“Substitution!
Blue Lock, No.
21, Rin Kazuki, replacing Gagamaru Gin.”
As the cold voice of the electronic PA system echoed across the stadium, Kazuki stood at the sidelines.
He looked down and tugged at his tight goalkeeper gloves, feeling the skeptical gazes of tens of thousands of spectators washing over him like an ocean tide.
He was all too familiar with being stared at like this, but in the past, he received fear and reverence.
Now, it was nothing but ridicule and confusion.
“Hey, who is that guy?”
“Never seen him.
Since when did Blue Lock have someone like that?”
Hearing the faint murmurs drifting from the stands, Kazuki curled his lip, muttering to himself, *A bunch of casuals who don’t know football.*
He stepped into the penalty box and stood before the white goal line.
Spacious.
That was Kazuki’s first impression.
As a striker in the past, the goal always looked tiny in his eyes; every single inch of space required precise calculations to pierce through.
But now that he had turned around, with his back to the net and facing the entire pitch, it was a completely different feeling.
Right now, the atmosphere on the pitch for Blue Lock was tense to the absolute extreme.
Drenched in sweat, Isagi Yoichi let his eyes linger on Kazuki for half a second before quickly snapping them away.
There was no trust in that gaze, only deep apprehension.
*That…
Kazuki showed absolutely zero flash in the previous selections.
I even heard he only survived this far purely on luck.* Isagi gritted his teeth, his brain working at hyperspeed.
*We can’t rely on him.
If we let him face the U-20’s shots, it’s an absolute death sentence.*
He turned his head to look at Itoshi Rin nearby.
That stone-faced genius was currently glaring intently at Itoshi Sae across the pitch.
Their eyes clashed in midair, and though no words were exchanged, a certain consensus as “egoists” was instantly reached.
—Since the goalkeeper is the weak link, don’t give him a single chance to touch the ball.
—The best defense is a great offense.
As long as we keep the ball under our control, and as long as we score more than the other side, it doesn’t matter who that dead-weight keeper is!
“Rin!” Isagi barked.
The match restarted.
Blue Lock’s kickoff.
The football rolled instantly.
Just as Isagi had envisioned, Blue Lock’s offensive drive this time was more ferocious than ever before.
“Move it!” Itoshi Rin drove forward with the ball, his movements sharp and brimming with murderous intent.
He bypassed the midfield passing entirely, piercing straight into the heart of the U-20 like a sharp dagger.
Isagi followed close behind, using his spatial awareness to sniff out even the slightest gap Rin left behind: *Use Rin to draw away the defense, and I’ll devour every opportunity!*
The frontline of Blue Lock instantly transformed into the eye of a storm.
Nagi Seishiro, Bachira Meguru, Karasu Tabito…
everyone surged past the halfway line like madmen, to the point where even the defensive line pushed up near the center circle.
This reckless style of play actually threw a momentary wave of panic into the U-20’s defense.
“Oh?
Pretty energetic, aren’t we?”
Kazuki crossed his arms, leaning lazily against the goalpost as he watched his teammates’ frantic, dog-like retreats.
Yet, the smile at the corner of his lips carried a hint of amusement.
*Trying to use offense to mask incompetent defense?
Nice thought, but a shame…*
His gaze pierced through the dense layers of players, landing squarely on the red-haired youth in the white No.
10 jersey who bore a completely detached expression.
*Faced with a generational gap in technique, this kind of reckless attacking is just handing over your head on a silver platter.*
As if to validate Kazuki’s prophecy.
The exact moment Itoshi Rin attempted a highly difficult Marseille turn to bypass the opposing defensive midfielder, a ghostly figure materialized right in his path.
It was Itoshi Sae.
The core of the U-20 hadn’t even broken a sweat.
He merely stuck out a foot casually, as though he had predicted the future, cutting off the ball’s trajectory elegantly yet brutally.
*Thwack.*
Possession flipped.
“Too naive, Rin.” Sae’s voice was as cold as if he were evaluating an ant on the side of the road.
“Football that relies purely on brute force collisions is truly sickening.”
Interception!
An instant counterattack!
Because Blue Lock’s formation had overextended just now, it was currently like a cracked eggshell, completely exposed to the U-20’s firepower.
“Crap!” Isagi’s pupils shrank.
“Get back!
Get back on defense!!!”
However, Sae’s pass was too fast.
A highly piercing long ball ripped right through the air, pinpointing the U-20 striker, Sendo Shuto, who had long been lying in wait in the frontline.
Sendo trapped the ball and turned.
Ahead of him was wide-open space, with only one defender—Niko Ikki—while Aryu Jyubei was desperately giving chase from behind.
And, of course, that “No.
21” standing completely still in front of the goal, looking frozen with fear.
“A chance!
This is a chance!” Sendo was ecstatic.
“That keeper is a scrub!
Once I’m past the defender, it’s an open net!”
Crisis descended.
The Blue Lock players sprinted back with everything they had, the air in their lungs burning like fire as a sense of despair weighed heavily on everyone’s hearts.
