[A/N] : Hey everyone,
First off, I just want to say a huge sorry for the long wait. I got caught up in some urgent stuff and honestly, I just didn't have the time to write. But now that those things are out of the way, I'm back and ready to continue posting chapters!
Thanks for sticking around, and again, sorry for the delay. I really appreciate you all!
Let's get back to it! 😊
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Oliver Aiku stood in the heart of the defense, his keen eyes fixed on the pitch. The sweat on his brow wasn't just from exertion but from the sheer mental strain of keeping up with the chaos unraveling before him. He was a player of unparalleled defensive ability, a maestro of the backline. His brain was a finely-tuned machine, a 'database' that stored every detail—every feint, every pass, every subtle movement of the opponents he faced. He wasn't just reacting to plays; he was predicting them, calculating the optimal move with the precision of a mechanical program.
But right now, something was gnawing at him, unsettling that certainty he had always prided himself on. Isagi Yoichi. The name echoed in his thoughts like a riddle he couldn't solve.
He had played against countless strikers, midfielders, and wingers—players who operated within the boundaries of football, no matter how talented they were. Their movements, their tactics, their techniques—all of it fell within patterns he could analyze and counter. Yet, this kid—this unassuming prodigy—was doing something Aiku hadn't seen before.
The moment replayed in his mind as if it were seared into his memory. Isagi had taken possession of the ball outside the penalty box. Aiku had seen players try to curve the ball around defenders and goalkeepers countless times, but the way Isagi did it... it was almost unnatural. The ball didn't just arc—it bent, as though it had a mind of its own, defying the ordinary laws of trajectory. The shot slipped through the narrowest of spaces, a strike that no amount of anticipation could have prepared him for.
Aiku let out a slow breath, his gaze briefly following Isagi as he repositioned himself. The boy didn't even look fazed, as if what he had just pulled off was routine for him. It sent a chill down Aiku's spine. His thoughts swirled, trying to piece together the puzzle of Isagi's abilities.
"Reading the play"
Aiku muttered under his breath, his voice low enough to be lost in the din of the roaring crowd. That was one thing. Isagi's ability to foresee the flow of the game, to position himself where no one expected—it was more than just awareness. It was as if he were seeing the match unfold from above, every movement of every player mapped out in his mind.
Then there was his passing. Aiku had already taken note of Isagi's sharp, precise passes, each one threaded with intent. They weren't just passes; they were plays in themselves, designed to unlock defenses and create opportunities no one else could see.
And now, this—his ability to curve the ball with a level of finesse that bordered on the otherworldly. Aiku clenched his jaw. It wasn't just technique; it was control. Isagi had complete mastery over the ball, bending it to his will as though it were an extension of his body.
Aiku knew talent when he saw it. Just like Sae, Isagi was holding something back. He wasn't showing everything he had to offer—not yet. The precision, the timing, the way he executed his plays without any wasted movement... it was too deliberate, too calculated. It was as if Isagi were only testing the waters, giving them just enough to stay ahead but never enough to reveal his full hand.
Aiku's lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't like feeling out of control, didn't like not having all the answers. And yet, he couldn't help but feel a spark of excitement deep within his chest. Isagi was different. He was a challenge—a player whose complete strength was, for now, beyond understanding. But Aiku was no stranger to challenges.
He adjusted his position, his gaze narrowing as he locked onto Isagi once again. If there was one thing Aiku was certain of, it was this: whatever Isagi brought to the table, Aiku would add it to his database. Every move, every skill, every nuance. He would learn it, analyze it, and adapt. That was what made him who he was—the ultimate defender, unshaken even in the face of the unknown.
For now, though, he'd take account of what he had seen so far: Isagi's ability to read the play, his sharp passing, and the way he curved the ball with almost unnatural precision. The rest would come in time.
'Let's see what else you've got, Isagi Yoichi'
Aiku thought, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
'I'll figure you out. Just watch.'
