"Hoo…"
A deep, heavy sigh escaped his mouth as he stood at the very front, the ball resting obediently at his feet. His posture was tall, composed, but beneath that calm exterior, something churned.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head just enough to peek over his shoulder.
And there—
He caught sight of Isagi.
The sight made the striker—Kaiser—still for a fraction of a second.
He had watched it all unfold. The consecutive defeats. The failed reads.
The way Isagi had been forced into the same wall again and again throughout this match. For Kaiser, the truth was painfully obvious.
Ubers were manipulating Isagi.
That realization drew a scoff from Kaiser's lips, sharp and dismissive.
Because he knew that Isagi had realized it too.
Isagi wasn't blind. He wasn't slow. He had seen through the design quite a while ago.
So then—
Why didn't he adapt accordingly?
Why didn't he abandon what was clearly failing him?
Kaiser's eyes narrowed as that thought lingered.
But even as he judged him, he knew the answer.
He wasn't far from it at all.
Changing—truly changing—meant more than just recognizing the need for it.
It meant accepting the fear that came with it. The fear of losing something you had built. The fear of discarding the version of yourself that had once brought you glory.
That feeling was heavy. Bitter. Hard to digest.
Hard to understand.
And even harder to grow out of.
Kaiser knew that better than anyone.
Because he had lived inside that fear for far too long.
'…No.'
The thought struck with force.
His hand clenched into a tight fist as he stared straight ahead, his vision fixed forward while Isagi stood somewhere behind him. His knuckles whitened, muscles coiling with restrained emotion.
'I'm different!'
The words echoed with conviction.
'Unlike that weak, stuck bastard…'
His jaw tightened.
'I'm done protecting my current glory.'
The declaration burned inside him—sharp, absolute.
This was his resolve.
Kaiser's thought ended the moment his foot moved.
At the sharp cry of the whistle, he kicked the ball cleanly to his right, sending it toward the second striker of the team.
Kunigami.
The pass cut through the space unexpectedly.
As Kunigami saw the ball rolling into his path, he reacted on instinct, stopping it under his foot as his head snapped up.
His eyes widened slightly—stunned by the suddenness of the pass, by who it had come from.
Kaiser… passed to him?
Across the pitch, murmurs stirred.
Kaiser's movements felt strange from the start of this match.
It wasn't just Kunigami who noticed.
Even Ness—who had synchronized with Kaiser more than anyone—felt the dissonance immediately.
This wasn't part of their usual rhythm. This wasn't how Kaiser played.
In the team's dynamics, Yukimiya and Kunigami were never part of Kaiser's system. They weren't pieces he trusted, nor tools he relied on.
To send the ball to either of them—
—was practically the same as giving up on the goal.
Kunigami ground his teeth together.
Whatever Kaiser was thinking didn't matter now.
He leaned forward and exploded into motion.
His first steps were violent, powerful—each stride tearing up the turf as he sprinted straight ahead with the ball glued to his feet.
And Ubers answered immediately.
Just as Kunigami pushed past the center circle, Drago rushed forward, charging straight into his path to halt the advance.
Kunigami didn't slow.
With simple, efficient touches, he surged past Drago, brushing by him with raw momentum.
For a brief instant, it looked like he had broken through.
But the moment didn't last.
In the very next heartbeat, Abdi and Niko moved.
Both stepped into his lane at the same time, sliding inward from opposite sides.
Their movements were synchronized, calculated—forming a tightening pincer around him as Kunigami continued his rush.
They were closing in.
As they prepared to lunge, Kunigami abruptly dragged the ball back, planting his foot hard into the ground to halt his forward drive.
The maneuver bought him a split second—
—but the pressure didn't ease.
Abdi and Niko pressed in relentlessly, bodies crashing into Kunigami's space as they shoved and jostled, hands and shoulders working to disrupt his balance, to force the ball loose.
Ubers knew exactly what they were doing.
Among all the Bastard Munchen players, Kunigami was a singularity.
A lone weapon.
A striker defined almost entirely by individual power, with no real chemistry linking him to the rest of the team.
