The entrance tunnel seemed narrower than ever. Isagi let out a soft sigh as he massaged his neck. When the light from the field finally hit him, the sound exploded like a breaking wave.
"ISAGI YOICHI! ISAGI YOICHI! ISAGI YOICHI!"
The entire stadium was screaming his name. It wasn't an organized chant—it was chaotic, desperate, as if every person there needed to let it out all at once. He paused for half a second at the mouth of the tunnel. The green grass gleamed under the mid-morning sun, the stands a sea of school colors, banners, and improvised flags. The air smelled of freshly cut grass, burnt popcorn, and collective sweat.
For a moment, he wasn't at the Inter High anymore.
It was as if he had traveled back in time. The same knot in his stomach, the same tingling at the nape of his neck, the same packed stadium he had faced in his first professional match, back in his previous life. The first time he had stepped onto a real pitch in front of full stands, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was about to leap out of his mouth.
In that instant, the feeling hit him completely.
Pure nostalgia.
Sweet… and strange at the same time.
A small smile escaped him.
But before he could savor the sensation he had missed so much, someone slapped him hard on the shoulder.
"Hey, genius! Move it, we're starting with the ball!" It was Tada, pulling him out of his reverie again.
Isagi nodded, quickened his pace, and ran to the center line. As the starting striker, he would stand there, facing the opposing midfield, waiting for the whistle.
As he positioned himself, he gave a quick scan of the Kashiko High team.
And froze.
There, in the middle of their formation, standing with his arms crossed and a serious expression on his face, was Zantetsu Tsurugi—yes, that one! The same guy who would join the Blue Lock Project with him in a few months. Messy black hair, bangs falling over his forehead, a lean but clearly explosive body, long legs, and a posture far too relaxed for someone Isagi knew very well could launch like a missile whenever he wanted.
Zantetsu noticed Isagi's gaze and raised an eyebrow while adjusting his glasses.
Isagi felt the corner of his mouth lift on its own.
His eyes continued sweeping the opposing team until they stopped on Haruto Fujimiya. Central midfielder, number 8, short and tousled brown hair, calm eyes that always seemed one step ahead. He wasn't a monster of speed or brute strength, but he had something that, in high school, was almost unfair: vision. Absurd game vision. Fujimiya came from a family of former amateur players who never made it pro, but who had turned their home into an improvised training ground since he was five years old. His father, a retired left-back forced out early by injury, spent entire nights reviewing old matches with his son, pointing out every pass, every off-ball movement. Haruto wasn't the most technically gifted, but he read the game as if he had a mental map of the entire field. He knew exactly where the ball would be before the pass was even made. The kind of player who didn't shine alone, but who made everyone around him look better—or worse—depending on which side they were on.
Yes, he knew all this thanks to his coach, who was very good at gathering information.
Anyway, it was still "way too lukewarm" to make him play seriously.
The referee walked calmly to the center of the field, placed the ball carefully on the center circle, and looked around, making sure everyone was in position. The stadium's buzz didn't die down. On the contrary, it seemed to grow with every second of waiting, as if the crowd was holding its breath along with them.
Isagi flexed his knees slightly, feeling the perfect balance of his own body.
The whistle blew.
Tada didn't hesitate. A short, clean touch straight forward.
The ball reached Isagi.
And almost in the same instant, a shadow loomed over him.
It was incredibly fast!
Zantetsu Tsurugi charged toward him with an explosive burst of speed! His body leaned forward as if he were about to launch at any second. He stopped just a few centimeters away, eyes narrowed behind his glasses.
"It's an honor to trade punches of ideas with you, Isagi Yoichi. The new Itoshi Sae, right? If I take you down today, my fame will, like… explode upward! Like fireworks in the sky, you know? 'Zantetsu Tsurugi, the guy who took down the genius!'"
Isagi blinked once. From what he remembered of the manga, the guy in front of him had a habit of saying things he thought were clever, and even the glasses he wore were fake.
"Was that supposed to be smart?" he replied calmly. "The right expression is 'my fame will explode.' No 'upward' or fireworks. But the feeling's there."
Zantetsu frowned, thoughtful.
"Anyway…" He continued, widening his smile. "I'm going to mark you with everything I've got. If I beat you, I become the guy."
Isagi lifted his gaze, meeting Zantetsu's without hurry.
