Hello everyone, welcome to my Blue Lock fic! This is maining Isagi Yoichi.
No, there are no pairings, this is a soccer manga. Idk why there are so many fics going around with just gay lemons for this series and not any sort of actual soccer content, so I decided to take matters into my own hands and make one of the few fics for Blue Lock that is actually strictly about soccer. Or as it's internationally called, futbol.
This is basically a story of what Isagi might have been like if he managed to break through from the "team first" mentality beaten into him since he started playing soccer. During his game with Ichinan, Isagi discovers the pleasure of being an egoist, and it changes his course for the better.
Forgive me if the writing isn't what you'd expect, it'll take me a bit to adapt towards the dramatic style that Blue Lock has become synonymous with. Not their fanfics (other than the few authors who decided to not write gay smut and make proper stories), but the actual manga itself.
Alright, I've said what needed to be said. Let's get into it.
—
The cheers of the crowd were deafening, reverberating through Isagi's entire being. The roar seemed to swirl around him like a storm, crashing against his mind, but it was all just noise. Barely anything worth reacting toward. His senses were laser-focused, narrowed down to one single thought that pulsed like a heartbeat through his veins.
'Goal. I must score the goal.'
The defenders were a blur behind him, too far to catch up. Only the goalkeeper stood in his path. The goalkeeper, stretched wide like a spider ready to pounce, arms outstretched and waiting for any sign of a move. The net shimmered behind him, tempting. His breath quickened. Every muscle in his body hummed with adrenaline.
His teammate, Tada, was running next to him, eyes wide, his voice desperate.
"Pass it here, Isagi!" Tada's words were clear, but they barely registered.
"Pass it, Isagi! Remember, soccer is a team sport!" another teammate shouted, almost pleading.
Isagi's coach, on the sidelines, shouted the same advice, his voice blending into the noise of the stadium. "Don't be selfish! Think of the team!"
But it was all background noise. Their voices were distant, muffled by the roar of his own thoughts.
He stole a quick glance to his left. Tada, sprinting, hands raised in the air. His face was twisted with a mix of hope and desperation. But the goal... the goal was right there. The only thing standing between him and glory was that one final step. He could already picture it—the ball rocketing past the goalkeeper, the net bulging as the crowd erupted.
No.
He could feel the pressure mounting with every beat of his heart, louder than the stadium's roar. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for. He wouldn't pass. He couldn't pass. Not now.
'I won't pass the ball to them,' he thought, tightening his grip on the ball. 'It's better for me to shoot it into the goal. I'm the striker for a reason.'
The goal. The goal was all that mattered. Not Tada. Not the coach. Not the team. He was the one in control now. This was his moment. The game was on his shoulders, and no one was going to take it from him.
"Isagi!" Tada's voice cracked through the thick fog of his focus. "We can win this together! Please!"
But Isagi only had one thing on his mind. He took one last glance at the goalkeeper, who had already begun to inch forward, anticipating his next move. The gap between him and the goal was narrowing—he had to act fast.
His foot swung back, and he let it rip.
His foot met the ball with precision, sending it rocketing towards the net with unbelievable force. The goalkeeper lunged, arms stretched in a desperate attempt to stop it. But it was too late.
Time seemed to slow as the ball sailed into the bottom corner of the net, the thud of the ball hitting the back of the goal a sharp punctuation in the sea of noise. The crowd erupted in an explosion of sound louder than anything Isagi had ever heard.
Isagi stood there, breathless, for a split second, staring at the net as it rippled with the impact of the ball. His chest was heaving with the rush of adrenaline, but his focus didn't waver. He had done it. He had scored.
Tada skidded to a stop beside him, his eyes wide with shock, then slowly morphed into a grin. "You... you actually did it!"
The stadium roared, the crowd chanting his name. Isagi stood tall, his heart still racing, but there was a very prominent grin on his face. With a deep breath, he yelled at the top of his lungs.
"YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!" The roar that he let out eclipsed all the noise of the crowd as his teammates cluttered around him, just in time for the final whistle to be sounded.
"Hell yeah, Isagi! That's what we're talking about!" his coach shouted from the sidelines, a proud grin plastered across his face.
"That was an awesome shot, man!"
"You're fucking awesome, Isagi!"
The massive pile of bodies on top of him, their excitement and joy literally suffocating Isagi as they flopped on him. It was contagious, the happiness that his team exuded, and the striker could easily relate to them.
But amidst the euphoria, amidst the clamor of his teammates' voices and the overwhelming roar of the crowd, a strange feeling began to bubble up inside of Isagi.
It wasn't the usual rush of adrenaline that came from scoring a goal, that surge of excitement and pride that always followed. No, this was a separate feeling, completely unattached to the rest. It had no place in the festive emotions he was feeling, but it still stayed.
Isagi broke free from the dogpile, his legs sore but his heart racing. His teammates, still celebrating, were oblivious to the change that had taken place in him. He didn't care about their cheers anymore. They faded to a background hum as he made his way toward the other team.
Some of the players were crying, heads hung low, shoulders shaking with emotion. Others stood frozen in shock, not yet processing the gravity of the defeat. But there was one who stood out from the rest.
At the center of the field, his hands on his knees, was the one player who had been the star of the game, the fan favorite to win the championship game. The "Jewel of Japan", Kira Ryousuke. His eyes were glazed over, his face pale, as tears ran unchecked down his cheeks. The broken look in his eyes spoke volumes to Isagi.
Isagi stood there for a moment, watching, his steps slowing as he approached the devastated figure. 'The look on their faces…' His goal, the one that had sealed the win, crushed their hopes. It shattered their dreams. 'I'm the one who caused this…'
As he strode through the ranks of Matsukaze Kokuō High School, he couldn't help but notice how they avoided looking at him. Some couldn't even bring themselves to face him. Others had turned their backs, their shame palpable. It was as if the very air around them was thick with the weight of their defeat.
But when he reached Kira, standing alone like a broken statue in the center of the field, Isagi stopped. For a moment, he couldn't find the words. Kira was still shaking, his hands trembling as he wiped at his tear-streaked face, but the look of disbelief in his eyes was still clear as day. The man who was said to have been untouchable, the hope and dream of Japan, now stood as a shattered figure, vulnerable like Isagi could have never imagined.
Isagi couldn't look away. His gaze lingered on Kira's glassy eyes, on the way his shoulders slumped in defeat, and it struck him like a bolt of lightning. 'This is what it means to be a striker,' he realized. ;To take everything from your opponent, to shatter their resolve in a single moment.'
His heart raced in a way that was unsettling. He wasn't sure why, but the sight before him stirred something deep inside.
'I did this to him…'
The thought weighed heavily on him, yet there was something else bubbling to the surface. A shift had occurred within his psyche, and whether he knew it or not, it was going to be the catalyst for the great change Isagi would go through.
'I don't know what this feeling is…'
It was almost like an addiction. A dangerous, intoxicating sensation that ran deeper than any win or loss, deeper than the joy of scoring the goal. It was a sharp, electrifying satisfaction from seeing the devastation on his opponent's face. The power, the control, the absolute ecstasy of crushing Kira's dreams under his heel.
He had stolen everything from Kira in that moment—his pride, his victory, his very future itself. The look of defeat in Kira's eyes was more than just a sign of a lost game. It was a personal loss, a broken piece of the identity he had built up. And Isagi had been the one to bring it down.
Isagi didn't flinch. He didn't look away. What he did instead…
'But I like it!'
Was grin.
It was a grin that didn't quite feel like a grin at all, more like a reflection of the ruthless feeling clawing inside him. Of the menacing being that rested deep within him, for a brief moment clawing itself out of its weighted cage.
