Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You won’t say anything, won't hint at anything, and under no circumstances will you interfere.”

Ego Jinpachi possesses the coldness of winter, fitting in perfectly with the season that has everyone out there firmly in its grip. It reminds you that people are dressing warmer than usual and that this world’s life is held captive by small white clouds. Maybe it signals a limited time frame for people to prove their worth.

For the boys in Blue Lock, that time is now. From what you’ve already heard, they are putting their futures on the line here. Dreams, ideals, and hopes are put on one side of the scales to find out if they can balance out the rest with their talent. If not, the dreamy bubble of playing on the pitch on the big stage bursts forever. Then there is no chance of representing Japan.

Their homeland will simply exclude them. Forever.

December is a thoroughly cold month that makes everyone’s hair stand on end. Especially when it’s a dry, biting cold that combines with Ego, who sits on his chair as if nothing can disturb him, as if he were the king of this world, because at night no one takes a closer look, and also because this building somehow belongs to him. It emphasises that anyone who’s still here in January will most likely be able to start a new chapter in their life. In the new year, new dreams will come true, and every boy will come one step closer to his goal. But until then, they can only puff out their chests and act as if they are important – even if they aren’t. They can only pretend to be in control, locked up in this concrete box, evaluated and judged on their results.

With the ankle of one leg resting on the knee of the other, Jinpachi Ego leans forwards. His black eyes, impenetrable as the abyss of a lifelong existence, reveal nothing of his thoughts. He knows exactly what he can demand of those around him. In his world, neither money nor decency plays a major role. The only thing that shapes his existence is the egoism of wanting to change something with his own hands. Perhaps that is exactly what Japanese football needs.

You don’t know.

You can’t judge because you don’t work at the floor of decision-making, nor do you have a deep insight into the data and scores of the last hundred games. All you can say with certainty is that it has affected you too. You are no less a part of this experiment than the boys in this box.

To Ego, you are merely the girl who collects information. The girl that knows how to get close to people in order to pass on knowledge to others. Your sheer presence in this place serves solely his desire to learn everything about his players. The more you can provide him with, the sooner he will know how to control his players on the pitch. Bit by bit, like a man counting his puppets and slowly connecting them with the strings he has carefully laid out. You are the salesperson. You will tell him which dolls are best to keep, even if their abilities are not quite what he imagined.

Shoulders tense, back straight, you stare at Ego. At him and his pretty assistant, Anri, who doesn’t utter a single word because she understands that there is no room for someone like her between you two right now. In these seconds, there is only his desire, your skill, the notebook on your lap, and the biting silence that circles uncomfortably in this artificially lit room. The paper behind the cover is new, purchased especially for Blue Lock.

For your own future.

Your fingers clench the pen as if it were a weapon or a shield. Maybe even both. Truth is, if you do your job well, Ego will pay you a sum that will ensure you can fulfil all your dreams later on. Then the doors of the world will be open to you, everything will be a little easier, and you won’t have to worry about what will become of you and your life one day.

This moment here is the first step in spinning a safety net that others can only dream of. Saying “no” to these prospects was never an option. Here and now, Ego Jinpachi could ask almost anything of you, and you would agree without batting an eyelid. Because in this world out there, there is no other way to survive – not surrounded by the Japanese industry, which hunts its workers like pawns across a battlefield full of kings.

“Your job is simple: observe. You will document how the players develop. Physically. Tactically. Psychologically.”

Similar to a human lab journal. Blue Lock is an experiment through and through. One in which you will be the fly on the wall.

Ego leans back, relaxed, and folds his hands in his lap. His limbs are absurdly long, casting ugly, distorted shadows on the floor. Behind him, a screen flickers with names, data, and video sequences. You can tell from the faces and the footage on the football pitches that these are the players. Three hundred of them – at least, that’s how many there were three days ago. By now, the first ones have disappeared.

They have failed.

“You’re not a coach,” Ego continues. “Not a friend and certainly not a muse. We can’t let any of the boys get the wrong idea about football. Building on something as fragile as another human being only means they are throwing away their future. Remember that. You are nothing more than a protocol.”

No distractions.

The lives of these boys are now in your hands. Unfamiliar and wrong, and probably too much for anyone who doesn’t enjoy playing with others. But you can’t change that.

In the next blink, a barely noticeable cough reaches you. Anri raises a hand to her mouth, closes her eyes briefly, and lets the seconds of silence that follow wash over each of you before giving you a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s hard to believe, but she embodies winter at least as strongly as he does. Something that only becomes apparent when you watch her, when you follow her with your eyes and realise that the sporting future of this country is all that makes her blood boil. Everything else is just a necessary evil to her.

“We need an objective view,” Anri then begins. “Someone who isn’t involved in the ego system. Someone who isn’t interested in football and its rules but who enjoys documenting human changes that a machine cannot capture. We know that you have already done this kind of work for others. That comes in handy. You are new to Blue Lock. Unbiased.”

That’s probably true. Gathering information has somehow saved you. With the knowledge you can gain from mere observation, it’s easy to avoid problems – unless you’re stupid enough to get involved. On top, you can share your knowledge with those who need it more than you do. Teachers, parents, friends, and strangers. Anyone who asks.

Your name is never mentioned, because you’re just the middleman who provides a connection. Still, Ego found you and was impressed by your work – at a football match at a school where you were supposed to record the most important things to support the school newspaper; a group of idiots who knew even less about football than you do. Despite that, you captured the essence of the game. Exuberant, overly detailed notes that ended up with Ego.

You take a deep breath before looking outside. The world is shrouded in devouring darkness. Nothing can be seen. No lights, no lamps, not even the snow is visible, even though white flakes have been falling from the sky for the last few days. You saw them. Like every year.

When you turn back to Ego, the only question left is if there is anything else you need to pay attention to. Some insignificant detail you can’t lose sight of. Anything. But he shakes his head in response. Instead, he gives you another warning. He seems to want to make absolutely sure you understand the actual concept. “You will see how they break, reshape themselves, and grow. You will record this – without sympathy. Is that clear?”

A nod from you is the only answer needed. A way to make sure you understand each other, because you won’t be seeing Ego regularly from now on. Anri has already given you a mobile phone, which is solely for contacting her or him. You have handed over all your other belongings. All they have left you with is your clothes. A bag full of things that give you a little sense of freedom within this oversized prison cell.

Apparently, it’s no different for the boys in Blue Lock. They have also handed over everything except for a few minor items that are almost trivial. Now they wear uniforms, as you have been told. They are all reduced to the bare minimum. In Blue Lock, there is only them and the sport. Nothing in between.

According to Anri, you will be introduced today. At dinner, when everyone is exhausted and drained and no one can cause chaos because their muscles ache and their heads are almost empty. At least that is Teieri’s hope, even if Ego considers his talented lumps to be tireless, judging by the training schedule.

Everything has been carefully planned out, and yet nothing seems to fit together properly.

You only realise that Ego has dismissed you when he is no longer in the room. The glass door closes with a barely audible click, and you are left alone with Anri. She is the one who will show you around and who will throw you to the wolves. Now there is no escape, and you have no choice but to follow when she gives you a faint nod to signal you are about to leave, too.

She leads you slowly through the labyrinth of Blue Lock, and even though there are signs everywhere, it is easy to get lost in this place. It is a bit as if there is a system here that wasn’t made for people like you. One that only people like Ego understand. The directions on the walls are the only things that will get you through here. You know that this building is nothing more than a circular route. If you start at one point and keep going straight ahead, you can visit all five sections.

Until you reach a door behind which you can’t hear a thing, Anri stays in the lead. Only then, when the automatic mechanism opens with a whir and she steps aside, does the stage belong to you.

Entering the canteen is enough to show that it’s far from being quiet. The walls are simply thick enough to muffle most of the noise. The reality differs with endless voices roaring in your ears.

The room is vast, offering enough space for countless players – too many to count at a glance. Everyone Ego has collected is gathered here. Every single soul that drags itself hungrily to the tables, thinking it will find a little peace here. Everything is a bit overloaded, and you can consider yourself lucky that the players have been divided into five parts of this building. This makes the crowd easier to navigate, though no less overwhelming.

It’s up to you to decide how much time you’ll spend in each area, although it’s important to gather enough information about everyone present. And to achieve that, you need to get the players’ attention. They need to know you’ll be living among them now, that there’s a figure who won’t let them out of its sight.

However, this first task is already proving difficult because no one is even looking in your direction. Some are getting their food at the serving counter – machines that give everyone only what they deserve. One person steals a gyoza from someone else; there is laughter at one table; some are having lively discussions.

There is no place for you in this chaos, and yet Anri doesn’t mind that you are being treated like air. She most likely had no other expectations. She simply straightens her shoulders and waits.

Immediately afterwards, there is a crackling sound in the loudspeakers. The roar of voices dies down as a large screen on the wall shows Ego’s face. He looks just as bored as he did in the room where you talked to each other. Maybe that’s just his face, his natural charisma – the bitterly cold winter deep inside him.

“Good evening, my lumps of talent.”

The mood becomes noticeably stiff. Tension builds in the cracks. These boys are expecting something. A message, an explanation, maybe even a list of players who are to be sent home. Even the last discussions stop abruptly in these seconds. Ego has a control over this room that no one can challenge. Like a beast tamer who has already trained all his lions. All this in just three days.

“Before you waste any more time babbling – yes, I know you didn’t expect to see a girl in your ranks – here’s your update for today.” He doesn’t bat an eyelid, but you can feel his words stinging every one of them. Their eyes automatically leave the screen and wander over to you and Anri. Hundreds of eyes piercing you, full of questions and uncertainty, perhaps even scepticism.

“This person here,” Ego points his chin at you as if you were just another data sheet, “has been assigned by me to observe your development. She is not your friend. She is not your enemy. I will not answer questions or further speculations. You can scream your complaints into your pillows.”

It’s a brief announcement, not an introduction, and he leaves the rest to you and Anri. The screen turns black again, as if Ego had never been in the room. The speakers crackle once more, and then everything is silent. Too quiet to be natural. It sounds as if everyone is holding their breath.

Anri uses this moment to introduce you. She says your name, your age, and where you’re from, and then looks at you. Her expectations are clear, but you don’t get a chance to say a word before chaos hits. Dozens of voices fill the room, questions fly around, and some people start sharing ideas about what exactly you’re going to document. They’re looking for a sense of security that Jinpachi didn’t give them.

“Maybe she plans to become a doctor and is so good at what she does that Ego recruited her for us! Maybe a psychologist. Oh God, hopefully a psychologist...” Someone throws his arms above his head.

“I didn’t do anything wrong, okay?! I only threw two punches too many!” protests another.

Some laugh nervously. Probably about the few memories they have already collected in their short time here, which seem somewhat disturbing to them when they think about them more closely. Yet they talk completely at random, circling you like wolves. Their curiosity is palpable, perceptible.

You raise your hands, trying not to look like prey. It is a gesture to appease them but also to ask for their attention, which they actually give you. The questions subside to murmurs, and for a moment you can address them. This time you explain to them what your task is: that you are just a kind of notebook that will watch them to make sure all important data about behaviour and development reaches Ego.

Some raise their eyebrows at that; others have already stopped listening halfway through your explanation. You can’t hold the attention of the crowd, and in an instant you become a meaningless news ticker that people tend to overlook. Some of them think you’re Ego’s spy; others are just amused because you’re watching them.

It’s all a bit too much false attention, a bit too much ignorance, and a bit too little air. So you take a step back. This way, you distance yourself from the chaos and let the room sink in once more. Your interest wanders along the seats, scrutinising some players, looking for a foothold that will allow a start.

And you find it.

Off to the side, half-hidden behind a wide pillar, with his head resting on the table and one arm as a pillow, a boy with dark brown hair, the underside of which shimmers blonde, is resting. While the others run wild, he sleeps, without shame and with a grin on his lips. The thumb of his free hand brushes his mouth, and overall he gives the impression of a baby who doesn’t belong in this place.

What is he dreaming about?

