Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Santiago Bernabéu Stadium was at full capacity.

Tens of thousands of fans were at the edges of their seats, hearts pounding out of their chests. A sea of colors and banners rippled in the night air, and their thunderous chorus of cheers, chants, and claps shook the whole foundation.

Bright lights lit up the pitch, the grand stage for the play. Eyes watched with ardent fervor.

Nothing else existed but here and now. 

–

Up in the announcer booth.

John: [We’re down to the last 15 minutes of the match and the score is still 1–1. Neither side is willing to give an inch!]

Mickey: [You can say that again, John. They’re really upping the tension, but the crowd is loving it! Listen to those cheers!]

On cue, live footage from various parts of the stands played on the screen.

“That’s the future of PXG? My grandma runs faster than that!”

“Bench that Number 8! Who the hell allowed him on the roster?!”

“One more goal! One more goal!”

“Come on ReAl!! This is our home turf! Make your daddy proud!!!”

“Why aren't they bringing out the big guns?! That old relic of a coach must be [redacted for broadcasting purposes]!”

John: [Right… Re Al is performing optimally, but Paris X Gen is giving them a run for their money. Julian Loki is on fire tonight! Looks like France has a real shot in winning this exhibition match!]

Mickey: [Don’t forget. Re Al has Sae Itoshi, the New Generation World XI’s midfielder. Look, he's not even breaking a sweat!]

John: [Not just Sae, but also–Wait! Do my eyes deceive me?]

Mickey: [No John, I don't think they are. I'm seeing the same thing!]

John: [I was starting to think they wouldn't let him play! After such a close game, ReAl is finally taking this match seriously! At last he enters the stage, and the whole crowd goes wild!]

John and Mickey: [The God Weaver, Isagi Yoichi!]

If Isagi had to pinpoint where everything began, it would have to be this.

He was only four then. Just a boy who liked to eat all the veggies on his plate before the meat, ran around the house with his parent’s heavy blanket over his shoulders playing pretend hero, cried when he got hurt, stomped his feet when he was angry, laughed when he was happy.  He was a child who still needed to hold his father’s hand to cross the street and hid his face in his mother’s skirt when meeting new people. 

But even then, his father reminisces occasionally in the delicate hush between the fading line of day, Isagi was never just a boy.

There were moments, seemingly insignificant at the time, that stood out. 

Isagi was an inquisitive child. Though he hid behind his mother’s legs, his eyes were bright with restless curiosity. However, after a few minutes, they were returned to their usual lustre until he found something else to hold his interest.

During the rare family gatherings as well. Issei had wondered why Isagi, who’d been bursting with eagerness, suddenly hid himself in the back garden to poke at the flowers. Perhaps his dear son had eaten too many sweets and was crashing. However, reality was completely contrary to his expectations.

“I’m done seeing them. It’s boring now.”

“Now, now, Yocchan,” Issei scolded gently, hiding his incredulity behind a disapproving frown. Isagi was usually such a sweet boy. “It’s rude to call people boring, no matter the reason. If you don’t like talking with the grown-ups, then–.”

Isagi raised his hand to press two fingers on his father’s bottom lip. It was a habit he’d picked up from Iyo, and Issei found it too adorable to stop.

“No, Papa. I’m done seeing them,” he said slowly as though the words would mean something different the second time. 

Issei was understandably confused. “I’m sorry, darling. Can you tell me what you mean?”

It was then that Issei realized. Isagi saw everything. He noticed who was tired, who was faking a smile, and even noticed the tension between his aunts everyone had been pretending didn’t exist for the sake of peace.

Isagi carried a kind of quiet awareness–a sensitivity to the world, to people, that most people lacked.

Amazing. Issei was certain that Isagi’s future would be bright regardless of what he chose to do.

Then, not even a month later, Isagi proved him right.

A single goal sealed his fate.

In all honesty, Isagi doesn’t remember much after that. 

He knows that a JSA staff had been passing through the area in search of talents. It was by chance they witnessed Isagi’s game, and after speaking with Issei and Iyo, they offered to pave a path for Isagi. What parent wouldn’t be thrilled when presented with a way to secure their child’s future? 

And, what child wanted to disappoint their parents?

The first year was relatively simple. After preschool, Isagi would ‘train’ in the facility in between snack breaks and naptime. All the while the JSA were spreading news of a new football prodigy in the making. 

When he was five, they started promoting him more aggressively. He was suddenly the face on the front of every sports magazine, making TV appearances, playing in exhibition matches where he was pitted against kids much bigger and older than him–and he won. 

Every. 

Single. 

Time.

By 7, he was a household name in Japan. 

They called it a once-in-a-lifetime genius; a superior breed of talent that stands above the rest. If you ask Isagi, he’ll give you a smile. Sweet with a carefully measured curve.

“I’m just observant, that’s all.”

Down at Re Al’s dugout, a teen leaned casually against the railing with his hands buried in his pockets. 

The harsh stadium lights outlined the fine features of his face, all sharp lines and cheekbones. Among the blondes, blacks, and browns, his strikingly pink hair stood out like a sore thumb. Teal eyes like polished glass were hooded with disinterest, but beneath that veneer was an unmistakable desire.

Sae Itoshi. 

At 13 years old, he was recruited by the illustrious Re Al, the strongest football club in the world. Then, at 17, he became a part of the New Generation World XI where only the most outstanding footballers around the world are selected to join. 

Now, in this current moment, he was a thorn in Isagi’s side.

“Is this really necessary?” Isagi unzipped his track jacket with unhurried movements to reveal the Re Al jersey beneath. He didn’t need to look at Sae to know that the older teen’s eyes were shining with satisfaction like a beast staking its claim. 

Shameless.

Isagi tugged at the hem of the jersey with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m just a temporary member. I wouldn’t even be in Spain if it weren’t for–."

“Stop stalling, ‘God Weaver’.” Sae’s tone was flat, but there was a pinch of mockery underlying his words. He pointed with his thumb at the large screens wrapping around the stadium. “Look. Your fans are getting impatient.” 

Isagi looked up instinctively only to get hit by regret.

The cameras panned to a group of what looked to be female high schoolers who, upon noticing they were being broadcasted, immediately thrust up printed sheets of paper which formed a picture–no, not a picture but the picture of Isagi in that accursed perfume ad he'd done last year–framed within a bright pink heart. The words [You're playing your role perfectly] were printed in neat calligraphy on top while on the bottom was [This is where you fall… for me].

“...”

“You don’t want to disappoint them, do you?”

“Oh, shut up. I have a name. Try using it,” Isagi huffed, bumping Sae’s shoulder lightly as he walked onto the pitch. It should look like a simple graze of the shoulders at the angle the cameras were shooting from.

He’s been very careful about showing his irritation towards other players since the last incident involving a particularly infuriating German forward. His manager had been pulling his hair out at the sudden surge of media coverage reporting that the ‘God Weaver’ was beginning to lose his humanity, viewing players as objects on the board to be used and discarded at will. 

Same song, different tune. 

Also extremely ironic considering it was Michael Kaiser, someone who was infamous for his selfishness on the field.

These are the same hypocrites who used his half-month hiatus to fuel the rumors that he was hiding a career ending injury. That’s why Isagi was even here playing in Re Al’s youth team for an exhibition match in the first place. It was a way to silence the rumors while also waving a proverbial middle-finger at their faces. 

He also owed that man a favor. Not something he nor Sae liked to think about. Isagi's just lucky it was something like this and not nurse duty.

That aside, it’d be better if he could just take the journalists to court. Unfortunately, they’re irritatingly skilled at wording their articles in such a way that they can’t get sued for defamation.

Recalling it left a bad taste on Isagi’s tongue. Perhaps that’s why he kept going instead of letting the conversation drop as he usually did.

He brushed his bangs out of his eyes, subsequently blocking his mouth from view. “Also, cutting people off mid-sentence because you don’t like what you’ll hear is childish.” The sharpness of his words were a sharp contrast to the gentle curve of his eyes. “Don't you think so, Boy Genius?”

Sae snorted. His gaze wandered from Isagi’s thin waist up to those luminous sapphire orbs. “Then, are you going to teach me how to behave?”

Jesus Christ.

“You’re unbelievable.” Isagi’s lips fought off a grimace. 

On the bench, the other Re Al members were very pointedly looking the other direction and pretending that they weren’t there. Even the coach was keeping himself busy by yelling at the poor guy who was just subbed out.

No one wanted to get in between… whatever this was. 

Isagi, also not wanting to be a part of it, hurriedly stepped out of the technical area onto the field. 

“The clock doesn't stop ticking, Itoshi. You can save your nonsense for later.” He waved his hand over his shoulder in a beckoning motion. “Let’s see how much you’ve grown since last time. Don’t bore me.”

“As you command.”

–

Kickoff!

With less than 13 minutes on the clock, Re Al made an explosive attack.

Isagi dribbled the ball down the field. His eyes were in constant motion, taking in every minute detail and tracing the invisible threads that only he could see.

Right on cue, a wall appeared.

“Hold it right there, Yowichee! I won't let you get the best of me again!” 

Number 5, Marcelle. He was twice Isagi's size but with only a tenth of the intelligence. It makes him rather easy to deal with.

Without wasting a movement, Isagi stepped over the ball with his right foot and twisted his waist to put his body between Marcelle and the ball. As he spun–

Tap.

–he used the momentum to hit the ball with his left heel, sending it flying in a straight path up the right field.

Right into Sae's waiting feet.

“Hah! Pipsqueek, you think you can beat me in defense–hey! Where's the ball?!”

“You idiot! Use your eyes!”

“Did all the nutrients go to your muscles instead of your brain?!”

Isagi didn't bother sticking around.

Using Marcelle’s hesitation, he broke through and headed towards the concentration of players ahead. Already, his mind was whirling.

How are the players positioned? What’s their next move? Where is the ball? Where will the ball be?

There!

His body moved in accordance with his thoughts. Puzzle pieces fell into place until the picture was completed with full clarity. 

He can see it now. 

The breaks in the flow.

–

Sae drove the ball forward, feet light as he dribbled past the line of defense and left the humiliated defenders in the dust.

Fwoosh!

“The quality of youth players nowadays has dropped, huh,” Loki tutted. He cut off Sae's path, cleats digging into the ground, and smirked. “Mind taking it easy on them?”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

As Loki closed in, Sae didn’t rush to dodge. He paused his step and waited. Closer. Then, with a flick of his foot, he shifted direction in a heartbeat leaving Loki swinging at air. 

“This is the extent of your abilities without that annoying flea hopping around.”

Loki’s lips twitched at the blatant provocation. “Look who's talking,” he spat back Sae’s earlier sentiment. “Without your main striker, all you can do is pass.”

“Tch.”

They were in a deadlock. Sae tried to break through with a Marseille turn, but Loki’s speed allowed him to cut off every angle. He didn't need to read Sae's movements at all–only react. 

A cockroach that refused to be squashed.

It only took a moment, a brief lapse in concentration, and Loki closed in like a sharp scenting blood. Sae’s recovery was a step too late and the ball went flying. 

Thump.

“Nice pass.”

Teal and amber widened at the new arrival. 

Isagi appeared like a phantom, receiving the ball with his chest, not waiting for it to drop before he was already moving. “A bit more practice, and you might win the World’s No. 1 Midfielder title from Itoshi,” he encouraged with a cheeky smile. 

With a tilt of his head, Sae got the hint. 

They worked together. Short, high-speed passes up the field. With Isagi’s eyes, he could see the breaks in Loki’s stride, optimizing his passes to the millisecond. Even someone with Loki’s speed would struggle to keep up between two monsters juggling.

Bam!

Slam!

Wham!

Especially, Loki thinks bitterly, when they’re not even looking at each other.

Isagi felt the familiar heat piercing the back of his head. He couldn’t stop his smile even if he wanted to. 

The other PXG players tried to intercept, but they were small-fry in comparison to their ace. One-by-one they were caught and tangled by their own momentum.

