Hello everyone! I'm just going to warn you all, this isn't really my best chapter, so please go easy on the flames
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Itoshi Sae sat at the head of the press conference table. His sharp teal eyes scanned the crowded room with quiet detachment, flicking briefly across the sea of reporters but never lingering. The sterile glow of the overhead lights glinted off his disheveled crimson hair, making it gleam like blood under a spotlight. An unreadable expression was present on him, but everyone with eyes could see that he didn't want to do this.
Dressed in a fitted slate-gray suit with a black, unbuttoned dress shirt underneath, Sae presented a picture of casual elegance. One arm rested lazily along the back of his chair, while the other draped over the table, his fingers idly toying with the cap of a water bottle. His posture was deliberately relaxed, as though he hadn't the care for anything in the world. The faint, mechanical clicks of cameras surrounded him, but he barely registered the sound.
Somewhere, right at this very moment, Jinpachi Ego would be sending over the first recording of Isagi's match. Sae's eyes briefly lowered to the phone resting just out of sight in his jacket pocket, his fingers momentarily stilling against the bottle cap. Though outwardly calm, his mind hummed with restless anticipation, already piecing together imagined scenarios of the game.
Had Isagi won? No, of course he had. That was never in question. The only thing that mattered was how he won. How many goals did he score? How many players had he dismantled? Did he crush his opponents with that cold, clinical precision like Sae expected him to have? Or was it a completely different style of sadistic conquering? The thought sent a brief flicker of satisfaction through him, though it didn't reach his face.
'Ugh, just send me the recording already, Ego. I'm dying here.'
His jaw tightened faintly as he resisted the urge to pull out his phone and check for messages. The game was over by now. Ego was probably just taking his sweet time so he could mess with him.
The room, packed with journalists and camera crews from Japan's largest sports networks, was buzzing with thinly veiled anticipation. Everyone was eager to get somethingāanythingāout of Japan's most prodigious midfielder.
The moderator, a middle-aged woman with a cool, professional demeanor, cleared her throat into the mic. The light chatter from the press corps faded into silence. "Thank you all for being here today. We'll begin the press conference. Please direct your questions to Mr. Itoshi."
The first reporter, a stout man in his forties, rose from the front row. The way he spoke gave the impression that he had dealt with many athletes in his time.
"Mister Itoshi," he began, glancing down at his notes briefly, "you've been back in Japan for over a week now. Many expected this to be a brief visit before you returned to Madrid. Can we take your extended stay to mean your plans have changed?"
Sae's fingers stilled against the bottle cap. His eyes lifted to meet the man's gaze, staring cold winter at him. He didn't answer right away. Instead, he let the question linger, dragging out the silence just a few seconds longer than necessary. His eyes half-lidded with cool disinterest, as though the inquiry itself was barely worth his time.
Then, with a slight exhale, he leaned forward, resting his elbows loosely on the table. His voice, low and deliberate, cut through the room with quiet authority.
"You can, yes." His voice was low but distinct, smooth with a faint rasp, carrying through the room clearly despite its softness. "I have decided that I'll be staying here longer than I originally intended to."
There was a weight to his words that caused the faintest ripple of surprise to pass through the room. The statement was so calm, so unembellished, and yet it landed with unmistakable force. Sae Itoshiāthe player who had famously and repeatedly dismissed Japan's domestic soccer scene as irrelevantāwas choosing to remain.
The press corps collectively paused, all of them processing the implications. Eyebrows lifted slightly, pens stilled mid-scribble, and a few camera shutters clicked a beat slower. The lull was subtle, but it was telling.
Breaking the momentary hush, a younger journalist seized the opening. He appeared to be in his early thirties, with sharp features and a hawk-like gaze that flickered with sudden alertness. Standing up from his chair, he wasted no time in cutting through the silence.
"So you'll be staying for a longer term? That's a bit unexpected. Is there a particular reason for your extended stay?"
"Something of interest is happening right now that I'm keeping my eye on."
