Chapter 32: The Anatomy of a Traitor
The walk to the locker room was silent, save for the heavy, uneven breathing of ten boys who felt the walls closing in. The scoreboard—Team Z 1 - 2 Team W—glowed like a neon warning sign against the dark stadium ceiling.
Eshan entered first. He didn't head for the benches to collapse. He went straight to the cooler, grabbed a bottle of water, and took a measured, calm sip. He didn't look tired. He looked like a man who had just finished the first half of a long shift. Behind him, the door slammed so hard the metal lockers rattled, the sound echoing like a gunshot.
"TELL ME!" Raichi's voice was a jagged blade of rage. He had Kuon pinned against the lockers before the door had even fully settled. "Tell me how a 'tactician' like you misses three headers and trips over his own shadow four times in forty-five minutes! You're throwing the game, aren't you?!"
"I-I'm not! I'm just gassed!" Kuon stammered, his eyes welling with those practiced, pathetic tears. He looked at the rest of the team, his lip trembling. "The twins are too fast, Raichi! I'm trying to cover for the gaps you guys leave—"
"You aren't even sweating."
The voice cut through Kuon's defense like a scalpel. Eshan was leaning against the far wall, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't shouting. He wasn't even angry. He just sounded... bored.
"E-Eshan? What are you saying?" Kuon let out a shaky, nervous laugh. "We're teammates, man. We're in this—"
"I've spent a lifetime watching people lie to get what they want," Eshan interrupted, his silver-gray eyes pinning Kuon to the locker more effectively than Raichi's hands. "You're breathing like a man who's been sitting on a bus, not a man who's been sprinting for forty-five minutes. You aren't 'exhausted,' Kuon. You're just waiting for the check to clear."
Eshan walked forward, his presence forcing Raichi to step aside. He didn't wait for Kuon to admit it. He reached out and snagged the tablet from Kuon's waistband, turning the screen toward the room.
The chat logs. The deal. The three goals for Kuon.
The silence that followed was heavy. It was the sound of a team's spirit hitting the floor. Isagi looked like he'd been punched in the gut; Bachira's usual grin had vanished, leaving his face looking strangely hollow.
"You... you sold us?" Isagi whispered. "For a top-scorer spot? You sold everything we worked for?"
Kuon's face shifted. The tears dried up instantly. The "nice guy" mask didn't just fall; it shattered. He shoved Raichi off and straightened his jersey, a cold, jagged sneer curling his lip.
"So what if I did?" Kuon spat, his voice dropping the high-pitched act for a low, desperate tone. "Look at the rankings! We're Team Z! We're the trash of Blue Lock. Most of you are going to fail anyway. I'm just making sure I survive. I made a deal. Team W gets the win, I get my goals, and I move on to the next selection while you lot rot in the real world. That's just business."
Raichi lunged, but Eshan stepped in between them, his arm a solid, immovable barrier.
"Don't," Eshan said. "He's already dead weight. A red card only helps his deal."
Eshan turned his back on the traitor, looking at the rest of Team Z. They looked like children whose world had just been burned down. He saw the "ghost" in Chigiri's eyes getting darker, the fear turning into a paralyzing weight.
"Listen," Eshan said, his silver eyes landing on Isagi and then Bachira. "The system is dead. The 3-4-3 formation, the roles, the trust—it's all gone. From this moment on, don't look for a white jersey to pass to. Assume every ball is contested. Assume every teammate is a liability."
He looked at the door leading back to the pitch.
"The Wanima twins think they've bought the game because they bought a coward," Eshan continued. "They think they know our ceiling because they have our 'stats.' But they haven't accounted for one thing."
He grabbed the ball from the floor, spinning it on his finger with an Absolute stillness.
"They haven't accounted for what happens when I stop holding back for the sake of 'teamwork.' If you want to survive, find your own ego and drag it out of the dirt. Because I'm going back out there to win. With or without you."
He didn't wait for a response. He walked out of the locker room, passing Kuon as if the boy was made of glass.
