Control RoomA rhythmic slurp echoed through the dim, monitor-lit chamber as the glow of countless screens reflected in Ego Jinpachi's glasses. The live streams of training sessions, stat breakdowns, and media reactions flickered across the massive wall of displays before him—data, patterns, trajectories—all of it feeding into his mind like a machine digesting truth.
The door hissed open.
Anri Teieri strode in briskly, her heels clicking against the tile as she held a tablet close to her chest. Her face was slightly flushed—not from exertion, but from the sheer volume of updates.
"Ego-san!"
She said, unable to hide the rush in her voice.
"BLTV traffic is skyrocketing since the Bastard Munchen vs FC Barcha match!"
She stopped beside him, turning the tablet so he could see.
"Isagi's name is everywhere—trending worldwide. Clips of his goals, his vision, the one-on-one with Lavinho—it's going viral at an insane rate. Everyone's talking about it!"
She tapped the screen.
"Although… some of the feedback is split. Many are calling his plays irrational, too high-risk to be viable at the top level. But others... they're calling him a revolutionary. They love the unpredictability, the aggression. They say it feels like they're watching a movie."
Ego didn't shift his posture. His attention remained locked on the screen in front of him as he casually muttered.
"Uh-huh"
Anri barely blinked at the dismissal. She was used to his detached responses by now.
"I guess this kind of response was bound to happen."
She continued, her tone softening.
"He stood out from the start of Blue Lock. But ever since the Third Selection, something in him changed. He stopped trying to play the game... and started reshaping it."
She turned her gaze to the display—where Isagi's name was pinned to the top of the Neo Egoist League scoreboard.
"I thought the presence of world-class players would force him to play safer. Blend in. But he didn't. He just... pushed harder. Took the spotlight like it was always his."
A quiet laugh escaped her lips. Her pride was unhidden now, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of the glowing screens.
She remembered that brief moment after Phase One. The break. The city lights. The quiet café where she and Isagi had spoken not as player and staff—but just as two people.
And now, he was trending worldwide. Top of the goal-scoring list. The highest salary among the Blue Lock players.
Her chest swelled slightly with quiet satisfaction.
He was shining, just like she believed he would.
Ego remained silent for a moment, eyes glued to the screen in front of him.
With one final slurp, he drained the last of the broth, then calmly set the empty bowl down on the console beside him.
His gaze didn't waver.
Only then did he speak, voice low and sharp, laced with an unmistakable edge of amusement.
"Hmm… It seems the kid fooled most of the world."
He smirked faintly, the edge of his lips curling like a blade.
"...like he did to himself."
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.German Wing — Four-Man Room"Hey, looks like your stats went up."
Hiori's voice cut through the quiet buzz of the room as he held out a tablet, the screen glowing faintly in the dim light.
Isagi glanced over, then set his phone and headphones aside. He'd been gaming for a while, using it as a mental cooldown after intense training. Physically, his body recovered quickly, but he needed to give some rest to his mind as well.
He leaned forward, taking the tablet from Hiori's outstretched hand. The familiar player profile screen blinked to life, his stats neatly lined in bold lettering.
Isagi Yoichi
Speed: A — 88
Offense: S — 97
Defense: A — 88
Shooting: S — 100
Passing: S — 90
Dribbling: S — 92
At the bottom, a final line wrapped it all together:
Overall Rating: S — 95
Isagi stared at the numbers, letting the data settle in.
His defense had climbed by 3 points. Probably thanks to the last-minute block he made on Lavinho—a crucial moment that had turned the tide of pressure. His dribbling went up by 2 as well. It made sense, considering the one-on-one exchanges he'd pushed through, not to mention the solo runs he threaded through Barcha's midfield.
"Yeah… they sure did."
He leaned back slightly, thumb hovering just above the edge of the screen as he stared at the stat breakdown again.
"Though my OVR only went up by one… I'm still behind Kaiser in the overall ranking."