"Does this longer-term stay mean you're considering an entry to Japan's national league? Perhaps joining one of the domestic clubs?"
'Did he just ignore my answer to ask another question? And who the hell do you think I am, bozo?! I'm Sae motherfuckin' Itoshi. Why the hell would I degrade myself to play in the backwater leagues of this soccer dump?!'
Sae's lips twitched ever so slightly, not in a smile, but something closer to a flicker of dry amusement. "No, I have no intention of joining a Japanese club."
"Then why extend your stay?" The younger journalist barely had time to process the bluntness of the dismissal. He couldn't respond before another reporter, a woman with a sharp bob and piercing eyes, jumped in. "If you're not pursuing opportunities here, is there something, or perhaps someone, keeping you in Japan?"
Her gaze narrowed slightly, trying to gauge his expression to her question. The room collectively stilled, sensing the question had struck closer to the mark. For the first time, Sae's eyes flickered with the faintest glimmer of interest.
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze lowered slightly, and for a brief moment, he toyed with the edge of the water bottle label, carefully peeling it back with his thumb. The gesture was dismissively idle, but the sharpness in his gaze betrayed his point of focus.
"You have a keen intuition. You're right, there's someone of interest that I found worth my time."
The words hit the room like a stone skipping across still water. The ripple was immediate. Reporters exchanged brief glances, their pens hastily scrawling down notes on their pads, tacking and scribbling noises filling the room. Sae's gaze remained steady, unaffected by the sudden spike in their attention.
The woman leaned forward slightly, her voice lowering just a touch, turning the question over carefully. "Someone worth your time? I'm afraid you'll need to elaborate. Are you saying you've found a player here in Japan that'sā¦ caught your attention?"
"That is exactly what I'm saying," he replied simply. "He's a striker I just so happened to stumble upon. I practiced with him for a little bit and found it very enjoyable."
"And how would you describe this player?"
"How would I describe him?" Sae repeated, resting his chin in his propped up hand. He stared at the ceiling, thinking of the best way to phrase his answer. "If I were to put it simply, he's the only striker in Japan worthy of my passes."
A wave of gasps moved through the press corps. Cameras clicked rapidly. The phrasing was direct, but the words themselves were enough to catch their attention like a hook. A striker from Japan was deemed worthy of the Field General's passes. Coming from Sae Itoshi, a man notoriously selective with his partnerships, it was a heavy endorsement.
A gruffer, older journalist jumped in next, drawing attention to himself. "Forgive me, but that's quite a statement, mister Itoshi. You've been critical of Japan's football talent in the past. Are you saying you've changed your stance?"
Sae's eyes narrowed slightly, but not with irritation, but more with mild contemplation. He let the question settle for a moment before he spoke again.
"Yes," he admitted smoothly. "I take back what I said before."
The older journalist blinked slightly, caught off guard by the candidness. Sae's tone remained casual, but his gaze hardened slightly, almost daring them to challenge him.
"My claim of Japan being unable to birth a proper striker was rendered obsolete. That day, I witnessed someone that Japan can put their trust in for the next U-20 World Cup. He's not there yet, but I was shown that Japan can produce a world-class striker."
ā¦
ā¦
ā¦
There was a slight shift in the atmosphere, a brief wave of tension cutting through the reporters' air. The press corps knew the weight of that statement.
"Who is this striker?" The female asked, interjecting once again, clearly eager to press further. "Can you tell us his name?"
"No, that information is confidential."
His tone was so smooth, so casual, that it took the press a moment to process the statement. The room went quiet again, but only for a beat. The low hum of speculations soon began, whispers and hurried scribbles filled the space as the reporters scrambled to piece together the puzzle.
Sae looked at them, silently amused at their frantic antics. He decided to throw them a bone, if only to further his humorous mood.
"I will tell you this, though." He spoke up, capturing the crowd once again. "There is a special facility somewhere, designed to create the greatest striker in the world. It's tucked out in the middle of who knows where, but its purpose is to forge a striker to lead Japan to the U-20 World Cup trophy. The person I am talking about is in this very training facility."
