'This is mine!'
Yukimiya's thoughts surged through him with a force that nearly drowned out everything else.
The shouts from the field.
The pounding of his own heartbeat.
None of it mattered.
His entire world had narrowed to a single object.
The ball.
Isagi's shot screamed through the air toward him like a cannon shell, still carrying enough speed and spin to make the net bulge if left untouched.
And Yukimiya definitely wasn't planning to leave it untouched.
'Finally!'
The emotion hit him so strongly that it almost hurt.
After everything.
After constantly being forced into supporting roles.
After watching others seize the spotlight.
After seeing his own ambitions buried beneath stronger narratives.
He had finally found it.
An opening.
A chance.
The first goal that would truly belong to him.
Not a borrowed victory.
Not another moment where his ego existed in the shadow of another player's.
His.
All he needed to do was finish it.
The goalkeeper had already been beaten.
The shot itself had already defeated PXG.
The hardest part had been done.
All that remained was the final touch.
And Yukimiya had created this opportunity himself.
Long before the shot was even taken.
He had trusted Isagi.
Not out of loyalty.
But because he believed Isagi would create something worth stealing.
So he had hidden.
Lurking behind PXG's defensive line.
Remaining outside Isagi's field of vision.
Waiting.
Patiently.
Like a hunter refusing to reveal himself before the perfect moment.
And now—
That patience had paid off.
His faith bore fruit.
His left foot planted firmly into the turf.
His body stabilized.
His right leg drew back.
Every muscle aligned.
Every ounce of concentration narrowed onto the incoming ball.
His eyes widened.
Not with excitement.
But with absolute focus.
The ball grew larger.
The spin became visible.
The seams rotating through the air.
And for the first time since stepping into the Neo Egoist League—
Yukimiya could almost taste it.
His own goal.
However—
Pain.
Sharp.
Sudden.
Violent enough to shatter the entire moment before it could be completed.
Yukimiya's right foot was already moving toward the ball, his body perfectly aligned for the finish, his eyes fixed entirely on the empty net waiting behind it.
Then something crashed into him.
A shoulder.
Hard.
"Ooomph!"
A right shoulder drove directly into his chest with terrifying force, the impact exploding through his ribs and stealing the air from his lungs.
At the exact same instant—
Another impact followed.
His kicking leg.
The right leg that was about to finish the play.
A foot slammed into the inside of it, disrupting the swing before it could fully extend.
The combination was devastating.
His balance disappeared instantly.
His planted foot lost its stability.
His body lifted off the ground.
For a brief moment, he felt as though the world itself had tilted.
His upper body was thrown violently to the left, pain spreading through his chest and leg as he began falling sideways through the air.
The ball.
The goal.
The celebration.
Everything vanished from his mind.
Only confusion remained.
'What—!?'
His eyes widened as he desperately searched for an answer.
For the person responsible.
And as his body twisted during the fall—
He saw him.
A terrifying sight.
"Haa… Haa…"
Chest rising and falling violently.
Breathing ragged.
Heavy.
Eyes burning with an intensity that bordered on madness.
Not the calculated focus of a strategist.
Not the confidence of a genius.
Something far more primal.
Far more dangerous.
His tongue hung completely out of his mouth, drool trailing from it as sweat soaked through his hair, strands sticking to his forehead.
Every muscle in his body looked strained.
Pushed.
Driven beyond comfort.
Beyond reason.
And yet—
He was still standing.
Still moving.
Still hunting.
Rin Itoshi.
The man had arrived at the final possible instant.
"WOAH!!! Itoshi Rin stops that mesmerizing shot! Just how far did he run!?"
The commentators practically exploded.
The viewers had been seconds away from celebrating.
Had already risen from their seats.
The goalkeeper had been beaten.
The defensive wall had been beaten.
Even the trajectory itself had looked inevitable.
And yet somehow—
Somehow—
Itoshi Rin had appeared from nowhere and destroyed the final outcome.
Most eyes immediately went to Yukimiya as he crashed onto the turf. The collision had been violent enough that many expected the whistle to come instantly, a penalty or foul call interrupting the sequence.