Isagi pulled the threads tighter and tighter. 

His ears rang: fans cheering, players screaming, blood rushing in his ears.

Where there is harmony, there is discord. At the heart of it all are connections. Football was boring. You kick the ball into a net and win. What’s so interesting about that? A striker’s role was too simple.

Isagi stopped abruptly. Behind him, Loki’s eyes widened as he forced his body to stop before he crashed into the smaller teen’s back. Around them, the defenders stumbled. 

With just one move, you can disrupt the tempo.

Time slowed. Isagi twisted his foot on the pitch and jerked to the left, narrowly dodging Loki. Like the moon to the tide, the wave flowed after him. 

Sapphire eyes shone brilliantly under the lights.

What Isagi found interesting was how easy those connections–

BAM!

–could break.

The ball flew between the cracks in the defense, slamming hard onto the ground before curving to the right with a sidespin towards the goal.

“Fuck! Goalkeeper!”

“Don’t let it go in!”

“Who do you think you’re up against?”

Loki’s legs tensed before he burst in an explosion of speed. It should have been impossible to make it in time, but he wasn’t called the God Sprinter for nothing. Between one second and the next, he was in front of the ball’s trajectory. 

The last piece fell in place.

Isagi pinched his lower lip between his fingers while his other arm rested on his waist. “Your level of thinking is still basic.”

A seamless connection. Loki’s jaw slacked when Sae sliced through the last line with precision. This wasn’t an attempt to score. Isagi was passing.

Sae reared his leg back.

Slam!

The ball went in the opposite direction of where Loki and the goalie were blocking, cutting a straight path into the upper left corner of the net.

Whoosh!

[GOAL]

[2-1]

The crowd held their breath, the tension thick enough to cut, before erupting in cheers–thousands of voices rising in a deafening roar. The stadium shook as fans jumped in celebration. Banners flew proudly in the air.

The reaction was a bit much for an exhibition match.

Isagi’s brows furrowed before smoothing out. Now that the game was over, there was no reason for him to stay any longer.

The ending was as predictable as always.

–

“Mon amour, leaving so soon?” 

Isagi looked over his shoulder to find Loki leaning against the door to the empty Re Al lockers. Currently, the teams should be standing through some announcements and shaking hands to show sportsmanship. As a temporary player, Isagi wasn’t required to stay behind.

However, Loki was definitely supposed to be there.

“Your coach is going to skin you alive.” Isagi threw his sportsbag strap over his shoulder. “What do you want, anyway?”

Loki stepped forward, closing the space between them with a few strides. His arms were crossed loosely. “Come on, don’t play dumb.” He leaned close until their noses were almost touching. “You could have ended the game sooner, but you decided to humiliate me thoroughly first.”

Too close. Isagi leaned back with a frown. “You decided to do that on your own.”

“Like I’ll believe that, ‘God Weaver’.”

“Whoever came up with that name needs to count their days,” Isagi grumbled with discontent. Sometime after joining the Re Al youth training camp when he was 12, the press started referring to him by that title. He didn’t like it then, and he didn’t like it now. 

He scratched the back of his head and sighed. “Look, my ride’s waiting outside. Can you get to the point already?”

Loki brightened up like he was waiting for this. “Dinner.” He grabbed Isagi’s hand into his own, larger ones. “That’s the least you could do. You know, after making my reputation take a hit.”

This again.

Don’t get Isagi wrong. Loki was a handsome man, though his personality on the field could use some work. Not really his fault, of course. Most footballers were like that. 

Outside of that, he had good humor, charming, attentive, and persistent.

And… 

Oppressive. 

It was like an iron brand poised over his skin, hovering in anticipation and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. To mark.

It was a dark sort of familiarity. 

Isagi has been the subject of such attention for years now, starting from when he was recognized by the Japanese Football Association in his youth and then made worse when he debuted internationally. 

He has long become accustomed to it, to ignoring it, pretending he didn’t notice.

Because he knew that even the smallest hint of acknowledgement would have these beasts in human skin abandon all sense.

Loki was one of the more mellow ‘suitors’ interested in Isagi which was why he wasn’t as cold with him. That didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

Even now, his hold on Isagi’s hands was deceptively gentle. He knew that a twitch of his fingers would have those hands clamping down like iron bands. Beneath the earnestness in those amber eyes was a dark intensity.

“I…”

“What’s going on here?”

Isagi was never so relieved to see Sae. The older teen was standing at the entrance where Loki was before, hair disheveled and chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon. He looked more stressed than he did during the game.

Loki’s jaw clenched before his face loosened in an easy smile. He dropped Isagi’s hands and raised his own to show he was harmless. “Nothing, nothing. We were just chatting. Right, mon amour?”

“Yeah, nothing.” Isagi pushed past Loki and walked up to Sae, ignoring the obvious disbelief radiating off him. “I’ve got an appointment later. If you guys want to duke it out, wait until after I leave.”

“We’re not done here.”

“Yes.” Isagi’s voice broke no room for argument. “We are.”

From the periphery watching the good show, Loki let out a low whistle. Sae’s fingers clenched at his sides. It was like he was imagining something, or someone, beneath the mercy of his hands. 

“... Fine.” He moved to the side so Isagi could squeeze through. It was a narrow space. That meant however way Isagi tried to go, they would inevitably touch. “We’ll talk later.”

That had Isagi’s eyes rolling, but he kept his lips tightly shut.

He didn’t fully relax until he was out of the building and inside the comfy interior of the Audi. His driver immediately hit the accelerator when he closed the door. Smart man.

Isagi will have to give him a raise later.

The villa was empty when he got back.

Warm light streamed through the sheer curtains painting the beautiful interior with sunset colors. A light breeze blew through the open windows bringing with it the faint salty scent of the sea. On the rustic wooden coffee table, a folded note rested with a lobster paperweight holding it in place. 

Isagi picked up the note and opened it to find his mother’s familiar scrawl.

Yocchan,

Amazing job as always! Sorry we couldn’t welcome you back, but your father decided to take me on a romantic sight-seeing trip around Europe! Don’t worry about us and enjoy your time too, darling!

Love, hugs, and kisses from Mom and Dad ♡

A soft, amused smile stretched across Isagi’s face. That’s right. It was nearing their anniversary, wasn’t it?

He placed the note down and walked to the open balcony. The sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, leaving behind a sparkling trail of stars. His eyes took in the view while he dialed his manager’s number.

“Mr. Komaida,” he greeted when the man picked up. Then, voice dripping with warmth, “I need you to book the best accommodations you can find for my parents, wherever they decide to go. And put all their expenses on my card. Make sure they’re taken care of.”

When he got the affirmation, he dropped the call. He remained on the balcony until the last lights of the sun faded before returning back inside. 

Isagi was just about to make dinner when he saw it. 

A white, inconspicuous envelope lying on the floor beside the sofa. His brows furrowed as he went to pick it up. It must have been left on the coffee table as well, but without anything to hold it down, flew off. 

“This is…” He read the sender information, brows raising. “The JFA? Don’t those old fogies have anything better to do than bother me?” Isagi was going to toss the letter into the rubbish bin without reading it when a name caught his attention.

Jinpachi Ego.

That name was familiar. It should be…

Noel Noa’s formal rival, right?

The dark, gray room was bathed in the cold lights from the wall of monitors. Their screens cast sharp lines of shadows along the walls and floors, and the content of the videos were reflected off the surface of Ego’s glasses.

His fingers tapped the table impatiently as the seconds ticked down. It was almost time.

Ring!

Ring!

Ri–!

Click.

Ego answered the video call and leaned back against his swivel chair. Contrary to his casual slump, his gaze burned unblinkingly as the screens shuttered to reveal the subject of his fascination.

“Hello, can you hear me?” The voice was as clear as if they were in the same room together. “The Chairman said you wanted to talk.”

Isagi Yoichi. Their first meeting.

“That's right. I'll thank you for getting back to me so quickly... I saw you rejected the Blue Lock invitation.”

Isagi nodded. “Sorry, give me a second.”

The camera shook as he placed his phone down on what appeared to be a kitchen counter. With the new angle, Ego could see the cutting board with various vegetables spread out to be prepped.

“...”

“Is that it, then?” Isagi grabbed a knife and started chopping the onions. “You want to change my mind? It looks like you've got a lot you want to say, so I'll hear you out. But.” He pointed the knife at the screen. “I'm ending the call if you waste my time.”

It was a rather surreal situation. Still, the teen was willing to listen.

Ego stood up and crossed his arms behind his back. “I'll keep it simple. Isagi Yoichi, you're wasting away.”

“Okay…?” The teen looked bewildered.

“You’re a genius, but you lack hunger. Just an empty shell blessed with heavenly talent but without the desire, the desperation to risk your life. When you first debuted as a footballer, you were a striker, weren't you? But somewhere along the line, you decided to step down and take a more supportive role. The media called you a fraud, then. Wasting away your potential. Half-baked. The truth is, you were just bored.”

Isagi had long stopped moving. His fingers were white from how hard he was gripping the knife handle. 

But he didn't deny it.

“You even practiced a speech and everything... Where are you going with this?”

Ego’s grin split his face, and he spread his arms at his sides. “I'm saying, that makes you perfect for Blue Lock.”

The more he spoke, the more fervent his voice became.

“You're not satisfied with mediocrity. What you want… is something to break the mold and bring chaos to the entire field. These past few years, you've been drifting through different clubs–not to test their worth, but so you won't get bored of the same old toys.”

Re Al. 

PXG. 

Bastard Munchen. 

Ubers. 

FC Barcha. 

The best clubs in the world, yet treated like free food samples.

To have that kind of arrogance, that ego. It sent shivers down Ego’s spine, and his grin gained an obsessive edge.

“Project Blue Lock’s goal is to create the world’s best striker. In order to do so, we create an environment where the players put their lives on the line. You either die or drag yourself out the depths of hell.”

“Doesn't that sound interesting?”

That's the hook.

After a long pause, Isagi heaved a sigh. “I can tell you're very passionate about this, but… the participants are all regular Japanese high schoolers.”

Isagi had read the information provided. He'd even talked to Chairman Buratsuta, suffering through an hour of simpering just to learn more about this program. The program itself was questionable, but the main reason Isagi rejected the invitation was because it was unfair.

“Those guys have no clue how big the world is outside of Japan. Isn't it mean to have me as their opponent?”

There's the line.

Ego pushed his glasses and smirked. “Is that a genuine concern?” He mocked. “As you are, you can’t be the best, nor do you want to be the best striker in the world. At the very least, you can be a catalyst to the creation of a new football hero.”

Sinker.

Isagi finally cracked a smile. There was nothing nice about it.

“Fine, you got me.” He grabbed the phone and held it up to his face–close enough that, through the large screen, one could count each individual lash. “Make this worth my while, Ego.”

Ego’s back straightened, triumphant. “That's more like it. Welcome to Blue Lock, Isagi Yoichi.”

–

The moment Isagi hung up, Ego's phone started buzzing with another incoming call.

Click.

“Yeah, yeah, before you ask, he accepted.”

Ego’s eyes rolled to the ceiling as the person on the other end said something. The hand not holding the phone was busy picking lint off his vest.

“... What a pain… I was going to do it before you even asked. This isn't a favor or anything. I've been wanting to do this for a long time.”

Ego glanced at the wall to the left of the monitors, a space that was hidden from the camera’s angle.

Under the soft glow of the screens, newspaper cutouts and magazine articles littered the wall.

[A New Star is Born!]

[Lost in Transition: A Waste of Genius?]

[Isagi Yoichi Proves the World Wrong for Doubting Him]

[The God Weaver Strikes Again!]

The pictures really didn't do Isagi justice. It was through a monitor, but the teen’s presence still carried a commanding gravity.

It'll be a challenge to break him down and reform him again, but the end results would be worth it.

God Weaver.

To weave a God with his own hands.

“Just don't forget our deal, Noa."

