Hiori's thumb slid lightly across the tablet screen as comment after comment scrolled past in a blur of white text and flashing profile icons.
'Isagi Yoichi is single-handedly carrying Bastard München in this entire league.'
He blinked.
Before he could scroll further, another comment stacked beneath it.
'As if! When he was getting owned by Ubers, it was our Royal Emperor who saved the day!'
The argument branched instantly.
Replies multiplying.
Fans splitting into factions.
Clips attached. Screenshots. Slow-motion breakdowns.
Isagi's vortex goal.
Kaiser's inverse Magnus strike.
Side-by-side comparisons.
'Who's truly carrying Bastard München?'
Hiori exhaled softly through his nose.
"There's really a heated debate going on social media."
He turned the tablet slightly toward Isagi.
Isagi's eyes moved across the screen.
Praise.
Clips.
Edits stitched together with dramatic music.
Strangers from across the world shouting his name into the endless noise of the internet.
He hadn't expected it to feel like this.
A strange warmth settled in his chest as he read the comments—fans analyzing his plays frame by frame, calling his goals "unreal," "monstrous," "inevitable."
A faint smile formed without him realizing it.
The Neo Egoist League really had changed everything.
No—Ego had changed everything.
Turning their growth into a spectacle… exposing their evolution to the entire world.
A stage big enough for his ego to breathe.
For someone chasing the title of "Best in the World," there was no better proving ground.
His gaze softened slightly as he continued reading.
Then his eyes stopped.
A longer comment filled the screen.
'Ideally, the best scenario would be when both Isagi and Kaiser work together and coordinate with each other. They have this rivalry going on and they try to steal the ball from each other, but if they work together, I don't see any ways others can stop them.
They can simply dismantle any team on their own.'
Hiori, who had been lazily scrolling, paused mid-swipe.
"…Huh."
He tilted the tablet slightly, rereading it, then turned his head toward Isagi. A curious look formed in his eyes.
But before he could say anything—
Isagi spoke.
A quiet breath escaped him, almost like a soft laugh.
"There's no way that stubborn bastard would cooperate with me."
Isagi's gaze remained on the screen.
"He still wants to compete with me."
Isagi understood Kaiser now.
They simply weren't built to share the spotlight.
"And now that I'm above him completely—salary and charts—he'll be even more aggressive in the next match…"
A simple prediction based on ego.
Hiori watched Isagi quietly.
There was no excitement in his expression.
Isagi wasn't imagining cooperation.
He was preparing for escalation.
But that didn't worry him.
'…Which is fine.'
His eyes seemed to say without words.
If Kaiser came harder—
So would he.
"Well… I'm off for some solo-levelling…"
Kurona pushed himself up from the floor as he spoke.
Rest was over.
Kurona wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and slung the towel around his neck. His eyes were calm as always, but there was a quiet sharpness behind them now.
He had risen.
But rising once meant nothing if you stopped.
"…That's a good point. I need to level up too."
Raichi muttered the words after a brief pause, rubbing the back of his neck as if trying to shake off lingering frustration.
20 million yen.
He was on the roster.
But that security felt thin.
Fragile.
Two matches were about to start.
Two chances for someone below him to surge past.
And if he slipped once—
Everything would be over.
"…Yeah, I can't relax with my offer either… at the end of the league, if we aren't in the top 23… none of this is worth shit."
Yukimiya's voice cut in, quieter but heavier.
He stood with one hand on his hip, the other holding his towel loosely.
35 million yen.
Two spots away from the Top 11.
Being on the roster wasn't the same as being secure.
Not when the league would discard anyone outside the Top 23 like they never existed.
Money meant nothing if you vanished from relevance.
They started moving toward the exit that led to the auxiliary training fields.
Then—
Isagi spoke.
"Well, since my spot is guaranteed, I guess I'll go and play some games in my room…"
He let out a long, exaggerated sigh as if the mere thought of training was too exhausting to entertain.
The words floated casually into the room.
Every single one of them froze mid-step.
A sharp twitch ran through Raichi's cheek.
Kurona's foot halted inches above the ground.
Yukimiya's towel slipped slightly from his shoulder.
Veins visibly throbbed at their temples as they turned toward Isagi in perfect unison.
The air grew heavy.
Dangerously heavy.
Isagi, fully aware of the murderous stares drilling into his back, didn't meet a single pair of eyes.
He simply walked forward.
Both hands folded behind his head, elbows spread wide, posture loose and carefree.
His eyes remained shut as if he were strolling through a peaceful park rather than provoking a room full of competitive monsters.
A light whistle slipped from his lips.
His footsteps echoed softly as he passed them.
The door slid open and Isagi stepped out, leaving behind a room drowned in stunned silence.
The door shut.
A moment passed.
Then—
"…I'm hiding his blankets and pillows. He is sleeping in full AC tonight."
Raichi spoke with terrifying calm.
