one thing's clear.
No one on Team Z looked shaken. Not a twitch of worry. No frustration.
They just walked back into position, calm… like the match had just started.
Hell, it had just started.
The ball was placed at the center. Isagi stood over it, his boot gently rolling it back and forth.
His eyes… fixed, sharp, and unreadable.
He looked like a predator waiting for the signal to pounce.
Bachira stood beside him, bouncing on his heels with that usual playful grin.
But even he wasn't joking around today.
Everyone had seen that shot from four eyes.
Top-left finesse, full-speed—deadly.
But Isagi?
He just smirked.
Whistle.
The game resumed—and Isagi moved.
Fast.
He didn't explode forward recklessly—no, his run was measured. Efficient.
His first touch cut diagonally across the field, and immediately two Team V defenders moved to close him down.
That was his invitation.
A light feint to the left—
One defender bit hard. Slipped.
Then a perfect ball stop.
He killed the ball under his sole so cleanly it was like it had never been moving.
Then—burst.
That sharp acceleration. That snap of momentum.
The second defender tried adjusting—too slow.
I saw the gap form.
The one Isagi always sees.
He didn't waste time.
With a sharp first touch, Isagi cut diagonally across the field, dragging the ball with him like it was tied to his foot.
Two Team V defenders surged towards him, trying to trap him near the touchline.
He didn't panic.
The moment they got close, Isagi froze—just for a split second—his body leaning inward like he was about to push through the left gap.
Both defenders read it.
Both lunged.
Mistake.
With a slight shift of weight, Isagi faked left and spun outward with a tight inside cut, dragging the ball across his body with surgical precision.
One defender slipped.
The other reached with his leg—too far.
Second feint.
Isagi bent low, feinted a shot, and chopped the ball behind his heel with a reverse drag. He was already sprinting into the gap before the defenders could recover.
Now inside the box—
Now in range.
He didn't go for power. Didn't go for flash.
He planted his left foot and curled a low shot across the goal, tucking it just past the keeper's outstretched arm.
The net moved, Clean.
1–1.
Just like that.
Not even five minutes into the game, and Team Z had equalized.
He just stood there… turned around slowly… scanning Team V like a hawk.
Cold. Focused. Calculating.
Then his eyes locked on Reo.
And he smiled.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Isagi's POV}
Team V revolves around three players. The one with the violet bun. The white-haired one. And the guy with glasses.
The white-haired one—Nagi—his movements are different. Unusual. He controlled a lazy, floating pass like it was nothing. Didn't even break a sweat. He's interesting. But aside from him, the rest? Not worth noting.
That just makes things clearer.
I'll do what I came here to do.
Score 10 goals.
By myself.
They reset fast. Ball at violet bun''s feet again. He's trying to keep control, slow the tempo. Smart. But too late.
I've already seen it.
He plays it wide to white hair. A soft touch. Casual. Almost lazy. But white hair still controls it clean. The ball just sticks to him. That control…
Yeah—he's the only problem here.
I press, but not hard. Just enough to push their rhythm out of sync.
Behind me, I hear Bachira's voice.
"Yo, Isagi~ you seeing it too?"
I nod without turning.
He gets it. The flow. The space. The next three passes before they even happen.
White hair cuts inside. Violet bun overlaps. Predictable.
Kira shades left, blocks the lane.
I jump the route.
Touch.
Ball's mine.
In one motion, I kill the pass and turn with it, dragging it forward.
"Kunigami! Front post!"
He's already moving—like he was waiting for the signal.
I feint like I'm going left, but pivot clean and send a slicing through ball past the defender's foot. Kunigami charges in, bodying off his mark, but I'm not done.
I follow.
Kunigami traps it in the box—heavy touch. Defender closes in.
That's fine.
Because I'm already there.
The ball rolls free after a deflection—right into my path.
Inside of my right foot. Quick curl.
Low. Precise.
Net.
2–1.
Just like that.
Second goal.
Eight more.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Reo's POV}
It's him.
The Blue Demon.
I knew the name the second he scored the equalizer. That quiet smile… that look in his eyes—same as the clips I watched. The double nutmeg. The ridiculous composure. The way he made defenders look like cones.
I should've been more prepared.
But watching him online and facing him on the pitch… they're two different things.
He's not just skilled. He's inevitable.
He's not dribbling to beat us—he's positioning us. Every pass he makes, every step he takes, it's like he's setting a trap five moves ahead.