Chapter Text

Blue Lock Start

63:54:03

–

Yanaka, Taito City.

The streets narrowed as they climbed up the hills, lined with stones weathered by wind, rain, and sunlight. The wooden buildings' tiled roofs gleamed faintly in the afternoon light. 

On the sides of the streets, small shops sold local sweets, incense, hand painted fans, and charms. Their entrances were draped with noren curtains. They fluttered gently from the breeze which brought with it the scent of sandalwood from the temples.

Locals and visitors alike moved slowly, their voices flowed around them like the quiet gurgles of a stream.

Leaves rustling. Birds chirping. The cry of insects. 

Isagi tugged the brim of his hat lower and shut his eyes. 

There was something about the air that was different from anywhere else he’d been before; a sort of quiet that was somehow more alive than busy streets and fully packed stadiums. 

It was so muted. Like, if he stood still and held his breath, he would be indistinguishable from the moss growing between the cracks on the cobblestone.

Then, he opened his eyes, and the illusion was broken.

“A celebrity?”

“I think so. His disguise is way too obvious!”

“He’s got a good figure. Do you think he’s an idol?”

“Maybe, but what’s he doing out here all alone?”

“Wait! Do you think they’re filming something secretly right now?”

The wind carried their hushed voices to Isagi’s ears.

How inconvenient. 

Even wearing a plain jacket and sneakers, he was still drawing attention like a magnet. Some tried to catch his eyes under the brim of his hat. Others were throwing not so subtle glances his way, and the tourist couple were pretending to take selfies with him in the background.

Isagi frowned beneath his face mask. Can’t a man sight-see in peace?

He specifically returned to Japan two weeks before Blue Lock starts so he could have time to travel. In the past 6 years, he’s only been to his homeland a handful of times for business of some kind. Since his parents were enjoying their own trip in Europe, he thought he’d have his own. 

As a widely known public figure, he couldn’t exactly walk around without some kind of disguise. He just didn’t expect that he’d still draw attention even with his facial features so thoroughly hidden.

Isagi had his own fun wandering around the streets of Kyoto, Osaka, Miyagi, and other prefectures, but there were too many close calls. Eventually, he decided to stay in Tokyo for the remaining five days. 

But, as expected, he drew attention. 

Too much of it.

With a sigh, Isagi took out his phone and opened the map app. It looked like Ueno Park was a 15 minute walk away in–he raised his head– that direction.

He was about to slip his phone back into his pocket when it started buzzing with an incoming call.

Bzzt. Bzzzzt. Bzzzz–.

Click.

Isagi hung up without hesitation. 

It was an unknown number. His contact list was finely tailored so that only his family and important connections were registered. Anyone else was either someone he’d blocked before trying to reach him, a telemarketer, or any other option he wasn’t interested in entertaining.

One step, and his phone buzzed again.

Click.

Bzz–.

Click.

Bzzt. Bzz–.

Isagi grit his teeth at the relentless caller. He violently jabbed the hang up button and opened the call history. His finger was hovering over the block button when a message banner appeared at the top of his screen, drawing his attention.

[Unknown Number:

Oi. Answer your phone. It’s me.]

Then, without giving Isagi any time to process, another call came in.

Bzzt. Bzzzzt. 

“You're kidding...” Isagi walked over to the side of the road and answered the call. Silence, and then, “Ego...?”

A voice low with impatience answered. “Took you long enough. Next time, answer on the first ring."

No greetings, no well-wishes, no nothing. Just a demand right of the bat.

Isagi pulled the phone away and stared at it with an undecipherable gaze. He gnawed on his lips to hold the words that wanted to spill out. While he's gotten used to dealing with difficult personalities over the years, that didn’t mean he liked it.

Polite. He needs to be polite.

“Can I help you with something?”

There was something that sounded like papers being shuffled on the other end. “Due to your presence, the program needed to undergo some changes in formatting.” More shuffling noises. “I’ve dealt with most of it. However, since you are the core feature of this change, you’ll need to be briefed about what role you’ll play.”

That made sense. 

From what Isagi had seen, the First Selection with its planned 5 Stratums and team battles wouldn’t work with him. He was an independent variable that would skew the results based on what team he ended up in. 

He had wondered if the older man would stick with the original plan when he accepted. Fortunately, Ego didn’t.

“Alright. Should I go to the facility tomorrow?”

Isagi made plans to go to Hakone for the hotsprings, but he could work around it. The meeting shouldn’t take too long, anyway. If they meet up in the morning, he’ll have the whole afternoon–.

“Right now.”

“Sorry?”

Ego repeated himself. “The meeting is in an hour. A driver has been sent to pick you up.”

Pick… him up?

“Do you even know where I am?”

“I’m watching you right now.”

The phone turned to lead in Isagi’s hand. His breath hitched, all his muscles going rigid as he abruptly became hyperaware of his surroundings.

A crowd of aunties gossiping. 

A candy stall owner leaning over the counter to hand a child a lollipop. 

A man walking his dog. 

Isagi’s eyes darted across the street and rapidly took in the information. Something glinted in the corner of his eye–there!–and he looked up to see a security camera pointed in his direction. Even from a distance, he could just make out his reflection on the dark lens.

Outwardly, he appeared calm. Internally, he felt something in his chest turn cold.

“Spying on me?” He spoke with false casualness. Then, more forcefully, “I don’t like this kind of creepy thing.”

Ego snorted. When he spoke next, it was with an irritating lilt of amusement. “Don’t flatter yourself. If I wanted to do anything, I wouldn’t have let you know.”

“Hah…”

“You’re heading for Ueno Park, aren’t you? Go on ahead. The driver will be waiting for you there.” 

Beep.

A few seconds passed before Isagi finally moved. He forced his body to relax. There was a high possibility that Ego was still watching him, and he would rather be on the same team as Sae than give the man the satisfaction of seeing him wrong footed.

Without hesitation, he blocked the number and shut off his phone. 

“This shit again.” Sapphire eyes glowed within the shadows cast by his hat. "I need to get a new number..."

–

“Was that really necessary?” Anri grimaced. Her eyes oozed disapproval and disgust as she took in the videos streamed on the multiple monitors. “What if you scare him off the program? Remember what Chairman Buratsuta said–.”

“Stop nagging me, woman. Are you my mother?”

“Don’t curse me like that…”

Ego waved her off dismissively without looking. When Isagi disappeared off the screen, he pressed a button to follow after him. 

From Noa’s warnings, he knew that the boy had a habit of disappearing on a whim. It’s gotten better over the years, but he still had moments of going off grid for a few days. Apparently, it was something about hating being watched and needing privacy. 

That’s nice and all, but now that Isagi was a part of Blue Lock, his privacy was Ego’s business. 

It’s the whole reason he was doing this in the first place. Ego doesn’t have such a tasteless hobby as stalking–especially when the target was a moody teen.

Though, he admits privately with a smirk, Isagi sure was fun to mess with.

The park was a peaceful haven in the middle of a bustling center. Dry leaves scattered along the pavement, and aged wooden benches were placed at the sides for the parents to sit and watch their children play on the dirt field. A small group of elementary school kids were chasing a scuffed football at the other side of the park.

Lying belly up on a bench, long legs dangling awkwardly on the edge, was a white-haired teenager. He was mashing his thumb on his phone screen with intense focus.

Just before he could make the winning head-shot, a notification banner covered half his screen causing him to accidentally click off the game. Charcoal eyes stared blankly at the newly opened message app.

[From Reo:

Nagi, sorry, but I’ll be a few minutes late to pick you up!

We got held up by traffic]

“Haa… What a hassle.” Nagi placed the phone on his chest and stared up at the leafy roof above. Bits of sunshine managed to bounce through the thick cluster and shine through. 

With victory so cruelly ripped from his grasp, he wasn’t feeling motivated to keep playing. At the same time, a nap was out of the question. Nagi didn’t feel like resting only to get rudely awakened when Reo showed up. 

Should he just–.

Thump!

“MISTER, WATCH OUT!”

“Hm?” Nagi turned his head just in time to see it.

Swoosh!

The weight shifted through the stranger's hips and shoulders in perfect balance. His foot rose just enough to catch the ball with a soft, controlled touch that killed its momentum instantly. The sudden motion caused the plain cap to drop from his head revealing… sprouts?

Ba-thump.

The boy who’d yelled the warning was frozen in place with his jaw agape.

After a few seconds, he rushed over with his arms flailing wildly as he skidded to a stop. “I’m sorry!” He nearly bumped his head against the stranger's knees with how hard he bowed. “It was an accident!”

The stranger picked up the hat, patted it on his jeans to rid it of the dust, and shoved it back on his head. He must have said something–it was hard to tell with the mask in the way–because the kid immediately started gushing about the trick.

A jolt of pain on his neck made Nagi realize what an uncomfortable position he was stuck in. Gaze unblinking, he shifted on the bench until he was sitting upright. His phone slipped from his chest down to his lap, forgotten.

What was that?

Who was that?

Between one blink and the next, he felt something in the world begin to shift. 

Reo was always gushing about his trapping skills. He called him a genius. Nagi wondered, absently, if he looked anywhere near as effortless as that stranger when he did it. 

Like a bird riding the wind.

Smooth. Simple. Elegant. Not a single wasted movement.

The stranger didn’t stay long. After returning the ball to the boy, he continued his way to the park exit. Nagi’s knee jerked as though he were going to go after him, but he stopped himself with a puzzled frown.

Why did he…?

He slumped back on the bench. The earlier situation replayed in his mind again and again, as clear as he had seen it. Someone with skills like that…

“He was probably invited to Blue Lock, too, right?”

There was a warm sensation simmering under his skin. It tingled his fingertips, a restless energy with nowhere else to go. 

Anticipation.

Nagi suddenly couldn’t wait for the Blue Lock Project to start.

Blue Lock building.

It was a pentagon shaped, massive structure atop a mountain cliffside, covering the entire space and stretching up towards the clouds. The exterior was a deep blue color that absorbed the light. The interior, however, was like a prison.

This wasn’t a budget issue. Isagi was well aware of how much money Buratsuta coughed up after finding out he agreed to participate. It was definitely enough to paint the metal plates making up the walls. 

Which means, Isagi thinks with an exhausted sigh, that Ego did it on purpose to mess with the players. Not only is he a creepy stalker, but he also has an awful personality, a trashy sense of aesthetic, and needs to find a new barber.

Yes, he still hasn’t forgiven the older man for earlier.

“Fix your face. I can feel you stabbing me with your eyes from here.” Ego grabbed the remote to the large, wall-sized television. They were currently in one of the many monitor rooms in the building. It was the same gray walls all around with nondescript metal tables and chairs.

Isagi’s glare sharpened into a fine point. The words that were balanced precariously at the tip of his tongue finally fell. 

“Was it Noa? Did he tell you to monitor my movements?” The moment the words left his mouth, he shook his head. His fingers pinched at his bottom lip as though he were punishing himself for something. “Forget it. Whatever the reason, it doesn't matter. Don’t do it again.”

Ego looked over his shoulder and shrugged. “I’ll consider it.”

“You–.”

“As long as you don’t run off before the end of the contract, I won’t have a reason to continue.”

Ah. 

Is that it? 

Words died on Isagi’s tongue. The spark in his eyes faded, and the way he looked at Ego fell into the neutral.

He’s just like Noa then. Rivals for years, one becoming the world’s best and the other starting a program to create a new football hero, but they were a lot more similar then they care to admit.

Just another football head with no bottom line when it comes to getting what they want.

Suffice to say, their first in-person meeting was starting off on the wrong foot.

Ego seemed to notice this as well. He leaned his elbow on the table, and with his other hand, he held out the remote toward the screen.

“Alright, enough wasting time.”

Beep.

The lights were dimmed and the television screen flickered on. A diagram of the building appeared in crisp detail. Key areas were highlighted with information boxes hovering over them. Ego pressed another button, and the screen started showing various charts of information.

He watched as Isagi’s eyes gradually transformed from dull orbs to polished gemstones. Interested now?