The ecstasy of his victory wasn't about the goal itself, or the glory that came with it. It was about the power he held in that one moment. The control over another human being's future. Kira's tears, his defeat— it all fed into a dark, twisted satisfaction that Isagi had never experienced before. It was a feeling that was raw, unfiltered, and incredibly addicting.
And the crushing weight of that realization settled deep in his bones. It did nothing to dampen his high.
Isagi's moment was interrupted when a hand slapped sharply against his back, the sudden sting causing him to flinch.
"You were awesome out there, bro," Isagi turned to his assaulter, revealing it to be his teammate Tada standing there with a wide grin plastered across his face. His enthusiasm seemed to be overflowing, a stark contrast to Isagi's more subdued demeanor. "I'm glad you took that shot."
Isagi nodded, feeling a slight twinge of discomfort from the force of Tada's slap but managed to brush it off.
"Thanks," he said as he began to make his way back toward the rest of the team. Tada fell into step beside him, still clearly buzzing from the adrenaline. "I just had that feeling that if I didn't shoot, I would have regretted it. It was risky, but I'm glad it worked out,"
"Just an instinct, huh? Or is it because you wanted to hog all the glory?" Tada teased, giving him a playful elbow to the ribs. There was no malice in his voice—just a friendly jab.
Isagi chuckled, smiling despite the swirl of thoughts in his mind. "Not at all. Like I said, it was pure instinct."
"Sure, sure, I'll believe you. Either way, you got us the ticket to Nationals, so I can't complain."
"Haha, yeah…"
Isagi's thoughts drifted as the words left his mouth. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate the win. Of course he did, what else was there to appreciate? But something about that final moment felt different from any victory he'd experienced before. It had more weight to it, a strange kind of satisfaction that wasn't purely about the win itself.
As the teams lined up to exchange their thanks, the stadium shifted around him. The atmosphere was charged, filled with the standard congratulations that followed a hard-fought match. Slowly, however, the players began to disperse, heading to their respective homes to either celebrate or stew in their losses. Isagi, though, lingered behind. He had no plans to join the others. There was a celebration waiting for him back at his home, but he did not want to leave.
Instead, he stood in the middle of the sidelines, eyes scanning the now-empty stands, the vacant spaces that had once been filled with cheering fans, all of them now gone. He wasn't bothered by the silence, nor did it feel uncomfortable to him. There was no emptiness pressing down on his chest, no longing to be surrounded by the noise and hustle of the others. The stillness of the stadium didn't bother him in the slightest. In fact, it was peaceful, something Isagi felt he desperately needed right now.
'It's crazy how this place was so loud and full just a few minutes ago,' Isagi thought, his gaze traveling across the field. The goalposts stood like silent sentinels at either end, the grass beneath his feet undisturbed. There was something strangely serene about the space now that the players were gone. Like it was an ethereal beauty hell bent on enchanting him.
His eyes drifted downward, landing on the soccer ball that lay at his feet. It was dirty from the game, the white patches stained with mud, the surface scuffed from countless kicks. But for some reason, in that moment, it seemed to call to him. Like it wasn't just a ball. Like it wasn't just an object abused for the entertainment of the masses.
Isagi felt like he had a connection to the ball. There was an inexplicable pull toward it that he couldn't explain, but could most certainly feel.
Isagi's gaze stayed fixed on the ball, and as he stood there, something inside him stirred. He could hear a low hum in the back of his mind, the echoes of the game were still reverberating through him. Its seductive whisper tempted him to come closer, beckoning him like a seductress wishing for company. Voices, faint but familiar, spoke to him. A sweet, disembodied symphony that was both foreign and comforting to the young player.
He had always been drawn to the ball. After all, it was a striker's nature to seek out that perfect moment, to be the center of the play, to find the right angle and strike the finisher when the time came. But this? This was different. Far more primal and much less muted. It was like arising from a thousand year long slumber.
The urge Isagi felt wasn't just to play, in fact he didn't know what it was. But it was still familiar to him, a long lost instinct fighting its way out. But what was it...?
