"OHHH MY GODD! It's just one thing after the other with this kid!"
The commentator's voice cracked at the peak of his pitch, excitement and disbelief tangling together.
Even from the booth, it felt impossible to keep up with what was unfolding.
"He pulls off another miracle!!! How is that jump even possible?!"
The second commentator jumped in, nearly talking over him, replay screens already flashing the impossible sequence — the violent plant, the twisted mid-air adjustment, the left-foot interception that should never have connected.
Crowd noise swelled again, not in steady cheers but in chaotic bursts — people standing, hands on heads, mouths open, trying to process what they had just witnessed on their screens.
"This kid really lives up to his bold words from that interview! Proving that he meant every single word he spoke!!"
The first commentator returned, voice filled with awe now rather than simple hype.
This was a statement backed by action — a player who had publicly declared himself, now forcing the world to accept it.
Down on the field, defenders were still turning.
Masters were recalculating.
And at the center of it all, Isagi continued forward, the echoes of the commentary trailing behind him.
His run didn't slow.
If anything, it sharpened.
With Ubers having committed so brutally to the offense, the field had inverted — the space behind them now stretched open and fragile.
And with Isagi leading the charge, and Noa shadowing the play just behind him, that vulnerability wasn't theoretical anymore.
It was immediate.
'Dammit!! It's all falling apart!'
Aiku's jaw tightened as he watched Isagi blaze towards the midfield line at terrifying speed.
The tempo wasn't frantic.
It was controlled.
That was worse.
'Even with Snuffy here… it's all going down!! We don't have a single design for this situation!!!'
The panic wasn't irrational.
It wasn't even purely emotional.
Because structurally, this scenario shouldn't have been catastrophic.
Even in Berserker Formation, safeguards existed.
The wing-backs were already sprinting back from the flanks.
The left and right midfielders were collapsing inward, narrowing angles.
Snuffy himself was accelerating to catch up, even with Noa subtly obstructing him.
There were still pieces on the board.
And even now, there existed a theoretical solution — a way to bait Isagi into his habitual patterns, manipulate his decision-making, suffocate his preferred angles, and flip the counter back onto Bastard München.
They had studied him.
Mapped him.
Broken down his habits.
But—
That entire framework depended on one crucial assumption:
That Isagi would behave like Isagi.
And the one sprinting toward them now…
Wasn't.
The serene smile on his face made it worse.
It wasn't arrogance.
It was calm.
A quiet, glowing calm that made him look almost untouchable — like he wasn't forcing the game forward, but simply moving in alignment with it.
Not the arrogant Isagi from the start of the match — the one who had allowed Ubers to finish building their defense before marching into it to establish his dominance.
This was different.
That version dissected structures.
This one ignored them.
Aiku felt it in his spine.
The Isagi who began the match… and the one charging toward them now…
Weren't the same person.
A strange uneasiness spread across Ubers.
And the one most shaken by it was Snuffy.
Because the sight of Isagi like this — serene, glowing, unbound — reminded him of something else.
A philosophy.
Words he hadn't thought about in a long time began to vibrate faintly through his mind, distant yet intrusive.
And before he realized it, a smile began to form on his face.
"What a shitty brat…"
The words left him low, almost fond — but edged with tension.
Ahead, Isagi continued his run.
From the right, Niko closed in.
"That was really close..."
He muttered as he slid into Isagi's path, adjusting his body angle perfectly, keeping just enough distance to avoid being blown past instantly while still cutting off the central lane.
Unlike Snuffy, who had been behind the play and forced to pivot after the interception, Niko had a clearer view of everything unfolding.
He had seen Isagi going for Snuffy's blind-spot.
He had seen the acceleration.
And he had reacted first.
Even if he had miscalculated earlier — underestimating Snuffy's foresight in that exchange — his choice to believe that Isagi would steal the ball was right.
Now his role was simple.
Hold him.
Just stall.
Buy seconds.
Enough for the formation to reassemble.
Isagi approached without hesitation.
Niko braced, sliding backward in controlled steps, eyes locked on the ball, ready to adjust the moment Isagi shifted his weight.