“Let’s start from the beginning.” He smirked wide enough to split his face.

–

By the end of the meeting, Isagi had forgotten all grievances.

“It’s an interesting idea.” He drummed his fingers on the table, delicate brows furrowed. “It gets rid of the issue of skewing results for individual Stratums, but how about Stratums where the results are determined? A team that wins all its matches won’t be as affected.”

Ego, who had propped his legs on the table five minutes into the explanation, picked carelessly at his ears. “I’ll worry about it if it happens, but that shouldn’t be an issue. The program’s purpose is to create moments of despair. Either they rise above it as a team, or individuals awaken within the depths of hell to stand above the rest. With you as an added pressure, this should create an extreme enough condition that simulates a near-death experience for them.”

“...”

Isagi recalls that the participants are teenagers. He keeps this to himself, though, as he can tell Ego couldn’t care less.

“Not to mention, you don’t just represent an ‘absolute death’ for these diamonds in the rough. You also represent an ‘absolute hope’.” Ego finally pulled his pinky out of his ear and blew the hardened wax. 

Isagi decides to ignore whatever Ego did and focus on the words. “‘Absolute hope’, huh. That’s one way to put it.”

It wasn’t exactly wrong. With the way Ego restructured the First Selection, Isagi could be considered to be a life-saving ticket for the players.

Ego’s original idea was to split the Stratums into five separate areas, isolated from one another, and holding a strict belief that they are the lowest of the low. Garbage. So far behind that they must undergo a hell’s trial while those in the upper ranks live it up and widen the gap between them.

Of course, this is a lie. It’s another way to mess with the players to get them in the right headspace where there are only two options: death or evolution.

That was the original plan, and, to some extent, they'll keep it. The difference comes with the added element.

Isagi himself.

Or, as Ego called him in the explanation, a spark to the keg. 

Just thinking about it made his blood rush with impatience. The last time he's felt this eager about football was... He couldn't even remember.

"I'll look forward to it."

“There’s still a few days before we start. I’ll send you a list of the participants for you to go over.” As if remembering something, Ego reached into his vest and pulled out a card. He placed it on the table and slid it over to Isagi. “Keep this with you. It’s a key card that allows you to access all facilities including my area.”

That gave Isagi pause.

Was that an invitation?

To… What? Visit Ego? Have a conversation? Tea and snacks?

“Thank you.” Isagi takes the card with a smile that crinkles his eyes but holds zero sincerity. He’ll keep it of course. Such a useful tool.

Whether he uses it for good or evil depends entirely on Ego’s future actions.

That night, after a luxurious bath in the Hakone inn’s private hot springs, Isagi dropped onto the fluffy futon. He allowed himself a few minutes to relax. His whole body was loose, skin carrying a sheen of dampness and radiating a subtle heat.

In those minutes, the world was a beautiful place.

Too bad it couldn’t last.

Rustle.

Isagi rolled onto his stomach and leaned his chin on the pillow. The thick quilt was a comforting weight on his back. The only illumination came from his phone screen, casting a soft blue light over the traditional decorations and tatami flooring.

With a few taps, he opened up the file Ego sent him. It was a detailed report of all the players invited into the Blue Lock program–teens from all over Japan with varying ages and skills, but showing enough potential to have been considered by the JFA. 

That’s right. Unlike Isagi who was handpicked by Ego, the other participants were carefully selected by Anri Teieri. The man himself showed shallow interest in them, if any at all, which meant that their data on the participants were limited.

He skimmed over the information only to be disappointed. The ones with the most content were players like Ryosuke Kira who, though received their own nicknames from the public, showed little value. 

In the kindest way possible, domestic success is an admirable achievement.

In the truest way possible, they’re only good by domestic standards. It’s a level that can’t survive internationally.

No wonder Ego wasn’t interested in them at all.

Still, from what little he could glean, there were some players who stood out.

One of them being Sae Itoshi’s younger brother, a prodigy in his own right who brought his middle school football team to the nationals and won. That should have had the sports magazines talking, but somehow, he managed to stay out of the spotlight.

Another one was a teen who, if Isagi remembers correctly, was a student at Hakuho which wasn’t known for being an athletics school. He only recently started playing football but was already showing unprecedented growth.

There were a few others as well. As they were now, they could hardly be considered world-class strikers let alone international high school level. 

But there was potential there.

If Isagi wanted explosive attack power or natural-born geniuses, he wouldn’t have agreed to come to Japan. He could have simply accepted Re Al’s or Bastard’s offer–irritating teammates with zero concepts of personal space be damned.

Neither was he interested in seedlings that needed to be nurtured carefully to bloom. He wasn’t anyone’s personal trainer, after all. Whatever Ego planned by using him as a ‘catalyst’ wasn’t anything as beautiful as facilitating growth.

That man thought he convinced Isagi with his fervent speech. He was right that Isagi was bored and that he wasn’t interested in being the best footballer in the world. His mistake was in assuming that Isagi wanted something to “break the mold and bring chaos to the entire field.” 

That was partially true, but Isagi wasn't some world-wary child prodigy burnout looking for something to reignite a passion for the sport.

The truth is… it doesn't have to be football. 

What Isagi wants–

Various files blurred on his screen.

–is a puzzle.

Soft light streamed in through the windows of the high-rise penthouse, washing the room in the muted gold of morning. The air still carried the night’s chill and the refreshing scent of dew.

In the middle of the living room, Sae sat cross-legged on a thin mat. Long lashes cast shadows on his cheeks. He kept his back straight with his hands resting on his knees. Each breath was slow and deliberate, bringing with it a sense of control over his mind and body.

In. Then, out.

Repea–.

Ding!

Sae’s eyes snapped open at the sound.

He immediately snatched the phone from the coffee table, nearly toppling his kombucha, and opened his messages.

There, on the screen, was a photo. 

At first glance, it looked like a simple selfie between a Western tourist couple. The man had his arm wrapped around the woman’s shoulder as they smiled widely for the picture. However, there in the upper right corner, was a striking figure. Even hiding behind a mask and hat, there was no mistaking him.

Sae’s lips twitched at the corners to form a darkly satisfied smile. 

“Found you.”

Chapter Text

The hum of the car engine was barely a whisper within its polished interior. Isagi was cocooned within an oversized blue hoodie in the backseat, and even though the heater was on full blast, he shivered.

“Can’t it go any higher?”

“Any hotter and I’ll melt into the leather seats!” Komaida boomed. One hand was gripping the steering wheel in a vice grip while the other dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. From Isagi’s angle, he could see the tight line of the older man’s jaw. “Did you catch a cold or something?”

“Hm…”

Isagi blinked lazily out the window. They were on the highway, so cars zoomed by them with the occasional glimpse of the tall city buildings breaking the monotony.

“Nope, not a cold,” he concluded after deep consideration. “I think putting the AC at 15° when it's 7° outside is the reason why I’m freezing to death.”

“...”

That was a bald-faced lie.

What Isagi didn’t mention was that he had eaten an entire tub of red bean ice cream before Komaida picked him up from his hotel. 

It was a gift from the nice old couple running the ryokan he was staying at in Hakone. This was the day before, meaning he only had a night and morning to finish it all.

Isagi lost feeling in his mouth ten bites in, and by the time he finished the whole thing, he felt like he’d just taken an ice bath. It was only recently that feeling returned back to his mouth enough that he could speak without slurring his words. 

Of course he couldn’t let Komaida know. 

The man has taken a sort of third-parent role in Isagi’s life, and while Isagi appreciated his care, he appreciated less the lectures that came with it. Even his parents took the brunt of the scoldings sometimes.

Hm, maybe less of a third-parent and more of a grandfather? Though Komaida, in his strapping age of 28, would probably have an aneurysm if Isagi called him that.

Isagi’s lips twitched at the thought, and he fought to keep them down.

He tightened his arms around his knees and pressed his lips against the soft fabric of his hoodie. An old habit of his.

Due to his sudden fame, the JFA made sure he was media trained in order to maintain a certain image to the public. They didn’t want to make the same mistake they made with Sae.

The guy in charge of him was nice enough. His instructions were easy to follow as well. Simply, if there were cameras, Isagi should cover his mouth as naturally as he can. If there were microphones, then he should do something to keep his mouth occupied in case something slips out.

Now that Isagi was older, he had much better self-control than a 7 year old–the thing with Kaiser notwithstanding. However, the actions stuck.

Speaking of that…

“Before I forget.” Isagi slowly uncurled, one leg sliding down the seat as he pulled himself into a sitting position. “I need a new phone number.”

“So soon?” Komaida answered unfeigned. “I’ve been careful not to let it slip, too… Who is it this time?”

“Ego.”

“... Jinpachi? From the program?”

“Yep.” Isagi popped the ‘p’.

“Isn’t he 30?”

“Uh… I guess. Why?”

The car fell into a heavy silence before–

SKREEE!

“Absolutely not!” Komaida nearly crashed into another car, ignoring the angry honks, to glare over his shoulder at Isagi. His eyes were blood-shot. “The only reason we haven’t sent cease and desist letters to those stalkers is because of their high profile identities, but I draw the line at creepy old men!”

“R-road!” Isagi was pressed against the back seat. One hand clenched the fabric over his rapidly beating heart while the other pointed ahead. “Watch the road!”

“Damnit!”

Screeeech!

There were a few close calls before Komaida managed to stabilize the car. It’s too bad they were in the middle of the highway or he would have pulled over a long time ago. Veins bulged on the back of his hands from how tightly he was holding the wheel.

Isagi watched him with a healthy dose of caution. “It’s not what you think.”

That was the wrong thing to say.

Whatever faux zen Komaida was able to achieve disappeared in an instant. “Oh, then pray tell what the situation is. Of all the stupid, dangerous things–!”

“Seriously, it’s not like that!” Isagi huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Ego’s not like that–like them. If I caught even a hint of, ugh, attraction from him, I’d have taken the first plane out of Japan without a look back. He’s just… genuinely weird.” Despite his words, his voice held begrudging appreciation. “Ego’s another football junkie, but his way of thinking is so completely out there that it’s interesting.”

Now that Komaida sat and listened, he visibly sagged in relief. “So it’s like that…” He learned long ago not to question Isagi’s judgement on other people. 

“Wait, then why do you need to change your number again?”

“He’s annoying,” was the simple answer. “I already blocked him on the messaging apps, but if he has my number, he could call with other phones.” Like those guys, went unsaid but was heard all the same.

At the reminder, Komaida’s mood soured again.

As Isagi’s manager, he was deeply aware of what kind of beasts prowled around Isagi. Starved, irrational, oppressive. It was a kind of attention that went beyond the general understanding of affection or interest.

Obsession.

Small fries are easy enough to deal with. Fans who get a little too bold or journalists who cross the boundaries of privacy without permission. Not that Komaida ever has a chance to do anything because those people tend to go away, though not on their own initiative.

No, the real problems are the big shots. People that are too important, too powerful, for him to touch.

Isagi says he has things under control, but…

Komaida hopes so.

From the rearview mirror, he watched as Isagi fiddled with the hoodie strings. Such amazing football talent, but still so young.

He really hopes so.

The moment the doors to the meeting room slid open, the whispers started.

“Wait, that’s–!”

“No way! They invited the Isagi Yoichi?!”

“Wasn’t he in Spain just last month? That match was insane!”

“I can’t believe we’re in the same room together… Am I dreamin–ah!”

“You felt pain, which means this isn’t a dream…”

“Motherfucker, pinch yourself next time!”

So noisy.

There were a total of 300 football players from all over Japan stuffed in a room barely big enough to fit them all. Right now, they were more like a squirming pile of worms fighting for dominance to get a better look at Isagi.

The stares were unrelenting. Pinpricks like needles digging into his skin came from all directions, some heavier than others. 

At least they knew better than to approach.

Isagi spotted an empty corner and claimed it as his own. Once settled, he asked himself again why he was here in the first place.

