The referee’s whistle echoed throughout the stadium, cutting through the heavy air filled with shouting voices and flashing phone cameras.
Halftime.
The scoreboard was completely in favor of the home team: Ichinan 5 | Minamida 0.
Besides the first three goals, Isagi scored two more before the end of the first half!
The fourth goal was born from a cross sent high and fast, too fast for anyone to control.
It looked lost… until Isagi leaped into the air and cushioned the ball with the sole of his foot, as if time itself had stopped just for him.
The ball dropped exactly where he wanted it, floating centimeters above the ground.
Without even allowing it to bounce, he followed up with an outside-foot shot using his other leg, drawing an impossible curve before smashing into the top corner.
The fifth goal, however, was pure art.
Receiving an unlikely pass, he let the ball run behind his body, spun with an elegant motion, and flicked it upward with the tip of his foot, all in a single gesture.
The defender in front of him did not even understand what had happened, and before he could react, Isagi had already launched himself into a clean volley filled with pure technique.
The ball rose in a straight line, then descended like a meteor, striking the post before dying inside the net…
The Ichinan supporters were still in ecstasy, cheering as if the match had already ended there.
The drums kept beating, the flags waved in a sea of black and white, and Isagi’s name echoed repeatedly like a chant.
“ISAGI YOICHI!
ISAGI YOICHI!
ISAGI YOICHI!” He walked calmly toward the bench, shoulders relaxed, breathing steady.
For someone who had just destroyed an entire team in forty-five minutes, he seemed surprisingly composed.
Tada and Shiba came right behind him, still laughing and shoving each other, while Takeshi loudly commented: “If he keeps this up, they’re gonna put Isagi on the news before the game even ends!” The coach waited near the sideline with his arms crossed, watching his players return.
His gaze lingered on Isagi for a few seconds before a faint smile escaped him as he spoke: “Good work, everyone.
But there are still forty-five minutes left.
Keep your heads in the game.” “Five-nil and he’s still saying that…” Haruto muttered with a laugh while throwing a towel over his shoulders.
“He’s the Coach,” Tada replied.
“If he could, he’d make us run until tomorrow.” Isagi sat down on the bench, resting his elbows on his knees as he took a long drink of water.
His heart was still beating fast.
His eyes shone intensely, incapable of hiding the excitement boiling inside him.
That feeling after scoring, after dominating the field and crushing the opponent with his own football…
it was addictive.
A deeply selfish pleasure.
And he wanted more!
Much more!
On the other side, the Minamida team returned with their heads lowered, their expressions heavy.
Aizawa walked slowly, shoulders tense, eyes fixed on the ground.
No words, only the muffled sound of cleats dragging against the grass.
Mizoguchi kicked the air in frustration.
“Five goals…
in one half.
This has to be a joke.” Aizawa did not answer.
He simply took a deep breath, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice as he said: “It’s not over yet.” But everyone knew that, in practice, it already was.
After fifteen minutes of rest, the referee’s whistle sounded again, marking the beginning of the second half.
The sun had lowered further, casting a golden light over the field, and the air itself seemed to vibrate together with the roars from the stands.
Ichinan’s supporters had still not stopped chanting.
Isagi’s name continued to echo like a mantra, a mixture of pride, disbelief, and pure excitement.
The ball rested at the center spot beneath Takeshi’s foot.
He looked to the side and laughed.
“Let’s see what the ‘demon number eleven’ is gonna pull off now.” Isagi simply answered with a calm smile.
“Let’s play like we always do.” The referee blew the whistle, and the ball rolled.
From the very first touch, Ichinan showed they had absolutely no intention of slowing down.
Tada received the ball on the right, advanced a few meters, and passed to Haruto, who turned quickly and sent it back toward the center.
Everything clean, fluid, effortless.
Minamida, on the other hand, seemed hesitant, the players still trying to decide whether they should mark Isagi with two men, three men, or simply pray that he would not touch the ball…
But it was useless.
Little by little, his movement began dismantling everything once again.
One step forward, another backward, a slight shift of the body, and the entire defense was already looking the wrong way.
“Stay on him!” Aizawa shouted, trying to coordinate the chaos.
The problem was that Isagi was no longer “there.” Thanks to his absolute mastery over [Misdirection], his favorite ability so far, he seemed to exist everywhere at once.
He could manipulate the visual and mental focus of his opponents, completely diverting their attention.
On the field, he was like a phantom player: disappearing from marking assignments, appearing in impossible spaces, and stealing the ball before the opponent even realized what had happened.
Just like he had done now, slipping free from his marker without anyone noticing in order to receive Takeshi’s pass in midfield…
He turned naturally and pulled two defenders toward him at once.
One of them tried to anticipate the movement, but Isagi simply let him pass by, nudging the ball with the tip of his foot as if he were playing around.
The second defender came in more aggressively, attempting a sliding tackle.
Isagi stopped the ball, stepped back half a pace, and let the opponent slide across the grass, drawing a collective chorus of “oooooh” from the stands.
