Chapter Text
The place that used to be his second home has now become his first. For Isagi, returning to Japan is, on the one hand, a relief, but on the other, it makes him feel deeply nostalgic. He has a goal of his own in returning to Japan: to take on this project led by the craziest coach he has ever met in his entire life.
Isagi wouldn’t have risked so much—his name, his reputation, his contract with his club—if it weren’t for a goal that keeps the huge ego bubbling in his heart in check. True to his selfish nature, Isagi wants the World Cup trophy in his homeland despite being estranged from it; he longs to wear the national team uniform for the next World Cup, feast on the egos of the losers, and—for the first time in history—bring the World Cup trophy to Japan to celebrate and immortalize his name in history.
What does Isagi need to succeed? He’s no fool; he knows that to stand a chance against the world’s best, he needs a team that can keep up with him. And from his personal perspective, it would be ideal if they had egos of their own—if they felt the need to compete with one another. It’s an idea almost as far-fetched as his mentor’s, but there’s a grain of truth in his thinking: an evolution that’s both internal and external.
Isagi knows very well what kind of player he is; Kaiser calls him a “restrictive player.” When he arrived at Bastard, he was apparently a very flawed version of an ideal restrictive player; he needed an opponent on whom to focus his offense, analyzing and weaving a web of traps until he caught his prey. But this approach had flaws: he lost sight of the main line of play by focusing on a single player to devour, which created gaps in his positioning and defense while he had the ball. It took him an embarrassingly long time to gradually correct that flawed hyperfocus and apply the Eye of Horus with which he surveys the field like a predator.
Finally, along with his official promotion to Kaiser’s assistant forward, he comes to understand —but not before enduring an embarrassing season of taunts and challenges when his attempts to change the course of his destiny failed. There it was, as always: the missing piece of the puzzle was Kaiser—an ally strong enough to instill a sense of immediate self-preservation. Isagi can’t rest on his laurels alongside the German, even though they’re on the same side of the field. That’s the key: internal and external competition—something Isagi didn’t have in Japan’s youth leagues.
If he manages to assemble a team of self-centered individuals—who refuse to be led around by Isagi’s mind like stray dogs, yet at the same time can recognize the majesty of the team’s strategist—that would be the perfect ego: the duality of seeking opportunities without ruining things for the rest. If he were to assemble such a team of self-centered players, Isagi himself would be in charge of keeping them on a tight leash, preventing them from overstepping their bounds and bringing shame upon the nation; the goal would be to create a team based on quick reactions, where the priority is to remain alert, since the enemy isn’t just on the other side of the field.
Once this impossible whim has been fulfilled, Isagi knows he needs the cherry on top—a cherry with reddish hair and green eyes. If he wants to even get close to the championship, he needs Itoshi Sae. The Japanese team may have whatever players they want, but without a skilled, talented, and proud midfielder as the final piece of the strategy, there’s little chance of making it to the final. And to get Sae’s attention, he needs to show that the team’s players are worth it.
Isagi still can’t quite figure out what happened to Sae, because it’s obvious that something did happen, but the Sae of today isn’t going to play for Japan even if they offer him a lot of money; in his own words, “My only goal is the UEFA Champions League; I’m not interested in the World Cup if I’m in a country that isn’t capable of receiving my passes.” And Isagi understands that, but what a damn headache it is to think about moving Sae around on his chessboard.
If the plan Ego devised goes as intended, Blue Lock should make it to the U-20 World Cup, and Isagi must prove the worth of his new team before the group stage ends, so that the bitter Sae can see that he hasn’t been fooling around in Japan but has instead been building the best team to ensure that Japan’s beloved treasure puts on the national team uniform once again and fixes his arrogant, condescending gaze on Isagi, realizing that he must send his monstrous passes to him—the team’s greatest asset.
“So, you’re here to get that Sae Itoshi interested?”