"Then you're going to have to try a lot harder. The way you are now, you're still a long way off."
Zantetsu blinked.
"Huh?"
That was enough.
Isagi moved.
The first touch was subtle, almost lazy, pulling the ball lightly back. Zantetsu reacted on instinct, charging forward with everything, trusting his own explosion.
Too late.
Isagi lifted the ball with a delicate outside-of-the-foot flick with his other leg, executing a perfect nutmeg.
The ball passed cleanly over Zantetsu's head, tracing a perfect arc in the air.
"What—?!" Zantetsu spun his body in desperate reflex.
The stands sucked in a collective breath.
Even before the ball came down, Isagi was already passing by him, as if the space had opened up on its own.
Zantetsu exploded.
His acceleration was absurd, the kind of burst that would leave most high school players behind without effort. He ran with everything, teeth clenched, veins bulging.
"Hey! That wasn't fair!" he shouted. "That was… that was, like… illegally stylish! Is that how you say it?!"
Without looking back, Isagi replied:
"No." And then he added, with cruel naturalness. "And you're still slow."
Isagi accelerated.
His body seemed to glide over the grass, every stride perfectly synchronized with ball control. One marker tried to close the angle from the right. Isagi slipped past him with a short cut. Another came from the left. A heel flick, change of pace, left behind.
The screams grew with every dribble.
It was like watching something that didn't belong at this level.
A defender lunged with a desperate slide tackle. Isagi lifted the ball over the outstretched foot without even looking down.
Haruto Fujimiya, from midfield, widened his eyes slightly.
"He's already there…? No. That's too fast."
In a few seconds, Isagi crossed the final third of the field, reaching the penalty area.
The Kashiko defenders retreated in panic, trying to close spaces that no longer existed. The goalkeeper stepped two paces out of goal, indecisive, sensing that any wrong move would be fatal.
Isagi raised his right leg, faking a perfect volley…
The entire stadium believed it.
The goalkeeper bit the bait. The defenders threw themselves in. One tried to block with his body.
But the right leg didn't come down.
Mid-motion, Isagi adjusted his body in the air, touched the ball lightly—another nutmeg, this time inside the box—leaving the defender completely sold.
Still in the air, he twisted his hips.
Left leg.
The shot came dry, clean, violent.
The ball cut through the air like a bullet, tearing through the space between defenders, passing centimeters from the goalkeeper's reach.
Gooooooool.
For a microsecond, there was silence.
And then the stadium exploded.
The sound was deafening.
Screams, applause, waving flags, people jumping, hugging, spilling popcorn, crying, laughing. His name echoed louder than before, as if the concrete itself vibrated along.
"ISAGI!"
"ISAGI YOICHI!"
Isagi landed firmly on the ground, took a deep breath, and closed his eyes for a moment.
The sound enveloped him completely.
When he opened his eyes, he saw Zantetsu standing a few meters back, panting, glasses crooked, looking at him as if he had just witnessed an impossible magic trick.
Isagi walked past Zantetsu without even slowing down.
As he headed toward the midfield, he brought his hand to his own neck and massaged it calmly, as if he were just releasing a light tension.
"This is all still way too lukewarm." His voice came out low, perfectly audible only to those nearby. "It doesn't even make me want to get excited to play for real."
Zantetsu stood still for a full second, trying to process.
"Lukewarm…?" he repeated, his face starting to turn red. "Hey, wait a minute. Are you saying I'm like… water that hasn't boiled? That's a stylistic insult, right?"
Isagi didn't respond.
He simply kept walking. That was worse than any direct provocation.
Zantetsu clenched his fists, teeth grinding.
"Hey!" he shouted, taking two steps forward. "I'll show you. I swear I will. I'll make you swallow those words."
But Isagi didn't even turn his head to look at him or slow his pace.
The referee's whistle blew to restart the match, but the atmosphere was no longer the same. Something had broken there, in the very first minutes.
.
.
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.
.
In the Ichinan supporters' stands, the chaos was complete.
Iyo had her hands over her mouth, eyes shining, tears streaming down without her noticing. She was gripping Issei's arm so tightly that her nails left marks on his shirt sleeve.
"Issei… did you see that? Our son is incredible!…"
Issei smiled slowly—the kind of smile only parents give when their child does something they always knew he was capable of.