But it never came.
And the ball—
Never stopped moving.
The spin Isagi had imparted on it was still carrying it forward as it descended from the disrupted shooting lane. The match itself refused to pause, continuing onward despite the chaos that had just occurred.
The ball dropped.
Bounced once.
And fell perfectly into open space.
At the feet of—
Nanase.
Meanwhile, the players who could have contested it immediately were occupied elsewhere.
Kaiser.
Charles.
Both were still entangled in the aftermath of Isagi's shot, their attention and positioning centered around him rather than the loose ball.
Leaving Nanase alone.
In truth, very few people had understood what was happening while it was unfolding.
Only three players had noticed Rin's movement toward the left side of the field before the collision occurred.
Hiori.
Nanase.
And Isagi himself.
Isagi had already accounted for Rin.
The moment he chose the shot trajectory, he had calculated Rin's position, acceleration, and route. That was precisely why he aimed the strike toward the left side of the goal.
From his perspective, the math was clear.
Even with Rin's speed, the ball would enter the net before Rin could physically reach it.
The calculation itself wasn't wrong.
The shot was fast enough.
The angle was correct.
The timing was sufficient.
But there had been one variable outside the equation.
...Yukimiya.
The existence of another player standing in that exact space changed everything.
The moment Yukimiya stepped into the trajectory, the situation transformed from a race between Rin and the ball into something entirely different.
And even then—
That wasn't the shocking part.
The truly unbelievable thing came afterward.
Because seeing Yukimiya there had done something to Rin.
Something visible.
Something immediate.
The intensity that had been driving him throughout the match suddenly surged beyond its previous limit.
As though the sight of another player trying to steal that moment triggered something deeper within him.
Something possessive.
Something destructive.
His acceleration didn't merely increase.
It changed.
The way he ran became more violent.
More aggressive.
Every stride looked less like sprinting and more like throwing his entire body forward through sheer obsession.
The Rin who had been chasing the play moments earlier shouldn't have reached that spot.
And yet—
He did.
Because for that single moment, Rin exceeded the version of himself that Isagi had measured.
As the sequence unfolded, Isagi understood what had happened almost immediately.
Not every detail.
Not every thought running through Rin's head.
But the core of it.
The source.
The destructive urges of Itoshi Rin.
No—
More accurately, the true shape of them.
The moment Yukimiya stepped into that shooting lane, he ceased being another player on the field and became something else entirely in Rin's eyes.
An obstacle.
Something standing between him and destruction.
Something that needed to be broken.
And for Rin, that was enough.
Risking himself.
Throwing himself into an impossible challenge.
Betting everything on reaching that spot first.
The act itself was what fueled him.
The thrill of life-threating destruction.
The satisfaction of crushing something strong.
The hunger to challenge the impossible and emerge victorious through sheer obsession.
The instant he saw Yukimiya, that desire exploded.
And now, after finally understanding it completely, Rin had become even more dangerous.
As he moved in complete synchronization with it.
Even during the collision itself, he hadn't lost control.
Before his shoulder ever slammed into Yukimiya's chest.
His foot had touched the ball first.
Before bodies collided.
The ball had already been his.
No foul.
Just destruction executed perfectly.
Meanwhile, the ball continued its descent.
And while most eyes were still on Rin, Yukimiya, and the aftermath of Isagi's shot—
One player reacted first.
Nanase.
Whether it was because he sensed the monster awakening in front of him.
Whether it was because his own hunger refused to let him stop.
Or whether instinct simply took over.
Nobody knew.
But he moved.
Even though he stood behind Isagi.
Behind Kaiser.
Behind Charles.
Three of the fastest thinkers on the field.
Three players capable of turning a single moment into an entire sequence.
Nanase was the first to react.
The first to break forward.
The first to reach the loose ball.
As the deflection descended, he met it cleanly, cushioning it under control.
His body immediately adjusted.
His run settled.
Then he turned sharply.
Sweat flew from his face as he rotated, his breathing rough from everything that had happened, yet for the first time in what felt like forever—
The despair was gone.
Because the ball was at his feet.
The play was alive.