The press room stilled. For a fleeting moment, the frenetic scribbling and the sharp clatter of camera shutters faltered, as if the entire room collectively held its breath. Sae's words landed like a dropped stone into still water, rippling outward in slow, dawning realization.
The woman with the sharp bob was the first to recover, her eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion.
"Are you saying that Japan has a hidden training facility with the sole purpose of creating a world-class striker?"
"Yes."
Another reporter, a man with thinning hair and wire-rimmed glasses, jumped in. "That kind of facility hasn't been made public before. Are you confirming that the JFA is operating some kind of secret project?"
Sae's lips curled ever so faintly, barely noticeable, but still there. His eyes, cold and unflinching, flicked toward the older journalist. The glimmer of faint amusement in his gaze sharpened into something more deliberate.
"I never said it was a JFA project," he replied, his voice impossibly calm.
"Then whoā"
"I never said it was a secret, either."
The room stilled again, even as the low murmurs continued. Sae's expression remained perfectly placid, betraying nothing. There was no follow-up clarification, no further explanation, only that same dispassionate gaze and the faintest ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips.
And the ambiguity. ohhh~, the ambiguity was delicious. He could already see the reporters scrambling internally, turning over every word he had just said, grasping at the implications. None of them would be able to confirm or deny the existence of this facility, not with his phrasing. And that was exactly what he intended.
Before anyone could press further, a subtle vibration pulsed against his wrist. The faintest buzz against his skin. His phone.
Sae's eyes lowered slightly, a flicker of surprise flashing behind them. His amusement dulled, wondering who had the gall to interrupt his interview. With a slight shift of his arm, he smoothly withdrew his phone from his pocket.
He glanced at the screen before swiping it open. A notification sat at the top of his display, one he had been waiting for with coiled anticipation.
From: Jinpachi Ego
Subject: Game Recording ā Team Z vs. Team X
Attachment: [Video Clip ā 90 min]
'About damn time, you crippled maniac.'
"I'll be taking my leave now." The chair scraped softly against the polished floor as Sae pushed back from the table, the legs emitting a faint screech against the linoleum. The sound cut through the low hum of murmurs still lingering in the room. Heads snapped toward him as he rose from his seat with unhurried grace. For a moment, the press corps faltered, unsure whether they had misheard him.
But then he was already turning away, his suit jacket catching slightly at the curve of his wrist as he slid the phone into his pocket. His stride carried an air of effortless finality. The sharp clicks of camera shutters sputtered unevenly as the reporters scrambled to catch his sudden departure, some barely registering that he had, in fact, just ended the press conference entirely on his own terms.
"WaitāMr. Itoshi!" one of the reporters blurted out, his voice cutting through the sudden flurry of snapping cameras. "You're leaving? Already?"
Sae didn't answer. He didn't even glance over his shoulder. His gaze remained ahead, cold and focused, his eyes lidded with faint disinterest as he strode toward the exit. His hand slipped casually into his pocket, fingers brushing against the phone. Right now, that video was the only thing that held his attention now.
"Wait! Just one more question!" another voice called, more insistent this time. Emboldened by desperation, the rest of the reporters began firing off questions in rapid succession.
"Mr. Itoshi, is this about the facility you mentioned?"
"Is this connected to the striker you spoke of?"
"Is it a private training camp? A secret program?"
"Can you give us the name of the player you're staying for? Is it someone from the J-League? Is it a rising talent?"
"Mr. Itoshiā"
But their voices might as well have been background noise.
He didn't slow. He didn't acknowledge them. He simply continued walking, away from the noise and the distractions. The distant, mechanical buzz of the press was little more than a fading background now.
He was already gone.
The doors hissed open, and without missing a beat, he strode through them. The heavy, magnetic click of the doors shutting behind him drowned out the final shouts from the press, sealing them away. The sudden absence of noise was almost jarring, a suffocating silence in contrast to the chaotic frenzy he had left behind.
Sae didn't pause. His jaw was set, eyes fixed ahead with unwavering focus. His hand slipped back into his pocket, withdrawing the phone once more. He stared at it for a second, then smiled.