“Of course, Ego-san,” Isagi nods. He’s been talking about his grand plan for almost half an hour. “Our goals are aligned; there shouldn’t be a problem.”
The man with eyes like wells simply sighs as he touches the bridge of his nose.
“I hope you have a good plan for that. Don’t expect my gems to follow you around like slaves—I won’t allow useless players on my team.”
“I know” Isagi smiles wryly. “Anyway, I promised to help with your project. I’ll honor the terms of the contract.”
“Go now, my Polished Gem.”
“Thanks!” Isagi feels strangely happy at his master’s praise. “Thank you very much, Ego-san.”
Isagi turns around, nodding in greeting to Ego’s assistant, Anri-san, who seems more than happy with this turn of events. Although she is much more concerned about the players’ mental state and the toll the pressure might take on them, she believes this kind of incentive will be truly helpful—especially since the players won’t even know that there’s a rival stronger than they could ever imagine right beside them.
“Ego-san” Isagi looks at him before walking through the door, with a sharp yet gentle smile. “Japan is going to win the World Cup. Just look at me—because the goddess of victory you believe in is perched on my shoulder.”
Isagi goes home—to a home he misses like few other things in his life—with walls covered in posters of his idol, Noel Noa; where he left his small collection of Studio Ghibli items; where that familiar furniture now sits, covered in dust; where there are clothes that no longer fit him. But where his heart feels a quiet comfort. Isagi knows that after all the difficult moments in Europe—where he didn’t allow himself to cry or feel discouraged because there was no safe space to hide, bow his head, and weep over the sorrows of loneliness and discrimination— Above all else—before Kaiser, Ness, and the team—he longed for so long for his home, his bed, his pillow, and that embarrassing lobster stuffed animal he was too embarrassed to bring to Munich. Now he has a place to return to in Germany; the Emperor is waiting for him, the world is waiting for him, eager to see him develop into a powerful player in the Bundesliga.
But now, after the exhausting trip from Germany to Japan, and after stopping by the JFU offices, his final destination is his first home, where his parents are waiting for him. Isagi talks a lot with his parents; for obvious reasons, they can’t see each other much in person, but Isagi is a loving soul, and even though he’s put up a protective shell now, he can never deny that he looks forward to those little moments of comfort that come from calling his mother every now and then or sending messages to his father.
For his fifteenth birthday, his parents flew to Munich to visit him, Isagi had completely forgotten the clause in his contract stipulating that, since he was a minor, the club could cover up to three trips for his guardians to visit him, to ensure that he didn’t feel so alone. Additionally, German regulations include a series of restrictions that fully benefit minors in their contracts. Iyo and Issei arrive in Germany a few days before April 1st, and Isagi is given permission to leave campus after his classes and practices; he’s even allowed to stay overnight with his parents at the hotel for a few days. When Yoichi sees them in person again, he feels an overwhelming urge to cry (he’s always been a crybaby). It’s only been a few months since he left, but he feels so helpless—he hasn’t accomplished anything. Having to tell his parents to their faces that he’s failing is such an unnatural thought that Yoichi would rather cut out his tongue than admit that maybe going to Bastard München was a mistake.
That afternoon they tour the city; Isagi has a lot of trouble with the language but certainly knows more than his parents do. Eventually, he communicates in English with the few Germans he runs into, feeling strangely self-conscious with his parents there, as if he were making a fool of himself. At dusk, they return to their hotel after a delicious dinner that Isagi thoroughly enjoyed, feeling much more comfortable talking about things unrelated to soccer and in his native language. His parents have always been patient; they know Isagi Yoichi better than anyone else besides their own son, so they don’t push him too hard—their son will talk to them when the time is right.
Two nights later, that day arrives; the next morning, his parents will no longer be in Munich, and Isagi must tell them that he’s failing, that he isn’t accomplishing anything, that he’s wasted their resources, and that… he’s just not that good.