And we're walking right into it.
He's using his team like extensions of himself. White hair, orange hair, yellow bangs—they're just pieces on his board. And he's the one flipping it over.
Isagi's not done. He doesn't stop.
White hair intercepts a weak pass from me, flicks it to orange hair, and Isagi's already on the move, pulling off another one of those ridiculous runs. He doesn't even break stride when orange hair returns the ball to him—just a quick tap to set it, and then the strike.
The ball flies past two defenders and into the bottom corner.
3–1.
How is he doing this?
I have to stop him.
We have to stop him.
But every time I try to make a move, it's like he's already seen it coming. I press him hard, but he shifts the ball just out of reach. I try to cover the gaps, but he's already ahead, knowing exactly where the ball's going.
I look over at Nagi. He's still sharp, still watching, but I can see the doubt in his eyes.
This isn't just a game anymore.
This is his game.
And we're just trying to catch up.
And then it happens again.
I make the mistake of a slow pass. Too predictable.
Isagi picks it off before anyone even realizes.
There's no time to react. I know he's going for it, but even then, I don't expect it to be this clean. From half the pitch away, he takes a touch, and then—
Bang.
A rocket. The ball flies toward the top corner, curving perfectly away from the keeper's outstretched arms.
4–1.
My heart sinks.
I blink, trying to process.
Did that just happen?
And just when I think it's over, just when I start to gain hope—I see it.
Isagi.
The way he moves, so assured, so composed. He's already positioning himself, eyes scanning for the next gap in the defense, the next opportunity to tear us apart. His body language is effortless, as though he's been playing us all along—waiting for the exact moment to strike.
I glance at Nagi, then Zantetsu, searching for some spark of determination, some trace of fight left in them. But I see it now. It's not just me. None of us can keep up. We're all suffocating under the weight of his presence on the pitch.
The game's slipping through our fingers faster than I can process. Each pass he makes, each movement he executes, is too precise, too calculated. We're reacting, scrambling, trying to chase shadows. I'm drowning in this realization, watching Isagi dictate every little detail of the game, and there's nothing I can do to stop him.
I try to refocus. I can't let him break me now. I can't show weakness.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Nagi's POV}
I should be the one to stop him.
But Isagi? He's on another level.
I watch him glide across the pitch, and for a moment, I feel a shift in my mind.
Is this what football really is?
I've always played with confidence, knowing what I could do. But now, with every touch, every move Isagi makes, I start to doubt what I thought I knew about the game. He's not just a player—he's something else. A force that's impossible to stop.
I feel it. The pressure. The helplessness.
And yet... I refuse to give in to this. I can't.
This… is getting kind of fun.
Isagi's already in motion, gliding across the field like he knows exactly where everything's going to be. The ball sticks to him like it belongs there. I'm watching, but I'm not frozen. Not this time.
He's beating us. Badly.
4–1. And he's scored all of them.
The old me would've shrugged it off.
"Doesn't matter. It's just a game."
But watching Isagi… doing what he's doing... something clicks.
It's not about ego. I don't care about proving I'm better.
But for the first time, I want to win. Not just play. Win.
I start moving—no hesitation. I step into his path, body light, calm, just like I always am. But now there's a reason behind it.
Isagi sees me coming.
His eyes don't widen. They narrow. Focused. Sharp. Like he knew I'd show up.
I stretch my leg to poke the ball away—
But he's already cut past. So clean. So fast.
Then he says it, not yelling, not loud—just enough for me to hear as he breezes by:
"You're late, Lazy Ass. Try waking up sooner next time."
It's just… how he is.
Matter-of-fact. Like everything he says is just the truth waiting to be realized.
I turn my head, watching him curl another long-range shot into the top corner like it's easy.
6–1? No. Just 5. That was the fifth. Still 5–1.
But it won't be for long.
My chest tightens.
Not from fear.
From something else.
So this is what it feels like to chase something.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Reo's POV}
What the hell is happening?
We were supposed to crush them.
We always crush teams like this.
But Isagi…
Four goals. Four. And not a single one of them was due to luck. Every play he made had intention, every touch calculated. He wasn't just reacting—he was shaping the game, bending it around him. Is this why he was known as Blue Demon?
I clench my fists. My chest tightens with something ugly.
Frustration?
No.
Fear.
We've lost control.
Zantetsu isn't saying anything anymore. Even Nagi—
I glance sideways.