On the other side of the pitch, Isagi Yoichi stood alone, the roar of the crowd still echoing faintly in his ears. He had just scored, his perfectly curved shot finding the back of the net. It was a goal worthy of any highlight reel, one that displayed his abilities to the world for the first time on such a grand stage. But even as the adrenaline buzzed through him, a nagging thought began to creep in.
It had come too easily.
The U-20 players were undoubtedly talented but Isagi could already sense the disparity. They weren't used to the chaotic, unpredictable style that Blue Lock players thrived on, the relentless hunger that Ego had cultivated in them. His goal wasn't just a testament to his own skill but a glaring example of how unprepared the U-20 team was for what was to come.
Maybe this was why Sae Itoshi, as brilliant as he was, never seemed to go all out against Blue Lock. Sae's calm and calculating demeanor wasn't just confidence—it was restraint. Sae had seen it too, the same thing Isagi was realizing now. The U-20 players weren't fully acclimated to this level of play, to the raw and unapologetic hunger that drove Blue Lock forward. If Sae had gone all out from the start, it wouldn't have been a contest—it would have been a massacre for Blue Lock while U20 would just crumble in order to keep up with him.
'Ha… They should've let Shidou play from the start. That shitty, selfish captain… Well, you should get punished for making things boring for me, Aiku.'
Isagi's thoughts swirled, a mix of frustration and dark amusement flashing in his mind. The cool, composed demeanor he usually wore like armor began to crack, revealing something far more primal underneath—a glimmer of mischievous intent that twisted his friendly grin into something sharper, almost predatory.
He glanced toward Aiku, his sharp eyes narrowing as a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. The U-20 captain, who was still in the middle of understanding Isagi's play, was about to face a very different kind of Isagi Yoichi.
Isagi didn't just want to win. No, that wasn't enough. He wanted to ignite something in these U-20 players, to see their carefully laid strategies crumble under the weight of raw emotion. He wanted them to take things personally, to abandon their structured, disciplined play in favor of something more chaotic, more unpredictable. Because that's where Isagi thrived—in the chaos, in the split-second decisions where instinct reigned supreme.
Meanwhile, a tense silence hung over Sendou Shuto, the U-20's center forward. His missed opportunity still lingered in the air, a glaring reminder of how close they had come to scoring. As he looked up, searching for reassurance from his teammates, he instead found Sae Itoshi walking toward him.
Sae's expression was unreadable, but the weight of his presence alone was enough to send a chill down Sendou's spine. The crowd, still buzzing from Isagi's miraculous interception, faded into the background as Sae closed the distance between them. When he finally stopped in front of Sendou, he didn't hesitate.
"How many chances are you planning to miss?"
There was no anger, no visible frustration—just cold facts.
"You air-shot ace."
The words hit like a punch to the gut, and Sendou flinched. His mouth opened to defend himself, to explain that the missed goal and conceding the goals wasn't entirely his fault. But before he could even form a coherent sentence, Sae's voice cut him off again, sharper and more direct.
"Don't bother"
Sae continued, his tone as flat and unfeeling as ever.
"A striker's worth is in scoring goals. Nothing more, nothing less. When you fail to put the ball in the back of the net, you don't just fail yourself. You fail the entire team. And that's exactly what happened. Because of a worthless striker like you."
The sting of Sae's words was amplified by his complete lack of emotion. He didn't raise his voice or sneer; he didn't need to. His cold, arrogant delivery made it clear that he wasn't trying to insult Sendou—he was simply stating facts, as he saw them. There was no sugarcoating, no attempt to soften the blow. Just the unvarnished truth.
The referee's whistle echoed through the stadium, halting Sae's verbal dismantling of Sendou. The sharp sound cut through the tension, pulling everyone back to the game. Sae could have gone on all day, tearing Sendou down with his sharp tongue, but the match demanded his focus.
Sendou, still stinging from Sae's words, jogged toward the center circle to restart the game. His steps were heavy at first, weighed down by frustration, but as he reached his position, a fire reignited in his eyes.
