'Damn it…!'
The irritation struck Rin the moment he tracked the pass in motion.
It was placed exactly where it should have been—along his path, into the space Nanase had carved out for him with perfect timing.
It was a perfect lofted through-ball, to be controlled without breaking rhythm, to push PXG's attack forward in one continuous flow.
And yet—
Even before the ball reached him, Rin felt it slipping away.
His eyes lifted instinctively.
And there—
Isagi was already moving.
Not trailing behind the play.
But cutting into the very space the pass was meant to occupy.
Rin's expression hardened, a scowl forming as his steps sharpened, his body leaning forward to claim what was his. That space had been created for him, and he intended to take it.
But Isagi arrived first.
He sprinted into the lane with precise timing, his run intersecting the path of the ball just before it could reach Rin.
Then, in a single, fluid motion, he turned his entire body around—completely—placing his back toward Rin as he positioned himself directly between Rin and the incoming pass.
In that instant, Isagi didn't just intercept the ball—
He erased Rin's role in the play.
The space Nanase had envisioned, the receiving point meant for Rin, was no longer available.
It had been taken, overwritten by Isagi's presence.
Rin collided into him the next moment.
Thud!
The impact was unavoidable, driven by his forward momentum as his shoulder struck Isagi's back.
Isagi's posture remained stable, his center of gravity grounded as he absorbed the contact without giving way. There was no stumble, no loss of control—only a firm, unmoving presence that had already claimed the space before Rin could reach it.
At the same time, the ball arrived.
Isagi's left foot met it cleanly.
The interception transitioned immediately into action as, in the same motion, he used the outside of his foot to redirect the ball sharply to his left. The touch was precise, controlled in both angle and force, sending the ball skimming low across the turf and away from the pressure building behind him.
It traveled quickly across the field.
Straight toward the right-back channel.
Toward Raichi.
In a single continuous sequence—read, reposition, intercept, release—Isagi dismantled the attack before it could take form and turned it into Bastard München's possession without allowing PXG even a moment to recover.
Rin's eyes snapped to the left the moment the ball reached Raichi's feet, tracking the transition with sharp focus as PXG's forward momentum collapsed into defense. For an instant, his attention stayed fixed on the ball, recalibrating the situation, preparing to press again—
Then something shifted.
A movement to his right.
Isagi.
Rin's gaze flicked instantly, catching him in motion as he slipped past on the opposite side of Raichi's position, already moving with intent.
"Argh…!"
Rin reacted, pushing off the ground to follow, but there was a delay—small, yet enough.
Isagi was faster than he remembered.
Not just in speed—
But in execution.
He had already gone past him.
And before Rin could fully adjust his angle, Isagi curved his run, circling around him in a tight, controlled arc, shifting from Rin's right to his left in one continuous motion. It wasn't a wide movement, nor a dramatic change of direction—it was calculated, designed to disrupt Rin's ability to track him cleanly.
By the time Rin turned again, Isagi was already moving away.
Heading toward Raichi.
Rin's eyes snapped left once more as he forced his body to pivot and chase, his steps quickening as he tried to close the gap.
But what he saw ahead—
Didn't align.
Raichi wasn't pushing up along the right flank as expected.
Instead, he was cutting inward.
A diagonal run.
From the right-back position toward the center.
At the same time—
Isagi was moving in a path that intersected with him.
From Rin's perspective, it looked like a collision course—like Isagi was running to receive the ball directly from Raichi, positioning himself to take control and continue the attack.
The possibility registered instantly.
And Rin accelerated.
If Isagi was going to receive there—
He would shut it down.
His strides lengthened as he surged forward, intent on cutting off the exchange before it could stabilize.
Raichi and Isagi closed in on each other.
Their paths crossed in their diagonal runs.
For a split second, it looked like contact was inevitable—
But it never came.
There was no acknowledgment.
Not even a single glance at each other.
As they reached that intersection, both players adjusted subtly, their movements flowing around each other with precise timing, like two lines crossing without friction.
Raichi continued his diagonal run inward.
