66. POWERLESS

note: i'm sick again. fuck. but i love komi and name too much guys... they so gay coded

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FINALLY,

your attention is drawn away from the scene in front of you, and you're staring up at the screen when it buzzes loudly. Ego's scratchy voice rings out through the stadium, a strange sense of familiarity pairing with that awful bowl cut, "Good job on your first match, my dear Neo-egoists."

He holds a glass of an undiscernable drink in his hands and swirls it around. It looks like some sort of bubbly alcoholic drink. "Well then, Blue Lock. How was the taste of the world's wall? Boy, do I love grape squash."

He takes a long, drawn-out sip that makes your face cringe up at the noise. Just stop. "The world of pros... is like a game of musical chairs. When you get into a team that's already complete, you have to steal somebody else's position, or else you don't have a job to do. And every team... has water called philosophy. Logic. Freedom. Rules. You're not limited to only one way of surviving in that water."

"You may die in water that's not suited to you. Or you may adapt, and survive. Or you might even dye the water in your own colour. At any rate," a digital fish leaps out of Ego's glass and shatters into billions of minuscule digital cubes on the ground beneath his cleats. "Now that you understand how to fight in the Neo-egoist league... Let's move on to the new rankings, now that the first match is over."

Various names pop up on the screen, behind the digital version of Ego.

Isagi. ¥ 17,000,000. Offer club — Barsark Dortmund.

Ego takes another long sip of his glass, "These are all yearly salaries. All of the matches in the Neo-egoist league... are under the inspection of football club owners in the whole world. They check all of your plays... bid on each of you after a match... and the highest bid will represent your value. This is our new ranking system... Blue Lock auction!"

Ego goes on about the auctioning and value of the players—something he already fully explained to you, so you didn't bother to listen—looking around at the numbers on the screen before you catch it.

There. It's my name. Underneath an abstract portrait of you, there is your name, team, and the club you were offered from.

[name]. ¥ 8,000,000. Offer club — Barsark Dortmund.

That's the same club as Isagi.

Your eyes light up at the number and you turn to Komi. "Do you see that?"

"It's less than what you get paid at Blue Lock," Komi smiles, tilting her head towards you. You shake your head at her words, searching around the screen for perhaps any other person you know.

You spot Komi's name, with a bid of ¥ 6,000,000. It makes you smile, "It's the thought that counts. You got one, too."

She spots it quickly after you point it out and she groans, face falling into her hands. "I'm not interested in money. I just wish to be chosen as the starting manager for the U-20 team. So..."

Komi raises her head and sends you a determined smile—eyes crinkling up with the corners of her pink lips raised, "You better watch out, [name]. You're not the only one who's eligible for that position. I'll snatch it from right under your nose before you know it."

It's not threatening, nor is it laced with any sort of malice—it's a friendly declaration of competition that'll make you strive to be the best you can be. Warmth floods your chest—Komi always knows just what to say. You lace her fingers within your own hand, giving her just as much as a determined look—grinning, "Keep dreaming, Miss Komi."

You two share a few long seconds of intense, fiery eye contact before laughter bubbles between you two—a stark contrast to the tense aura in which the rest of the field is entrapped.

You don't think you've felt this sort of peace since you've joined the Germany team. You almost miss this.

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In the locker rooms, you hand Isagi a water bottle as he slumps down onto the bench. His bright blue eyes have a certain tired dullness to them as he stares up at you and smiles, "Thanks, [name]."

You shake your head, smiling back. "It's nothing. Your performance in the game was superb. Even Mariele was surprised by it."

He blinks. "Uh... is that the German manager?"

Right. You forgot—she's barely interacted with the Blue Lockers. Her blank-faced expressions and misty eyes must not make it any easier to approach her, too. You nod, "Yes. She was a little sceptical because of the whole fanservice thing, but she didn't seem to be disappointed with you. Good job!"

You give him a cute grin and a little thumbs up, to which he smiles. Leaning back against the wall behind him—his head makes a faint knock against the blue walls of the locker room, "Fanservice... right. Still kind of shocked that's what got me on the field. A little disappointed, too. Weird, though. Ego doesn't seem the type to do something like that."

Ego is ridiculously against favouritism—everyone knows that. "I dunno. Maybe you just got lucky." You press a finger against your lips and smile. He decides to drop the subject with your cryptic answer.

Igaguri suddenly comes up out of nowhere and slings his arm around Isagi's shoulders, shaking the exhausted boy out of his trance-like state, "By the way, Isagi, it's 17 million, right?! A huge annual salary! That's a lot of money! How many days' worth of working part-time is that?! How many offertory boxes will it fill?!"

Isagi glances up at the monk boy, "Honestly, it's more than the money—I'm glad I got an offer. Since Barsark Dortmund has always been one of my favourite clubs... Our efforts in Blue Lock directly reach the world. We're incredible. I'm reminded once again that I'm in an awesome place."

