I want more Kaisagi!!!!!!!!

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

It is rare for the emperor to fall silent, to listen.

It is rare for his mocking smile to fade, replaced by what seems to be an untouched bitterness, left behind two closed lips.

A calm storm clouds his gaze, fixed on the heel of Isagi as it hovers over the ball. That gentle swinging movement slips into his mind, momentarily numbing his usual flair with a silence few associate with him, given his usual boasting.

The goal he had in mind when he came here begins to splinter into shards of glass. And with whatever anger he gathers up from the pieces, Kaiser intends to shatter the resolve of the obstacle he's fashioned for himself. An irritating little footballer named Isagi Yoichi.

His eyebrows knit together, creases of disgust carving into his forehead.

Nothing I can do, huh?

His chin lifts, raising his head a few inches as the younger player moves away from the field.

When Isagi finishes his speech, Kaiser's chest heaves with an exasperated sigh, one almost too bitter. The sardonic smirk distorting his face punctuates his voice with a trace of menace.

"Well, Yoichi. I'll take great pleasure in obliterating all of your efforts."

You won't rise again.

There will be no light, no open window to the world.

It will be eternal darkness, a night without a crescent.

You'll come to know winter, view the world from the ground,

trampled by the heels of those who never stop to look at you.

You will have nothing left, forced to digest your own existence,

in place of ever receiving the attention of a peer.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | YOICHI ISAGI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

The fact that Kaiser has deliberately pulled himself out of the fray, as though he sees no point in engaging in what amounts to nothing more than a sandbox brawl.

A king lets his underlings play in the mud while he lounges on his throne.

He remains motionless through the Blue Lock ace's antics, lazily following the sequence of movements that help him reach the heart of the defense. The human illusions swirl around the blue-haired player, faceless, showing neither fear nor rage—just emptiness for the Japanese player to wrestle with.

It's exactly what Isagi Yoichi has been doing since he arrived at Blue Lock. Fighting against nothingness.

A breathy chuckle makes the blue rose's shoulders jolt.

His rival, hovering near the goalposts, signals it's time to step in and teach the lackey a lesson. The blond springs into action, instantly drawing the attention of the holograms. It's mere formality as the emperor evades, parries, and outmaneuvers the assailants without a hint of difficulty. The pros have known all along that none of this is real.

And if Isagi Yoichi is about to stretch out his leg to cast the jewel into its cradle, Kaiser will appear in a brilliant leap—the very same that stole a goal from the Blue Lock striker just days before.

In his grand ascent, carried by an air that seemed to bear a crown of thorns, a mischievous smile lit up the German's face.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

There are not many ways to thwart a Michael Kaiser once he has his mind set on something. But Isagi has already been defeated by him once today. It offers information, for every nerve in his brain to put together, and prepare his muscles to react.

Isagi dribbles the ball for a moment, dodging the hologram's attempts to steal possession swiftly, before he's off. There's a haunting shadow of an Emperor behind, and Isagi refuses to get caught in those thorns.

He rushes forward, eyes alight in the way they were throughout the Manshine City match. His brain is on fire, information coming and processing in waves as he works his way up the field towards the goalkeeper.

Watching Kaiser through the past two matches has been enlightening. Isagi has learned much more than he ever expected to in the last twenty days. If Rin hinted at how he should use his eyes, find all the blind spots and develop his spatial awareness, then Kaiser's the one who opened the whole field up for Isagi to devour.

And that, he will.

This time, when Kaiser attempts to steal a goal, thwart another attempt at victory, plunder more loot to add to his own treasury, Isagi will be ready.

Because there is nothing else that will stop Kaiser, than the ability to read and overtake the predictions, illusions, that you see of his movements.

Isagi catches the ball with the inside edge of his foot, the flame of determination ever lit within him as he moves to score.