But Isagi didn't shift.
He maintained his stride — straight, unwavering — as if Niko wasn't even there.
And then—
With a casual, almost disrespectful motion, Isagi let the ball roll forward and between Niko's legs.
A clean nutmeg.
"Urgh..."
Niko's eyes widened for a second as the ball slipped through, his body twisting to recover, trying to block Isagi's path with his frame.
But Isagi was already moving.
His acceleration carried him past Niko's shoulder before the defender could fully turn, the gap widening instantly.
From both flanks, the reaction came fast.
Drago from the right.
Perone from the left.
Both collapsed inward toward the center lane, narrowing the corridor around Isagi as he surged forward.
One closing the angle from the outside, the other compressing from the inside, aiming to sandwich him before he could reach the final third.
Perone arrived first.
Quicker off the mark, he lunged in from Isagi's left, acceleration peaking as he tried to cut off the lane entirely.
Isagi didn't slow.
With a sharp snap of his right foot, he executed a precise V-cut, dragging the ball diagonally back and across his body.
Perone's momentum betrayed him instantly — his acceleration carrying him past the original line, his weight unable to shift in time.
Isagi pivoted with the cut, slipping left behind Perone's shoulder, reclaiming the ball in the same fluid motion.
No pause.
Drago was already there.
Closing fast from the other side, adjusting to compensate for Perone's overshoot.
However Isagi met him the same way.
Another V-cut — this time with his left foot.
The ball snapped behind Drago's line just as the defender lunged forward, again weaponizing the defender's own speed against him.
Drago's burst became his undoing, his forward drive creating the very gap Isagi needed.
In one seamless sequence, Isagi exploded between them.
Rushing through the collapsing space before it could seal.
Perone turning too late.
Drago pivoting half a second behind.
And just like that, Isagi emerged on the other side — back in the central lane, stride re-established, acceleration unbroken.
"We couldn't even slow him down…"
Drago's voice came out strained, half swallowed by the wind cutting past his ears as he forced his legs to keep moving.
He was still chasing — still trying — but even as he sprinted, something inside him already knew the truth.
In this moment… it felt hopeless.
"He's on another level…"
Perone muttered beside him, breath sharp, frustration tightening his chest as the distance between them and Isagi refused to close the way it should have.
They had collapsed correctly.
Timed their convergence.
And executed the defensive trap as designed.
And yet—
They had been turned into stepping stones.
A faint sense of defeat began settling over them.
Then—
A voice cut through the air behind them.
"Did he overwhelm you enough... to make you forget my words?"
Both Drago and Perone instinctively turned their heads while still running, confused by how close that voice suddenly was.
And then they saw him.
A figure accelerating between them, straight through the gap their failed press had created.
"…If you do what I say, and still fail…"
The man ran past them, slipping cleanly through the space.
"…Then I'll be the one taking responsibility."
Marc Snuffy.
He moved ahead of them without looking back, eyes fixed forward — locked onto Isagi.
There was no panic in his expression.
Only clarity.
If his players had followed the design and still been overwhelmed—
Then the burden shifted upward.
Not onto them.
Onto him.
As Snuffy surged forward, the gap between master and prodigy began to shrink.
'Huh? What's Snuffy doing over there?'
Hiori thought as he sprinted down the right mid-field, ready to offer an outlet if Isagi needed it.
Something felt off.
'Wasn't Noa man-marking hi—?'
He turned his head slightly mid-stride, just enough to catch the broader picture.
And the answer hit immediately.
Lorenzo.
He had stayed back.
Instead of pushing forward with the rest of his team to defend, Lorenzo had shifted roles entirely — running side-by-side with Noa, sticking to him tightly, body aligned, stride matched.
Simply containing.
Noa wasn't free.
He was being neutralized.
Which meant—
Snuffy was free to hunt.
Hiori's eyes sharpened as he snapped his focus forward again and continued his run, understanding the shift instantly.
Behind Isagi, the distance closed fast.
Snuffy's acceleration wasn't explosive in the chaotic sense — it was controlled, world-class efficiency.
