The announcement system crackled to life.
"Both Match 5 and Match 6 have ended."
The stadium lights dimmed slightly as every screen inside Blue Lock — and across the globe — shifted to a unified broadcast.
"Now, throughout the facility and on live broadcast…"
A pause.
"…we will announce the new salary auction ranking."
The pitch fell into a tense silence.
Players who had been celebrating moments ago straightened instinctively. Smiles faded. Shoulders stiffened.
This was value.
And value in Blue Lock determined everything.
The screen flickered.
A list began to materialize.
"These are the 30 players who currently have offers."
Numbers scrolled.
Logos flashed.
Cameras cut to faces.
"First, we'll announce those ranked 30th–24th…"
The rankings appeared one by one:
30th Rank — Wanima Junichi — ¥4,000,000
29th Rank — Reiji Hiiragi — ¥5,000,000
28th Rank — Fukaku Gen — ¥5,000,000
27th Rank — Kazuma Niuo — ¥6,000,000
26th Rank — Zantetsu Tsurugi — ¥8,000,000
25th Rank — Tokimitsu Aoshi — ¥10,000,000
The numbers glowed sharply against the darkened screens.
A ripple moved through the gathered players.
Zantetsu adjusted his glasses slowly, the reflection of his ranking flickering across the lenses.
"26th… that's low…"
His voice carried frustration.
The screen did not fade.
It shifted.
"And now for the rank 23 and above…"
A beat.
"The cut-off for representing Japan in the U-20 World Cup."
The next names appeared.
23rd Rank — Hayate Haru — ¥13,000,000
23rd Rank — Nanase Nijiro — ¥13,000,000
22nd Rank — Darai Miroku — ¥16,000,000
21st Rank — Gagamaru Gin — ¥18,000,000
A small wave of murmurs swept through.
"Huh?"
Gagamaru blinked at the screen, genuinely confused.
He hadn't stopped any shot.
Hadn't done anything flashy.
And yet—
¥18,000,000.
What he didn't realize was what the clubs had noticed.
His constant communication.
His defensive calls.
The way he organized the back line.
Not just as a goalkeeper, but as a leader.
Value isn't always loud.
Sometimes it's structure.
And structure sells.
"I'm in!"
Nanase's heart leapt in his chest as he stared at his name glowing on the screen.
23rd.
Right at the cut-off.
The screen continued to scroll.
Numbers climbing.
20th Rank — Raichi Jingo — ¥20,000,000
Raichi's eyes widened for half a second.
Then—
"Alright! 20 Mil!"
He pumped his fist immediately, chest swelling with pride. It wasn't top tier, but it wasn't low either. Solid. Earned. Recognition for the grit he brought to every duel.
That alone felt good.
19th Rank — Otoya Eita — ¥22,000,000 (Didn't have a match)
18th Rank — Sendou Shuto — ¥25,000,000 (+¥7.5M)
Sendou blinked at the increase. The jump was noticeable. Proof that even in a losing match, visibility mattered.
17th Rank — Kira Ryosuke — ¥28,000,000 (+¥9M)
16th Rank — Karasu Tabito — ¥30,000,000 (+¥18M)
15th Rank — Shidou Ryusei — ¥33,000,000 (+¥13M)
Shidou's grin widened lazily.
"Only 15th?"
He didn't look disappointed.
He looked entertained.
Like this was just foreplay.
14th Rank — Yukimiya Kenyu — ¥35,000,000
Yukimiya exhaled slowly.
"Finally…"
Two ranks away from the top eleven.
The numbers continued climbing.
13th Rank — Niko Ikki — ¥37,000,000 (+¥13.5M)
Niko adjusted his gaze calmly, though the increase was significant. A recognition of his vision.
12th Rank — Jyubei Aryu — ¥39,000,000 (+¥14M)
Aryu smoothed his hair, posture straight.
A near-40 million valuation.
Yet—
Still not in the Top 11.
"And now for… the Top 11 Players."
The air shifted instantly.
This was the tier that mattered.
The true elite of Blue Lock — the ones now standing on the edge of representing Japan at the highest youth stage.
The screen brightened and names began to appear.
11th Rank — Oliver Aiku — ¥40,000,000 (+¥13M)
Aiku smiled, letting out a quiet breath through his nose. A solid rise. A recognition of his defensive command even in defeat.
Forty million.
Respectable.
10th Rank — Kunigami Rensuke — ¥42,000,000 (+¥2M)
Kunigami's expression barely shifted.
Only +2 million.
A minimal increase.
His eyes hardened slightly.
That wasn't enough.
Not for what he believed himself to be.
9th Rank — Hiori Yo — ¥44,000,000 (+¥10M)
"44 mil… that's quite good…"
Hiori murmured under his breath, almost analytical rather than excited. A ten-million jump.