Isagi didn't have the will to refuse it, nor did he want to. There was no hesitation in his movement, no questioning of the need that surged through him. Without thinking, his legs moved, as though they had a mind of their own, and began his play.
Isagi's foot struck the ball, sending it rolling across the deserted field. The sound of it bouncing against the ground was the only thing breaking the silence around him. His body moved automatically, habitualized through the hours and hours he spent practicing on the field throughout his life, while his thoughts tangled in confusion. 'What am I doing?'
His question echoed in his mind. 'I should be back at home, celebrating. I should be proud of what I just did—what my team has done. I helped us qualify for Nationals. But…' Isagi's eyes drifted to the empty stands as he continued to dribble. 'I feel like there's something more I should be doing here, instead. Why do I feel so... unsatisfied?'
He paused for a moment, pulling the ball back and redirecting it with his outside foot. 'I should be happy, right? I made the play. I scored the goal. I helped us win. It should feel like victory. But something about it felt hollow. Something was missing, something he couldn't quite understand.'
For as long as he could remember, soccer had always been about the team. He had been taught to focus on the collective goal, to prioritize his teammates and their success. The team came first, always. That was the core of what he had been taught from the moment he started playing. 'But…' Isagi took a slow breath, his mind trying to make sense of the nagging feeling. 'What if it's not enough? What if I've been wrong this whole time?'
He shifted his weight and dribbled the ball toward the edge of the penalty box. 'I always thought it was about the team. That it was about making the right pass, trusting my teammates, helping each other out. If we play as one, we win as one. That's the philosophy everyone has always been teaching me.' But as he stopped the ball, his thoughts shifted again. 'But now, after that goal... I can't help but question it. When I shot the ball, I completely ditched the "for the team" mentality, and I scored the goal because of it. We won because I took the shot and didn't pass the ball.'
He kicked the ball again, sending it careening toward the goal. The ball hit the post and bounced back to him. 'Why does it feel so satisfying?' The striker wondered. 'It wasn't just about winning, and it didn't have anything to do about being part of a team either. There was definitely more to it than that. Have I been looking at this all wrong? Was everything I've been taught a fucking lie? What if I'm supposed to be the guy driving the machine, and not a mere piece of its engine?'
With a soft touch to control the ball, Isagi continued to dribble, his once muddled and disarrayed thoughts slowly cleansing itself, becoming clearer and clearer with each passing moment. 'I've always been told that soccer is a team sport, that to succeed you need to sacrifice everything for the team, that your individual desires should come second. But… I just can't shake this feeling that there's something deeper, something I'm missing.'
He flicked the ball forward, angling it so that it was towards the right side of his body. With powerful steps, he shot the ball as hard as he could, his eyes never leaving the ball as it soared into the net. The more he thought about it, the more a new, uncomfortable truth started to bubble up inside him. 'Is it wrong to want more for myself? Is it wrong to enjoy the feeling of being the one who decides the game? The one who scores when it counts?'
Isagi's breath hitched slightly as the realization started to settle over him. 'But... I've always been told that it's selfish to want to be the one who stands out. To never go for glory and just wait for the best chance to arrive. But when I scored, when I took that shot, I prioritized myself above all others. I didn't care that Tada had a better chance to score and took the shot anyway. Was it because I trusted myself to score more than I trusted him to make the shot?'
Isagi ran up to the inside of the goal and retrieved his ball, dribbling it out and running around once again. 'Ya, that's got to be it! By being selfish and taking the shot, I did more than just help the team win the game. I controlled the final outcome of it. I decided the game, and I crushed the hopes of the others in the process. More than that, it felt so good to do it too.'
He stood still for a moment, processing that thought. 'Isn't that insanely selfish? Or maybe...' Isagi wondered, his gaze now drifting over the goal. 'Maybe that's what being a striker really means? It's not just about being a part of a bigger system, but about being something more. About owning the game, becoming the lynchpin of it. Taking it, making it mine.'
