'Damn it…!'
Nanase gritted his teeth as he forced his legs to move faster, chasing the play as the field turned against them in an instant.
The curse tore through his mind while his lungs burned violently in his chest. His steps had begun losing rhythm—not because his stamina had failed him, but because the weight of what had just happened refused to leave his head.
Ahead of him—
Isagi was running.
Pulling further away.
"What the fuck…?"
The words slipped from his mouth under his breath, rough and unfiltered, his eyes locked onto the back of the player who had just shattered everything they had built in that moment.
Because it wasn't supposed to happen like that.
He had felt it.
That connection.
The one he shared with Itoshi Rin.
No words.
No signals.
Just instinct.
The timing had aligned perfectly. Nanase's bicycle kick had connected cleanly with the ball, desperate yet calculated, sending it exactly where Rin needed it to be.
It should have worked.
That play should have broken Isagi.
Should have torn open the match.
Should have become their goal.
And yet—
It was destroyed.
Not only by Isagi—
But by Hiori too.
As if the play had never been hidden in the first place.
Nanase clenched his jaw harder, frustration twisting painfully inside his chest as the scene replayed itself again and again in his mind.
How…?
How did they see it?
How did they tear apart something that felt so perfect in that moment?
The image looped endlessly in his head.
The pass.
The timing.
The opening.
And every single time—
It ended the same way.
Intercepted.
Stopped.
Erased.
His breathing staggered slightly.
A thought quietly surfaced within him.
'…How am I supposed to survive in this environment?'
There was no determination behind it.
Only doubt.
Because deep down, Nanase already understood the truth.
This field wasn't built on equal ground.
This wasn't simply about effort anymore.
Or skill.
This was a battlefield filled with monsters capable of reading and destroying plays before they could even fully take shape.
Players who existed on a level where your greatest moment could be dismantled before it was even born.
And compared to them—
Nanase felt painfully small.
Like an ant crawling through the middle of a war between giants, desperately trying to survive while the shockwaves of their clashes threatened to crush him without them ever even noticing he was there.
What Nanase failed to realize—what he could never fully understand unless someone broke it down for him—
Was that his play hadn't been exposed.
It hadn't been inferior.
It had been real.
That sequence between him and Rin—the leap, the bicycle kick, the positioning that followed—wasn't something that could've been predicted beforehand.
It was an ad-lib born in the middle of chaos.
A play created in the exact instant where hesitation would have killed everything.
Nanase had jumped because he had no other choice. If he hesitated for even a moment, Isagi would steal it.
And Rin—
Rin hadn't moved in response to Nanase.
He had moved as a striker.
Pure instinct.
The moment the ball's trajectory changed, Rin naturally drifted toward the most dangerous continuation point—the exact space where a forward should exist if the ball broke loose in that manner.
They never looked at each other.
Never exchanged signals.
Never communicated.
And yet—
For a single fleeting second—
They aligned perfectly.
That was what made the play terrifying.
Even Isagi hadn't seen it coming beforehand.
Because there was nothing to see until it actually happened.
The instant Nanase threw himself into the air—
The instant that desperate touch redirected the ball—
That was the moment the play itself was born.
And from there—
Everything became a contest of reaction speed.
Hiori didn't intercept it because it was obvious.
He intercepted it because he was close enough—
And sharp enough—
To understand what the play had become in the very last moment possible.
And Isagi—
He hadn't dismantled it alone.
He couldn't have.
Not within that tiny window.
Not against Rin.
Because if it had only been Nanase and Rin—
If Hiori hadn't been there—
If even half a second had shifted differently—
Rin would've reached that ball.
And from that position—
Within his shooting range—
That was a goal.
A guaranteed one.
But reality didn't bend in their favor.
Because at that exact same moment—
Two players on the opposite side had synchronized as well.
Hiori.
And Isagi.
Together, they closed the opening before it could fully bloom.
The play didn't fail because it was flawed.
It died because it collided with something equally lethal.