His face was expressionless, but the tension in his jaw made the threat feel far too real. His eyes burned with vengeful resolve as he started walking forward again, cracking his knuckles one by one.
Petty?
Absolutely.
Necessary?
Without question.
"I'm on board with that."
Yukimiya replied smoothly, adjusting his towel as he fell into step beside Raichi. His tone was composed, but a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
Revenge didn't have to be loud.
It just had to be effective.
Kurona nodded silently, already moving with them.
The earlier exhaustion was gone.
Replaced by a shared mission.
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"BLTV fans around the world!"
The booming voice of the announcer erupted through speakers across continents, bursting from televisions, phones, tablets, and stadium screens with electrifying force.
"The LAST DAY of the Neo Egoist League is FINALLY HERE!!!"
Massive stadium lights flaring against the night sky.
The world was watching.
Every nation that had followed the league.
Every club scouting its future.
Every fan who had argued, debated, and chosen their favorites.
This was the day everything converged.
"Remaining are Match 9 — Spain's FC Barcha VS England's Manshine City…!!"
The screen split.
On one side, the technical artistry and possession-heavy philosophy of Spain.
On the other, the explosive athleticism and high-tempo power of England.
"And Germany's Bastard München VS France's PXG in Match 10!
Victory is riding on this FINAL FIGHT!!
The kickoff for BOTH matches is RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER!!"
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German Wing — Locker Room
The air inside the locker room was dense.
Boots tapped lightly against the tiled floor. Gloves tightened. Shoulders rolled loose.
At the front of the room stood Noel Noa. The tactical board behind him glowed faintly, arranged across the digital pitch.
"…This will be our starting line-up against PXG."
His voice was calm.
All eyes lifted.
Noa reached toward the board, adjusting two markers near the attacking line.
"For strikers, it will be Kaiser and Kunigami."
The names landed with quiet weight.
He glanced toward them briefly.
Kaiser remained seated, elbows resting on his knees.
Kunigami straightened slightly.
He had proven himself.
He wasn't the most tactically refined player on the squad—that much was obvious.
His movements lacked the layered deception that players like Isagi, Kaiser and Hiori wielded so naturally.
He didn't dissect formations or manipulate space.
But that didn't diminish his value.
Because where others relied on design—
Kunigami relied on force.
Direct. Relentless. Unapologetic.
And recently, he had shown something more important than tactical finesse.
He had shown restraint.
A willingness to synchronize when necessary.
That mindset mattered.
Especially when partnering with someone like Kaiser.
Pure ability-wise, Kunigami stood as the third-best striker on Bastard München. His physique, shooting range, and explosive finishing instincts alone placed him in the upper tier.
Even without intricate tactical play—
He remained a top-class weapon.
Noa's gaze lingered on him for a second longer.
"Our wingers will be Yukimiya and Kurona."
Noa continued.
The announcement drew immediate attention.
Yukimiya's fingers paused mid-adjustment on the towel draped around his neck. A faint light flickered in his eyes, subtle but unmistakable.
Kurona blinked once, posture straightening almost imperceptibly.
For most of the league, they had operated deeper—stationed as wing-backs, tasked with covering ground, bridging defense and attack, supporting transitions. Their work had been essential, but often distant from the final blow.
Now—
They were being moved forward.
Closer to the goal.
As wingers, their involvement would multiply. More touches in dangerous zones. More opportunities to cut inside.
More chances to assist—or finish.
It wasn't just a positional change.
It was an elevation.
Yukimiya felt a quiet heat rise in his chest. This was what he wanted—not survival, not background contribution, but presence where the match tilted.
Kurona simply exhaled softly.
Noa's hand shifted again.
"And for the midfielder position, it will be Hiori."
The words dropped—
And the room reacted instantly.
A ripple spread through the locker room like a silent shockwave.
Confusion.
Realization.
Surprise.
'What…?'
The thought struck Ness so hard it felt physical.
His eyes snapped toward the board, disbelief tightening his expression. He replayed the words in his head, hoping he had misheard.
Midfielder—Hiori.
His throat felt dry.
In the last match, his position had already been pushed outward—shifted to the left wing as Isagi occupied the central role.
That had stung enough.
But now—
Hiori had taken that spot.
The central axis.
The engine room.
And Ness…
Wasn't there.
Wasn't on the wing.
Wasn't even among the attacking core.
A quiet, suffocating weight pressed against his chest.
Worse—
He wasn't even in the lineup.
The realization crept in slowly, like cold seeping through cracks.
He stared at the board, unmoving.
Meanwhile, Hiori himself looked almost startled.
His brows lifted slightly, eyes shifting from the board to Noa and back again.
He didn't object.
But this wasn't what he had expected.
A midfielder role meant responsibility for tempo, distribution, and orchestration—the connective tissue between defense and attack.
He could do it.
That wasn't the issue.
But—
Wasn't that position meant for Isagi?
The thought came naturally.
Isagi thrived there.
If Hiori had been placed at the center of midfield…
Then where—
Was Isagi going?