*It’s over.*
*We got caught on the counter.*
*And the only one protecting the net is that dead weight…*
Just when everyone was plunged into despair, believing this goal was a certainty, a furious, mocking, and incredibly robust roar suddenly exploded from the rear of Blue Lock, drowning out even the cheers of the stadium!
“Hey!
You, front and center, the edgy kid with the bangs covering your eyes!
Niko!”
Niko, who was bracing for the defensive impact, froze for an instant.
The voice continued to spray like a machine gun:
“Where the hell are you running?!
Are you trying to join them in celebrating their goal?!
Is your spatial awareness only good for finding a toilet?!
Don’t look at the ball!
Look at the man!
Block the inside lane!
Force him wide!
Is that a defense or are you dancing the tango?!”
Niko instinctively shuddered all over.
His body reacted faster than his brain, forcefully shifting his center of gravity to block Sendo’s inside cut.
But it didn’t stop there.
That devilish voice instantly pivoted to the next target:
“And you, the long-haired narcissist!
Aryu!
Stop flipping your damn hair!
Are you here for a runway show or a football match?!
Are your long legs just for display?
Don’t get tight!
Keep a two-meter distance!
He’s a pace merchant; if you press tight, you’ll get blown past!
Contain the space, make it awkward for him, don’t let him accelerate!”
Aryu had originally intended to use a physical challenge, but hearing this furious scolding, he forcefully checked his stride, opting instead to delay the attack while Jockeying backward.
This split-second tactical adjustment miraculously slowed down Sendo’s drive!
What was once a clear highway had turned into a slog through deep mud.
By this time, Isagi, who had sprinted back near the edge of the box, looked toward the goal in absolute disbelief.
The previously lazy Kazuki was now standing right on the six-yard line, hands on his hips, a face full of utter impatience as high-concentration trash talk continuously spewed from his mouth:
“Is this the defense you guys are so proud of?
I swear the old men in the nursing home next door have cleaner positioning than you!
Are you guys defending, or taking a stroll with an old grandfather?
Leaving the flank wide open like that, are you trying to invite them in for tea?!”
“And you!
Raichi!
Stop defending with your eyes!
Get up there and lock down the support man!
If you let him receive that ball, you’re eating your jersey!”
Kazuki’s voice was incredibly piercing, and the most terrifying part was—he was entirely right.
As a man possessing the vision of the world’s number one striker, his sense for offensive routes was sharper than anyone else’s.
He knew exactly where strikers hated defenders standing, and exactly what kind of defensive tempo annoyed them most.
His current directing was completely based on placing himself in the shoes of the opposing striker, and then telling his teammates how to make things “most disgusting” for himself.
Under Kazuki’s torrential downpour of verbal onslaught, the chaotic and disorganized Blue Lock defensive line was actually forced together as if molded by an invisible, massive hand.
Dribbling became increasingly uncomfortable for Sendo.
*I want to cut inside, but the bangs guy blocks the inner lane.*
*I want to accelerate, but the long-haired guy contains my body positioning.*
*I want to pass, but the gold-toothed punk is glued tight to my teammate.*
“Damn it…
Since I can’t pass, I’ll just shoot!”
Driven into a corner, Sendo barely forced a pocket of space at the top of the box and unleashed a furious strike!
“Go to hell, you scrub keeper!”
The football carried a violent spin, flying straight toward the bottom-left dead corner of the net!
The quality of this strike was exceptionally high.
The spectators in the stands were already preparing to cheer.
Isagi’s heart sank halfway down his chest.
However, at the edge of his vision.
Kazuki, who had been standing in place doing nothing but running his mouth, wore an expression of profound disappointment on his face.
“You’re shooting already?”
“Telegraphed intention, way too much backlift, center of gravity exposed way too early…
As a shot, this is an insult to both men and strikers alike.”
Before the words faded, Kazuki moved.
He didn’t execute any exaggerated acrobatic movements like Gagamaru, nor did he dive in a panic like an ordinary keeper.
He simply took a single step to his left, bent his knees slightly, his body like a fully drawn bow, and sprang forward precisely the moment the ball was about to cross the line.
*Thud.*
A dull impact.
The sound of the football slamming into a glove.
Kazuki caught the ball cleanly with one hand, landing steadily without even a single strand of his hair getting messed up.
Sendo remained frozen in his shooting posture, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull.
“He…
caught it?
Single-handed?!”
Kazuki stood up straight, holding the ball in one hand like he was holding a piece of trash.
He lifted his head to look at the dumbfounded Sando not far away, then glanced over at his teammates who had just been frantically sprinting back and were now panting heavily.
[Ding!
Detection of host successfully humiliating the opponent and completing a save (even though it’s just basic operations).]
Kazuki ignored the system’s prompt.
He bounced the ball in his hand, his handsome face painted with the pure mockery of *This is U-20 level?*
“Hey, striker on the other side.”
“Is this kind of limp shot supposed to be a hand massage for me?
Next time before you shoot, remember to eat two pounds of sea cucumber first, or else…”
The corner of his mouth split into that signature, devilish smile that used to make defenders worldwide grit their teeth in pure hatred.
He flashed a thumbs-down gesture to the entire stadium.
“Go home and drink your mommy’s milk, brat.”
The next second, a volcanic eruption of boos and screams tore right through the sky.