And Isagi—
He slipped past.
Continuing his own diagonal run toward the right side, moving beyond Raichi as if the meeting point had never been the objective at all.
Rin saw it.
And he understood it.
The moment Isagi slipped past Raichi without taking the ball, the realization surfaced clearly in his mind that there was no immediate need to chase Isagi.
He could have stopped.
Could have redirected his focus back to the ball.
And yet—
He didn't.
His body continued forward, chasing Isagi despite the logic telling him otherwise.
At the same time, Charles had already positioned himself ahead.
He stood directly in Isagi's path, reading the play as it unfolded. From his perspective, the situation was simple—Raichi would feed the ball into Isagi, and he would intercept it at the perfect moment.
His stance was loose but ready, eyes fixed, anticipation coiling within him as he prepared to steal the ball the instant it arrived.
But the pass never came.
And still—
Both of them moved.
Rin from behind.
Charles from the front.
Closing in on Isagi as if he were the center of the play.
They were chasing a decoy.
The realization hit almost simultaneously.
It wasn't unfamiliar.
Isagi had used himself like this before—drawing defenders, distorting their focus, creating space elsewhere.
But this—
This felt off.
After the last match, after that final goal, something about Isagi had changed. The way he played, the way he carried himself—it had shifted into something more overwhelming.
Which he always was, but that felt more direct.
Someone who would take the decisive action himself.
That was what they expected now.
Not a decoy.
Charles' eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Isagi's face.
That same calm expression was there—the serene, almost detached look he had shown during that final play in the previous match.
But the movement he showed didn't match it.
There was a disconnect.
And yet—
Neither of them pulled back.
They chose instinct.
"You got a pretty nasty personality too, huh?!"
Charles held his position as he grinned at Isagi, forcing Isagi to slow slightly as he approached, narrowing the space in front of him.
Rin closed the distance from behind, his steps tightening as he came up along Isagi's right side.
Between them—
The trap formed.
Isagi was being boxed in.
As he neared the right side of the field, close to the touchline, his run shifted.
The curve in his movement straightened.
His posture aligned forward.
And with Charles on one side and Rin on the other—
He continued into the narrowing space without hesitation.
As Isagi continued his run along the right channel, boxed in tightly between Rin and Charles, the pressure around him compressed further, their presence closing the space from both sides.
For a moment, it looked like the play had narrowed too much.
Like he had run himself into a dead end.
But then—
Charles noticed it.
A subtle movement.
Isagi's head snapped toward the center for just a split second.
Charles' instincts reacted immediately. His eyes followed that motion, shifting toward the center of the pitch.
The play had already progressed.
Raichi had released the ball.
Shidou had stepped in to press him, forcing the pass early—
And now—
Hiori had it.
Right behind the central lane.
The realization came a fraction too late.
Because at that exact moment—
"Huh?"
Charles felt contact.
A hand pressing against his chest.
At the same time—
Rin felt it too.
Isagi's other hand had planted itself against him as well.
Both of them were caught in that instant of proximity—
And Isagi used it.
His arms extended just enough, a quick, controlled push—light, but perfectly placed—like the sharp beat of wings cutting through air.
And it did.
In that single motion, Isagi broke free.
His body surged forward, slipping out from between them as he accelerated into the space ahead.
"Ah—!"
"What?!"
The reactions came almost at the same time.
But they were already behind.
Because in that same instant—
"Let's speed-run this match, ya egoist!"
Hiori struck the ball.
A clean, powerful pass.
Driven low.
Straight through the center line and into the space Isagi had just opened.
The ball cut through the pitch like a blade as players tried to intercept it, skimming the grass with speed and precision, heading directly toward Isagi's path.
Behind him, Charles and Rin reacted immediately, both pushing forward, both closing the distance as fast as they could.
But they were a step late.
Isagi didn't look back.
He didn't hesitate.
The moment he broke free, his body had already aligned for what came next.
As the ball approached—
He set himself.
One fluid motion.
His leg drew back.
His posture locked.
