"Now then..."
Noa's voice cut through the tension like a starting whistle.
"It's game time."
With a deep mechanical clunk, the massive gate behind him began to rumble open, revealing the blinding lights of the stadium beyond. One by one, the players of Bastard Munchen stepped forward.
It was time.
"Prove yourselves, Bastard Munchen."
His gaze swept across the room.
"Now go...
and Win."
The starting eleven of Bastard Munchen began their march through the tunnel, At the front of the pack, side by side, walked Isagi Yoichi and Michael Kaiser.
Kaiser didn't spare Isagi a glance. His gaze was fixed forward, his face set in an expression of cool determination. The swagger that usually marked his stride remained, but there was something harder beneath it now—something sharper.
He felt the weight of the moment, and unlike before, he was ready for it.
The reminder of his failure in the last match still burned in the back of his mind. Three goals. All from Isagi. And him? Nothing. A silent spectator while the upstart stole the stage that had always belonged to him.
Kaiser knew exactly why.
The first mistake had been arrogance—underestimating Isagi's capabilities, thinking of him as a lucky fluke rather than a threat.
But the second mistake had cut deeper: he hadn't understood the kind of player Isagi truly was.
Isagi wasn't predictable. He wasn't bound by patterns or expectations. He was instinct wrapped in calculation, ego sharpened into a weapon. A player who bent reality to fit his vision of the game—who thrived in chaos and made it his playground.
And now, Noa had thrown them together—not as partners, but as opposing forces bound by the same role.
Kaiser's lips curled into a quiet smirk. This wasn't just a second chance. It was a warning shot from Noa.
'Good.'
He planned to answer it.
This time, there would be no mistakes.
He would show Isagi—and everyone watching—what the true ace of Bastard Munchen was made of.
The light at the end of the tunnel grew larger as the team drew closer to the pitch.
Kaiser didn't flinch.
Let the world watch.
He was going to take everything back—and burn anyone who stood in his way.
While Kaiser walked forward with quiet fury, eyes fixed on the path to reclaim his throne.
He wasn't the only one who had a bone to pick with Isagi.
"There you are… Isagi."
Chigiri's voice cut through the noise as his eyes locked onto the familiar figure stepping onto the pitch.
"Germany"
Reo muttered, almost to himself, as he finished tying his hair into place. His gaze never left the Bastard Munchen squad fanning out into position. There was no mistaking the edge in his voice—half admiration, half challenge.
"We're gonna crush you, Isagi."
Nagi stood at the heart of their formation, eyes fixed on his rival with a rare intensity. The usual lazy detachment in his expression had burned away, replaced by something sharper.
Isagi met their gazes with a grin.
"Sup, you three."
He said casually, like they were meeting in the dorm hallway instead of on the battlefield.
"How's it going?"
"Wow. Is that the confidence of Mr. 78 Million?"
Reo quipped with a teasing smile, crossing his arms as he eyed Isagi with a mix of sarcasm and curiosity.
"Or maybe it's the hat-trick in his debut match,"
Nagi added, his voice as lazy as ever—but the gleam in his eyes betrayed his interest. The fire from earlier still hadn't faded.
Isagi shrugged, that same relaxed grin never leaving his face.
"Can it, you two. Have you ever seen me depressed?"
Chigiri chuckled, stepping forward with a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Well, that's true,"
He said, eyes narrowing slightly with amusement.
"But I bet earning 78 million must've made you pretty damn happy."
Isagi let out a soft laugh, tilting his head as if considering the thought.
"For a first salary?"
He replied coolly, hands resting on his hips.
"Yeah… not bad at all."
"Well, I'm gonna get an even better salary—and beat you."
Nagi said, his voice calm, but his eyes told a different story.
Isagi caught the look instantly.
It was subtle, but unmistakable—Nagi's usual half-lidded indifference had sharpened into focus. That rare flicker of seriousness, of intent. For Nagi, that meant everything. And it only made Isagi grin wider.
'Good,'
He thought.
'That's more like it.'
