Mocking the world second best (234)
The audacity of Nakada's impossible goal hung heavy in the air, the silence broken only by the collective gasp of the stunned audience. As Chris Prince, the world number two, rose from the ground, his face contorted in a mix of frustration and disbelief, a single phrase escaped his lips, laced with venom, "Oh, you little shit."
Nakada, however, remained unfazed. His predatory grin widened, a cruel amusement flickering in his eyes. He leaned in slightly, his voice dripping with mock sympathy, "What did I do, Prince? Hurt your feelings? Cry me a river."
The taunt ignited a firestorm within Chris. He clenched his fists, knuckles turning white as he strained to control his anger. "I'm going to make you regret those words, kid," he growled, his voice barely a controlled roar.
Nakada simply smiled, a chilling confidence radiating from his youthful frame. "Maybe next time," he conceded, his voice devoid of concern. "But for now, your time is up, Prince. Now get your ass on the bench and watch me destroy your team, like I said I would."
The arrogance in his final words was palpable, a declaration of dominance that sent a shiver down the spines of some of the Manchine players. As Chris stormed off the field, his face contorted in a mask of fury, a single bead of sweat trickling down his temple, the timer on the giant screen mocked him with the remaining seconds of his substitution ticking away.
Nakada watched him go, the triumphant grin on his face widening further. Turning towards the remaining Manchine players, his gaze sweeping across their faces, he uttered a single sentence, his voice laced with a playful challenge, "Entertain me more."
The words hung in the air, a gauntlet thrown down, a dare for Manchineel to rise to the occasion. The game was far from over, but Nakada had undeniably shifted the momentum, his audacity and skill leaving the outcome hanging in the balance. The question remained: could Manchineel respond, or would Nakada and his Blue Lock team continue their reign of dominance?
The words hung in the air, a gauntlet thrown down. The crowd, now divided, held its breath. Would Manchine rise to the occasion and prove Nakada wrong, or would they crumble under the pressure of his audacity?
The tension crackled in the air, and the game, once again, hung in the balance. It remained to be seen if Manchine could weather the storm of controversy Nakada had unleashed and answer his provocative challenge with their own brand of football.
But amidst the stunned silence, a flicker of movement on the Manchine side ignited a spark of defiance.
Nagi, the silent prodigy, received the ball from the goalkeeper. His eyes, devoid of any unnecessary emotion, scanned the field, his mind already formulating a plan.
He knew they needed a swift and decisive response to Nakada's challenge, a statement that they wouldn't be cowed by his arrogance.
With a single, decisive touch, Nagi flicked the ball forward, his pass finding Chigiri, the blur in red. The speedster exploded into motion, a blur of blue tearing down the right flank like a man possessed.
The Manchine supporters erupted in cheers, their voices a defiant roar against the stunned silence of the Barcha faithful.
Kunigami, the hero, positioned himself strategically near the penalty area, his eyes fixed on Chigiri. He knew his role in this counter-attack: to be the anchor, the target, the point of convergence for their offensive play.
Chigiri, fueled by a desire to prove himself not just to Nakada, but to everyone on the field, tore through the Barcha defense like a whirlwind.
Defenders lunged for him, their desperate attempts to impede his progress as futile as trying to catch the wind. But Chigiri was a force of nature, unstoppable in his forward momentum.
As Chigiri reached the edge of the penalty area, he saw Kunigami making a diagonal run towards the center. He knew exactly what to do.
With a single, powerful cross, he sent the ball soaring through the air, a perfectly weighted pass aimed at Kunigami's head.
Kunigami, ever the opportunist, leaped high, his body contorting in mid-air as he met the ball with a thunderous header. The stadium held its breath as the ball rocketed towards Barcha's goal, a silent prayer hanging in the air.
Nakada surveyed the field, his predator's gaze settling on Kunigami. Despite the impressive counterattack from Manchine, a hint of his trademark smirk returned to his lips. He saw the determined look in Kunigami's eyes, the clenched jaw, the slight tremor in his hands. He knew exactly which buttons to push.
"Damn, you guys are pathetic," his voice echoed across the pitch, cold and cutting. "Failing to score after being given such an opportunity twice... you should just quit football if your skills are so trash."
Kunigami's fists tightened. Deep down, the sting of Nakada's words hit a raw nerve. He knew, frustratingly, that there was a kernel of truth in the insult. Their efforts seemed fruitless, their attacks neutralized, and a creeping sense of inadequacy began to gnaw at him.
The crowd gasped at Nakada's scathing words. Some in the stands recoiled, disgusted by his cruel taunts, while others – mostly Barcha fans – secretly thrilled by his arrogance and audacity. The stadium itself seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the reaction from Manchine, expecting them to either crumble beneath the pressure or rise in defiance.
Kunigami took a deep breath, trying to quell the growing frustration bubbling within him.
He glanced over at Chigiri and Nagi, their faces reflecting a mix of anger and determination. Nakada's words had lit a fire within them, but whether that fire would consume them in anger or fuel their resolve remained to be seen.
A/N fun fact Nakada scored twice in the 1:30second Chris Prince had left