And Nanase—
Still running back while frustration and doubt drowned his thoughts—
Couldn't see any of that.
All he could see was failure.
When the truth was far crueler—
And far greater—
He had come unimaginably close to changing the entire game.
"Stop him! Don't let him score!!"
Karasu's voice tore across the field with sharp urgency.
The command spread through PXG instantly.
Players turned at once, sprinting back as the defensive formation scrambled to rebuild itself around the rapidly advancing threat.
The defenders ahead of Isagi stiffened.
Only moments ago, he had ripped through them completely.
Now they had to face that same pressure again—
Directly.
Head-on.
Isagi continued driving forward with the ball glued to his feet, his expression focused yet disturbingly exhilarated. Every movement around him seemed to sharpen his senses further instead of overwhelming him.
The more resistance appeared—
The more alive he looked.
PXG's defenders felt it immediately.
That pressure.
That suffocating certainty that if they gave him even the slightest opening, he would carve straight through them again without mercy.
"I-I'll stop you…"
Tokimitsu forced the words out as he planted himself directly in Isagi's path, his body finally halting after sprinting at full speed.
His chest heaved violently.
But it wasn't exhaustion making him tremble.
It was fear.
The moment his eyes met Isagi's—
The pressure crushing his body seemed to double instantly.
Because Tokimitsu understood the situation better than anyone.
If Isagi got past him here—
It was over.
That was a goal.
The certainty of it weighed down on his mind so heavily that it became difficult to think straight. Anxiety spiraled through him uncontrollably as Isagi kept advancing without hesitation, without fear, without even the slightest sign of slowing down.
And worst of all—
That terrifying confidence was still there in his eyes.
And then—
Tokimitsu broke first.
"AAAHHH!!"
A desperate scream tore out of him as he threw himself forward.
Not at the ball—
At Isagi.
The difference was obvious immediately.
His focus had completely abandoned the technical side of defending. He wasn't trying to read the dribble anymore. Wasn't trying to intercept cleanly.
He just wanted to stop him.
Tokimitsu lunged recklessly, both hands shooting forward on instinct, his face twisted by panic and desperation.
And Isagi saw everything.
The fear.
The pressure.
The overwhelming terror of letting this turn into a goal.
As Tokimitsu crashed toward him, Isagi lowered his center of gravity and cut sharply to the right, trying to slip past before the collision could fully connect.
But that movement only pushed Tokimitsu deeper into panic.
"N-No—!"
His left hand lashed out wildly and caught Isagi by the shoulder.
"I-I got you!"
For the briefest moment, relief flashed across Tokimitsu's face.
Almost disbelief.
As if even he couldn't believe he had managed to touch him.
Clinging tightly to Isagi's shoulder, Tokimitsu twisted his body violently, trying to use his momentum and physical strength to completely shut down Isagi's path forward.
Isagi reacted instantly.
The moment he felt the grip, he sharply turned toward Tokimitsu, his left arm snapping upward before smashing Tokimitsu's hand away in one clean motion.
The impact knocked the grip loose just long enough for Isagi to recover his balance and continue forward.
But Tokimitsu still didn't stop.
At this point, panic had completely consumed reason.
The instant Isagi began pulling away again, Tokimitsu lunged a second time, hurling his body against Isagi's left side with pure desperation.
His shoulder slammed into him as he tried to pin him down physically, pouring all of his weight into the collision.
And yet—
Isagi barely budged.
Tokimitsu had always been physically overwhelming.
Most players lost balance the moment he leaned into them. His sheer frame and pressure alone were usually enough to disrupt movement and crush momentum.
But every time he faced Isagi—
It felt absurd.
Even with his full body committed—
He couldn't properly stop him.
Isagi just kept running.
Driving forward while Tokimitsu was dragged alongside him, desperately clinging on like a man trying to stop a speeding train with his bare hands.
At the same time, Tokimitsu's eyes flickered frantically toward the ball. His feet stabbed desperately at the ground while his hands reached again and again, trying to poke it loose somehow—
Trying to steal it before Isagi broke through completely.