How can someone surrounded by rivals sleep like a child?

“Could you note my best angle?” Out of nowhere, one of the other boys steps forward to scratch his short-cropped head. His smile conveys an invitation you cannot accept – don’t want to accept. And you make that clear to him.

“What if I play better naked? There are players who claim that’s a thing. Will you capture that, too?” Another one chimes in. A tad silly considering the situation. Everyone here wants to be the best, but it seems not everyone has grasped the situation yet. They react like a playgroup that has been given a new toy to play with.

They aren’t worth an entry in your notebook.

Still, you need to deal with this vast number of people, and although it is probably more paperwork than anything else, you are up to the task. Your book has enough pages to record everything and everyone – if necessary. Because, even though there are certainly interesting personalities here, no one can promise you they won’t be gone soon. The next test phase of this experiment will begin shortly, and by then at the latest, some of those present here will have disappeared without a trace.

But it isn’t your job to inform anyone about it. Ego will tell them what’s happening next soon enough. All you have to do in the meantime is blend in with the crowd and lay low. Anri follows you, shows you the food machines and how to use them. Unlike the others, you can eat whatever you want. The entire menu is available to you.

You sit down at a table unobserved. Then you fold your hands and look around, studying each person once more, trying to detect any changes. The food tray in front of you remains untouched. Not out of disinterest. It’s because your stomach is rather full. Not empty enough. Rather filled with “too much”. Too many names, faces, and voices that you have to figure out.

Anri stays for a moment longer to explain which players Ego is particularly focused on. Her gaze is soft, almost apologetic. Perhaps she can’t find room for her usual coldness in this constellation. She knows this crowd a little better than you do. Too many players in one place, and yet, perhaps one of them holds the future of Japan. She cherishes this hope and seems to want to pass it on to you.

As if you cared about football.

“You did well. Really.” She taps your notebook gently with her finger. “Second floor. Next to the training field of section V. That’s where your room is. Small, but quiet. You even have a window and your own bathroom. Ego was gracious.” Her attention wanders briefly. “And if you have questions, trust your instincts and try to solve them without asking Ego. If you really need advice, come to me.”

She smiles briefly. Not genuinely. Not meaningfully. But it’s there – as if you both are going to war.

Immediately afterwards, she disappears.

Now you are almost alone. There are only occasional murmurs in the corners. One boy stretches with a yawn; others march in small groups towards the exit. It’s like the end of a theatre rehearsal: the props are cleared away, and the curtain has fallen. There’s nothing left to do here, and yet you don’t get up. You’d much rather watch them and dare to look once more at the boy who was sleeping so peacefully earlier.

He is still there, unchanged. His lips are slightly parted, and if you look closely, you can see them moving. He seems to be talking to someone. Something in his dreams is keeping him awake, and watching him is the only thing in this canteen that isn’t somehow stressful or anxiously clinging to your body.

But the other players are gradually disappearing, and no one is paying any attention to him. No one is wasting a second waking this boy up, even though he is part of this community and everyone here is doing their best to be nice to their neighbour.

Out of the corner of your eye, you notice another boy – dark blue, almost black hair and deep blue eyes – who looks at the sleeper a few times. He is visibly undecided if he should do something. And maybe that’s the opening you need to get closer to the players here.

Slowly, you get up from your seat to take a few steps towards the sleeper. It would be wrong to scare him. However, he mustn’t be late for his team meeting either. You know the routine of those guys, and after your conversation with Ego, it’s easy to imagine that he won’t hesitate to throw this stranger out if he doesn’t follow the simple rules of this building.

Finally, you crouch down next to him. You hesitate for a few seconds. Then you reach out and touch his shoulder. A feather-light touch, accompanied by a word or two to remind him he isn’t alone.

He blinks. With one eye. Then with the other. A lazy, mischievous smile spreads across his face before he sits up and rubs the sleep from his vision with one hand. Even now, he looks like a child who is ready for new antics after his afternoon nap. “Is lunch over already?”

You confirm it and also point out that he will be late if he doesn’t get going soon. It doesn’t take him long to wake up fully and look around. He pauses briefly at the other boy, who is still standing there, and greets him with a curt “Ah, Isagi”. Then he focuses on you again, looking at you a little too long, meeting your gaze. It feels like an eternity, during which you can’t avoid those honey-yellow eyes, and yet it’s only four seconds before he jumps up and stretches – just like a cat.

He doesn’t ask who you are, even though he probably hasn’t heard why you’re stuck in this place. Instead, he grins at you, thanks you for waking him up, and waves goodbye with a “see you later, observer girl”. It’s kind of absurd, a little surreal, but denying reality won’t get you anywhere.

This moment has happened, and part of you remains attached to it. Somehow.

You watch him as he rushes barefoot to Isagi so they can leave the room together. Only you and your notebook remain behind.

It doesn’t really make sense to open it and write down your first notice already, since you have no clue whether this boy will still be here tomorrow or the day after. But your fingers are tingling, and you know you have to record this encounter somehow.

You don’t know his name, how old he is, or where he comes from, but the single line you write is all you need here and now.

Notes on: The Dreamer.

Chapter Text

The door mechanism whirs quietly as it closes slowly behind you. What remains is loneliness, silence, a kind of peace that belongs to you alone. You have endured the first few hours in this concrete box with both difficulty and dignity; you have somehow introduced yourself to the other four sections, which build on Ego’s lies and secrets. By now, you have recognised his strategy. Five sections, divided into five areas, spelt out from V to Z, to make them all believe that they are the worst here. None of the boys know the truth. No one knows where they really stand. An almost cruel spectacle designed to push them all to their limits. A feast for someone like you, who has to keep an eye on everything, like an eagle that can’t ignore the mouse. And perhaps that suits these circumstances, where everyone looks the same somehow. Endless faces, hardly any of which you could remember.

It’s impossible to memorise 275 faces in such a short time, and creating a page in your notebook for each one is nothing but a waste. It’s obvious that some people in this place aren’t cut out for the tough competition. You could see it in their wide eyes, clenched jaws and frantic breathing. They all collapsed in front of you – unseen and yet terribly obvious.

Some players are too arrogant. They feel a self-confidence that is far from healthy. They believe they cannot lose this game for the top spot, and that will eventually break their necks. Those who can’t see how deep the abyss is don’t appreciate the top.

But what happens to them isn’t your problem. Your only concern in this artificially created mess is the pages in your notebook. Paper that you must not waste, because every note in it is created for Ego’s little eternity. And it’s a thought that won’t get you anywhere here. Within these four walls, there is no reason to act out insecurities and overtax your mind. Much more important is the space that Ego has given to you. The air here is cool, and this environment, which you can now call your own for a while, does little to make you feel welcome. The walls are white and bare. The furnishings consist only of a bed, a chair, a tiny table, and a few electrical outlets scattered around. Your bag of clothes is on the bedspread. Otherwise, there is nothing personal here. It isn’t a place made for staying. It is a room where only your observations have a place. Unwelcoming, idiosyncratic, and yet everything you need to do your job. This room must suffice. It will suffice. Just like everything else you have with you. In this scenario, you are in no position to make demands.

It has been a long day, so you stretch briefly. You have been on your feet since the early hours of the morning, and the fact that this first day was loud and overrun with questions contributes to a tiredness that settles in your head. Every thought weighs heavily on you, and your eyes burn a little, as if you haven’t blinked in ages.

With slow steps, you walk over to the window; the small mercy Anri spoke of. The dark world outside still doesn’t quite look like winter. You can’t see any snow, no white clouds when you breathe, and no people in thick clothing. Outside this concrete cell, there are no signs of life. Only darkness and half-bare trees.

Your thoughts can’t latch onto anything like this. You can’t just stare out the window here and absentmindedly follow whatever is happening outside. All that remains is the chair in front of the small table, where you sit down without anything happening. At least, this haunting illusion lasts until a voice booms through the ceiling speakers.

“All egoists are to go to their rooms immediately. The results of the tests you have completed over the last three days have been evaluated. The Blue Lock project is now entering phase two.”

There are many things that Ego hasn’t told you. You know how this project is structured; you know the goal, but you have no clue how he intends to achieve it. The first phase lasted three days. This second phase will probably take no less time. He cannot make a useful decision about others within a day. Jinpachi Ego is only human, analysing data and drawing conclusions. That’s why you have to be ready. Filling in the gaps in his knowledge will be your most important task in this second phase.

“Tomorrow, you will compete against other players in your section. As you know, each one is made up of five groups. Your section consists of teams V, W, X, Y, and Z.” Ego pauses briefly to allow his explanation to sink in. “The two best teams from each section will advance. The rest will be eliminated.”

His words hang in the air like a warning. This idea drastically reduces the number of players. Everyone can advance, but if they have to function as teams, contrary to the ideas they have probably held until now, that also means that a bunch of complete strangers have to get along with each other. In order to achieve something that at least looks like football, it is necessary to find one’s own ego and tame it. They have to learn to bring themselves into harmony. A challenge that most will fail at.

The moment of silence in which you, too, are stuck ends when Ego adds an afterthought – so casually that you almost miss it. “One player per eliminated team may remain, however. That is the one who has scored the most goals.”

It’s imaginable that the players now want to ask thousands of questions. Many people would in a situation like this. But you can hear the loudspeaker crackling, and the following silence is proof that Ego would rather leave everyone here alone with their thoughts. These guys should think for themselves. They should learn to use their heads. You can’t blame the man behind it all. If he spoon-feeds them everything, they will never grow.

Perhaps this is a moment that will open the eyes of some players and make them realise that this is not a game. With four matches to go, it only takes two defeats to be eliminated for sure. Two missteps and the dream that everyone here is hanging on to will crumble to dust.

And the worst part? You’ll capture these moments. The notebook in your hands is ready, and even if you don’t understand football, you can read people. And tomorrow they’ll tell you how frightening the abyss behind fantastic dreams that are close to coming true really is.

》 CRUSH BLUES 《

The morning greets you with thick fog, the window of your room is heavily clouded by your every breath, and Jinpachi’s voice thunders through the loudspeakers like a daily prayer, shaking everyone out of their dreams. The cold in the room has settled on your cheeks, numbing them. There is a heater in this room that connects to all the others in this concrete box and is turned on and off by Ego when he sees fit. However, the warmth that was still present the night before is missing, and there is no sign from the radiator that it is running.

You pull the blanket up a little higher and let Ego’s announcement pass. Breakfast time isn’t far off, and you have to force yourself to leave the protection of your bed so that you too can follow the daily routine that the players here endure. But in the face of the cold, that is almost impossible.

Still, you can overcome your reluctance and slowly force yourself out of the sheets. Everything after that happens surprisingly quickly. Your morning routine is almost pleasant, even if you yawn now and then and your eyes close. It doesn’t take long for this remaining tiredness to be replaced by energy and for you to wake up, bringing with it the will to do your job.

As you leave the room with your notebook, Anri is just dragging herself up the steps at the end of the hallway. She is holding a tablet in her hands, and the moment she sees you, it is obvious this thing is probably for you. A little science to seduce you and make everything a little easier, even though you prefer your own system to getting involved with new technology.

“Good morning,” she says. A little dull and far too serious, but somehow warm enough to be returned by you.

In the blink of an eye, she hands you the device. “Here you’ll find game schedules and timetables so you know which team with which players is playing against whom. The names of the boys and their numbers, which will be updated later, are also listed here for you. You can choose where you want to watch. Just try to stop by everywhere once.”

The matches aren’t put together to watch every single one in peace, but if a group fails to impress, you can always get up and leave in the middle. It’s simple and the best strategy in a place where time is all that gives meaning to madness. In addition, most of them reveal their character within the first few minutes, so you rarely have to watch for long to know who deserves your attention and who doesn’t.

A quick glance at the lists and names tells you nothing. Only “Isagi Yoichi” is recognisable because the dreamer named him. Apart from that, you can’t put a face to any of them. That’s probably why you’re stuck on Isagi. He’s the only component that seems like a familiar beginning. Besides, his placement on Team Z plays into your hands.

