"Was that... really planned by those two…?"
Reo, sitting on the ground, whispered under his breath.
His gaze locked onto the two figures now bathed in the spotlight, the center of the world's attention.
Isagi and Kurona.
The two stood together, celebrating like a pair of mad geniuses who had just rewritten football itself.
Isagi had his arms stretched wide, laughter escaping his lips, his chest rising and falling from the adrenaline high. Kurona was still latched onto him, his own voice raw from the scream he had let out, his smile wide—almost unrecognizable from the silent shadow he used to be.
'Was that really all part of their plan? That sequence? That... chaos?'
The question gnawed at him.
It didn't feel lucky.
Or random.
It felt... deliberate.
Calculated down to the last bounce of the ball.
"You okay, Reo?"
Chigiri approached, breathing a little heavy but calm, his sharp eyes glancing down at him. He extended a hand.
Reo exhaled and accepted it, pulling himself up. As soon as he stood, his head throbbed again—deep and dull—from where Kaiser's Impact had smashed into him earlier.
His fingers instinctively rubbed the spot.
"Yeah… it's not too bad. I can still play."
He answered, his voice calm, but his mind far from it.
Chigiri glanced at him briefly, then turned his eyes toward the two celebrating figures.
Reo followed his gaze.
And there they were again.
The Orchestrator.
And the shadow who became a dagger.
Their bond, their timing—it wasn't normal.
'When did Kurona become this lethal?'
'Since when was he more than just Isagi's runner?'
'Isagi didn't just adapt… he elevated him. He's creating monsters around him now.'
Both Reo and Chigiri stood in silence as the weight of that realization sank in.
Isagi Yoichi wasn't just playing his own game anymore.
He was rewriting everyone else's roles.
Turning the players around him into weapons.
"Ha…"
A soft laugh escaped Reo's lips—a dry, almost bitter exhale as he rubbed the back of his head.
'He really is something else.'
By now, after everything they'd seen and fought through, Reo had already accepted it.
Having played beside Isagi, having watched him evolve up close, Reo knew it better than anyone:
There was nothing normal about that kid.
Isagi Yoichi's specs—his spatial awareness, technique, precision, instincts—everything was extraordinary.
'Even compared to Nagi… No, not even close. Isagi's talent surpasses Nagi's talent by far.'
Reo glanced down for a moment, then back toward the center of the field, where Isagi and Kurona walked together, still basking in the glow of their brilliant play.
It wasn't jealousy burning inside him.
It was something sharper.
A challenge.
"Hey, Reo…?"
Chigiri's voice came quietly, eyes still locked on the two walking back toward their half.
Reo's gaze remained forward, following Isagi and Kurona's figures as they stepped across the pitch like they owned it.
"I think we're on the same page, Chigiri."
Reo's voice was low, steady—but charged.
Their eyes met briefly.
The same thought radiated between them:
'We can't let him get too far ahead.'
Because right now, Isagi Yoichi was pulling everyone into his world.
And if they didn't sharpen their blades even more—they'd be left behind as pawns on someone else's board.
That quiet moment between Reo and Chigiri hung heavy—until—
"Hey, Reo…"
Another voice entered.
They turned.
It was Nagi.
Walking towards them, his usual lazy posture still intact, hands loose by his side.
But his eyes—
His eyes burned sharper than either of them had seen in a long time.
There was no frustration on his face. No tantrum. No childish sulking.
Only one simple desire that cut straight through the air like a blade.
"I wanna… beat Isagi."
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While the world erupted in celebration—cheering for the duo that shattered the defense and cracked open the score sheet—one figure remained untouched by the euphoria.
Michael Kaiser.
Frozen.
Silent.
His hands hung loose at his sides, as if drained of strength.
But his mind—
His mind was spiraling.
He replayed the entire sequence again, dissecting it frame by frame.
Physical skills? Technique?
He never expected to outdo Isagi there. Not anymore.
That battle had shifted long ago.
But positioning — that was Kaiser's dominion.
The one realm where he still believed himself unmatched.
The true essence of a striker's supremacy.
And yet...
Unlike Reo, who might still be struggling to piece it together, Kaiser understood exactly what had just happened.
And that's what made it unbearable.
Isagi Yoichi had seen it all—before any of it even unfolded.
'He predicted Ness would give me the ball—that was always step one.