His parents listen intently; Isagi doesn’t look at them. He’s mortified to finally be able to express his thoughts, after so much time sitting on the bench, playing for such a brief time in official games—so brief it’s not even worth mentioning—eating alone, without really communicating with anyone. Many Germans aren’t interested in talking to someone who can’t speak German like a native. His mother hugs him and rubs her hand against his back in small, soothing circles. Isagi feels like it’s been a very long time since he’s felt that kind of suffocation (even though he’s been feeling it for weeks), the kind that makes it hard to breathe, that makes him feel like this is the end—where his crying is so agonizing that he can’t even form complete sentences. He swallows over and over, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat, but the flood of emotions is so overwhelming that he just stares at the ground and cries like he did when he was a child (even though he still is one).
Isagi apologizes and confesses everything, as if he were a criminal on trial; he confesses his doubts and insecurities—how he hasn’t even played a full official game for the club, how he trains and trains and trains but gets nowhere, how the blinding light of that damned emperor has destroyed him, and the most miserable part is that that horrible dictator doesn’t even know he exists. How could he notice such an insignificant creature?
The self-pity ends a little while later. Her mother has tears in her eyes, too, and his father takes his hand. There are a few minutes of silence, until his father—always serene and calm, the very embodiment of calm—speaks to him. He offers words of encouragement, sweetened with vanilla and caramel, but he’s also firm; his father isn’t the best with words, though he’s not terrible either; but at that very moment he says everything Isagi needs to hear. He tells him he’s doing well and that his progress is already incredible; that if it were up to them, they’d take him back to Japan right away, but they know that wouldn’t be the right decision—not now, with emotions running high. He says that even though he doesn’t know how Isagi really feels, he can still see that sparkle in little Yoichi’s eyes when he holds a ball, he also says that it will continue to be hard, that it will be harder for him than for the rest—much harder, perhaps two or three times, even five times harder than for the rest of his teammates—and that he must ask himself if it’s worth it, if the end result—which they know will be absolute success, turning his son into a star—is worth all the blood, sweat, and tears he’s poured into it and will have to continue pouring into it in the future
After that night, Isagi is exhausted; he falls asleep with a stuffy nose, puffy eyes, and a heavy heart. He spends the next day almost on autopilot, accompanying his parents to the airport and saying goodbye to them with tears in his eyes once again—but this time, they aren’t tears that drown him in a void; rather, they are tears of nostalgia. He returns to the dorm, works out, finishes his homework, and when he comes back, yes, something has changed.
If Isagi had to point to a moment in his life when the goddess of victory Ego had spoken of smiled upon him, he would undoubtedly name this moment—when, as if someone had flipped a switch, something changed. The following week was still very tough; even with his doubts, the images of that night with his parents weighed heavily in the back of his mind. But that was when the coach called him over from his usual spot on the bench to try out a awkward defensive position.
And that was it—the confirmation Isagi needed to realize that his parents were right when they told him he wouldn’t make a decision he’d regret, that they would support whatever decision he made, that they would return to Germany as many times as necessary to bring him back or just to hug him, but before he crossed the line of no return, they reminded him to look at that soccer field, where he trained every day, and ask himself:
If I leave now, which part of my soul would remain in Munich? The part that has suffered discrimination, loneliness, and disappointment above all else—the part that has been in agony from the moment I arrived, because of the disappointment of achieving nothing, of being just an extra. Or, on the other hand, along with that, would the part that loves soccer also stay behind—the part that has seen this one-of-a-kind, once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to grow the way it wants, to be the best striker in the world, to bring the World Cup to Japan, and to move forward on the path it has dreamed of since it first started playing?
That was the push he needed—knowing that, even though it was heartbreaking to hear, he would regret leaving Muchin far more than he would regret staying, despite everything. That April, even though it started off as the worst, ended up being one of the most important months of his soccer career. Over the course of three weeks, he went from being a rotational defender to a controlled midfielder to a second striker, assisting Kaiser.