Recognition for his vision.
For his composure.
8th Rank — Nagi Seishiro — ¥45,000,000 (+¥15M)
"Haa…"
Nagi exhaled lazily, staring at his name glowing on the screen.
+15 million.
A strong increase.
Proof that his talent still dazzled.
And yet—
Still behind the true monsters.
The screen flickered again.
6th Rank — Kurona Ranze — ¥50,000,000 (+¥15M)
6th Rank — Chigiri Hyoma — ¥50,000,000 (+¥18M)
A tie.
Both names glowed side by side.
Fifty million.
The jump was undeniable.
"Oh, going up, up."
Kurona said lightly, eyes steady on the number. His tone was calm, but the increase spoke volumes.
15 million more.
The link-up plays.
The synchronization.
The interceptions.
The silent engine beside Isagi.
5th Rank — Reo Mikage — ¥60,000,000 (+¥16M)
Reo's lips curved into a confident grin.
A 16 million increase.
His performance against France's team had paid off.
Not just as someone supporting Nagi.
But as his own force.
He adjusted his posture slightly, eyes gleaming.
Top 5.
He belonged there.
The screen flashed again.
4th Rank — Meguru Bachira — ¥66,000,000
A grin appeared on Bachira's face as he watched his name glow in bold letters from his wing.
He hadn't even played this round.
And yet—
He remained 4th.
66 million.
Untouched.
Still firmly inside the elite.
"Ehehe…"
He scratched the back of his head lightly, eyes bright.
Even without stepping on the pitch, his value hadn't dropped.
Then—
The lights intensified slightly.
The announcer's voice rose with theatrical suspense.
"Now then… finally… the Top 3!
Currently, the number 3 is…"
A pause long enough to make hearts pound.
Then—
3rd Rank — Barou Shoei — ¥110,000,000 (+¥10M)
The number hit like a hammer.
"Barou Shoei with a bid value of 110 million!"
110 million.
Still monstrous.
Still elite.
Still one of the highest in Blue Lock.
But—
Barou didn't react.
He stared at the screen.
Unblinking.
From 2nd—
To 3rd.
He had fallen.
His jaw tightened.
Veins surfaced faintly across his temple.
He had gained 10 million.
And yet—
It felt like loss.
Because this wasn't about the money.
It was about hierarchy.
He wasn't chasing the number.
He was chasing dominance.
And instead of closing the distance to Isagi—
He had been pushed back.
His fists clenched slowly.
The screen dimmed again.
The announcer's tone shifted — slower.
"Next… 2nd Rank…"
A breath.
"Starting with a mere 36 million salary…"
The screen flashed the previous value for a split second.
"…and now rising to quintuple that amount…"
The tension snapped tight.
"Is Rin Itoshi!"
The number exploded onto the screen.
2nd Rank — Rin Itoshi — ¥180,000,000 (+¥144M)
A collective gasp rippled through the facility.
+144 million.
An astronomical jump.
Not a steady climb.
A leap.
Rin stood still as his name burned in bold letters across the screen.
180 million.
Second place.
He lifted his hand slowly and ran it back through his hair, pushing it away from his eyes.
His expression didn't change.
Just cold focus.
A hundred and forty-four million added.
And yet—
He wasn't first.
That was the only number that mattered.
His gaze shifted slightly.
Forward.
Toward the one name that hadn't appeared yet.
The screen flickered.
The entire facility felt like it stopped breathing.
"And now… the number 1."
A pause long enough to make every heartbeat audible.
"The player who has been dominating the league since Day 1…"
The screen flashed highlights — interceptions, assists, impossible reads.
"Who scored two goals in the last match…"
The vortex shot replayed in slow motion.
"And holds six goals in the entire league, leading the chart…"
The announcer's voice rose.
"Is Isagi Yoichi!"
The name exploded across the screen in bold white letters.
And beneath it—
1st Rank — Isagi Yoichi — ¥400,000,000 (+¥150M) [PSG]
A number that dwarfed the rest.
+150 million added in a single jump.
"WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT!! ISAGI MAKES ANOTHER LEAP FROM 250 MILLION TO 400 MILLION!!"
The commentator's voice cracked under the sheer scale of the number.
"An increase of 150 million in a single round!!"
The screen replayed his moments again — the 44-yard thunder strike, the vortex cannon, the nutmeg on Snuffy.
"The difference between his salary and second place is massive!!"
And it was.
400 million.
Rin at 180 million.
Most viewers had expected something outrageous.
But this—
This was beyond even their predictions.
"And this bid comes from PSG!!"
The crest flashed onto the screen — Paris Saint-Germain.
A global powerhouse.
Across the world, reactions exploded.