There wasn't an opponent capable of truly keeping the emperor on edge. Everything was a masquerade, mere pretenses. Noa was an exception. Noa… was truly gifted. One could even say he was a prodigy of his generation. He was the reason Kaiser had boarded the plane to Japan. The Blue Lock's victory against the U-20 was nothing more than an excuse for their inevitable meeting on the grand stage.

Everything had always been for Noa.

But there had been a grain of sand. A tiny, insignificant grain of sand. A little nuisance that Kaiser expected to brush away in the first round. From the very first kickoff. But the nuisance had grown. The nuisance had gained importance, had taken flight, and now, Kaiser had to soar higher.

His goal of defeating Noa had drifted even further away.

If Kaiser couldn’t beat Isagi, then he couldn’t beat anyone.

That's why the fire of his resentment burns so fiercely. Perhaps more fiercely than it ever has.

And faced with Isagi's outstretched leg, ready to launch the ball into the net, something in Kaiser resolves itself. Not to surrender—far from it.

But the king decides his jester has danced long enough for now.

He slows down. His ankle is mere inches away from recovering the ball. He could've stopped the goal. He could've even grabbed his opponent by the chest and frozen him in place, just like before. These options are swept away. The ball hits the net, and there is no expression of anger or joy on Kaiser's face.

There is nothing.

The holograms all halt in unison.

The ball bounces weakly, propelled by its own momentum. Soon, it reaches Kaiser. A white ball. The German's gaze clouds over for a brief moment, then he recovers his usual energy, a tailor-made bravado, a smile painted with the finest arrogance. He regains his regal grandeur with exaggerated gestures as his hand ruffles the younger one's hair.

"Well done, little ace of Blue Lock."

The praise is anything but sincere. Neither is his smile.

"Tell me. A question has been bugging me for some time." The insolence fades, his mischief freezes. "Why?"

Suddenly, his enthusiasm deflates like a popped balloon. He removes his hand from the blue strands. Something disdainful flashes in his cerulean eyes.

"Why not just give up?"

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

The fact that Kaiser has deliberately pulled himself out of the fray, as though he sees no point in engaging in what amounts to nothing more than a sandbox brawl.

A king lets his underlings play in the mud while he lounges on his throne.

He remains motionless through the Blue Lock ace's antics, lazily following the sequence of movements that help him reach the heart of the defense. The human illusions swirl around the blue-haired player, faceless, showing neither fear nor rage—just emptiness for the Japanese player to wrestle with.

It's exactly what Isagi Yoichi has been doing since he arrived at Blue Lock. Fighting against nothingness.

A breathy chuckle makes the blue rose's shoulders jolt.

His rival, hovering near the goalposts, signals it's time to step in and teach the lackey a lesson. The blond springs into action, instantly drawing the attention of the holograms. It's mere formality as the emperor evades, parries, and outmaneuvers the assailants without a hint of difficulty. The pros have known all along that none of this is real.

And if Isagi Yoichi is about to stretch out his leg to cast the jewel into its cradle, Kaiser will appear in a brilliant leap—the very same that stole a goal from the Blue Lock striker just days before.

In his grand ascent, carried by an air that seemed to bear a crown of thorns, a mischievous smile lit up the German's face.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Little pup rebels, grabs the parent's wrists, trying to pull back in.

There's something else delectable about Isagi.

It's how easy it is to read him like an open book.

Hatred, contempt, jealousy. A cocktail that stains his scowling face with frustration, glaring back at him as the so-called Blue Lock champion retreats to escape confrontation and go after his ball. Good dog.

And since he claims not to be a main player in the scene, Kaiser takes a wicked pleasure in silently following the rookie's trail. His knee rises at a right angle, then the leg unfurls.

"In that case, you've got no place on stage, Yoichi."

With a push on Isagi's tense backside, he topples the entire body into the nets. A domino collapse that pulls a sardonic smile from the blonde.

While the younger crashes into the spider's web, Kaiser retrieves the ball with a deft flick of his heel, then heads back to the center of the field, marked by the white circle.

As if nothing happened, he resumes his dribbling, eyes fixed on the opposing goal.

