Aiku Oliver Had Just Saved U-20 from the Brink of Annihilation.
Had that shot gone in—had Isagi Yoichi buried that audacious 50-yard missile—it wouldn't have just been another goal. It would have been a death sentence.
Not just for the scoreboard. Not just for the game.
For their morale. Their pride. Their will to fight.
They were already drowning—two goals down, their confidence hanging by a frayed thread. If that ball had found the back of the net, the last embers of resistance would have been snuffed out. Their team, their future, their legacy—it would have all crumbled under Isagi's relentless, suffocating dominance.
But Aiku had thrown himself into the abyss and clawed back a sliver of hope.
The problem?
Even he didn't fully understand what had just happened.
Because in that instant—when his body had lunged forward, defying hesitation, logic, and fear—he had entered a realm beyond conscious thought.
The Zone.
Aiku hadn't been thinking. He hadn't been calculating. He hadn't been dissecting Isagi's movements like a chessboard, searching for an answer.
He had simply reacted.
It was primal. It was instinctive. A pure, unfiltered defensive gambit, executed with every fiber of his being.
And somehow, it had worked.
Yet there was no time to marvel at the feat. No time to even let the reality of stopping that shot settle into his bones.
Because the ball—still quaking with the residual force of Isagi's strike—was plummeting back down.
A loose ball. A dangerous ball.
A ball that could decide the next momentum shift.
And Aiku wasn't letting it go to waste.
His eyes locked onto it, pupils sharp with ruthless intent. The rest of the world melted away—the deafening roars of the crowd, the gasps of disbelief, the electrified atmosphere of the stadium. None of it mattered.
This was his moment.
The instant the ball kissed the turf, Aiku's foot shot forward like a coiled viper, trapping it with expert precision. No wasted movement. No second-guessing.
Then—
BOOM.
A missile. A bullet pass drilled with vicious power, cutting through the air like a blade.
And its target?
Itoshi Sae.
Because if there was anyone left who could rip this game from Isagi's hands—who could turn the tide of a battle teetering on the edge of despair—
It was him.
Sae Itoshi Had Been Humiliated.
Once was bad enough.
Twice? Unforgivable.
And the second time?
It had been alongside Rin.
A nutmeg. A fleeting moment of pure genius where Isagi had reduced them—Japan's golden prodigy and his relentless younger brother—to nothing more than stepping stones. Disposable pieces in the grand scheme of his dominance.
The memory burned. It seared into Sae's mind, clawing at his very core.
Livid. That was the only word to describe him.
It wasn't just about pride. It wasn't just about his reputation as Japan's greatest talent.
It was the feeling.
The choking, suffocating sensation of being outplayed. The bitter sting of watching someone—Isagi Yoichi—take the game in his hands and twist it to his will.
That was something Sae Itoshi refused to accept.
And right now?
With Isagi stationed deep in the attacking third, with Blue Lock's offensive line overcommitted, with every single one of them focused on securing the final blow—
Sae had the perfect chance to tear them apart.
The moment Aiku's boot connected—the moment that pass ignited toward him with pinpoint accuracy—
He moved.
A bolt of red lightning, streaking across the pitch with ruthless efficiency.
No hesitation. No wasted motion.
Because this wasn't just a counterattack.
This was vengeance.
Karasu moved fast, stepping in to cut off Sae's path, his body tensed like a coiled spring. But this wasn't the same Sae Itoshi from earlier. This wasn't the composed playmaker, content with orchestrating from the midfield.
This was Sae Itoshi, pissed off, playing at his absolute limit.
And Karasu?
He wasn't enough.
Sae's acceleration was sharper, his footwork more precise, more aggressive. He wasn't just shifting gears—he was obliterating every limit that had held him back. A quick feint, a subtle change in tempo, and then—
Gone.
Karasu reached out in a last-ditch effort, but Sae had already vanished past him, slipping through his grasp like a phantom.
Aryu and Reo braced themselves, muscles coiled, ready for impact. They weren't fools. They knew exactly what kind of monster they were dealing with.