"Now, let's see how you did, future striker of Japan."
ā
"Come on, push harder! You have way too much energy to quit, shit head!"
The gym in Blue Lock was completely occupied with the team Z players, working their bodies out to the brink of exhaustion. They had three days until their next game would commence, and they used all this time to train and hone their bodies.
With a roar of ferocious glory, Isagi's muscles worked to their very limit, feet still on the ground while he brought the barbell up. His squat was immaculate, the quad and glute muscles working perfectly in tandem to bring the weight back to the bar.
"Hell yeah, Isagi! That's how it's fucking done!" Raichi cheered, helping his top scoring teammate re-rack the bar.
Isagi, wiping the sweat off his chin, flashed Raichi a thumbs up. "Thanks for the spot, dude."
"No problem. I don't think I would have done much to help, anyways. Like bro, you're practically inhuman."
"Nah, it wasn't that bad, was it."
"Isagi, you did five sets of twenty reps. How you started with 100 kilos for twenty and then went all the way to 150 kilos for fifteen is beyond me." Kunigami was on the leg extensions machine, repping his own weight while he talked. "Are you superhuman or something? There's no way that's normal for a sixteen year old to do."
"Nah, I'm just super strong. I've been working out for a long time, so I was able to gain a lot of muscles."Ā 'But none of that even compares to what Ego put me through.'
He shivered at the memory.
Across the gym, Bachira hung from a pull-up bar, his legs hooked around the metal beam for stability as he performed upside-down crunches with a gleeful grin on his face. His sweat-dampened hair hung down, swaying with each lift.
"Oi, Isagi~!" Bachira called out with a wide, toothy grin. "I'm trying to catch up to your insane muscles! You better watch out, man! Soon, I'm gonna be the buffest dribbler in the world!"
Raichi snorted from a few machines over, pausing mid-rep to glare at him. "You? Buff?" He barked out a laugh. "You'd snap in half if you tried squatting what Isagi just did, dumbass."
"Nuh-uh!"
"You can't just 'nuh-uh' it!"
"Oh yeah?!"
"YEAH!"
"Guys, as funny as it is watching you two throw shots at each other, we have to focus on our upcoming match." Kuon came between them, holding his hands out in order to get the two to calm down. "We don't know how good team Y is since they were the first ones on the break list, so we'll be running in blind."
Straightening his posture, Isagi regained his focused look. "We'll need to stay sharp against them. We have a back up plan in case our 4-4-2 is compromised, but that won't be enough. They will definitely study our weapons and moves, so we'll need to approach this carefully."
'Speaking of weaponsā¦'Ā his thoughts went back to the game against team X.Ā 'That long range volley shot I took was amazing. If I can make its reproducibility 100% on both legs, I can turn this into an unstoppable shot that utilizes my misdirection and my direct shooting. Another goal scoring formula for me to use. The only problem isā¦ what to name itā¦?'
Is that seriously a problem?
'Yes, now shut up'
Sorry
'Let's seeā¦ Oh, I know! I'll call it theĀ Hitman's Sniper Volley, since it was practically a sniper shot behind the defense! Oh yeah, I'm a genius.'
He let the name simmer in his mind for a moment longer, savoring the image of it. His ego purred in satisfaction at the lethal-sounding moniker, already picturing himself landing goal after goal with it, driving defenders mad with frustration as they scrambled to react.
But his musings were swiftly interrupted as another memory from the game surfaced. His eyes narrowed slightly, and the faint smirk on his face faded and became more analytical.
He remembered something else, something he had observed in the match, but hadn't had the time to fully process before. The faintest trace of hesitation. The smallest fraction of restraint. It had been subtle, but Isagi had caught it.
He turned toward Chigiri, his eyes subtly narrowing with scrutiny.
'No doubt about it. He's holding back.'
Without hesitation, Isagi raised his hand, his voice cutting through the mild clatter of weights and low conversation.
"Chigiri, you mind if I talk to you for a sec?"