Isagi placed a hand on his chin as he thought. 'So that's what that feeling earlier was. Maybe I was afraid of thinking this way, of acknowledging this selfish part of me, and that's why I never felt it like this before. Ya, there's no way it isn't. That unsatisfaction I had felt earlier was definitely my true nature surfacing, which was why I couldn't recognize it and got down over it.'
His feet shifted, and he began to dribble the ball again, more purposefully now. 'I don't want to just be a cog anymore. I don't want to be the one who passes off the responsibility, who waits for others to make the plays. I want to be the one who takes the ball and says, "This is my moment. This is my time. We win with my goal!"'
With a nod, Isagi decided to test himself out. Making his way to the center of the field, he set the ball down and began to concentrate. 'Alright. It's the final play of the game. We're tied 2-2, and I'm the guy that needs to score the final goal.'
As he concentrated, shadowy forms began to appear in front of him, wavy in their visage yet no less solid than the ground beneath them. There are defenders in front of me, closing in fast. They won't let me get through easily.' Isagi's heart beat faster as he visualized the scene, the defenders lining up in his mind. 'They're not going to stop me. I'll make sure of it.'
Isagi dribbled forward, dribbling the ball from one foot to the other, imagining the defenders closing in. 'First one.' As the first defender reached him, he faked a step to the left, watching as the defender followed his movement, and slipped past the first defender's right side with ease.
'Second one.' He felt the pressure building, but his footwork was precise. He dodged the second, chipping the ball as he jumped over the slide tackle that would have most certainly stolen the ball otherwise. Cutting sharply across the field, Isagi's mind fully immersed itself in the play. The last two imaginary defenders rushed at him, but Isagi's vision was sharp. In fact, 'Did my vision get better?' He danced around them for a little, shifting the ball between his feet and making sure to keep the ball away from theirs.
The pressure was relentless, the two defender's synergy matching perfectly as they attempted to steal the ball. Isagi was not deterred and continued to search for an opening, refusing to try and force a crack open. Finally, he found a hole in their combo. With a deft touch, Isagi lured in one of the defenders, leaving just enough gap between him and the ball for his opponent to bite.
And bite the ID did.
With a quick pull back, Isagi turned on his heel and dragged the ball with him, causing the first ID to careen away from him, opening the hole in the defense. The other imaginary guy came in quickly, attempting to steal the ball from Isagi while he was distracted, but it was not meant to be. Isagi, having already anticipated and witnessing the second ID's movement, flicked the ball behind his planted left leg with a heel flick, flicking his planted foot outwards to send the ball towards the penalty box. Isagi wasted no time in chasing after it, causing the second ID to tumble behind him from the sudden shift, and accelerated towards the goal with an explosive burst of speed.
'It's just me and the goalkeeper now.' His pulse raced, and the goal was now right in front of him. The goalkeeper was already in front of him, positioning himself to block the shot. 'No matter what, I'm not going to let him stop me.'
Isagi adjusted his stance, making it seem like he was going for the shot. The goalkeeper lunged at him, trying to steal the ball while it was still vulnerable, but missed entirely as Isagi rolled his right foot over the ball, causing the keeper to miss and fly past him. The goalkeeper tried to recover from its failed attempt, but by then it was too late. With a swing of his left foot, Isagi sent the ball straight into the net, slotting it into the center with a satisfying ripple and thud.
For a brief moment, Isagi just stood there, soaking in the absurdity of his play as the shadow defenders dissipated from the field.
'This is it,' Slowly, a savage grin made its way back to Isagi's face, so wide that it almost split him in two. His eyes were wide with delight and feral glee as they raged with the pattern of a storm. 'This sensation! This feeling! This is what being a striker is really about! I'm not the guy who's just a cog in the system, I make the system revolve around me! I'm the one who decides the outcome of the game! I'm the one who makes the difference! It's all about ME!'