And that was when he felt it for the first time—the emperor’s gaze piercing right through him, telling him, “Come on, Egoist.” Kaiser is the most selfish man he has ever known—narcissistic and egotistical—but he was also the first man to reach out to him as he stood at the threshold of trying to devour the hopes of others. At first, it was just mockery, from the distance of his throne, where Isagi was just another court jester—until, over the course of nearly a season, the Bastard’s fate had changed completely, and now the emperor and the Egoist reigned supreme.
It’s Kaiser—it’s always been Kaiser—and from this new distance, where the time difference between him and Micha is so extreme that they’ve barely even exchanged messages; it’s here that Yoichi knows—and isn’t afraid to admit—how much he misses the other (and the team, of course!), but Micha most of all, where the harsh and fierce competition intertwines with those mysterious, sparkling glances in both their eyes. Glances they still don’t know how to interpret.
His mother cooks tonkatsu, and Isagi is moved by the delicious meal. Before he left for Germany, his mother always used to cook this, as a good-luck charm (At first she’d make it after games, but after little Yoichi came running home saying that this dish would bring him good luck if he ate it beforehand, she remembered that little tradition). The three of them eat together—something they haven’t done in a long time—laughing a lot and sharing stories, mostly from Isagi, now that he has a wealth of stories to tell about both soccer and his friends (all of whom are now signed to the U-20 team at Bastard). He enjoys telling them about that German team that so intrigues his father because of their unusual hairstyles and the way they play on the field; Yoichi takes the opportunity to show off and share some embarrassing stories about Kaiser. At the end of the meal, Isagi thanks his parents for everything, and his mother sends him off to rest to try to counteract the effects of jet lag.
“Thank you so much, Kaa-san,” Isagi smiles from ear to ear.
“My Yo-chan,” his mother laughs sweetly. “Come on, go to sleep, sweetheart. You look exhausted.”
“That’s right, Yoichi,” his father chimes in. “You won’t be able to insult anyone out on the field if you can’t even stand up.”
Isagi feels the blood rush to his cheeks—how embarrassing that his parents would see him at his most selfish. The player has to admit that he’s really embarrassed to watch replays of games where he does that—yelling at Kaiser (even though Kaiser does the same thing) or making weird threats that sometimes sound like flirting. But hey! In his defense, it’s the heat of the moment, and he knows what he’s doing. None of the cards he’s received are due to that kind of bad behavior—it’s a sort of “code”? Isagi doesn’t know how to describe it, but his opponents don’t seem to take it too personally—or at least that’s what Lorenzo once told him. And that zombie might be as weird as you think, but he has a good eye for some things (especially when it comes to betting). He told Isagi that his split personality keeps others from taking what he says too seriously.
Isagi made a good decision by arriving in Japan a week and a half before the project began. Jet lag really leaves him exhausted; the time difference between Munich and Saitama is seven or eight hours, so he feels his body clock being thrown off. He tries to get his body used to eating at Japanese mealtimes, but he’s still hungry at the time he’d normally be having dinner at the club with Kaiser, Ness, and a new and extremely unusual addition, Liam, who—after not being selected for the U-17 team—returned to England with the label “Trialist at Bastard München.” He then joined a team in the Championship and honed his skills with the goal of getting playing time, which is easier to come by in the second division than in the first (Smart move!). plus, Bastard usually keeps an eye on players who’ve undergone closed tryouts at their club, and if they see results from their efforts, they call them back. With this new addition—as Isagi, Kaiser, Ness, and others officially moved up to the U-20 team—the team’s dual-striker system was fully solidified, bringing Bastard even more fame, if that’s even possible. Ness serves as Kaiser’s right-hand man, and Liam acts as Isagi’s compass, reading in his eyes exactly where the striker will finish his goals.
