Provocation.
Naked provocation.
Kazuki’s mocking “throat-slit” gesture acted like a spark, instantly igniting the powder keg of the entire Japan U-20 Representative Team.
Especially Itoshi Sae.
The genius midfielder who stood at the absolute pinnacle of Japanese football, and even held a place in a European powerhouse, still didn’t show any dramatic expression on his chronically detached face.
However, the crushing pressure radiating from him caused the ambient temperature to plummet to freezing point.
“Excellent.”
Sae muttered under his breath, his voice so quiet it seemed as if it would be scattered by the wind.
“Since that goalkeeper is in such a hurry to die, I’ll oblige him.”
With a sharp blast of the referee’s whistle, the match resumed.
This time, the U-20 Representative Team’s attack was no longer marked by a hint of testing or arrogance.
Under Sae’s orchestration, this national-team-level squad bared its true fangs.
Fast!
Precise!
Ruthless!
The football zipped across the turf, every pass looking completely pinpoint, every off-the-ball run teeming with murderous intent.
The left and right fullbacks surged forward frantically, the midfield meat grinder initiated a high press, and Sendo Shuto on the frontline alongside the recently humiliated Shido Ryusei threaded through the final third like rabid dogs.
Blue Lock’s defensive line became instantly unstable.
“Left side!
Someone’s completely open on the left!”
“Dammit, I can’t keep up with their tempo!”
“Don’t let that bastard Shido get the ball!”
The Blue Lock defenders began to panic.
They were, after all, a bunch of strikers playing as makeshift or converted defenders; faced with the U-20’s mature system and telepathic chemistry, the deeply ingrained flaws of their “solo play” mentality began to show completely.
Massive cracks tore through the defensive line, and Sae drove deep into their territory, his gaze locked dead on the goal—or rather, locked on the man standing in front of it.
Collapse was imminent.
Right then, a roar sharper than the referee’s whistle and louder than the stadium commentator exploded from the front of Blue Lock’s goal.
“Get your fucking heads up, you headless flies!”
Kazuki stood right on the six-yard line, hands on his hips, his legs spread wide like a pair of compasses, looking exactly like a nagging mother.
“Niko Ikki!
Stop hiding in the back watching the show like a voyeur!
Toss your bangs aside, step up three meters, and shut down that red-haired midfielder’s passing lane!
Are you defending with your eyes?!”
The called-out Niko froze.
Though he cursed *who are you calling a voyeur* in his head, his body intuitively pressed forward according to Kazuki’s command.
Almost simultaneously, a U-20 midfielder attempted a through-ball, and the football slammed right into Niko’s leg as he stepped up into position, deflecting out of bounds.
“I…
actually stopped it?” Niko stared at his own leg in shock.
Before he could finish processing his surprise, Kazuki’s roar blared out once more, his speaking rate as rapid as a Gatling gun:
“Raichi!
Did you build that muscle just for show?
Get tight!
Stick to that Sendo guy like glue!
Don’t let him turn!
The moment he dares to try, smash into him with your body!
Do I seriously need to teach you this?
A barbarian needs to act like a barbarian!”
“And you, the long-haired narcissist!”
Kazuki’s finger snapped toward a retreating Aryu Jyubei.
Aryu was currently flipping his signature long hair, trying to maintain an elegant posture while defending.
Hearing the words “long-haired narcissist,” his eyebrow twitched violently.
“Is he talking to me?
“Cut the crap!
You still have time to worry about your hair?!” Kazuki bellowed.
“Shift five meters to your right!
Now!
Right now!
Instantly!
Ignore the guy with the ball, he’s a decoy.
The real killer move is to your back right!”
“Huh?” Aryu blanked.
His back right?
That place was completely empty; there wasn’t a single soul there.
What kind of chaotic directing was this?
Normally, the proud Aryu would absolutely ignore such an order.
But for some reason, Kazuki’s voice—brimming with absolute confidence and carrying an un-defiable will—evoked a bizarre sense of obedience within him.
“Tsk…
If this doesn’t stop it, I’m absolutely spraying your face with hairspray.”
Aryu gritted his teeth.
Despite his immense irritation, his long legs obediently took several explosive strides to the right, shifting into the designated spot.
The exact millisecond he set his feet.
*BOOM!*
Sae suddenly struck the ball from midfield.
The football hugged the grass, curving past the initial defender like a venomous snake, piercing straight into the seemingly safe pocket of empty space behind Blue Lock’s defensive line.
And right there, Shido Ryusei had suddenly detonated into a forward sprint like a ghost!
“Impeccable timing!
That is the vision of a genius!” The commentator was already preparing to cheer.
If this pass connected, it would be a clear one-on-one!
However.
The split second before the ball could slice through the line, a long leg clad in a black sock abruptly materialized in the passing lane.
*Thwack.*
The football was intercepted.
It was none other than Aryu, who had just been “forced” to move here!