This was mostly an announcement of the program’s goals as well as collecting informed consent from the underage participants. As someone who already agreed, Isagi technically didn't have to be there. He'd wanted to just go straight to the Blue Lock facility, but Ego wouldn't let him.

“Blue Lock is a controlled environment.” He pushed up his glasses, the light glinting off the lens and obscuring his gaze. “Everyone starts from the same point, under the same pressure, and with the same information. I've already done you a great favor by giving you a mental head start. It won't be ‘fair’ to the others if you skip this, too.”

Bullshit.

That sadistic human incarnate of the nerd-emoji just wanted to make the other participants squirm and see Isagi suffer.

Well, there was one good thing about this.

Isagi peeked beneath his lashes at the whispering teenagers. With his height, he couldn't exactly get a bird’s eye view of all of them, but that was fine. They were doing him a favour by shoving each other out the way to catch a glimpse of him.

That one over there was the tallest high schooler in Japan, Ishikari. He'd make a good goalie.

The guy with the bleached mohawk was Sennou’s Ace, Okawa. They probably don't have a lot of strong players there.

Then there was Nishioka, the so-called  “Aomori’s Messi.” Basically, a primary school version.

These thoughts weren't for the sake of being mean. It was just the reality. 

The JFA, as they tend to do, picked them up and hyped them to the public. However, unlike Isagi and Sae who got to see the world and evolve, they were left in this backwater football country to stagnate. If not for this program, they would have followed the gilded path leading to a point of no return with the only thing waiting for them a filthy box room and disappointment.

Well, Isagi mused dryly. Most of these guys will graduate from high school. In that sense, they have a leg up from us.

[ T c h. ]

[Test. Test.]

Click.

The lights all shut off casting a blanket of darkness over the room. Spotlights clicked on and focused in the direction of the stage, drawing all eyes to the man standing in the center. 

There, in all his glory, was Ego.

[Congratulations you unpolished gems.]

Ego pushed up his glasses. He was wearing the same suit he was wearing during their last meeting. Isagi was convinced that the older man had nothing else in his closet.

[All 300 of you U-18 strikers have been selected based on my personal criteria and gathered here today. My name is Jinpachi Ego. My job is this: to create a team capable of winning the World Cup for Japan.]

Such a lofty goal. 

Murmurs filled the room at the announcement of the program’s intentions. As much passion and love these teens had for football, the concept of Japan winning the World Cup was far-fetched fantasy. It’s an impossibility with clubs like Re Al dominating the international stage.

Isagi crossed his arms and leaned more comfortably on the wall. His head was tilted as he listened with faint intrigue. 

Maybe coming here wasn’t a waste of time.

[Let me lay it out plain for you amateurs.] With a snap of his fingers, a projector whirred to life. The Japanese flag appeared behind him on the large, white doors. [Japan lacks a critical element necessary to becoming a powerhouse in football. Messi. Ronaldo. Noa. What they all have in common… is that they are revolutionary strikers. Therefore, I will create that revolutionary striker myself with one of you gathered here today.]

Heads spun around, though Isagi notes, some of them had already been glued in his direction since the beginning. Goosebumps broke out on his arms that had nothing to do with Ego’s words and everything to do with the effects of them. 

Weren’t Japanese kids supposed to be mild and respectful? The weight of their attention was invasive.

On the screen, a pentagon appeared. It was the same 3D display Isagi had seen a few days before.

[This is ‘Blue Lock.’]

[Starting today, this’ll be your new home. You’ll be staying in the building and following my personally-designed training regime to the t. Forget any ideas of going home. As of now, anyone who decides to leave can consider their football careers effectively over.]

“What?!”

“Is he crazy? What kind of bullshit is that?!”

“Can he even do that?!”

[Quiet.] Ego rolled his eyes. He shoved his hands into his pockets and tilted his head back. [Enough of that pathetic whining. If you’re that spineless, then feel free to leave. For those who want to stay, I’ll tell you this.]

[If you manage to survive Blue Lock and defeat the other 299 players around you… then you, the last one standing, will be the best striker in the world.]

He leaned forward in a mock-bow.

[That’s all. Nice to meet you.]

Isagi had to rub his mouth to smother the smile threatening to break through. What a psycho, that Ego. He had such a way with words, ending in such a casual way after dropping a proverbial bomb on the unsuspecting teens.

Of course, no one in the room was satisfied with the unreasonable terms.

“Hey! Sorry, but I can’t agree with what you said just now.” A voice broke the tense silence. 

Ryosuke Kira, Japan’s National Treasure. Above average in looks and football ability, enough to gather quite the following online. It’s too bad that his good points were balanced by his lack of a brain.

“See, right now, I’ve got my sights set on winning the Nationals with my high school team.” He scratched the back of his head with a humble smile. “I’d like to say one thing, though. The reason for all my success is from having a capable team behind me that I can depend on.”

“T-that’s right!”

“I can’t just abandon my team like that…”

Wow. These guys were–.

“Lukewarm.”

For a moment, Isagi’s whole body went cold as he was reminded of someone who loved that catchphrase. However, the voice was all wrong. It wasn’t as deep but just as cold, like frost clinging to stone.

A glance to the side was enough for him to realize who it was. In fact, Isagi would have recognized him even without seeing the guy’s photo the night before. 

There was no mistaking those sharp features, teal eyes, nor those pretentiously long lashes.

Since when did the younger Itoshi get so close? He was so focused on Ego that he didn’t realize.

Isagi chanced another peek, but this time, sapphire clashed with wintry teal. 

Caught. 

Fortunately, Ego interrupted before anything could start. 

[Hah… I see. All of you… are fucked in the head.] He pinched the bridge of his nose. [Get lost then!]

His voice boomed, causing mouths to snap shut in fear.

[If you want to leave, then I won't stop you! You rely on your team to win? Is that the extent of your abilities? You'd rather win the high school nationals of this shit hole of a country than be the best striker in the world?]

[That kind of thinking is what makes Japanese football weak.]

Isagi doesn't agree with everything Ego says, but at least in this point, they shared the same opinion.

Football has never been about throwing hands over each others’ shoulders and singing Kumbaya. There's nothing so beautiful as working together to get stronger.

It's cut-throat. It's selfish. It's egotistical.

[Football is, at its core, a sport about scoring goals even at the expense of your teammates. In other words, the one who scores the most points is automatically crowned the best player.]

[Noel Noa once said, “I feel better losing 3-4 after scoring a hat-trick than winning only by 1-0 with an assist!”]

Oh, that famous quote. Isagi's nose scrunched up with distaste. 

Because of that philosophy, playing in Bastard had been like pulling teeth out with plastic pliers. They were a well-oiled machine with Noa at the center, yes, but they had this bull-headed inability to look at the larger picture. 

They can calculate almost everything except giving the victory to someone else– even in their own team.

[What do you think? Awful, isn't it?]

Ego can say that again.

[But he can say that because he's the best! All of these guys are revolutionary strikers! This is the ‘egoism’ that Japan sorely lacks!]

Ego can shut up now.

[If you desire that ‘egoism’, then step through the gate.]

The doors flew open bringing with it a strong gust of air. Bright light filtered through, casting shadows over Ego's features. The only thing visible was a wide stretch of teeth.

Like a predator catching sight of prey.

[Your greatest joy is striking points and nothing else. You live for the excitement of that very moment. Now that’s a ‘striker’, don’t you think?]

Slowly, a few players stepped up with hesitation, before a whole deluge of teens started sprinting through the open doors.

“I-I’ll do it!”

“Me, too! I won't lose!”

“Get out of the way!”

Isagi can say anything he wants about Ego, but the man could be persuasive when he wanted to. It’s not so much calculation as it is an expression of his philosophy, a standard he holds as truth about football. This was the same conviction that ultimately had Isagi agreeing to join Blue Lock.

Now that the room was emptying out, Isagi should probably follow along. He had just pushed off the wall when it happened.

Long fingers wrapped around his wrist. It wasn't strong enough to hurt, but it carried a silent threat, as though it would become shackles if Isagi tried to pull away.

He looked over his shoulders, scoffing internally when he had to crane his neck up to find the younger Itoshi. As expected.

Time seemed to stall in that single moment.

“Isagi Yoichi.” Rin’s voice was like a caress. Intimate. 

With a sharp tug, he pulled Isagi close enough for his bangs to brush against the shorter’s forehead. Raven and ink and blackness merge to one until it was nigh impossible to determine where one began and another ended. 

Their breaths mingled in the scant space between them.

“You’re… different from what I expected.”

Each word was punctuated with the ghost of a breath against Isagi’s lips. Too close.

All the irritation at being grabbed drained from Isagi’s body, leaving behind discomfort and uncertainty. He instinctively tilted his head down and away from any dangerous development areas. 

“Back off.” Isagi’s hands came between them and pressed flat against Rin’s chest. He exerted a bit of force. “You’re way too close.”

Rin didn’t even flinch. He just continued to stare at Isagi’s face, eyes roaming the fine lines and features like he was trying to imprint them in his mind. Beneath the intense scrutiny was a cold calculation.

“I’ve seen all your matches,” he continued casually. “It was a shame when you stepped down from being a striker, but seeing you here… I guess you changed your mind.”

“Are you serious right now?” Scowling, Isagi pushed again harder this time. Despite using half his strength, he was only able to get a few inches between them. “Don’t make me repeat myself. I don’t like being cornered.”

Rin blinked slowly. His lips were stuck in a perpetual frown, but his eyes shuttered through several emotions before landing on amusement. Finally, he took a step back to give Isagi some breathing room.

Quietly, almost like he didn’t mean to say it aloud, he said, “That’s how far, huh.” Then, louder, “Good to know.”

“...”

Unfortunately, Isagi knew very well what he was talking about and it didn’t bode well for him.

This was the worst. It looks like, outside of their appearance, the Itoshi sibling’s personalities were equally as twisted. Always pushing boundaries and getting excited on their own.

Isagi backed away, keeping his eyes on Rin in case the younger tried something again. When nothing happened, he finally turned his back and stalked off in the direction of the doors. He ignored the burning stare trying to brand itself on the back of his neck. 

As he walked up, he passed by two players he recognized almost instantly.

Nagi Seishiro, a ‘genius’ who only started playing football earlier that year. Beside him was… Mikage Reo, the heir of the Mikage corporation. They were just standing around without making a move to go forward.

Hesitation? 

No. 

It was only a glance, but that was more than enough for Isagi to glean the reason for their loitering. 

The program just keeps getting better and better, doesn’t it? He thinks with an unhealthy dose of sarcasm. 

Then, as he walked past a wildly grinning Ego through the doors, he absently mused.

What a surprise, though. Looks like he still remembers me after all these years.

–

Rin followed slowly after Isagi. His arms hung loosely at his sides and his head tilted as he took in the view from behind. Swirling within his teal eyes was intrigue–sharp, unsettling, and locked onto Isagi like a target.

He faintly recognized that he was being scrutinized as well, but he brushed it off without much thought. If they want to kill him, then they’ll have to do it on the field.

Rin’s chest was swirling with the breathless feeling of satisfaction.

Isagi Yoichi.

Isagi Yoichi.

Ah, to drag a god down to earth. See him weep. Taste his blood on bitten lips.

Even his name was enough to whet Rin’s appetite. He licked his lips, teeth aching with the urge to bite down.

–

Ego watched the last stragglers leave the building. In his mind, he recalls the way they looked.

Obsessive, possessive wolves circling their target with a single-minded focus. Every move reeked of hunger disguised as admiration. It wasn’t love. It was too rotten at the edges.

Sick in the head. All of them.

But still , Ego thinks with a growing smirk. Sick people are predictable.

They were easy to provoke. All he had to do was use the right words, the right push, press on the right nerve, and they’ll tear each other apart.

Yes. Inviting Isagi Yoichi to Blue Lock was the best decision he ever made.

Chapter Text

A sleek, unremarkable vehicle slowed to a stop. Leather tires flattened the sparse grass that decorated the ground and kicked up a small cloud of dust. 