And now—
—they were exploiting that weakness.
Kunigami wanted to break through.
But Abdi and Niko blocked his path completely, sealing off every forward angle—
—and behind him, the sound of pounding footsteps grew louder.
Drago was already catching up.
The trap was closing.
Frustration flared inside Kunigami.
He could feel it rising as his body tensed, already preparing to force his way through by sheer power.
His muscles coiled, ready to explode forward, to bulldoze past the pressure even if it meant tearing through it alone.
Then—
From his left, a voice cut through the chaos.
"Help me out, Orange."
Kunigami's eyes widened slightly.
Kaiser.
He was already moving, as he ran in a sweeping arc from behind Kunigami, slipping past his right side. His stride was sharp, precise, calculated.
As he surged ahead, he turned his head just enough to lock eyes with Kunigami mid-run.
A silent demand.
A call for the ball—to the right.
For a split second, Kunigami hesitated.
This was Kaiser.
The same striker who never passed to him. The same man whose system never included him. But in this moment—cornered, pressured, boxed in—Kunigami had no better option.
And more than that—
He owed him this pass.
Grinding his teeth, Kunigami chose to play along.
With a sharp swing of his foot, he kicked the ball toward Kaiser's path, sending it skidding through the narrow space opening to the right.
Niko read it instantly.
His eyes snapped toward the ball, body shifting to intercept—but Abdi was in his way.
The positioning wasn't clean enough.
He couldn't stop it.
The ball bounced free, slipping past the gap and rolling perfectly into Kaiser's path.
The moment it reached him—
Kaiser took it.
He received the ball in stride and burst forward immediately, acceleration snapping into place like a trigger pulled. His body leaned into the run, speed surging as he drove ahead.
Just as quickly, Perone came rushing into Kaiser's lane.
The defender closed the distance fast, he angled his run to cut Kaiser off before the space could fully open. It was immediate pressure—decisive, aggressive.
But Kaiser had already seen it.
Before Perone could commit, Kaiser suddenly sprinted left, his movement sharp and intentional.
The shift dragged Perone with him, pulling the defender out of position step by step. Kaiser didn't rush the release—he waited just long enough, drew Perone just far enough—
Then sent it.
A sharp, cutting pass fired off his foot to the left.
Straight to Yukimiya.
Rikko was already there, tight in his marking, shadowing Yukimiya closely.
The ball reached him at blistering speed—
—and with it came shock.
Because once again—
Kaiser had passed to him.
Yukimiya hadn't expected it.
Not after everything. Not after rejecting Kaiser's request before.
The ball slammed into his control, and instinctively, his head snapped up.
His eyes met Kaiser's.
Kaiser was still running, still breaking free, still moving past Perone as the defender lagged half a step behind.
Their gazes locked—and in Kaiser's eyes, there was something Yukimiya hadn't seen before.
Urgency.
Need.
"Please…"
The word slipped from Kaiser's mouth, barely audible, muttered as he stared directly at Yukimiya while continuing his run.
That single plea cut deeper than any command.
Rikko reacted immediately, stepping in front of Yukimiya to block his lane, positioning his body perfectly.
And as he did, recognition sparked in his mind.
He remembered this.
This exact sequence!
The same pattern.
The same one Yukimiya and Kurona had once used against him.
Kaiser was trying to replicate it now.
With Yukimiya.
Yukimiya realized it too.
His body tensed, instinct screaming at him to dribble instead, to take responsibility himself, to force the play the way he always had. The space was tight, but not impossible.
But—
That word.
That plea.
It lingered.
In that brief fraction of a second, Yukimiya weighed everything—his allegiance, his pride, his alignment with Isagi, and the unfamiliar pull of what Kaiser was asking of him.
Help me.
The decision crystallized.
In the very next moment, Yukimiya made his choice.
He struck the ball upward, launching it into the air with a fast, driven pass—clean, precise—sending it arcing directly into Kaiser's path.
Kaiser's eyes lit up instantly.
The spark was unmistakable.
He surged forward, accelerating into the space as the ball dropped perfectly ahead of him—
—and at the same time, Lorenzo came rushing in, charging straight toward him to shut it down.