As he feels down thinking about where those three players will be—not to mention the fact that he can’t sleep because of the time difference—Isagi decides to tidy up his old room a bit. He takes down some of his Noa posters; although he still greatly admires the player and wants to learn from him, there’s some truth to that phrase he once heard somewhere: “Never meet your heroes.,” Ego had told him that, but in reality, Isagi should have seen it coming. If Noel Noa is currently the best striker, it’s partly because he’s the most selfish striker in the world. He has an enviable soccer intellect, but Isagi wonders why he’s coaching at El Bastard too—especially since he’s really terrible at it. Sometimes Isagi thinks he sees a hint of satisfaction when the man with golden eyes spots new soccer prospects—most likely hoping to crush one or two of them. But then again, more than once he’s offered Isagi some really good advice—both technical and moral. That used to frustrate him terribly; fifteen-year-old Isagi couldn’t believe that his idol helped him for a whole season just because he wanted to see how many buttons he could push to make Kaiser evolve. But that’s a story for another day.
When the order was over, Isagi actually took stock of just how many things he had in his room related to the player—how embarrassing!— When it was all over, he put all those things in a box with enough space for the posters to fit neatly when folded. This isn’t something he’d want to throw away anytime soon; it still holds emotional value. After all that, he packed up some of his things from Munich. Before leaving Germany, he was really excited to take a few little things to decorate his room, even though he was only going to be there for a very short time—since he’d be staying in shared rooms at Blue Lock and would then return to Munich to keep playing with the Bastard.
A few days before he left, Kaiser and the rest of the group accompanied him to Kaufingerstraße, one of Munich’s main streets, so he could buy some souvenirs for his parents—and, well, pick up a thing or two for himself. Isagi isn’t the type to splurge, but he has to admit he bought more than he intended; still, he was paying with his own paycheck, and his mother was obviously going to love all those trinkets. Micha offered—somewhat reluctantly—to drop him off at the airport the next day. Isagi was a little suspicious, but he finally agreed. Kaiser had recently gotten his driver’s license, but from what Isagi had heard from Ness, he was a decent driver—though he clearly didn’t mention just how fast he could go on some of the long straightaways leading to the airport. For a moment, Isagi thought that was where his career was going to end.
When they arrived at the airport, they said goodbye with a comforting hug; Isagi feels like he can still feel Micha’s strong arms holding him. Isagi was a little sad, but nothing that a plate of kintsuba upon arriving in Japan couldn’t fix. Before Kaiser left, he took Isagi by the wrist and handed him something; it was inside a small paper bag. Isagi was about to open it, but Micha seemed strangely embarrassed.
“Go on, Yoichi. What will your parents think if you miss your flight? They’ll surely worry if something happens to their little ‘Yo-chan‘”
Kaiser let slip that mischievous remark, which really didn't do any harm, and Isagi shook his head with a smile.
“Sure, sure, Emperor. I’ll pretend this isn’t because you’re embarrassed,” Kaiser said with a broad smile. “But you’re right, I have to go now… Bye, Micha, let’s stay in touch.”
“Ugh, you’re such a pain, Yoichi~” Micha said with a grimace. “Knowing how annoying and controlling you are, you’ll text me as soon as you get to Japan”
Isagi nods, looking at the other person cheerfully; the sadness she had been feeling has vanished
“As if you weren’t the same,” Isagi says, grabbing the handle of his suitcase. “I hope you don’t miss me too much, Emperor.”
“Don’t get too big for your britches, Egoist”
Isagi doesn't look back at the other person and disappears behind the boarding gates; he puts on one of his earbuds and goes through all the security checkpoints. Since it's a long international trip, Isagi arrives several hours early so he won't feel anxious about being late. A few hours later, he’s sitting near the boarding gate, carefully checking his phone, where he sees messages from the cheerful Liam wishing him luck and reminding him to buy him some things from Japan; there are others from Ness saying that now he won’t have anyone to share Kiaser’s horrible childish behavior with. There are no messages from the emperor. Isagi looks out the airport windows and remembers that paper bag the other man gave him before leaving.