Tada sprinted down the wing, shouting: “ISAGI, CROSS IT!” But he did not cross.
He did not even answer.
A light heel touch, and the ball slipped between another defender’s legs.
He advanced without hurry, his eyes cold and his body relaxed.
Aizawa appeared again, determined, frustration burning in his eyes.
“This time, you’re not getting past me!” Isagi smirked faintly.
“You’ve said that three times already, captain.” Aizawa attempted to intercept him, but Isagi spun his body, letting the ball roll behind his own leg in a motion far too fast to follow.
He came out of the spin already facing the goal, with far too much space.
The goalkeeper rushed forward, arms spread wide, shouting something unintelligible.
Isagi leaned his body, feinting a left-footed shot.
The goalkeeper fell for it.
Then, without any hurry, he simply nudged the ball with the inside of his right foot, sending it low into the opposite corner.
A simple shot.
Cruelly simple.
GOOOOOOOAL!
The stadium exploded once more.
A wave of pure ecstasy that seemed to rise from the ground, from the stands, from every throat shouting in unison.
Flags waved frantically, drums pounded without rhythm, and phones flashed like a sea of artificial stars trying to capture that moment.
Tada and Shiba ran toward Isagi, the former jumping onto his back while the latter screamed: “You’re a monster, man!
HOW ARE WE EVEN PLAYING WITH SOMEONE LIKE YOU?!” Isagi simply laughed, raised one hand toward the supporters, and waved casually, doing nothing more than that…
When the game restarted, Minamida no longer had any spirit or anger left.
There was only the mechanical instinct to keep playing and the uneasy feeling that, at any moment, Isagi would appear somewhere he should not be.
But this time, he was in defense.
Catching his breath, the “Unstoppable Striker” had dropped back, positioning himself closer to the back line.
The opposing captain, Aizawa, tried to command an attack.
“Come on!
Take advantage of the fact he moved back!” But the words had barely left his mouth before Isagi was already moving.
The ball, circulating between Minamida’s midfielders, was intercepted before it even crossed the halfway line.
Isagi anticipated it with absurd reading ability, cutting the pass off with an outstretched foot as if he had predicted the trajectory milliseconds in advance.
He then passed to Tada, who launched the attack together with the rest of the team.
Ichinan kept suffocating the opponent, and even with the score already overwhelming, their intensity did not decrease—or rather, his intensity did not decrease.
Isagi dropped back, advanced, appeared in midfield, on the wings, in defense.
Every touch on the ball seemed to dictate the rhythm of the entire match.
Whenever Minamida tried to counterattack, he was already there—appearing out of nowhere, intercepting with a light touch, flawless reading, and returning control of the game to the home side.
In one of those plays, Aizawa received a pass and turned quickly, believing he had space, but he did not.
Isagi appeared from behind, cleanly stealing the ball with a sharp and elegant movement, almost silent.
One touch, and it was already at Haruto’s feet.
“Go, shoot!” Isagi shouted.
Haruto carried the ball forward and struck it…
The ball climbed higher and higher before ending up almost in the stands.
Tada grabbed his head.
“MY GOD, HARUTO!
What kind of pathetic shot was that?!” Isagi sighed, hands on his hips.
“I can’t believe this…” A few minutes later, Shiba received a perfect sugar-sweet pass from him right in front of goal.
Completely alone.
No defenders.
He shot straight into the goalkeeper’s hands.
The crowd groaned loudly, the stadium releasing one of those collective “aaaaah” sounds that hurt the soul.
Isagi rubbed his face and laughed in disbelief.
“Are you serious…?” “That was bad luck!” Shiba shouted, trying to defend himself.
“That was bad technique,” Tada muttered with a laugh.
Another counterattack, another perfect pass from Isagi, this time to Takeshi, who dribbled past the goalkeeper and somehow lost his balance in front of the empty net, missing in an unbelievably stupid fashion!
The entire stadium held back their laughter.
Isagi crossed his arms and looked toward the sky, releasing a resigned sigh.
“Sae would say even a monkey could score that…
I can sympathize with him now…” Even so, he kept playing without complaining, simply managing the field like a maestro tired of a tone-deaf orchestra.
With every stolen ball, he cleaned up the play and distributed surgical passes, and with every wasted opportunity, he simply breathed deeply and returned to defense.
The truth was that without Isagi, the match would have gone in a completely different direction.
In reality, Ichinan by itself was a mediocre team in every sense.
None of the players possessed above-average technique, impressive speed, or standout vision.
The team consisted of hardworking athletes, but limited ones, the kind of squad that relied more on teamwork and luck than pure talent.
Without Isagi on the field, possession would have been easily controlled by Minamida, whose tactical structure and physical preparation were superior.
They had quicker midfielders, fullbacks with solid game awareness, and an attack capable of exploiting spaces efficiently.
Under normal conditions, Ichinan would have been crushed within minutes, unable to keep the score close.