Social media timelines flooded instantly.
"PSG invests in Japan's future star."
"Isagi Yoichi breaks valuation expectations."
"400 million yen — a new era begins."
Even inside Blue Lock, the number lingered in the air like something unreal.
"No freaking way..."
Naruhaya's jaw dropped.
"That's enormous!"
Aiku's eyes widened.
Nagi stared blankly at Isagi's name.
"He's as non-standard as ever..."
Shidou let out a low whistle.
"Argh...!"
Barou's jaw tightened further.
Rin's gaze sharpened, unreadable but burning.
Isagi stood still.
400 million.
The highest bid in Blue Lock.
The highest value in the league.
Now—
Officially—
At the top of Blue Lock.
The noise hadn't even settled.
Isagi's 400 million still burned across the screen—
When the broadcast shifted again.
"Also… Michael Kaiser has received a new offer…"
The screen flickered.
A new crest appeared.
"Spain's Re Al… has presented an offer of 350 million yen!"
The number flashed.
Michael Kaiser — ¥350,000,000 (+¥50M)
Gasps erupted instantly.
Re Al.
The strongest club in the world.
The dream destination.
Kaiser stood still.
For a moment, the weight of that crest alone carried more prestige than the number beside it.
Re Al wasn't just money.
It was status.
It was validation at the highest level.
The world had watched his Inverse-Magnus strike.
Watched him be reborn.
And the strongest club had said—
We want you.
His jaw tightened slightly.
400 million.
350 million.
Isagi stood at the top of Blue Lock.
But Kaiser had just been invited to the throne room of the football world.
Not as a prospect.
As a successor.
Yet—
It wasn't satisfying.
Not even close.
The crest of Re Al still glowed on the screen.
350 million yen.
The strongest club in the world.
An offer most players would kneel for.
And yet Kaiser didn't feel triumphant.
Because the number that mattered wasn't his.
It was the one above it.
400 million.
Isagi Yoichi.
The critics were already speaking.
The commentators had already framed it.
"The most valuable striker in the league."
"The future of Japan."
"The player worth more."
More.
That word dug deeper than any defeat.
It felt like a blade sliding between his ribs.
Even after going back to zero.
Even after stripping himself of comfort.
Even after rediscovering that malicious, predatory urge to steal.
Even after abandoning his need to be adored.
It still wasn't enough.
He had evolved.
He had rebirthed himself.
He had embraced restriction.
And yet—
Isagi had evolved as well.
And he had feely stood higher.
What Kaiser wanted—
Was to steal that freedom.
The freedom that Isagi had just radiated when he smiled.
The freedom to choose any axis and not be bound.
And no contract—
Not even from the strongest club in the world—
Could buy that.
.
.
.
Match 7 — FC Barcha vs PSG
Match 8 — Manshine City vs Ubers
"Because of these matches, we have quite the long break for us…"
Yukimiya said, standing beside Isagi as he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a towel.
"Well, good enough time to prepare for PSG."
Hiori spoke calmly from the corner, tablet resting in one hand, a water bottle in the other.
Preparation had already begun.
"This will be the last chance… to make a case for ourselves."
Naruhaya flinched at those words.
The football in his hands slipped slightly before he caught it again.
Last chance.
The phrase echoed uncomfortably in his chest.
He hadn't played a single game yet.
Not even as a substitute.
And no one above him had slipped.
No sudden injuries like Ubers had.
No catastrophic drops in performance.
The numbers spoke for themselves.
He still held 13th rank within the team.
One step behind Grim.
Close enough to see the lineup.
Though not close enough to enter it.
Now for the upcoming ten days, he had to outperform Grim.
And Raichi.
And Mensah.
Just to earn a spot on the field.
That was the reality.
That was how brutal the competition had become.
Earlier in the training program, Naruhaya had risen through the ranks with clever link-up plays with Isagi.
Quick one-twos. Blindside runs. Smart proximity support.
But things were different now.
Isagi no longer needed just proximity.
He had Hiori feeding him surgical passes.
Kurona syncing his tempo.
Yukimiya stretching the width.
Naruhaya's specialty — slipping behind defenders unnoticed — was still valuable.
But it wasn't irreplaceable.
And that realization stung.
He knew he needed to evolve.
To add range.
To expand his toolkit beyond short bursts and support runs.
But evolution wasn't instant.
Not when everyone else were growing fast.
He gripped the ball tighter.
Ten days to prove he still belonged in a lineup built around monsters.
Because in Blue Lock—
Talent wasn't rewarded.
It was replaced.
Unless you forced them to keep you.
"Tch! Why the hell are Kurona and Hiori's salaries higher than mine?! It doesn't make any sense!"
Raichi barked the complaint loud enough for half the room to hear.