He wanted this. A battle that made his blood surge and brain burn—this was the kind of fun he wanted right now.
"Give it your best shot."
Isagi replied, cocking his head with a smirk.
"I'll try not to finish the match too early… so you guys can catch up."
The taunt hung in the air, light as smoke but heavy with challenge. His excitement mirrored theirs, and everyone on the pitch could feel it.
.
.
.
"Welcome to Blue Lock TV—where the excitement knows no bounds!"
The announcer's voice boomed with electric enthusiasm, echoing across the stadium and through millions of screens worldwide.
"The third match of the Neo Egoist League, eagerly awaited by football fans across the globe, is finally here!"
The camera swept across the players lined up on the pristine pitch.
"Will Isagi Yoichi continue his jaw-dropping rise after that stunning hat-trick debut? Or will Michael Kaiser, Bastard München's core, remind the world why he's considered Germany's ace?"
"And what of England's debut?"
The tone spiked, heightening the tension.
"Manshine City takes the field for the first time—what kind of football will they unleash?"
The stadium lights flared as the teams took their positions.
"This match is being broadcast live to every corner of the world."
A dramatic pause followed—just long enough for the tension to crackle.
"Now, Neo Egoist League, Match Three...
Germany's Bastard München…
...VS. England's Manshine City!"
The screen blazed with both teams' crests as the whistle prepared to blow. The war of philosophies, egos, and ambition was seconds away from erupting.
"Kicks off!!"
The commentator's voice thundered just as Michael Kaiser stepped forward and tapped the ball toward Ness.
The match had begun.
In a flash, the frontline from both teams exploded into motion. Bastard München surged ahead like a well-oiled machine, Kaiser leading the charge with that signature blend of grace and arrogance. Ness trailed just behind him, already scanning the field.
Kaiser surged forward, his eyes locked straight ahead—unwavering, cold, and burning with ambition. The ambition which was aiming for something.
And Ness understood it all.
He didn't need words to know what Kaiser wanted in this match. No, he had seen it in the way Kaiser trained, in the way he moved during scrimmages, in the silence between them. There was a storm beneath that elegant exterior. A demand to reclaim something that had been taken.
Dominance.
But it wasn't just about winning. For Ness, it was something far deeper—something personal.
He had witnessed talent beyond Kaiser before, players with different styles, different strengths. But none of it ever mattered. To Ness, Kaiser was the best. The embodiment of football perfection.
His emperor.
And yet… now there was Isagi.
A rival in their own age group, rising like a storm and breaking every expectation. The numbers didn't lie. The goals. The impact. The spotlight.
Ness had tried—tried to scoff, to undermine, to find cracks in Isagi's rise. But each attempt withered against the weight of undeniable results. He couldn't even bring himself to insult him anymore. Because every time he looked at Isagi, all he saw was proof.
Proof that someone else might be rising above Kaiser.
And that… that was unbearable.
For the past ten days, Ness had been training harder than ever—going over Kaiser's movements, optimizing every pass, rehearsing every pattern. He didn't care about his own glory. He only wanted one thing:
To place the crown back on Kaiser's head.
To help his emperor ascend the throne once again.
So when Nagi closed in—gliding toward him like a shadow with deceptive ease—Ness didn't panic.
His eyes flicked across the field, scanning for the optimal release.
The match hadn't descended into chaos yet. The formations still held shape, giving him a brief window of clarity. And in that moment, he spotted Grim peeling out wide on the left flank. Without hesitation, Ness angled his body and prepared to thread the ball through—
But then he felt it.
A ripple in the flow.
From the corner of his vision, a figure streaked into the passing lane with sharp, purposeful strides.
Yukimiya.
The Bastard München left-back had broken the formation already, sprinting forward with a hunger Ness hadn't expected so early in the match. He had been stationed deep, but clearly, Yukimiya had read the buildup—or perhaps anticipated it from the very first touch.
It was reckless.
The opening minutes were usually meant to test the waters, not dive headfirst into the current. But Yukimiya wasn't waiting.
He was making a statement.