"I saw. It's no wonder they're calling him a genius, but only we know how hard he worked to reach this level…" He put his arm around his wife's shoulders, pulling her closer. "Our boy… really is incredible."
Iyo laughed through her tears, wiping her face with her sleeve.
"He always has been…"
Next to them, Marin was standing, jumping in place like a child, phone in hand, recording everything even though she knew the video would be shaky from all the movement.
"ISAGI-KUN! THAT WAS INCREDIBLE! LIKE, WHAT KIND OF DRIBBLE WAS THAT?! DOUBLE NUTMEG IN THE BOX?!"
She shouted without filter, face red with excitement.
On the other side, Aly was sitting too straight, arms crossed tightly, face red all the way to her ears. She bit her lower lip, trying to maintain her "ice princess" composure, but failing miserably.
When the goal went in, she let out a small sound, almost a choked "kh—," and turned her face away, as if the field had personally offended her.
"…Lazy idiot. Showing off out of nowhere like that…"
Maria, beside her, smiled softly, leaning in a little to whisper.
"Alya-chan… you're smiling."
"I'm not!"
"You are. Look at the corner of your mouth."
Alya brought her hand to her face too quickly, as if she could erase the smile that was already there.
"Shut up, Masha…!"
She turned her gaze back to the field, watching Isagi massage his neck while talking to Zantetsu. His calm, almost disinterested manner only made it worse.
"…He didn't even try for real, did he?" she murmured in Russian, her voice so low only Maria heard. "Я его убью… (I'm going to kill him…)"
Maria laughed quietly, covering her mouth.
"You say that every week."
"This time it's different!"
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.
.
In the VIP seats, Kaguya Shinomiya maintained her impeccable posture, back straight, hands folded in her lap, the perfect heiress's neutral expression. But her ruby eyes were fixed on the field, pupils dilated, breathing slightly accelerated.
When the ball went in, she let out a short, almost inaudible sigh, and her fingers intertwined more tightly.
Hayasaka, beside her, watched everything with a mischievous smile.
"Kaguya-sama… you're glowing again."
Kaguya blinked, recomposing herself in half a second.
"I'm not glowing at all. That was… just an efficient goal. Nothing extraordinary."
Hayasaka leaned forward, voice low.
"An efficient goal that made the whole stadium explode and you almost stand up screaming. Admit it: you're proud."
Kaguya looked away, cheeks flushing slightly.
"…Maybe a little."
Hayasaka laughed inwardly.
"A little? Kaguya-sama, your eyes are screaming 'my boyfriend is the best in the world' in huge letters."
Kaguya shot her a withering look.
"Hayasaka!"
"Sorry, sorry. But it's true."
Kaguya bit her lip, looking back at the field.
She whispered, almost to herself.
"Do your best, Yoichi… but don't get hurt."
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.
.
In the regular seats, far from the glamour, Oreki was reclined in his seat, arms crossed behind his head, expression of someone who would rather be sleeping.
When the goal went in, he opened just one eye.
"Hm. Nice."
Kuze, beside him, was standing, clapping slowly, half impressed, half laughing.
"That guy… he just humiliated the entire team in less than a minute."
Yuki, sitting with her legs crossed, clapped elegantly, but her eyes shone in a dangerous way.
"Perfect. Absolutely perfect. He didn't even break a sweat."
Ayano Kimishima, standing behind them as always, handed Yuki a handkerchief without being asked.
"Yuki-sama. Your tea has cooled."
Yuki took the cup, took a sip, and murmured:
"He's too tense. Otherwise, I'd go to the locker room and give him a kiss to celebrate that incredible goal!"
Oreki didn't even move.
"You're still on that?"
"Yes. And I'll keep going until he gives in."
Kuze laughed quietly.
"Poor Isagi. He has no idea what's waiting for him."
Oreki yawned.
"He knows. He just pretends he doesn't."
Yuki turned to Oreki too quickly.
"What?"
Oreki closed his eyes again.
"Nothing. Conserving energy."
The game restarted.
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Zantetsu took a deep breath, adjusted his glasses (which, as always, had no prescription), and advanced with the ball under control. Haruto approached quickly, opening the passing lane with millimeter precision. Zantetsu touched it, Haruto returned it first-time. A fast, rhythmic, elegant one-two. It wasn't explosive, but fluid. The ball seemed to run on its own, guided by Haruto's impeccable reading.
