مدیر همه کاره

CH 61

(Yoshiro 👆🏻 (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠))

Seven days flew by like a blur. Matches, drills, strategy sessions—all melting into one another. And now… today was the day.

The long-anticipated match between Bastard München and Manshine City.

The Blue Lock training field was unusually quiet. Tense. Like the calm before a storm.

Then—
the gates at the far end creaked open.

From the shadows of the tunnel, Manshine City’s players began to emerge one by one, stepping onto the pitch with casual, deliberate steps. No showboating. No trash talk. Just a quiet confidence that felt almost suffocating.

Chigiri ran a hand through his vibrant red hair, fixing it with practiced ease as his eyes scanned the field.

Reo rolled his shoulders, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he started lightly warming up, a light sheen of sweat already forming along his jawline.

Nagi strolled behind them, hands in his pockets, humming a tuneless whistle under his breath—boredom etched into every movement.

Then, with a sudden spark of energy, Prince strutted out behind them—glorious, grinning, and too confident for his own good.

He threw an exaggerated wink toward his team.

“Alright, my beautiful boys,” he said with a gleam in his eye,
“Let’s smother them with our muscles, shall we?”

With that, he spun on his heel and made his way to the bench like he was about to sit down for tea rather than a high-stakes match.

Chigiri sighed softly, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “…Why is he always like that?”

Reo gave a strained chuckle, wiping his forehead.
“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to him.”

Nagi let out a faint noise—barely a hum—his expression as unreadable as ever.
“…Tch. Doesn’t matter.”

The three stood silently for a moment, the tension gradually starting to simmer in the air.

And now… all eyes were on the other end of the field.

Waiting.

Because the storm was about to arrive—

Bastard München was next.

The far gate creaked open.

This time, it was Bastard München stepping in.

Their entrance wasn’t flashy—no need for theatrics. Just a quiet, cold confidence that rolled in like a heavy mist. Each step they took was calculated, deliberate… dangerous.

Isagi Yoichi was the first to walk in, squinting slightly as the light hit his eyes.
For a moment, he raised a hand to block the glare, then dropped it as his gaze settled on the figures waiting across the field.

Familiar faces. Familiar fire.

Across the pitch—

Chigiri tugged at his cleats, crouching down briefly to tighten the strap of his boots.
He glanced up, narrowing his eyes slightly.
“They’re here.”

Reo tied his hair tighter, his purple eyes locked on the approaching figures.
“…The Germans.”

Nagi adjusted his gloves without urgency, then turned his head slowly—
his pale eyes finding Isagi through the distance.
“…Isagi,” he muttered under his breath.