But Isagi never let it enter his reach.
The ball remained barely outside Tokimitsu's control—
Close enough to see.
Far too far to touch.
Just then—
Another presence entered the play.
Fast.
From the left side of the field, a blur tore forward at full speed, cutting toward Isagi's path with explosive acceleration.
Out of everyone recovering from the previous attack, the first to arrive after Tokimitsu was PXG's second speedster—
Zantetsu.
Unlike Tokimitsu's desperate frontal charge, Zantetsu approached with precision.
He concealed his run behind Tokimitsu's larger frame until the final possible moment, using him as a screen to keep Isagi from reading the challenge immediately.
Then—
He exploded inward.
A sudden lunge toward the ball.
Sharp.
Precise.
Timed perfectly to strike the exact instant Isagi's attention divided.
But the moment Zantetsu committed—
Isagi reacted.
Without even fully turning his body, Isagi suddenly drove sideways into Tokimitsu with controlled force, using the larger player's frame against the incoming angle.
Tokimitsu staggered violently sideways—
Directly into Zantetsu's path.
The collision disrupted Zantetsu's balance at the worst possible moment, forcing his body off-line just enough to ruin the challenge completely.
And his tackle—
Whiffed.
His foot sliced through empty air where the ball had been a split second earlier.
At the same time, Isagi flowed straight through the opening created between them, slipping past the collapsing pressure with terrifying smoothness while keeping the ball under complete control.
Still advancing.
Still driving toward the goal.
"Ah… I messed up!"
Tokimitsu's voice cracked apart as he stumbled to a halt, staring helplessly at Isagi's back disappearing further ahead once again.
The anxiety crushing his chest swelled violently, his thoughts instantly spiraling toward failure.
Again.
He failed again.
His arm stretched out instinctively toward Isagi, fingers grasping uselessly at empty space—
As if some part of him still believed he could drag him back before it was too late.
But before the panic could swallow Tokimitsu completely—
Footsteps thundered past him.
His eyes widened slightly as another figure surged by at full speed.
"No…"
The voice cut through the chaos in his head before he even fully recognized it.
"…that was good, Tokimitsu."
Karasu.
His expression was completely serious now, stripped of the usual lazy calm he carried so naturally. There was no sarcasm in his voice. No hidden criticism.
Only acknowledgment.
Because Karasu had seen the situation clearly.
Tokimitsu and Zantetsu hadn't stopped Isagi.
But they had slowed him down.
And at this level—
A few seconds could decide everything.
Karasu accelerated forward after Isagi, his sharp eyes already analyzing the next layer of the field.
And ahead—
Another figure finally stepped into Isagi's path.
Nanase.
He planted himself directly in front of him, chest rising violently as exhaustion tore through his breathing. Sweat dripped from his face after forcing himself into a full sprint all the way back into the defensive line.
Yet despite that—
His eyes never wavered.
There was tension in them.
Fear, even.
But they stayed locked onto Isagi with stubborn determination.
Like a fragile creature standing in front of something it desperately wanted to protect.
Karasu understood the situation instantly.
Tokimitsu and Zantetsu had managed to buy just enough time for Nanase to recover.
And the moment Nanase arrived—
He made the correct choice.
He wasn't trying to steal the ball.
Wasn't trying to force some miraculous interception against a player operating at Isagi's current level.
Because Nanase understood he couldn't.
Even a surprise challenge carried almost no chance of success now.
So instead—
He chose obstruction.
The exact same instinct Tokimitsu had stumbled into earlier.
Stand in the path.
Delay the advance.
Force Isagi to waste even a second dealing with resistance so the rest of PXG could collapse back into formation.
It wasn't flashy.
It wasn't heroic.
But it was smart.
And more importantly—
It required Nanase to accept something most players in Blue Lock couldn't.
His own limitations.
Most strikers rejected that idea instinctively. Their egos refused to acknowledge inferiority. Refused support roles. Refused anything that didn't place them at the center of the spotlight.
