"Yoichi…? You…?"
The words escaped Kaiser in a low, disbelieving whisper, almost strangled in his throat.
He stood beside Isagi, his left hand resting firmly on the other's shoulder—yet even that anchor began to falter. The fingers loosened, the pressure fading away as if the very strength in his arm had been siphoned out by what he had just witnessed.
Isagi slowly turned his neck, his eyes finding Kaiser's face.
The expression staring back at him was a tangled storm—shock frozen in place, frustration boiling underneath, and hatred burning through every narrowed line of his gaze.
"That move is amazing, Kaiser."
Isagi's voice cut through the air, his tone neither mocking nor soft, but heavy with the satisfaction of a personal triumph.
He didn't avert his gaze—he held it, letting Kaiser feel the weight of every word, a smile of victory resting on his face like a crown that had just been claimed.
"It actually took me some effort to master it."
With that, Isagi stepped forward, his stride deliberate, brushing past Kaiser without a backward glance. The moment left behind a volatile, concentrated mass of fury—an almost physical presence of frustration that seemed to cling to the space Kaiser occupied.
Kaiser didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
The weight of humiliation sat on him like iron, and the longer he stood there, the heavier it became.
"K–Kaiser, wh–what do we do? How did he—"
Ness's voice came in hurried gasps as he ran toward his Emperor, panic lacing each syllable. But before the words could finish forming—
"AHHHHHHHHH!!!"
A scream tore from Kaiser's throat, raw and feral, his head dropping low as the sound reverberated across the pitch. It wasn't the calculated, regal composure he was known for—it was a roar born from something far more primal.
"K–Kaiser…"
Ness's steps slowed to a halt, his breath catching.
His eyes locked onto the sight before him—a man who had always stood untouchable, unshaken, now visibly fracturing.
It wasn't just anger. It was a breaking point.
Kaiser stood there, trembling ever so slightly, consumed entirely by rage.
"Haha… This is already heating up, huh…"
Chris Prince's voice carried a light, almost amused tone as he stepped fully onto the pitch, the green beneath his cleats freshly kissed by his entrance. The roar of the stadium still echoed faintly with the remnants of Kaiser's scream, a raw, jagged sound that seemed to cut straight into the tension hanging over the match. Chris, however, treated it like background music—another note in the theatrical score about to unfold.
"Shall we begin the main drama for the people…"
His lips curved into a knowing grin as he turned his attention toward the Bastard München bench. His eyes narrowed, seeking out one specific figure—the one seated in the Master's chair.
"…Noa?"
Their gazes met, locking like two champions stepping into a silent arena only they could see. Chris's grin sharpened. This was exactly what he wanted: a chance to win in the narrow five-minute window his substitution allowed, and to do so against Noel Noa. Not just to beat him—but to do it while also testing the skills of the newest rising presence in football—Isagi Yoichi.
Chris didn't look away. His gaze was unblinking, deliberate, almost taunting.
"Hmm… hmm?"
The sound was low, a mock-polite invitation for Noa to stand.
But then—
Noa's eyes shifted. His head turned ever so slightly… and he looked away.
"Eh?"
Chris's brow rose, his voice catching slightly with genuine surprise.
Noa stood from his seat without looking back at Chris, his long strides carrying him toward the sideline. And then his voice, steady and commanding, rolled over the Bastard München bench:
"It's time for a player swap."
Every player's head turned instantly, their focus snapping to their master.
"Yukimiya Kenyu,"
Noa began, his tone sharp, precise, cutting straight to the point,
"You've interrupted three offenses."
His gaze didn't soften.
"At the same time… you abandoned your position, which led to a goal as well."
Yukimiya, already weighed down by his missed opportunity, looked back at Noa with desperate eyes, searching for even the smallest lifeline.
"You're benched, Yukimiya Kenyu."
The sentence landed like a gavel hitting the block—final, undeniable. Yukimiya's chest tightened, his breath caught in his throat. The pitch seemed to shrink around him as the reality of his replacement sank in.
Yukimiya's lips trembled, but no words came out. His chance, his efforts, his story—everything he had fought for—vanished in that single moment. It was over before the world could ever see it. All of it ended quietly, not on the grand stage he had dreamed of, but buried deep inside him, unseen by anyone but himself.