Ego has put it into all their heads that they are the weakest in all of Blue Lock. This is misleading information that has probably become deeply ingrained in their minds by now. One could almost think that the players in this group are a bunch of losers who are getting one last chance to prove or change something about themselves. Team Z versus Team X thus means a battle against the “worst” strikers Blue Lock has to offer. A bunch with little structure and probably even less discipline – as one might expect from everyone else.

Perhaps this game will bring unspoken hopes to life. Those who are already at the bottom can only fight their way up, and despair is a wonderful aid for recognising a person’s true character. This encounter offers the opportunity to see everything that this project is supposed to embody. Egos, conflicts, raw impulses and breakdowns that will leave cracks in the players’ facades. Everything that cannot be captured in data.

“You’ve already made up your mind?” Anri just raises an eyebrow and doesn’t move, so you nod to her and name the game you’re going to devote yourself to today.

Your decision doesn’t surprise her in the least. Instead, she notes your words, straightens her shoulders, and then signals that she will accompany you to the canteen. A walk during which you don’t exchange a single word, instead appreciating the calm before the storm. Or maybe she’s waiting for you to ask her a question so she can get a better insight into your personality. Uncertainty that you don’t give her, because there’s nothing in your task today that you don’t already know. You know what you’re doing. And that certainty allows you to enjoy breakfast alone at a table before making a plan in your room about which games you definitely want to watch and which ones you’ll just drop by for a few minutes.

This includes one between teams V and Y in Section I, to see how all those Ego has thrown together there are doing. Then one from Section II, which, according to Anri, is home to a few striking characters. This will also reveal the difference in skill levels between each section, or whether they are all competing on the same level. This won’t help much in evaluating the players, but it will show you which connections you need to watch. Because at some point, the remaining players from each section will come together, and then the question will arise as to who is at what level and who needs to train more than everyone else.

These considerations fill your time until lunch. Immediately afterwards, you finally push yourself onto the grass of the pitch where Team X and Team Z will compete against each other.

With your notebook on your knees, you let your gaze wander. The goals are empty, the walls are bare, and the artificial turf feels a little uncomfortable under your palms. But an indoor training pitch is still fascinating, and knowing that there are countless others in this concrete block makes it even more impressive.

It doesn’t take long for Team Z to show up, dressed in blue shirts and shorts that stand out clearly against their black bodysuits. Countless figures, glances and gestures bombard you. They are so different that it seems like a miracle to see them all running in the same direction. And when Team X appears in white, it seems to be little different for them. Still, your eyes remain fixed on Isagi’s team – the group in which the dreamer plays as well.

His brown hair looks a little tousled, and his crooked smile seems to suggest that he is filled with nothing but mischievous anticipation. He isn’t strolling, but he isn’t running either. Something about him implies he isn’t interested in playing around but that he can hardly wait for things to finally get started.

You lean forward. Not to get a better look at him, but somehow because there is something about him you can’t shake off. It’s one of many things here that can be explored, and you can’t let a single detail escape you. There is something smooth about the way this boy walks across the grass. You could watch him forever and perhaps learn something new about him with every passing second. But he isn’t the only player on the field. You cannot focus solely on him alone, even if it is tempting.

Instead, you let your gaze wander over the other players. Isagi. One guy with a close-cropped head. Another with pretty brown waves. In between, someone whose reddish pink hair shines out among the others and whose soft features have a feminine quality. You scrutinise every single player. Team Z escapes your critical eye just as little as Team X, which, however, has only one player who has a kind of notable presence.

Quickly, you glance at the tablet Anri gave you to gain a deeper insight into the match. Ego has now assigned a number to each player, and when you look at the boys’ jerseys, you can finally match them with names. First and foremost: Bachira Meguru, last evening’s dreamer.

You immediately open your notebook to update a few details but also to record the one who has the most presence.

Notes on: The Dreamer (Bachira Meguru)
- Has a smooth, almost bouncy gait. Significantly more restless than the others,
but not excited or tense. Seems to love football in every form and with every kind of stake.

Then you leave a few pages blank and start on the next player. You’ll probably be able to record a few things in this game.

Notes on: Barou Shouei
- Strong self-confidence. Acts like someone who can’t be shaken by anything.

Once again, you look over the crowd. The others have to prove themselves before you make room for them in your notes. Until then, all you can do is wait. And Ego seems to know that everyone in this room is ready to take the next step. Someone places the ball on the grass for the kick-off, the big screen on the wall is ready to record the score, and the clock is set in the corner. Ninety minutes in which they have to give their all.

The whistle to start the match sends a shiver across your body, and as the first player kicks off, you keep your eyes on the ball. The first thing to do is to find out who is aggressive enough to throw themselves straight into the action. This way, you can see who approaches the game with intelligence, who prefers to hold back and observe, and who wants to go through the wall with their head.

It’s a very simple, almost foolproof strategy that anyone can follow if they don’t get distracted. But this calculation doesn’t work for the teams on the field. The first few minutes are sheer chaos.

The ball moves from foot to foot but follows no strategy. Instead, greed spills across the field. Isagi briefly gains control of the ball but is then pushed off by Igarashi with full physical force – by a teammate who is supposed to be working with him.

A grin on Igarashi’s face almost challenges the others around him, and it is this one moment that underlines that no one cares about this game. Foremost, this is a battle for visibility and perhaps even survival. It wouldn’t be surprising if each of them were thinking about scoring the most goals so that they could then feel safe. Everyone is closest to themselves. Out of fear.

On the last page of your notebook, you capture this moment. A general impression that shapes everyone present a bit. It is ridiculous selfishness that doesn’t exist out of conviction but is created by panic.

And then there is Bachira.

He appears out of nowhere among the others and grabs the ball as if it were part of the air they breathe. The smile on his lips widens as his eyes remain fixed on the ball. He wastes few glances on his surroundings, not even letting himself be stopped when someone attacks him. Instead, he dribbles towards his opponent, fast and precise, almost unstoppable.

In the blink of an eye, he dances to the left before making a quick move to the right. Two players from Team X can’t follow, colliding with each other and giving Meguru a chance to pass them unchallenged. He seems to foresee his opponents’ movements. Or perhaps he simply adapts quicker than the others. Both are possible, and both give him a kind of freedom on the field that you cannot ignore.

However, his solo run is short-lived when Sanga intervenes. He literally snatches the ball from Bachira’s grasp, shattering the illusion of a scoring opportunity, and rushes towards goal Z. But he isn’t a player worthy of your attention. He only stays in possession for a moment before passing to someone else – the guy who has positioned himself completely unseen.

Barou Shouei.

The ball reaches him as if it were a matter of course, and as he sets off with it, he breaks through his enemies like a sledgehammer through cardboard walls. He dribbles the ball past Isagi, enjoying the desperate cries around him, and shoots at the goal.

The first point goes to Team X.

It’s as if there were no obstacles for someone like Barou. As if all this were not a football match but an ascension to the throne. In these seconds, the crown belongs to him, and no one can even lay a hand on it. Not if they proceed so randomly.

Your attention briefly wanders to Bachira. He is still standing where the ball was taken from him, leaning slightly forward and supported on his knees. His breathing is calm, and his eyes seem to smile at least as much as his mouth.

“What are you doing?” The frustrated hiss of a player reaches you immediately afterwards. Raichi Jingo, one of Z’s more temperamental members, is already clenching his hands into fists. “Damn it, Bachira, the ball was right at your feet! And you let them take it from you!”

“Hold your horses! Nobody here is playing as they should!” Igarashi snaps back, even though he has no right to say anything.

“Says the guy who runs around stealing the ball from teammates!”

“Oh, and you’re better? You trip over your own legs and blame Bachira for it!”

Voices rise. Fists are clenched, some punch the air, shoulders come dangerously close – and you watch it all from the sidelines. The pen is in your hand, but you don’t move it. This moment cannot be documented; you have to feel it, sense the anger, the fear and the doubt on your own skin.

“I don’t think arguing will get us anywhere. If we concentrate, Isagi and I can surely score a goal,” Bachira finally speaks up. He is the only one besides Kunigami, Gagamaru and Chigiri who has held back so far.

He is still standing a little away from the group, his hands folded behind his back and his shirt slightly askew. There is an amusement in his voice that some respond to with a snort of contempt. These reactions don’t intimidate him. Bachira sees no reason to back down from his comrades.

“And how do you plan to do that? Do you really think the two of you can do it, as if you were superstars? Without me,” hisses Raichi. “The best will advance. Everyone else can disappear for all I care.”

“And how do you plan to do that when you can’t even get the ball?” Raising his eyebrows, Bachira tilts his head.

“Oh, shut up! You just dribble around like a circus clown. If that’s all you can do, you should stay away from the ball.”

Bachira’s smile remains unshakeable. It is eerie and far from normal, but as absurd as the situation is, the anticipation in his expression conveys a confidence that the others lack. “If I’m a clown to you, at least you’ll have something to laugh about before you get kicked out.”

In the next breath, Bachira distances himself. He simply leaves his teammates standing there with their anger and their words. His self-confidence is remarkable. And maybe it’s exactly that statement Team Z needs to win this match.

You follow Meguru with your eyes a little too long without writing a single word. There are so many things you could note. After all, he is the first player on Team Z who not only refuses to run around aimlessly but is also looking for a result. He doesn’t care how they win. All he cares about is that it happens.

However, after the game is restarted, it becomes clear Team Z doesn’t understand a thing.

While Team X is increasingly adopting a strategy based on Barou, the group around Bachira is falling apart. With every passing minute, the team spirit is eroding, and you can see it whenever someone lowers their gaze, nervously touches their jersey, or raises their voice against someone else. Runs are interrupted because no one is willing to share the ball with anyone else. Passes are non-existent.

Isagi tries several times to connect with the others but fails more often than he succeeds. He constantly shouts something to someone, points in directions and often positions himself where there are no opponents, but it’s not enough. Sometimes the passes in his direction come too late, or they don’t come at all. They believe that being alone is safer than facing defeat as a pair. Their minds are so twisted that it’s laughable. In this respect, Bachira’s amusement makes sense, even if it is sad.

And in the middle of all the chaos is Barou. Black and white and razor-sharp with every move he makes. His gaze doesn’t glide across the field, it pierces it. Merciless and so self-willed that he actually functions as the ruler of this game. He takes the ball whenever he wants. Chigiri and Raichi simply bounce off him as they try to mark him. Even the cries of his teammates fall on deaf ears. None of these things matter to him as he scores the second goal, which no one can stop.

Then comes a third one shortly after the break.

And the fourth doesn’t take long either.

Barou Shouei doesn’t need a strategy. In this constellation, he only needs himself. It works for him. It works for Team X, too.

Team Z, meanwhile, has nothing to offer. Exhausted panting hangs over their heads, sweat sticks to every single one of them and has already matted some of the players’ hair. Bachira still seems unimpressed, as if waiting for something that hasn’t yet happened. Kunigami stares down his opponents. Isagi shakes his head, his hands clenched tightly. Chigiri stands at a distance, every movement somehow tight and restricted.

You haven’t been watching him, but sometimes he has come into your field of vision. He has avoided the frantic running of the others, watching his teammates, raising the question of what he is waiting for. His hesitation is unmistakable. He doesn’t even get involved when Barou scores another goal and there are only three minutes left to make a difference.

The game is lost, everyone present knows that.

Everyone except Bachira, it seems, as he joins Isagi and, with his warm but almost insidious smile, shares something with him that now seems much more realistic than it did at the beginning. He probably still believes that he and Isagi can score a goal if they just work together. Just this once. To turn this terrible zero into a less terrible one.

It’s crazy, but it changes something in the dynamics of this group. It’s a bit as if they are now tired enough to realise that none of them alone can stand a chance against a crowd of others.

So the next restart begins with more order. Bachira runs off, purposeful and focused on the ball. It’s no challenge for him to use his quick feet to steal the ball from Eiyu and slip between two others. He cuts inside, kicks the ball between their legs, and makes it look as if the leather is stuck to his foot. It’s as if Meguru is communicating with it and is met with silent acceptance.