…He's moving.
Wait—Nagi?
He's going after Isagi. Not because I told him to. Not because we planned it. He just moved.
That's not like him.
He never acts on his own.
But now… he's chasing.
I watch as Nagi tries to intercept—and fails. Isagi breaks through him like he's nothing, dragging the ball forward like gravity bends in his favor.
Then I hear it—
That voice. His voice.
"You're late, Lazy Ass. Try waking up sooner next time."
I blink. That tone…
It's not even arrogant. It's cold. Honest.
Like he doesn't even see us as threats.
The ball gets buried in the net once more
I can feel something slipping.
Not just the scoreline.
Control.
My grip.
On the match. On Nagi.
He was always the weapon. I just had to aim him.
But now he's choosing his own targets.
I feel the pit growing in my stomach.
We're five goals down. Isagi's running the game like a conductor—and the rest of us are just stuck playing along.
How did it come to this?
How the hell did I let it come to this?
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Kira's POV}
I'm done watching.
Isagi, Bachira, Kunigami — they've all stepped into something bigger. Something personal.
And me?
I've just been tagging along, like I still owe a debt from that first match.
But I don't.
Not anymore.
Four eyes overcooks a first touch right after the kickoff. The ball rolls free, and I don't hesitate.
One step, two—
I slide in and take it clean, leaving him spinning on his heels.
I don't look back.
No time for that.
I drive forward on the left wing, the ball glued to my feet. I'm not sprinting blindly — I'm carving space.
That's my weapon.
I don't break defenders with raw power or flashy tricks.
I glide past them.
My body angles low as I cut inside, feinting a sharp touch with my left. The defender flinches — just enough.
I roll the ball outward with my right instep, dragging him wide. Then snap it back inside with the outside of my boot.
He's off balance.
I'm not.
Another defender steps up — taller, more physical. He lunges with his leg, trying to force me to the sideline.
Wrong move.
I dip my shoulder, fake a full sprint down the line — and the moment he shifts, I chop the ball back diagonally across him, my body turning with the flow.
Not stop-start.
Not flashy.
Just pure balance and weight control.
I can feel it now — the rhythm of the wing, the pace of the game bending around my movement.
This is mine.
This is football.
I enter the edge of the box. Isagi's yelling — I don't even register what he says.
I've already decided.
This is my goal.
I take a touch forward, plant my foot, and drive the ball high toward the far post—
A clean strike. Not for power. For precision.
But just before the ball goes in—
It stops.
No, it's cut off.
Clean.
White hair.
He was in the air with a perfect trap of my shot, calm as ever, one foot on the ball, eyes sharper than before.
He didn't guess. He read the whole thing.
"You're not the only one who wants to win anymore," he says, voice flat but steady.\
He lands. Balances himself. And then looks forward.
Then, just like that. Takes the ball with him. And he's gone.
I stay frozen.
My lungs burn. My legs ache.
But more than that—
My pride stings.
I found something real today.
But someone else found it too.
And I realize—
This isn't just about chasing my own path.
It's about surviving in a world full of monsters.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Nagi's POV}
Something's different.
My legs are moving before I can even think.
I want to win.
I never really said that before. Not out loud. Not even in my head.
But now…
Watching Isagi take over this game, watching white hair try to stand tall—
I don't want to just play anymore.
I want to break this game apart.
Orange hair steps in first, muscles tight, expecting a slow trap.
I raise my leg lazily—just like always.
Then the ball sticks to me.
I flick it around him in one movement. He blinks. I'm already past.
Yellow bangs next. He's unpredictable—smiling, eyes locked in like he's enjoying the moment.
He tries to dance with me, mirror me, force a 1v1 showdown.
But I don't bite.
One soft tap — toe to heel — and I let the ball roll into space. He dives in. I pull it back with the outer edge of my boot, then rotate my body and step around him.
Two down.
The field opens up.
I roll the ball fast forward to Reo.
Now,
Reo's holding the ball near the halfway line, hesitant, guarded.
I sprint up to him.
"Fastest pass. Near the penalty area. Now."
He blinks. "Wha—Nagi—wait—"
I'm already running. No hesitation.
Reo's instincts kick in. He dribbles forward, body caught between keeping the ball and trusting my voice.
Then he sees it.
Sees me.
I'm slicing through the pitch, a straight line.
He winds up and whips a pass.
Fast.