He stood still for a moment, the ball resting at his feet. The clarity of his thoughts grew stronger. 'For so long, I've tried to be the one who blends in, who fits into the system. But I've been wrong all along!' His chest rose and fell as he took a deep breath. 'I need to embrace what I am. This thing that I'm feeling. I'm a striker. And that means I have to take the game for myself. To dominate and reign supreme on the pitch. To be the guy who scores the goals and crushes my enemies! Their faces of despair, their hopes and dreams shattering at the palm of my hand, that's what it means to be a striker!'
He bent down to pick up the ball, his thoughts now fully formed, no longer muddled. The truth was undeniable now that he had discovered it. 'It's selfish to want to be the one who stands out, but it's not wrong in the slightest bit. In fact, it might just be the thing I need to become the best.'
Isagi dropped the ball at his feet, preparing himself for another round of shots, when a sharp sound of clapping broke the stillness of the air, echoing through the empty stadium like a sudden thunderclap. Startled, Isagi turned his head, his eyes narrowing as they landed on a figure standing at the entryway to the field.
A man, tall and lanky, leaned casually against the entrance, his arms folded with an air of casual authority. He was pale, almost as pale as a vampire, like he hadn't been in the sun for centuries. He was dressed in all black—black jacket, black shirt, black pants, and black shoes—his attire simple yet striking. His black hair, cut into a sharp bowl style, framed his face with an almost deliberate messiness, as though he didn't care to comb it into neatness. The man stood easily at around six feet, maybe even a bit taller, his posture effortlessly imposing, even in such a relaxed stance.
The man's squared glasses caught the sunlight, gleaming briefly before returning to their almost unnerving opacity. The black rims of the glasses accentuated his already striking, almost cold features, adding to the aura of calculation and control that he exuded. Everything about him was precise. His gaze, his posture, even the way the light seemed to reflect off of him. It was like a predator assessing its surroundings, waiting for the right moment to strike.
But it was his eyes that commanded the most attention. They were unnatural, an eerie shade of black that was deep, endless, and devoid of light, like two fathomless black holes that pulled everything around them into their depths. There was no warmth there, no kindness. Only an overwhelming, suffocating storm of calculations and scrutiny. A storm that, Isagi realized with a slight shiver, seemed to contain something both terrifying and captivating. Those eyes held secrets, the kind that could destroy or reshape everything, and the longer Isagi looked, the more it felt like the man was peering into his very soul.
Isagi stood frozen for a moment, unsure of what to make of the mysterious figure before him as he made his way to the striker
"That was some impressive practice," the man said, dropping his hands to his sides with a casual motion.
Isagi stared at him in curiosity, his brow furrowing slightly. 'Who is this guy?'
"Thanks," he replied, still unsure about the stranger.
The man's eyes seemed to study him intently, as if reading him with each passing second. "I'm impressed with how you carried yourself out there. You had a game just a few hours ago, didn't you?"
Isagi blinked, caught off guard by the comment. "A few hours ago?" He pulled out his phone and stared at the screen.
"It's only been- 3 HOURS?!" Isagi shouted at the top of his lungs, his eyes widening in astonishment as he looked at the amount of time that had passed. "Holy crap, I've been practicing for that long? It felt like a few minutes!"
The man chuckled, clearly amused by Isagi's shocked expression. "So you didn't notice how long you've been at it, huh? Judging by the look on your face, I'd say you were too caught up in your own world to keep track of time." He shrugged, as though it was no big deal. "Anyway, I've been watching you ever since your game started, and I've got to say, you're fascinating to watch."
A chill ran down Isagi's spine. There was something in the man's tone. It held an edge of intense curiosity that sent a shiver through him. "W-w-what do you mean by that?"
The man's lips curled into a faint smile, but it wasn't a warm one. It felt more like a predator sensing something worthwhile. "It's simple. Watching you evolve as a striker was a glorious sight to see. The way you played during the match and the way you practiced afterward? Night and day. The way you were playing right now looked leagues ahead of the you who was out there before."