He gets closer and closer to the goal, but the wall that builds up in front of him – all those players from Team X – won’t let him score. And this is where Isagi comes in, positioned near the goal, free and ready to prove that they have to work together. But as soon as Bachira passes to him and the ball is in his possession, that confidence shatters. He loses the moment, the strength, and the selfishness to score a goal in a single second. All he manages to do is pass the ball. With a well-aimed kick, Isagi sends it almost to the centre of the field, to Kunigami, who bursts out of the crowd as if from nowhere. With pure willpower, he pulls his leg back, gathers his strength and smashes it so hard against the round leather ball that no one can prevent the goal that follows.

It’s just one point. One goal. But it’s loud, powerful and full of defiance. Fitting for a group of players who somehow fought their way through but still have to face defeat when the shrill whistle announces the end.

Team X uses it to celebrate. Team Z somehow manages to keep their spirits up, while one of them snaps at the other, and Raichi is unhappy with Isagi’s decision to pass the ball.

Only Bachira enjoys the small victory. He spreads his arms, turns around, takes a few steps and ignores the commotion his teammates are already causing again. Here and now, he is completely alone, without worries, and when he comes to a stop, he sees you. He waves and grins, probably remembering your encounter in the canteen. His pride and joy at the goal spill over and give him a touch of craziness.

You have no choice but to raise your hand and return his gesture before turning away and getting stuck with Chigiri again. He is standing on the sidelines, his posture slightly slumped. Nothing about him suggests pleasure, which is understandable given the defeat, but there is more to it than that.

His interest briefly fixes on Bachira, the exact opposite of what he embodies. Then his attention wanders on – to you. And he stares at you longer than necessary.

You close your notebook. He’s probably wondering what you saw in him while he was trying to find a connection. What did you write? How much did you notice? Questions you can’t answer with notes because he didn’t get a page from you. He was too insignificant in this game for that.

There’s no reason to stay longer and risk him finding the courage to ask. Team Z has already suffered enough disappointment today. Five to one is not just a result, it’s also a judgement that calls into question the abilities of the players on this team. You don’t need to rub salt into the wound. Because the fact is, if they lose another game, they’re out. An entire team – apart from the top scorer – scattered and consumed by its own ambition.

Presumably, that should make you sad. After all, it’s hard to imagine not seeing Bachira anymore. He has left a lasting impression, and finding out more about him has a certain charm that you shouldn’t miss out on.

Then again, this is Blue Lock. Whoever is still standing at the end deserves it. Pity doesn’t do anyone any good here.

Chapter Text

Your footsteps echo in the corridor of the Blue Lock centre. There’s no hiding in the hallways, no escape, and no way to pretend you’re not on some kind of “mission”. Here, you carry your task around openly, and the walls know this as well as you do.

The gangways ensnare you in endless coldness, like a labyrinth of concrete and automated metal. Neon light flickers above you, so even and sterile that you might think time stands still. It probably does. The smell of pungent detergent hangs in the air, somewhere the ventilation hisses, and from a distance you hear the echo of voices that are immediately swallowed up by the building.

It’s a constant spectacle that you watch every day because there’s hardly anything else to see here – apart from countless players, some of whom present you with a new match every day. They all look the same. Chaos and conflict dominate the teams that are supposed to work together. Every single one of them looks like the crushing defeat of Team Z against Team X.

Maybe it’s because they’re all still kind of hanging on to their first game and need to figure out how to get along. A handful of teams have realised that it’s best to rely on the strongest players. That’s how they get ahead, even if it doesn’t allow anyone to prove what they’re made of. Worse still, it seems a bit like they’re trading the desire to be a striker for a safe nest that Ego can take away at any time.

Today you’re going to watch another game. After watching a boring match in the first sector yesterday, you’re heading back to the fifth today. Four teams will compete against each other. Two clashes, one of them belonging to Team Z. However, your focus is on Team V against Team X. The king of the pitch against a team you’ve never seen in action before.

You take a deep breath. To familiarise yourself with this place, you do a daily round through all the sectors. This gives you the chance to get to know the boys. Observing them outside the games gives you important information. This way, you find out who pays more attention to their appearance than to their teammates, who tries to balance everything and whose temperament goes off the rails.

When one door on your right suddenly opens, you take a step back. This way you avoid a collision with someone from the first sector.

Someone who doesn’t even notice you.

He is tall, with dark green hair that falls into his face, making his turquoise eyes stand out strangely. You can tell he’s different just by the way he walks. He doesn’t fit in with the average guy you can find here. There’s a self-confidence in him that few players within these walls have shown so far. Every step he takes has a naturalness to it, as if he’s the only one who knows exactly where he’s going. His focus is on the ground beneath him. Everything else around him seems to have no meaning.

He doesn’t give you a nod. Not a smile. Nothing. To him, you are nothing but air.

You stop for a moment. His behaviour is uniquely refreshing. Until now, almost all the other players have been staring at you, watching you and trying to ask you questions. Everyone wants to know something about you or hopes that you can put in a nice word with Ego.

But here? No reaction.

With this behaviour, he would probably be forgotten by the end of the day. There are too many budding strikers here for you to remember an encounter like this. Still, one detail lingers in your mind, completely detached and unrelated: his lower eyelashes. Long, dark shadows under his gaze that don’t match the cool distance he radiates. A strange contrast that is pretty to look at.

You could say something. Maybe a “hello”. Maybe one of those polite phrases that usually work when you’re forced to talk to people you’re supposed to get to know. But the longer you look at him, the less small talk fits into this situation. With him, every word you say would fall flat.

So you remain silent.

Instead, you watch him walk down the corridor. He doesn’t turn around, doesn’t slow down, disappears around the next corner, and the silence closes behind him as if he had never been here.

You exhale slowly. He’s the first one who’s really ignored you. Completely. In his world, football is probably really the only thing that matters, and you accept it because it’s better that way. After all, he embodies what Ego wants to see the most.

In the end, you continue on your way to Sector V. The boy you just saw needs to disappear from your thoughts. All that should matter now is the match that is about to begin. Not much longer, and they will gather on the field to fight another battle.

A few steps up to the second pitch of the sector give you a few last moments to find your focus. A blink of an eye later, you’re standing on the sidelines, taking in the lush green of the artificial turf, glancing at the tablet in your hands to make sure you have all the information you need for today. The notebook is also firmly between your fingers.

As your eyes glide over the spreadsheet with the players, you lower yourself to the ground. The pitch still looks cold and rigid, and it doesn’t get any better when the first boys appear. Some are stretching, others are grinning as if there’s nothing to worry about – as if they already have victory in the bag.

You immediately check the numbers they are wearing and then cross-check their names. Suddenly, every single person who steps onto the field is no longer a stranger. At least they have some form now, even if it’s only for a short time, unless you record them in your notebook.

They only get this chance when the kick-off signal rings and everyone’s relaxed mood turns into a tangible desire to attack. You can see it in their faces, the way they draw their brows together and bare their teeth as if they’re predators. It’s almost ridiculous, but it’s also something that belongs to these players and their battles for survival in Blue Lock.

The beginning here isn’t chaos. No wild shouting, no crumbling chaos. This is a collective on the move. Team V has found a strategy for itself, just like its opponents. But they are more aggressive. They move differently from what you have seen so far in the matches within these concrete walls.

They roll forward like a bulldozer. Four or five attackers dash forward so determined that they can hardly be stopped. Team X can’t seem to find a gap to get in their way. Every pass is sharp, like a slap in the face. Not even Barou finds his chance to break through the front line. In these seconds, his crown slips, and his presence drops, which he displayed so clearly against Team Z before.

You hear their footsteps thundering across the pitch. The ball flies through the room, then back to the other side – and then something happens that catches your interest: a high pass that flies way too far and follows an arc reminiscent of the fall of a comet. Anyone else would lose it, miss it, maybe even look after it. But not the boy with the eleven on his jersey. Not Nagi Seishirou.

Almost bored, he stretches out one leg. The ball falls, sticking to his foot as if gravity no longer exists. Without looking up, without haste, he turns, lobs it over a defender and kicks it casually into the net. As if none of this is a challenge, just a bit of warm-up work before the real action begins.

And yet it’s a goal that can change a lot here.

The opponents stare. You stare. Nagi, however, yawns and looks around as if he’s looking for someone or trying to get a new picture of his surroundings. There is no interest in his expression. You could almost wonder why he’s taking part in this project at all. He is so stubbornly special that you capture him in your notebook.

Notes on: Nagi Seishirou
- Talent that can shine without effort. What would happen if he found inspiration?

You don’t get any further before a voice pulls you out of the flow of your thoughts. The almost soft sound settles pleasantly over your senses, causing you to raise your eyes and look at him. Number nine, Mikage Reo. A boy who took possession of the ball immediately after the next kick-off.

He pushes the leather forward with an energy that differs completely from Nagi. His eyes glow, he shouts commands and directs the game as if he owns the entire field. Where Nagi has no fire in him, Reo is on fire. Every move, every action of his teammates adapts to him. It’s like a choreographed attack. Reo pulls the ball to the outside, feints a shot, and two "defenders" jump frantically to block, but he passes sharply back into the centre at the last moment.

Nagi is waiting there to take the opportunity and utilise it. With a well-directed shot, he sends the ball into the opponent’s goal again.

Two to zero.

Your eyes rush to Barou. He has his hands buried in his trouser pockets. The corners of his mouth twisted; he seems to care little about the result in this game. Presumably because he has scored the most goals on his team so far and therefore enjoys a certain security if everyone else on his team is knocked out of the project. In this respect, he is king through and through. His subjects are nothing more than stepping stones to the top.

However, he hasn’t given up yet. As soon as the ball is back in play and another chase begins, he gets involved. Part of him seems to have a certain pride that prevents him from standing around indifferent. So you expand the notes on him with a note to remind you that Barou can’t give up without a fight.

Meanwhile, one of his team members, Otsuka Kosei, is trying to counter Team V’s attack. He grabs the ball and runs off, overmotivated. For a moment, it looks as if he might actually break through and then pass to Barou – but immediately another of his opponents comes rushing in, a powerful player who simply pushes him away from the leather.

The entire team around Nagi and Reo resembles a powerhouse. An iron stream of strikers that knows only one direction.

Once again, the ball rolls to Reo, who yet again doesn’t shoot himself. He resembles Isagi, who gave up his chance to Kunigami at the last moment. Mikage prefers to send a steep pass to Nagi, who reaches the ball as if in slow motion. These are tense milliseconds in which you watch Seishirou once again show off his talent as if it’s second nature. With a quick turn, he smashes the ball into his opponents’ net with a half-jump.

Three to zero.

This match looks like it will be as devastating as the one between Team Z and Barou. Something that the boys at his side also notice. They gasp and shout at each other; one of them throws his head back and swears. It’s the same picture you’ve seen with all the other losing teams. It’s egos clashing. Players who would rather shine themselves than work together when said co-operation isn’t working, anyway.

The contrast between these two teams is almost brutal.

Team V functions as a single, destructive will.

Team X slowly descends into a mess of personalities clashing.

And then, just before half-time, Team X already seems to be facing the deathblow.

A high kick flies towards midfield. Nagi trots there as if he has all the time in the world. Two “defenders” sprint alongside him, ready to break this connection with everything they have. And for a breath, it seems as if they have a chance. After all, the ball seems to be too fast and too high. But Seishirou merely sticks out his foot and pulls it down effortlessly, only to send it straight to Reo.

Perhaps all this comes so easily to him because he is one of the tallest players on the pitch. Long legs create many opportunities – which spit straight in the face of Team X as Reo powerfully and without hesitation sinks the next goal.

Immediately afterwards, the whistle sounds for half-time. One that Team X enters with a four to zero.

You sit there, almost forgetting the tablet and notebook in your hands. This game has the same charm as the very first in this selection. A constellation of perfection and destruction, both to be seen on one side at a time. It’s an accurate summary. But something about it seems empty.

