The morning after the match, Isagi woke up to the relentless buzzing of his phone. He lazily reached for it, already expecting a flood of messages. Sure enough, his notifications were piled up.
[Oi, goal king, wake up already. We gotta talk about that last shot.]
[Damn, Isagi! That nutmeg was DISRESPECTFUL. Respect.]
[I swear, half the kids in my neighborhood were trying to copy your goal yesterday. You've started a movement.]
He let out a tired groan and tossed the phone aside. "Can't I get one peaceful morning…?"
Dragging himself out of bed, he trudged downstairs, only to be met with a knowing smirk from his mom as she set breakfast on the table.
"Well, well, look who's finally up. The town hero himself," she teased.
His dad, seated with his morning coffee, gave a small nod. "Your name's been going around all morning. Some kids were talking about you outside earlier, trying to recreate your goal."
Isagi sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "It was just one match."
His mom raised an eyebrow. "One match that had the entire block screaming like it was a World Cup final."
Just as he sat down to eat, the doorbell rang. Moments later, his younger cousin burst in, panting as if he had sprinted the whole way.
"ISAGI-NII! SIGN MY BALL!"
Isagi nearly choked on his rice.
—-------
If he thought home was bad, school was worse. From the moment he stepped through the gates, people were way more vocal than usual.
"Yo, Isagi! That was insane yesterday!"
"Bro, you're actually HIM."
"Respect for what you did to Kira, man. That was cold."
Isagi barely had time to process the compliments before he was pulled into a side hug by Niku, his ever-theatric teammate.
"BEHOLD! The living legend has graced us with his presence!" Niku announced, causing a few students nearby to laugh.
"Oh, for the love of—"
"Tell us, oh great one," Niku continued, ignoring Isagi's protests. "When you scored that final goal, did you feel the presence of the football gods guiding your foot? Or was it pure, unfiltered ego?"
Isagi shoved him off. "It was football, dumbass."
Oda, leaning against the lockers with a smirk, chimed in. "Even the teachers were talking about you, man. Apparently, they're calling you 'the pride of our sports program.'"
Isagi rolled his eyes. "Great. Now I'll never hear the end of it."
"Speaking of which," Niku said, draping his arm around Isagi again, "since you're our school's shining star now, does that mean we get priority access to your god-tier goals during practice?"
"Nope." Isagi replied.
Niku gasped, dramatically clutching his chest. "How dare you reject your adoring fans?"
"Adoring fans my ass. You guys just love messing with me."
Oda chuckled. "You'll get used to it, superstar."
By the time practice rolled around, Isagi was grateful to finally escape the chaos of the day. At least on the field, things were normal—or so he thought.
As he walked onto the pitch, his teammates all turned to face him. Then, in perfect unison, they started clapping.
"Encore! Encore!" Niku shouted.
"Score another disrespectful goal!" someone else added.
"Alright, alright, I get it!" Isagi groaned. "Can we just practice already?"
His coach clapped him on the shoulder with a knowing grin. "You set the standard, Isagi. Now keep raising it."
Isagi smiled. "That's the plan, Coach."
—--------
After an intense practice session, Isagi finally made his way home. His body was sore, but the lingering adrenaline from the day's excitement kept him from feeling completely drained.
As he stepped inside, he was immediately greeted by the familiar warmth of home. The smell of dinner filled the air, and his mom peeked out from the kitchen.
"Welcome back, superstar," she teased. "Did practice go well?"
Isagi chuckled, dropping his bag by the door. "Yeah, but those guys won't stop messing with me."
His dad, still seated at the dining table, glanced up. "Well, get used to it. When you shine, people notice."
Isagi hummed in response, walking toward his room. Just as he reached for the door, something caught his eye—a single envelope placed neatly on his doorstep.
His brows furrowed. He wasn't expecting anything.
Curious, he picked it up. The paper felt official, the weight of it slightly heavier than normal mail. His gaze dropped to the sender's name.
"JAPANESE FOOTBALL ASSOCIATION - SPECIAL PROJECT"
Isagi's curiosity peaked.
With slightly unsteady fingers, he tore open the envelope. His eyes scanned the first few lines, and his breath hitched.
"YOU HAVE BEEN CHOSEN FOR THE JAPANESE FOOTBALL ASSOCIATION'S SPECIAL PROJECT—BLUE LOCK."
His grip on the letter tightened. His mind raced.
Blue Lock…?
What the hell was this?