I didn't know a single club before coming to Blue Lock—but now I guess I have to learn. You sigh woefully under your breath. Well, you got one thing right, Isagi. You really are awesome. It kind of sucks. Nobody else can have the spotlight.

Agreements—both competitive and determined—fill the room following Isagi's words. A sense of inspiration you've only ever really heard within somebody like Jinpachi Ego is laced with Isagi's tone—it makes you feel a little lighter.

Gagamaru leans back from where he sits, his lower face buried in the collar of his windbreaker jacket. His eyes are as wide, doe, and empty as ever—he rocks back and forth like a child, "Right. I have to snatch a place in the regulars at once. There are only three more games for Germany. Regardless of positions, if you can't play in a match, you're done."

Kurona nods to Gagamaru's words, braid lowering and falling with his head bobs. "... Yeah. We have totally different playstyles and strong points, we all have different ways to market ourselves to the position we aim."

"Tsk. You wanna make me aim for a position where I'm not a striker again... I refuse. I mean, these are our forwards now," Raichi somehow has your tablet (you could've sworn you left it with Mariele, in your room) and brings up a picture of Bastard München's offence system, consisting of Kaiser, Kunigami, Isagi, Grim, and Ness. "Aside from Kaiser who makes 300 million a year, including Isagi, we just gotta crush the three others in the frontline, right?"

"Grim's annual salary is 40 million," Kurona deadpans and points at the abstract profile picture of the Shakespearian.

Raichi jerks back and hisses, "Wha—that's quite a lot!" He rolls his head back and grits his teeth, hard, "Shit... Ah... Me too, just like Isagi, I wanna be a favourite."

Isagi seems to take mild offence to Raichi's statement, staring holes into the floor and huffily mumbling, "It's not like I asked for it."

"Y'ah, Raichi-kun," Hiori speaks up before Raichi has a chance to speak his rebuttal to Isagi's words, "It's an opportunity that came with Isagi's winning goal in the U-20 match. That's it, no need to question it, r'ght?"

You swallow thickly. Yeah... That's right...

Gagamaru lays down flat on his stomach on the bench beside Raichi—flopping like a fish to peer his head upwards at the angry boy, "He's right, Raichi. I think it's great that Isagi made it."

You're so sweet, Gagamaru, never change.

Raichi winces at Gagamaru's matter-of-fact tone. Igaguri comes up from behind the blonde and clicks his tongue like a mother would do to a misbehaving child, "How narrow-minded."

Raichi whips his head back and scowls deeply at the monk, "I don't wanna hear that from you! I get it... I'm pissed off...  but I gotta accept it..." He spits out the words like they're venom on his tongue.

You send a grin Raichi's way, "See, it's not all that hard. You've just grown as a person. Good job."

He bares his sharp teeth at you in an animalistic manner, about to (probably) send insults hurling your way—until footsteps clacking against the tiled ground catches everyone's attention. It's Yukimiya, sliding his sport visors off and replacing them with his shiny rounded lens.

"Nope, I'll never accept it." He pushes the frame up the bridge of his nose and stands in front of Isagi with an undecipherable look. "How can you pass if you want to be in the regulars? I have reservations about his character as someone who aspires to be the world's best striker."

Isagi furrows his brows at the brunette, looking up at him strangely. Yukimiya isn't faltered by this look at all. "Like I said... it's not like I wanted to pass..."

Yukimiya does not look the least bit impressed with his answer. He slides his hands into his pockets and stares down at him intensely, "Oh really? But that doesn't change the fact that I'm disappointed in you, Isagi-kun."

Gagamaru is still rocking back and forth like a ragdoll from where he sits when he says, to Yukimiya, "Hey, hey, what's wrong? This isn't like you."

Isagi begins to explain himself (for what reason, you're not sure whether it's to reassure his own worth or stop Yukimiya's reign of terror), "Certainly that was an assist, but... that play is only a way-point to becoming a striker. Wouldn't you have done the same thing if you had been in the same situation?"

It doesn't take a moment of hesitation for Yukimiya to answer, cooly and calm as ever, "I would not. I wouldn't feel good about that type of pass."

Now you're starting to get bothered by this. The room feels ice-cold between the two strikers, and it's now uncharacteristically silent. You can even hear your own shallow breathing between the pauses in their conversation (?) with each other.

"It isn't about me feeling good. It's the result of focusing on what I could challenge in my own way." Isagi pops the lid of his water bottle on and off—Yukki's words are clearly getting to him. "I have no regrets in making that choice but... I am well aware of how powerless I am."

Despite Isagi's words, Yukimiya does not relent. You don't understand why. "If that's the case, you could have been wise and lost by yourself. Getting an assist... is a small-minded approach."

He's wrong. You understand this part very well. If Isagi had not done what he did, then there was a very good possibility that one—your team would've lost, and two—Noa would put them both on the bench for an indefinite amount of time. But what you do not understand is why he keeps pushing.