The ball looked as if it had actively crashed into his foot.
Shido’s forward burst was instantly rendered useless, and the sudden brake nearly made him faceplant into the turf.
“W-What?!” Shido stared at the long-haired guy in sheer disbelief.
Even within Sae’s cold eyes, a flash of astonishment surfaced.
*Seen through?*
*My passing intention was completely predicted?*
“Oh~ So Glam!” Aryu looked at the ball at his feet, unable to resist running a hand through his hair as he struck a pose.
“Behold my elegant defense.”
“Elegant my ass!”
The voice of Kazuki scolding him for failing to live up to expectations echoed from behind.
“Who told you to strike a pose?!
Get the ball out!
Don’t hog it!
Do you want to get dispossessed?!
Dumbass!”
Though scolded like a dog, this time, Aryu didn’t talk back.
He quickly released the ball to a nearby teammate.
The entire atmosphere of the stadium shifted.
The Blue Lock defensive line, which had previously been as porous as a sieve, suddenly became as solid as an iron fortress under Kazuki’s “voice-controlled operation.”
“Niko, two steps to the left!”
“Raichi, press up!
“Chigiri, get back and cover!
Use your speed to shut down the outside lane!”
Standing in front of the goal, Kazuki acted like a broker possessing a god-eye view.
He understood strikers all too well.
He knew exactly where strikers hated defenders standing, he knew exactly where a striker wanted to pass from a given position, and he knew exactly what kind of schemes were running through a striker’s mind when their eyes drifted.
He was using the mindset of an attacker to construct an impregnable wall of defense.
“That bastard goalkeeper…” Sendo Shuto was panting heavily.
He realized that no matter where he ran, a Blue Lock defender would always materialize there as if possessing foresight.
“Just how many eyes does he have?”
Ten consecutive minutes.
The U-20 Representative Team unleashed a relentless barrage, holding up to 70% of possession, yet they failed to register a single decent shot.
Every single attack was dismantled by Kazuki using the most grating trash talk coupled with millimeter-precise instructions.
Though every single Blue Lock defender was flushed red from the scoldings, cursing Kazuki’s entire lineage in their minds, their bodies became increasingly honest, and their defensive positioning grew heavily structured.
“Tsk, what a bunch of giant infants who need hand-holding.”
Kazuki watched yet another attack get intercepted, curling his lip in disdain.
At this moment, Niko intercepted the football at the edge of the box.
Faced with the U-20’s frantic counter-press, he found himself in a tight spot as dribbling wasn’t his forte.
“Give it to fucking me!”
A massive shout echoed from behind.
Without a second thought, Niko turned and executed a back-pass.
The football rolled toward the six-yard box.
Sprinting toward the rolling ball, Kazuki didn’t trap it, nor did he clear it with a standard long punt.
He cast a glance into the distance.
At that “expressionless little brother” who was currently drifting on the frontline with a dark face.
“Hey, you witless idiot.”
The corner of Kazuki’s mouth curved upward.
His right leg drew high into the air, his thigh muscles instantly tightening like a fully flexed longbow.
*BOOM!!!*
Accompanied by a colossal roar resembling a heavy artillery blast, the football visibly deformed under Kazuki’s boot.
A violent, laced strike!
Carrying the howling sound of the wind, the football traveled with absolute precision toward the wide-open space on the left flank of the frontline.
And right there, Itoshi Rin was sprinting at full tilt.
He felt the rushing wind behind him—a “scoring signal” that only top-tier strikers could decipher.
Rin extended his left foot, and the exact millisecond that high-velocity, spinning cannonball was about to hit the turf, he cushioned it with exquisite touch.
A steady control.
The entire stadium gasped.
The commentator screamed at the top of his lungs about what kind of divine vision this was, what kind of terrifying kicking technique this was—a goalkeeper completely bypassing three layers of the opponent’s defense with a single kick.
Standing before his net, Kazuki maintained his casual post-kick follow-through, shading his eyes with one hand as he peered downfield.
Watching the back of the boy who still looked cold even after receiving the ball, he lazily shouted the exact phrase that caused veins to pop violently on Rin’s forehead:
“The ball’s yours, poker-face.”
“Don’t just spend all your time throwing a tantrum at your brother, go have some fun.”
“If you fail to score with this one too, you’re coming back here to buff my goalposts clean!”
Itoshi Rin didn’t look back.
But the black aura around him, which had almost completely materialized, instantly doubled in intensity.
“Shut up…
Go to hell, bastard.”
Rin growled.
Carrying a heart full of fury and murderous intent, he turned with the ball, facing his brother—Itoshi Sae—the man he both admired and detested.
In the backfield, Kazuki shrugged his shoulders, pulled a water bottle from the net, twisted the cap off, and took a sip.
“Man, being a babysitter is exhausting.”
“Next up is the melodramatic drama of brotherly betrayal.
This kind of family ethics show is my absolute favorite.”