Shidou, lurking on the right flank, had already started his run. He could feel it—sense it. The pass was coming. A perfect ball from Sae, tailor-made for him to rip into the net. His lips curled into a hungry grin, anticipation thrumming in his veins.
But for once—
Sae didn't even look his way.
Because this wasn't about teamwork. This wasn't about finding the optimal play.
This was about Isagi Yoichi.
The bitter taste of defeat still clung to Sae's tongue, raw and unbearable. That moment—the humiliation of being outplayed, outmaneuvered, outdone—had ignited something primal within him. He didn't just want to win.
He wanted to crush Isagi's existence.
To erase that moment. To bury this unsettling feeling under a goal so undeniable that nothing else would matter.
And he was going to do it himself.
Sae never slowed down. He never hesitated. Without even engaging the last line of defense, he pulled his foot back and struck.
A devastating shot.
The ball soared toward the right side of the goal, its high arc cutting through the air like a blade.
Reo reacted instantly. His body moved before his mind could catch up, pure instinct driving him forward. He read the trajectory, his muscles coiling, launching himself upward with everything he had. His leg stretched out, his foot mere inches away from making contact. Within reach.
Gagamaru, stationed between the posts, had already locked onto the ball. His eyes sharpened, his frame tensing, ready to react. The shot was saveable.
Or so they thought.
But the moment Reo felt the air shift around him—the precise second he sensed the ball brushing past his outstretched foot—it hit him.
Planned.
Sae had accounted for everything. The exact force, the perfect trajectory, the precise timing of Reo's jump. Every detail had been mapped out in his mind before he even struck the ball.
Because this wasn't a shot.
It was a setup.
The ball curved, bending mid-flight in a way that screamed danger. To most, it looked like a direct strike—a long-range effort aimed at goal. Even Isagi, stationed deeper in the pitch, hadn't foreseen it.
A trap.
A masterful feint designed to force Gagamaru into committing right. A deception to pull Reo out of position.
And in the gaping space left behind—
Shidou Ryusei waited.
Grinning.
Because this ball—
This pass was meant for him.
The moment was perfect. The timing, the execution, the pure thrill of it. Sae had set it up beautifully, but none of that mattered to Shidou.
Because this?
This was his moment.
As the ball curled toward him, Shidou exploded. His body twisted mid-air, defying human limitations with an unnatural, yet precise acrobatic strike.
Then—
BOOM.
His foot connected cleanly, brutally.
The shot ripped toward the top-right corner, a streak of pure violence. Gagamaru had already leaped, arms reaching, but—
He was falling.
Too little time.
The net rippled.
GOAL.
Shidou Ryusei had struck.
Blue Lock's lead? Cut down to one.
U-20 was back in the fight.
One more goal. One more strike. And this war would be even.
The stadium erupted. Deafening cheers, roars of excitement—an explosion of energy surging through the crowd. The sheer speed of the U-20's counterattack had left everyone breathless. Commentators scrambled to keep up, their voices rising with each second.
"Unbelievable! What a response from the U-20!"
"A lightning-fast transition—defense to attack in seconds! This is the quality of Japan's top team!"
The audience fed off the intensity, their belief rekindled. A comeback—it was no longer just a desperate hope. It was possible. And the U-20 players felt it too. They celebrated, fists clenched, adrenaline pumping—but only for a moment. Because they weren't satisfied.
Because they hadn't won yet.
Sae Itoshi picked up the ball, his piercing gaze sweeping across the field—calculating, analyzing, demanding more. His movements were precise, unwavering, as he marched to the center circle, ball in hand. His teammates followed, their bodies tense with purpose, their focus locked onto one goal: the equalizer.
They had tasted it. Victory was no longer out of reach.
And they all knew one thing for certain—Sae Itoshi was about to go all out.
If they wanted to win, they had to keep up with him.
Hiori exhaled sharply as he jogged up to Isagi, frustration clear in his voice.
