Chapter Text
On his way to the training center, Isagi crossed paths with Kira Ryosuke—the newly crowned "Pearl of Japan." Fresh off a provincial championship win and rumored to be on the radar of the Japanese U-18 team, Kira carried himself with the confidence of someone destined for greatness.
Isagi hesitated for a moment. Should he greet him? He had a vague memory of Kira from his previous life. Back then, Kira had been relatively friendly when they first met—though it hadn’t mattered much in the end. He was eliminated early in the tag game.
*No point overthinking it now…*
Just as Isagi was lost in thought, a voice pulled him back.
“May I ask your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you in any games before.”
Isagi turned to see Kira looking at him, his short white hair catching the light.
“Ah, yeah. I don’t play for a team.” His reply was brief. He had been on one in primary school, but after *that* incident, he stopped playing with other people entirely.
As he looked at Kira, Isagi couldn’t help but notice the clear difference in their physiques. Was it always this pronounced? He wasn’t sure. After all, they had barely interacted in his past life. Instinctively, his mind assessed Kira’s strength, and for a brief moment, memories surfaced—of the grueling training he had begged Ego for, hoping to change his body type, only to accept that he would never have a naturally muscular build.
Kira, on the other hand, seemed much more at ease. He extended a hand toward Isagi, his tone friendly.
“I thought the number eleven striker I played against three days ago would be invited, but if they chose you instead, then you must be even more talented than him. Where do you train?”
As he spoke, a bright smile spread across his face, effortlessly charismatic.
Isagi, used to a life of isolation, felt a twinge of discomfort at the stranger’s enthusiasm. Forcing a small smile, he instinctively took a step back, pretending not to notice Kira’s outstretched hand.
Kira, ever composed, smoothly retracted it, acting as if the moment of awkwardness had never happened.
The two teenagers entered the building in silence, entering the place that would change their lives.
.
So many people…
That was Isagi’s first thought as he stepped into the packed auditorium, filled with teenagers—unpolished gems from high schools all over the country. The sheer number of bodies, the hum of countless voices blending into a dull roar, made his chest tighten. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, he quietly slipped into a corner, away from the crowd, where he could breathe.
'I wonder if Makima was invited?' The thought crossed his mind as he leaned against the wall. He hadn’t spoken to his only friend since their last hangout was cut short cause Ego had called him back to test some new technology. Isagi frowned slightly. 'I hope he’s not mad about that…'
“There really are a lot of people, huh?”
A sudden, hard pat on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts.
“Hey! I’m Bachira Meguru! Nice to meet you! What’s your name?”
Oh… oh.
“Isagi Yoichi. Nice to meet you.” A warm feeling bloomed in his chest as he looked at Bachira—his best friend from his previous life.
I hope we can still be best friends this time, too.
Bachira’s bright yellow eyes flicked over him, full of curiosity. Without a shred of hesitation, he pointed at Isagi’s eyepatch.
“What’s up with your eye? Does it mess with your football?” he asked, head tilting slightly. No tact, no filter—just pure, blunt curiosity.
“And test, test, test.” The ceiling light suddenly went out, interrupting their conversation.
“Congratulations and welcome, diamonds in the rough.” The man stands tall at the center of a grand stage, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room. The stage bathed in strong white light, casting a glow on the man's face and highlighting his expressions.
“You are the 300 18 and under strikers who have been chosen due to my arbitrary and biased decision making.” His eyes gleam with passion as him scan the audience, his lean hands moving with precision—sometimes slicing through the air to emphasize a strong point, sometimes opening wide as if embracing the crowd.
“And I am Jinpachi Ego, the man who was hired to endure Japans future victory at the World Cup.”
"He just said… winning the World Cup?!" someone in the crowd murmured.
"Do you know who he is?" a boy asked his friend.
"Ego Jinpachi, the brilliant coach of Manshine United’s youth team," Kira Ryosuke replied casually.
Isagi’s eyes flicked to Kira, surprised. ‘Kira knows Ego?’ He glanced at the blond-haired boy, who was staring at Ego Jinpachi so intensely it was as if he was trying to burn a hole through his slim frame.
“It’s simple, really. In order to outstrip the rest of the world, Japanese soccer requires just one thing. And that is the birth of a revolutionary striker.”
“I’ll be performing an experiment to turn one of you 300 into the single best striker in the world.”
“Here at this facility. Blue lock. Starting today you will live there together and undergo the specialized training I devised to transform you. You won’t be allowed to go home. And your precious soccer careers will be a mere memory. But I promise you this. If you fight hard enough, if you survive to be the last man standing out of the 300 candidates assembled here, you will be the greatest striker in history. That’s all for now, it’s been fun.” The microphone clipped to his collar—carries his voice effortlessly, resonating through the packed auditorium.