—---------------
The next morning, after a quick breakfast, Isagi found himself on a train bound for Tokyo, the letter from the JFA tucked safely inside his bag. He leaned against the window, watching the scenery blur past.
Just then, a familiar voice broke through his thoughts.
"Of course, you'd be here."
Isagi blinked and turned his head. Kira Ryosuke stood a few feet away, arms crossed, a flat expression on his face. Though he wasn't openly glaring, there was something in his eyes—a mix of frustration and something else, something harder to place.
"Kira," Isagi greeted, shifting slightly to make space.
Kira sat down across from him without asking, dropping his bag beside him. He exhaled sharply. "So, you got the invite too, huh?"
Isagi nodded. "Yeah."
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the train's rhythmic clatter filling the silence. Then Kira scoffed.
"Tch. You know… I've been thinking about our match."
Isagi tilted his head. "Yeah?"
Kira leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "That goal. That… disrespectful goal." His eyes narrowed slightly. "You didn't just beat me—you embarrassed me."
Isagi frowned. "I wasn't trying to embarrass you. I just—"
"Played how you always do?" Kira cut him off, a sharp edge in his voice. "Yeah, I figured." He clicked his tongue. "That's what annoys me the most."
Isagi blinked. "Wait, what?"
Kira sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You didn't even think about it, did you? That moment—when you could've passed but didn't, when you just knew you were gonna score. That wasn't luck. That wasn't some accident. You just saw it, and you took it."
Isagi stayed quiet. He hadn't thought about it like that, but Kira wasn't wrong.
Kira leaned back, staring at the ceiling. "I've always played football in a way that made sense. Teamwork, positioning, good decision-making—that's how I was taught. But you? You play like you don't give a damn about any of that."
Isagi's brow furrowed. "I do care about teamwork."
Kira let out a dry chuckle. "Yeah? Well, it didn't look like it when you decided to end that match by nutmegging me and the keeper."
Isagi scratched his cheek. "Okay… maybe that part was a little much."
Kira exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done." He finally looked at Isagi again, this time with a serious expression. "I don't like losing. And I really don't like losing like that."
Isagi met his gaze, waiting.
Kira clenched his jaw. "But I'm not here to complain about the past. This 'Blue Lock' thing—whatever it is—means we're getting a shot at something bigger. And I'm not planning to let you stand in my way again."
Isagi's lips curled into a smirk. "Funny. I was thinking the same thing."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, the tension still there but no longer as sharp. Neither of them liked losing. Neither of them wanted to admit they respected the other, even a little. But for now, they both had the same destination.
As the train pulled into Tokyo, Kira grabbed his bag, his movements stiff. "Let's just get this over with."
Isagi smirked, standing as well. "Yeah."
They made their way out of the station, stepping into the bustling streets of Tokyo. The energy of the city was overwhelming—neon signs, endless crowds, and the constant hum of traffic.
"So… where exactly is this place?" Isagi asked, glancing around.
Kira pulled out his phone, frowning at the directions. "The address leads somewhere past the city. We need to take another train."
Another train ride later, they found themselves in a quieter area, following the instructions on their phones. Or at least, they tried to.
"This way," Kira said confidently, turning down a narrow street.
Five minutes later, they hit a dead end.
"…You sure about that?" Isagi asked, raising an eyebrow.
Kira clicked his tongue. "Tch. The GPS is being weird."
They backtracked, tried another route, then another. Somehow, every turn led them somewhere different, but never to their destination. The more they wandered, the more annoyed Kira got.
"This is ridiculous. How the hell are we supposed to find this place?" Kira muttered, glaring at his phone.
"Maybe the JFA's testing us before we even get there?" Isagi joked.
Kira shot him a look. "Not funny."
Another ten minutes passed before they finally stumbled upon a massive, high-security facility. The towering gates loomed over them, sleek and metallic, with a bold JFA sign displayed overhead.
Isagi let out a sigh. "Finally."
Kira crossed his arms. "They could've at least given us a decent map."
With that, they made their way into the building, passing through a few security checks and handing over their letters.
After some back and forth, they arrived at a pair of massive doors, which automatically slid open as they approached.
The moment they stepped inside, they saw a crowd—easily more than 200 people already gathered.
Isagi and Kira scanned the room.
"There are a lot of recognizable faces here. I've seen a few of these guys before," Kira muttered, a bead of sweat rolling down his face.