And opportunity still existed.
The feeling spreading through him wasn't confidence.
It was something simpler.
Hope.
And on a field where monsters constantly devoured one another, a fragile hope to become something extraordinary spread through him.
Nanase's eyes had barely begun to settle on the field ahead when another shock hit him.
"That's the end of your luck..."
The words were cold.
Certain.
His gaze snapped forward.
Kaiser.
The emperor was already rushing toward him, his expression carrying visible disdain as he began to close the distance with frightening speed.
The sudden pressure sent Nanase's heart racing again.
His body reacted immediately, turning sharply to his left as he desperately searched for an escape route before Kaiser arrived.
But instead of relief, another source of pressure revealed itself.
Kunigami.
The dark horse was advancing directly toward him.
Marching.
Nanase's breath caught in his throat.
The space around him seemed to shrink by the second.
Just moments ago, hope had filled him.
Now it felt like the entire field was collapsing inward.
Then—
"Over here!"
The yell cut through the pressure.
Nanase's head snapped up.
Past Kaiser.
Beyond the approaching threat.
And there—
Zantetsu.
He was already making his run, cutting diagonally toward the right side of the field.
Nanase didn't think.
Didn't hesitate.
There wasn't time.
Before Kaiser could launch himself into a challenge, Nanase swung through the ball and drove it forward with conviction.
The pass left his foot immediately.
Even as he released it, he understood exactly what he was doing.
Zantetsu was part of Shidou's system.
The play wouldn't circle back to him.
Under normal circumstances, that reality would sting.
But right now—
Survival came first.
The ball raced across the grass.
Ahead, Hiori instantly recognized the danger and threw himself into its path, his body reacting with the same sharp instincts that had dismantled Nanase's earlier play with Rin.
But this time—
He was late.
The ball shot past him before he could reach it, skimming beyond his outstretched leg and continuing into the open lane.
Into the exact space Zantetsu had created.
Right into his path.
"That's arrogate."
Zantetsu muttered under his breath as he accelerated toward the pass, his eyes fixed on the ball rolling perfectly into the lane he had opened.
Nanase had delivered it exactly where it needed to go.
Everything lined up.
And then—
"You mean accurate..."
The correction came from nearby, rough and immediate.
Zantetsu recognized the voice before he even turned his head.
"You stupid fuck!"
The shout exploded across the field.
Raichi came charging directly into the lane.
There was no hesitation in his movement, no attempt to disguise his intentions.
The moment he saw the pass heading toward Zantetsu, he immediately changed course and sprinted toward the ball, aiming to arrive at the same point and turn it into a contest.
But Zantetsu didn't think.
He only reacted.
"Only my friends..."
Instead of continuing his run, he jumped.
His body twisted sharply in mid-air, rotating so that his back faced Raichi while his chest turned completely toward the incoming ball.
The movement was awkward.
Yet perfectly suited to the situation.
"...can call me stupid, you meathead."
The ball arrived.
Zantetsu's chest cushioned it cleanly.
The impact echoed softly against his body as he absorbed the pass and brought it under control. A moment later, his feet touched the ground, landing firmly with the ball still his.
He had won the possession battle before it could even begin.
Raichi clicked his tongue and immediately pushed forward again.
He closed the distance aggressively, ready to apply pressure before Zantetsu could turn and accelerate.
But in the brief instant Zantetsu had spent airborne, something else had entered his field of vision.
A presence.
Easy to overlook.
Yet impossible to ignore once noticed.
And because of that, the ball barely stayed at his feet.
The moment he landed, Zantetsu struck it away with a quick pass toward his right side.
An immediate release.
Raichi's eyes followed the ball.
His head turned.
And then he saw him.
A slim figure in the space beyond.
Almost fragile-looking compared to the physical monsters dominating the field.
Yet every member of Bastard München had been warned about him repeatedly.
The ball rolled perfectly into his path.
And now—
Charles had the possession.
His eyes followed the ball for only a fraction of a second.
Then his grin widened.
The boredom that had begun creeping into him earlier was gone.
Completely.
Isagi's absurd shot.