He murmured, voice laced with a subtle tension.
"Speed's the only thing he has over me. In everything else—offense, shooting, passing, even defense—I'm ahead oh him. But his overall's still higher."
His fingers tapped the side of the screen with a restless rhythm.
"I don't get it. Don't know when they're gonna fix that..."
Hiori's arms rested behind his head as he listened. After a beat, he tilted his head slightly, speaking thoughtfully.
"Yeah, that is kinda weird,"
He said, eyes narrowing as he considered it.
"I mean… our rankings have been shifting based on training performance, sure. But your stats—those were earned in a real match. That should've had more impact on your OVR than anything...
Maybe they think it was a fluke? A kid beating a field full of superstars—it's not something the world is ready to accept that easily."
His eyes drifted to the floor, but then he looked up again, more certain this time.
"But if Ego's the one handling the stats… that can't be it, right?"
That thought hung in the air.
Isagi didn't let the thought linger any longer, he got up and started walking towards the door.
"…If that's the case, then I'll have to change the world's thoughts in the next match,"
He said, voice low and firm, eyes burning with the same spark that had stunned the world just days ago.
"Where are you going?"
Hiori asked as he saw Isagi going towards the door.
Isagi didn't stop walking. As he reached for the door, his voice came back calm, direct.
"I'm gonna go see Noa."
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.Bastard Munchen Training Fieldthud
A strike came off his right foot—clean, sharp, and high.
Too high.
The ball soared into the air, cutting through the space above the pitch like it had no intention of coming down. For a moment, it looked like a wasted effort—too much power, no control. A shot destined to drift over the goal.
But then it dipped.
Fast.
A sharp curve pulled it down, slicing toward the left corner of the net. The Blue Lock Man leapt—full extension—but the ball slipped past his fingers and slammed into the net.
Goal.
The net rippled with impact, but the boy who'd taken the shot didn't smile.
'Damn it…'
His jaw clenched as he lowered his foot. That wasn't how it was supposed to go.
He'd meant to curve it with finesse, to control the fall just right.
Yukimiya stood still for a moment.
The Gyro Shot.
An erratic, unpredictable curveball. A strike with no clear trajectory—not even to the one who kicked it. That chaos made it nearly impossible to block. It had earned him goals. Moments of brilliance. A place in Blue Lock.
But now… it wasn't enough.
Not here.
Not anymore.
What once made him dangerous now felt incomplete.
Yukimiya wiped the sweat from his brow, but the heat burning inside him had nothing to do with training.
He wouldn't even be stuck in this spiral of doubt if it weren't for that move back during the U-20 match.
Isagi.
That image was still burned into his mind. The ball curving midair with near-supernatural control, cutting through defenders like it was drawn there by fate. A shot not just powerful, but intentional. Elegant. Ruthless.
Calculated genius.
Yukimiya gritted his teeth as he stared at the ball sitting quietly at his feet.
His own weapon—the Gyro Shot—was built on chaos. A swirling, erratic strike with no guaranteed path. That very uncertainty made it dangerous. That's what made him dangerous.
Or… at least, that used to be the case.
But now—now that he had seen Isagi's precision, the terrifying clarity of a shot that was meant to go exactly where it landed—his Gyro Shot suddenly felt...
Outdated. Incomplete.
If he kept falling behind—even just one step—he'd vanish in the shadows of the Monsters.
And he didn't have time to waste. Not with his vision. Not with his dream. Not with the world watching.
He couldn't afford to trail behind.
He needed to refine his Gyro Shot. Give it direction without losing what made it lethal.
Just like the way Isagi did it.
He took a few steps back from the ball. Closed his eyes. Slowed his breathing.
Visualize it.
A shot with chaos in its curve—but intention in its core.
A strike that he controlled.
He opened his eyes, sharp and locked in.
He had 10 days until the next match.