A shooting stance formed instantly.
As the ball closed in on Isagi, his body was already aligned for the strike, every movement flowing into the next with no wasted motion.
"Sure."
He whispered as his right foot snapped forward in a sharp, controlled arc, cutting across his body toward the left.
The moment it connected, the trajectory of his foot shifted instantly—no longer grounded—as his foot lifted upward.
The motion itself was enough.
Recognition spread before the result even formed.
Across the pitch, PXG's players froze—not from hesitation, but from realization.
On the sidelines, even those seated felt it, their attention snapping toward the point of contact as the weight of what they had just witnessed settled in.
They knew exactly what this was.
Fear gripped most of them, quiet but immediate, their bodies tensing as the memory of that technique resurfaced—something they had seen, studied, and still failed to fully understand.
Yet not all of them reacted the same way.
"🤍"
Charles' eyes lit up first, his grin widening as excitement surged through him, his body leaning forward as if pulled toward the unfolding moment.
"😈"
Shidou followed, his expression twisting into something feral, thrilled by the sheer absurdity of what he was witnessing.
And further, seated in his seat, Loki watched with a composed but unmistakable intensity, the corners of his lips lifting slightly as anticipation settled in.
A technique that had already become a subject of discussion across the league, dissected and debated, yet never truly replicated.
The Cyclone Cannon.
The ball exploded off Isagi's foot the instant contact was made.
The force of the strike compressed the air around it, a sharp distortion rippling outward as the ball tore free, its speed leaving behind a visible disturbance in its wake.
The impact wasn't just powerful—it was violent, the kind that displaced the ground and everything around it for a split second.
Then it rose.
Spinning.
The rotation intensified immediately, the ball carving through the air with a drilling motion as it climbed, its path bending as the spin took hold.
The air around it twisted, dragged along by the sheer velocity of its rotation, creating a visible spiral that followed its ascent.
Below, every player tracked it.
No one moved.
No one could.
Because the speed was overwhelming.
The ball didn't simply travel—it tore through the space above them, its trajectory cutting across the field as it continued to rise, the spiraling motion tightening as it gained height.
And for a moment—
All anyone could do was watch.
They had all seen it before.
On screens.
In slowed clips.
Broken down, analyzed, replayed endlessly.
And even then, it had felt unreal.
But this—
Watching it unfold with their own eyes, from this distance, at this speed—
Was something else entirely.
The ball tore through the air from the right side, launched from a position that should never have allowed such a trajectory, yet now it carved its way across the field with violent precision.
The rotation didn't weaken—it intensified, dragging the surrounding air along with it as it advanced toward the final third.
In front of the goal, Renoir tensed.
His entire body tightened instinctively, knees bent, arms slightly raised, eyes locked onto the ball as it approached.
Among all the players on the field, Isagi had been the one he had prepared for the most—the one variable that didn't behave within reason.
And now that moment had arrived.
He tracked the trajectory carefully.
Trying to understand it.
Trying to read it.
The ball began to descend.
And for a brief moment, confusion spread across the field.
Even those captivated by its movement—drawn in by the chaotic beauty of its spin—began to question its path.
The angle didn't seem to align with the goal. The drop didn't match a direct shot.
It shouldn't go in.
Then—
The field moved.
Two figures surged forward almost simultaneously, their acceleration cutting through the stillness that had momentarily gripped everyone else.
Kaiser.
And Kunigami.
Both strikers of Bastard München reacted instantly, reading the falling ball not as a shot—but as an opportunity.
Kunigami's strides were long and forceful, eating away at the ground between him and the drop point with relentless speed.
There was no hesitation in his movement, only a direct, overwhelming push toward the space where the ball would land.
Behind him, Kaiser followed.
Equally sharp.
Equally prepared.
His eyes burned with intent, ready to steal the moment if even the slightest opening appeared.
But Kunigami was already there.
As he entered the edge of the penalty area, something in his presence shifted.
The intensity around him deepened, heavier, darker, his focus narrowing entirely onto the descending ball.