Perhaps it’s the truth behind it. The certainty that it feels like you’ve somehow seen this exact game before.

There’s no point thinking about it too much. Watching the second half of the game isn’t an option either. So you get up from your seat, stretch your legs and take a deep breath. Then you turn your back to the now empty pitch. There’s nothing more to see here.

Your steps shimmy along the walls as you descend the stairs. One could believe that you are the only person in these corridors, the only living thing that dares to breathe among all the sterile emptiness of Blue Lock. Only the soft hum of the neon lights accompanies you.

The loneliness on your way forces your thoughts back to the game you were shown. Between teams Z and X, you could focus on the chaos, the egos that clashed wildly and also on Barou, who was the only constant in between. Today, you experienced the concentrated power of a high-performance team. More than one player alone could ever achieve. And all in the face of a team that is slowly losing its mind.

All of this should actually have its very own flavour. Something different from the games you’ve seen so far. But somehow the matches are similar. The procedure is the same. The roles are repeated: one dominates, the others submit or fall apart. An endless cycle that wears itself out.

If it weren’t for these wilful personalities – Nagi with his sleepy elegance, Reo with his blazing energy and Barou with his immeasurable pride – you could almost forget why you’re watching. Then it would just be a ball rolling across the pitch.

You stop, lean against the wall and close your eyes. For a moment, you imagine what it would be like if there were no differences. Just players who think identically, run identically, shoot identically. Boring and soulless.

The buzzing of a vibration snaps you out of your thoughts. Your tablet flashes, and a notification appears. Incoming call: Anri Teieri.

You hesitate, then answer.

“Ah, good to reach you. The game you’re watching should be on break.” Anri’s voice sounds friendly but rushed, as if she has a thousand things on her mind at once. “I just wanted to remind you that you have to write weekly reports for Ego. Everything you observe – impressions, trends, personal assessments. You can upload this directly from your tablet. Then we can access it and add our own notes if needed to make sure we’re aware of everything.”

You look at the screen, scrutinising Anri’s name. It would be smarter if you wrote your notes directly on the tablet, but you’re fond of your notebook. The feeling that paper brings is special. Still, you agree with her. In the worst-case scenario, you simply take a photo of your entries.

“Great.” A click echoes through the line, as if she’s already skipping to the next point. “Remember, Ego wants to recognise characters and personalities. Blue Lock needs to bring out the most egotistical striker. What you write could later decide who has the most potential for that.”

That’s your job. Your responsibility. Mistakes aren’t something you can afford to make in your analyses. That’s why you have to take a close look at what these guys have to offer. You need to get to know them, perceive them, break them apart piece by piece and examine every fibre of their being.

You know that as well as Anri does. And that’s probably why she keeps it short when she wishes you continued success and then hangs up.

You stand still, the tablet heavy in your hand. Characters. Personalities. Exactly what you just had in mind.

Maybe this way, Ego will also take a liking to the little things between the lines. After all, a player’s psyche affects their performance. And while Jinpachi exudes more fear than safety, there is a limit for every boy before it becomes too much. Another aspect to keep in mind.

Slowly, you slide the device back under your arm and continue on your way, back towards your room where you can begin your report. Putting it together piece by piece, all you have to do at the end of the week is read through, adjust and improve it before it ends up with Ego. A bit every day is all it takes.

The floors below the pitches is deserted. Only the ventilation occasionally makes a sucking sound and seems to carry voices you might as well be imagining. However, you press your tablet and notebook closer to your body to make sure they are still there.

Your senses don’t want to cling to anything new, and all you have left is a mindless trip through the same old corridors – until you turn a corner and almost collide with someone.

A wave of reddish-pink strands passes you by, glistening in the light of the fluorescent lamps. For a moment, the world stands still. Hyouma Chigiri. You recognise him immediately – not just because of his distinctive hair, but because of the way he moves: quietly, quickly, almost as if he doesn’t want to make a sound. Just like on the pitch, when he couldn’t arouse much interest in you because he didn’t get involved. He was just there, a bit lost and unsure.

With a brief apology on your lips, you walk past each other without a word. He doesn’t look at you, averts his eyes, and you don’t really want to waste another thought on him when he suddenly finds his voice. His curiosity seems to trump his unwillingness to talk to you.

Calmly, almost coolly, he addresses you and forces you to stop. “Tell me ... what did you write about me? In the game against Team X.”

You can’t just ignore him, so you turn to face him. Chigiri is standing there, his arms crossed in front of his chest. His eyes are glued to you, a little lifeless. Whatever’s going on inside him, he’s fighting on fronts that demand your attention. By the looks of him, he could be the first to break from Ego’s personal hunger games.

It’s a moment when you could tighten his noose. If you tell him you haven’t written a note on him because he’s nothing but a waste of paper so far, Blue Lock will devour him. For sure. So you show kindness by asking why he even cares.

“Because you know.” His voice remains firm. He knows what he wants, and if it weren’t so ridiculous, you’d think he was ready for the truth. But few are ready for clear, hard facts. Most only think they are because they tell themselves they have the inner strength they, in all honesty, lack. “You watch everything. So that includes me.”

It’s a verity that doesn’t really apply because he can’t hold your interest. But instead of giving him this blow, you try to make a friendlier statement. After all, you work for Ego, and none of the players in this concrete cell are entitled to your notes.

Chigiri, however, refuses to be shaken off. “That’s not an answer.”

You blink. What words can you give someone to make them realise they should mind their own business? You could probably throw a thousand rejections at him, and he’d still keep asking. Maybe because there’s a certain panic sitting between his ribs that he can’t admit to himself but becomes more and more obvious the closer he moves towards you.

“Every player wants to know how they’re perceived. And I want to know what you see because you’re working with Ego. Because what you see ... is probably what he sees too.”

Worry. There is nothing but anxiety in him about how he is seen. Probably because he knows he won’t make it through this survival game if everyone realises how useless he is on the sidelines of a game. Yet you can’t give him anything. Instead, wouldn’t it be more interesting to see how he reacts to the truth, if that’s exactly what he craves?

You try it using a simple question: what if you haven’t written anything about him?

“Then you’re lying.” His answer comes without hesitation, almost razor-sharp. He doesn’t want to slip, doesn’t want to be one of those who disappear unseen, while simultaneously seeming unwilling to change his position in the game. You’ve seen more players trying to catch your eye in the last few days than people like Chigiri, who hide from your gaze.

He’s persistent, even though he probably already knows what you’ve seen. Chigiri is nothing more than a figure on the sidelines who will fade away when the time comes.

“Call it what you will.” He takes another step towards you. Now he’s close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from his body. “I’m not giving in.”

You won’t tell him; you can’t tell him. And even if you would, he wouldn’t believe you. Chigiri Hyouma demands more from you than you can give. So what if you continue to keep quiet?

“Then you won’t get rid of me anytime soon.” He doesn’t even bat an eyelid as he pierces you with his gaze. Something in him desperately wants to cling to an option that can help him here. Similar to a cheat sheet that gets you through those unpleasant school exams you haven’t studied for.

For a moment, the air between you is tense – like a rope that keeps getting tighter and tighter, on the verge of breaking. Finally, you shrug your shoulders and turn away. If he’s so convinced that he can get the information out of you if he follows you long enough, he can prove it.

Yet you don’t hear any footsteps behind you. The only thing you notice is that penetrating look at your back, as if Chigiri has just decided to let you get away for now because he doesn’t have the words to get anywhere. There’s no question that he’ll ask you about your notes again. The only uncertainty that remains for you is what phrases he will then throw around.

But here and now, all you can do is shake off the encounter. You don’t need to worry about it. There are more important things than Chigiri Hyouma. Especially when there are a few players you’ve already made a note of and will continue to watch out for. Whether he’ll join them at some point is written in the stars.

However, there is another option. Perhaps you can actually present Chigiri with something the next time you meet. According to the overview on your tablet, Team Z survived the battle against Team Y today and even won. If you look at the record and focus on Hyouma, you might find out something about him he’s so panicked about hiding. Something he probably doesn’t want anyone to notice.

So you make your way to the video room in Team Z’s common area, where the players can also review their performances. You’ll find what you’re looking for in this room, and once you’ve broken it down into its component parts, you’ll be able to drive the pretty boy into a corner. Who knows? There might actually be something interesting to learn about him.

As you enter the room, you are greeted by the quiet whirring of the large screen, images flickering across its surface. Players are rushing across the pitch, the ball is flying around, and you need a moment to adjust your eyes to the semi-darkness.

Then you see him.

Bachira Meguru is sitting in the middle of the room, neither on a chair nor on a table. Instead, he has made himself comfortable on the floor. With his legs drawn up to his chest and his arms wrapped loosely around them, his chin rests on his knees, and his eyes are glued to the recordings as if the world’s truth can be found there.

At least until he realises your presence.

“Oh?” He turns his head as the door closes behind you. His voice is quiet but chirpy. “Do I have company?”

You hesitate before you give him an answer, and a grin flits across his face. However, it lasts only for a moment before he tilts his head and glances at the screen again. In the blink of an eye, he realises why you’re here. “Isn’t this a bit ... exhausting? Watching a match like this when you’re not a football fan?”

Slowly, you scoot over to one chair to sit down. Bachira reaches over to hand you the remote control. This way you can watch the game again from the beginning while you make him understand that these matches aren’t exhausting. Instead, they’re complicated, at least if you try to go through every rule for the sport in your head.

“Complicated is good,” he mutters. Then, with a teasing glint in his eye, “You could just look away and watch us outside the games instead. I think there’s something to see there too. But you don’t. I guess that means there’s something about football that fascinates you.”

Of course there is. It’s your job, your opportunity to watch people in all situations. There are moments in a match that would never come up off the pitch. A simple answer that you give him.

And Bachira accepts it with a gentle laugh; not mockingly, but more as if he has discovered a little treasure in your words. “So you would say football is exciting.”

You want to say something back, but he suddenly jumps up. His hair looks fluffy enough today to bounce with his light-footed movements. He saunters over to you, barefoot and quiet, to slide onto a chair next to you. Close, but not awkward.

“So?” His voice maintains its curiosity. “What do you see? Not football-wise ... but you.”

Giving him insight into your head is strange, but terribly easy in his presence. So you take a deep breath and turn your eyes to the screen. Then you try to explain the game that is flickering on the TV in your own words. You explain how the players are blocking each other instead of playing together. There’s fear, anger, ambition. And then there are those moments when someone suddenly breaks out of their comfort zone to do something that nobody expects.

In this game in particular, you notice how gallantly Bachira dribbles past his opponents. The lust in his movements is so exuberant that it’s kind of fun just to watch. Then there’s Ikki Niko, a boy who does everything he can to predict his opponents’ moves. With his hair in his face, it’s hard to read his mind. He is a mysterious player who rises unseen from the shadows when no one’s looking.

Gagamaru’s incredible way of getting to the ball also deserves a compliment. He has bite, and he’s willing to follow the ball to the end if necessary.

The way they team up to conjure a chemical reaction is probably the most fascinating thing in this game. Everyone has a weapon, and they all try their best to show it off.

Isagi in particular shines in this game. At a certain point, his posture changes. His movements become less panicked, less rushed. Instead, he suddenly sees something that no one else seems to notice. He runs off long before anyone else does. Suddenly he understands where the ball is going to land and gets ahead of everyone else.

You can see who is growing and who is developing. They didn’t dominate this game, but they won, and that’s probably much more important than an overwhelming victory. They are getting closer here, learning to understand each other on the pitch. The stumbling stops, and the clockwork starts to function.

It’s quiet for a moment. Your impressions seep into the emptiness next to you in the room. Then Bachira flashes a broad, almost childlike smile. “This is crazy! You see faces, feelings ... while I mainly see legs, balls and a rhythm.”

It sounds weird, you have to give him that. But it also sounds like the best way to explain the difference between you.

“Perfect!” He leans a little closer to you, so that you can hear his soft chuckling voice against your ear. “Weird is just right.”