"Since the plays around Isagi are working well…"
Noa's voice cut through, steady and decisive. He turned his neck slightly, his sharp gaze shifting toward the bench behind him.
"…you'll be going in, Hiori Yo."
Hiori, who had been sitting quietly, felt his chest tighten for a brief moment. The words reached him like a sudden spark. In an instant, he was on his feet, the bench creaking as he pushed himself up. His jacket came off in one swift motion, the fabric flaring briefly in the air before being tossed aside. His eyes were already locked on the field ahead, the weight of Noa's command burning in his mind.
"Yes, sir!" he replied, voice firm but brimming with restrained excitement, his pulse already syncing to the rhythm of the game he was about to enter.
"Wait, wait… Why's he getting to play? My rank is higher than him!"
Raichi shot up from the bench, his voice carrying over the sideline noise. His eyes were fixed on Noa's back, frustration bleeding through every word. His fists were clenched at his sides, the sting of being overlooked hitting harder than he expected.
Noa didn't so much as pause to glance over his shoulder. His answer came swift and unhesitating, slicing through Raichi's protest.
"As I've said, our Isagi-central tactics have been working since the start of the NEL. To make them even stronger, I'm sending in the one who can coordinate with Isagi Yoichi."
The reasoning was ironclad, the tone absolute. And the truth of it was undeniable. From the very first whistle of the Neo Egoist League, every offensive current in Bastard München had flowed toward Isagi. Every pass, every shift in formation, every break in the opponent's line—Isagi had been the axis turning the entire machine.
And now, with that last goal, the balance of power had been carved in stone. The team's hierarchy, once debated, was no longer in question. Noa's words weren't just a tactical decision—they were an open declaration. Isagi Yoichi stood at the center of it all.
It had been evident long before this moment, but now, with this substitution, Noa himself had made it official.
"Wait… then who are you switching in for, Noa?"
Neru rose from his seat, brows furrowed, his voice cutting through the tension on the bench. The question wasn't just curiosity—it carried the uneasy weight of everyone wondering who among the starting 11 would be benched next.
Noa didn't answer immediately. His gaze stayed fixed ahead, his head turning only slightly as his eyes locked onto a single figure on the field.
Isagi Yoichi.
For a moment, the world seemed to shrink to that line of sight between them. Noa's sharp, unreadable expression met Isagi's keen, searching eyes. No words passed, but meaning surged in the silence.
Then, realization flickered in Isagi's gaze. A slow, knowing grin began to curl across his lips.
He knew exactly what Noa was doing.
The memory came unbidden, sharp and clear: ten days ago, when Noa had summoned him for a private talk.
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10 Days AgoBastard München — Master's Room
"…So, why'd you call me here?"
Isagi stood in the center of the dimly lit room, his voice steady but laced with curiosity.
Across from him, Noel Noa sat in a sleek black chair, his back turned, broad shoulders squared toward a wall of screens. The legendary forward didn't look up immediately. His hands rested loosely on the armrests, his focus entirely on the silent, looping footage before him.
"I've reviewed the last match against FC Barcha."
Noa said without looking back, his tone cool and even.
Then, after a brief pause, he turned in his chair until his sharp, unreadable gaze locked onto Isagi.
"…Can you put into words what you were visualizing during that game?"
The screens behind him shifted, playing footage from the match. Isagi's movements filled the wall in crisp, frozen sequences—his sudden bursts into space, the subtle angles of his runs, the calculated solo drives toward goal. Each clip froze at the exact moment before impact, as if dissecting not the action, but the thought behind it.
Isagi's brows lifted slightly. Of all the people he expected to call him in for a one-on-one, Noa was at the bottom of that list. The legendary forward rarely spoke unless it was to the whole team. Tactical, often distant—Noa wasn't one for casual interest.
And yet here he was—studying Isagi's plays.
For a moment, Isagi didn't answer. Instead, he let the surprise settle in his chest—then a faint smile tugged at the edge of his lips.
He crossed the room slowly, eyes scanning the screens, and stopped beside a lone chair by the wall.