Rin's impossible recovery.
The constant thefts, counters, and reversals that had transformed the match into a battlefield of competing egos.
It was finally becoming entertaining again.
More than entertaining.
It was becoming the kind of football Charles wanted to play.
His body reacted immediately.
The moment the ball reached him, his right leg swung through without hesitation.
No setup.
No extra touch.
No consideration.
Just instinct.
Bang!
The ball exploded off his foot.
A razor-sharp laser pass tore through the air, slicing across the field toward the penalty area before anyone could properly close him down.
The speed alone forced heads to turn.
Players instantly began reading the trajectory.
And right on cue—
He was already moving.
Shidou.
The striker was charging toward the spot with complete conviction, his body accelerating before the pass had even fully left Charles' foot.
"Freaking finally, Char-Boy~!!"
His voice boomed across the field as his eyes locked onto the incoming ball.
The excitement in his expression was impossible to miss.
"Haha! Knew you'd hustle after my contrarian pass, you pink pervert~!!"
Charles laughed as he watched the run unfold.
Everything connected naturally.
Neither of them needed preparation.
Neither of them needed confirmation.
Charles had already delivered the ball.
And Shidou was already attacking it.
Both moving toward the same destination.
Both of their ultimate performances clashing with each other.
However, before the pass could reach its destination—
A voice slipped into the moment.
"That's right... give me more..."
Low.
Uneven.
Almost drowned out by the sound of pounding footsteps.
Shidou's eyes shifted slightly to the right.
And there he was.
Rin.
Crashing into him.
Their shoulders collided as they sprinted, neither yielding an inch as they fought for position while tracking the same incoming ball.
Rin's chest rose and fell heavily.
Sweat clung to his forehead, his hair matted against his skin from the sheer intensity of the match. His tongue still hung partially from his mouth as he stared ahead, eyes fixed not on Shidou—
But on the play itself.
On the next thing waiting to be broken.
"...give me more... to destroy..."
The words sounded less like a statement and more like a craving.
Something being dragged out of him against his will.
Something that only seemed to grow stronger the longer the match continued.
Shidou stared at him for a brief moment.
Then grinned.
"You wanna steal my goal, Licky-Rin!? Let me see you try!"
Shidou barked out a laugh as he shoved back with his shoulder.
The impact echoed between them.
Neither player lost balance.
Neither player gave ground.
If anything, the collision only increased their speed.
Both surged forward harder, their rivalry transforming into fuel.
Ahead of them, Charles' pass continued its flight.
Descending toward the exact space both strikers wanted.
The ball was coming.
The goal was waiting.
And both of them wanted to be the one standing over the corpse of the play when it was over.
.
.
.
"What's the matter, Ego?"
Inside the control room, Anri finally voiced the question that had been lingering in her mind for several minutes.
Throughout the entire sequence, Ego had barely paid attention to the flow of the attack itself.
While everyone else had been captivated by the impossible exchanges unfolding on the field—the clashes between Rin and Isagi, the chaos surrounding Shidou, Charles' creativity, Kaiser's interference—Ego's gaze kept returning to the same player.
Isagi.
Again and again.
Only occasionally would his eyes drift elsewhere before inevitably returning.
The behavior was strange enough to make Anri curious.
Especially because the more the match intensified, the more interested Ego seemed to become.
Now, as the play continued on the screens before them, Ego finally shifted.
The posture he had maintained for so long disappeared as he leaned back into his chair.
The ramen bowl returned to his hand.
He picked up the chopsticks.
Crack.
The wood snapped apart cleanly.
Then he lowered them into the bowl, slowly stirring the noodles through the broth while his eyes drifted once more toward the screen.
Toward Isagi.
A faint smirk appeared on his face.
That alone was enough to make Anri even more uncomfortable.
Because she had seen that expression before.
The look Ego made whenever he felt he had discovered something.
Anri waited.
The silence stretched.
"...Well?"
Anri pressed again.
"What is it?"
Ego's smirk widened slightly.
His chopsticks lifted.
The noodles rose from the bowl.
And finally—
He responded.
Slurp.
.
.
.
.
.
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