Chapter Text
Kozaki Ikuta’s mailbox had a letter in it, addressed directly to him. This was immediately unusual, given his home’s mailing address was rarely used. Even when it was, it was typically a piece of junk mail given to the wrong home, bills or invoices directed towards his father, or an online order for his sister. The only time he got a message in the mail was when his report card came in, but school was nowhere close to being out for the summer. Instead, a letter with the following message written inside was addressed to him;
“You’ve been selected for a special player training program. We would like to invite you to the Blue Lock training camp. Our goal is to create the greatest striker the world has ever seen. We thank you in advance for joining us on this journey. Welcome to Blue Lock.”
-Jinpachi Ego, Blue Lock Project Manager.
A specialized training program? Kozaki had been playing football since he started middle school, at his father’s request. He’d originally been focused on judo, but his dad had wanted him to engage in a more social sport as well. Apparently, he had been excelling in his role as the Haruki high school's striker enough to get scouted for a program. He didn’t know too much about Japan’s club or promotional system, but Kozaki had never heard of such an organization existing. Either he had simply missed not heard of it, or it was a brand new creation.
While Kozaki was good at the sport, and enjoyed playing it, he wasn’t overwhelmingly confident about participating in such a program. His skills were above average compared to most of his peers, but he didn’t have an overwhelming enthusiasm or drive for the sport. Despite that, off of his father’s recommendation he decided to head to the location listed regardless. The burly man had told him he ought to “try venturing into the unknown and make a change, ‘stead of just staying where you are right now. No shame if it goes poorly, but you really should give it a shot.” With the old man’s words echoing in his head, Kozaki had headed off to a set of coordinates with the intention to step into the unknown bouncing about his mind.
He eventually found himself in front of a large building, secluded from the nearby city by a chunk of woods. After taking a moment to compose himself, he walked in through the doorway and found himself surrounded by hundreds of people. Tons of other faces he’d seen before swarmed his vision, but he couldn’t manage to put a name to most of them. He recognized a few of the faces from his matches against other schools, like the power striker Seto Tadamichi from Hinoshita High, or Shimofusa Highschool’s ace striker Yamabe Kiyo. As more and more players flooded the location, Kozaki slowly began to notice something.
Every single player gathered here was seemingly a striker? There wasn’t a single midfielder, defender, or goalkeeper amongst the entire group. That thought loomed large in his mind as he turned his attention towards the stage at the far end of the room, directly across from the entrance. After a couple more minutes of waiting, a lanky, slender man dressed in all black emerged and stepped up to a microphone. He had thick rectangular glasses, and dark black hair kept in a bowl cut. Following a brief “1,2” to test the audio, he announced his purpose.
“Congratulations you unpolished lumps of talent. According to my personal judgement, you three hundred are the best strikers under twenty in the nation. My name is Jinpachi Ego, and I will use you to create a World Cup victory for Japan. Plainly stated, the only thing needed for Japanese football to become the best is the creation of a revolutionary striker. Using the 300 souls assembled here, I will conduct an experiment known as Blue Lock to create that striker. You will undergo specialized training, and need to abandon your former teams and homes. However, I promise that the sole survivor who stands atop the 299 defeated players will have become the best striker in the world. That is all, thank you.”
A deafening silence settled over the crowd, before a player with blonde hair and glistening teeth stepped forward. Kozaki thought he recognized him as Kurata Masayoshi, a famous player in a different prefecture that had emerged out of nowhere with enough talent to be nicknamed the Jackpot of Japan. He suddenly spoke out with a booming voice, backed by authority.
“What about those preparing for nationals? Are you saying we should abandon our teams to delve into your facility with such a small explanation? That’s completely absurd Mr. Jinpachi!”
“Huh? Then piss off, you sick in the head striker. If your aim is to be the best in a second rate nation’s dogwater highschool scene, feel free. I’ll gladly let you overdose on the lie that Japan’s capacity for teamwork will ever carry the country to the top of the world. Ultimately, football is a sport about scoring more than your opponents, and when it comes down to that? Japan is second rate.”
Whilst it lacked the booming enthusiasm and overbearing confidence Kurata’s declaration had, a sinister tone lurked in Ego’s rebuttal. The words wormed their way into Kozaki’s mind, as he mulled over what that philosophy meant for him. Before he reached a fruitful conclusion, Kurata spoke out again. However, this time his voice was tempered, more reserved.
“Then what of our heroes, like Kagawa, Honda, or Kamamoto? They cooperated with the Japanese team and served as our idols growing up. If your philosophy involves disparaging them to prove your own point, then it’s wrong.
“Ah, Kagawa and Honda, right? Tell me, when did they win the World Cup?”
The tension in the air after Ego’s statement was thick enough to cut with a knife, but only a moment's pause was allowed to let the statement settle in before he continued with his speech.
“That makes them trash. I’m talking about the best in the world. So let's think about them, alright? Noel Noa, the greatest striker alive, thinks it’s better to lose 3-4 with a hattrick than win 1-0 with an assist. Eric Cantona, the best player of the twentieth century said he only cared about standing out. When the three-time World Cup winner Pele was asked about the best forward, midfielder, defender, or even goalie, he had one answer. ‘Me.’ That awful mentality is what's needed to become number one.”
Kozaki could feel the atmosphere of the room shifting. Almost every player here must’ve recognized and known Kurata, but this unknown man had taken control of their minds within mere minutes with this philosophy. He had managed to make a complete affront to the philosophy Japanese football had founded itself upon for decades seem like the perfect option in just a few perfectly placed jabs and declarations. He was a predator cornering his prey. All that remained was his final strike.
“Now, let me ask you one final question. You’re at the last match of the World Cup, eighty thousand spectators. You’re on that field. The score is 0-0, and the game has gone into overtime. It’s the last play, where you’ve broken through and received a pass from a teammate. You’re in a one on one showdown with a goalkeeper, whilst there’s a teammate twenty feet to your right. You can almost certainly get the point if you pass, but instead you gamble Japan’s hope and the assurance of victory to shoot without hesitation. Those crazy egotists are the only ones that can proceed ahead!”
With one last push, the Kozaki felt the rope snap. Suddenly, somebody, somewhere, made the first move. With that domino pushed, it was a stampede as the players all cascaded through the doors. However, Kozaki Ikuta wasn’t one of them. He moved slowly, interested in those who had reservations. In the corner of his eye, he spotted Masayoshi. The boy was muttering something to himself. Whilst that would normally be weird, the thing that caught his attention was his face. There wasn’t a single hint of frustration or anguish from the rejection of his ideals in front of hundreds of his peers. No, something else was there.
Kurata Masayoshi was smiling. A complete, ear-to-ear grin. That wasn’t all. His eyes were beaming, as those he had uncovered an amazing treasure. Whilst Kozaki didn’t understand almost anything behind those eyes, he quickly understood one thing. This place was filled with more egos than just Japan’s and Ego’s. It was going to be an environment rampant with chaos and changes. It was a place where somebody could leave a mark on something that could change the world. With that thought at the forefront of his mind, Kozaki Ikuta took his first steps in the world that is Blue Lock.