Sshhk!

Isagi stepped out of the car, took one look up at the familiar navy blue walls of the Blue Lock building, and slumped.

“Thanks for the ride,” he remembers to say before slamming the door shut. Sapphire eyes followed the car’s path as it disappeared into the mountain forest, lines of longing brushed along his face like the final stroke to a Renaissance painter’s magnum opus.

This was it. His last chance to back out of the program had quite literally left the scene. 

Giving himself a moment to lament selling the better part of his year to Ego–who is worse than the devil, no debate–he finally spun on his heel and trudged through the large, automatic doors. 

Anri was waiting to greet him. 

She was holding onto the program’s uniform–a dark blue, skin-tight outfit with the muscle lines highlighted. A bit more, eh, showy than Isagi typically preferred. Maybe he could request a design change? He absently noted the number printed on the arm sleeve.

“Are you alright?” Fine pink brows furrowed with polite concern. Ever the observant one, isn’t she. She quickly noticed something off about his expression. “If you’re regretting this…”

“Ah, no.” Isagi accepted the uniform with a nod. “It’s not regret. I’m actually looking forward to it. Just…” He exhales heavily through his nose. “Ego’s not a subtle guy, huh.”

The comment seemed innocuous, but Anri, who has spent a good amount of time with the older man, understood immediately.

Her eyes crinkled with amusement. “His methods are… unique, yes, but I can’t help being convinced of his vision.”

“That makes one of us.”

“Cheeky brat.” 

Isagi rolled his eyes as her giggles filled the corridor. Only a few minutes in and he already had an adult laughing at him. “I’m being serious. If he wants to use me so much, he may as well make it interesting by not projecting his intentions on his face.”

“You’ll have to bring those complaints up to him. As for me…” Anri checked her watch. “I have to get going. The other players should be arriving soon.” She pat Isagi’s shoulder and pointed down the hall, grey walls looking all the more lifeless under the fluorescent light. “Keep walking forward and you’ll eventually find some arrows pointing the way you need to go. Try not to get lost. Remember, you’ve got your own role to play here.”

“Thanks for the reminder…”

“Pfft, try not to look like your dog died. Chin up!”

Anri slaps Isagi’s back with surprising strength before walking up to… the wall? For a moment, he thought she was messing with him, but then she held up the lanyard slung around her neck. 

Wrrr!

Fsshhh!

Thunk!

The panels shifted and slid to reveal a secret corridor–like a scene from a fantasy movie he’d watched on a plane ride. Anri winked over her shoulder and gave a wave. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Mr. Rank No. 1 Isagi Yoichi~!”

Between one blink and the next, the metal panels returned to their original position. A figment of his imagination. 

“No wonder she can tolerate Ego so well.” Isagi scowled, rubbing his back where Anri had slapped him. It was still throbbing. “She’s just as crazy as him.”

The facility was just as confusing as he remembered it. At least, unlike last time, they added the guiding arrows. 

His finger traced the wall as he made his way to his ‘base of operations.’ One last corner, and Isagi finally found the place. The door looked the same as any of the other rooms, but, inside…

Ssssshhhhkkkk!

“Wow.” Isagi gasped softly. Wide eyes roamed around the room with wonder as he took the first step inside, feet sinking into the soft carpet. 

Everything from the chair to the desk and even the books on the desk were the exact same angle. The pale yellow wallpaper was even faded in the same areas which… was admittedly quite creepy. However, Isagi appreciated the attention to detail.

It was just a bit bigger in terms of space, but–

“Looks just like my room back home. They did a good job.”

He makes a mental note to tip the moving company. Maybe a fruit basket for everyone. It was November right? What fruits were in season right now?

Isagi entertained himself with his thoughts on his way to the large, king-size bed placed in the center of the far wall.

Poof!

Crisp, cool sheets rippled like water around him as he dropped face first onto the mattress. His whole body sagged into the soft surface, and he rubbed his cheek against the bedding. “Hah…” This was nice. Much better than any hotel bed. 

The barest hint of a thought flashed in his head, but it was enough to give him pause. Slowly, he twisted to lie on his back. 

Ah.

So they did put them up. A sea of glow in the dark stars swirled like a small galaxy on the ceiling. 

Unbidden, his mind filled with the warm memories of being three again. His father balancing precariously on a green plastic playpen stool while he dictated where to place the stars. Poor Issei didn’t stand a chance. It was only the convenient location of the bed that saved his back when he’d fallen. After that, Iyo had forbidden them from putting up anymore. 

One of them, the one Issei had tried to place before falling, hadn’t stuck as well as the rest. It had slowly begun to peel off as the years passed and now hung on the barest edge of a point.

Isagi didn’t have to try hard to find it.

It was stranded in the corner–what was supposed to be the beginnings of a star trail was now a star stranded, separate from the rest.

“It’s a bit… lonely…”

“What is?”

“AHHH!”

Following his instincts, Isagi grabbed his memory foam pillow that had his neck pain engraved onto its surface and launched it at the intruder.

Foomp!

“Tch, relax.” Ego caught the projectile with frustrating ease. He tossed the pillow back looking more unimpressed than he had the right to be. “It’s me.”

Isagi’s brow twitched violently. “Where did you come from?!”

“The door.”

“... You think you’re so funny, huh?”

“I’m hilarious.” Ego pointed with his thumb over his shoulder. “Enough chit chat. The first group has arrived and I need to get the ball rolling before they get too antsy. Follow along.” Then, without another word, he turned around and walked out through a door disguised as his bookshelf.

No fruit baskets, Isagi thinks darkly. 

He was going to file a complaint. This was a violation of his privacy to have his room connected with–he squinted over the bespectacled man’s head–Ego’s monitoring room that also doubled as his apartment.

“Wait up!” Isagi quickly jogged after Ego. When he passed the threshold, he pulled the secret door shut and gave it a few kicks. “Can I at least lock this thing?” 

“It has that function, yes.” Ego drawled. “I wouldn’t want you sneaking into my room in the middle of the night for some nefarious purposes.”

“...”

The older man sighed like Isagi was the one being unreasonable. “The door locks automatically. Use your keycard to keep the lock engaged. It can only open if both sides have it unengaged.”

With the reassurance, Isagi allowed the subject to drop. He left the hidden door and took in the new area. Ego’s room was a unique blend of traditional living and bedroom, modern kitchen, and prison monitoring. There were no privacy walls to separate the three sections. Not to mention…

Trash. 

Piles of dirty laundry, snack packets, emptied energy drink cans, and instant noodle cups decorated the room. The cupboards were hanging open and displaying an impressive collection of cup noodles and canned food. Isagi didn’t even want to know what was inside the refrigerator.

“You live like this?”

“Not usually.” Oh, thank goodness. “I tidied up a bit before calling you.”

“...”

Isagi stepped over a sticky pool of what he hopes is soda and walked over to the cleanest part of the room, which was ironically the place where Ego spent 90% of his time. This might be the only area he’d bothered to ‘tidy’ up at all. 

The large wall of screens glowed with a soft blue light. There was only one monitor that was playing a video.

“That’s the first group?”

Twelve teens were waiting in a small room, roughly the size of a penalty area. One of them was prowling around the space restlessly. Though, by the state of undress of his group mates, they shouldn’t have been waiting long.

Isagi recognized them all. Ego had only given him the files on the players, but not their designated ranking and stratums. This was the first ‘Team Z’ he was seeing, and honestly, he couldn’t see most of them making it past the First Selection. 

Their most promising player was…

“Hiori Yo?” 

From the information he’d gathered, via files and also first hand, the guy was much more suited for either Team V or W. His mentality was lacking, yes, but in terms of skill, physical stats, and individual talent, he had them in spades. He placed in the top 15 in Isagi’s personal rankings. And yet, he didn’t even make the top rank within his trashy group.

“So that’s your plan.”

Ego simply smirked. “A free ride to the top is too boring, no?” His tone was matter-of-fact, but he couldn’t hide the amusement coloring his words.

“So you’re going to force him to carry? He doesn’t want to go home, sure, but I can’t see him putting in more effort than necessary. How do you expect to force an evolution out of him with this?” The answer came to him the moment the last syllable left his lips. 

“No.”

Ego pushed his glasses up. The light reflected harshly on its surface, obscuring his gaze. “Why not? That’s the best way to introduce a crisis.” 

“Yes, but let me remind you of our agreement.” Isagi placed a hand on the back of Ego’s swivel chair and leaned in. His shadow cast over Ego’s form. “I hold the right to choose which team I play with. I won’t choose to go against him just because you want to play your mind games. They’ll have to prove themselves interesting to me.”

Those abyss black eyes seemed to suck Isagi in. A second passed in an eternity before Ego turned away with a scoff. It lacked heat.

“Cheeky brat.”

That was the second time someone called Isagi that. He… didn’t know what to think about that. 

“Fine. However, as mentioned in our agreement, you’re expected to carry out any further instructions I have for you.”

Ching-a-ling!

The sound of an alarm notification broke the stiff atmosphere. “It’s time.” Ego made a motion that Isagi understood as ‘make yourself scarce’. He took two steps off to the side, just enough to get out of the camera’s view while still being able to see the monitor.

There was a static sound before the show began.

Hiori sat with his back against the wall. He was one of the first to arrive, so he used the time to observe the other members of his ‘team’.

No one seemed to know each other. The air was tight, stretched taunt like a drawn bow. No one had a clue what to expect from this training program except that it was supposed to create the ‘best striker’. 

The irony was not lost on him.

He tilted his head back until he bumped against the cool, metal walls. It was smaller and crudely shaped, but somehow, he preferred this cage to his own gilded one back at home. At least here, there was no Damocles sword hanging over his head, threatening to lop it clean off if he failed to meet his parents’ expectations.

Syrup-thick sweetness that rots you from the inside out.

Vzzt.

[Done changing yet? Hey.]

The wall monitor blinked to life. Ego Jinpachi.

[Listen closely because I’ll only explain things once. The people in the room with you will be your roommates… and your rivals. The program has estimated your value and potential for growth based on my personal judgement. This is reflected on your ranking which you can find attached to your uniforms. You can gauge your level among the 300 players in this facility.]

Hiori glanced at his arm. 292? Out of 300? His brows furrowed and he stared at the other teens who were ranked above him with more scrutiny.

[Worry not. Your ranking can change, but that depends wholly on your performance. For example, scoring a hat trick could raise it up, but performing poorly in your training can drop you down further.]

[And, unconditionally, the top 5 players will participate in a certain tournament six months from now. That is, they will become the selected strikers for Japan’s U-20 National Team playing at the World Cup.]

The murmurings stopped at that. Ego’s smirk widened.

[However, those who are defeated in Blue Lock will be permanently barred from Japan’s National Team.]

“HUH?!”

“You can’t do that!”

“What is this crazy guy talking ab–?!”

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Ego rapidly tapped a button outside the view of the camera, and the furrow in his brow gradually relaxed.

Did… did he lower the volume?

[We are looking for one crucial component here. Ego. That is what we will measure as you live here in this facility. With that done…]

[Let’s play tag.]

[The time limit is 136 seconds. The player with possession is ‘it’. Whoever is ‘it’ when time runs out can get the fuck out of here. And of course, no hands. Those are the rules.]

A ball dropped from the ceiling to the middle of the room. It rolled to a stop in front of the guy with a crew cut.

[RANK 300 KOGA TSUKITO – ONI]

[GAME – START]

Hiori gave the guy a look over and averted his eyes. This’ll be a breeze.

Ego dropped the call and spun around his chair. “You should get going,” he said with a dismissive wave. “You’ve got, hm, five minutes max to get there.”

It was the same tone you’d use on a particularly unruly dog. Isagi was no one’s pet, but unfortunately, he couldn’t go against this. He’d already agreed to it during the briefing as the reasoning was solid.

The tag game was in the original program proposal. It was just as Ego had explained to Team Z with a time limit and the loser being thrown out of the program. However, now that Isagi was participating, it underwent some revisions. 