For Yukimiya Kenyu, it wasn't just about pressure.
It was about time—or the lack of it.
His vision had been blurring more often lately, the warning signs creeping closer with every match. He didn't know how many chances he had left before the world dimmed for good. And after the last game—after watching Isagi dominate and dictate the pace from start to finish—Yukimiya had seen what being passive cost.
If this game turned out the same, if Isagi took control again… then he might not get a single meaningful touch. Another match passed over. Another step closer to the darkness without ever shining.
He couldn't afford to wait.
So he didn't.
He left his post the second Kaiser moved, his instincts screaming ahead of the play. He knew where the ball was going. He had to. Reckless or not, this was his only chance to carve out a space in a game that might otherwise leave him behind.
If he wanted the spotlight—if he wanted to exist—he had to act before it slipped away.
Ness saw Yukimiya's interception coming—and he didn't hesitate.
He'd seen how quickly momentum could be stolen. In the last match, it had only taken one mistake, one poorly judged pass, for Isagi to seize control.
And Ness wasn't about to let that happen again.
Not this time.
He locked eyes on Grim, posture sharp and composed, selling the pass with picture-perfect body language. His right leg drew back, poised for the strike—every motion screaming cross to the wing.
And Nagi bought it.
With a sudden burst, Nagi lunged in, cutting the angle. His foot came in fast—sharp, and low.
But Ness was faster.
At the very last second, his foot curved around the ball—not to strike it, but to drag it.
A smooth drag across his body, low and tight.
The motion was perfectly timed—letting the ball slip just beyond Nagi's reach as Ness pivoted to his left, gliding past him in one seamless movement.
Without wasting a second, Ness surged forward into open space. He knew the window was narrow—any delay, and the field would collapse back onto him. Planting his foot firmly, he launched a driven pass upfield, slicing the air toward Grim. A low trajectory, tight angle—far enough that Yukimiya wouldn't have the time to intercept it now.
For a brief moment, it looked clean.
Grim burst forward to meet the pass, his eyes sharp with anticipation.
"Do you Bastards have only one pattern?"
Grim's breath hitched, his senses snapping into alert. Voice cutting through the rush of wind and pounding cleats like a knife.
"...It's actually pretty pathetic how predictable this is."
The blur of crimson came into view.
Chigiri.
Sprinting at top speed from the opposite flank, red hair streaming like a warning flare, he'd read the pass before Ness even made it. His acceleration was terrifying—explosive enough to make ground vanish beneath his feet.
And now, he was cutting in—right between Grim and the ball.
Chigiri didn't even need to look at him. His eyes were locked solely on the ball.
With a powerful strike, he launched it upfield—a blistering clearance that shattered Bastard München's momentum before their attack could even take root.
The ball soared high, cutting through the early match tension like a blade.
It dropped fast—and right into Reo's zone.
Reo trapped it cleanly with a soft touch, the impact barely audible as the ball settled beneath his feet. He exhaled through his nose, a grin playing on his lips as he turned sharply with the ball
"Playing with you,"
He muttered under his breath.
"makes the whole game feel faster."
And just like that, the rhythm flipped.
Manshine City surged into motion around him—fluid, precise, and already anticipating Reo's lead. From the wings to the center, the formation stretched wide and forward.
Now, it was Manshine City's turn to attack.
"Not so fast, Mr. Topknot."
The words came out sharply as Ness stepped forward, blocking Reo's path. Ness had anticipated the incoming ball—after making the pass and seeing the red-haired player on the way to intercept it, he didn't waste time sulking; instead, he quickly started looking for the next best action.
He was the closest player, and he wasn't about to let Reo slip past him without a fight.
Reo shifted right, dragging the ball with him, but Ness shadowed him tightly, matching each step and pressing a hand to his chest to hold him back.
Reo suddenly stopped—a brake.
And instinctively, Ness did the same to stay in front, lifting his hand off Reo's chest to avoid a foul.
That moment of hesitation—just a fraction of space—was all Reo needed.