If Isagi is not part of the scene, then he simply ceases to exist in Kaiser's eyes.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi grunts lowly as he pushes himself up on his palms, already raising a hand to wipe the dirt off of his face before he's reoriented himself. By the time he's brought himself back on his feet, the pit of anger in his stomach has been brewing. Thoughtful, useful, determined.

The nutmeg seemed to work on Kaiser, even if it was for just a moment. Off the ball movements are good. A purely physical battle was a no go— Isagi got overpowered too easily.

The best course of action would be keep his distance and dribble past. Kaiser has speed, but Isagi can keep up with him if he tries. Their metavision is on the same level now that Isagi's learning to refine it. He needs to pay more attention to his blind spot. The actual goal is only possible if he's successfully bested Kaiser in a 1v1.

Which he will.

He will set his nerves aflame even if it means collapsing after.

This is doable, Isagi thinks as he strides towards the center of the field. There's fire in his eyes again, bright and ready for another round. The frustration has only ever fuelled his hunger.

He breaks into a sprint the moment he's put things together, racing to Kaiser's side.

"Again," Isagi says, voice filled with certainty and confidence. His eyes glint with that manic thirst for victory as he gazes into electrifyingly blue ones that he'd like to steal the confidence out of.

Let's be honest, Kaiser didn't expect silence for the rest of the session.

Knowing that Blue Lock's little ace always comes back for more is slowly becoming the norm. Deep down, maybe the German would've been disappointed if his counterpart hadn't picked himself back up, if he had indeed walked away as if nothing had happened. If things had played out that way, then the whole trip to Japan would've been pointless. No worthy rival. No awakening. No shaken ego. No progress. No destruction of Noel Noa.

Isagi is, inevitably, an essential piece in the puzzle of his own evolution. The one that'll allow him a prodigious leap to the upper echelons.

And every springboard has to know how to catch its user just right.

"Hmm."

A curious expression spreads across his features. Kaiser looks around, seeming to size up the field, observing the details of the gray walls.

"Yoichi. I want you to show me your best move."

Suddenly, the field is populated with several holographic figures positioned in defense. It seems someone's been listening.

"Hurry up."

The ball is sent towards the younger player. Instantly, the humanoid decoys come to life, aiming to block any offense.

The emperor, for his part, is already growing impatient to see the famed move from the little genius of adaptation.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Little pup rebels, grabs the parent's wrists, trying to pull back in.

There's something else delectable about Isagi.

It's how easy it is to read him like an open book.

Hatred, contempt, jealousy. A cocktail that stains his scowling face with frustration, glaring back at him as the so-called Blue Lock champion retreats to escape confrontation and go after his ball. Good dog.

And since he claims not to be a main player in the scene, Kaiser takes a wicked pleasure in silently following the rookie's trail. His knee rises at a right angle, then the leg unfurls.

"In that case, you've got no place on stage, Yoichi."

With a push on Isagi's tense backside, he topples the entire body into the nets. A domino collapse that pulls a sardonic smile from the blonde.

While the younger crashes into the spider's web, Kaiser retrieves the ball with a deft flick of his heel, then heads back to the center of the field, marked by the white circle.

As if nothing happened, he resumes his dribbling, eyes fixed on the opposing goal.

If Isagi is not part of the scene, then he simply ceases to exist in Kaiser's eyes.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Insults match the caliber of those they’re aimed at.

Mediocre for mediocre.

There’s no better term for Isagi Yoichi’s game, nor for what he represents in the blond’s eyes. And a mediocre being has no right to the throne—simple as that.

Kaiser’s gaze is fixed on the footwork daring to separate him from the ball. Petty and insignificant; that’s how the victor of the U-20 match attempts to snatch the ball, using a sneaky move to claim the prize. Kaiser recognizes the technique, one used by this annoying bee from FC Barcha. His blond brows lift slightly. Who else can this little blue-haired genius mimic? Is there no originality to his game, only recreations? Constantly adapting just means he’s imitating his opponent. Isagi is the ghost of those who pioneered innovation. A shadow clinging to their heels, never overtaking. That’s what he is.