"Our LB and RB will be Kiyora and Raichi."
Noa's finger shifted lower on the board, setting the defensive pieces into place.
Kiyora's eyes lifted immediately.
Then he nodded once.
Just a small, acknowledgment that he had finally been chosen.
After waiting through match after match, watching others take the field while he remained on standby, this selection carried weight. His shoulders relaxed slightly, tension easing out of his posture like air escaping a pressurized chamber.
He was in.
While a few seats away, Naruhaya felt something sink inside him.
He slumped back without realizing it, the seat creaking faintly under his weight. His fingers tightened around the edge of the bench as his gaze fell toward the floor.
When Ness hadn't been named for the attacking lineup, hope had sparked—small, fragile, but real.
A vacancy meant possibility.
And possibility meant opportunity.
But that window closed the moment Kiyora's name was called.
Kiyora.
Who was ranked below him.
Who had been behind him.
Yet still—
Chosen.
The realization pressed heavy against Naruhaya's chest. His throat tightened as he forced himself to breathe normally.
Rankings were the primary ways to get roles.
Yet for some reason, he wasn't the one to take that role.
Noa's voice cut through the silence again.
"And for the DMF position, that will be Isagi."
A stillness followed.
Then—
A wave of attention turned toward the front.
Brows lifted.
Isagi?
Defensive Midfielder?
The surprise wasn't loud.
Noa could feel it—the weight of their unspoken questions pressing toward him.
He turned to face them fully.
"With PXG's multiple attacking patterns, we need someone with great interception skills. And Isagi tops that list, so he is perfect for that position against PXG."
His explanation was concise.
Logical.
A purely tactical decision.
PXG thrived on fluid offense, rapid transitions, creative link-ups that fractured defensive lines.
To disrupt that rhythm, Bastard München needed a mind that could read patterns before they fully formed.
Someone who could see the next move before it happened.
And Isagi had proven, again and again, that his interceptions weren't accidental.
Noa's gaze shifted to Isagi.
The room followed.
Isagi sat relaxed, posture loose, eyes steady.
No irritation flickered across his face. No disappointment surfaced.
If anything—
He looked thoughtful.
Processing.
Understanding.
"You got a problem with this decision?"
Noa asked directly.
Isagi rose from his seat.
"Not really. It's reasonable enough…"
His tone was calm.
Because he understood what this role meant.
It wasn't demotion.
It was tactical positioning.
"Alright, and our DF's will be Birkenstock and Mensah… and for our GK, it will be Gagamaru."
Noa's voice carried the same steady weight as he placed the final markers onto the board. With a soft motion, he completed the formation.
The tactical screen brightened slightly.
The full lineup stood revealed.
The players stared at the board, each name glowing beneath the sharp white lights.
ST — Kaiser
ST — Kunigami
LW — Yukimiya
RW — Kurona
MF — Hiori
DMF — Isagi
LB — Kiyora
RB — Raichi
DF — Birkenstock
DF — Mensah
GK — Gagamaru
Noa stepped forward, boots scraping softly against the tiled floor as he moved to stand directly before the tactical board.
"We'll go with this starting lineup…"
His voice remained steady. The room quieted instinctively, every shifting body stilled by the weight of his presence.
"But we'll be aggressively swapping out players in response to changing conditions."
The words settled into the air—
And something shifted.
On the benches lining the walls, Naruhaya's head lifted slightly. His fingers, which had been loosely interlocked between his knees, tightened unconsciously.
Aggressive substitutions.
That meant opportunities.
Chances to prove himself even without starting on the pitch.
A small spark reignited in his chest.
Beside him, Neru straightened as well, posture sharpening. His gaze fixed on Noa with renewed focus, like a runner waiting for the starting signal.
And Ness—
Ness felt his breath catch.
He had been staring at the floor moments ago, thoughts spiraling in silence after realizing he wasn't in the starting lineup.
But those words reached him.
Pulled him back.
If substitutions were part of the plan—
Then he still had a chance to play, to be on Kaiser's side again.
A faint tremor passed through his fingers before he steadied them, eyes slowly lifting toward the front.
Noa continued.
"Even those of you on the bench had better not waste even a moment."
It was a reminder.
Every second on the field mattered.
Every touch could decide a future.
Complacency had no place here.
Then Noa's gaze shifted, sweeping across the starting eleven one by one.
His eyes lingered only briefly on each player.
"Win this, Bastard München."
A beat.
"Anything else is worthless."
The sentence fell like iron.
Victory wasn't preference.
It was requirement.
Chairs scraped back.
Boots struck tile.
The team rose.
The metallic scent of anticipation filled the air as they moved toward the exit, shadows stretching long under the overhead lights.
The tunnel awaited beyond the sliding doors.
From within it came the distant rumble of the stadium.
Each step forward felt heavier.
This wasn't just another match.
It was culmination.
The highest and climatic of Neo Egoist League.
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