But Nanase accepted it.
Not because he lacked pride—
But because survival demanded honesty.
And in a battlefield filled with monsters—
That honesty had value.
A player capable of recognizing his own mediocrity could still become useful among geniuses.
Nanase lowered his center of gravity, forcing his exhausted legs to stay firm as Isagi rapidly closed the distance between them.
His breathing was ragged from the sprint back.
But his eyes never left Isagi for even a second.
He already knew what he needed to do.
Not steal the ball.
Just stop him.
Or at least slow him down.
The moment Isagi entered range, Nanase intended to throw his entire body into his path, using every bit of strength he had left to disrupt the run and buy PXG a few more precious seconds to recover defensively.
At this point, he wasn't even worried about fouling him.
Because realistically—
There was no chance in hell a shove from him would actually bring Isagi down.
That ridiculous balance had already been proven throughout the match over and over again.
Which meant Nanase could commit completely.
Use everything he had.
Maybe the pressure alone would be enough to matter.
But contrary to the image many players had started building around him, Isagi wasn't terrifying because he blindly forced his way forward like a monster.
It was the opposite.
What made him dangerous was his adaptability.
The terrifying number of options he could choose from at any given second.
And the instant Nanase prepared to commit—
Isagi saw it.
His eyes flicked once toward Nanase's shifting weight, instantly reading the incoming collision before it even happened.
So instead of forcing through it—
He changed the angle entirely.
With a soft, controlled touch, Isagi nudged the ball to his right.
Minimal force.
Perfect timing.
'Huh...?!'
Nanase froze for a split second.
Confusion flashed through him before instinctively he whipped his head toward the new passing lane.
And that was when he saw him.
Kurona.
Appearing exactly where Isagi needed him to be.
At almost the same moment, a violent gust of air brushed past Nanase's shoulder as another figure exploded beyond him from the opposite side.
His peripheral vision barely caught it.
Isagi.
Already gone.
The instant the pass left his foot, Isagi had accelerated past Nanase at full speed, using that tiny moment of hesitation to slip through before contact could ever happen.
Meanwhile, Kurona wasted no movement.
The second the ball reached him, he returned it immediately with a clean first-touch pass, sending it straight back into Isagi's path without breaking the attack's rhythm even slightly.
A perfect one-two.
Fast.
Precise.
Devastatingly smooth.
Isagi flowed past Nanase in one seamless motion, the return pass arriving directly into his stride. He cushioned the ball cleanly without slowing down, his touch absorbing it just enough to preserve the momentum of the attack as he continued surging toward the goal.
Then—
"That was boring."
"That's the end of the road, Yoichi."
Two voices struck the field at almost the exact same moment.
One from the right.
One from the left.
And both carried lethal intent.
From the right—
Charles entered the play.
Unlike the rest of PXG, who had desperately sprinted back into defense, Charles had retreated much earlier. While everyone else chased the flow of the game directly, he had quietly stepped outside of it, waiting for the field to evolve into something interesting enough to steal.
A puzzle worth solving.
And now, as Isagi drove into the collapsing space ahead—
Charles finally moved to claim it.
His expression held more disappointment than urgency, as though Isagi's current sequence had failed to entertain him as much as he had hoped.
At the same time—
Another presence exploded into the play from the opposite side.
Kaiser.
Fast.
Sharp.
Violent in intent.
The emperor surged inward with his eyes locked entirely onto the ball at Isagi's feet, his glare burning with naked hostility.
Unlike Charles, who treated the situation like a game—
Kaiser approached it with pure possessiveness.
He wasn't here to stop Isagi.
He was here to take everything.
To steal the attack itself.
To rip the spotlight away and turn this entire sequence into his own goal.
The timing between them was almost flawless.
Both collapsing inward simultaneously as Isagi advanced between them.
Then—
They lunged.
Their feet shot forward at nearly the exact same instant, slicing toward the ball with precise aggression.
The angles of their challenges resembled twin blades converging toward a single point, aiming to carve possession away before Isagi could escape the trap closing around him.