After saying that, Jinpanji stop, his heart-touching words reverberated in the auditorium, stirring the hearts of every young person present.
Now, all that was left was for Kira to say his lines, and the speech would end, and the everyone would enter BLUE LOCK! Isagi look at Kira expectedly, but the young man had no reaction, just standing there silently, as if waiting…
A boy in the middle row, leaning forward with a furrowed brow, raises his hand but doesn’t wait to be called on.
"That’s not entirely true," he interjects, his voice firm but not aggressive. "I see your point, but you're overlooking a crucial factor! The team united!"
Isagi frowned. This was different from his past life. Was the butterfly effect really that strong? It seemed that, no matter what, someone was bound to challenge Ego’s argument—whether it was Kira or someone else.
"One for all, and all for one!" The phrase ripples through the room, murmurs spreading like a slow-building wave. Some whisper among themselves, others watch intently, waiting to see how Ego will respond.
But to their surprise...
“A pity, you’re all seriously ill it seems.” Ego scratched his head, his expression as dry as a dried fish, and said indifferently as he walk closer to the edge of the stage.
“ Lock off. Anyone who wants to leave can go.” Ego waved his hand as if to chase away worthless people.
Isagi rolled his eyes, waiting for Ego to continue explaining his theory to the unknown person. Something he had been hearing for seven years now.
“What Japan is lacking the most is an EGOIST!”
“If you don’t become the most selfish person in the world, you can’t become the strongest striker!” Isagi’s lips moved slightly along with Ego’s.
“ONLY AN INSANE EGOIST COULD TAKE THAT SHOT WITHOUT A SECONDS HESITATION!" A massive screen behind Ego displays bold words that reinforce his message.
"Discard your common sense. Remember out there on the field, you’re the star. Nothing should bring you more joy than your own goals. Live ONLY for that glorious moment.” Ego’s voice rises with conviction, his gestures becoming even more expressive.
As Ego spoke, the door behind them slowly opened, and in a trance, Isagi looked into Ego’s eyes.
No, it was just their eyes meeting. The other person was looking at him and talking to him.
“And if you can’t, then you’re no striker at all.” After an impactful pause that left the crowd hangs in the air he finally delivers the closing words.
Isagi lowered his head to avoid Ego's gaze, his feet stepping forward without hesitation.
Following the lights that turned on again as soon as Ego finished his speech, he stepped aside to reveal the door that was completely open behind him, signaling them to enter.
Compared to the majority of people who were still hesitating, Isagi ran to the door first. He didn't look at anyone and rushed straight to the Blue lock, the most passionate soccer field, the only place that could nurture the best striker.
Right behind him was Kira Ryosuke. His eyes were as if they were glue to the back of the black-haired boy.
.
.
.
"Next, Isagi Yoichi-kun."
Teieri Anri handed Isagi a set of uniforms. He nodded politely, thanking her before following her instructions to the room marked Z.
Anri watched him go, suppressing the thought that she had made a choice without Ego’s approval. Originally, Isagi was supposed to be placed in a different group—one with more naturally gifted players. But after months of working as Ego’s assistant, she had seen firsthand how the man had shaped Isagi.
Two years of isolation. Two years of nothing but relentless training. Locked away, practicing day after day, with only one day of freedom every three months. Was that insane? Absolutely. She still couldn’t wrap her head around how his parents had agreed to let Ego ‘home-school’ their son like that.
So she had placed Isagi in a group with players who had... slightly better temperaments. After all, the kid hadn’t interacted with anyone his age for years. Throwing him in with strong, overbearing personalities right away might do more harm than good.
Pushing open the door, Isagi was greeted by a familiar sight. The room looked just as he remembered—except this time, there were already ten players inside, all dressed in the same skintight uniforms.
“Yay! I get to share a room with Isagi-kun again!”
A weight landed on Isagi’s back as Bachira practically tackled him in excitement.
“Ah, Bachira-kun. I’m happy too,” Isagi responded with a small smile, but his body instinctively pushed the other boy away. After two years of isolation, physical contact still felt foreign to him.
“Why’d you take so long? You were the first one to run in, weren’t you?”
“Ah… there was a mix-up with my team placement, so I had to come from the wrong room.” Isagi explained, rubbing the back of his neck.
He suddenly felt someone’s gaze.
Looking over, he blinked.
Makima.
The boy strode toward him without hesitation.
