"Reo…"
Nagi Seishiro's voice didn't rise above a whisper, but the tremor in his breath betrayed the flicker of surprise behind his calm expression.
Up ahead on the pitch, Nagi had been making his run, eyes fixed on the path ahead—but something tugged at his senses. A pulse in the air. A shift in rhythm. And when he turned his head to glance back—
He saw it.
Reo Mikage.
The moment Reo slipped past Kunigami with that flawless Rabona nutmeg, the atmosphere around him seemed to crackle with something unnatural. His figure surged into the open space, and in that instant, it was as if the very air wrapped itself around him—dense, vibrating with pressure.
A swirling aura of deep violet clung to his form, flickering like static electricity dancing across his skin.
Nagi's eyes widened—just slightly. Enough to show that even he, the prodigy who rarely reacted to anything, couldn't help but acknowledge what he was seeing.
It wasn't just the technique. It wasn't even the nutmeg.
It was the presence.
Reo was glowing.
Not in a literal sense, but something about the way his eyes gleamed, sharp and focused, the way his body moved with streamlined precision—it radiated intensity. The kind of intensity that screamed evolution. The kind of energy that couldn't be ignored.
For a moment, Nagi found himself admiring it.
'He's changed.'
A few minutes had passed, but Nagi found his thoughts drifting back to the words he and Reo had exchanged. The conversation replayed in his mind as if it had left a mark deeper than he expected.
.
.
.Few Minutes Back"Hey, Reo…
I wanna… beat Isagi."
Nagi's words dropped into the air like a hammer.
Reo turned slowly toward him, blinking once.
And Chigiri, standing just beside them, froze slightly—then cracked a small smile.
Even he could feel it.
"Huh?"
Reo muttered, caught off-guard by the sincerity in Nagi's tone.
Nagi didn't flinch under Reo's gaze. Instead, he kept going, his words coming in quiet bursts like someone trying to find footing on a slippery slope.
"I don't know how I can do it…"
He said, his eyes drifting toward Isagi in the distance—Isagi, standing tall beside Kurona, laughing, basking in his latest masterpiece.
"He keeps going beyond me… I feel like I can't beat him at all."
Reo stared, his brows slightly furrowed, but not from judgment.
From confusion.
"And I don't think what Chris and Agi are teaching me is gonna work."
Nagi muttered, still looking toward Isagi.
"Since I don't really get this 'creativity' stuff… and it's not going wel—"
"So what?"
Reo's voice sliced clean through his words.
Nagi blinked.
Reo's tone had dropped in temperature—flat, but sharpened with underlying grit.
"You want creativity classes or something?"
He asked, his voice a mix of irritation and disbelief.
"Beating Isagi is everyone's goal right now. You think you're the only one falling behind?"
His eyes narrowed.
"If you can't do it… then cry somewhere else."
Cold.
Blunt.
Nagi turned toward him with a slightly surprised look, his usual relaxed expression cracking slightly.
And Chigiri?
He took a half-step back and snuck away without a word—wanting no part in what was clearly a powder keg moment.
Nagi just... stood there.
For a beat, silence.
And then—he spoke.
"Yeah, but…"
Nagi said quietly, looking straight at Reo now.
"Football was way more fun for me… back when I played with you, it's not fun for me right now."
No smile.
Just a confession.
And this time, it was Reo who froze.
No reaction on his face. No witty comeback. Just stillness.
And then—he turned.
Reo began to walk, his back to Nagi.
As he walked, he muttered under his breath—flat, tired.
"So what?"
Nagi stood there, watching his partner walk away, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.
But this time—he didn't shut down.
He stepped forward.
"Please, Reo."
Reo paused.
Nagi's voice wasn't commanding. It wasn't loud. It was just real.
"Help me… beat Isagi."
Reo didn't turn. But his shoulders stiffened.
Nagi took one more step closer.
"I need you… Reo."
The air between them changed.
That single sentence—quiet, sincere—was more than just a plea.
For a long beat, Reo didn't move.
Then—
He turned.
Slowly.
And when his eyes met Nagi's, there was something sharp in them. A flicker of disbelief. A flicker of something else.
"You really are... a selfish jerk, you know that?"