10 days to prove he belonged on the pitch—not as a substitute, but as a core weapon in Bastard Munchen's arsenal.
In those 10 days, he needed to carve his place into the lineup. His name had to be among the starting eleven. And not just that—
He had to score.
Again and again, until the numbers couldn't ignore him.
Yukimiya clenched his fists, jaw tight.
Aiming for anything less than the top? That's a coward's way out.
There was no satisfaction in being 'almost good enough.' That wasn't what Blue Lock was built for. That wasn't what he was born for.
Being the best is everything in Blue Lock.
And anything less?
Is worth nothing.
After all, at the end of this hellish proving ground, there would only be one left standing.
One who would rise above the rest.
One who would be called the best striker in the world.
And Yukimiya Kenyu was determined to make sure—by any means necessary—that he was the one left standing at the top.
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.10 Days LaterGerman Wing — Meeting RoomThe atmosphere was tense.
The players of Bastard Munchen stood in a disciplined line, backs straight, arms folded behind them.
At the front, Noel Noa stood tall, tablet in hand.
"All right, Bastard Munchen…"
His voice cut clean through the silence. Dozens of eyes locked onto him.
"…Time to announce the starting lineup."
A visible shift passed through the room—shoulders straightening, jaws tightening, anticipation vibrating under every breath. The players knew this was it. The second match of the Neo Egoist League was against England's Manshine City
Noa's gaze remained fixed on the tablet as he continued.
"After our first match… and the ten days of follow-up training…"
He said, each word deliberate,
"I've finalized the optimal formation to carry us forward."
He tapped on the screen.
"Now…"
Noa raised his head, eyes sweeping across the room.
"I will announce the starters for our match against England's Manshine City."
He paused just a moment—long enough for the weight of expectation to settle over the room.
"First, as the center forward—Michael Kaiser."
Kaiser didn't react—not outwardly.
His features stayed composed, regal in their stillness. There was no smile, no flicker of surprise. He had expected this. He was the emperor of Bastard Munchen. Being called first was nothing but correct.
And yet… somewhere deep beneath that marble mask, a ripple of tension loosened in his chest.
'So… I'm still the one leading this team.'
Not out loud. Never out loud. But the thought echoed nonetheless.
He hated even entertaining the thought. The idea of being outshined, of losing his crown to someone like Isagi—it gnawed at him. He'd been watching. Studying. Every moment on the pitch was another battle for dominance, and though he would never admit it aloud, the pressure had started to creep in. Isagi's rise wasn't a fluke anymore. It was real. And while Kaiser still held the throne…
The heat was rising.
Behind him, Ness's lips curled into a visible grin—far more expressive than Kaiser.
He didn't care about himself being chosen, not yet. His focus was—and always had been—on Kaiser.
As long as his emperor stood at the center, Ness would follow, support, and play his part in building the world around him.
Kaiser remained unmoved, but the slight flex of his jaw told a different story.
"Next, on the upper right—Isagi Yoichi."
Noa announced.
"Your rating's been boosted by your impressive performance and three goal contributions to win in the first match."
A moment passed before Isagi stepped forward slightly, meeting Noa's eyes with steady calm.
Noa's eyes didn't waver as he continued scrolling through the lineup.
"Next,"
He said flatly,
"on the right wing—Kunigami Rensuke."
Noa's voice grew sharper, leaving no room for interpretation.
"Your last performance was… disappointing."
He said, his tone clipped.
"Zero contributions. No goals. No assists. No defensive recoveries. You didn't impact the game in any meaningful way."
The words cut clean, but not cruel. Just cold truth.
Kunigami's jaw tensed.
A vein pulsed at his temple.
"But—"
Noa went on,
"You've shown real growth during training. Your physical metrics have improved. You've raised your ranking. And for that…"
He paused just long enough to make the point sting.
"…you get one more chance. Don't waste it. One more ghost performance and you're benched. Immediately."
