BAM!
The sound ripped through the empty training hall — the ball curved through the narrow gap between the dummies and slammed into the upper corner of the net before rustling against the mesh.
Naruhaya exhaled sharply and dropped to his knees, Sweat ran down his temples and dripped onto the turf. His chest rose and fell in heavy rhythm—he'd been at it for hours.
"Good work."
Hiori's calm voice broke the silence. He approached with a bottle in hand, tossing it gently toward him.
Naruhaya caught it clumsily, unscrewed the cap, and drank like a man dying of thirst.
"Thanks."
He muttered, half-breathless.
The two of them walked together toward the exit.
For a while, there was only silence as Naruhaya kept glancing at Hiori.
Then, after a moment, Naruhaya spoke.
"You look different."
Hiori blinked.
"Huh?"
"I mean…"
Naruhaya frowned, searching for the right words as he scratched his head.
"You've been more involved in training than before. You've got this presence now… You're more… noticeable."
Hiori smiled faintly at that, looking ahead as he walked.
"You're right, I feel quite different as well."
He said after a pause.
"When I was watching Isagi play… it felt like my world was turning upside-down."
He glanced at his hands as if reliving it.
"All I wanted was to live up to his expectations in a freer way. To not follow, but flow by his side."
His tone wasn't boastful—it was honest, reflective.
Naruhaya stopped walking. The word expectations echoed in his head, stinging sharper than he'd expected. His fists clenched for a moment before he looked down at the floor.
"Naruhaya."
When Naruhaya looked up, he saw Hiori standing by a door—its faint light spilling into the corridor. Hiori was peeking inside, curiosity glinting in his eyes.
"What is it?"
Naruhaya asked, stepping closer.
"Come see."
The two leaned closer, peering through the crack of the door.
Inside, under the glow of white studio lights—
A voice echoed clearly through the room.
"Alright—next question."
The reporter's voice carried across the studio, a mix of warmth and professionalism.
Opposite the reporter sat Isagi, hands loosely clasped on his knee, posture calm but faintly stiff.
"You've been chosen as Man of the Match two times in a row in the Neo Egoist League."
The reporter began with an admiring smile, flipping through his notes.
"Two games, four goals, two assists — truly spectacular numbers."
Isagi gave a modest nod in acknowledgement.
"To top it off,"
The reporter continued,
"You've received an offer of 250 million yen from Barcha, one of the biggest clubs in the world. The football community can't stop talking about you. Your name is everywhere."
He paused then, his smile turning curious as he leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his notepad.
"So… how does it feel to be under such a massive spotlight?"
The question hung in the air.
Then, Isagi smiled.
"Well…"
He started, voice gentle, almost shy.
"I'm… happy."
He exhaled softly and continued, his gaze steady on the reporter.
"Also… I'm grateful to the Blue Lock Project."
The cameraman adjusted his focus slightly as Isagi spoke.
"Although I only partially agree with its philosophy,"
He said, choosing his words carefully,
"Blue Lock gave all of us something — a stage big enough to show what we can do. To put our football… and ourselves… under the spotlight."
He smiled again, smaller this time.
He wasn't new to interviews — he'd done a few before in his past life. But this one felt different.
Because unlike those earlier days, when he was invited to speak for his small contributions, this time, he was sitting here as someone being valued.
250 million yen.
The number was a tangible proof of his growth, a declaration of how much his skills were worth. But Isagi knew better than to let that be the ceiling.
This was only the beginning.
His gaze softened as he adjusted slightly in his chair, the faintest curve touching his lips.
He was sure that by the end of the Neo Egoist League, that number was going to rise higher.
He was confident most of the time — but being proud of one's own progress never truly lost its thrill. Especially when that climb had taken you farther than you could've imagined before.
The reporter smiled, clearly pleased with Isagi's earlier answer, and leaned in with renewed curiosity.
"Alright," he said, tone brightening, "then let's talk about the comments from Barcha's scouting department."
He flipped a page in his notes and began reading aloud.
"'We want to team him up with Lavinho.'"
He looked up, then read the next line with more emphasis.
"'We want to use him as an Offensive Mid-Fielder.'"
Lowering the paper, the reporter smiled knowingly.
"Those are the comments they've made about you. What do you think of that?"