Reo said, voice low, almost tired—but not angry.
Nagi just looked at him with that same calm, unreadable face.
He raised his hand and pointed straight at Reo's chest.
"Just try to imagine it, Reo."
His voice wasn't lazy now. It carried weight.
"With the way you are right now… we can beat Isagi."
Nagi's eyes narrowed.
"Unlike last time."
For a moment, Reo didn't answer.
He simply stared at the ground, eyes shadowed beneath his fringe.
Then—
A soft chuckle escaped him.
"Haa…"
His shoulders shook once.
Then he looked up.
With a smirk curling at his lips.
His eyes—burned.
"What… the hell?"
His voice dropped like a weight, sharp and laced with disappointment.
"Is that seriously your limit, Nagi?"
That single sentence hit like a slap.
Nagi blinked, visibly shaken.
"Huh?"
But Reo didn't stop.
"I've got no interest in playing football with you anytime soon… Nagi."
There was no cruelty in his tone. Just truth. Cold and unwavering.
"I have my own path right now. And that path leads straight through Isagi."
Reo's jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed.
"To beat him. On my own."
His voice tightened.
"To become the best player in the world. To win the World Cup."
The words hit like steel.
"And I'm determined to make it there—with or without you."
Nagi's composure cracked again, his body stiffening, his gaze flickering with something unspoken.
But Reo wasn't done.
"If that's the end of your potential…"
Reo said, stepping forward.
"then this time—you're the one who's not strong enough to stand beside me."
His words struck deep.
Like a reverse echo of everything Nagi once said to him.
And Nagi felt it.
Suddenly, memories flared behind his eyes. The past—unwanted, undeniable.
Rival Battle.
The fork in their path.
Nagi had chosen to go with Isagi.
To chase strength, evolution.
And then—Reo's voice, sharp like glass:
"During the Rival Battle, you left to follow Isagi."
Reo's voice wasn't bitter.
It was clear.
Like reciting a fact.
His hand clenched at his side as an image flashed in his mind.
A voice.
Heavy, smug, echoing from the past.
His father's.
'Give up on football.
In this world, only those born with talent can make it to the top.
No amount of effort can overcome what you lack at birth.'
'You weren't born to chase the ball, Reo.
You were born into the Mikage legacy—
A life of leadership. Wealth. Power.
Not to chase a fantasy built for the gifted.'
"But in the 4v4… when Isagi picked me, and I got to play beside him—I saw it."
His eyes lit up—not with warmth, but with clarity.
"I found my new goal."
Reo's voice lowered, not with weakness, but with fire:
"I want to surpass the naturally gifted.
And win the World Cup with my own effort."
.
.
.PresentAs Nagi remembered those words from Reo, he wasn't sure what to do now.
Nagi felt it again—that same pressure settle in his chest.
A crossroads.
Reo wasn't going to help him. Not anytime soon.
Not unless he proved he was worth helping.
This… wasn't a rejection.
Not entirely.
It was a challenge.
A line drawn in the turf between their ambitions.
Reo hadn't turned his back out of malice—but because he couldn't afford to stop.
Not for anyone.
Not even for him.
'What now…?'
He wasn't sure what to do. What to think.
Was he chasing Reo's pass—or Reo's approval?
But Reo didn't see Nagi's glance. Didn't even register the ripples his play had sent across the field.
His mind wasn't concerned with reactions.
It was already racing ahead.
His gaze locked forward, dissecting the pitch with clarity.
There was no time to admire his own handiwork. Kunigami had been just the first domino. Another opponent was already approaching.
And Reo?
Reo's thoughts burned like wildfire.
'Next...'
He scanned, calculated, adjusted—eyes blazing with violet fire.
Two figures closed in fast, cutting off his angles.
From straight ahead, Ali charged in—the midfield enforcer of Bastard München.
Then, flanking from the right, a familiar presence swept in.
"You're not getting away again!"
A voice full of grit and frustration. His earlier misreads had left a mark, and now he was here to correct them—with force.
Ness.
The "royal vassal" of Michael Kaiser.
His approach was faster, sharper—driven not by strategy, but by spite.
That same Reo had stolen the spotlight just moments ago.