He anticipated that Reo would stop my Kaiser Impact—he counted on it.
He placed his bet on my downfall before I even struck the ball.'
That was the part that twisted Kaiser's gut.
'Isagi didn't just read the field—he read me.'
It wasn't a wild gamble—it was a calculated risk, executed with terrifying precision.
'He saw me firing my Kaiser Impact and he had already begun moving into position.
He reacted to the rebound.
Like it was always meant to land at his feet.'
And it had.
All of it—Kaiser's failure, Reo's block, the deflection—was nothing but the setup for Isagi's masterpiece.
Kaiser's fingers twitched, curling into fists.
The worst part wasn't even the play itself.
It was the role Isagi forced him into.
A pawn.
Kaiser—Michael Kaiser—reduced to nothing more than one of Isagi's moving parts.
'He used me.
Used my strength. My shot.
My predictable hunger for the goal… against me.'
The realization gnawed at him like acid.
He had always prided himself on crushing his opponents. On towering over them like an insurmountable wall. On making them feel helpless beneath his brilliance.
But now—
Now he stood in front of a wall whose peak he couldn't even see.
And for the first time in a long time, Kaiser felt the weight of being the one forced to climb.
His breathing slowed.
His eyes sharpened.
Frustration turned into something colder, something sharper.
"Isagi Yoichi...
...I will tear down that wall."
As Kaiser stood frozen in that growing storm of obsession, Isagi Yoichi calmly walked back toward his half of the pitch.
And then—he looked up.
His eyes met those of Noel Noa, sitting on Bastard München's bench.
For a brief moment, their gazes locked.
And then Isagi smiled.
Arrogant. Bold.
Noa's lips twitched ever so slightly in response, but he said nothing. He didn't need to. The world could see it.
This was no accident.
Even Kaiser, for all his growing understanding, was only partly correct.
Yes—Isagi had anticipated Ness's pass.
Yes—he had banked on Reo's growth, on Reo choosing to deny Kaiser.
But that was only part of the equation.
Isagi's calculations went further.
He had predicted Reo's rebound trajectory—toward Nagi.
Anticipated Nagi's positioning.
Timed his own run to arrive just ahead of it all.
But even that wasn't enough.
Because Isagi's final move wasn't just stealing the ball.
It was manipulating Kunigami.
The bicycle kick-assist—flamboyant, audacious, showboating—it wasn't aimed directly for Kurona.
It was aimed at Kunigami.
Isagi knew Kunigami would be there.
Knew Kunigami's natural instinct to rush forward.
Knew Kunigami would see the ball as a gift.
Knew Kunigami would believe it was meant for him.
And Kunigami did.
For a split second, he thought it was his goal to finish.
But that was precisely what Isagi wanted.
Because behind Kunigami, in the shadow of that distraction, Kurona Ranze was already perfectly positioned to finish the play.
The true target.
Kunigami, now walking back toward his own half, pieced it all together.
He remembered Isagi's words from the First Selection:
"You attract attention."
Back then, Isagi saw him as a frontline presence that pulled defenders and opened gaps behind him.
Now, in this moment, Isagi had used that very instinct against him.
Kurona infiltrated the gap Kunigami's presence created.
Kunigami drew the attention; Kurona buried the dagger.
The realization made Kunigami's jaw tighten.
Not just out of anger—but also out of fierce respect.
'That bastard…'
Isagi Yoichi wasn't just playing the game.
He was designing it.
Manipulating friends and enemies alike as pawns inside his grand strategy.
And standing at the center of it all, grinning toward the Bastard München bench, Isagi declared his control with just a look.
But then—
A sudden sharp pulse ripped through Isagi's head.
'Tch—ah…'
His left hand instinctively shot up, gripping his temple as the throbbing sensation stabbed through his skull like a hot needle. For a moment, his vision swirled. But the smile never left his face.
Because he knew what it was.
[Cognitive Grid Partitioning.]
Skill Description—
A rare, elite, high-level cognitive state.
Upon activation, User's field of vision fragments into a dynamic mental grid—dividing every inch of the pitch into calculated zones.
Opponents.
Teammates.
Angles.
Distances.
Paths of motion.
All broken down into hyper-detailed partitions, creating a fully visualized tactical map inside his mind. A living board. A machine-like layer over his vision.