He takes it out of one of the smaller compartments of his backpack, and inside the now-crumpled paper bag are two items. First, he takes out the larger object, looks at it closely for a few seconds—it looks like a bracelet made of waxed thread, with a two-color pattern of blue and red— and the more he looks at it, the more irregular it seems; some knots are looser than others, and in one small section the colors are reversed, as if one color had been woven through more times than the other. A little further from that spot, the same thing happens but with the opposite colors. It’s strangely endearing; Isagi doesn’t need to think twice to know that Micha made that bracelet. He smiles like a total fool as he slips it onto his right wrist (the one he uses to celebrate his goals) and tightens it with the slipknot. It’s truly endearing; Isagi really likes it. There’s still one thing left inside the bag: an engraved coin. It’s common in Munich to find machines that engrave coins with simple designs; this one has the year they were both promoted to the U-20 team.
Isagi takes out his phone and posts a story showing the bracelet on his wrist without saying a word
After a moment of pure nostalgia, with his room now tidied up, Isagi feels ready to sleep. He turns off the lights in his room and stares at the ceiling for a while, thinking about everything and nothing at the same time. He sends a message to Micha, turns off his phone, and simply feels the fatigue slowly overcome him. Isagi falls asleep quickly, without seeing Micha’s message.
“Leb wohl, Clown, Bis in ein paar Monaten” (Goodbye, Clown, See you in a few months)
Isagi walks along with the registration form Ego gave him when they met a week ago in his hand, reading what the players he’s about to meet know so far—and thinking about how troublesome it would be if he let anything slip. He’s about to enter the JFU building when he accidentally bumps into another guy. He quickly apologizes, and the other guy just smiles at him and says it’s no big deal.
“Were you also selected for whatever this is?”
“Yes.”
“Phew, I’m glad. To be honest, this whole thing seems a little suspicious, don’t you think?” Isagi nodded, agreeing that this whole thing about the invitation coming out of nowhere was suspicious
Isagi stares at the other man's face for a few seconds, until it clicks: Ryosuke Kira, Japan's new “prodigy”—they even call him “the new jewel of Japanese soccer.”
If Isagi weren’t a gentleman and didn’t have his pride to uphold, he would have ignored that other guy. “Japan’s Pride”? Has anyone even seen him play? How can this guy have that title, just like Sae’s? Pathetic—it makes me want to throw up. It’s also insulting to him as a player. Japan is truly pathetic, worshiping that pitiful “all for one” style of play—that’s why they’ve never won a World Cup and are light-years away from winning one. His pride is hurt; he should have stayed in Munich.
“Sorry, I didn’t introduce myself. I’m Kyosuke Kira.” The boy smiles at him.
“Isagi Yoichi, nice to meet you.”
“Oh, I’ve never heard of you. What position do you play?” Isagi feels his ego swell.
“Forward.”
“Me too!” Kira looks at him with a confident smile. “I just won the Saitama qualifiers.”
“Oh, yeah, I think I saw that.” Isagi is no longer interested.
“Aren’t you surprised?” Isagi walks toward the building, and Kira follows him. “I’m really excited about this opportunity—I could make the U-20 national team, you know?”
“Really?”
“Yeah, sure. I’ve gotten a few emails.” Kira chatters on for a few more minutes; he’s arrogant but not hurtful—probably just inflated pride from his recent victory. Kaiser would love to tear this kid apart. “You don’t seem very interested in me, huh?”
“Don’t worry, Kira-kun. I’m sure you’re amazing—you don’t have to prove anything to me,” Isagi replies quickly.
“Haha, sure. Sorry.”
Isagi should have stepped in and put this trivial argument behind him, but something inside him has been bothering him
“Kira-kun, if you want my advice,” Kira looks at him, confused. “The way the U-20 team is playing, they don’t stand a chance of making it out of the group stage. That mindset is Japan’s disease, and you’re infected with it down to your very pores.”
