There were no flashy celebratory flourishes, no manic victory screams.
Every eye on the pitch was locked onto Yoru Ryoshu. He stood amidst the freezing waves of fear radiating from the other players, feeling the very atmosphere of the stadium shift to accommodate him. He savored it.
"Not bad, Isagi."
Nearby, Isagi Yoichi stood paralyzed. He had passed the ball instinctively. In any other world, it would have been a routine play, but in Blue Lock, it was a sin. Here, you play to score—and yet, standing right before the gates of glory, he had handed the final strike to someone else.
That heat... it feels like it's chasing me from behind. Am I afraid?
Am I afraid to shoot? Or am I afraid of the enemies in front of me?
Or... am I afraid of Yoru Ryoshu?
Suddenly, Raichi lunged forward, snatching Isagi by the collar. His face was a mask of volcanic rage. "Why didn't you pass to me?!"
"I was the closest one! I was right there!"
"If you're too scared to take the shot, why the hell are you even in the striker position? You bastard!"
Barou joined them, looming over Isagi with a look of pure, unadulterated disdain. "A rookie who stands before the goal and still chooses to trust his teammates... you won't last a week in here. You don't have the soul of a striker."
"I..." Isagi's expression was hollow. "I didn't want to pass... but my body just moved on its own..."
"Are you an idiot?!" Raichi roared.
Bachira stepped in, his gaze turning icy. "We scored, didn't we? Why are you barkin'? We aren't losing anymore—it's a tie."
Raichi let go of Isagi and tightened his fists, his voice low and dangerous. "Shut up, you kappa. Only the top scorer stays if we lose the round-robin. Can't you see it?"
"That Red-eyed Freak... he clearly wants everyone else to lose. He's only scoring to inflate his own record so he survives the purge while we rot!"
It was the ugly truth. If Aki continued to hog every goal, the rest of them would have zero points. Even if the team won, they would be safe—but if the team lost, only Aki would walk out alive.
That was the source of Raichi's fury. Why pass to an absolute egoist when you could pass to someone who might actually help the team? You might want to die, but I don't!
Hearing the derogatory nickname, Bachira laughed, though there was no humor in it. A deep chill settled in his eyes. "Then show us your 'strength.' If you want to score so badly, won't you eventually need Isagi to pass to you anyway?"
"The ball was at his feet. He passes to whoever he wants."
"Why must it be you? In my opinion, passing to Aki is a thousand times better than giving the ball to a loudmouth like you."
Raichi's temper flared, and he moved toward Bachira.
Kuon Wataru jumped between them immediately, his hands raised. "Stop! If we do this now, the whole team falls apart. We just equalized... let's not waste the momentum!"
On the edge of the pitch, Chigiri Hyoma watched the confrontation with detached, cold eyes. He had been playing the role of a background character, doing the "dirty work" with minimal presence. But he had watched the last play with absolute clarity.
Raichi was right about one thing: Isagi had a clear line of sight. He was closest to the goal. It was a massive opportunity. Yet, Isagi had passed—accurately, precisely—to Yoru Ryoshu, as if he had eyes in the back of his head.
Why? Chigiri wondered, rubbing his chin.
Kunigami was pondering the same thing. Everyone on the pitch who truly understood football had the same question: What was Isagi Yoichi thinking in that split second?
The whistle blew, signaling the end of the first half.
Team Z filed back into the locker room. The atmosphere was suffocating. The team had fractured into silent, bitter factions. Aki wiped the sweat from his neck, seemingly indifferent to the tension.
Finally, Kunigami broke the silence. "Yoru Ryoshu, what are you playing at? Do you really intend to just watch from the sidelines until the clock runs out?"
"Watch?" Aki's hand stopped. He turned his crimson gaze toward Kunigami. "If I were just 'watching,' are you saying these two goals appeared out of thin air?"
Kunigami choked on his words.
It was an undeniable fact. Both goals belonged to Aki. If it weren't for him, the team's morale would have already disintegrated into nothingness.
Aki's voice was calm, but his words were razors. "You're a bunch of slow-witted children who can't even wrap your heads around the basics of football."
"Have you still not grasped the rules of this game?"
"This is a world of egoism. If you want the right to stay... you must first learn to look up at the strong."
The locker room grew even colder.
Igarashi muttered under his breath, "Look up at the strong? Please... he just got lucky twice. If the ball came to me, I could—"
"No, you couldn't," Naruhama interrupted. "That ultra-long-range strike... in this room, only Iemon or Kunigami have that kind of leg power. You're dreaming."
The monk touched his head awkwardly, embarrassed at being overheard.
Kuon Wataru stood up. He looked directly at Aki. "If that's how it is... then I'm willing to play support for you. As long as you can keep us in the game, as long as I can stay here... I'll do it."
"I don't want to leave. I won't lose my future!"
As the team's strategist and sole tactical mind, Kuon was making a choice. He was discarding his pride as a striker, throwing away his cheap dignity just to survive.
Like Ego said, everyone here had a hidden ego. Beneath that ego were dreams, acting as the fuel for their ambition. But those dreams required them to stay in the building. If they were eliminated in the second trial, what was the point of dignity?
Kuon understood the exchange: Dignity for a Future. He would be a dog, a villain, or a piece of trash—it didn't matter. He was offering his heart to the Demon King in exchange for sanctuary.
Aki's mouth pulled into a wide, jagged grin. "Is that so?"
"It seems at least one of you understands the reality of the situation."
He looked around the room, his eyes scanning the remaining faces. "What about the rest of you?"