That same Reo had deflected his Emperor's Kaiser Impact.
Ness's pride had taken a direct hit, and now his narrowed eyes burned with irritation, his jaw set in quiet fury.
This wasn't just a tackle attempt.
This was a Vendetta.
He wanted to punish Reo. Crush the impudent Blue Lock upstart who dared to intercept Kaiser's divine path.
But Reo… Reo wasn't rattled.
His gaze remained fixed—locked on Ali.
He didn't even glance at Ness.
Then—
It flickered again.
The change.
The Chameleon began to shift its colors.
Right there, in the thick of chaos—when all eyes zeroed in on him—Reo entered that lucid state again.
And inside his mind—
The Blueprints appeared all over his body.
An imitation. A mental echo.
...of Isagi Yoichi.
Reo smiled.
'Thank you, Isagi.'
His left foot stabbed into the turf, planted directly beneath the ball with deceptive calm.
Then—flick.
The ball popped up gently, skipping across the grass toward the right—toward Ness.
A strange decision to the untrained eye.
Ness's eyes widened, blinking in stunned confusion.
'Huh…? He's passing to me?'
It made no sense.
Until it did.
Until it was already too late.
Thump!
The ball struck Ness squarely in the chest—no finesse, no elegance—just a blunt impact, ricocheting off him like a wall.
Before either Ness or Ali could react—
Reo was already gone.
His body pivoted hard to the left, slipping around Ali's right flank with ghostlike speed. The ball bounced perfectly behind the Bastard München midfielder, skipping into open space.
He had used Ness as a wall.
A rebound.
An impromptu give-and-go—except the other party wasn't even in on the play.
It was pure manipulation.
A play that didn't need anyone's cooperation—only their presence.
The moment the ball rebounded off Ness's chest and curved behind Ali, the Bastard München midfielder spun with a yell, his instincts screaming that something had gone wrong.
But it was too late.
Reo had already ghosted past.
He didn't even need to look—the ball was rolling perfectly into his path, just as he calculated. He let it guide his movement like a current beneath his feet. As it spun toward him, his smile widened, teeth flashing in that rare blend of thrill and clarity.
Everything was clicking. His vision, his movement, the way his body obeyed the blueprint forming in his head.
'This is my game now.'
Then—his smile sharpened.
Because the one he had been waiting for has arrived.
"You seem to be having fun... Reo."
The voice came low, cutting through the air like a warning bell.
Reo's eyes rose—and met Isagi Yoichi's.
Isagi stood dead ahead, having stopped his acceleration and planted himself in Reo's path, like a looming wall of willpower.
But Reo didn't flinch.
In fact, he was expecting him.
He didn't halt. Didn't hesitate. His body continued to move, steps flowing with the momentum he built from bypassing Ali.
He didn't even consider slowing down. If anything—he accelerated.
This wasn't a surprise encounter.
This was part of the plan.
Because even as he battled Kunigami, even as he deceived Ness, Reo had kept tabs on one person:
Isagi Yoichi.
When he slipped past Kunigami earlier, Reo's sharp eyes tracked everything. And that's when he saw it.
Isagi abandoned Agi.
A clean, sharp readjustment—one Reo immediately understood.
'So you're coming for me.'
That's what Reo saw in that split second—Isagi's field control flickering toward a new target.
Toward him.
That's why Reo wasn't shocked now.
This was inevitable.
And as Reo stepped forward, eyes locked with Isagi's, both wore identical expressions.
A smile.
But not one of friendliness.
These were the smiles of hunters. Two tacticians, two monsters on the rise, meeting head-on in the same killing zone.
The world saw only the moment of collision.
Reo wasn't blinded by excitement.
He was locked in.
The moment had come. To face the one who had bent the entire match toward his gravitational pull.
Isagi vs. Reo.
The Orchestrator V/S The Chameleon.
And now—he stood directly in Reo's path.
Reo surged forward, pace unwavering.
He advanced toward the ball, which rolled steadily along the pitch—perfectly placed, bouncing once in rhythm with his stride.
The timing was almost theatrical.
Reo adjusted his approach. His right foot drew back ever so slightly, posture setting up for a shot.
Reading the motion, Isagi instantly shifted to his right—his body angled to cut the shooting lane, to block the threat head-on before it could even manifest.