He wasn't ungrateful.
Twenty million wasn't small.
But—
It still irritated him.
Because in the last match, he had made a difference.
The unofficial assist to Kaiser.
Even if it didn't show up on the stat sheet — even if the final touch belonged solely to Kaiser — Raichi knew he had ignited that sequence.
He had forced the opening.
And yet—
It wasn't enough to lift him into the tier Kurona and Hiori now occupied.
Though, Hiori at 9th made sense.
His value wasn't just about assists.
It was adaptability.
The way he read tempo shifts.
The way he molded his passing to match Isagi's evolving rhythm.
Clubs didn't just see skill.
They saw compatibility.
And Kurona—
At 6th place.
Tied with Chigiri was just as valid.
Kurona had intercepted what was practically a guaranteed goal earlier in the league.
A last-second read.
A decisive cut.
That moment alone had spiked his valuation.
Add to that his near-telepathic link-up play with Isagi, his clean ball circulation, his quiet efficiency—
And fifty million started making sense.
"Ya look pretty happy though…"
Hiori said dryly, watching Raichi's exaggerated outrage with an almost amused expression.
Raichi was still complaining.
Still barking.
But the corners of his mouth betrayed him.
"He can't hide his joy at getting an offer."
Kurona added calmly, pointing straight at Raichi like he had solved a mystery.
Yukimiya let out a quiet chuckle.
Because he understood that feeling.
That subtle relief.
That validation.
Raichi clicked his tongue but didn't deny it.
And Yukimiya—
He couldn't deny it either.
He had finally received an offer.
¥35,000,000.
It wasn't top tier.
But it meant something.
Even if it felt like a compromise.
Even if it meant adjusting his style, cooperating more than he wanted to, bending slightly away from his original philosophy—
It was better to sail than to drown.
…For now.
But something had shifted.
Watching the last match unfold from within it — watching Kaiser tear himself down and rebuild, watching Isagi abandon identity and ascend —
It had done something to Yukimiya.
His ego had sharpened.
The burning frustration he carried hadn't disappeared.
It had refined itself.
He wasn't satisfied with compromise.
He was just surviving through it.
For the next match—
He was ready to bet it all again.
But differently.
He didn't need to clash blindly.
He didn't need to force his philosophy onto the field.
He could survive inside the system—
And still be the same dream-chasing idiot who refused to fit neatly into Isagi's logic.
That was the lesson.
Isagi didn't bind himself to one axis.
Kaiser didn't deny his darkness.
They both chose themselves.
Yukimiya could do the same.
And for the first time in a while—
He didn't feel bitter standing next to them.
He felt motivated.
He had even grown more open with the others.
Less defensive.
Less salty.
He understood now that Isagi wasn't trying to suffocate him.
He was chasing something.
And Yukimiya was chasing something too.
With same hunger.
He glanced toward Isagi briefly.
"…Next match."
Yukimiya muttered quietly to himself.
He wasn't going to be background support.
He wasn't going to drown.
He was going to carve his own proof.
Even if it meant burning again.
Isagi wasn't any calmer than the rest of them.
If anything—
He was worse.
Because the hunger inside him hadn't dimmed after the match.
It had intensified.
That game — the chaos, the duel with Snuffy, the vortex strike — had lit something new inside him.
A sharper, more electric craving.
He wanted more.
Immediately.
The 20-day break didn't feel like rest.
It felt like a cruel joke.
And in that restless state, something almost ironic had slipped past him—
In terms of value, he had surpassed Kaiser.
¥400,000,000.
Higher than Re Al's ¥350,000,000 bid.
Higher than the striker who had already built a name for himself in Europe.
Higher than someone with history.
With reputation.
With few extra years of presence in the football world.
That was massive.
But Isagi barely processed it.
Because for him, the number wasn't the summit.
It was a marker.
And markers only mattered if they led somewhere.
Right now, all he could think about was the next match.
PSG.
France.
A different battlefield.
And as if the world itself wanted to stoke the flames—
His phone had buzzed earlier.
A message.
From Loki.
'It won't be the same as before.'
Isagi reread it once more in his mind.
The last time they faced off, it had been a clash of potential and unpredictable surprises.
This time—
It would be deliberate.
Calculated.
Prepared.
Loki wasn't going to underestimate him again.
The win wouldn't be handed over through surprise.
It would have to be taken.
And that thought—
That challenge—
Made Isagi's pulse quicken.
He wanted to conquer the next peak.
And if the message meant what he thought it did—
Then PSG wouldn't be the same team either.
A slow smile formed again.
Not arrogant.
Hungry.
The fire inside him didn't quiet after victory.
It roared louder.
Because being the best in the world—
Wasn't a number.
It was a war.
.
.
.
.
.
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