He grabbed it by the backrest and dragged it across the floor with a dull scrape until it faced Noa directly. Then he sat, leaning forward slightly, elbows on his knees.
"…How about this instead..."
Isagi said, voice calm but sharp.
"...What exactly are you curious about, Noa?"
He held his gaze. Not as a student asking a teacher, but as a challenger seeking clarity.
Noa stared at him for a moment, expression unreadable, as though weighing the weight of the question itself. Then, finally, he spoke—cold, and brutally direct.
"I've got no interest in your childish, scaredy-cat plays."
His voice was dry.
"It was on request that we're having this conversation.
Now, answer."
He raised the coffee to his lips, sipping slowly, never once breaking eye contact.
Isagi's faint smile faded.
"…Is that right?"
He leaned back slightly, the light from the screens washing his face in shifting hues. His voice dropped, quieter now—but not weaker. Just sharper.
"Well then... what I visualized was asserting dominance."
Flat. Honest.
"I wanted to own the field. No matter how many were on it."
His eyes narrowed slightly, now mirroring the unreadable mask worn by Noa himself.
Isagi let out a slow breath, as if shedding whatever trace of him still cared about earning the man's approval.
Then, with a shift in his tone—cool, resolved—he added:
"…That's it."
For a second, neither of them spoke.
It wasn't a player reporting to a coach anymore.
It was a striker stating his intent.
"Then..."
Noa's voice cut through the stillness like the click of a lock.
"...what do you visualize against me?"
The question dropped like a weight in the room.
"Do you still visualize the same dominance?"
No emphasis. No raised tone. But the pressure behind it was unmistakable, like a deep current pulling at the floor beneath their feet.
Something in the room shifted. Not the temperature—but the weight. The air felt thicker, harder to breathe, as if the space itself was listening.
Noa's aura had changed.
His eyes, sharp as a hawk's mid-dive, locked onto Isagi with the kind of scrutiny that didn't just measure skill—it measured essence. Every unspoken truth in Isagi's chest was being dragged into the open under that stare.
The gap between them, vast as an ocean—experience, legacy, the sheer gravity of what Noa represented—came into sharp, almost suffocating focus.
But Isagi didn't blink.
He leaned forward just slightly, meeting that weight with a calm smile that didn't waver.
Unfazed.
"Is that a challenge, Noa?"
His voice was light, but there was an edge beneath it. Not the kind of defiance that sought disrespect… just bold.
Noa responded immediately, his tone flat.
"Why? You scared?"
The reply was sharp. Blunt. Almost like a jab just to see if it would land.
Isagi let out a short laugh—dry, but not forced.
"Wow, Noa. Taunting?"
He said, tilting his head just a little.
"Didn't know you had it in you…"
His smile stayed light. Almost innocent, like he was teasing a senior in class. But underneath that surface tone—something else stirred.
"Are you that desperate to awaken Kaiser?"
The words landed like a sudden drop in pressure.
Noa's expression didn't shift—not visibly. But something cracked beneath the surface. A slight tension in the line of his jaw. The sharp stillness of someone caught off-guard but too composed to show it.
For the first time in the conversation, he didn't speak.
He just stared.
And across from him, Isagi kept smiling.
Then, slowly, he stood.
There was no rush in his movement—only that quiet, unmistakable air of someone who didn't need permission to walk away. He turned toward the door with a casual wave of his hand, shoulders relaxed.
"Sure,"
He said, his voice cool and sharp,
"I'll bully your golden boy…"
His steps echoed softly as he moved toward the exit, each one radiating an easy, undeniable confidence.
"…Just don't blame me if he ends up broken."
The sliding door hissed open in front of him. But just as he was about to cross through, he stopped.
Mid-stride.
Then, with a slow turn of his head, he glanced back over his shoulder.
"Oh—almost forgot."
His grin returned, sharper this time.
"You asked what I visualize against you, right?"
He let the question hang for a beat, just long enough.
"Well… there are multiple scenarios I can imagine..."
He said, each word deliberate, his back still turned.
"...where I beat you."
A quiet statement—but it thundered. A declaration made not with arrogance, but conviction. The kind of statement that didn't seek belief—only promised proof.