Around them, confusion rippled across the pitch.
Players hesitated. Defenders faltered.
No one had expected these sudden alliances—Kaiser linking with Kunigami, and now with Yukimiya.
It shattered expectations.
Even Ness—
Even Ness couldn't understand it.
His gaze followed Kaiser, disbelief etched into his expression as he struggled to comprehend the movements of his liege.
And whatever this new play was—
—it was already beyond anyone's prediction.
Only one person on the field truly understood Kaiser in this moment.
That was Kaiser himself.
No one else on the field could comprehend the logic behind his movements, the reason behind his choices, or the intent guiding his actions in this chaotic scenario.
To everyone watching, his play looked erratic—almost self-destructive.
But inside his mind—
There was order.
There was clarity.
Kaiser's thoughts had been in relentless turmoil ever since the moment Isagi began defeating him again and again.
Each loss carved deeper than the last. He had tried everything in response—every method he knew.
He attacked.
He defended.
He tried to hurt.
He tried to crush.
But every effort met the same fate.
Like throwing a rock at a mountain—
Nothing came of it.
No matter how hard he struck, the mountain never moved.
He had been so consumed by the need to protect what he already possessed—his current glory—that he hadn't realized what it was costing him.
So focused on maintaining his position, he failed to see the limiter he had placed on himself.
His title.
His glory.
His reputation.
His desperate need to remain 'human.'
That desire—no, that obsession—had become his chain.
By clinging to his throne, he had shackled his own growth.
By refusing to risk everything, he had refused to evolve.
He wanted to stay an Emperor—
—but he was unwilling to gamble the crown itself.
Unwilling to shatter himself completely in order to rise again.
To reach the heights of Isagi.
To reach the heights of Noa.
But now—
Now was different.
In this match, Kaiser stepped onto the field with a completely different mindset.
He let go. Fully.
He released his obsession with reclaiming the throne and severed his fixation on Isagi altogether.
No more chasing.
No more protecting.
Instead—
He chose to return to 'zero.'
To strip himself bare of all the malice he had gathered.
To rebuild everything from the ground up.
From nothing—
—to the very top.
And to make that choice real—
To make it undeniable—
Kaiser was about to prove it.
Instead of facing Lorenzo head-on, Kaiser made his choice.
In the very last instant, he sent the ball to his right.
The pass sliced through the space sharply.
Kunigami—who had been charging forward on the right flank—reacted immediately, stretching to meet it, his body leaning into the run as he tried to catch the ball in stride.
But he missed.
The ball slipped past him, rolling cleanly beyond his reach.
"Huh?"
That was when Kunigami realized it.
The pass hadn't been meant for him in the first place.
His eyes widened slightly as he turned his head—
—and saw the true target.
Hiori.
Positioned ahead.
The moment Hiori received the ball, the weight of what had just happened settled heavily across the field.
This—
This was the biggest commitment Kaiser had made so far.
Kunigami and Yukimiya weren't fully part of Isagi's system. They were adjacent pieces.
Players who could be used without fully surrendering control.
But Hiori was different.
Hiori was Isagi's system.
A core component. A trusted extension of Isagi's vision.
By passing to him, Kaiser had crossed a line he hadn't even flirted with before.
Surely—
Surely Kaiser wouldn't believe that Hiori would pass the ball back to him.
Right?
Hiori was confused.
For a brief moment, his body froze, fingers tightening slightly as the ball settled under his control. The unexpected nature of the pass sent a ripple through his thoughts.
But the hesitation didn't last.
Because Hiori hadn't been waiting for Kaiser.
He had been waiting for something else entirely.
And now—
He wanted to see the result of it.
His eyes flicked up, sharp and calculating.
Then he turned abruptly to his left.
With a clean, decisive motion, Hiori sent a sharp pass—
Straight toward Isagi.
Isagi was already running.
He didn't break stride as the ball reached him, receiving it smoothly even as Niko stayed tight on his mark, matching his pace step for step.
And as Isagi continued his run—
His eyes were alive.