The man took a few steps forward, closing the distance between them. He stopped just at the edge of the pitch, his gaze never leaving Isagi's face. "Tell me something. What made you take that shot at the end? Was it desperation? A fluke? Or something else entirely?"
The man spoke, the fervor in his voice as he questioned Isagi's goal made the young striker feel both intrigued and… well, a little uneasy. The man's obsession with his shot was starting to feel more intense than it should.
Suddenly, a wave of understanding washed over him, Isagi's heart beating faster as he realized what the man was hinting at. Isagi hummed as he thought of his answer.
"It wasn't desperation," Isagi declared, thinking back to that moment on the field. "It wasn't luck either. It was more instinct than anything else. I felt- no I knew I had to be the one to take that shot. The goal was right there, practically open for me to score. It wasn't even a question. Everything else just faded away, nothing else mattered to me. The only thing that I even cared about was getting the ball into the net."
The man's eyes lit up, and he stepped closer, his voice lowering into a near whisper. "Incredible. Incredible. That's it. You've found it, haven't you? The answer you were looking for in your practice." His gaze locked onto Isagi with an intensity that bordered on unnerving. "You realized something, didn't you?"
Isagi blinked.
"Yeah," he answered. "I did. I realized something. The whole 'team first' mentality that Japan pushes on us? It's complete bullshit." He met the man's eyes with extreme confidence. "As a striker, I need to focus on my own goals—my own success—rather than trying to fit into some team-first mentality. If I don't do that, I'll never reach my full potential and become the best."
The man's lips curled up again, but this time, the smile was sharper, more like a predator finally finding its prey. "Exactly what I thought. You've just taken the first step towards understanding your true nature as a striker." He leaned in slightly, his voice lower now, carrying a sense of urgency. "You've realized that in order to truly dominate, you can't afford to think of the team as your priority. Remember, you are the priority. Your instincts. Your decisions. Your drive. Everything you do is what the team needs to prioritize."
Isagi felt exhilarated at the words the man was saying. 'This guy… he totally gets it!'
The man's smile widened as he took a step back, assessing Isagi with a look of satisfaction. "I can see that you're beginning to think just like the best strikers in history. I like that. Strikers don't care about team play, they do everything they do for the sake of their own goals. Take Noel Noa for example. He focuses solely on himself. He's selfish, but that's why he's the best striker in the world. He understands that the game is about individual dominance. The team only exists to follow his lead."
Isagi absorbed the man's words religiously and began to think. 'I see. So that's why he's the best striker in the world. I thought it was because he was just able to score a lot of goals by playing good with his team Looking back, there were a ton of articles about Bastard Munchen's formations and how their players were selected to optimize Noa's style of play rather than fit Noa into their system'
The man continued, oblivious to Isagi's thoughts. "Noel Noa himself said this. 'It feels better to score a hat-trick and lose 3-4 than it does to assist my teammate and win 1-0.' He knows the truth. It's not about playing for others. It's about playing for you. If you want to be the best, you need to embrace that mentality."
Isagi felt a rush of adrenaline at the man's words. But the man was not done.
"I've been watching you for a while, Isagi Yoichi," the man said, his tone shifting into something more purposeful. "And you-"
"Yo wait, what the hell do you mean you've been watching me for a while?? How long have you been watching me?!!!"
"That's irrelevant. Think of it as me scouting for players." The man quickly regained control of the conversation with an air of undeniable authority.
"As I was saying. I've been scouting you for quite some time, and I believe that now is the perfect time to offer you this. You've already discovered your ego, so this will put you ahead of most of the other players."
"Wait, what are you talking about? What other players?"
The man stood quiet for a few moments before he sighed.
"I see, I haven't explained anything, have I?" Extending his hand out for Isagi to shake, the man introduced himself. "My name is Jinpachi Ego, and I have an offer to make for you, Isagi Yoichi."