The young blood drives up the field, eyeing the goal. The emperor tracks him, following his heels, slipping into the blind spot… only to escape once again. He feints, weaving through steps to sidestep Isagi in a trajectory as quick as it is unpredictable.

When he closes in on his junior, his arm stretches across Isagi’s chest, halting the rest of his body, then blocking his shin with an unyielding calf. Kaiser’s strength is unrelenting. His palm presses into the Japanese player’s chest, and in that fleeting moment of surprise, he hooks the ball with a deft flick of his heel, sending it soaring overhead. The bridge arches above them, and before Isagi fully grasps what’s happening, Kaiser has let go, racing towards the ball, then speeding up the pitch.

His speed puts distance between him and the one left trailing, and already, Kaiser’s right leg is drawn back, ready to score.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi knows what's going to happen. It's the same thing that's happened every single time he's been in a training session with Michael Kaiser before.

Maybe if he was faster, he'd have caught up to Kaiser, and tipped his balance the same way Itoshi Sae had ruined his shot in the U20 match.

Maybe if he was stronger, he'd have been able to avoid getting overpowered like that in the tussle for the ball, the way Shidou and Barou brute force their way towards the goal.

Maybe if he was more agile, he'd have been able to keep up with Kaiser the moment he rushed forward, the way Itoshi Rin is always on top of all his plays without a moment wasted.

But he is not Itoshi Sae, Ryusei Shidou, Barou Shoei, or Itoshi Rin. No matter how much he wishes, imagines, hopes.

He is simply Isagi Yoichi.

And yet.

Yet.

There's still fire consuming his being, frustration and determination flooding through his mind with each fleeting thought.

He's moving before he even realises it. Rushing, sprinting, chasing, hoping, dreaming, being everything he hasn't been stopped reaching out for since the day he got here.

Because if he admitted defeat at the first sign of superior play, he'd have left a long, long time.

That is why Yoichi Isagi runs. Runs, towards Kaiser, even as he's geared to score, ready to pull off that beautiful kick that nobody else could ever recreate. Ready to do it with the cruel precision of a trained Emperor, of an experienced player.

He runs, because he has never known how to stay down when kicked. Never known how to give up when it would be the easier option.

Isagi Yoichi refuses to trail behind. He refuses to be left behind, no matter how powerful and unreachable the world seems.

Kaiser's movements clearly signal his intent to score.

He even telegraphs how his foot will make contact with the ball.

Without needing to look, he can hear Isagi charging up the field behind him. His pursuit is desperate, illusory. He'll never reach the goal in time.

For just an instant, a mere fraction of a second, the blond glances back. Searches for the fool chasing him, breathless and drenched.

Kaiser's thigh lowers, his leg carving a perfect arc.

The tips of his cleats meet the round surface, but the force of the Kaiser Impact is absent.

Instead, it's a delicate, almost insolent finesse that grants the ball its final push into the net. The silk ripples, welcoming the guest in its slow descent.

A subtle, yet deeply detestable grin stretches across the emperor's face as his blond locks fall along his neck in ribbons of gold and cerulean.

His chest expands, then releases with a sigh of satisfaction. He turns to face his opponent, still lagging behind.

"See? No need to rush."

The ball's already in, and he didn't even have to hurry.

He steps forward, closing the distance between them. With a hypocritical, smug show of compassion, his palm settles on the shoulder of the one left behind. His thumb seems to almost tenderly stroke the fabric of the jersey.

"Remember this. Rage alone, besides being ugly, just isn't enough."

Where's that missing piece from the previous match, the one that made Kaiser falter for even a split second?

His grip lowers, seizing the jersey at the sternum to lift the clueless one, just as he had days before. He leans in, warm breath grazing Isagi's flushed skin.

His smile froze, now resembling a disappointment carved in stone.

"Once a clown, always a clown."