It cuts through the space just above head level, skipping past defenders with a sharp curve.
Perfect.
I don't slow down.
I time my steps—one, two—then launch off the ground like I'm floating.
Mid-air.
The ball's still spinning. Just out of reach for a header.
But not for me.
I raise one leg. Trap.
The ball dies on impact, drops just below my torso in one flawless motion.
Breathe.
Rotate.
My body twists, legs scissor—
And I fire a bicycle kick.
The ball booms off my foot, slicing past the keeper before he even moves.
Top right. Net ripples.
5-2
Silence.
Then gasps.
I landed. One foot, then the other.
Reo's staring, mouth slightly open.
"That good enough?" I ask, brushing dust off my shoulder.
Not because I'm mocking him.
Not because I'm proud.
Because now—
I'm ready to win this thing.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Reo's POV}
What just happened?
Nagi — my Nagi — just pulled off a move that defied logic. He weaved through orange hair and yellow bangs with that effortless control, then called for the fastest pass I've ever delivered. And that finish... a bicycle kick after an aerial trap? It was sublime.
But he did it all without me.
I should be thrilled. This is what I wanted, right? For Nagi to shine, to become the best. But why does it feel like the ground is shifting beneath me?
I remember the first time I saw him, hunched over his phone, indifferent to the world. I saw potential, a treasure waiting to be unearthed. I was the one who brought him into this world of football, who guided him, who believed in him.
Now, he's soaring on his own.
Is this what it means to be left behind?
I shake my head, trying to dispel the creeping doubt. No, this isn't the end. It's a new beginning. If Nagi can evolve, so can I. I won't be a footnote in his story. I'll carve my own path, not as his shadow, but as his equal.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Isagi's POV}
Well. So much for all that.
Witnessing evolution used to be something I looked forward to.
Nowadays, it's more of a hassle.
Still… I'll admit—it's interesting.
The lazy ass actually taking initiative?
Didn't see that coming.
And Kira?
He really thought defying me was the play.
I walk towards him during the pause in play. He's catching his breath near the sideline, still replaying the moment in his head like it didn't just end in total failure. The look in his eyes says it all—he thought that was his moment.
I stop next to him, just close enough to let my words bite.
"You know, Kira… the whole lone wolf thing? Doesn't suit you."
He doesn't say anything. Just glares.
"You had the wing. I saw that. Your movement's decent, even the touch—you've got something there. But what you don't have is the game sense to pull it off solo."
He opens his mouth, probably to defend himself. I cut him off.
"Next time, if you're gonna break the rhythm we're building, at least score. Otherwise…"
I glance at him with a cold half-smile.
"Just pass it to me and save yourself the embarrassment."
I walk off before he can reply. Let that sink in.
Lazy ass was not far ahead. Still in his usual chill posture like nothing happened, even after that absurd goal. The trap. The bicycle. The perfect positioning.
I slow down beside him. He doesn't look at me—doesn't have to.
"You moved well."
He finally glances at me.
"Name?"
"Nagi."
"Ball control's insane. That was clean," I admit, voice low. "Timing? Even better."
He nods slightly, like he already knew.
"But don't get lazy now. One moment doesn't win a match."
He tilts his head, still with that lazy face but tinged with seriousness. "I'm aware."
Good. That's all I needed to hear.
I step back, eyes scanning the field again.
This game isn't over.
Not even close.
And I'm not done watching people break… or evolve.
The ball's back in play. I slide it over to Bachira, clean and quick. His eyes light up the moment he gets it — that usual glint of chaos flashing behind his grin.
He darts forward, weaving through the first defender like he's gliding over air.
I move instantly, ghosting into the left half-space. I don't even need to call for it — he knows. Our rhythm's built off instinct by now. He fakes a pass right, then sends it my way with a subtle heel flick.
I take the ball in stride. One touch. Then another.
Team V's structure is already crumbling — I can feel it. The gaps are wider. Their anticipation, slower.
But not those three.
Nagi. Reo. Zantetsu. They can't go without calling each other's names every few seconds.
They're syncing up.
A three-man press—tight, physical, no space to breathe.
Nagi's the first to close in. That lazy look in his eyes? Gone. He's locked in now. Serious.
I fake a right push, baiting him just enough—then slice through with a La Croqueta, shifting the ball across my body and bursting left.
But before I can build momentum—
Zantetsu crashes into my path.