But it was exactly what Reo wanted.
He didn't flinch at Isagi's encroaching presence.
Didn't blink as the distance between them collapsed.
Because in that moment—when Isagi's foot planted to cut the shooting lane, eyes locked onto the supposed strike—Reo pulled the trigger.
But not the way anyone expected.
Reo's foot didn't follow through with the obvious strike Isagi had anticipated.
Instead—he slipped the tip of his right foot underneath it.
Grazing the bottom hemisphere of the ball with a precise strike.
The ball popped upward—a sharp, sudden backspin that jolted through the air like a signal flare.
And for a split second—
Isagi froze.
'Wha-?'
His brain registered the feint an instant too late.
He had read the shot.
Prepared to cut it.
But Reo hadn't fired.
He had elevated.
The trap had sprung.
Reo's touch was perfect—launching the ball into the air with just the right spin and height for a follow-up volley.
And even as the flick registered, Isagi forced himself to react.
His extended leg—previously set to block a grounded shot—slammed back to the pitch.
A thunderous stomp as he twisted to recover.
But Reo was already a step ahead.
His body turned in one seamless continuation—left foot already cocked, the follow-through already in motion.
He was in a trance.
Not dazed—but hyper-focused.
Locked into the moment with the clarity of a predator that had cornered the apex beast.
This was it.
His first real, accurate shot at defeating Isagi Yoichi.
His body obeyed instinct sharpened by countless hours of obsessive training.
His left leg swung forward, meeting the ball mid-arc—
CRACK.
The volley erupted off his boot.
A missile—fired with lethal precision and unwavering conviction.
And in that same second.
Isagi lunged—his body launched toward the rising ball in a final act of defiance, trying to disrupt the volley mid-air.
The volley launched with a violent snap of the boot, the ball curling away from contact with a sharp arc.
Isagi's body collided into Reo mid-motion, a hard crash of shoulders and torsos—
—but Reo didn't care.
He didn't feel it.
His eyes never left the ball.
The impact meant nothing compared to what he had just unleashed.
Because the ball had taken flight—
Arcing high from midfield, slicing the air with the elegance of Sae, the creativity of Isagi, and the vision of Rin—all in one strike.
And more than anything—it was entirely his.
A shot no one else had imagined.
Isagi's leg reached out behind him as he fell—
But the ball had already escaped.
Just outside of his reach.
The tip of his foot clawed empty space.
And Reo?
He was smiling.
A surging smile of triumph.
Because this… this was it.
An accurate, uncontested chance.
A clean, deliberate play born from layers of foresight and daring execution.
And it was his.
He'd created it—against Isagi Yoichi.
The ball soared through the air, curving in a high, elegant arc that shimmered under the stadium lights. The defenders left behind could only watch in stunned silence as the sphere traced its deadly path. Its spin was perfect—tight, hypnotic, dangerous.
Up ahead, a white figure moved.
Nagi Seishiro.
He was already sprinting, his long strides surprisingly aggressive, eyes flicking upward to meet the ball. For a second, the world seemed to melt away around him.
And in that split second, Nagi smiled too.
This pass... told him everything.
Reo had come around.
Not just to support—but to ascend.
He had done what he swore he would do.
He beat Isagi.
Outsmarted him.
Created a gap in the chessboard that none of them thought possible.
And now, here it was—Nagi's turn. The moment passed to him, not in words or promises, but through a pass laced with trust and ambition.
But he didn't let himself dwell on that thought for long. Not now.
Not when the ball demanded precision.
It was a brutal delivery—sharp backspin, faint curve, and lofted just high enough to make it a question rather than a guarantee.
No room for hesitation.
As Nagi closed in, his mind flared to life.
'Do I trap it? Kill it dead and shoot?'
'Do I volley?'
Each option danced in his vision, but none felt quite right.
The height... the timing... there was uncertainty clawing at the edges of his usual instinct. And uncertainty, for someone like Nagi, was rare.
But then—
He remembered Reo's face. His words.
That cold, burning declaration:
"This time, I'm beating Isagi on my own."
And somehow, that gave him clarity.
Trust him.
Trust Reo.