"That's Sennou's ace, Okawa. Then there's the tallest high schooler, Ishikari. Wait… is that—? That's Nishioka, 'Messi of Aomori.'"
"And more importantly… they're all forwards," Kira added in disbelief.
On the other side of the room—
"Isn't that the crown jewel of Saitama? And wait… is that the Blue Demon?"
Reo Mikage's sharp eyes tracked the two as they entered, nudging Nagi beside him.
"Yo, Nagi, see that guy over there? That's Isagi. Remember that insane nutmeg video I showed you? That's him."
"Huh? Really?" Nagi yawned, barely lifting his head. "Nice."
A few feet away, Barou Shouei scoffed, arms crossed. "Tch. Another bunch of nobodies." His gaze lingered on Isagi for a second before looking away.
Kunigami Rensuke furrowed his brows, recognizing Isagi from the qualifiers. "So, he made it too, huh? Guess I'll see if he's as good as they say."
Chigiri Hyoma glanced at them with mild interest but said nothing, flipping his hair back as he studied the competition.
Meanwhile, Bachira Meguru's eyes lit up with excitement. "Ooooh, he looks fun!" he whispered to himself with a grin, already itching to see how Isagi played.
They continued scanning the room when—
"Cough, cough. Erm, ahem...
"…Congratulations, you lumps of talent."
Everyone turned towards the podium, where a thin man in a black shirt and pants stood, adjusting his rectangular glasses.
"According to my personal judgment, the 300 of you are the best strikers under eighteen."
"My name is Ego Jinpachi. I was hired to bring Japan a World Cup victory."
Murmurs spread through the hall as players exchanged confused glances.
"Who the hell is this guy?"
"Do you know him?" Kira asked.
"Nope," Isagi replied.
"I'll say this plainly," Ego continued. "There is one thing necessary for Japanese football to become the best in the world."
"It's the birth of a revolutionary striker. With the 300 of you here, I will conduct an experiment to create the world's best striker."
The screen behind him flickered to life, displaying a massive pentagonal structure.
"This is the facility built for that very purpose—Blue Lock."
"Starting today, you will live here while undergoing the special training I have designed."
"You won't be allowed to return home. This marks the end of your previous football career."
"But I promise this—whoever survives Blue Lock and outlasts the other 299…"
"…The last person remaining will become the world's best striker."
"That concludes my explanation. Thank you."
The room fell into stunned silence. Players stared at Ego with expressions ranging from disbelief to confusion.
Isagi, on the other hand, was lost in thought.
'What the hell is this guy talking about? The world's best striker? Winning the World Cup? What even is this?'
Then, Kira stepped forward.
"Um… excuse me. I can't agree with this." His voice was steady, but there was clear tension in his expression.
"All of us have our own teams, and some of us are preparing for Nationals." He clenched his fists. "I can't just abandon my team like this—to come to some unknown place."
"Yeah, that's right."
"I have Nationals coming up too!"
"Who even is this guy?"
"Bring out someone legit!"
The murmurs grew louder, but Isagi remained focused on Ego.
His eyes were wide, captivated by the man's words.
"I see… you're all really sick, huh…"
"Then piss off. If you all want to leave, I won't stop you." That shut up the crowd.
"I get depressed when I think about people like you carrying the future of Japanese football." There was a pause.
"Listen… Japanese football's teamwork capability is the best in the world."
"You could say it's a gift of our country's tendency to consider others."
"But besides that, everything else…"
"…is second-rate."
The screen behind him displayed a photo of the Japanese national football team.
Suddenly, his expression grew intense.
"Let me ask you… What is football?"
"A sport where eleven people combine their power? 'Treasuring our bonds?' 'For my friends' sake…?'"
"Wrong." His voice was sharp. "And that's why this country's game has always been weak."
"I'll tell you… football is…"
"…a sport where you score more goals than your opponent."
His piercing gaze swept across the room.
"Whoever scores more goals is the best. If you just want to 'get along,' then piss off."
'What is this guy even talking about? Why do his words sound exactly like the thoughts I used to have?'
Isagi had been affected—at least a little—by Ichinan's teamwork-based playstyle, and now, he was starting to rediscover himself.
Kira, on the other hand, was the opposite.
"I disagree," he said, his voice slightly shaky at first, but growing firmer.
"Please take that back… Players like Honda or Kagawa… There are plenty of others! Watching eleven people battle together—we grew up watching our Japanese teams cooperate!"
His voice had finally found its strength.
"They're my heroes! And you're wrong."