I'm forced to halt, the ball skidding in place beneath my sole. A split second later, I feel Nagi's arm across my side—blocking my movement from behind.
I roll the ball to my left, shielding it with my body—
Then Reo comes flying in.
Tch.
Nowhere to go.
I grit my teeth and spin—pivoting hard off my plant foot, dragging the ball under me in an improvised Roulette. Not something I've drilled. Not clean. The ball skips a little too far—
Zantetsu's cleats swipe just inches from it.
But I recover.
I snatch it back with a toe drag—just in time.
I turn—no time to breathe. I'm suffocating. Reo in front. Nagi at my side. They're closing in like jaws.
So I dance.
Quick stepovers, sharp feints, shoulders twitching to mislead them.
I slip through the tiny opening—bursting forward. But Zantetsu reads it and body blocks me.
Hard hit.
I stagger.
It's messy, but I'm not letting go.
They start swarming again—Reo from the front, Nagi from the right.
I clench my jaw. Enough.
I'll end this myself.
I spin away from Zantetsu, lowering my body as I accelerate again. Reo charges in to intercept—
I bait him. A half step inward. He bites.
Nutmeg.
Straight through.
I'm past him.
Nagi's still there—cutting in, eyes locked on the loose ball.
But he doesn't expect the burst.
I hit full throttle.
Before he can reach—tap flick over his head.
But when I look up—
He's already turning. His leg swings behind.
A back heel trap?
No way.
He controls it.
Flicks it back over my head.
My eyes snap up.
It's floating behind me. He's about to pass—
I crouch low, pivot fast—then snatch it mid-air from under his foot.
But in that heartbeat, the other two recover.
Reo. Zantetsu. Again.
I don't hesitate. Step to the side. Left. Then right.
Reo lunges—
I chip it forward.
Zantetsu intercepts. But I shoulder him off just enough to stay upright.
I drag the ball inside.
Reset my stance.
Eyes on goal.
Everything narrows.
Time slows.
One defender behind. One on my shoulder. Keeper waiting. Doesn't matter.
I shift my weight.
Strike.
Low. Driven. Near post.
It zips under the keeper's hand—net ripples.
6–2.
I stand there for a second. Breathing heavy.
Not from exhaustion.
From clarity.
"Keep trying," I mutter under my breath, glancing at where Nagi stands.
"Break harder."
Then I turn.
Back to the halfway line.
Ball's in my court.
This game isn't over until I say it is. Because I still needed another 4 goals.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Nagi's POV}
No. This is not enough.
He scored again.
We still needed three goals to equalize… and now it's four.
Four.
How does someone dribble through me, Reo, and Zantetsu like that?
Even when I shut him down—trapped the ball mid-air, flicked it back over his head—he still recovered. Still stole it.
Still scored.
It didn't even feel like desperation.
It felt like inevitability.
…Isagi Yoichi.
That guy—he's not just playing football.
He's reshaping it.
I stare at the pitch as we line up again, but the whistle doesn't blow for kick-off.
No. It's the other one.
Halftime.
The first half ends.
15-minute break.
I walk toward the tunnel. Slowly. Barely blinking.
My body feels fine.
But my mind's still on that last goal.
Still playing it back, frame by frame.
I need more.
More goals.
More touches.
More control.
I want to win.
No—
I want to beat Isagi.
Because if I can't beat him…
…then what's the point of calling this a "game" at all?
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Isagi's POV}
The moment we hit the locker room, it's chaos.
Kunigami slams his hand against the wall, grinning like he just watched a live-action superhero movie.
"Bro—six goals? Are you serious right now?!"
Gagamaru's still wide-eyed, muttering, "This dude's a monster. A legit monster…"
Raichi's trying to act cool, leaning back with his arms crossed, but even he's side-eyeing me like I'm some kind of cheat code.
And then there's Bachira.
He practically skips over, crouching down in front of me with this ridiculous sparkle in his eyes.
"Hehehe… Yo, Isagi~" he hums, voice teasing, "You've been possessed by a super nasty monster, haven't you?"
I lean back against the bench, breathing slowly. My jersey's clinging to me, soaked with sweat. My pulse is still high from that last play… from nutmegging Reo… flicking past Nagi… scoring while all three of them tried to eat me alive.
Bachira leans even closer, eyes gleaming.
"Tell me, what's it like?" he whispers. "Having the whole field tilt in your direction? Watching people panic when you touch the ball?"