"My bad. I thought I set you up perfectly… but Aiku read me."
Isagi blinked before shaking his head.
"No… he didn't read you."
His tone was steady, firm.
"He read me."
Hiori's breath hitched.
"What?"
Isagi's gaze locked onto the U-20 captain. Aiku stood tall, his chest rising and falling heavily, but his focus remained razor-sharp.
"No one expected Aiku to react like that. Not you, not me. Not even Sae,"
Isagi explained, his voice edged with something deeper—awe, frustration… respect.
"But Aiku has stopped trying to 'read' me. He's stopped trying to predict my plays."
Isagi's eyes narrowed, his mind racing with realization.
"Instead, he just expects me to do the most ridiculous things."
Hiori's lips parted slightly as the truth sank in. Aiku hadn't stopped Isagi's shot because he understood it. He stopped it because he believed Isagi was capable of anything.
A monster recognizes a monster.
Hiori clenched his fists, his determination flaring.
"Alright. Then I'll have to be even sharper next time."
He turned on his heel, his voice filled with quiet resolve.
"I'll make sure you get that ball"
And with that, he sprinted back into position.
With the ball at his feet, Isagi stood at the center, ready to restart the game. His gaze shifted to his right, where Rin Itoshi stood, his eyes locked onto Sae like a predator stalking its prey.
Isagi had noticed him during that last counterattack. The moment Aiku made the interception, Rin had taken off—just like Sae. He had pushed himself forward, trying to reach the ball first, trying to beat his brother to the play. But Sae was already in high gear, moving at a speed that felt impossible to match.
And now, standing there, Rin was running on fumes. His breath came in sharp, ragged bursts, his body strained from the relentless battle. But none of that mattered.
Because in his eyes, only one thing remained.
Desperate hatred.
A burning, unrelenting fury aimed straight at Sae.
Isagi's grin widened as he met Rin's furious gaze.
He could feel the play unfolding before it even began, the pulse of the game surging through his veins. And with that same instinct, he knew exactly what needed to happen next.
Without hesitation, he tapped the ball forward, linking up with Nagi for the restart. It had been a while since the lazy genius had truly taken the spotlight, this was his chance.
The ball rolled into Nagi's path, and he took it in stride, his movements as effortless as ever. There was no wasted energy, no unnecessary motion—just pure, unshakable control. The moment he got ahead, Hayate stepped in to challenge him, eyes sharp, body tense, ready to stop him in his tracks.
Normally, Nagi wasn't the type to take risks in a direct confrontation. His dribbling was good—better than most, even—but it wasn't his strongest weapon. His style thrived on unpredictability, his ability to twist plays in impossible ways. He knew that Yukimiya was already shifting into space, offering him an easy outlet for the pass.
But Nagi didn't pass.
Because something had shifted inside him.
Because this match wasn't just about winning anymore.
Blue Lock existed to create the best striker in the world. And up until now, this game had been Isagi's and Rin's battlefield. Both of them had scored twice. Both of them had left their mark.
And the rest of them?
They hadn't even taken a shot.
If they were behind, Nagi might have chosen the safe play. Might have prioritized the team's stability over his own ambitions. He wasn't blind—he had seen what had happened just moments ago, how Sae had dismantled their defense with a single counterattack. If they lost the ball, U-20 would pounce.
But they weren't behind.
They were ahead.
And Nagi wanted his moment.
He wasn't the only one.
All of Blue Lock had the same hunger burning in their veins. The same drive clawing at their chests, screaming at them to carve their names into this game.
To prove that they belonged here.
Nagi's fingers curled slightly, a spark igniting in his usually detached gaze. His feet shifted.
Then—
He moved.
With a few soft, effortless touches, Nagi began rolling the ball between the insides of his feet, his impeccable control keeping it glued to him.
Hayate remained composed, keeping just enough distance to react without overcommitting. He shadowed Nagi closely, applying steady pressure while staying light on his toes, ready to pounce the moment an opening appeared.
Then—Nagi struck.