Isagi, however, completely changed that equation.
He was the team’s center of gravity, the point of balance and destabilization at the same time.
His game reading allowed him to predict every opposing movement, and his precise passes masked the technical flaws of his teammates.
On top of that, he was practically the perfect striker…
In essence, what the audience was witnessing was not the power of Ichinan, but the individual phenomenon known as Isagi Yoichi, a player so exceptional that he made an average team look invincible.
And that proved itself once again near the end of the second half.
Ten minutes remained.
The supporters were already singing in celebration, flags waving while his name echoed from every side.
That was when Ichinan earned a corner kick on the right side.
Tada placed the ball down, ready to take it, but Coach Saito shouted from the bench: “Let Isagi take it!” The crowd reacted instantly—cheers, applause, even fireworks exploding outside the stadium.
Isagi walked toward the corner calmly.
He looked at the goal, measured the angle, and without saying a word, decided to try something daring.
He decided to use the [Formless Shot] he had replicated from Aomine Daiki from Kuroko no Basket….
The [Formless Shot] allowed scoring from practically any position and anywhere on the court, even from the most improbable angles, such as behind the backboard itself.
In football, replicating something like Aomine’s [Formless Shot] is practically impossible.
Basketball, no matter how dynamic and unpredictable it may be, still gives the player direct control of the ball with their hands, constant contact that allows instant adjustments, precision, and total command over movement.
Football, however, limits that same control, fragmenting it into milliseconds between passes, dribbles, and shots.
But he understood that the secret was not merely technique, but freedom of movement, the ability to break patterns and act instinctively without relying on perfect form.
Aomine’s [Formless Shot] represented exactly that: the rejection of predictability, the ability to transform any position into a scoring opportunity.
Even so, bringing that concept into football was a challenge on an entirely different level.
In basketball, the body remains balanced, and the ball responds directly to the force and angle of the hands.
In football, any similar attempt involves far more chaotic variables: the ball’s weight, the grass, the wind, body positioning, and the constant interference of opponents…
Even so, he felt that he fulfilled every requirement to wield that “weapon.” It was not as though he could score from midfield yet, but inside the penalty area—and even a little beyond it—there was no position from which he could not finish.
No angle felt impossible.
In truth, that feeling was not new.
Since the start of the match, he had already been applying Aomine’s philosophy to football, adapting the “formless shot” into something he called the formless strike: a fluid style without technical rigidity, where every movement could become a shot.
Any position, any instant, any imbalance—everything could be transformed into a goal.
Even with his back turned, while moving, or with his body almost parallel to the ground, he could still find a way to hit the target.
Proof of that was his very first goal of the match, when he used an opponent’s back as support before finishing the play perfectly.
But returning to that moment at the corner kick, he struck the ball like a guided missile.
The ball rose in a curve, gaining speed as it traced a perfect parabola through the air.
The goalkeeper took one step forward, then retreated—too late.
The ball flew directly into the top corner, kissing the net perfectly.
For one second, the students remained silent before becoming even more excited than before.
Isagi, shoulders relaxed and a faint smile on his face, simply looked toward the goal.
Tada and Shiba ran toward him, jumping and shouting in excitement, but the number eleven striker merely raised a hand in casual acknowledgment without losing his composure.
Minamida still tried to react, but every attack was immediately neutralized.
Isagi seemed to be everywhere: defense, midfield, attack.
Every step he took drew the attention of two or three opponents, opening space for his teammates.
The ball rarely touched the ground whenever he was nearby, and every pass he received felt like the beginning of another inevitable goal.
With seven minutes remaining, Tada received a lateral pass and advanced, but Isagi had already anticipated the defenders’ movements.
With one quick touch, he bypassed two markers and sent Haruto through on goal.
The striker attempted the finish but missed by inches.
A murmur of frustration spread through the stands, and Isagi merely sighed with his arms crossed.
Minutes later, Shiba received another sugar-sweet pass from Isagi.
This time he managed a powerful shot, but the goalkeeper made a miraculous save, drawing applause and sighs from the crowd.
In the final five minutes, Ichinan began managing possession, maintaining total control.
Short passes, constant movement, but no hurry.
Minamida tried to attack, but they looked increasingly desperate, their confidence shattered by the absolute dominance of Isagi and the opposing team.
With three minutes left, Aizawa attempted one final attack, but the pass was intercepted by Isagi himself, who immediately returned the ball to Tada, maintaining pressure until the final second.
There were no more clear chances for Minamida.
The referee looked at his watch, and when the timer hit zero, he blew the whistle sharply, ending the match.
The final score?
Ichinan 7 | Minamida 0.
The stands erupted in celebration.
The game had finally come to an end!
And the victory obviously belonged to Ichinan.
_____________________ (A/N: First of all, thank you for reading this story.
Your support there also helps a lot in keeping the story updated consistently.
I hope you continue enjoying Isagi’s completely cursed new life in this crossover world.)