Yukimiya is not dumb. You're very well aware of this. You're sure he knows that objectively, he is wrong. So why does he keep pushing?

It seems Yukki pushed hard enough for Isagi to finally get mad. He stands up abruptly, towel fluttering behind him with the force of his movements, standing up to Yukimiya with a snarl and he seems to be an arm's length aware from shoving him back. Despite how Yukimiya does not even flinch—you still jerk forward and instinctively move yourself closer to them.

"Are you trying to pick a fight with me now?" Isagi does not yell or even raise his voice—his tone is simply low, threatening and accusatory. Yukimiya's expression does not move an inch—like it was carved out of stone.

"Not really. I'm just saying what I think."

"If so, speak only after you have realised your ideals." The tension in the air is so thick you could slice it with a butter knife. The wind is knocked from your lungs at Isagi's words, "If you can be in the regulars with just lip service, then even an idiot can. You're blind to reality."

This time, it seems these words strike him deep—Yukimiya's face contorts into one of angry shock. His brows furrow deeply and his eyes widen behind his glasses. His lips part into a scowl, and he hisses at Isagi, "Don't expect your righteousness to be accepted by everyone. So long as my ideals are far out of sight, I will fight until the day I die."

Isagi growls, eyes widening with fury and he lunges forward—he's only stopped from colliding with the model from your arm separating the two—"Let's see what you can do, you half-assed—!!!"

"That's enough," you're struggling to hold back the much more fit and athletic football player, but you're doing your best to not let it show. You narrow your eyes at Isagi, "Don't let this ruin everything."

Hiori comes in beside you and uses himself as a barrier between the two so that you don't have to forcefully hold Isagi back. You appreciate this small gesture. However, he doesn't even glance at you as he stares down Isagi with hard eyes, "Isagi-kun, yer gettin' carried away." He turns his gaze towards the glasses-wearer. "You too, Yukimiya, y'ah said too much."

His voice is soft and calm amid this raging storm and you suddenly feel thankful to have Hiori by your side.

Three quick, sharp knocks against metal draw your attention away, and back to the doorway. A small part of you hopes that this is either Noa or Mariele—but your prayers go unanswered because it just so happens to be a shirtless German man with blonde hair and blue tips.

"Sorry to bother you all while you're having a good time." Kaiser runs a hand through his hair, with his signature shit-eating smirk that you want to forcefully wipe off his face. "If you hate Yoichi that much, then come with me, Kenyu. You're jealous of Yoichi's circumstances and success, aren't you?"

He looks far too sure of himself, you deem. His hair is parted strangely on the side and his bangs fall over his left eye. Your eyes find their way down his right arm—lifted above his hip—and for the first time, you get an eyeful of the thorns and roses that run up the expanse of his fair skin.

Such a lovely piece of art—it's a shame it's left on him. Thorned blue roses... in a way, it strangely fits him.

"We're afraid to face the reality of our own weaknesses, so we shift the issue in finding fault in others who have succeeded. Eventually, they run away from their ideals. It's a repulsive, stupid, and trivial emotion... We've all got a jealous demon inside us. It takes a professional to tame it."

The way he speaks with such certainty—it sounds like he's talking from experience. Though, you can't be too sure, because maybe that's how he always talks.

Yukimiya's eyes look strangely blank. His lovely, amber eyes are now dull and lifeless, and the sight makes you frown. "Thanks for the homily, but... that doesn't mean I'll be coming with you, Kaiser."

This does not (physically, at least) phase the blonde one bit. He raises his hand in mock defence and grins, eyes squinting into crescent-moon shapes, "Hey, hey, I just came here to give you some advice, okay? There's more than one way to be in the regulars."

He turns on his heel, back now facing you—you get an eyeful of that horrible mullet trailing down his back and with the way he peers at you over his shoulder, you're sure he notices—"Yoichi? Or me? I'm just telling you to make a wise choice for your own good."

Those words give that similarly strange, empty feeling you got at the end of the Barcha match. Even though he's addressing everyone in the room, you can't help but feel like they're directed at you. (Or perhaps you were looking far too much into this—perhaps Kaiser hadn't even been looking at you at all. You have no idea when a mere glance from him was suddenly enough to make you freeze.)

"Don't choose the wrong king to serve, shitty commoners." 

He walks out without another word and the sliding door monotonously closes behind him.

Hiori is the first one to speak after he's left, eyes narrowed at where his form retreated and he has a hand on his hip, "So full of himself. No one here wants to go with him, anyway. If we're gonna follow someone, it'll definitely be Isagi. Right, everyone?"

You nod your head, affirming his words, "Of course. Nobody wants somebody like Kaiser to lead them. Everyone will choose Isagi."

The silence that fills the room after your words weighs down heavily on you. 

Your stomach twists and churns uncomfortably with the fleeting thought that passes your mind.

This place feels more like Blue Lock than ever.

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