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Insults match the caliber of those they’re aimed at.

Mediocre for mediocre.

There’s no better term for Isagi Yoichi’s game, nor for what he represents in the blond’s eyes. And a mediocre being has no right to the throne—simple as that.

Kaiser’s gaze is fixed on the footwork daring to separate him from the ball. Petty and insignificant; that’s how the victor of the U-20 match attempts to snatch the ball, using a sneaky move to claim the prize. Kaiser recognizes the technique, one used by this annoying bee from FC Barcha. His blond brows lift slightly. Who else can this little blue-haired genius mimic? Is there no originality to his game, only recreations? Constantly adapting just means he’s imitating his opponent. Isagi is the ghost of those who pioneered innovation. A shadow clinging to their heels, never overtaking. That’s what he is.

The young blood drives up the field, eyeing the goal. The emperor tracks him, following his heels, slipping into the blind spot… only to escape once again. He feints, weaving through steps to sidestep Isagi in a trajectory as quick as it is unpredictable.

When he closes in on his junior, his arm stretches across Isagi’s chest, halting the rest of his body, then blocking his shin with an unyielding calf. Kaiser’s strength is unrelenting. His palm presses into the Japanese player’s chest, and in that fleeting moment of surprise, he hooks the ball with a deft flick of his heel, sending it soaring overhead. The bridge arches above them, and before Isagi fully grasps what’s happening, Kaiser has let go, racing towards the ball, then speeding up the pitch.

His speed puts distance between him and the one left trailing, and already, Kaiser’s right leg is drawn back, ready to score.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Not a smile,   not a single provocation.  

Only the determination to reclaim the ball.  

It was a devotion that Kaiser, behind his mocking demeanor and knee lifts, wanted to crush.  

Isagi, in his frantic chase, resembled a puppy trying to catch the ball from his older counterpart. The scene had a simple and pathetic quality that urged the German to unleash tricks to keep his toy away from the distressed animal.

Kaiser moves skillfully. There’s not even a single unnecessary motion in his gestures; his body shed all excess long ago. With nimble hips, he glides across the grass, leading his junior in what resembles a wild waltz rather than a struggle to regain the ball.  

"Do you know what a clown is meant to do?..."  

Just as Isagi is about to touch the projectile,   the heel of the blue rose comes to snatch away what’s due, taking it in the opposite direction with a controlled circular motion. 

"...Dance for his king."  

The ball then soars into the air, and with a lift of his right leg, Kaiser receives it in the cradle of his foot.   The movement of the ball halts within the angle formed.  

"Show me your steps, Yoichi."  

What has he repeated these past few days?   What path will his heel trace on the pitch?   Kaiser sends the ball to the younger one, his smile extinguished, a defiant look crossing his blue eyes.  

Behind the masquerade,   he seeks to understand the origin of this evolution for which he has no words.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

There's something about the way Kaiser looks at him.

Like he's an object of interest, rather than a human, a player worthy of attention. Hell, even wariness. Like he's just another opponent to destroy and move on. Like he's the dirt beneath Kaiser's shoe, meant to scowl and scoff about before discarding. It's condescending, fuelled by Kaiser's arrogance. Isagi feels the fire in his veins rise as the ball rolls its way over to him. He receives it with a quick tap, sending Kaiser a glare.

And

then

he

snaps.

[Because Isagi's never been able to control the urge to wipe the condescension off of people's faces.]

Isagi dribbles the ball for just a moment, and then he's kicking it forward, speeding towards Kaiser like two forces fated for collision. He twists the ball around to the edge of his foot, flicking it up and to the side before Kaiser has the chance to intercept his approach.

It happens in the blink of an eye.

He circles Kaiser, picking up the ball with the tip of his shoe in a smooth motion. Isagi dribbles the ball forward, throwing a look over his shoulder just as he makes it past the German.

"Do you know what threats kings are always faced with?"

There's blood in his ears, racing and pumping into his heart. The fire reaches its apex, burning out everything else in him. He's never felt more alive.