Then, like flipping a switch, Isagi turned his head with a smile.
"Anyway—good night, Noa."
And suddenly, the boy returned in his tone, cheerful and sweet like this hadn't just been a live grenade tossed into the room.
"Take a rest, yeah? That much caffeine might just kill ya."
He gave a wave, a motion light and harmless, mockingly harmless.
Then the sliding door whispered shut behind him.
And silence followed.
Noel Noa was left alone.
The greatest in the world.
Staring at the space where a challenger had just stood—and declared a war.
"It seems he is much more of a fool than you thought..."
Noa muttered as he kept his eyes at the door from which Isagi had just left.
"...Jinpachi."
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Present
"This is… such an arrogant display from Noel Noa!"
The commentator's voice crackled over the broadcast, carrying a mixture of disbelief and intrigue.
"Instead of stepping onto the field himself to face Chris Prince, he's sending in an unknown player!"
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the world as they witnessed this moment, the cameras tracking the unfolding drama. The focus shifted from Chris Prince's smug to the Bastard München sideline, where Hiori Yo had just been called forward.
As the weight of the silent exchange between Isagi and Noel Noa rippled across the pitch, every player—friend and foe—felt it. The air between them had been taut, almost electric, but Isagi was the one to break it first. A quiet laugh escaped his lips, low and knowing, before he turned away.
Without hesitation, he strode toward the center of the field, his steps steady, his posture loose yet brimming with intent. Every movement said the same thing:
I'm ready. Let's play.
"Huh? What's going on here?"
Chris Prince's voice rang out from the opposite side, his sharp eyes darting between the two. His grin faltered, tension seeping into his words as his brows pulled tight.
"Hey! Noa! You don't seriously mean… you won't be joining the play, right? Right?"
When Noa didn't answer, Chris's composure cracked. He jabbed an accusing finger across the pitch.
"Are you mocking me, Noa?!"
But then Chris inhaled slowly, shoulders dropping as the raw edge in his tone vanished. What replaced it was a colder, far more dangerous cadence.
To him, it was absurd. Laughable. Noa couldn't possibly believe that Isagi Yoichi—no matter how he had dazzled against Lavinho in their last match—was anywhere near his level.
Chris's gaze sharpened further, waiting for the inevitable rebuttal. But Noel Noa didn't so much as flinch.
Instead, the master of Bastard München turned away. His stride was unhurried as he walked back toward the bench, his broad frame moving with the calm weight of someone who didn't need to explain himself.
He sat down, crossing one leg over the other, his eyes fixed forward.
Decision made. No retreat.
And that, more than anything he could have said, poured fuel straight into the fire burning inside Chris Prince.
Chris stood frozen for a moment, the reality of Noel Noa's choice sinking in. The master of Bastard München had made his decision clear—he would not step onto the pitch himself.
A quiet exhale escaped Chris, his lips curling into a faint smirk that didn't reach his eyes.
"You'll regret this, Noa."
He said, voice low—but carrying a razor's edge of promise.
Without waiting for a reply, he turned sharply on his heel, striding toward the center circle. Each step shed the stillness from his body, the predator's focus replacing the flash of surprise he'd felt moments ago.
"Manshine City!"
He called out, his voice ringing with the vibrant energy of a showman addressing his audience.
"Let's win this!"
The words were bright, buoyant—made to rally his team and charm the crowd. But behind that public mask, his thoughts sharpened to a single point.
His eyes flicked toward Isagi Yoichi, catching the younger player mid-conversation with the fresh arrival, Hiori Yo. That brief contact between them was enough for Chris to understand the message Noa had sent.
And it infuriated him.
Isagi had already stolen his chance to create his defining moment against Noel Noa—a moment Chris had been anticipating since the opening whistle. That chance was gone, ripped away, and now the focus had shifted entirely to Bastard München's "new blood."
Chris's smile remained in place, dazzling for the cameras, but his gaze… his gaze turned cold and heavy, trained directly on Isagi.
He didn't just plan to beat him.
He planned to make him regreteverything.
To crush not just his performance, but his spirit—piece by piece.
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