“Damn it…
damn it…!!”
Isagi Yoichi’s legs felt as though they were filled with lead, every single lift requiring the mobilization of his entire body’s willpower.
Sweat had long since blurred his vision, his lungs roaring with a hoarse blast like bellows, but he still gnashed his teeth as he chased the holographic projection moving at high speed ahead of him.
Not enough.
Still not enough!
Merely keeping pace with the German team’s tempo had completely exhausted him.
Three days had already passed since Rin Kazuki began his “vacation.” Throughout these three days, even in his dreams, Isagi was pondering how to carve out his own space within that precision-engineered German machine.
He tried to prove himself through more aggressive running and fiercer duels.
Yet, reality was cold and cruel.
[No.15 Isagi Yoichi]
Fifteenth place.
In this German Bastard München team that worshiped “numbers” and “physical specifications,” Isagi’s proud “spatial awareness” and “brain” seemed to have transformed into an intangible, unquantifiable nothingness.
“Damn it…”
The whistle signaling the end of training sounded, and Isagi collapsed onto the floor.
Kaiser still firmly sat upon the throne of first place (since Kazuki wasn’t participating), that man acting like a flawless emperor, displaying a dominant “rationality” across strength, speed, and shooting alike.
At night, inside the German Bastard München building, within the dormitories of the Blue Lock members.
Yukimiya Kenyu, who had just finished washing up, was sitting on the edge of his bed, meticulously carrying out his unwavering skincare routine.
He pushed up the ordinary pair of glasses he only wore inside the dormitory, looking through the lenses toward Isagi, who sat staring blankly at his desk.
“Hey, Isagi.”
Yukimiya’s voice shattered the silence.
“Even though everyone’s been training desperately these past few days, I’ve kept wanting to ask…
have you still not managed to talk to Kunigami?”
Hearing that name, Isagi’s hand, which had been drying his hair, paused.
Rensuke Kunigami, the once upright and passionate “superhero,” had now locked himself away, refusing to communicate with anyone save for mechanical training.
“Yeah…” Isagi lowered his gaze, his voice sounding somewhat dry.
“Not at all.
He’s like a completely different person.
However, I did hear some things about the ‘Wild Card’ from other channels.”
Though there were no concrete details, simply looking at Kunigami now allowed him to imagine what kind of inhuman trials he must have endured in that so-called “Wild Card” selection.
It was a dehumanizing experiment carried out solely to manufacture Noa’s “replicate.”
“He really does feel like he’s changed a lot.”
Hiori Yo, lying on the top bunk reading a light novel, turned over, pale blue bangs falling down as he added, “Not just his personality—his physical capabilities have been elevated to an entirely different tier.”
Hiori stretched out a slender finger, tracing shapes in the air.
“Shooting power S, offensive capability S, speed A, and even his overall evaluation is A-grade.
Right now, he’s basically a heavy tank born purely to score goals.”
“S-grade…” Isagi clenched his fists tightly.
A partner who once fought side-by-side had now left him far behind in terms of numbers.
In this German team, numbers were everything; numbers were justice. You are reading on g.com, the official source.
Relying on that formidable physique, Kunigami had brutally carved out a bloody path amidst a sea of Germans, firmly locking down a spot in the top ten.
“In this kind of environment, confidence without numerical backing is like a castle built on sand,” Yukimiya remarked.
Though he spoke of Kunigami, his gaze was pointedly directed at Isagi.
“Isagi, here.”
At that moment, Kurona Ranze, who had been quietly tinkering with electronic equipment in the corner all along, walked over and handed him a tablet.
“What’s this?” Isagi accepted the tablet.
“Player data records…
opened up by Noa to the entire squad.” Kurona characteristically repeated the tails of his words when speaking.
“It has everyone’s detailed six-dimensional radar charts and ratings on it.
Know yourself and know your enemy, and you’ll never be defeated a hundred times.
Analysis, analysis.”
Was this the physical manifestation of “rationality”?
Disassembling living, breathing human beings into cold, individual digits.
He took a deep breath, his fingers sliding across the screen until he found his own name.
[Yoichi Isagi]
Speed: 78 (B)
Defense: 75 (B)
Pass: 68 (C)
Dribble: 62 (C)
Offense: 82 (A)
Shoot: 77 (B)
[Overall Evaluation: 76 points (B-grade)]
Though he had long known his physical capabilities weren’t top-tier, when this “mediocre” data was quantified so graphically, the blow was nonetheless immense.
Passing and dribbling at only a C-grade…
In the standards of the German team, it meant his fundamentals were practically substandard.
“Even though the values for dynamic vision and direct attack are rated very high because of the existence of ‘Direct Shot’…” Isagi stared fixedly at that offensive score of 82 points, “the shortcomings in fundamental abilities like physical strength, speed, and passing are just too glaring.”
In Bastard München, a place emphasizing individual duels and solo combat capabilities, an overall evaluation of 76 meant he was nothing more than an interchangeable spare part at any given moment.
“I never reached this point relying on physical capabilities…
I know that.”
Isagi shouted silently in his heart, “My weapon is my brain, prediction, utilizing everything on the pitch!
But these things cannot be converted into numbers by the system!
In Noa’s algorithm, I can’t see a future!”
His fingers trembled as, guided by some inexplicable impulse, he swiped toward the absolute peak of the rankings.
[Rin Kazuki]
Offense: 98 (S)
Pass: 96 (S)
Speed: 92 (S)
Defense: 88 (A)
Shoot: 89 (A)
[Overall Evaluation: 98 points (S-grade)]
“…”
What kind of monster was this?
An almost all-S panel!
An offense of 98 meant that simply standing on the pitch made him a world-class threat.
And that role of “insulting goalkeeper” he displayed most often corresponded to a defense rating that was technically his “lowest” among all stats—yet it was still an astronomical 88 (A-grade)!
“Are you kidding me…” Isagi’s fingers nearly crushed the edges of the tablet.
“That means even if that guy actually went to play striker, he’d still be a world-class existence?”
No wonder.
No wonder he dared to say those things to Noa.
No wonder he dared to scold everyone as trash.
No wonder he preferred wandering outside to deigning to participate in training.
Was this the gap between worlds?
And what about himself?
If he only looked at the numbers, he would never beat them in his lifetime.
If he followed the current training schedule step-by-step, he would forever remain a substitute stuck at 15th place.
Things had to change.
He had to find his own “formula.”
Since this environment worshiped “rationality,” he would go straight to the source of that rationality and ask: in this world that only looked at numbers, how on earth was someone like him supposed to survive?
“Sorry, I’m heading out for a bit.”
Isagi grabbed his jacket without offering an explanation and walked straight toward the door.
“Where are you going this late?” Hiori poked his head out to ask.
“To find…
a way to break through this wall.”
[LanLi: Encrid?]
Leaving those words behind, Isagi walked out of the dormitory without once looking back.
The corridor was empty, the cold, harsh lighting stretching his shadow long.
With every single step, Isagi felt as though he were treading the edge of a cliff.
He didn’t know how long he walked before he came to a halt in front of a black metal door.
There was no nameplate on the door, only a golden Bastard München team crest.
It was Noel Noa’s room.
*Knock, knock, knock.*
“Come in.”
Isagi pushed open the door leading to the “World’s Number One.”