With a quick pivot, he created the slightest gap between them, then whipped his leg behind his planted foot in one smooth motion.
A Rabona-flick.
The ball flicked cleanly forward—straight through Ness's legs.
Nutmeg.
By the time Ness turned, Reo was already accelerating past him, the ball back at his feet and the Manshine City attack back in motion.
It was a move straight out of Sae Itoshi's playbook—one Reo had burned into his muscle memory from the U-20 match.
Now free, he didn't waste a second.
The moment he slipped past Ness, the Bastard München defense reacted—shifting toward him like a tightening net.
But Reo had already calculated his next steps.
With controlled touches, he slipped past Ali—dipping his shoulder one way, then weaving the ball to the other, slicing through the space before a challenge could land.
Kurona came in next, pressing from the side.
But Reo didn't slow down.
Shifting his momentum slightly, he drove the ball toward the left side, away from Kurona's press, dragging the defender into a narrow lane where one misstep would leave a gap.
Reo's body moved like water—fluid, reactive, but full of intent.
And just like that, Manshine City's attack surged forward with him as the spearhead, slipping between defenders and pulling the game's rhythm with him.
Up ahead, Nagi was already on the move—ghosting between the defensive line, eyes locked on Reo as he cut through the midfield.
Reo's touch, his tempo, the subtle way he opened his body—it all spoke to Nagi loud and clear. He'd known Reo for months, had played beside him since the early days of Blue Lock, but this version of Reo… felt different.
Sharper. Hungrier.
Better.
And watching him drive the play like this—taking the initiative, commanding the tempo—it sparked a familiar memory in Nagi's mind.
Their match in the Second Selection. Stage Three. The 4v4 against Isagi.
That was the first time Reo had pushed himself that far—facing off against Isagi at his absolute best. And in that match, something in Reo had cracked open. He'd stopped chasing after Nagi... and started chasing after himself.
That fire hadn't burned out.
If anything, it had turned into something even more dangerous.
Reo, unaware of the whirlwind of thoughts Nagi had about him, stayed focused—eyes forward, pulse steady—as he pushed the ball closer to the penalty box.
Everything was flowing perfectly.
The defense was split. The space was his. He could see the goal forming right in front of him.
"...You're getting too optimistic, Topknot."
The voice came like a cold wind across his neck—low, amused, and annoyingly calm.
Sliding into his path with perfect timing, Michael Kaiser emerged, slipping between Reo and the space he was about to claim.
But Kaiser's presence didn't rattle him.
If anything, Reo's gaze sharpened—like he had been waiting for this.
"Kaiser..."
He muttered, lips curling into a grin of his own.
There was no fear, no hesitation—only anticipation.
"Now that I think about it…"
His voice was light, even playful, but underneath was steel.
"You'd make the perfect guinea pig for my debut."
In the next second, Reo's left foot slid the ball slightly to the right—a calculated shift. Just enough to drag Kaiser's center of gravity off-axis.
And then—
A subtle pivot of his hips. A shift in weight. His left foot, swinging back out wide.
BOOM!
He struck the ball with the outside of his left boot.
Kaiser's eyes widened as he lunged in—a beat too slow, his foot slicing through air where the ball used to be.
As the ball rose into the sky, its arc carved through the air with eerie precision—a curve that seemed to cut reality itself.
And in that instant, two players froze.
Nagi's eyes widened.
So did Kurona's.
There was no mistaking it.
That motion. That posture. The subtle twist of the hips, the shift in weight, and then—that release. The kind of shot that didn't just challenge defenses, but bent the rules of expectation.
They had seen this before—burned into their memory.
That day in the Second Selection.
That 4v4 match.
Isagi Yoichi.
He had used that exact movement to turn the tide back then—to show them what evolution looked like in real time. It had stunned them. Inspired them. Changed them.
And now, that same move had appeared again.
From Reo.
With flawless execution, Reo Mikage had mimicked it. Not in spirit, but in form, down to the curve, the timing, the intent behind the strike.
A perfect imitation.
A weapon born from borrowed genius.
Chameleon Style.
.
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