Trust this pass.
With no more hesitation, Nagi forced his lead foot down, driving it into the turf like an anchor as he launched himself upward.
Air rushed past his ears.
The world blurred below.
The ball moved toward him like a meteor, and he moved to meet it.
Chest angled, legs coiled—he positioned himself to absorb the spin, the weight, the madness of the ball with a single, decisive motion.
This was it.
A chance crafted by Reo's brilliance.
And it was up to him—Nagi Seishiro—to finish it.
However—just as Nagi prepared to meet the ball with his chest—
A sudden force collided into him mid-air.
His eyes widened as he felt the shift in weight, the equilibrium faltering.
A shoulder.
A presence.
He twisted his neck—Kaiser.
The golden emperor himself had soared into the air beside him, teeth gritted, fury burning in his eyes. While others had been stunned or left behind, Kaiser had remained on the backline, anticipating. Waiting.
He hadn't abandoned his post like Isagi. He hadn't drifted into chaos.
He reacted.
Driven not by calm calculation but pure indignation—still seething from earlier, from the humiliation of being intercepted by Reo, from Isagi's no-look assist—Kaiser had seen the arc of the ball and pounced.
Not to defend.
But to erase.
To reset the board in his favor with a header that would spark a lightning-fast counterattack.
Nagi felt the pressure in the air. Kaiser's body angled against his, trying to shove him off-balance mid-flight. Their limbs tangled slightly, their elevation nearly matched—but their intentions were not.
One wanted to finish.
The other wanted to obliterate the opportunity altogether.
But as both players craned their necks, preparing to strike—
The ball sailed over their heads.
"Huh...?"
A breathless second passed.
A ghost pass.
A phantom trajectory.
Reo's masterpiece came alive.
That slight but devilish backspin, the ever-so-subtle upward curve—it had deceived even the ones who touched the heavens.
Their foreheads stretched forward desperately, eyes wide, muscles screaming to reach—
But nothing connected.
Reo had outplayed them both.
Two of the best aerial readers in the match had been left clawing at empty air, their heads twisting behind them, eyes tracking the now-liberated ball as it drifted gracefully beyond their reach.
Stunned silence.
They could only turn in tandem—Nagi and Kaiser—watching helplessly as the ball continued its descent.
"Nice pass, you insane bastard…"
The words slipped through clenched teeth as a blur of red streaked into the path of the falling ball.
It was Chigiri Hyoma.
A blur of speed and crimson flame, Chigiri tore down the wing like a jet ignited, his hair trailing behind him like a banner of defiance. Yukimiya struggled to hold him back, his grip slipping—his legs pumping, trying to match that insane velocity—but it was no use.
Chigiri was already ahead.
The pass—Reo's miraculous, spinning arc of insanity—descended into the perfect zone.
It had bypassed Nagi.
Outsmarted Kaiser.
Slipped every plan on the field.
And now it was Chigiri's moment.
The pass met the perfect run.
The moment slowed—ball spinning downward like fate incarnate.
He didn't hesitate.
He struck.
Chigiri's left foot swung through with a clean, cutting motion—a whip-crack volley that sent the ball screaming low and wide to the far-left corner. Its movement was unnatural—a blend of instinct and pure calculated madness, slicing through the air like a blade of red lightning.
Gagamaru reacted immediately.
His body launched sideways, the reflexive dive stretched every tendon in his frame, fingertips just grazing the airflow—
But not the ball.
It hit the net.
GOAL.
The net bulged violently.
A thunderous thump echoed as the ball struck home, the white mesh snapping back from the sheer velocity of the shot.
Chigiri landed in a whirl of crimson energy, his long hair trailing behind like a streak of fire, breath tearing through his lungs, adrenaline screaming through every vein. His eyes—wild and burning with triumph—snapped toward the midfield.
And then he ran.
Straight for the one who made it happen.
Reo.
Already moving, already grinning—eyes wide with the thrill of it all, Reo met Chigiri halfway.
Two streaks colliding in pure exhilaration.
They jumped.
Chest to chest.
Fists clenched, lungs exploding.
"LET'S GO!!"
Their scream tore into the sky, full of hunger.
Glory.
Defiance.
.
.
.
.
.
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