Isagi blinked, taken aback just slightly, then chuckled as he rubbed the back of his head.
"Well, I guess my plays do give off that impression."
He admitted lightly.
"So that assessment… makes sense."
The atmosphere relaxed for a second — until his next words.
"But..."
He continued, his tone suddenly shifting.
"I don't want to be just a Mid-Fielder."
.
"Huh?"
The reporter's brows shot up. The phrasing caught him off guard, his pen freezing mid-scribble.
Isagi leaned forward slightly, his voice steady — calm, but brimming with quiet conviction.
"My goal...
is to become the Ultimate Football Player."
The way he said it made the air in the room tighten.
"Not just the best striker in the world."
Isagi continued, his gaze sharp and unwavering.
"But the Best PlayerEver."
The reporter's throat bobbed as he swallowed. The energy in the room had changed completely — the slightly nervous, polite young man who had smiled at the start of the interview was gone. Sitting across from him now was someone else entirely.
Someone whose eyes burned with the same intensity he showed on the pitch.
The reporter managed a shaky smile, a drop of sweat tracing down his temple.
He could feel what Isagi meant now — what he truly represented when he said he only 'partially agreed' with Blue Lock's philosophy.
Isagi wasn't playing just to score.
He lived for every aspect of the game.
The assist.
The build-up.
The interception.
The dribble.
The defence.
The counterattack.
To him, football wasn't about one position or one ego. It was a world — and he intended to master all of it.
He wanted to become the most complete player.
A force that couldn't be categorised.
An inevitable presence.
And with the calm confidence radiating from him now, the reporter couldn't help but tremble at the thought quietly forming in his mind.
The way Isagi spoke — unshaken, not a hint of hesitation — mirrored the way he had played in those last two matches.
Every word carried the same rhythm as his football: deliberate, daring, precise.
If Isagi Yoichi continued like this… if he kept walking this path with the same conviction, the same hunger — then these wouldn't be dismissed as the loud words of a young dreamer.
They would become prophecy.
Because the world had already begun to witness it.
The spark, the control, the brilliance that only appeared once in a generation.
And in that quiet studio, under the white hum of the lights, the reporter realized something that sent a faint shiver down his spine.
He might actually live to see it happen —
The birth of the Greatest Football Player to ever grace this world.
.
.
.
The click of the door echoed behind Isagi as the interview wrapped up.
Isagi exhaled, running a hand through his hair. The lights had been hot on his face, but what lingered now wasn't the heat — it was the weight of his own words still ringing in his ears.
'The best player to ever exist, huh...'
He couldn't help but smile.
As he turned the corner, a familiar voice called out from ahead.
"Yo, that went well"
Hiori stood there with his usual smile, towel draped over his neck, the faint trace of fatigue from training still visible on his face.
"Yeah."
Isagi replied, his grin widening as he walked up to him.
"Were you watching?"
"Just the end."
Hiori said, slipping his hands into his pockets.
"You looked like you were trying not to smile too much. Guess that 'humble Isagi' act isn't fooling anyone anymore."
Isagi chuckled, nudging him lightly with his shoulder as they started walking down the hallway together.
"Hey, can you blame me? It's hard to keep a straight face."
Hiori laughed softly at that.
"Fair enough."
.
"By the way."
Isagi said after a moment, glancing sideways.
"Where's Naruhaya?"
Hiori's expression softened.
"He left earlier. Said he wanted to get more shots in before curfew."
"…Heh."
.
As they reached the dorm, Hiori stretched his arms over his head.
he sighed before glancing at Isagi.
"Did you see the latest ranking update?"
Isagi groaned as he dropped onto the bed, the mattress creaking beneath him.
"No. I didn't even get a proper training session in since yesterday."
"Then you might wanna look at this."
Hiori said, tossing a tablet onto the bed beside him.
Isagi rolled onto his side and picked it up, the screen's glow reflecting off his eyes. The familiar interface of Blue Lock's player database loaded in front of him.
Isagi Yoichi
Speed: S — 90
Offense: S — 100
Defense: S — 90
Shooting: S — 100
Passing: S — 100
Dribbling: S — 92
Overall Rating: S — 99
The stats had gone up.