Kunigami didn't reply.
His grunt was low, his fists clenched at his sides, and his gaze burned—not with pride, but with purpose. A silent vow forged in frustration. No more being invisible. He would leave his mark this time. He had to.
Noa's attention had already moved on.
"Left wing—Grim."
From the other side of the formation, Grim offered a single nod.
Noa continued without hesitation.
"Lower midfield—Ness."
"Yes, sir!"
Ness responded instantly, his voice light, almost cheerful. The grin returned to his face as he puffed his chest slightly, proud of his place in the lineup. He didn't glance at the others—his world revolved around one axis, and Kaiser was still in the center.
Noa didn't pause.
"Defensive midfielder—Ali."
"Got it."
Ali responded right way.
"Next, the defensive line…"
Noa began.
He raised his head slightly.
"Our right wing-back is Kurona Ranze."
A few glances darted toward Kurona, who raised his chin slightly but kept his posture loose.
"I selected someone who can coordinate effectively with Kunigami Rensuke and Isagi Yoichi on the right side,"
Noa continued.
"You've demonstrated tactical fluidity and off-ball awareness during training. Your chemistry with Isagi has directly influenced your score."
"I don't mind following Isagi…"
Kurona turned towards Isagi.
"We've been synced since the Third Selection began."
There was no envy in his voice, only certainty. Kurona wasn't chasing the spotlight—he was thriving in the flow. A co-pilot in Isagi's ever-expanding battlefield.
"Our two center backs are Mensah and Birkenstock."
Both defenders stood stone-faced as their names were called.
Noa continued without delay.
"Left wing-back—Kenyu Yukimiya."
The name rang clearly across the room.
"Yes, sir."
Yukimiya responded at once.
His eyes gleamed with fire behind his glasses, his stance straight.
"All your numbers are exceptional, so it would be a waste to keep you on the bench."
Noa continued as he looked up at Yukimiya.
"We will use your speed to cover the left side. You'll give the team a boost when contributing to attacks... And I have high hopes for your contributions to our offense and defence."
Noa explained as he turned toward another individual.
"Finally, our Goalkeeper...
Is Gagamaru Gin."
Noa stated.
"Huh...? Again?
Well, I'm glad I get to play, at least."
Gagamaru spoke as he accepted his role.
"That's all. This is our formation."
Behind Noa, the wall screen lit up with the names and positions. The eleven players stood mapped across the digital pitch in sharp lines and glowing text."Of course, these players were selected based on numbers... but they were also chosen from an experimental standpoint.
"I'm sure most of you already sense the reason,
This team currently has two philosophies."
Noa spoke as he looked at the players
"The first—an extremely rational style of play. Built around using Kaiser as the team's ultimate finisher...
And the second one is Blue Lock's Style..."
He didn't say the name, but every head turned instinctively toward Isagi.
"Isagi Yoichi showcased an all-out Egotism in that last match, going on his own, making plays which benefit him in scoring and making impacts...
All three goals came from Isagi Yoichi's play style colliding with Bastard Munchen's. From improvisation overriding structure. From a mindset this team was never designed to support."
Noa turned then, slowly, until his eyes met Kaiser's.
"I want to see how this team will evolve when the 'Let Kaiser Score' style blends with the Prevailing 'Blue Lock' philosophy.
Kaiser's jaw clenched ever so slightly. He didn't speak. He didn't need to.
He understood exactly what Noa was doing.
This wasn't just strategy. It was a provocation.
A challenge—one he couldn't ignore.
He was testing him. Putting Isagi on the field wasn't support—it was pressure. A new variable. A rising storm pushing straight into Kaiser's throne.
His dominance… was no longer absolute.
And now, the master of Bastard Munchen had made it explicit.
"It seems you understand what this means, Kaiser."
Noa said, watching his expression tighten. His voice was quiet, but it hit like a blade.
"Don't lose your spot…
...Ace."
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