The main one being the implementation of a Level Two.

“Is there at least some indoor transportation I can use?” 

The facility was huge, and the location of the next level was a good distance from Ego’s room. As in, around 800 meters of running in circles because the man was allergic to straight lines.

Fortunately, each Stratum shared the same room which meant less traveling between matches. But that’s only within the same Stratum. The problem comes when he’s finished. That’s another long distance traveling he’ll have to do, added on top of the high-intensity game he’s being forced to play. 

Earlier, Anri had revealed some secret passages. It shouldn’t be out of the question for Ego to account for this time issue by providing either an easier path or some kind of transportation. 

Right?

Ego cleared his throat. “Of course. I’m not inhumane.”

Not even a minute later, Isagi was holding a pair of bright green roller skates with blue highlights. They were high quality with full grain leather boots and transparent polyurethane wheels. 

“...” 

When he shoved them on, the boot molded comfortably around his foot as though they were made specifically with his measurements in mind. 

“...”

Ego leaned an elbow on the arm rest and raised a thumb with his other hand. “Looks good.”

“Don’t talk to me.”

With those parting words, Isagi turned tail and propelled himself with a sharp push. He only stopped to wait for the door to slide open before disappearing in a blur of black and blue.

Absently, Ego spun his chair back to the screens. 

“Ah. He didn’t put the uniform on.”

The tag game had come to an anti-climactic end.

Tsukito showcased his poor control and aim. In the last 10 seconds, perhaps out of desperation, he’d kicked the ball wild. It bounced off the walls with loud booms of impact. What he lacked in control, power he had in spades.

Perhaps, in a cruel twist of fate, the ball had found a target at the very last second.

Slam!

Right at his face.

Blood sluggishly dripped from his nose as Ego gave some lecture on the importance of the game itself. Hiori was hardly paying attention. No, he was far more interested in the devastation lining Tsukito’s shoulders and the way those brown eyes that shone–with tears, with desperation, with hope–could no longer reflect any light.

The doors slid shut, cutting off the view of Koga Tsukito’s back. There was a finality to it.

Hiori wondered if football was worth all that emotion.

[Congratulations to the survivors.] Ego clapped passionlessly. [Looks like there’s hope for you yet.]

[But don’t mistake that for progress. That was nothing more than a warm-up, a filter to weed out the worst of the worst. Now… it’s time for Level Two.]

That caught everyone’s attention. 

Right now, with the elimination, there were exactly 11 players. That was a team. In that case, level two shouldn’t be another do-or-die challenge.

“Enough with yer riddles old man!” The guy with impressively sharp eyebrows sneered. He was ranked right below Hiori. “Tell us what comes next!”

Ego didn’t bother to respond. Or, if Hiori’s earlier theory was correct about the lowered volume, he didn’t hear the guy at all. 

[As you know, this program is divided into 5 Stratums with 1 being the strongest and 5 being the weakest.]

Stratum 1? Why was he bringing them up now?

[The weakest player there is stronger than all of you combined. Their value is much too high to justify elimination–not at that level. Rather than pitting those monsters up against each other, I’ve had them undergo rounds of intensive physical testing.]

[The players in Stratum 1 have already been ranked accordingly. However, that is only the first round. The rest will undergo the next phase, but the Rank 1’s test is unique.]

[He will face each letter team starting from Z–which means, you will have the honor of going first.]

“Wait…. On their own?”

“25 teams all in a row… What happens when he reaches the higher letters after being exhausted by the lower ranks?”

“That’s hardly fair…”

[Of course, there is no need to concern yourselves with eliminations. This test is for the Rank 1 to prove their worth. You are merely tools to achieve that. It will also provide you with a valuable perspective.]

[Your strengths, your weaknesses… And most of all, the scale of the gap between you and those at the top.]

Ssshhhhhhhkkkkkk!

Below Ego’s monitor, the wall slid to reveal a corridor. 

[Follow the path to the next area.]

Hiori fell into step behind the rude guy from earlier. Futa, he thinks. 

He wasn’t too interested in this Level Two. No one was getting locked off for this round. As far as he was concerned, he could just coast by and keep his 292 rank. He was neither the best of the team nor the dead-last, landing somewhat in the middle where he could comfortably remain inconspicuous.

His goal right now was to stay as long as he could in the program. He didn’t feel like expending more effort than was necessary to achieve that.

“Who do you think our opponent will be?” Someone whispered.

“I don’t care. Whoever they are, I’ll crush them.”

“Didn’t you hear what Ego said, though? They’re the best of the best…”

A scoff. “That guy’s all talk. It’s likely just another Isagi knockoff the JFA is trying to sell.”

“Erm… What was his name? Kita? Kiba?”

Hiori squinted when they reached the end of the hall. The bright light blinded him for a moment, and it took a few blinks before his vision cleared. Splattered colors on a white canvas bled together to form a picture. 

“No. Fucking. Way.”

“That’s–!”

Light blue eyes widened and a quiet gasp left his lips. Sure, during the orientation, Hiori had heard some whispers, but he didn’t think…

Blue Lock Rank No. 1.

The God Weaver.

Isagi Yoichi.

–

Isagi exhaled slowly. He had skidded to a stop in the center of the room, roughly the size of half a football field, just before Team Z arrived. Talk about a buzzer beater.

Level Two was about to start and he was still wearing his large navy hoodie, olive green cargo pants, and the rollerblades. He could see the shock beginning to wear off the player’s faces, melting into befuddlement at his attire. Some were beginning to send him subtle looks.

“...” He coughed into his palm.

[Vzzt.]

[Oi, quit your gawking and listen up.]

Isagi thanked Ego’s timely appearance when he felt the weight of their attention begin to lift. As everyone listened to Ego’s instructions, he bent down to untie the roller blade’s laces. 

[You’ll be playing a game of cops and robbers. Isagi Yoichi is the ‘cop’ while the rest of you are the ‘robbers’. The white lines representing the goal post is the ‘jail’ that tagged members will have to wait, and as the game goes, a robber can break his companions out by touching the white line. Of course, to make this more challenging for the cop, the robbers can free everyone in jail all at once.]

With the laces loosened, Isagi easily slipped his foot out of the boots. He strolled over to a corner and dropped them there for later.

[The cop’s job is to tag the robbers with the ball and put all of them in jail. This time, the counter is set to 5 minutes.]

[Of course, this is not without reward. If you perform well, you will be considered for a rank reassignment–perhaps even outside the sewage of Stratum 5. Additionally, those who make a successful jailbreak will be allowed to choose from among a selection of privileges.]

Ego paused when someone raised their hand. 

It was Futa. When he noticed he caught Ego’s attention, the teen puffed up his chest and smirked. “What if we survive until the end? It’s 11 vs 1, after all. S’not like he could get all of us even with the jailbreak rule.”

“...”

Silence followed his question. 

The guy beside him raised his hand like he was going to smack Futa’s head, but ultimately dropped it. There was no shaking sense in him when there was nothing up there in the first place.

Pft!

Eleven heads swiveled around to locate the source of laughter.

Isagi covered his mouth with his hand, but they could still see the edge of those pink lips ticked up with mirth. His eyes were curved into crescents, sapphire orbs unnaturally bright. Thin shoulders shook beneath the oversized hoodie.

“W-what’s so funny?!” Futa spat. “Maybe you’re some ‘genius of the century’ or whatever, but that doesn’t mean anything here! You’re just one guy versus the rest of us!”

“Sure, sure.” Isagi wiped the corner of his eye. A smile still lingered on his lips. “Let’s make a deal then. If you manage to survive until the end, I’ll directly step down from Blue Lock and have you crowned as the new Number 1. How about it?”

 Wasn’t it a tempting offer? The most coveted Rank 1 was now being dropped like a gift from the sky. 

But that was only one side of the deal.

“And if I lose? I-I’m just saying it right now, but I’m not going to do a handstand naked to beg for forgiveness!”

“...”

“Dude…”

A strangely specific bottom line. It makes one wonder if he’s been forced to do so before. With his boisterous personality, it was possible he pissed off some local delinquents with too much free time and twisted humor.

“Lose?” 

One blink, and then the next. Isagi’s expression was the same, but there was something… almost dull about it. “Weren’t you so sure that you could do it? What’s the point of doubting now?”

Futa gulped. Was it just his imagination, or was it suddenly colder in the room? A shiver went up his spine and, without noticing it, he’d already taken a few steps back.

“Frankly, winning or losing… I don’t care about any of that. Simply…”

Blue eyes pierced through his limbs, like a butterfly pinned to a corkboard.

“Don’t bore me.”

Ego glanced at the clock.

They’re making good time. Fortunately, Isagi arrived in time otherwise he’d have to stall a bit. Eventually that time will add up and the other teams might have to wait 15-20 minutes before they could start. Ego wasn’t in the business of pacifying overgrown toddlers.

The next team, Team Y, was making their way to the room now. He’ll give the broadcast and start their tag game in about 3 minutes. 

3 minutes…

Just as he was closing his eyes to get some rest, a loud alarm blared from all speakers. 

Click.

The sound cut off instantly, and without missing a beat, he grunted, “Waddya want? Make it quick.”

A timid voice sounded from the other line. “Ahem, Mr. Ego, this is the JFA. Chairman Buratsuta wants a word with you about the last meeting–.”

“My answer won’t change. If that is all…”

“WAIT!”

A spindly finger paused over the button to hang up the call. Throughout this, his eyes had remained tightly shut.

“Isn’t your goal to create the world’s best striker? What’s the point of being stubborn now? It can’t be because he’s a midfielder because then you wouldn’t have insisted on inviting Isagi Yoichi, so why–?”

“I won’t repeat myself. Blue Lock is no longer accepting entries. Tell Itoshi Sae that if he persists, then I have no problem getting the law involved.” Ego has kept careful logs of the amount of calls he’s received about this particular matter. That was good enough to be considered harassment. Of course, Sae might get away with a warning with his money, but it was a troublesome and timely process.

“Now, that’s too far–.”

Click.

Annoying pests, all of them. This wasn’t the first call he’s gotten, and it won’t be the last. After all, Buratsuta had much to gain by tying Sae down in Japan and in a program he was personally funding. 

The issue was that Ego couldn’t have both. Either he only had Isagi, or he didn’t have either of them. 

Even with surface level observation he knew that Isagi will leave if Sae joins. Their interactions were amiable on camera, and he’s careful not to show anything in interviews, but Isagi was obviously uncomfortable being around the other teen for extended periods of time.

On the other hand, Sae only wanted to join because of Isagi. He’d have no reason to stay if the other left.

Ugh, brats.

Now, because of them, he’d lost precious rest time. 

[GAME – START]

[300 SEC]

The moment the timer started, the players scattered around the room like marbles. With their experience from the first tag game, they knew that hanging too close to each other was basically making an easy target for themselves. 

With the larger room, longer time, and the rules that were scaled into their favor, they moved with much more confidence. 

While many of them had thought Futa was an idiot, the guy wasn’t completely wrong in his logic. After all, Isagi may be better than them individually, but he was only one guy against eleven. They had a chance to survive if they worked together and played smart. They only needed to distract Isagi for a second to free the other robbers, and that’s basically a game reset. Five minutes wasn’t enough to get all of them.

Also, while the deal was made with Futa, that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be considered for the rest of them. If they managed to survive in the end, they’d have a free ticket to the top!

“Go that way!”

“Don’t run in a straight line! Try to confuse him!”

Isagi stood in the center of the chaos. His eyes scanned the room, fragile threads like spider silk weaving around the room.

Tighter and tighter.

Even without sticking a hand out to pull, they were already sealing their fate. As expected of the lowest of this bunch.

This wasn’t at all like the exhibition match he’d played against PXG. There, his goal had been to find the loose threads of the tapestry, tugging on them until they unraveled, and then use their despair to complete his masterpiece. 

He wanted to break each link and leave them untethered.