Something about his manner draws you in. Bachira is so headstrong, so lively, that it’s hard not to pay more attention to him than necessary. This gives you the chance to scrutinise his honey-yellow eyes for longer, the soft edges of his face and also the button nose that makes him kind of cute.

“Okay,” he finally says, half-sliding off his chair and pointing at the screen. “Then let me explain something to you. Just the basics.”

Football rules aren’t particularly exciting. But when they come from Bachira, you can at least listen to the end. And you don’t complain. You tell him he probably won’t even be able to bore you if he goes into detail. You want to listen to him.

“Not yet,” Meguru replies. “But that’s what happens when you don’t know why that guy is standing offside right now. It gets boring. So, what do you see? This time from a football perspective.” His voice sounds almost demanding.

You open your mouth and close it again. When you have to translate what you see into technical language, it’s much harder. Eventually, you end up with what you’ve already mentioned. They chase the balls off each other, run around, and a few don’t know what to do with themselves. Among them is Chigiri, who barely moves. It’s a bit like his legs are chained to the ground.

“Mh-mh.” Bachira shakes his head as if you’ve given the wrong answer in a quiz. Then he leans a little closer to you and reaches for your hand. His fingers are warm and firm but not rough.

“Here. Imagine this is the ball.” He turns your palm upwards and taps it with the index finger of his other hand. “And if I dribble now...” He draws quick, irregular movements across your skin. His fingertip moves like a small whirlwind from left to right, spiralling out over your wrist and back again. “That’s football,” he says quietly and then lifts his gaze, looking directly into your eyes. “Not just rules. It’s a rhythm.”

He doesn’t make it one bit easier to understand football, but his attempt is pleasant. For a moment, you realise he’s far too close. His hair falls lightly in his face, and you can see every movement of his pupils.

It’s a closeness, a warmth, a moment with this boy that provokes a smile. One that Meguru doesn’t miss.

He looks at you immediately and beams. This grin, open and bright, makes even the glare of the television seem cosy.

“Ah, you’re smiling!” He taps his finger lightly against your arm as if it’s a small victory. “I knew I’d get you. Most people here are so tense, but it’s all so much fun!”

Can you talk your way out of it? Probably not. Do you have to talk your way out of it? No. It’s okay to tell him what you see and how the picture he drew on your hand looks like a wild mess.

In fact, he accepts it with a matter-of-fact laugh before raising his index finger. “Easy, right? The rules of football are similar to what you see. If you can’t memorise them, you just feel them out. They are ... similar to your images and feelings, like little monsters that pop up everywhere. That’s why we know how far we can go and what we can do. It’s inside us.”

It’s in him. Probably almost no other player will play this way. Bachira is simply special, a bit unconventional, and sees the world almost a bit like you do. Only much more chaotic. And when it comes to monsters, you have to ask.

He nods eagerly at your words, so seriously that it almost seems funny again. “Every player has one. Some let it out, some hide it. But if you look closely,” he makes a small, mysterious gesture with his hands, as if he’s holding something invisible between his fingers, “you’ll get goosebumps.”

The way he says it reminds of Chigiri Hyouma. The boy who hides. Himself and his monster.

The footage didn’t give you much. There are still thousands of things you can’t put into words. All that’s obvious is that he’s not enjoying the game. Sometimes he looks like he wants to run to get the ball away from everyone and everything. Then he suddenly freezes and doesn’t dare move another metre.

It’s strange. A word that is on your lips and is immediately picked up by Meguru.

“Strange?” He blinks, then spreads his arms. “That’s the best! Weird means special.”

You can’t tell him you didn’t mean him. Instead, you watch Bachira and enjoy the warmth that he naturally shares with you.

And while outside this room players are fighting for their future, you realise that you’re paying much more attention to Bachira Meguru than to the screen. It’s as if your task is slipping through your fingers.

Chapter Text

The stairs up to the pitch resound under your footsteps, by now a familiar daily reminder that not much changes here. The first selection is almost over. Just one more game for each team, and those who are still standing after that can devote themselves to the wild imaginings of the second selection, in which Ego will presumably have new horrors in store.

You take a quick look at the tablet in your hands, your notebook firmly pressed to the back of the device – for safety, so that it doesn’t get lost somehow. The player tables, in which you can record your views, now also contain the perceptions of Ego and Anri. However, Jinpachi’s notes are brief and meaningless, at least for you. Anri probably understands them, after all, she has been working with him since the beginning of this project. That’s why her impressions are no more than one or two words, which she usually underlines twice in your sentences to draw attention to them.

The players in your notebook are still there. If you look at everyone’s scores and which teams are closest to winning, you probably won’t have to tear out a page. Whoever is left after this selection will most likely also find a place in your notes. After all, there are still some interesting personalities here that you’ll want to keep a closer eye on.

The dull roar from the hall above you – the voices, the instructions, the noise of the players warming up – is already seeping through the walls. A few more steps and you will witness a game of survival. Today you’re once again in the fifth sector. Not because the others have nothing to offer, but because you want to take a closer look at the players here. Not only can Team Z prove today how much better they have become over the other matches, but you can also take a closer look at Chigiri.

Away from that, they take on Team V, where the combination of Reo and Nagi has proven to be extremely effective. Two players who stand out, but perhaps not enough to beat Isagi’s team, which seems to be slowly turning into something good. On the other hand, there’s a third player on Team V who held back in the last match you watched: Zantetsu Tsurugi.

Imagining them taking the ball from each other while one of these teams loses hope is no longer tantalising. But this is a game where you can’t imagine who will win. Whoever is left standing at the end will be able to go into the next selection with their heads held high.

Team Z because they beat the best team in their sector.

Team V because it marches into the second selection unbeaten.

With this in mind, there’s a tension in the air you can feel, and that gets thicker the closer you get to the pitch. But before you reach your destination, you hear a short, almost soundless “Hey” behind you – uttered by a voice you know only too well.

You stop, turn around, and there he sits, two steps down, his elbows resting loosely on his knees. His long, reddish-pink hair falls over his shoulder, braided on one side. Overlooking Chigiri Hyouma is something akin to a merit to hold onto; after all, he’s not necessarily unnoticeable. But your thoughts take up so much of your awareness that everything else seems unimportant. The fact that Chigiri moves to the foreground now seems to be an ability he only possesses outside of a game.

“You,” he begins slowly, his voice strangely soft. You could almost forget that he has a nasty side. One that clings desperately to something that simultaneously doesn’t seem important enough to make him squeeze it out of you. It’s like a fire that seems to have extinguished when he picks himself up. “Do you have a moment?”

His eyes meet yours. Pink, clear, yet fragile, as if he fears an answer. As if he’s realised that his position is threatening to collapse. Blue Lock slips from his fingers.

If you give him a minute now, anything can happen. And maybe that’s exactly what it takes – a moment in which you get the chance to get to know Hyouma better. His demons might contain exciting material that will make it easier to watch him as the next match takes shape. It could simplify the circumstances you’re both in.

“Just a question.” He raises his hand as if to reassure you. Your face probably reveals more than it should. “What ... have you written down about me so far? What’s in your notebook? Bachira mentioned that you watched the match between us and Team W.”

It’s the same question he’s asked you before. He’s interested in your notes, your view and the way you perceive the players. That and the fact they are words and thoughts you share with Ego. Hyouma is clinging to something he can’t have – a fragment he can’t grasp. So you turn to face him completely and close the distance between you. Then you repeat his question to make absolutely sure he’s serious.

He nods so curtly that his hair bobs. “Please.”

It’s just one word, but it has a persistence, an insistence that can’t be shaken off. So you give in, for the sake of your own peace. This time you take a deep breath and look for the most honest answer you can give him. In the end, you’re left with the hard, bare facts, wrapped up as gently as possible.

He blinks, as if he had expected exactly this answer from you. Still, it hits him visibly as he hangs his head and his shoulders slump. “Not much,” he summarises your words quietly, before struggling into a tired smile. “So nothing at all.”

Seeing him like this is strange. He doesn’t seem like someone who’s ready to make his dream come true. It almost seems as if Blue Lock has already devoured him, destroyed him, torn him to pieces and left him wounded to bleed out. Quite unlike the other players here.

You have to give him more than the fact he’s not in your notebook. Similar to what you did with Bachira, who saw something in your explanations that almost stuck to you. So you try the same with Chigiri, explaining to him what you saw and how he conveys the image of a boy who doesn’t know how to take a step forward. In the last game, he looked like someone who was chained to one spot. So you’re left to wonder if that’s all he has to offer.

His gaze flits to the side, briefly to the wall, then back to you. “Maybe it’s better this way.”

His terse answer is not something you can let stand. So you follow up. After all, everyone is here because they want to achieve something. Everyone here wants to get to the top. Everyone except Hyouma, it seems. And you tell him that.

But your statement only grazes him. Nothing about Chigiri reveals whether you’ve hurt him or are far from the truth. All you see is him clenching his hands into fists.

“I’m here for another reason, indeed.” He closes his eyes briefly before looking at you as if it’s you who’s woefully out of place here. “My goal is to find a good reason to finally give up on my dream. To get to the top ... to become the best striker in the world... That’s not for me.”

Your mouth reacts faster than you can think. Or maybe you’ve been silent for a little too long. It’s hard to say, because whatever it is, you need time to find the right words to make one thing clear to Chigiri: no one is here to give up on their dream. Every boy in this concrete box here harbours a certain hope. Anyone who says otherwise is just lying.

And this time, something stirs in Hyouma’s face. His lips press together, while everything else seems to be frantically trying to stay relaxed. Only the sharpness in his gaze can’t be hidden.

For a moment, he almost looks as if he wants to say something – something real, something buried deep inside him. A truth that he probably doesn’t want to share with anyone else. But then he swallows it. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t even know me, so don’t pretend to understand what I’m hoping for.”

The space between you seems to be getting smaller. The air between you is barely breathable. His words, bitter and hissing, are so astonishing in their own way that you can only throw obvious questions at him. After all, it’s hard to believe he’s making himself invisible on purpose. If he’s really here to convince himself to give up, why isn’t he competing against the other players so he can see that he doesn’t fit in? Why is he just watching? Why is he afraid to truly make sure?

As a result, a muscle twitches at the edge of his jaw. “You have no clue how hard it is.”

You probably don’t, after all, you don’t play football. You have almost no idea about this sport. Instead, you’ve gained experience in life in your very own way. Maybe you have no clue how hard it is to give up football, but you know what it’s like to face something that seems overwhelming. The feelings in these situations are similar. They are bitter and a little desperate and filled with fear. Facts you give him because you can see how hard he is making it for himself.

Hyouma listens, doesn’t interrupt you, and doesn’t accept your words. Instead, he leans forward slightly to stare at the stairs, and his hands clench a little tighter. “And what are you suggesting? That I risk everything, hurt myself, to give you something to write about? Something you can hold on to and smile about?”

You deny it. You’re not here to poke fun at the fate of others. You would much rather see Chigiri Hyouma play in a way that makes you believe he can stay. What would change in his style then? Would he then occupy a place in your notebook?

It’s quiet for a moment. There is only your breath, his breath, and the dull roar of the hall above you. Then he lifts his eyes to look at you. Pain seems to flicker behind his expression. A vulnerable second that would like to open up to you more. But it disappears immediately after, to be replaced by hardness that doesn’t allow for any further weakness. “You really are a horrible observer,” he says coldly, “if you can’t even see what the players here really want. All you do is make assumptions.”

And that’s perfectly natural, because if Chigiri doesn’t talk to you, you’re left with guesswork. Assumptions that you are sure are not far from the truth. You can only make him realise that he’s either right or just a coward.

He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. Then he forces another thin, bitter smile onto his lips. “I guess we’re both not very good at what we do.”

A curt sigh escapes him immediately after, before he ends the conversation. Without further ado, he scurries past you up the stairs to the pitch. You are left with the soft smell of shampoo and the trembling silence after a chat that seemed so lively a moment ago.

You have no option but to follow him; after all, you’re going to watch this game. Maybe something will change in Chigiri’s behaviour in this game. Maybe he will muster up the courage to chase his dream. Until then, all that remains is to wait and see.