Activation Requirements—
Intense Desire to Impact the Game- The user must have a deep internal drive in the moment— to score, to break through, or to take control of the situation.
Extreme Cognitive Focus.
Side Effects—
Cognitive Burnout: Severe mental strain after prolonged use.
Neural Exhaustion: Heavy fatigue even after disengaging the skill.
Tunnel Lock: Emotional or physical stress may cause momentary calculation errors, as the brain hyper-fixates on locked paths within the grid.
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Even with his Perfect Physique skill—specifically, the Healing Factor attribute—this particular burden refused to vanish instantly.
The [Cognitive Grid Partitioning] didn't just tax his mind.
It clawed at the edges of it.
The throbbing always came afterward.
The dull, pulsing ache beneath the euphoria.
The pressure behind his eyes.
The mental fatigue that slithered in, curling around his nerves like a vice of tension.
His body was engineered to recover.
His healing factor kicked in the moment the strain started.
And yet—this was different.
It didn't heal immediately.
It couldn't.
This wasn't a muscle tear or physical bruise.
This was cognitive overload. A drain on the very core of his brain's high-speed processing.
Even his enhanced body needed time.
Just long enough to remind him: this wasn't free.
But Isagi gladly paid the price.
Because this ability—this forbidden layer of perception—was the key to his Ego-driven plays.
The key to shaping the field.
The key to controlling every variable.
And as the pain began to subside—slowly beaten back by his body's relentless internal recovery—he didn't flinch.
Isagi inhaled deeply, resetting his mental grid.
'Now… let's see how far I can push this.'
Unlike his prior match against FC Barcha—where he only had to track a handful of players and predicted isolated actions—this was different.
This match is chaos incarnate.
Kaiser.
Ness.
Kunigami.
Yukimiya.
Reo.
Nagi.
Chigiri.
Agi.
Multiple high-level positioning monsters.
Multiple variables shifting with lethal precision every second.
And that made this the perfect environment for his new ability.
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At the kickoff line, Agi planted his boot beside the ball.
The cold breeze brushed across his face, but it wasn't the wind that sent a chill down his spine.
It was Isagi.
"Oohoo!"
He finally understood.
'This… is what Kaiser lost to.
This… is what Lavinho clashed against and failed to contain.'
For Agi, this was no longer just another NEL opponent.
This was an apex predator.
More captivating—
More dangerous—
More entrancing than even Nagi's raw talent.
The hunger to clash burned inside him.
Not out of fear.
But out of something far purer.
Pure, absolute obsession.
"Seishiro…"
Agi's voice cut through the air as both teams lined up for the restart.
Standing to his left, Nagi Seishiro stared ahead, his expression distant—calm, but deep in thought.
Agi glanced at him sideways.
He could see it.
That slight tightening around Nagi's eyes.
The faint furrow in his brow.
The gears were turning inside his usually detached mind.
"You remember what Chris told us, right?"
Agi asked quietly, keeping his tone level.
Nagi's eyes shifted slightly, turning to meet Agi's gaze.
A small pause.
"To make plays with my ideas as the nucleus."
Nagi finally said, his voice steady.
Agi smiled faintly, nodding.
"Correct… But now—"
His voice grew sharper.
"Add your ideas to this field."
Without another word, Agi nudged the ball forward with a crisp touch—starting the kickoff.
The game was back on.
"Yeah."
Nagi's simple reply was calm—but electric.
He surged forward with the ball, his feet light, his body balanced, but his mind was sharpening into something different now.
His usual instinct-driven genius wasn't enough anymore.
Not against Isagi Yoichi.
As Nagi accelerated, his mind locked in:
'Beat him. I want to beat Isagi.'
As Nagi accelerated, slicing through the center, a flash of orange came crashing in—
Kunigami.
Kunigami lunged forward to steal, all power and aggression, his presence closing fast.
But Nagi had seen it.
The outside of his right foot met the ball with a casual flick, sending it skipping sideways to his right—
—toward Agi.
"Keep it up, Seishiro."
Agi muttered under his breath, already in motion as the ball kissed his feet.
He didn't slow.
But before Agi could fully adjust—
A blur of golden hair and firestorm energy charged toward him, eyes locked with cold intensity.
Kaiser.
Except… something was off.
Agi saw it immediately.
The rhythm wasn't right.
Kaiser's movements weren't the cold, precise chess moves he was known for.
'He's forcing it.'