A second later, something soft smacked Isagi in the face. He quickly grabbed it—a shirt.
And standing before him, bare-chested, it was Kunigami.
“Sorry, my shirt flew.”
“…It’s fine.” Isagi was about to hand it back when Makima, now beside him, snatched the shirt, tossed it straight into Kunigami’s face, and then—without a word—dragged him toward the corner of the room.
“Oi, wait, at least let me change first.”
Makima paused, considering for a moment, then let him go. But the moment Kunigami finished pulling his shirt back on, Makima started questioning him again.
Before the young man could respond, though—
“Have you finished changing, you unpolished gems?”
Ego’s face suddenly appeared on the big screen, causing all twelve people to pay attention.
The man once again introduced the rules of the first selection round. Showing them the tip of the Blue lock iceberg, with his experience from his previous life, Isagi naturally knew that this was just a provocation from Ego, but the others did not. Especially Makima, after looking at the number 289 on his hand, then looking at the number 300 on Isagi’s hand. The number represented their strength in Ego’s eyes, just as he was about to protest against the arrangement, Ego stood before them, his voice sharp and commanding as he announced the rules of the first game.
“Alright, we’re playing tag. You have 136 seconds. Whoever gets hit by the ball becomes ‘it’—the devil. When time’s up, whoever’s the devil goes home. Simple.”
He paused for just a beat before adding, “Oh, and no hands.”
Before anyone could react or ask questions, the screen abruptly shut off, leaving nothing but silence and unspoken tension in the air.
Then, as if on cue, in all five buildings, across twenty-five rooms—balls dropped from the ceiling. The game had begun.
Ego sits in a dimly lit control room, surrounded by a wall of screens that flicker with the movements of young athletes clashing each other in the tag game. Each display showcases a different competitor—sweat-soaked, desperately avoid or try to kick the ball to someone else. But his gaze is fixed on just one screen. His sharp eyes, dark with intensity, follow the figure of a boy, the one Ego has nurtured for years. The boy he has shaped, disciplined, and sharpened like a blade.
Excellent spatial awareness, sharp ability to read the game situation, and a strong desire to achieve the goal. The perfect mind he been looking for all his youth.
Fingers steepled beneath his chin, he leans forward, the glow of the monitor casting shadows across his angular face. His breath is steady, but his mind races. Is this enough? Will this bucket of fertilizer enough to nuture him? Ego designed this project not for entertainment, not for spectacle—but as a battlefield. A proving ground to forge the ultimate striker.
"Only the devil in the final moments gets eliminated," the boy who had just received the pass said.
He scanned the faces around him, his gaze sharp. "And in those last seconds, it's the devil who decides who goes down."
On the screen, Isagi controlled the ball, locked in a one-on-one duel with Bachira. His movements were deliberate, drawing everyone forward, daring them to take it from him.
Then—a sudden blur of motion. Three seconds left.
The boy finally moved.
A strike—swift, ruthless, and precise—slamming straight into the face of an opponent in front of him.
The room around the man was silent, but in his mind, he heard something greater than the roar of the game itself.
Ego's lips curled into the faintest smirk.
.
.
.
Everyone’s eyes were drawn to Isagi Yoichi—the real demon, the true devil of the tag game.
But instead of basking in the attention, Isagi quietly retreated to the corner of the room, his head lowered, his expression unreadable. Inside, though, embarrassment churned.
God, I sounded so arrogant.
"Aren't you happy, Isagi-kun?" Bachira’s voice cut through the noise of Ego’s massive screen. He bounced over to Isagi’s side, grinning. "You just won. So why the long face? Or was it too easy for you—no real challenge?"
"Cheer up, this soccer prison is pretty fun…" Bachira reached out to pinch Isagi’s cheek, trying to coax a smile out of him. But before he could, Isagi instinctively stepped back, dodging the gesture without hesitation.
"Sorry," Isagi exhaled, steadying himself. "I’m not really a fan of physical contact." He glanced away before adding, "And honestly… I didn’t find this game all that challenging. Winning doesn’t mean much if the fight wasn’t worth it."
Ego’s voice carried over the room again, slicing through the lingering tension. He dismissed every excuse the defeated players tried to make, his criticism sharp and unyielding. But then, his tone shifted toward gentle side slightly, just enough to be noticed by Isagi who has known him for years.
"Isagi Yoichi," Ego called.
Isagi’s head lifted.
"A striker is someone who takes full responsibility for scoring the goal and fights until the very end."
A beat of silence. Then, Ego carry on.
"And in this game—you are undeniably one of those people." His lips curled into a brief smirk. "I look forward to seeing what you do next."