The crimson-haired speedster glanced up, blinking in mild surprise. He wiped the back of his arm across his forehead, brushing away the light sheen of sweat.
"Huh?" Chigiri answered, pushing himself up. "Yeah, what's up?"
Isagi didn't waste time with pleasantries. His expression was sharp and his eyes were steady, piercing with direct intent. His voice was clear and firm, holding so much weight that it made his words impossible to brush off.
"I'm sure of what I saw, but I need to ask you something."
Chigiri's brow furrowed faintly, the lightness in his eyes flickering into a more guarded expression.
"Are you purposefully restraining yourself?"
Chigiri's head tilted slightly in confusion. His eyes narrowed with vague puzzlement, but Isagi could see the faint tension in his frame. The way his eyes flickered to the side in hesitation gave away his truth.
"What do you mean?" Chigiri asked, masking his wariness behind a neutral tone, but Isagi caught the edge of defensiveness that slipped through.
"You can run faster, can't you, Chigiri?" Isagi's gaze was sharp and unwavering, daring Chigiri to deflect.
There was no room for ambiguity in his tone. It wasn't an assumption. Chigiri knew he was caught the moment he heard Isagi.
"Why aren't you using your weapon?"
The question echoed faintly in the gym, cutting through the low hum of weights clattering and faint voices. For a moment, Chigiri didn't respond. His eyes locked with Isagi's, visibly stunned. His violet irises narrowed subtly, a flash of defensiveness crossing them, but Isagi didn't back down. His gaze was unwavering, staring him down intently.
"I-"
Chigiri's lips parted slightly, but no words came. His fingers curled into his palm, his knuckles faintly tightening, and he steeled himself for what he was about to reveal.
"Tchā¦ You really are sharp, huh?"
"One of the things I pride myself on."
"I can tell. But you're right. I've been holding back since the beginning of Blue Lock."
"Why? Why hold yourself back?"
Chigiri sighed. There was heartbreak in his tone, a melancholy feeling saturating his voice. "I tore my ACL a few years back. I spent almost a year in rehab, and after that I was too scared to run fast."
Isagi's eyes narrowed, the last shred of warmth in them vanishing entirely. His voice, once calm and maybe a little heated, turned razor-sharp and merciless.
"Scared?" he spat, his tone dripping with disbelief and contempt. "That's your excuse?"
'Huh?'Ā Confused, Chigiri looked at Isagi. Where he expected comfort, all he found was cold disgust.
"Your leg's fine," Isagi said coldly "You're not injured anymore. You're not just afraid of breaking again. You're fucking weak."
His jaw tightened, but he didn't respond. His violet eyes flickered faintly, subtly hardening. Isagi caught it instantly, and it only made his blood boil hotter. His hands twitched faintly, knuckles flexing slightly at his sides. His breath hitched, but Isagi didn't slow down.
"No," he corrected himself, eyes narrowing with a venomous sneer. "Not weak. Pathetic."
Chigiri's fingers curled into fists, but he still didn't speak.
Isagi took a slow step toward him, lowering his voice to a sharp, biting snarl.
"Do you even hear yourself? You're scared of your own fucking legs. You're scared of the thing that makes you special. How pathetic is that?"
Chigiri's fists clenched tighter. His jaw locked faintly.
But Isagi didn't stop. His voice turned sharp and scornful, laced with mocking contempt.
"You know what I saw out there? I saw a runner holding back! A guy who could've blown past everyone but chose to jog next to them instead! You could've humiliated Team X the same way I did, but you didn't. You kept your foot on the brakes like a coward. Too scared to run fast. Too scared to be better."
Chigiri's breath quickened slightly, a faint rush of heat rising in his chest, but he stayed rooted in place. His fingers twitched faintly at his sides, trembling just barely.
"There are people worse than you that are putting their lives on the line here. Players with barely even half your talent are out there busting their asses to survive, and you're the one pulling your punches?!"
Chigiri's eyes flashed dangerously. "Shut up,"
"No, I'm not done," Isagi growled. "You're not getting off that easy."