With a sudden feint, he dragged the ball with his instep before cutting it sharply with the outside of his boot, sending Hayate's balance tilting for just a split second. That was all Nagi needed.
A quick sole-roll to the left, an elastic pull-back, then a devastating chop to the right—Hayate lunged to recover, but Nagi was already past him. His silky dribbling, unpredictable yet effortless, had carved open the space he needed.
The ball, still obedient at his feet, rolled forward as he surged ahead.
Nagi had space ahead of him—a rare sight in a match this intense. But having space wasn't enough. He needed to get into shooting range, and even that wasn't the real challenge.
Aiku was in his way.
As long as Aiku stood between him and the goal, any shot he took would be smothered. Nagi knew that. His touch was perfect, his dribbling immaculate, but against a defender like Aiku, those alone wouldn't be enough.
He needed to break past him.
Pushing forward, Nagi kept the ball close, his tempo slow yet deliberate. Then, with a quick glance at the field, he made his move.
A sudden pass—sent to the right.
Hiori.
Of all the players on the pitch, Hiori was the one who could pick out goal-scoring passes better than anyone else. His vision, his judgment of the game—it was unmatched. And Nagi knew that if he wanted to surpass players like Isagi and Rin, he had to position himself where neither of them could predict his movement.
Where neither of them could reach him.
So as soon as the ball left his foot, Nagi sprinted. Not in a straight line, but diagonally, weaving through the gaps in U-20's defense, slipping into the blind spots where neither Isagi nor Rin could track him.
If Hiori saw him—if Hiori understood what he wanted—
Then the ball would come.
And when it did, Nagi would make sure it ended in the back of the net.
The ball reached Hiori on the right, and without hesitation, he pushed forward. He knew what was expected of him—not just from Nagi, but from everyone on the pitch.
In that moment, the decision was his.
Who would be the star of this goal?
Darai wasn't about to let him dictate the play so easily. He charged in with relentless aggression, fully aware of the stakes. U-20 needed two goals to take control, and their defense had to hold firm if they wanted to spark a counterattack.
Hiori felt the pressure closing in. Darai was quick, determined, but Hiori remained composed. He glanced toward the center, selling the idea of a different option, all while keeping Darai's presence locked in his peripheral vision.
Then—he struck.
A clean, precise pass.
The ball cut through the air, driven with intent, heading straight for the one who had demanded it—Nagi.
With his diagonal run, Nagi had positioned himself on the left, perfectly in sync with the timing of the pass. The moment it reached him, he would have his chance.
But Niou saw it.
The U-20 defender reacted instantly, sprinting toward Nagi, eyes locked on the ball. He wasn't going to let this play unfold without a fight.
Nagi had considered his options, but this was the ideal position—the perfect spot to receive the ball and break through the defense to score.
Still, there was Niou.
The U-20 defender was closing in fast, ready to smother any opening. But that only sparked Nagi's curiosity. A new idea took root in his mind, an urge to test the limits of his control, to see if he could pull it off. He had already committed—now he would take the risk.
As the ball approached, Nagi leaped.
His body tilted backward in midair, his upper half nearly horizontal. His right leg lifted high, and instead of bringing the ball down with a conventional touch—
He caught it with the heel of his foot.
Niou's eyes widened. For a moment, he hesitated, stunned by the sheer audacity of the move. From his perspective, it was reckless—illogical even. Even if Nagi managed to control it, the ball would still be within reach for a clearance. A chance to flip this into a counterattack.
But Niou didn't understand.
He didn't know Nagi's control.
With the same heel, Nagi flicked the ball to the left, sending it beneath his airborne body. Then, as gravity began to pull him down, he planted his left hand against the turf, using it as a pivot.
A full-body spin.
In an instant, he twisted, shifting his center of gravity while tracking the ball's movement. As soon as he completed the rotation, his body aligned perfectly—his left foot cocked back, ready to strike.
The stadium held its breath.
In a matter of seconds, Nagi had transformed an impossible situation into a shooting opportunity.