Even without comparing the numbers, it was obvious — every aspect of his plays was being recognised.
His Speed — 88, had climbed to 90 — the result of his sharper, more explosive acceleration bursts.
His Offense had leapt by three points, from 97 to 100. It wasn't just because of goals — it was because of his ability to create them. Every action, every touch, turned chaos into scoring chances.
His Defense, too, had risen — from 88 to 90 — proof of how well he had adapted to intercept plays, to press opponents, to dismantle attacks before they could even form.
But the biggest leap was his Passing.
From 90, it had skyrocketed to 100.
Every calculated one-two with Kurona.
That bicycle assist to Kurona in the last match — they had all fed into this.
The system didn't exaggerate.
It stated facts.
At the bottom of the screen, the final numbers flashed —
Overall Rating: S — 99(Previously: 95)
On the screen below, the ranking board confirmed it:
1st — Isagi Yoichi
2nd — Michael Kaiser
The new order of Bastard München was written in data, cold and absolute.
Isagi set the tablet down beside him, the reflection of his name still glowing faintly on the screen.
He had taken over Bastard München.
Hiori crossed his arms, smirking.
"Looks like a New Emperor of Bastard München has emerged and officially got the crown."
Isagi grinned as his eyes were set on the ceiling.
He was the top player.
.
.
.
Ubers Wing
The hallway lights flickered faintly as a door creaked open.
Inside, darkness swallowed everything except for the cold blue glow of a massive screen against the far wall. The rest of the room was dead silent — not a single machine humming.
On the screen, the image shifted — slow-motion footage of a player mid-run.
A lone man sat before it, shoulders square, posture still.
"Why weren't you at training for the past two days? Normally, you oversee everything we do."
The voice came from the doorway — casual, familiar. A young man stepped inside, his footsteps echoing lightly against the metallic floor. The dim light caught a flash of gold as he grinned, the reflection of the screen flickering over his face.
He squinted through the dark until the figure in front of the monitor came into view.
"Ah! You're watching the 250 mil guy."
His tone carried an excited hum as he moved closer. The match footage played on — Isagi Yoichi's plays were on full display.
The man in the chair said nothing.
The boy dropped lazily onto the ground beside him, folding his arms behind his head. The glow from the screen washed over his face, illuminating his expression of mischief and interest.
"Damn… look at that."
He muttered, glancing sideways at the older man.
"Is he really just 250 Mil?"
He turned further — and froze.
The man sitting next to him wasn't just watching. There was a grin carved into his face.
The boy blinked.
"Snuffy…"
He'd seen his Master serious, he'd seen him happy — but this expression was different.
This was excitement.
Snuffy leaned forward slightly, the chair creaking under the shift of his weight. The flicker of the monitor cut sharp lines across his jaw, highlighting that grin.
"Lorenzo."
He said, voice calm — but carrying the weight of authority that filled the entire room.
"Yeah?"
"Round up the boys. We're running simulations."
Lorenzo raised an eyebrow.
"Simulations?"
Snuffy didn't look at him — his eyes were still locked on the screen, following Isagi's every movement. Every touch, every feint, every read.
"We need a shit-load of designs to beat thatmonster."
The words were low, but they hit like thunder.
His fist tightened on the armrest, veins showing against his skin as another highlight played — Isagi's precision pass slicing through the defense, his cognitive control dismantling everything in front of him.
Snuffy's grin only deepened.
He wasn't watching an opponent anymore.
He was studying a prey.
Lorenzo's grin widened to match, his golden teeth gleaming in the blue light. Seeing his Master this pumped lit a spark in his chest — excitement, anticipation, and a faint thrill.
"Got it, Master~"
He stood, stretching his arms before heading toward the door, laughter spilling lazily under his breath. The sound echoed as he disappeared into the corridor, already picturing the chaos he was about to unleash.
The door hissed shut behind him, leaving Snuffy alone again — the only light in the room coming from the looping replay on the screen.
The camera panned in the footage — a close-up of Isagi's face as he turned toward the goal, eyes sharp, grin cutting through the frame.
Snuffy leaned forward, his own grin mirroring it.
"Let's see it, Isagi Yoichi…"
He murmured quietly, voice thick with challenge.
"…Let's see if you can handle my designs."
.
.
.
.
.
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