He took another step closer, his voice lowering with cold, biting fury.
"How the hell do you expect to become the best striker in the world, huh?! How the fucking hell do you expect me to believe you deserve your spot here in Blue Lock with the rest of us when you can't even give it your all?!"
Chigiri's fists trembled faintly at his sides, but he still didn't look away. His eyes burned slightly, irritation simmering low and steady in his chest.
"You were fast once, right?" he mocked, ridicule dripping from his maw. "I remember hearing about you, the 'genius sprinter'. The kid who could leave defenders choking on dust. That Hyoma Chigiri was probably worth a damn." His eyes turned cold, voice hard and venomous. "But you're not him. You're nothing like him.
You're just some washed up has-been who's too much of a coward to run again."
"I said shut up, Isagi!"
" I fucking won't! You're a fraud, Chigiri! You have everything you need to be great but you're too scared to fucking use it. If there was ever a mistake life made, it was giving you talent. God knows it can be put to use on someone better."
"Who the fu-!"
But before he could even finish his response, Isagi suddenly lunged forward. Without warning, he grabbed a fistful of Chigiri's shirt and yanked him forward.
The force of it was sudden and sharp, making Chigiri's breath catch as he was dragged off balance. His violet eyes widened slightly, but before he could react, Isagi slammed him forward until their faces were just inches apart.
Chigiri barely had time to register the sharp tug before he found himself face to face with Isagi. As he stared at Isagi, he felt a primal instinct scream at him, crying at the top of its lungs to run, run as far away as he could.
Isagi's eyes, a searing shade of steel blue, burned into his with raw, unrestrained ferocity. The glare was point-blank, sharp enough to cut, and completely unyielding. A maelstrom resided there, overthrowing the normal placid hues that the iris held, filled with nothing but goal hungry ego.
"Look at me," Isagi growled. His grip tightened slightly on the fabric, his knuckles white with pressure. "Answer my fucking question. How the hell am I supposed to believe you're good enough to keep up with the rest of us on team Z?"
Chigiri's eyes narrowed faintly, the heat behind them flashing brighter, but Isagi's grip didn't loosen.
He couldn't answer.
"If you're not going to put everything on the table, if you're not able to sacrifice your life to attain your dreamā¦" Continued Isagi. "Then get the fuck out of Blue Lock."
The words slammed into Chigiri's chest like a freight train.
His breath was caught. His teeth were clenched. His heart pounded violently against his ribs, heat pooling in his chest, boiling hotter and hotter. His nails bit so hard into his palms he could feel the sharp sting.
But Isagi didn't let go. He yanked Chigiri slightly closer, their faces only inches apart now, his voice dropping to a menacing murmur.
"The only way for you to keep up with us is by abandoning all the bullshit you feel. Abandon your fears, abandon your doubts, leave all of them behind! Nothing else should matter except getting to the damn top!"
For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound was the sharp, raggedness of Chigiri's breath and the faint, low rasp of Isagi's voice. The tension was suffocating, choking the air between them.
Isagi's glare didn't waver. He tossed Chigiri away from him, releasing his grip on the jersey as he did so.
"You can either keep being a coward and get in everyone's way," he muttered coldly, "or you can stop making excuses and run. Choice is yours."
With that said, Isagi turned away from him and went back to the gym. He didn't spare a second glance at the supposed speedster.
As he watched him go, Chigiri's hands slowly unfurled from their clenched fist. His breathing was shallow and uneven, his chest rising and falling slightly too fast as he stared at the spot where Isagi had stood.
The sharp sting of his own nails digging into his palms throbbed faintly, but he barely registered it. The faint traces of warmth he felt against his skin were lost.
"You're pathetic."
'Stopā¦'
"You're a fraud, Chigiri!"
'That's not trueā¦'
"Dead weight."
'I said stopā¦'
"Get the fuck out of Blue Lock."
'SHUT UP!'
All Chigiri could hear was the venomous words of Isagi Yoichi, replaying itself over and over again. They slammed through his head over and over, burning hotter and heavier with each repetition.