All that was left—
Was the finish.
Nagi struck with precision and power, driving the ball toward the left side—his closest angle.
Fukaku wasn't ready.
He had never witnessed anything like this before, and that split-second of disbelief, the sheer awe at Nagi's audacious shot, dulled his reaction. The ball spun with lethal accuracy, a beautifully crafted strike that seemed destined for the back of the net.
But before it could reach its target—
A figure moved.
Even in his own shock, one player had already reacted. He knew Nagi was capable of pulling off the impossible, and he had prepared accordingly.
Aiku.
With impeccable timing, Aiku leaped, stretching his leg out mid-air, intercepting the shot just before it could find its mark. A last-second intervention—another clutch save for U-20.
The ball ricocheted off his leg, deflecting downward.
Still in play.
And waiting for it, already positioned in the perfect spot, was the one who had been reading the situation all along.
It was Rin.
Standing just outside the penalty box, body coiled like a spring, eyes locked onto the loose ball. The moment Aiku lunged to stop Nagi's shot, Rin had already moved, slipping into the perfect position like a predator waiting to strike.
The goal was open.
Aiku was on the left. Niou had already committed. The right side of the net was exposed—his for the taking.
Rin didn't think. He executed.
A single step forward, planting his left foot with brutal efficiency—his right leg swung through in an instant. A devastating strike.
The ball exploded off his foot, slicing through the air like a bullet, aimed with pinpoint accuracy toward the far post. It was a shot fueled by instinct, by hunger—by the sheer, unrelenting drive to win.
He felt it. The rush. The surge of dominance as the ball soared toward the goal.
This was it.
The goal that would put him ahead.
The goal that would separate him from Isagi.
They were even now, both standing at two goals each. But if this went in—if Rin netted his hat-trick first—he would be the one leading.
He was winning.
But that feeling lasted mere seconds.
Because just as the ball rocketed toward the net—
Another foot entered the fray.
Sae.
Appearing from behind like a shadow, his presence unnoticed until it was too late.
He had seen everything.
The moment Aiku moved to block Nagi's shot, Sae had already calculated the next sequence. He knew Rin would react, that he would move into the most lethal position a striker could occupy. That was just how Rin played.
But Sae—he was always a step ahead.
While Rin lurked, waiting for his moment of glory, Sae had done the same—only from outside his vision. A silent executioner, positioning himself at the perfect angle.
Then—he struck.
A decisive interception, cutting off Rin's shot before it could rip into the net. A goal stolen at the last possible second.
Rin's heart pounded. In that instant, victory was ripped from his grasp.
Sae had taken it away.
The stadium held its breath—then roared again.
Two ruthless shots had been fired at U-20's goal in mere seconds—first Nagi's audacious attempt, then Rin's cold-blooded strike. Two near-certain goals. Two impossible saves.
Yet, the ball was still in play.
It spun backward, rebounding off Sae's block, rolling toward the edge of the box—toward the one player who had foreseen this moment.
Isagi.
Unlike Nagi and Rin, who had fought tooth and nail inside the crowded penalty area, Isagi had stayed just outside the battlefield.
He had been watching. Calculating.
The moment Aiku had lunged to stop Nagi.
The moment Rin had repositioned for the rebound.
The moment Sae had stepped in at the last second to cut Rin down.
Isagi had been reading it all.
And now—the ball was his.
Sae on the right. Aiku on the left. Both defenders locked onto him the second he took possession.
No time. No space. Just instinct.
He struck.
A first-time shot—a whip of his right foot, clean and precise.
The ball rocketed toward the left side of the goal.
But Aiku didn't even flinch.
He had seen this move before. He had been fooled once, but not again.
From just the way the ball left Isagi's foot, Aiku knew—it wasn't real.
A normal curve shot would be slow, arcing beautifully, giving defenders a chance to react.
But Isagi's weren't normal.
Fast. Calculated. Unreadable.
The ball spun viciously, shifting mid-air—deceiving reality itself.
