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CH 50

Yoshiro tilted his head just a little, the smirk still ghosting his lips..

“Yoshiro Nagi,” he said plainly. “Ego sent me. I’m the appointed observer for all five training camps.”

A short pause—then, almost offhandedly:

“…Might jump into a few drills too, if I get bored.”

Noa didn’t reply at first.

His eyes flicked down and up again—scanning Yoshiro like he was reading a file Ego forgot to send.

Observer?
For five countries?

Noa wasn’t someone easily caught off guard. But this? This was unexpected.

“You’re just a kid,” he muttered under his breath.

And yet… something about the way this one stood—so damn calm in front of him—felt off.

No arrogance. No fear.
Just precision. Control. Like he was playing a much bigger game.

Noa’s eyes narrowed further.

Then, for a moment, something sparked behind them.
A memory. Faint—but clear enough.

A clip from the Blue Lock vs U-20 match.
He’d watched it three times. Each frame dissected.

There had been a goal—no, a moment—buried in the second half.

A flash.

A figure that was barely visible even in the slowest playback.
Dark blur. Nonexistent footsteps.
One heartbeat, and he was scaling the goalpost like gravity didn’t apply.
Next heartbeat—goal.

Number 0....Yoshiro Nagi

Noa’s gaze sharpened.
He stared at the boy in front of him like he was trying to peel back skin with his eyes.

“…That was you,” he said quietly.

Yoshiro didn’t respond.
Just blinked. One slow blink. Like confirmation wasn’t even necessary.

Noa exhaled a tight breath, rubbing his temple suddenly.

This kid’s gonna be a problem.

He turned his eyes toward the rest of the players—still drilling, unaware of the strange presence now among them.

Noa’s voice dropped to a mutter. “Ego, what the hell are you planning?”

And for a brief second…
He wasn’t sure if he was irritated—or intrigued.

Yoshiro stood still, arms loosely folded across his chest as his golden eyes scanned the room—coldly calculating, but faintly amused.

His gaze settled on one player in particular.

Bright blond hair. Piercing gaze. Swagger in his stride even as he juggled the ball mid-sprint.

Michael Kaiser.

Yoshiro tilted his head slightly.

“Hmm…” he murmured under his breath. “So that’s him.”

Even without knowing the name, the arrogance practically radiated off the guy.
And from what Yoshiro remembered of the data, this was Ego’s poster boy of European dominance.

“Looks just as good as the manga made him out to be,” he muttered, half to himself, half impressed.

Then—

His eyes slid to the side.

Isagi Yoichi.

Yoshiro didn’t even need to hear the growl to feel the tension.