But he didn't flinch. If anything, it caused something to burn in his chest.
Something raw.
Something blistering.
Something furious.
Just as Isagi took another step toward the far end of the gym, ready to leave him behind, Chigiri moved.
"Wait."
His voice was low but sharp, cutting through the space like a blade. It wasn't a plea or a question, but a demand.
Isagi's steps slowed faintly, his eyes narrowing slightly, but he didn't stop walking.
"I said wait, damn it!"
Isagi's steps finally halted. He stood still for a second, paused in a moment of time, before turning his head towards Chigiri. His eyes were cold, not a hint of emotion emerging from it. It was like he had already written Chigiri off completely.
Chigiri's violet eyes narrowed sharply. He stormed forward, his strides long and sharp, each step hitting the ground with deliberate force. His muscles still faintly burned from the sprint, but he didn't care. Within seconds, he was right in front of Isagi.
The two locked eyes, their gazes hard and unflinching. Chigiri's chest was still heaving faintly from his earlier sprint, but his eyes were filled with something far hotter.
"I'm not running away," he bit out sharply. His voice was low and steady, but at the same time razor-edged, each word cutting with force and precision.
"Funny," The raven haired striker muttered, dripping with icy mockery. "You've been doing a pretty good job of it so far."
"Shut up." Chigiri's fists tightened faintly at his sides, his fingers curling into his palms once more. "You don't know shit about me."
"Then stop acting like a scared little bitch and prove it."
For a moment, they stared at each other in heavy silence..
"You're right."
Isagi's eyes narrowed faintly, but Chigiri kept going.
"I am a coward. I've been holding back this whole time, playing it safe while everyone else fought. I kept letting myself get weaker while watching everyone else move forward. It's frustrating."
His voice lowered slightly, the faintest tremor slipping into his tone, but he didn't stop.
"I let my fear stop me from running, from doing the one thing I loved more than anything else. And you know what? I hate it. I hate it so much."
"Then why did you let it control you?"
"Because I didn't want to lose my ability to play soccer." His voice was low, seething, practically dripping with venom. "I let it hold me back, making me basically useless. I hate watching everyone else fight while I sit on the fucking sidelines because I'm too much of a bastard to push myself."
Chigiri slowly backed away from Isagi, taking small steps back to the field. "But now, thanks to you, I found my reason to play again. So thank you Isagi. I'll sacrifice my leg if I have to, but I will become the best striker in the world."
He stood still for a second, his facial expression unchanging. Finally, a wicked smirk took over Isagi's face. "There you go. That's the ego I want to see."
"Heh, well you're going to regret igniting it," Chigiri chuckled in amusement, running his hand through his hair while he did so. "Make sure you find the dust trail I leave behind while you're catching up to me, Isagi. It'll give you an idea of the gap that will be between us."
"Then prepare to be devastated, you fragile sprinter. You'll break apart before you even reach my starting line."
ā
Hey again, sorry for the shorter chapter this time. There wasn't much I needed to develop, so it was a little shorter than usual. Think of it as a filler but not a filler, since Chigiri gets to run sooner, As compensation for the short chapter, however, chapter 7 will be released sooner! Horayyyyy!!!~~~~
What do you guys think, should I release chapter 7 tomorrow or on Tuesday? Anyways, y'all know the deal. If you want to get 6 CHAPTERS AHEAD, then go check out my patreon at
patreon.com/SlurpyNoodles
(Yes I really put it there like the sleazy criminal that I am, hehehe~...)Ā Ā
Anyways, here are the remaining chapters on that page. Please leave me a comment and review about the story, I reaaaaaaaaally love reading them. Enjoyyyyy~~~!!!
Chapter 7: Return of the Crimson Jaguar
Chapter 8: Team Y's Crushing
Chapter 9: An Awakening, a Chess Showdown Between Aces
Chapter 10: A Worthy Rival
Chapter 11: A Fun Interlude
Chapter 12: Execution of the Unworthy