Tada tried to intercept, diving into the space between them. Haruto spun his entire body to the side, touching with the instep in a low pass that went exactly three centimeters past the tip of Tada's boot.
Zantetsu advanced, confident.
"Yes!" he shouted, overly excited. "We're, like… synchronized like a Swiss digital clock!"
Haruto sighed.
"There's no famous Swiss digital clock."
"There is! Digital… Swiss… clock!"
"There isn't."
But his touch remained perfect.
Zantetsu burst forward to the edge of the box, attacking hard. Takeshi ran to close the space, and Zantetsu, in a rare flash of technique for him, slapped the ball forward while his body went the opposite way.
The dribble came out clean.
Haruto approached again, receiving the vertical pass naturally. He advanced a few more steps, drawing a second Ichinan marker. He controlled it with the outside of his foot, pulled it elegantly, and escaped forward with irritating calm.
The two passed another marker together, a midfielder who tried to anticipate, but Haruto spun his body with geometric precision and touched it back to Zantetsu.
The play had everything to become a dangerous attack…
Until it didn't anymore.
Because before Zantetsu could even lift his head to look at the box, the ball disappeared from his feet.
Literally vanished.
He looked down, confused.
"Huh—?"
Isagi Yoichi was there, the ball trapped between his foot and the grass. As if he had appeared like a ghost.
Zantetsu's eyes widened.
"BUT—HOW?!"
Isagi, with a smile far too polite for the situation, replied:
"Thanks for the ball."
Zantetsu blinked, his hand trembling.
"But… you were marked! By Kaito and Jun! They were literally glued to you! They… they disappeared?!"
Isagi looked to the side.
The two Kashiko defenders were there, a few meters back, equally shocked, arms open, unable to understand how they had lost Ichinan's striker.
Haruto reacted on instinct, advancing to recover.
Isagi made the impossible look obvious.
The touch came fast, low, and before Haruto could shift his weight onto his plant foot, Isagi slipped the ball between his legs.
A perfect nutmeg.
The entire crowd let out a collective "OOOOOOOH" that shook the stadium.
Haruto spun his body, trying to block the return, but Isagi had already lifted the ball with a subtle elastico touch, pushing it upward to prevent another opposing player from touching it.
And then, when the ball fell at his feet, he ran with it toward the opponent's goal. He burst forward as if pulled by an invisible elastic. Zantetsu ran after him, exploding with everything, face red, jaw clenched, violent steps.
"I… WILL… GET… YOU!" Zantetsu shouted, almost spitting the words.
Isagi slowed his speed after passing midfield, just enough for Zantetsu to catch up.
The distance closed.
Zantetsu stretched out his hand.
"NOW I'VE—"
Isagi turned his body with absurd smoothness, pulling the ball back with the sole of his foot, spinning on his own axis, sending Zantetsu charging straight ahead like a runaway missile into nothing.
The stadium erupted in laughter, screams, and collective shock.
Zantetsu stumbled over his own steps, nearly fell, recovered his balance by a miracle, and turned slowly, expression blank.
Isagi kept running and dribbling his opponents casually. With his speed, he was already entering the penalty area again.
Tada appeared from the right side, running with everything.
"Isagi!" he shouted. "Here! I'm free! Pass! I'll finish it!"
He really was well positioned. It was an easy goal.
But he was insanely selfish. He wouldn't share anything he could finish alone.
Two defenders closed in front of him, desperate, arms open, bodies leaning.
Isagi lifted the ball with a quick touch.
The motion was clean.
And deadly.
His body leaned as if he were about to execute a monstrous volley with his right leg.
The goalkeeper dove to the left corner.
The defenders threw themselves to block.
The entire stands held their breath.
But that right leg…
Was a lie.
Mid-motion, Isagi pulled his torso back, bent at the waist, spun in the air as if part of a rehearsed choreography, and struck the ball… with his left leg.
The shot came out perfect, an impeccable arc, calculated violence.
The ball traveled fast, accurate, entering exactly in the top right corner, kissing the net as if drawn to it.
Gooooooool!
In less than fifteen minutes.
Zantetsu stared at the back of that monster while rethinking his life…
How was he going to beat him?