When you reach the top, the pitch reveals itself to be a room of conversations, slowly choking between everyone’s restlessness. At least that’s the case with Meguru’s team. Team V doesn’t seem very talkative.

As always, you find a spot at the edge of the pitch – where you hope you won’t get hit by a ball if it goes out of bounds. The tablet and notebook in your hands invite you to record your first impressions, but your fingers barely move. This atmosphere here is nothing new.

It’s the last game and perhaps the end for Team Z. If they don’t win, they’re out. A draw won’t save them. One misstep and Meguru will no longer be able to jump across the pitch. And maybe Hyouma will get exactly what he claims to crave. But those are worries for later. In these seconds, you have to remain neutral, focus on the players and keep it together. You have to follow them with your eyes and not let your own wishes or ideas lead you astray.

The players line up and take up their positions. As always, Chigiri remains on the defensive. Everyone else in Team Z is a wild mixture of hope, worry and uncertainty. Something that doesn’t change even when the starting whistle blows and the first movements take place at lightning speed.

Reo Mikage snatches the first few seconds with just one movement. He directs the game with elegant naturalness, distributing passes and giving brief commands. He is almost too good at this game. The smile on his lips and the joy in his expression leave no doubt that he savours every breath he takes on the pitch. But almost every pass he makes ends up with Nagi. It’s like a mantra on his lips that won’t come off, and although it’s probably not right, you can’t help but make a note of him in your notebook. You have to capture his idiosyncrasy, the fact he has energy and talent but makes his play completely dependent on Nagi.

Even in these blinks, he clings to the big guy with the white mop of hair. Nagi, who trots around the pitch almost sleepily, comes to life the moment Reo plays the ball into his path. He takes it with an almost uninvolved grace, controls it and bends every movement to his unconventional play.

The way to the goal is not far, and it is precisely at this moment that something about Seishirou Nagi becomes clear: thanks to Reo, his game is comfortable. He has to work less than the rest of the players on the pitch. His talent does the rest. He has no trouble shining because Reo puts him in the right light. He makes sure that Nagi can show his best side. And maybe that’s why he lacks a certain amount of inspiration.

Meanwhile, Team Z’s defence is caught completely off guard. Nagi doesn’t play with power, he doesn’t play with force – he plays with precision, as simple as he is brilliant. His first goal comes after just seven minutes. A slight turn, a powerful kick past Isagi, and the ball whizzes into the net.

Zero to one for Team V.

But Team Z responds immediately. Such a small difference doesn’t bring them to their knees. Especially not Bachira Meguru, who sets off dribbling. He dances through the rows as if he is following music that only he can hear. His moves are not just fast, they are lively, almost playful. Similar to his character, which he clearly presented in the video room. His opponents slip into the void and stagger after him, while Meguru smiles as if he is feeding off this hunt. It awakens a pleasure in him that brings a smile to his lips. One that threatens to engulf anyone in the immediate vicinity. Better still, he dribbles past anyone who gets in his way. One could think he loves to be challenged. Another note you capture as he shows how much he enjoys this game of catch between himself and others.

Immediately, you take your eyes off him. You mustn’t stay glued to Meguru for too long. After all, there are other players you need to watch. For example, Isagi, who is observing the game from a decent distance. His gaze is focused, almost sharp. He not only sees the ball but also the opportunities behind it – the gaps, the paths that have not yet been taken. It’s similar to when you watched the recording with Bachira. Yoichi sees something that the others miss.

In the twelfth minute, he recognises a change that hasn’t quite happened yet: Bachira will lose the ball if he keeps going. So Isagi calls for him, sprints off, demands a pass and receives it at the perfect moment. He just needs this one shot to make their score equal, this one breath to earn a page in your notebook to record his talent.

But Team V isn’t intimidated by this. Zantetsu Tsurugi in particular shows why he ranks alongside Nagi and Reo as the team’s top scorer. His skill set is simple and doesn’t consist of abilities that mesmerise you. But he is quick, and the way he nimbly plays around his opponents is captivating in its own way. He’s unstoppable, uncompromising, maybe a little bit messy when he passes the ball, but definitely a force that can’t be ignored. A talent that earns Team V a goal and puts them back in the lead.

Lowering your eyes, you focus on your notes. You probably won’t get much more out of this than what you’ve recorded so far. Right now, you could get up and leave, but your knowledge of Chigiri would still be zero. So you end up focusing on him.

A phase of fighting between the teams follows in the background. Team Z’s players are trying hard, each doing their bit, but Team V is playing with a confidence as if they have already won. Nagi manages to score a second goal, again with an effortless touch that emphasises the gap in skill between the two teams.

For a moment, it seems as if the game is decided. Another match in which Hyouma contributed nothing.

But this is exactly where Team Z begins its run. It starts to struggle, with every player truly believing in something like dreams. Most of them aren’t ready to let go. They’re not finished yet, not ready to give up. They are living what Chigiri doesn’t want to grasp.

Kunigami breaks through the centre of the opposing team. Driven by his own selfishness, he doesn’t even pass to anyone when Reo gets in his way. Instead, he accepts the fight with a fixed gaze and then scores a goal with a powerful shot that brings Team Z halfway back into the game. Immediately afterwards, it’s Bachira who fools his opponents. He chases the ball past two defenders, charges into the penalty area and evades Zantetsu thanks to Isagi and Raichi’s help. Just before he can collide with Nagi, he kicks the ball upwards, almost as if he is about to take a shot while jumping. Instead, he bounces his head against the leather and passes it to Isagi. A quick breath, a precise shot, another goal, which Hyouma perceives with his eyes wide open. He probably doesn’t want to believe that this team can progress. Even worse, he probably can’t even admit that he would have liked to have been there himself.

Meanwhile, Team Z’s cheers echo like thunder across the field. They can still win. And the break that follows for both teams probably gives them the confidence and energy they need to go one step further.

In the meantime, you stay seated, wait and transfer your new notes to the designated area in the tablet. This gives Anri and Ego time to make a few additions while you watch the second half of the game, which starts a little later.

And it does in a hectic way.

Reo takes control again and drives Team V forward. His passes find Nagi, who scores his third goal in familiar style – a flawless hat-trick that looks almost devastating.

But Team Z looks more determined than ever. Compared to the first game they played in this selection, they don’t crack under the pressure. They know their goal, and they are ready to stick together until the last second has passed. For a bunch of egotists in training, that’s almost unusual. At the same time, it’s the only way to survive in this game.

Team Z attacks immediately as a result. Bachira plays as if he’s competing against the whole world, his dribbling even freer, even wilder than before; unbound like the monster he told you about. Every touch of the ball is a dance, his opponents can’t keep up, and when he finally shoots, the ball hits the crossbar of the goal but falls thankfully straight to Gagamaru, who jumps into the path and uses his body to score. His long, agile frame doesn’t seem to fit on this pitch. Then again, it’s hard to see him anywhere else after this.

You shake it off.

Fifteen minutes left to play.

The tension between the teams is rising. Everyone is getting a little more frantic, voices are growing louder, the panting of some gets more intense. Every pass, every duel, every gasp seems like a decision that each boy makes for himself.

Nagi and Reo combine to try and score again – blocked by Isagi, who interrupts the pass and intercepts the ball to drive it forwards. Zantetsu finds himself caught between Raichi and Imamura. Whenever he is about to disappear, they get in the way. They are clever enough not to give him enough space to keep up his pace. He’s trapped long enough for the others to find a way to the goal.

Bachira runs free somewhere in between, demands the ball and receives it from Kunigami. Again he dribbles, again he lets opponents run into nothing. But this time he doesn’t look for an opportunity to score. Instead, he passes back to Isagi at the perfect moment. They almost form a combination like Nagi and Reo – only with a lot more effort and strategy behind it.

Isagi shoots. The hesitation he showed in the first game has disappeared. The ball flies through the air as if in slow motion, demonstrating a bit of triumph for Team Z.

They take the lead.

So the last few minutes turn into a storm. Team V throws itself forwards as a whole – like a bull trying to run over its opponents. Zantetsu runs as if he can catch up with the world. Reo distributes balls with desperate precision. Nagi lurks listlessly in between, always ready, but with a lack of drive. It almost seems as if he doesn’t care whether they lose or not. After all, his team is safe. Even defeat can no longer harm them. And maybe that’s why Team Z is hanging in there. They fight with everything they have. Every sprint, every block, every scream, everything merges into a single will that keeps them alive.

And when the final whistle blows, the tension erupts into cheers. Team Z has won – this game and with it the path to the second selection. They have proved themselves, even if only temporarily. No-one can say what Ego will throw at them next.

You slowly scrutinise the players on the field, trying to memorise some of them. Isagi is breathing heavily, a film of sweat glistening on his forehead. Reo, Nagi and Zantetsu stand in the shadow of their defeat. Not upset, probably not even interested in what has just happened. They’re great players, undeniably, but they’re not reaching high enough if that’s all the frustration they have left over a defeat. Still, you watch them for a moment longer before the cheers of the others catch your interest. A few of Team Z give each other a hug or a pat on the back. Others keep a little more distance to rejoice more discreetly – presumably because they know that Ego will torture them even more.

Chigiri stands a little further away. The smile on his lips is thin, almost meaningless, and no matter how you look at it, nothing about his demeanour exudes the elation of victory. Maybe because it’s not his victory. He hasn’t contributed to any of this.

He has no space in your notebook this time either, so you pack up your things to leave. There’s no more room for you here. At least if you stop yourself from looking at Bachira, at the boy who somehow catches your gaze and grins at you as if he needs to share the fluttery feeling of success with you. He raises his hand briefly in a small, playful gesture, as if this victory is something you share. He seems to want to lure you into the centre, or at least demand that you come a little closer. But it’s probably just your imagination. One of those impulses that you can’t categorise because they are meaningless and yet want to convey something that can only be shrugged off in the end.

Still, you return his smile. And before you can bring yourself to finally leave, your interest wanders once more to Chigiri. Nothing has changed in his attitude. You can only hope he will find the courage to start his own story in the next selection. After all, so far he is the only mystery you have almost no information about. His way of playing doesn’t exist. You can’t even tell if he deserves a place in your notes or not because his on-field ability and related psyche are almost non-existent. The only thing you know is that he’s holding back. And that he wants to give up on his dream even though he’s clinging to that inner hope with everything he has.

He is a paradox.

The cheers are still ringing in your ears as you pull away from the sidelines. It’s time for your strategic retreat to write down a few more observations so Ego doesn’t get the idea that you’re distracted. You’ve already made this mistake in the video room, when Bachira got a little too close to you and his fingertips grazed your skin.

You’ve almost reached the side stairs down when someone grabs your shoulder, fingers digging into you as if they can’t risk you disappearing here and now.

You immediately look back and notice Chigiri.

“Hey,” he says quietly, almost as if you hadn’t clashed before the match. Almost as if he’s not sure whether he should even speak to you now that you don’t quite agree with each other.

Looking at him, you notice that he’s hardly sweaty. Compared to the others, he probably doesn’t even need a shower because he’s just been half-heartedly running around somewhere the whole time without helping. But all these things are nothing you can hold against him. You’ve already talked about his behaviour, so you can only congratulate him on his victory.

His gaze flits past you, then back to you. “Thank you. But ... it doesn’t really matter to me. I’m just here to tell you that I’m sorry about what happened earlier. My words were probably a bit too ... sharp.” Again, his attention wanders in another direction. “Also, I wanted to mention that it might be wiser to note a few things about me. All the things you see. So Ego knows I’m not a good choice to keep.”

That would be an option. But Ego already knows without your notes that Hyouma isn’t much use in a game. Not the way he is now. If you waste extra space on this, they’ll demand more from you. An analysis on every player and not just the ones who actually have a certain something. And although silence would be the wiser choice, while Chigiri turns away to leave you behind, you can’t keep your mouth shut. Telling him that you won’t do it, that you refuse, could hardly be more idiotic. But giving him a bit of courage and making him believe that there is someone who believes in him, even if you don’t really do, doesn’t seem wrong. If you can get a little too close to Meguru in the video room to let him tell you anything about football, then you can also take a step towards Hyouma.