Isagi continues forward, refusing to look back again as he books it towards the goal.

"Someone usurping their throne."

What does the pup do once he’s finally given the ball?

Kaiser watches, tracking Isagi's path as it takes on renewed zeal.

A smirk tugs at the corner of the blond’s lips, following the young Blue Lock genius sprinting upfield, chaining together a series of acrobatics to escape the emperor's reach.

Or so he thinks.

Kaiser strides forward, slipping into Isagi’s shadow, moving in tandem with that overly daring silhouette. Approaching stealthily, he creeps into the blind spot, muscles primed.

And like the drawn string of a bow, the tension releases in a prodigious burst.

Caught in his enthusiasm, the pup finds himself collared, his master snatching the round toy, the object of all desire.

"You know what happens to those who attempt regicide?"

The ball shifts, as if magnetized to the tattooed one's foot. The movement is masterful, halting Isagi's sprint as his legs are ensnared by the intrusion.

"We cut off their heads."

A guillotine reclaiming the monochrome prize.

The throne remains.

But something disturbs Kaiser; the usual taunting expression on his face has blurred into something else.

A palpable irritation, like the silent tension breathed in by the white walls.

"Is this what you plan to beat me with, Yoichi?"

This was what made the difference in the last match?

No.

Unthinkable.

"Mediocre."

And the king strides away with the bone that the pup will continue to chase relentlessly.

Kaiser makes his way back to the center.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Not a smile,   not a single provocation.  

Only the determination to reclaim the ball.  

It was a devotion that Kaiser, behind his mocking demeanor and knee lifts, wanted to crush.  

Isagi, in his frantic chase, resembled a puppy trying to catch the ball from his older counterpart. The scene had a simple and pathetic quality that urged the German to unleash tricks to keep his toy away from the distressed animal.

Kaiser moves skillfully. There’s not even a single unnecessary motion in his gestures; his body shed all excess long ago. With nimble hips, he glides across the grass, leading his junior in what resembles a wild waltz rather than a struggle to regain the ball.  

"Do you know what a clown is meant to do?..."  

Just as Isagi is about to touch the projectile,   the heel of the blue rose comes to snatch away what’s due, taking it in the opposite direction with a controlled circular motion. 

"...Dance for his king."  

The ball then soars into the air, and with a lift of his right leg, Kaiser receives it in the cradle of his foot.   The movement of the ball halts within the angle formed.  

"Show me your steps, Yoichi."  

What has he repeated these past few days?   What path will his heel trace on the pitch?   Kaiser sends the ball to the younger one, his smile extinguished, a defiant look crossing his blue eyes.  

Behind the masquerade,   he seeks to understand the origin of this evolution for which he has no words.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Isagi Yoichi.

Thus had he become the new obsession of the king—a target toward which every thorn stretched, seeking the perfect angle to pierce the ego of Blue Lock’s young genius. How could one explain the blue-haired prodigy’s phenomenal progress in such a short span of time? How had that ever-late, ever-chasing figure managed to insert its grains of sand into the meticulously designed machinery of Bastard München?

There was no rational explanation, and therein lay the emperor’s misery. His evenings slipped by as he pored over recordings, searching for the flaw, the error, the hint that would reveal the truth. How could something so obvious escape his judgment? What did Isagi Yoichi possess that all those the German had dismissed in the past did not? Why hadn’t the brat crumbled at the mere sight of the Kaiser Impact, indisputable proof that no shot, no tactic in the world could rival that surgical, miraculous strike that only the blond possessed?

But confusion could not be allowed to take hold. Contempt had to remain the fuel for his talent, his drive to stay the course until the crown of the world’s best was his. A blue-maned nuisance could not possibly represent such a great threat—this was inconceivable.

Luck? No, there was something else. A mere stroke of luck could not explain such an irksome challenge.