Isagi doesn’t hear what the other person is saying as he’s swept into the room by a sea of people, with Kira by his side (he shouldn’t have lingered so long on the way in). They’re all forwards, just as Ego had explained—even though the man had been very brief with the information, some things were obvious and easy to figure out. Once inside the large auditorium, he sees several familiar faces. Some look vaguely familiar; he’d spent the days he had left at home—aside from going out with his parents and resting—researching players to see if he and Ego had similar ideas. He thinks he sees Rin in the distance? He can’t say he’s surprised; he hasn’t seen him in many years. It’s not as if they’d been very close, but they got along well. Besides the guy with the eyelashes, only the most physically striking players catch his attention: one with blond and pink hair, another with a jellyfish-style haircut with yellow tips, and others. This is going to be more than interesting. Isagi looks toward the front of the auditorium, where the Blue Lock pentagon symbol is displayed in the center.
Isagi sees him there, just stepping out of the complete darkness—that terrifying man, the future head coach of Japan’s U-20 national team, if everything goes according to plan. Black hair and eyes like wells. Isagi watches as Ego’s gaze meets his for a second before he speaks.
“Tch. Testing. One. Two.” All the murmuring has stopped; all eyes are on the man with glasses. “Congratulations, unpolished gems.”
Isagi fixes his gaze on his former coach, the one who trained him as if he were passing through the circles of Dante’s hell—except that at the end there would be the promise of a reward that only the best could savor. Now Ego is offering this hellish opportunity for a second time to three hundred young forwards, so that one of them can become the best striker in the world (though that won’t be possible—Japan already has him—and Isagi doesn’t want a backup striker; how embarrassing) But as collateral damage from this grand lie of the “best striker in the world,” the team Isagi has always dreamed of will be created—he’s playing the best and longest game of chess of his life.
“All of you under the age of 18 have been chosen solely based on my judgment and personal preferences to be here today. I am Jinpachi Ego. My job is to build a Japanese team capable of winning the World Cup.”
“Who is this guy?” Kira looks confused
Ego continues with his outlandish explanation of how he created a facility that will house three hundred forwards, driven by the fantasy of creating the best player in the world. He talks about Japanese soccer, how the country’s conformist mentality is leading them to ruin, and about abandoning everything to pursue his own gain—“his ego.” He also takes a moment to explain that entering here is like making a deal with the devil. But Isagi doesn’t care; the few who remain in the end will realize they’ll never be forwards—instead, their egos will steer them toward other positions, where they’ll be able to adapt more efficiently (“How scary—I’m almost talking like Hugo. How gross!”) That’s the truth. Even so, Isagi doesn’t just want to use them; he’s interested in building a real team and connecting with the rest of the players—that’s important too, otherwise the team could fall apart before it even takes off (and he also wants Japanese friends, aside from Sae, of course). Blue Lock is a project that won’t fail; rather, it will emerge as a unique opportunity for Japan.
Isagi turns his gaze back to the auditorium; Ego is silent, before breaking into that wide, maniacal grin with lifeless eyes and proclaiming the final words—words that, even though Isagi has heard them before, make him tremble and feel just as moved as the first time that man spoke of the dream.
“Put your common sense aside. When you’re on the field, you’re the star. Striker”
And with those words, Isagi can feel the excitement and intensity coursing through his body. The doors open; he looks around for a few seconds, waiting to see how many of them have that selfish look in their eyes. He smiles—there are several of them there, waiting to be awakened, true unpolished gems.
Isagi runs; he’s the first to start moving his legs, from the middle of the auditorium, feeling his ego surge through his entire body; he smiles as he hears the sound of the heavy sneakers of the other forwards who have also made up their decision.
Right here and now, the battle to be the best in the world begins.