"I'm U-20's ace striker!"
he reminded himself, clenching his fists as if to anchor that thought. He couldn't let himself be overshadowed—not by Sae, not by anyone. The U-20 team couldn't afford to lose to a group of no-name strikers cobbled together by Blue Lock's strange program. His pride wouldn't allow it.
The whistle blew again, signaling the kickoff. Sendou, with determination etched into his features, sent the ball to Sae before sprinting forward. His mind burned with a singular goal: to make Sae eat those words by showing him what he was capable of.
'I'll prove it. I'll show you I belong here!'Â
He thought, his legs pumping harder as he raced up the pitch.
Sae received the ball calmly, his body language unshaken, his movements as smooth and efficient as always. Despite his earlier harsh words, his comments weren't only for Sendou—they were for the whole team. Sae's criticism was a wake-up call, and it wasn't just Sendou who heard it. The wingers and midfielders, still shaken by his icy demeanor, found themselves more focused and determined than before. They couldn't afford to let him down. Not again.
But Rin was already moving. The moment Sae touched the ball, Rin closed in with terrifying speed. His sharp gaze locked on Sae, and his lips twisted into a familiar scowl.
"Hey"
Rin called out, his voice carrying a sharp edge.
"We've been playing for 35 minutes now. Don't I even get a hello after all this time, shitty brother?"
Rin's words were laced with venom, but his eyes burned with determination. His presence was suffocating, his intent clear.
"This isn't your match"
He added, his voice lowering to a growl.
"This is where I surpass you."
Rin lunged forward, forcing Sae to react. For the first time in the match, Sae didn't immediately pass the ball away. Instead, he accepted Rin's challenge, his eyes narrowing as he shifted the ball between his feet. The crowd buzzed with anticipation as the two brothers squared off.
Sae feinted to the right, drawing Rin's attention, then lunged to the left with a sudden burst of speed. But Rin matched him step for step, his reflexes razor-sharp. Sae, unfazed, shifted the ball again, this time performing a slick rabona to his right. The movement was fluid and precise, leaving Rin a step behind as Sae broke forward.
But Rin wasn't done. In mere seconds, he closed the gap again, his speed and persistence on full display. The brothers' duel was like watching two predators circling each other, neither willing to back down.
"Sae! Over here!"
Teru called out from the right wing, raising his hand and sprinting down the flank. His voice carried urgency as he demanded the ball, his positioning textbook-perfect for an attack.
"I'll back you up!"
Nagi's calm yet determined voice cut through the noise. Seeing Rin struggle to keep up with Sae, Nagi quickly moved toward the area, his sharp instincts guiding him to where the duel was taking place.
But Rin wasn't having any of it.
"Out of my way!"
Rin snapped, his voice sharp and biting. His eyes were locked on Sae, blazing with a mix of fury and obsession.
"Just piss off, outsiders! We're in the middle of a sibling fight!"
Sae's calculated tricks didn't shake Rin. Instead of reacting too early, Rin stepped forward to block Sae's path, positioning himself perfectly. He had learned from his defeats, honed his instincts, and sharpened his game for moments like this.
Sae, unfazed, studied his younger brother with a cool gaze, his sharp mind always thinking one step ahead. He wasn't surprised that Rin had improved—it was inevitable. He had seen the footage of Blue Lock matches, studied how Rin had clashed with Isagi over and over, each loss forcing Rin to evolve.
"Despite all that,"
Sae began, his voice calm but cutting.
"as long as you're my younger brother—"
He leaned into a quick feint to the left, his movements so fluid and convincing that Rin instinctively shifted to block.
"—you can never surpass me."
And then, with a flash of brilliance, Sae executed a rabona nutmeg, threading the ball through Rin's legs with precision so sharp it left the crowd gasping. The ball slid past Rin, leaving Rin momentarily stunned as the older Itoshi continued his advance.
But just as Sae moved ahead, His expression tensed. Out of nowhere, a player darted into his line of sight, effortlessly intercepting the ball he had so meticulously sent forward. The crowd erupted into shocked murmurs as Sae's advance was cut short.
"Getting too focused on your brother, Sae?"