Every step ate ground with ruthless economy.
And then—
Contact.
Snuffy's shoulder drove into Isagi's from the side.
A calculated body check.
Enough to test balance.
"Caught you, shitty brat!"
Snuffy grinned as he pressed into him, voice edged with challenge.
Even with the insane burst Isagi had shown… even with the trance-state flow—
His overall top speed wasn't higher than Snuffy's.
That difference mattered.
Snuffy leaned harder, applying pressure as they ran shoulder-to-shoulder, attempting to tilt Isagi off his center line and reclaim control of the counter.
The chase had ended.
Now it was a duel at full sprint.
"…st in the world…"
At first, Snuffy thought he misheard it.
Their breathing was heavier.
Boots were scraping violently against the turf.
He had expected a reaction to his taunt.
Some sharp retort.
Some fire.
Instead—
Just a murmur.
While sprinting, Snuffy kept his left hand pressed against Isagi's chest, using the contact to stabilize himself, to control the line of their run.
Though it didn't help much.
To even stay shoulder-to-shoulder with Isagi, Snuffy had to remain at his absolute top speed.
That alone was unsettling.
He turned his head slightly to look at Isagi's face.
And something tightened in his chest.
'Something's wrong.'
The thought arrived without hesitation.
"…g the best in the world…"
Isagi mumbled again.
The words were fragmented.
Disconnected from the present moment.
And then—
Without warning—
Isagi dragged the ball back under his sole.
A sudden stop.
Violent in its abruptness.
Snuffy was forced to decelerate instantly, boots biting into the turf as he pivoted sharply to block Isagi's path, positioning himself between him and the goal.
The forward momentum died in a split second.
The field shifted around them.
'Something's wrong.'
The thought echoed louder this time.
Snuffy stared directly at Isagi's face now.
That serene expression hadn't cracked.
Hadn't even reacted to the physical duel at full sprint.
Behind them—
"Don't stop, you idiot! They haven't caught up yet! Attack! Attack! ATTACK!!"
Raichi's voice ripped across the field, raw and furious.
From his perspective, this made no sense.
The counter window was still alive.
Stopping now was madness.
"Visualize being the Best in the World…"
Isagi mumbled it again.
This time, the words were clearer.
Not loud.
But deliberate.
Snuffy heard it.
And his eyes widened slightly.
That was a mantra.
A self-induced trigger.
Isagi moved at the exact same moment the words left his mouth.
His foot slipped under the ball and flicked it upward, lifting it sharply between them — suspending it in the narrow space separating master and prodigy.
The crowd inhaled.
"Here it comes! Isagi challenges Marc Snuffy for a duel!"
The commentator's voice cracked with excitement as the two squared up beneath the rising ball.
Snuffy's lips curved faintly, relief settling over him.
'Nah… this is good.'
If Isagi wanted a direct contest, then so be it.
"You're still the same, shitty brat!"
Snuffy burst forward toward the dropping ball, acceleration immediate, confident that experience would close this exchange.
But—
Just before he could plant and claim it—
Isagi's foot arrived first.
Again.
"Visualize being the Best in the World…"
The mantra repeated under his breath as the tip of his boot reached above the descending ball.
Then—
In one brutal, controlled motion—
He slammed it downward.
The impact sent the ball skipping low, sharp, and perfectly angled—
Right between Snuffy's open legs.
A clean nutmeg.
No hesitation.
Just execution born from absolute conviction.
And in that exact same heartbeat, Isagi exploded forward.
His acceleration detonated again, body already leaning past Snuffy's frame before the master could fully react.
Snuffy's arm shot out instinctively, trying to catch Isagi's shoulder, trying to stall him—
But his hand caught nothing but air.
The gap had already formed.
Isagi had created enough distance in a single burst to make recovery nearly impossible.
By the time Snuffy turned—
Isagi was already ahead.
The ball rolled back under his control — and in the very next breath, he flicked it upward again.
A soft, rising touch.
And that was when Barou arrived.
He came crashing in from the right like a charging beast, timing his interception perfectly, body coiled to tear the ball away the instant it dropped.