8:30 AM. It was time reserved for machine training, but the best and most efficient had already moved onto the field, perfecting their technique. With the ball at his heel, Kaiser strung together his dribbles. Ness wasn’t there yet. Perhaps he wasn’t even welcome in this confined space where the emperor’s thoughts pressed against the walls, building a palpable tension as his goal count climbed, each shot more precise than the last.

When the door opened to a familiar silhouette, every nerve in the prodigy of the eleven tensed, but his mocking, perpetual, royal smile curled an insolent corner.

His nose turned towards the source of the noise, provocation hanging on his lips.

"Well, well, well. Up early, are we? Training paying off, Yoichi?"

And as for fruit, Kaiser saw one he was more than ready to pluck—without a hint of tenderness.

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.

Michael Kaiser.

Infuriating as he was intriguing. Powerful as he was pretentious. Filled with confidence and belonging only someone with his skill could possibly have, and yet oozes the dramatics of someone so unsure about their place in the world.

He has everything Isagi aims to achieve one day— the perfect form of a striker, with a shot that's nearly unstoppable. He's also everything Isagi detests in a human. Cocky beyond belief, frustratingly arrogant and an absolute menace of a human being. It was aggravating, how easily the German could get under Isagi's skin and poke at his walls until Isagi gave in and snapped.

It was horrendous by itself. But it was unfathomable how that only fuelled Isagi's urge to surpass him further. The longing to crush, to overtake, the way Kaiser seems so intent on doing to him. It was like fire in his veins— burning, consuming, impulsive and enticing.

Isagi shakes his head, letting out a low exhale as he stares forward, down the corridor. His footsteps echo through the hallway, loud and clear even with the louder thoughts racing through his mind. Racing, the way he's so recently learned to comprehend, to finally keep up with. The pinnacle of understanding that this newfound knowledge could grant him was so close, just within his grasp, if only he had the ability to hold onto it for longer.

He huffs a frustrated breath. There is nothing more to it than practice and training until he can clench the power in his fists with an iron grip and refuse to let go. That is what he tells himself as he swings the door to the training room. A terrible idea, in hindsight.

But it wasn't his fault that he was just as hungry for improvement as Michael Kaiser was.

Isagi rolls his eyes in utter exasperation at the sound of the German's voice, filled with the very arrogance he'd been lamenting on his way here.

"You're one to talk," he grumbles, swinging his duffel bag off of his shoulder and down to the edge of the field, kissing the grass. "Of course my training is paying off, that's what I'm here for."

He straightens up, eyes filled with determination. The fire in his veins burns just a little bit hotter at the sight of one German's maddeningly confident smile.

"Move over, I'm going next."

For all of his agonising over the prodigal striker, Isagi would be damned if he lets himself get crushed under all the sparkle and skill.

There was no feeling more exhilarating than seeing the silhouette of his greatest Nemesis on earth appear in the doorway.

Nor was there an annoyance greater than witnessing the rise of what Michael Kaiser refused to call a prodigy.

Isagi simply didn’t belong in that category. He hadn’t been crafted by the gods, nor blessed with any innate talent that would earn him a place in the pantheon of the greats. No, he had made it this far by some inexplicable means. A bit of insolence and wit. A few antics on the field and a knack for quick adaptation. Nothing that should have alarmed the tattooed one.

But there was something else.

An ingredient that eluded Kaiser. A spark that the other diamonds lacked. But the stone was still rough, barely polished. It could take any shape, and that’s precisely why the German deemed the blue-haired fool laughable. They, too, wear all the faces, all the costumes, all the charades.

"Oh, come on. Not even a hello..."

The tip of his foot lifts the ball, the monochrome patterns swirling as Kaiser juggles with the spinning projectile. His infuriating grin never falters. He glances in the brunette’s direction, the ball bouncing from one foot to the other with a pretentious ease.

"The ball, like victory, must be earned."

An amused huff makes his shoulders bounce slightly.

"Come and take it from me, Yoichi."

© TIGREBLVNC 2024 | ISAGI YOICHI & MICHAEL KAISER ROLEPLAY.