It was Isagi.
With an almost nonchalant ease, Isagi had placed himself perfectly in Sae's blind spot, waiting for this exact moment. He didn't need to predict where Sae would pass—it was obvious the moment Rin challenged him. Sae's attention had been consumed by their sibling rivalry, and Isagi exploited that opening to perfection.
"Your team will get punished for it"
Isagi added, his voice calm yet brimming with confidence.
And before Sae could fully process what had just happened, Isagi made his move. Without any theatrics, without any fakes or unnecessary flair, Isagi executed a clean nutmeg on Sae.
As the ball slipped between Sae's legs, time seemed to stall. A hush fell over the stadium—not from silence, but from the collective gasp of thousands witnessing it. Isagi Yoichi had just nutmegged Itoshi Sae.
For a fraction of a second, Sae stood frozen, his razor-sharp mind scrambling to process what had just happened.
'How?'
He had accounted for everything. Even while facing Rin, he had mapped out the field in his head, tracking every movement with surgical precision. And yet, somehow, Isagi had vanished from his awareness, waiting in the blind spot of his own overconfidence before striking like a predator in the dark.
By the time Sae flinched back into motion, it was too late. Isagi had already surged past him, and he didn't even glance back. Instead, he shot a smirk over his shoulder, his voice laced with teasing arrogance.
"See that, Rin? That's how you deal with your brother."
Rin's teeth clenched. The sting of being bested by Sae still burned, but now, watching Isagi not just steal the ball but humiliate his brother in the process, his frustration boiled over. The two Itoshi brothers stood frozen for a heartbeat—eclipsed by Isagi's brilliance—as he raced forward, carrying the weight of Blue Lock's hopes on his back.
But Isagi wasn't done.
Beating the Itoshi brothers at once was one thing.
Forcing Sae to actually try? That would be the real victory.
Right now, the U-20 team had no chance of scoring—not unless Sae stopped coasting or Shidou entered the field. And before Isagi netted his goal, he wanted one more thing:
To drag the best out of Itoshi Sae.
As he advanced, Hayate and Wakatsuki rushed in, their defensive instincts snapping into action. Every other Blue Lock player had fallen back into defensive positions, except for Nagi—Isagi's only clear passing option. The textbook play was obvious. A simple pass to Nagi could set up a clean shot.
But Isagi saw something far more interesting.
Rather than take the safe option, he let Hayate close in on him, inviting the challenge. The crowd tensed, expecting a quick pass or a desperate maneuver—until Isagi did something that defied all logic.
With the outside of his left foot, he flicked the ball—not forward, not sideways, but directly at Wakatsuki, a U-20 defender.
A stunned murmur rippled through the stadium. Confusion spread across the field like wildfire.
Even Blue Lock's players hesitated mid-run, their offensive push halting in sheer disbelief.
The U-20 team, the commentators, the spectators in the stands, the millions watching from their homes and online—everyone froze, their minds scrambling to comprehend what Isagi had just done.
Commentators' voices exploded through the speakers, catching up to the madness.
"Wait—WHAT IS ISAGI DOING?! Was that a mistake? Did he just pass the ball to the U-20 team?!"
"No—wait, look at him! LOOK AT HIM MOVE!"
Then, in the next instant, the madness revealed itself.
Isagi darted right, slipping past Hayate in the split-second of hesitation. The ball, meanwhile, collided off Wakatsuki's chest—ricocheting back onto the field.
And where did it land?
At the feet of its original sender.
"OH MY GOD! ISAGI JUST PASSED THE BALL TO HIMSELF!!"
The stadium erupted as the realization hit.
"That was deliberate! He planned that! He turned Wakatsuki into a passing wall!"
"That's not just risky—that's downright INSULTING to the U-20 defense! He's toying with them!"
A play so reckless, so audacious, so outright scumbag-like that it mocked the very foundation of the U-20 defense. He was walking the razor's edge of risk and reward, turning the match into his own personal playground.
"ISAGI YOICHI IS PLAYING WITH FIRE—AND HE'S NOT GETTING BURNED! THIS IS MADNESS!"