"Argh—!"
A low growl ripped from Barou's throat as he lunged forward, ready to crush the play.
But Isagi had already moved.
The rainbow flick was a pre-emptive move.
Before Barou's boot could reach the ball, Isagi's foot send it arcing above Barou's line of attack, the ball gliding beyond his immediate control.
Barou's plan disintegrated mid-motion.
The design meant to stop Isagi — layered, collapsing, aggressive — was being unraveled piece by piece.
Barou even defied those designs to stop Isagi.
And even then Isagi wasn't struggling.
He was maneuvering through it.
Barou didn't give up.
He stuck close immediately, pivoting and accelerating alongside Isagi as the ball descended ahead of them.
The loose ball bounced forward near the last defensive line.
Aryu reacted instantly.
Tall frame surging forward, he stepped up from the back line to compete for it, using his reach and stride to close the distance.
Barou pressed shoulder-to-shoulder with Isagi, attempting to slow him down through contact, trying to disrupt his rhythm before the final touch.
Aryu advanced head-on, long legs cutting the space down rapidly.
The ball dropped between them.
And just as all three reached it—
Isagi reacted first.
With the simplest of movements.
A small nudge with his right foot.
He pushed the ball slightly to the left.
Barou and Aryu, both committed to the same line, nearly collided into each other as their paths intersected — their momentum betraying them for a split second.
And in that sliver of chaos—
Isagi slipped through.
Again.
As he broke free from the near-collision behind him and accelerated toward the ball again.
For a fraction of a second, he was alone.
As he closed the final steps, his posture shifted slightly — subtle, almost imperceptible.
Then—
His left hand shot backward.
"Oomph—!"
The sound burst out from behind him as his forearm collided with an incoming body, halting the approaching foot that had been about to stab at the ball.
It was Kaiser.
He had surged in from Isagi's blind side, timing the steal perfectly — at least, he thought he had.
Kaiser stared at the back of Isagi's head in disbelief and irritation, teeth grinding.
'How!? How the hell did he see me coming!?'
Isagi hadn't turned his head.
Hadn't checked over his shoulder.
Hadn't given any visible sign of awareness.
And yet—
He had stopped him.
It was the same feeling Barou had experienced moments ago — that sickening realization of being anticipated without acknowledgment.
Isagi slowly turned his head.
Just enough for his gaze to meet Kaiser's.
His expression hadn't changed.
That calm smile still lingered faintly.
His body adjusted fluidly — left arm extended to keep Kaiser at bay, creating just enough space — while his left foot drew back, setting into position.
"You're the reason… why I can see so clearly… Kaiser."
The words were steady.
Kaiser's eyes narrowed.
Isagi's gaze held him there for half a heartbeat longer.
"To show my gratitude… I've saved the best seat for you."
Isagi's head snapped forward again.
Focus locked ahead.
The duel was over.
And whatever he was about to do—
Kaiser was going to have the perfect view.
In the same instant Isagi's focus snapped forward—
They all collapsed.
Aryu and Barou surged in from the right, boots pounding the turf in synchronized desperation.
From the back line, Aiku took one step backward, eyes narrowing as he tried to pre-read the shooting lane before it even formed.
To his sides, Abdi and Rikko folded inward, compressing the space like closing jaws.
Behind Isagi, Niko, Perone, and Drago were sprinting back into frame.
Eight bodies.
All converging onto one point.
All to stop Isagi.
The corridor vanished.
Angles sealed.
Shooting lanes erasing by sheer density.
And yet—
Isagi didn't hesitate.
His left foot, already drawn back, surged forward with terrifying speed.
The instant his boot connected, the sound cracked through the air.
BOOM!
Cyclone Cannon!
The ball exploded off his foot like a shockwave tearing upward from the turf, ripping through the narrowest seam before the defenders could fully close it.
It lifted sharply toward the right.
The sphere tore forward with horrifying force, spinning so fast the air around it distorted — spiraling, tightening, coiling into visible currents that made it look less like a ball and more like a miniature cyclone screaming toward its destination.
Aryu's leg froze mid-extension.