Above him, the Cyclone Cannon continued its path.
Just before reaching him, the ball bent slightly to the right, the spin subtly altering its drop in a way that aligned perfectly with his position.
It was exactly the way he preferred it.
Kunigami leapt.
His body rose cleanly, his timing matching the ball's descent with precision.
There was no interference, no challenge close enough to disrupt him—only the perfect moment meeting the perfect position.
And finally his forehead struck the ball hard.
The impact redirected it downward toward the net, but the spin remained.
Even after the header, the ball retained its spiraling motion and speed.
Renoir reacted.
He pushed off immediately, arms extending toward the incoming shot, but the movement of the ball betrayed him. The shifting trajectory, combined with the residual spin, made it impossible to read cleanly.
By the time he adjusted—
It was already past him.
The net rippled sharply as the ball slammed into it.
"OHHHH MY GODDD!!! HERE IT COMES AGAIN!!! ISAGI PERFORMS HIS MIRACLE CYCLONE CANNON SHOT AS A PASS!!"
The commentator's voice erupted through the stadium, cutting through the stunned silence that had followed the strike, dragging the crowd all across the world back into motion with raw excitement.
"IT HAS BEEN BUT A MINUTE SINCE THE MATCH STARTED AND BASTARD MUNCHEN IS LEADING ALREADY!!!"
Kunigami landed.
His boots struck the turf with a heavy thud, his body absorbing the impact of the jump as his momentum carried him a half-step forward. For a brief moment, his head remained lowered, his breath sharp and uneven from the explosive run and leap.
Then his gaze lifted.
The ball was already in the net.
Still spinning slightly as it settled against the mesh.
His fist clenched.
Tight.
"AAAHHHHHH!!!"
The tension in his arm surged upward as he threw his head back and shouted, the sound tearing out of him without restraint, carrying everything that had built up inside him until now.
"KUNIGAMI HEADED IT AT THE PERFECT MOMENT AS NO ONE SAW IT COMING!! HE SCORES THE FIRST GOAL OF THIS FINAL MATCH—AND HIS FIRST GOAL IN THE NEO EGOIST LEAGUE WITH ARGUABLY THE BEST ASSIST EVER!!!"
The crowd cheered in response, as if their voices could come crashing down onto the pitch from all directions as Bastard München took the lead.
Kunigami stood there, chest rising and falling heavily, his breath still uneven.
Then slowly—
His head lowered.
The shout faded.
And what remained—
Was everything that had led to this moment.
From the very beginning of the Neo Egoist League, something had felt off.
He had entered the league carrying the weight of everything he had endured in the Wild Card—training that had stripped him down and rebuilt him into something closer to Noel Noa himself.
Every movement, every muscle, every action had been honed through relentless repetition and brutal conditioning.
He had sacrificed everything for it.
Endured it.
And survived it.
And yet—
Match after match—
Nothing.
No goal.
No result that proved it had been worth it.
At first, it had been a passing thought.
Then doubt.
Then frustration.
And slowly, that frustration had begun to consume him, eating away at the certainty he had once held.
Every minute on the field without a goal felt heavier than the last, each missed opportunity reinforcing the same question he couldn't silence.
Was it not enough?
Was all that suffering—
All that transformation—
Still insufficient?
His jaw tightened slightly as he exhaled.
Because this goal—
Even now—
Wasn't entirely his.
The play.
The setup.
The impossible ball that had carved through the field so no one could even react to it—
That had been Isagi.
And yet—
That didn't matter so much as he thought.
Because he had been there.
He had reached it.
He had finished it.
And in that moment—
Something reignited.
The doubt that had been building for so long didn't disappear.
It burned.
The frustration, the anger, the pressure—it all fed into something sharper, something stronger that rose from within him.
A fire.
Brighter than before.
More intense.
More certain.
Kunigami lifted his head again, his eyes narrowing slightly.
This was just the beginning.
And now—
He had finally stepped onto the board.
With a goal of his own.
Bastard Munchen 1 — 0 PXG
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