And for one brief moment—
The space around Isagi vanished completely.
And yet—
Even with all that pressure collapsing onto him at once—
Isagi never flinched.
Not even slightly.
His expression remained unnervingly calm, settling into that serene look that somehow became even more dangerous when paired with the faint smile stretching across his face.
There was no panic in his eyes as Kaiser and Charles closed in from both sides.
Only certainty.
Because he had already chosen his answer.
Just before their feet could reach the ball, Isagi's left foot slipped beneath it and flicked upward with delicate precision.
The ball lifted cleanly into the air.
Too fast.
Too high.
Both Kaiser's and Charles' challenges sliced through empty space underneath it as the ball rose directly above their heads.
And in the exact same motion—
Isagi's foot slammed downward.
Violently.
The impact echoed through the turf with such force that everyone near him felt it instantly.
Charles.
Kaiser.
Kurona.
Nanase.
For a split second, it didn't feel like a normal step.
It felt like the ground itself had cracked beneath him.
Then—
Isagi exploded upward.
His body launched into the air with terrifying force, soaring above the collapsing pressure as though gravity itself had failed to hold him down.
As he rose, his left hand instinctively planted against Kaiser's shoulder, using the contact to stabilize and rotate himself midair.
His body twisted.
Perfectly aligned.
Blue-tinted smoke-like aura trailed around him as the intensity pouring out of him reached something almost inhuman.
His eyes burned with overwhelming focus.
And somehow—
That calm smile still remained on his face.
Making the entire sight deeply unsettling to everyone watching.
Then his right leg drew back.
The falling ball dropped perfectly into his setup.
A mid-air free-kick shot.
Behind Kaiser and Charles, PXG's defensive wall had finally completed itself.
Karasu's gamble had been correct.
The delays created by Tokimitsu, Nanase, and the others had bought just enough time for him to recover into position personally.
Zantetsu arrived beside him moments later, while Chapa, Gabin, and Michelin compressed tightly together in front of the goal, forming a dense defensive wall meant to seal every possible shooting lane.
And yet—
Not one of them felt safe.
Because the moment they saw Isagi airborne—
Every instinct in their bodies stiffened.
What was descending toward them no longer looked human.
It looked inevitable.
Then—
It happened.
Like the arrival of everyone's worst nightmare.
Isagi's right foot snapped forward.
BOOMM!!
The strike connected with horrifying force.
The sound alone ripped through the stadium as the ball exploded off his foot, spinning violently while tearing upward toward the right side before beginning to bend inward mid-flight.
A vicious curve.
The goalkeeper reacted instantly, flinching hard as he launched himself toward the left side of the goal based on the shot's initial trajectory.
But the spin—
The spin kept dragging the ball further.
Sharper.
Deeper.
Its rotation refused to die, carving the shot violently through the air as it bent toward the upper-left corner of the net.
Around the world—
People had already begun rising from their seats.
Millions of bodies moving almost instinctively as the ball traveled through the air, reacting before the outcome had even arrived.
Across massive screens, Isagi's airborne strike replayed like something unreal—
A shot so audacious, so brutally precise, that celebrations had already begun spilling from people's throats before the net had even moved.
The goalkeeper was beaten.
The defensive wall had failed.
The curve was perfect.
Everything pointed toward another goal with Isagi Yoichi's name carved into it.
But then—
"Sorry, Isagi… but sabotage is the nature of our environment."
The voice sliced into the moment with sharp possessiveness.
And in the very next second—
Another figure burst into the ball's path.
The left winger of Bastard München surged toward the curving shot, desperation and hunger burning fiercely in his eyes.
Yukimiya Kenyu.
His body launched forward toward the ball.
Not to stop it—
But to claim it.
Because within Bastard München, goals weren't shared.
They were stolen.
Taken.
Devoured from one another if necessary.
That was the twisted ecosystem they survived inside.
And Yukimiya—
Had no intention of standing still while Isagi consumed everything alone.
.
.
.
.
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