Barou's teeth clenched.
Aiku's eyes tracked it instantly, recalculating at breakneck speed.
It tore through them before anyone could truly react.
The vortex shot ripped between converging legs and outstretched boots, the shockwave of its spin seeming to shove the air aside as it advanced.
Jerseys snapped in its wake.
Turf shivered beneath desperate pivots.
Aiku planted his foot and launched.
He rose with perfect timing, neck tensing, eyes locked onto the spinning cyclone as he angled his forehead to intercept it.
But the ball had already slipped past his reach.
Just beyond the crown of his jump.
Just outside his calculation.
'It can't be…'
The thought flashed through Aiku's mind as gravity began pulling him down.
From the right side of the goalmouth, Snuffy arrived at full speed. He had sprinted across the line from the right, reading the arc, repositioning himself near the post to cut off the final angle.
He leapt.
Foot extended.
For a fraction of a second, it looked possible.
But Snuffy's boot sliced through empty air, arriving a heartbeat too late as the spinning sphere slipped past the outer edge of his reach.
'Did he seriously… calculate all of this…?'
Snuffy's eyes shifted from the ball — which was already beyond him — to Isagi.
And Isagi was smiling.
Soft.
Lips moving.
Snuffy couldn't hear the words over the roars from the bench swelling through the stadium.
But he didn't need to.
The expression said it clearly.
"I'm the Best... in the World."
The mantra had completed itself.
And in that instant, another voice echoed inside Snuffy's memory — overlapping with the sight of Isagi's face, blending past and present into one unbearable clarity.
'Listen, Snuffy… I'll give you a piece of advice!'
The words reverberated.
From somewhere older.
'No matter the era, the ones who breathe new life into the world…'
Isagi's smile widened as the ball continued its unstoppable flight.
'Aren't the wise adults who do things the "right way"!'
The vortex neared the post.
'Inventions! Revolutions!'
Snuffy's chest tightened.
The resemblance was undeniable now.
'Any kind of innovation begins…'
The net loomed.
'With the nonsense spouted…'
The spin didn't falter.
Didn't weaken.
'By shitty brats.'
And as those words reverberated through his mind, overlapping past and present, memory and reality—
Snuffy, for the first time, truly believed them.
Because what he had just witnessed wasn't theory.
Wasn't philosophy.
It was a physical manifestation of those words.
A reckless, impossible, innovative act carved into the air by a boy who refused to obey structure.
The cyclone completed its destined arc.
And then—
It struck.
The ball smashed into the top right corner, snapping the net violently as it buried itself deep inside.
For a split second—
Silence.
Then—
The stadium detonated.
Isagi threw his head back and screamed, raw and unfiltered, the sound tearing out of his lungs as his arm shot into the air.
Chills ran through him, electricity crawling along his spine as the image he had visualized became reality.
He didn't look calm anymore.
He looked alive.
Hiori crashed into him first, leaping onto his back with a wide, disbelieving grin, wrapping him in celebration as laughter and adrenaline collided.
The scoreboard flickered.
Bastard München 3 — 1 Ubers
From the bench, Naruhaya and Kurona stormed forward, unable to hold themselves back, joining the celebration as they piled onto Isagi.
Raichi came in next, yelling incoherently, fists clenched in triumph.
Gagamaru followed, arms wide, wrapping them all together in a chaotic knot of victory.
The roar became overwhelming.
In the booth—
"WH–WHAT A GOLDEN GOAL!!"
The commentator nearly lost his voice.
"HOW EXPLOSIVE!!"
The replay screens flashed the vortex strike again and again, each angle more unbelievable than the last.
"THE WINNING GOAL WAS SCORED… BY ISAGI YOICHI!!!"
On the field, beneath the stadium lights, surrounded by teammates and noise and shaking air—
Isagi Yoichi stood at the center of it all.
The brat.
The innovator.
The one who had visualized being the best in the world—
And for this moment—
Looked exactly like it.
.
.
.
.
.
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[A/N]: I feel like I should try becoming a poet someday...
Anyways, I hope this Chapter was enjoyable for all of you.