The commentators' voices cracked with excitement, trying to keep pace with the whirlwind of genius unfolding before their eyes.
From the moment he stole the ball from Sae, nutmegged him, and now pulled off this absurd self-pass, Isagi Yoichi wasn't just playing football anymore.
He was redefining it.
Aiku stood frozen, his eyes locked onto the unfolding madness.
Like the rest of the U-20 team, he couldn't believe what he had just witnessed.
Toyed with.
That's what they were. Japan's U-20 team—not some rundown school club, not a group of amateurs. They were supposed to be the nation's best, a wall that couldn't be breached. And yet, Isagi Yoichi had just made a complete mockery of them.
And Aiku, their captain, wasn't taking it kindly.
He had seen every kind of offensive play in his career, but what Isagi just pulled off? That wasn't just skill. That was an insult.
Aiku clenched his fists.
That pass—no, that scumbag move—it wasn't some desperate improvisation. The pinpoint accuracy, the way the ball struck Wakatsuki's chest at just the right angle to bounce back—it all required an absurd level of control.
And Isagi had pulled it off flawlessly.
'He's dangerous.'
As Isagi charged forward, closing in on him, Aiku's mind raced, dissecting every move Isagi had made so far. His positioning, his adaptability, his vision. He needed to understand the full depth of Isagi Yoichi.
But the more he analyzed, the more one thing stood out.
Isagi was smiling.
Through every movement, every calculated risk, every insult of a play—he was having fun.
'He's not just playing to win... He's enjoying every second of this.'
Aiku wasn't even sure if Isagi was going all out. That uncertainty sent a chill through him—because if this wasn't Isagi at his peak, then what the hell was he truly capable of?
Still, it didn't matter. Because right now, he had to stop him.
Aiku positioned himself in front of the penalty area, his body tensed like a coiled spring. Behind him, Fukaku, the goalkeeper, shifted his stance, adjusting in perfect sync. Aiku would cover the direct challenge—Fukaku would be ready for any wild shot.
They wouldn't let this become a highlight reel for Isagi Yoichi.
But then—Isagi closed the distance.
Aiku's instincts screamed at him. From this range, one perfectly placed curve shot could end them.
He couldn't wait.
Aiku made his move.
He surged forward, closing the gap between them, determined to force a direct confrontation. He knew exactly how Isagi saw him—just another obstacle to toy with.
Fine.
If Isagi wanted to play, then Aiku would show him exactly what kind of opponent he was dealing with.
Aiku lunged forward, his shoulder slamming into Isagi with force, forcing a physical clash between them.
The impact sent a jolt through Isagi's frame, but instead of resisting, he instinctively moved back—exactly what Aiku wanted.
'Got you.'
Aiku smirked. He had baited Isagi into retreating, disrupting his flow.
But then—Isagi spoke.
"I didn't expect you to be so predictable."
Aiku's eyes narrowed.
'Predictable? Me?'
The words didn't make sense—until they did.
And then he realized—Isagi wasn't talking to him.
He was talking to Sae.
Before Aiku could react, Isagi flicked the ball upward, just as a leg shot out to intercept it.
The leg belonged to Itoshi Sae.
Sae's sharp instincts had triggered the moment he saw an opening—he had stepped in to steal the ball. But he had fallen right into Isagi's trap.
Isagi had counted on Sae's intervention.
Still smiling, he met Sae's gaze—mocking, confident, unfazed.
The ball, now in mid-air, began to descend.
Aiku snapped back into action. There was no time to hesitate—he and Sae had to shut him down together.
They moved.
Isagi saw them closing in, saw the perfect moment forming—and let the ball fall.
But instead of trapping it—
He let it roll through his legs.
'What?'
Aiku thought that Isagi made a mistake but his expression didn't allow Aiku's mind to agree with that conclusion.
Sae, catching up, instinctively lunged for the ball.
But Isagi was already one step ahead.
At the very last second, he flicked his heel back, barely making contact—just enough to send the ball sailing over Aiku's head.