"…It's fun," I reply, dry as ever. "Because I'm not done yet."
Bachira lets out a delighted giggle, like that answer just fed him his favorite meal.
Kunigami raises a brow. "Seriously, though. Six goals in one half? You gonna go for ten?"
I don't answer right away. I just stare at the wall across from me.. My reflection in the mirror nearby doesn't look like much.
But that's fine.
It's what they don't see that matters.
I'm not here to celebrate.
I'm here to crush them.
All of them.
"…Yeah," I finally say, standing up and rolling my shoulders. "Ten sounds good."
Their reactions blur together—some whistles, some laughter, even a gasp or two.
Bachira starts dancing in place, chanting, "Blue Demon, Blue Demon~"
I roll my eyes.
But I don't stop him.
Because right now?
That name doesn't feel too far off.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
{Ego's POV}
"…He's doing it again," I mutter, eyes locked on the wall of monitors in front of me.
The main screen shows Isagi walking off the field, shoulders steady, the weight of six goals sitting on his back like it's nothing. His teammates swarm around him like he's a beacon in the dark—because right now, he is.
Behind me, I hear Anri's voice crack just a little.
"That… that was unreal," she whispers. "He got past three of them and still managed to score. How is that even—"
"It's not a fluke," I cut in, folding my arms. "It's evolution. Real, raw, rapid evolution."
Anri doesn't respond. She's still trying to process the chaos Isagi created in just one half.
I click over to another feed. The inside of Team V's locker room lights up in front of us, the mood drastically different.
Reo's pacing, muttering under his breath. "This is bad… This is really bad. That freak scored six. Our lead's gone, our control's gone. We're—"
"Reo," Nagi interrupts. He's sitting back, arms resting on his knees, still lazy in posture—but there's something in his tone. Different. Firm. "You're still here, right?"
Reo freezes.
"With you still here, I can still score."
There's silence. A beat passes.
Reo rubs his temples. "Nagi… we're losing. You saw what he did out there. He's not human. Winning now is—"
"I want to win," Nagi says, cutting him off.
He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't yell. He just says it—like it's the simplest truth in the world.
"…Don't you?"
Another pause. Then he adds, "Reo, let's become the best players in the world."
I hear Anri suck in a quiet breath.
That lazy genius who only cared about "fun" just declared war.
I can't help but grin.
"Hah. Interesting."
"Are you saying… Isagi caused this?" Anri finally asks, her voice low.
"Of course he did," I say, my grin widening. " Isagi Yoichi forces the game to change around him. He makes people evolve just by existing on the same pitch. That's the quality I saw in him the moment he started controlling the field. And now—he's making Nagi Seishiro stand up and want something."
I lean forward, eyes gleaming behind my glasses.
"…This is getting fun. I want to see it. I want to see how far that ego of his can go. I want to watch him devour the field and everything in it."
"Even if that means he drags everyone into that chaos with him?"
"He's not dragging them," I reply. "They're following him."
Because Isagi Yoichii is becoming the kind of striker who doesn't just score.
He reconstructs the very idea of victory.
And I'm going to see it through to the end. And help him achieve it.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author Notes:
Yo!
Sorry for the delay—college has been hell lately. These tests are ridiculous, and they've got me studying more than I ever planned. Honestly, they might make me crash out at this rate. And guess what? Another test is coming this Monday. Should I just drop everything and crash out on them for real?
Anyway, enough of my academic suffering.
Originally, I planned to finish this entire match in a single chapter. But as you can see, that… didn't happen. The ideas just kept growing, and I've been working on this for the past three days straight. It's still not done. Of course, NB has been editing and tossing in ideas too—shoutout to them!
I'm honestly not sure how to feel about this chapter. You guys let me know in the comments. I know the character appearances might feel a little light this time, but don't worry—I've got that part covered in the next one. This chapter was all about getting Nagi's awakening and evolution out of the way.
Now the match is heading toward even ground…? Maybe. Honestly, not even I know if Nagi can equalize. At the rate Isagi's pushing him, he might not make it to McDonald's by the end. 😂
Anyway, thanks for reading as always. And yeah, the editor actually did his job. Give him some attention. As you can see below, he is depressed with the lack of it.
Signing off,
SG
Editor's Notes:-
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter.
I know that you guys don't really care much about the E.N's as much as the A.N's, so I'm not gonna write that much.
-NB