"Hm? Honda? Kagawa? Hmmmm…?"
Then, a crazed look flashed across Ego's face, his eyes widening.
"None of them have won the World Cup, right? Then they're trash."
"I'm talking about being the best in the world. Got it?"
The entire room could only stare at him in shock.
The screen behind him flickered again, showing images of footballers.
"Take Noel Noa, for example. He beat out Messi and Ronaldo to win the Ballon d'Or… Do you know what the best striker in the world once said?"
"'Instead of assisting my teammates to win 1-0…'"
"…'it feels better to pull off a hat-trick and lose 3-4.'"
"Eric Cantona, the greatest football player of the twentieth century, said… 'I don't care about my team. I just want to stand out.'"
"And the greatest player of all time… the three-time World Cup winner, Pelé, once said… 'The world's best forward, midfielder, defender, goalkeeper—whichever you ask about, the answer is still me.'"
"THAT."
"HOW ABOUT IT? AWFUL, RIGHT?! BUT THESE GUYS WERE NUMBER ONE! THEY WERE ALL REVOLUTIONARY STRIKERS!!"
His back arched backward, making it impossible for the players to see his face.
"All of them were peerless egoists. What Japanese football lacks is EGO."
"If you're not the world's top egoist, you can never become the world's best striker."
He adjusted his glasses properly, his dark, crazed eyes staring out at them. If you looked into them, a shiver would definitely run down your spine.
'Why is this… so close to what I want to become…?'
"And I want to create… someone like that in this country."
'I've wanted to play like this before…'
"The lone hero who will stand… atop two hundred ninety-nine corpses."
'Yes… I want to be at the top.'
"Now, lumps of talent. Let me ask you one final question."
His lone finger pointed upward, his eyes overshadowed by the glare of his glasses.
"Imagine… You're in the final match of the World Cup… Eighty thousand spectators… You're on that field."
"The score is 0-0… The game has gone into overtime… It's the last play… You've broken through and received a pass from your teammate…"
"It's a one-on-one showdown with the goalkeeper… There's a teammate twenty feet to your right. If you pass, you can almost certainly score a goal…"
"But you gamble your nation's hopes… and the assurance of victory… to shoot without hesitation."
"Only those kinds of crazy egotists… may proceed ahead."
The screens behind him opened like doors. He adjusted his glasses back into place as smoke billowed from behind him.
"I'll say this once more… Football is a sport that exists for you, strikers. Think of everyone besides yourself on the field as supporting actors."
"Discard your common sense. On the field… you're the leading actor."
'I've always wanted something like this…'
"Rejoice in your own goals above all else… and live for nothing but that moment."
"That's what it means to be a striker."
'I'm a striker.'
Isagi, who had finally found what he had been searching for, dashed through the crowd toward the open doors.
"Isagi?"
"Damn it, let me in there!!"
"I'm going too."
"Me too, and me!"
Ego watched with a smirk.
'Someone once said… in the world of football… first-class goalkeepers, defenders, and midfielders can be raised…'
'But strikers are something different entirely…'
'First-class strikers… will suddenly appear… in the place… where the game is the hottest.'
The doors shut. The hall was now empty, not even a speck of dust remaining.
"All three hundred are participating, huh…"
A woman standing at the side of the stage spoke.
"There's no going back now. I'll act in accordance with what you say… I'm trusting you with the future of Japanese football and these three hundred boys."
Ego looked at the empty hall, removing his mic.
"It might mean ruining two hundred ninety-nine lives… but one great striker will be born. That's what 'Blue Lock' is."
"Yes…" the woman, Anri, said, sweat rolling down her chin.
"Shall we start it?, Anri-chan?"
"The place where the game is the hottest in the whole world…"
The crazed man's expression would have made him look like a serial killer in any other world.
—--------------------------------------
Author's Notes:
Man, this chapter was a blast to write. Yeah, it was basically the first chapter of the manga/anime with some tweaks here and there, but this was the moment that hooked me onto Blue Lock.
That speech by Ego was what made me watch and read this whole series, and there was no way I was gonna do it dirty. I totally understand if you guys criticize me for that, but this is the direction this story is taking.
The next chapter will kick off Project Blue Lock, so stay tuned for that!
Signing off,
SG
(you can read ahead at my p*treon. the link is in the sypnosis and yeah sorry this chapter was smaller than the previous ones. I promise the later ones will be bigger.)
Editor's Notes:-
Thank God this chapter was small....
NB