However, in this game of cops and robbers where it was one against a group of unpredictable and inexperienced whelps, it was the opposite. What he wanted… was for them to connect.

Bam!

“F-fast!”

“Dodge idiot!”

The ball ricocheted against the wall, nearly smacking Kataoka Rino. 

“Safe!”

Unlike Tsukito, Isagi didn’t let the ball fall far. Three steps forward. Just before it could touch the floor, he was there to receive it.

Slam!

Haruhito Jin threw himself to the side. “Whew, that was close!”

“Even though he’s small, he packs a punch…”

[225 SEC]

The timer continued to tick down.

Whump!

[219 SEC]

“Come on guys, he’s running out of time! We can do this!”

“Yeah, he hasn’t even tagged one of us!”

The success filled them with some arrogance, and some couldn’t help but let out a few words.

“Is this the extent of his abilities? Even though everyone calls him a genius, he can’t even get one out.”

A snicker. “Don’t be too harsh on him. What if he cries?”

“Lame!”

[205 SEC]

Isagi watched with half-lidded eyes. Despite their taunts, he didn’t show any signs of a reaction. It was the same lazy movements. Almost… like a snake, slithering around its target, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

[203 SEC]

“Heh.” Futa huffed with a sneer. “You’re just all talk after all.”

[200 SEC]

Like a rose unfurling crimson after its thorns have drawn blood, Isagi smiled.

“Bo~ring~.”

Just like that, the threads–

THWACK!

–constricted.

“Ah!”

“Fuck!”

“What the hell?!”

The ball bounced across the room. It hit one player, then another, then another. Each collision was perfectly timed. It was almost like the ball had a mind of its own, locking into its target and hitting them.

Three out, but Isagi wasn’t done. He twisted his hip–SLAM!–and kicked the ball to take out another five who had been standing close to each other. He followed the ball. The moment it ricocheted off Rino’s face, he was already moving.

The strings tangled. Each thread converged. Everything was as he’d seen.

Whack!

Another two down.

From the first kick until the last, every movement in the room had been predicted. 

Push them in that direction. Corner these ones here. Every strike was to lead them to a predetermined space. Let them revel in their success. Allow their arrogance to overflow. 

The easiest to predict are those who think they’ve already won.

And the last one standing was, of course, the only one who hadn’t let their guard down once.

Isagi gazed at Hiori Yo, Rank 292. He hadn’t taken the game seriously at all, and yet, here he was as the last man standing. How curious.

Then, internally and with a bit more annoyance, he thought, interesting. Looks like he played into Ego's hand in the end.

[192 SEC]

It’s only been 8 seconds, and Isagi had completely overturned the game. The captured robbers who had hurried to the jail felt a cold shiver go down their spine. What monstrous strength. 

But still, it wasn’t over yet.

“Hey, get us out! Hurry up!”

“You just need to touch the line and we’ll win this! It’s not like he can pull the same stunt twice!”

Right now, Isagi was standing on one end, the jail at the other, and Hiori at the center. It was a simple matter of turning around and touching the white line. However, with Isagi as the threat, he would have more luck wrestling a bear.

Isagi juggled the ball with his right foot and gave Hiori a considering look. “Well?”

“What are you waiting for!” 

The robbers were getting antsy. A few looked like they’d like nothing more than to jump out and strangle Hiori.

“If you move a lot, he won’t get you!”

“Yeah, we’ll warn you! Just hurry up!”

“Hmm…” Isagi tapped his lip. He lowered his voice just enough that only Hiori would hear him, “You should reconsider your plans. That’s not a good idea. Forfeiting will drop your rank to dead-last, but it’ll also keep you stuck on the same team as those guys. Surely you know what’ll happen if you just stood there and allowed me to win.”

Hazing and not a fun time at all. Those guys already displayed atrocious personalities. They’d most definitely find a way around the ‘no physical violence’ rule and make the pale blue haired teen’s life a living hell.

The fault didn’t lay in Hiori’s vigilance. In fact, he had lowered his defenses the moment Isagi started attacking. It would have been an easy job tagging him with the ball along with the others. That aligned with what the taller teen wanted and finished the job early.

But that wasn’t interesting.

“Hey, didn’t I tell you guys at the start?” Within the dull blue orbs, a spark ignited. “Don’t bore me.”

–

Insane.

Hiori didn’t have any other word for it. He knew Isagi didn’t tag him on purpose in order to push him into this position. It was the same as being put on the plank and told to walk off the edge.

But why?

Slam!

He wasn’t given any time to ponder Isagi’s motives. Ever since Isagi let him survive, the choice was already made for him. He planned to stay in Blue Lock for as long as possible, but that didn’t mean he’d be willing to suffer in the time he was there. At the very least, if he put up a fight–

“Pay attention.”

Whoosh!

It was only his instincts that allowed Hiori to dodge. It was a 1v1 in a large room. The odds of Isagi hitting him were low, especially if he accounts for the time the other had to reclaim the ball. And yet, each strike was calculated to return in the most efficient way. Either through bouncing back from a wall or with a backspin that had Hiori watching out for his back.

“Watch out!”

“That guy’s a monster!”

“H-he can see everything! Don’t leave your back open to him! Stall! STALL!”

At least the heckling had turned into panicked support. The trauma of being decimated by Isagi seemed to have instilled some kind of primal fear in them. Looks like their faith in winning was now tied to the timer running out than any chance of a comeback.

[148 SEC]

“Is that all?” Isagi’s voice cut through the noise. Each word fell like shattered glass. “How disappointing.”

Hiori froze mid-step. The words cut sharp through him, and for a beat of a second, he felt the world halt. Color bled away until his vision seemed to darken at the edges, and within his chest, it felt like a thousand needles were being drilled into his heart.

Disappointing.

He… is disappointing?

“Don’t worry about a little setback… See, I changed your training menu. You’ll overcome this!”

“You’re going to be the best in the world, right dear?”

“You’ll definitely do it. After all, you’re our son.”

And then, all at once–a shift.

Hiori’s eyes sharpened. With a spin on his heels, he started sprinting towards the goal.

“W-whoa! Look out!”

“He’s really going for it!”

The pressure he’d carried for so long seemed to have lightened. Not completely, perhaps it never will, but just enough that he could breathe. A strange giddiness unfurled within him. 

What does it mean to disappoint someone? It means to fail to meet their expectations. But then, what comes after?

“Why isn’t Isagi kicking? Aiming?”

“Forget that, he’s getting closer! Get ready to scatter!”

For the first time, he got a taste of what it was like to have no one’s hopes pressing against him. No rules binding. He could move, stumble, fail, succeed–all on his own terms in Blue Lock. And it was addicting.

Three steps to the line.

Two.

O–.

Bam!

Hiori ducked instinctively, but that pause was enough. Everything happened all at once.

[WINNER – ISAGI YOICHI]

They… lost? Even though he was so close? 

In front of him, a dazed Futa held on to his reddened nose. The ball had flown over Hiori’s head, only to get Futa and then capture the last robber. Isagi hadn’t let him run forward freely out of mercy or something like aiming. 

It was so Hiori was too close to dodge when he did strike.

“Hah…” Hiori sighed through a smile. It was too bright. If an outsider looked at him, they'd think that Hiori had won rather than being thoroughly crushed. He looked over his shoulders at Isagi. “That was dirty.”

“...” 

“I got yer message loud and clear. Next time, I’ll be sure to give ya a good show.”

Isagi’s fine features seemed to distort. “Geh…”

After what felt like hours, Isagi was finally back in his own room. His first order of business: a bath.

A low groan escaped his lips as he dipped into the healing, hot water. Every ache and pain melted off his body.

The water sloshed around, a bit spilling over the edge of the tub, before settling around him. Steam blurred the surroundings creating an almost dreamy illusion. The sound of water dripping from the sink bounced off the tiled walls.

“Ah…”

It was a long day. 

The matches themselves were easy enough. In fact, Hiori’s team was one of the longer ones, taking around 3 minutes. That was only because he’d taken some time to rile the other up. 

Ugh. In the end, he’d done something that would make Ego happy.

Hiori’s shackles had loosened, but they weren’t completely gone. It’ll take more than a children’s game and some fighting words to overcome years of conditioning. The teen had a long way to go before he could ‘show Isagi a good time.’ 

Don’t be fooled by that cute face. The other teen knew exactly what he was doing, phrasing it like that. Well, he was hardly the only pervert Isagi had dealt with today. One of the milder ones, too. Leagues better than Rin, and even then, Rin had gone from being the number 1 deviant in Blue Lock to not even making the top 5 on the list.

With another sigh, this time with exhaustion that had nothing to do with running around, Isagi slid deeper into the tub.

Blue Lock was… different. Compared to hopping from one club to the next, it was a new type of thrill. The player’s levels were still below the average he was used to playing against, but he could see the budding potentials beginning to bloom.

Still not enough.

Ego was only telling a partial lie during the announcement of ‘rewards’. They had a chance to change their rank, but the actual chances of that happening were nil. They weren’t facing off against each other, after all. It wasn’t a game of football.

The only way they could actually rank up was if they survived, and, as expected, no one did. 

Isagi was no fool. For teams with higher levels, he took out the biggest threats immediately. Without a crutch to lean on, the rest of the team fell apart. There was no chance for a comeback, let alone to show off skills to move up. Those who tried to strategize were among the smarter opponents, but unfortunately, the teams were too fresh. The moment a crisis was introduced, any semblance of plans were thrown out the window.

While the status quo was maintained within the teams, the overarching goal of Level Two had been achieved.

As Ego stated, it was to show the ‘scale of the gap between them and those at the top’. 

Stratum 1 isn’t real. It’s an idea, an unreachable ceiling. Putting Isagi against all the teams while putting the idea in their head that the other players are just as monstrous was to send the message: this is how far you have to climb to overcome this overwhelming disparity. It was a system designed to crush their egos until nothing remained but pieces that could be used to rebuild the best striker.

The despair was the key. Ego weaponized the illusion of Stratum 1 to drag them closer to it.

Isagi tapped his fingers along the edge of the tub absently. “What a ruthless man…” 

All he cared about were results. The kind that will do what is necessary, sacrifice anything, to see their ambitions realized. The rest is just an afterthought.

Well, Isagi already knew this since the beginning.

ACHOO!

A sudden sneeze broke his contemplative mood. Isagi rubbed his reddened nose and frowned. Was someone talking about him?

Kaiser leaned back in a leather chair inside the sleek, glass-walled office of Bastard München’s training facility. His legs were crossed as he furiously tapped on his phone screen. He seemed to have found what he was looking for because his whole face brightened up and he threw himself over the table.

“Look! I have proof!”

Noa squinted.

It was a messaging app. Kaiser had opened one of his contacts, titled shamelessly as ‘Mother-in-Law’, with the latest message being received a few hours ago.

“Mama-Iyo told me that Yoichi’s not with them,” he said slowly, voice dripping with arrogance. “So tell me already. Where is he?”

Sigh.

Noa crossed his arms. “You’re persistent,” he says after a long pause. His tone was flat, but beneath it was an edge of exhaustion it only took when dealing with Kaiser. “I can’t reveal too much, but I’ll say one thing. Isagi’s… standing at the point of a branching path.”

That got Kaiser’s attention. “Oh?”

“Have some patience. Next time you see him, he might be fighting for your position.”

“Competing with me?” Kaiser murmured. It was the same feeling as being on a rollercoaster just before the drop–nerves and weightlessness and anxiety and anticipation. He was almost breathless with it. Unconsciously, his hand found its way to his neck. “Fine, I’ll drop it. For now.”

Calloused fingers rubbed against the blue rose tattoo.

“Don’t keep me waiting long, Yoichi.”

Still seated, Noa watched passionlessly as Kaiser fell into his own mind and talked to himself. It was a common sight even when the teen was first recruited. They’d all eventually gotten used to it. Though, that didn't mean it was particularly pleasant to watch.

After a moment, he shook his head. Kids nowadays…