Aiku lunged. His body twisted, foot stretched—too far.
The ball was already bending away.
Sae reacted next. A half-second late. He pushed off his back foot, reaching—but the shot had curved behind him.
Perfect execution.
Then—
A brutal, deafening clang.
The ball struck the inside of the top-right corner, kissing the metal frame with violent precision—then slammed into the net.
GOAL.
The net rippled. The stadium exploded.
The entire stadium was in chaos.
The air itself felt like it had been ripped apart by the sheer intensity of the last few seconds. Three back-to-back shots—each one a masterpiece, each one inches from rewriting the scoreboard.
Nagi's audacious aerial control, a shot that defied logic. Denied.
Rin's ruthless instinct, striking when the moment was perfect. Denied.
And then Isagi—reading it all, shaping the flow of the game, bending space itself to land an unstoppable shot.
This time, there was no denial.
As the ball crashed against the top-right corner and was swallowed by the net, the reaction was instant.
A thunderous eruption from the stadium. A tidal wave of cheers, fists pumping into the sky, bodies jumping from their seats.
Even in the commentator's booth, chaos broke loose.
"UNBELIEVABLE! IT'S IN! IT'S IN! ISAGI YOICHI DELIVERS A SHOT STRAIGHT OUT OF A DREAM!"
"THIS STADIUM CAN'T TAKE MUCH MORE OF THIS! NAGI—DENIED! RIN—DENIED! BUT ISAGI, WITH AN ABSURD CURVE SHOT—GOAL!"
"LOOK AT THAT PLACEMENT! TOP-RIGHT, BEYOND AIKU, BEYOND SAE—EVEN WITH THEIR REACTIONS, THEY COULDN'T STOP IT! THIS IS WORLD-CLASS!"
The camera panned across the U-20 players—stunned.
Aiku, still recovering from his failed lunge, knelt on the grass, eyes locked on the ball inside the net. His breathing was heavy, shoulders rising and falling. He had read the shot. He had known what was coming. And yet, he had failed.
Sae, standing just inside the box, turned his head slowly toward Isagi. His expression wasn't frustration. It wasn't even anger. It was something closer to recognition.
A grin—just barely there. As if he had finally seen it.
The level Blue Lock was playing at.
Meanwhile, the Blue Lock players erupted.
Nagi threw his hands up, a smirk tugging at his lips.
"Tch… Figures."
Rin stood frozen for a moment. A split second ago, he had been convinced he was the one taking control of the game. But Isagi…
Isagi stole it.
He had beaten Rin.
He had beaten Sae.
He had beaten Aiku.
He had taken this moment for himself.
3-5.
With that goal, Isagi Yoichi had completed his hat-trick.
The match was as good as over.
U-20's defense—once their pride, their strongest weapon—had been shattered. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't stop Blue Lock's firepower.
And at the heart of it all… was Isagi.
This wasn't just luck. This wasn't just a momentary spark.
This was dominance.
"IT'S A HAT-TRICK! ISAGI YOICHI COMPLETES HIS HAT-TRICK IN SPECTACULAR FASHION!"
"THIS IS IT! THIS IS THE POWER OF BLUE LOCK! ISAGI HAS TORN U-20 APART!"
"LOOK AT HIM! LOOK AT THIS MOMENT! WE'RE WITNESSING THE FUTURE OF JAPANESE FOOTBALL!"
The second the ball hit the net, Isagi took off.
Sprinting toward the sidelines, adrenaline ripping through his veins, he grabbed his jersey and took it off in one motion.
His body—a product of every ounce of training, every battle inside Blue Lock—was fully displayed under the stadium lights.
A war-hardened physique. Defined muscle. A striker's body.
With a wild grin, he jumped into the air, fists clenched, veins visible from the sheer rush of the moment.
The stadium responded in kind.
Flashes from cameras lit up the scene.
A moment for the history books.
A moment that would be plastered on headlines, on screens, on posters.
Isagi Yoichi.
The one who had crushed U-20.
The one who had made this moment his own.