Mapping the field in real time, absorbing every movement, every shift, every open and closing lane—working relentlessly to understand the situation unfolding around him.
The gears were already turning.
And now—
Isagi understood.
As he continued running, his vision sharpened, and the picture snapped into place the moment he saw Kaiser's movement.
Kaiser was drifting directly into a dense cluster of bodies—closing the distance even as Lorenzo stayed glued to him and Aryu hovered nearby, watching, ready to intervene.
It was a terrible position.
And that was precisely why it stood out.
It was clear that Ubers had prepared for this exact scenario. They had run simulations for it—countless times. After all, in the previous match, Isagi himself had passed to Kaiser to set up the Kaiser Impact: Magnus.
Even though Kaiser hadn't managed to capitalize on it then, the attempt had been dangerously close.
Too close for Snuffy to ignore.
So he accounted for it.
In this situation, a pass would be suicide.
If Isagi tried to thread the ball through, Lorenzo and Aryu would block the lane.
And even if the pass slipped past them, Kaiser would be crushed immediately—smothered before he could even wind up for a shot.
Either way—
Both Kaiser and Isagi would fail.
That was the conclusion Ubers had reached.
That was the trap they had set.
And Kaiser was walking straight into it.
Deliberately.
Isagi could see it clearly now.
But—
That was exactly the point.
Kaiser was entering that suffocating space because it was impossible.
Because it was restricted. Because it was designed to erase him.
Just as Ubers had been manipulating Isagi by creating layers of chaotic illusions, Kaiser was now doing something just as twisted—
He was challenging Isagi.
Challenging him to attempt an impossible pass.
At the same time, Kaiser was imposing a restriction on himself—tight, merciless.
He wasn't seeking freedom like before.
Kaiser realized that restriction is the only constraining factor that will destroy and reconstruct his ego.
Constraint was the very thing that allowed him to exceed himself in the first place.
And right now—
This was what he wanted to steal.
A goal born from restriction.
A goal ripped out of a space where none should exist.
All while betting everything on one thing—
That Isagi's instincts would kick in.
That Isagi would see it.
Because it was the only way forward.
Kaiser wasn't asking for trust.
He was provoking Isagi's nature.
And in doing so—
He was gambling everything on it.
And Isagi got it all.
The moment the picture fully assembled in his mind, his instincts surged to the surface, overriding hesitation.
Angles, distances, bodies, momentum—everything aligned at once. He had already calculated it.
The perfect angle.
A razor-thin lane, threading the space right between Lorenzo's feet, with just enough backspin to kill the ball's momentum at the exact spot it needed to land—
—right in front of Kaiser.
A setup for the Magnus shot.
The very same shot Kaiser had failed to produce in the last match.
This time—
It would be perfect.
The impulse took over completely.
Isagi's body moved before doubt could surface, muscles coiling as he prepared to strike.
Niko immediately reacted, throwing everything he had into the press, slamming his presence against Isagi, trying to disrupt the motion, to force even the slightest error.
But Isagi didn't budge.
Like a wall, he absorbed the pressure, posture unshaken, balance absolute.
His foot drew closer to the ball.
But just before the shot could be taken—
Isagi stopped.
Instead of striking through, he planted his foot on top of the ball.
The sudden halt snapped the moment in half.
And then—
Sendou entered his vision.
Again.
Just like before.
Sliding in from the blind angle, throwing himself across the passing lane, body stretched out to block the exact path Isagi had envisioned.
Ubers had read it.
Just like Kaiser, they had bet on this pass.
And Sendou had came to claim the prize.
The field froze for a fraction of a second.
Isagi stood there, one foot resting on the ball, his posture still, expression sharp—dead serious.
"Am I that easy… to sum up?"
The words left his mouth quietly, but the weight behind them was unmistakable.
Ahead of him, Kaiser accelerated harder, pushing himself forward, expecting the pass to arrive at any second now. His eyes were already locked onto the net, body primed, muscles screaming for release.
Then—
BOOM!
A thunderous explosion tore through the stadium.
The sound alone was enough to make every single player on the field react on instinct, heads snapping toward its source as if struck by lightning.