As he stepped back onto the pitch, the Wanima twins were waiting. They were laughing, gesturing to the scoreboard. Eshan didn't say a word. He just adjusted his center of gravity, feeling the perfect alignment of his body. His Absolute Awareness was now scanning the entire field—the wind, the friction, the 12-man disadvantage—and turning it into a single, solvable problem.
The second half began. Kuon stood still at the kickoff, literally tapping the ball to the twins.
"Go on!" Kuon mocked. "Let's see the 'Absolute' King stop all of us!"
The twins charged, but they made a fatal mistake. They thought Eshan was going to play defense to save the game.
Instead, Eshan sprinted.
He didn't go for the ball. He used his awareness to predict the twins' first pass, slicing through the gap before the ball even left Junichi's foot. He intercepted it mid-air with a chest trap that silenced the stadium.
"Business is over," Eshan muttered, the ball sticking to his laces as he ignited his sprint. "Now, it's personal."
The Team W players, who had been laughing seconds ago, frozen in place as they watched Eshan descend upon their midfield.
"Don't just stand there!" Keisuke Wanima shrieked, his "telepathic" composure shattering. "He's just one man! Close the pocket!"
The twins and their two central midfielders swarmed. It was a four-man cage designed to crush any normal striker. They moved with the frantic energy of people who realized their "data" was currently being rewritten in real-time.
Eshan didn't slow down. To the observers, it looked like he was charging into a brick wall. But through his Absolute Awareness, Eshan saw the field as a series of physical equations. He saw the elder twin's heavy breathing, the slight wobble in the midfielder's left ankle, and the way the turf was slightly more worn in the center circle. He wasn't looking for a "gap"; he was looking for the weak point in their posture.
He entered the "cage."
Just as the first defender lunged for a slide tackle, Eshan shifted his weight. He didn't dribble around the man with a flashy trick. He used his Absolute Ball Feel to roll the ball with the sole of his boot, pulling it back just an inch to let the defender's leg pass by harmlessly. Then, without a pause, he pivoted.
His body rotated with a mechanical efficiency that left no room for error. He didn't lose a single mile per hour of momentum. He simply spun through the gaps in their timing, leaving four defenders reaching for a shadow.
"He's... he's not even looking at the ball," Isagi whispered from the halfway line. He was watching Eshan's eyes. They weren't darting frantically; they were calm, fixed on the distant goal, scanning the horizon while his feet handled the ball as if it were a secondary function.
Kuon, desperate to protect his "deal," sprinted back. He didn't care about looking like a teammate anymore. He threw himself at Eshan's waist in a blatant, unprofessional foul.
Eshan didn't fall. He didn't even stumble.
He absorbed the impact of Kuon's hit, shifting his center of gravity into his leading leg. He used Kuon's own momentum against him, shoving off the traitor's shoulder with a cold strength that sent Kuon face-first into the turf.
"You're a glitch, Kuon," Eshan's voice drifted back, devoid of any heat. "And glitches get deleted."
He was thirty yards out. The Wanima twins were scrambling to recover, their faces pale. They had been told Eshan was a "tactical" player who relied on his team. They were currently looking at a man who was dismantling an entire formation alone.
Eshan felt a presence on his left. Chigiri was there, running—not at full speed, but running nonetheless—his eyes wide as he watched Eshan's lone crusade.
"Chigiri!" Eshan didn't look at him, but his voice carried over the wind. "The twins are committed to my right side. They're leaving your lane wide open. Are you going to keep your speed in a cage, or are you going to show me why I shouldn't replace you?"
It was the final push. The twins lunged one last time, a desperate, double-team tackle.
Eshan didn't shoot. He performed a deceptive "No-Look" flick, sending the ball spiraling into the empty space on the left wing—the exact space where Chigiri's speed was supposed to live.
"The stage is set," Eshan thought, his silver-gray eyes tracking the ball's perfect arc. "Now, run, or get out of my way."
The ball landed with zero bounce, rolling perfectly into Chigiri's path. The stadium held its breath.