A pulse of frustration, buried rage — the aftershock of watching Isagi take control.
Kaiser wasn't calculating.
He was hunting.
And Agi wouldn't give him the chance.
Without hesitation, Agi planted his heel, snapping off a swift backheel pass—
The ball slipped away from Kaiser's closing legs, rolling directly into the path of Reo.
Reo received the ball, his eyes already scanning ahead as the tactical map unfolded in his mind.
The world around him began to unfold—not in fragments, but as one connected web.
Agi, already surging ahead, slipping past Kaiser's failed interception.
Nagi, drifting diagonally into the right channel, smoothly bypassing Kunigami's initial pressure.
Isagi, deeper back, shadowing Agi's path, closing the angle, his presence looming with intent.
Kurona, almost invisible to the untrained eye, was already sliding forward—not reacting defensively, but preparing, trusting in Isagi's orchestration.
The information flooded into Reo's mind.
And as the data flowed, excitement surged through him.
'I felt it earlier… when I blocked Kaiser's shot.
That instant instinct.
But this time… I can harness it.'
He wasn't reacting blindly now—he was consciously riding that wave of expanded perception.
The field before him wasn't chaotic.
It was alive.
'So this is how you see it, Isagi.
This is your domain…'
Reo's breathing deepened as his grin widened.
But he quickly snapped out of that momentary admiration.
The field was alive—breathing—he couldn't afford to get lost in thought.
His eyes locked ahead.
The decision tree branched rapidly inside his mind as he accelerated forward.
He drove harder, his steps pounding into the pitch with growing force as his body pushed to peak rhythm.
The Chameleon changed colors again.
Reo began replicating Isagi's style with unnerving precision—
The tight control. The sharp, economical touches. The seamless fusion of movement and calculation.
He wasn't just moving fast.
He was moving correctly.
The way Isagi Yoichi does.
Most dribblers lose fractions of their speed when controlling the ball — 80%, maybe 90% at best.
But Isagi?
Isagi defies that rule, reaching full velocity while keeping the ball magnetized to his feet—no wasted steps, no awkward touches, just pure efficiency.
Now, Reo was brushing up against that threshold.
His top speed didn't magically increase, but his control—that was different.
95%.
Every stride was fused with balance, keeping the ball locked into his rhythm as though dribbling was merely an extension of his sprint.
As he surged forward, Reo subtly shifted his angle—sliding toward the right.
It was to evade the approaching press from his left by Kunigami.
Kunigami immediately matched him, reading the shift, closing in hard to cut off the route.
The gap between them narrowed.
Kunigami's stride thundered alongside him, his long legs eating the ground as he locked eyes with Reo's movements.
However—
The Chameleon's colors shifted again.
Reo dipped his left shoulder slightly to sell the feint.
His plant foot stabbed the ground.
With precision, his right foot whipped behind his standing leg—an audacious Rabona Nutmeg aimed at Kunigami's advancing legs.
The ball slid like liquid, slipping cleanly between Kunigami's legs before he could react.
Kunigami's eyes shot wide as his momentum carried him past, his foot stabbing down onto empty space.
'Shit…!!'
By the time Kunigami twisted around, Reo was already accelerating again—fluid, balanced, and surging forward with a grin stitched to his face.
He had just replicated Sae's elegance.
He had weaponized Isagi's control.
And now, he was creating something that felt entirely his own.
For the past ten days leading up to this match, Reo Mikage hadn't just been training.
He had been constructing himself.
Under Chris Prince's sharp guidance, Reo had chased not simply improvement—but Transcendence.
His desire burned clear:
No longer to chase after anyone.
No longer to follow in the shadows of others.
To become the world's best on his own.
With his copy-based talent, Reo had already accumulated an enormous reservoir of techniques.
But to make the best of his plays, Reo chose to follow a play style, and the best play style he could come up with was the combination of Sae and Rin Itoshi, and Isagi Yoichi.
And so Reo made his decision.
He would build his evolution around the synthesis of these three monsters.
Chris Prince did more than just guide him—he designed a personalized regimen, breaking down Reo's physical data to determine what kind of body he would need to sustain such a hybrid playstyle.
Reo Mikage didn't simply copy anymore.
He was forging a body that could execute these skills instinctively.
And for that evolution, he had chosen the best master possible in the NEL.
Chris Prince.
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