And there—
All they could see—
Was Isagi.
Grass and turf erupted beneath his planted foot, blades flying into the air as his body followed through completely.
The motion was violent.
He had shot.
Every eye followed the ball as it ripped through the air.
Not toward Kaiser.
It wasn't a pass.
It was a declaration.
The ball screamed forward at a terrifying speed, cutting through space like a missile.
No one spoke. No one moved.
They could only stare as it traveled above the entire cluster of bodies—fast enough that it felt unreal.
Only Aiku reacted.
Pure instinct drove him forward, his body launching into motion in a desperate attempt to close the distance.
But it meant nothing.
Compared to this—
It was meaningless.
The ball became a rocket.
And then—
It struck its target.
The net exploded backward as the ball slammed into it with a force never seen on a football pitch.
A Goal.
From more than forty yards out.
A terrifying, thunderous strike fired by Isagi himself.
For a heartbeat—
The world stopped.
The stadium was plunged into stunned silence.
The commentators froze.
Players stood rooted where they were.
Even the cameras seemed to hesitate, struggling to keep up with what had just happened.
Then—
Across the world—
Every screen broadcasting BLTV lit up with chaos.
People watching from their homes leapt to their feet, screams erupting as disbelief turned into awe.
And finally—
The commentators snapped back to life.
"OH MY GOD!!! What in the actually fu— hell is that!?"
One voice cracked under the shock, words tumbling out before he could stop himself.
The other commentator rose from his seat a second later, eyes wide, still struggling to process what he had just witnessed.
"That's a goal from forty-four yards away!"
He shouted.
"What a tremendous force—from a seventeen-year-old at that!"
The realization hit harder with every word.
"Everyone said he was being cocky because of his salary—"
"—but that wasn't arrogance!"
"That was a premonition!"
His voice climbed higher, excitement overtaking disbelief.
"He just might be the Greatest—"
"The Most Complete Player to ever grace this World!!!"
The other commentator slammed the point home without hesitation, completely forgetting all of Isagi's previous misses.
"WITH THAT TERRIFYING GOAL—"
"ISAGI YOICHI OPENS THE SCORE SHEET FOR BASTARD MÜNCHEN!!!"
The scoreboard updated.
Bastard München 1 — 1 Ubers
And on the pitch—
The echoes of thunder still seemed to linger—
As this game had been redefined.
All cameras locked onto Isagi.
Every lens in the stadium snapped toward him at once, tracking his still form as if they all had decided that he was the only thing worth looking at.
The players on the field followed suit—heads turned, bodies frozen, eyes wide.
All of them—
Except a few.
On Ubers' side, several defenders couldn't tear their gaze away from the net.
Including the goalkeeper.
Fukaku stood there, unmoving, as if his mind hadn't caught up with reality yet.
When the ball had come screaming toward him, his body hadn't reacted in time. All he managed was a delayed, hopeless jump—an instinctive motion so late it was never going to mean anything.
It had been pointless from the start.
The shot itself wasn't tricky.
There was no curve.
No deception.
No unpredictable trajectory.
The lane was simple.
Straight and Brutal.
And that was exactly why it shattered them.
This wasn't a shot Ubers had prepared for. Not in any simulation. Not in any design Snuffy had layered together.
There was no pattern to counter.
Just overwhelming power executed with absolute conviction to gaze upon.
Slowly, one by one, Ubers' heads turned.
Toward the perpetrator.
Toward the monster standing at midfield.
Isagi Yoichi.
The realization settled heavily across the pitch.
Then—
From behind—
"That was crazy, ya monster!"
Hiori leapt forward, arms wrapping around Isagi's shoulders as he jumped onto his back, laughter and disbelief colliding into raw exhilaration.
"Crazy Crazy."
Kurona followed immediately, crashing into them without hesitation, joining the celebration.
That wave—
The storm Hiori and Kurona had felt coming all along—
It finally arrived.
And when it did, it didn't just break through.
It tore across the field.
Exactly as they had hoped.
And for Ubers—
It was nothing short of havoc.
.
.
.
.
.
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