Aiku barely had time to register what happened before—
Isagi was gone.
A single, ruthless movement.
Heel flick—ball over the top—him past the defense.
In an instant, he had dismantled the U-20's strongest superstar duo.
The crowd erupted.
The stadium trembled with sheer disbelief.
Even the commentators—whose job was to describe the play in real-time—struggled to catch their breath.
And at the heart of it all, Isagi Yoichi kept smiling.
Because this wasn't just football.
This was domination.
The ball, now descending, was met with its final challenger.
Fukaku.
Unlike Aiku and Sae before him, Fukaku had seen enough. He wasn't about to sit back and become another victim to Isagi's madness.
He made his decision.
Instead of holding his position on the goal line, he charged forward.
If he waited, he'd be at Isagi's mercy. The ball was dropping within his reach—he just had to get to it first.
A clean catch. That was all it would take.
He'd end this insanity right here.
But Isagi Yoichi wasn't done yet.
The moment Fukaku closed in, Isagi lunged.
His body twisted, and he took a shooting stance mid-air, his right leg snapping forward like a hammer—
A fake.
At the last possible second, his foot sailed past the ball.
Fukaku's eyes widened.
'What—?!'
Still suspended in mid-air, Isagi's body continued its motion—
But his mind was already three steps ahead.
Before Fukaku could react, Isagi reversed his leg mid-swing—his heel snapping back with ruthless precision.
A delicate touch—
A perfectly timed flick—
And just like that—
The ball veered right.
Not a shot.
Not a trap.
A pass.
A pass that completely dismantled Fukaku's desperate attempt.
"Take it, Sore Loser FC."
Isagi's voice rang out, light and taunting, as he spun around with a grin plastered on his face. The tension was palpable—he had already broken the defense, but this was about playing with them.
As he turned, his eyes locked on the striker—Rin Itoshi, who was primed for the moment.
Isagi's pass was a flawless masterpiece. Dancing past defenders and into Rin's path
Rin struck.
The ball whistled through the air, heading for the right corner of the net.
Goal!
Blue Lock had just scored their third. And yet, U-20Â hadn't even managed to land a single shot on goal.
But the real shock wasn't the goal itself.
The scorer wasn't the one everyone expected.
Rin Itoshi.
Originally here to disrupt Isagi's flow, he had become a pawn in Isagi's game. But Isagi wasn't about to be the one to finish it himself. No—he set up Rin, a perfect final touch in his flawless orchestration.
The stadium exploded into chaos.
The crowd's roar shook the air, their energy frenzied, like a wave crashing down after a lightning strike. They were witnessing something beyond just a game—it was art in motion, a display of control, of power, and of genius.
He sprinted to the side, his eyes flashing with pride, his heart racing with exhilaration. He jumped into the air, arms spread wide, inviting the crowd to give him their praise.
And they did—the fans screamed, cheered, and shouted, the stadium alive with adoration as they worshipped the mastermind on the field.
The commentators, almost breathless with excitement, could barely keep up.
"HE DID IT AGAIN! RIN SCORES, BUT THIS GOAL WASN'T JUST ABOUT FINISHING—IT WAS ABOUT ISAGI'S CONTROL OVER EVERYTHING! HE MANIPULATED EVERY PART OF THIS PLAY!"
"Rin gets the glory, but Isagi orchestrated the whole damn thing! HE CONTROLLED THE FLOW, THE RHYTHM, THE VERY OUTCOME OF THE MATCH!"
Even though Rin's name was the one on the score sheet, it was Isagi's vision that painted the canvas.
Unlike every other Blue Lock player, who sought personal glory through scoring, Isagi reveled in the play itself—the rhythm, the movement, the mastery of it all.
The goal was only part of his plan. The real triumph lay in how perfectly he had controlled every element of that final attack. Rin wasn't just a teammate—he was a mere instrument, a note in Isagi's symphony.
To everyone present, it was crystal clear—Isagi had commanded this match from the start, and this goal was just the latest piece of his domination.
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