Of course, it’s completely pointless, but sometimes it’s easier to talk yourself into things. Like in those seconds when Chigiri turns to you and looks at you as if you’ve said something in fluent Chinese. What follows is temporary silence. The echo of your words hangs between you like a provocation, even though you have enough other things to do than clash with this guy again.

Then his eyes widen for a heartbeat, as if he understands that you’re willing to let him suffer a little longer in Blue Lock, while all he really wants to do is give up. Not the nicest thought, to be honest, but the only one that breaks his indifferent expression for a moment.

Mouth agape, he juts his chin. “I didn’t expect you to use what little power Ego has given you in this way. Though I’m sure he doesn’t want you meddling in his test results any more than necessary. You’re supposed to observe, right? Not interfere and decide for others.” He takes a step towards you. “If you’re looking for someone to give you enough material for your notes, you should keep an eye on Bachira. Someone who’s constantly shouting, ’Look at me’. Not like you’re not already doing that.” A sigh escapes him as he takes a step back. “After all, you watch everyone here, don’t you?”

He’s absolutely right. It’s out of your hands who does what in this hellhole. Ego told you from the start not to get involved. You’re just an insignificant fly on the wall. Basically, you’re supposed to be what Hyouma is on the pitch: invisible. And if he were someone else who was just standing around bored and didn’t know what to do with himself, you wouldn’t even take a closer look. With Nagi, you probably wouldn’t care if he was setting up camp on the sidelines. But Hyouma isn’t Nagi. He’s not just standing around because he’s bored. He stands rooted to the spot because something is holding him back, because something like fear is choking him. There is something that is relentlessly gnawing at his psyche, and as an observer, it is your job to find out why. If Ego were to ask you now why you’re interfering, you could point out to him that Chigiri might have a dormant talent that needs to be awakened. A bit like Isagi, who is now really enjoying putting a ball into the net, where before he was passing it to Kunigami in a panic.

And suddenly your attempt to help Chigiri no longer sounds nonsensical. Instead, everything falls into place. Your position remains secure. You’re breaking Ego’s rules, but for a reason he can’t blame you for.

All you can say to Chigiri, however, is that you are doing what is necessary. Because that’s exactly what your presence here is all about. You too must take a few steps forward to prove your worth.

This situation is the moment in which you can fulfil this idea.

Chigiri can only gasp, as if he wants to say more. He probably wants to make you realise how stupid you sound or that you shouldn’t interfere in his affairs. But he also knows that he’s just asked you for something. He’s basically asking you to do something for him. Now he has to live with the consequences. And that’s probably why he’s biting his lower lip to swallow the words. His gaze burns into you once more, a mixture of anger and frustration. Then he turns around abruptly, his red-pink hair swirling with him, and he disappears quickly back to the others.

You stay behind and catch yourself a little. Calm down. Don’t overthink the conversation. Just stand there and let the situation sink in. You can’t worry about him. Not after you’ve both more than emphasised your point of view.

However, there is no rest for you even after this encounter. Before you can set your sights on your own room again, someone else’s voice reaches you – a familiar, cheerful sound that makes you look at Bachira.

“Hey, what did the princess want from you?” Crossing his arms behind his head, he comes towards you with a smile. It’s like always, except that there’s a little curiosity sparkling in his gaze. He’s probably like you. After all, he and the rest of the team have to work with Chigiri and surely know by now that they can’t rely on him. Who wouldn’t wonder why he’s keeping such a distance?

Half in thought, you scrutinise Bachira, making it clear to him that you somehow didn’t expect him. After all, he was just celebrating his victory with the others. Now he’s suddenly here and has realised that you’ve been talking to Hyouma.

“Well, I’m like a shadow.” He takes a few clumsy steps towards you, as if he wants to make sure that everyone and everything in this concrete box can hear him. Bachira has no secrets, that much is clear. “So... What did Chigiri want? Is it about your notes? Can we ask what you’re writing down?”

You give him the same answer as Chigiri the first time. Your notes are solely for Ego. And Meguru accepts that. He doesn’t seem particularly interested in what you’re writing. Instead, he wants to solve the mystery surrounding Hyouma. Another thing you can’t tell him, because it’s not right to share conversations like the one with Chigiri.

“But he was looking at you quite seriously. And now you’re looking...” he frowns as he looks at you sceptically, “A bit like the night you came into the video room. Kind of ... serious. Like an annoyed cat.”

You certainly don’t look like an annoyed cat. Definitely not. No human ever does. But Bachira isn’t fazed.

“Yes, you do. That’s exactly how you look.” He blinks twice, extra slowly, before a mischievous grin forms on his lips. It has the power to infect others, even if it’s not much help at this second.

But here with Meguru, in this moment when nothing really wants to work, it almost seems okay to confide in him. Not because Bachira is anything special. He isn’t. He’s just one of many from Blue Lock. Yet he has this something that creeps into the minds of the people around him. And that’s the reason you pass on your conversation with Hyouma. Above all, his erratic, almost irritable character on certain subjects is something you can’t leave out.

Meguru absorbs your explanation, his mouth pouting a little as he can barely keep his legs still. Then he shrugs, as if there’s nothing you can do for Chigiri. “That’s just the way Blue Lock is.”

But can it really be that simple? Is it okay to let possible talent go if it could really make a difference? Surely not.

“Sometimes it is.” He steps closer, almost casually, as if he doesn’t even realise how the space between you two melts. “Everyone wants to be seen. Everyone here has a goal. And if you don’t want to show that, then you’re going down. There’s no room for extras here.”

Once again, you emphasise that Chigiri may have talent. Otherwise he wouldn’t have found a place here, because after all, Ego has collected the Blue Lock test subjects himself. He has decided which three hundred players he will give a chance. So if Chigiri is here, he must have more in his blood than the rigidity of a spectator.

“Hm...” Bachira tilts his head, eyes half-closed as if he’s really thinking about it. “Then maybe he just needs ... a push.”

That’s exactly what could help Hyouma. A situation that literally forces him to do something. And since Bachira is already standing in front of you, the smartest thing to do is to ask him if he plans to give Chigiri that push.

“Sure.” He grins like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “If you want me to.”

Maybe you’re going too far right now. You’re interfering in a way that Ego won’t like at all. After all, you’re about to use one of his players to make life hell for another. That’s certainly not the best decision. But if you can’t get to him outside of a game, you need an alternative.

“Oh well.” Meguru simply waves off your uncertainty. “It’s our little secret then. Just like in the video room. Ego doesn’t need to know everything, does he?”

The fact that he wants to help you in this way is almost too good to be true. First you need to find out why he’s even considering this and what he wants in return.

His voice softens, and his expression becomes a little more serious. “Why? You saw football differently from everyone else I know. I liked that, and it was fun. And ... well,” his grin returns, “I think you’re pretty interesting. Makes me wonder what else you see.”

A very honest explanation, but one you wouldn’t expect from anyone else. Bachira Meguru is a direct boy who has no problem explaining what’s going on inside him. Even if it sounds completely twisted and outlandish, even if it makes no sense at all, he shares it with those who ask. Add to that his smile, that restlessness in his legs, and the warmth in his demeanour – he’s a fascinating boy who has more to offer than just football skills.

“So?” He leans forward enough so that his forehead almost touches yours, his eyes big, shiny and full of curiosity. Part of him probably can’t wait for you to give in. “Do you want me to give him a push? For you?”

Do you have any choice but to agree?

Bachira laughs almost conspiratorially. You have made your decision, and he is prepared to do what you ask of him, even if he now crosses the line Ego’s as well.

Chapter Text

After the games, evening quickly descends on Blue Lock, and while you can watch the table update every now and then on your tablet, it’s now clear who has to go and who doesn’t. Whatever is going on in the minds of the players, it will resemble the mentality on the pitch over the last few days: frustration, hopelessness, and the certainty of having failed. They will all go home with troubled thoughts, while 125 players are left behind.

For you, that means more clarity, even if the masses still seem endless.

When you think about how many faceless figures have whizzed past you recently, it reminds you of travelling through a tunnel with little lights smudging into streaks around the edges. You know what to look out for, but even you can make mistakes, and it wouldn’t be surprising if you lost sight of one or two of them, even though they belong in your notebook. Fortunately, there is still more to see, and you still have plenty of opportunities to get to know the players better. Of those you’ve already noted, none have had to leave yet. This also applies to the few that you have your eye on but for whom you have not yet been able to find the right words in your book. Shidou Ryuusei, for example, closely followed by players like Itoshi Rin and Karasu Tabito.

Sometimes up to a hundred different people’s impressions hit you in a single day. And perhaps this overwhelming amount, which changes slightly every day, is also the reason you stick to what you already know better. Bachira, for example, who could conquer the whole world with his scheming grin if he wouldn’t fall asleep in the middle of things.

But these little details give him something you like to watch, and that’s probably why you’ve been keeping too close an eye on Team Z. At least on all those who are growing rapidly, like Isagi. But also on problems like Chigiri, who simply settles into your everyday life on the side.

Compared to Team Z, the other players are almost tame. They can be compared to Team Nagi, or even Team Barou, where everything revolved around the best players. No outbursts, no doubts, just hopes pinned on a few. It’s almost ironic.

Even someone like you can only shake your head at this, because this behaviour has also shaped a large part of your experience here. That’s the disadvantage of having to watch almost three hundred players – the boundaries become blurred, and at some point you can no longer see between the lines because the really important figures have long since taken the limelight. None of them are like Chigiri, who is so unremarkable that he stands out again. Not in a game, of course, but somehow before and after, when you wonder if you haven’t seen him around the ball somehow.

For today, though, you don’t want to worry about Hyouma anymore. It’s evening, and although it’s dinnertime, there’s no one in the canteen. You’re alone in this place, armed only with your tray, and you’ll probably be eating here alone as well. Not that that’s a big change. After all, since you’ve been in Blue Lock, you’ve always sat alone at a table. No one is even remotely interested in spending time with you unless it’s to gather information you can’t give them.

That is nothing new. Except this time it’s awfully quiet.

Before the food counter, you try to decide what you want. Meanwhile, your gaze falls to the piece of paper hanging on the wall a little further up, telling the players what they can have if they want to exchange the points from goals scored. The rewards are simple but valuable. They can even get free days if they want. Ego gives the boys a little motivation, which they probably need, because sometimes it’s prizes that keep you going. Or the mobile phone you had to hand in before.

Eventually you turn your attention back to the food counter, and just as you’re about to decide on a dish, you hear the chatter of two others at your ear. Of course you’re eavesdropping – it could be about something that interests you too – but you don’t really understand what they’re saying.

Slowly, you turn your gaze towards the entrance, which is open. The mechanical door no longer closes at the moment, and maybe that’s because there’s no reason to keep everything locked up today. After all, there is no background noise.

It takes a whole breath before Isagi turns the corner with Bachira. Both armed with a tray each, they look a bit like they want to eat here with you. Instead, they head towards the cupboard where countless bottles of water await consumption.

“Ah, good evening.” Yoichi is the first to greet you with a slightly raised hand. Bachira, instead, just gives you a happy smile and waves like little children do at the zoo when an elephant stares at them. “You’re eating here?”

You could answer this question in many ways, because yes, you are eating in this place, because this is where you watched the last game. What’s more, your room isn’t far away. Eating here is therefore a matter of course. And yes, you will also eat here, even though no one else is around, because that is also part of everyday life. At least when you haven’t had a chance to enjoy the outside world for days.

“Alone?” Meguru’s brows raise immediately. “Why don’t you just eat with us?”

The offer is nice, but you can’t take it. The thing is, these guys look pretty pleased. They probably want to celebrate their victory. And you have no business being there because you didn’t help keep Team Z alive. What’s more, that would mean you’d have to spend time with Chigiri, and that would only put him in a bad mood. So you kindly decline.

“But isn’t it lonely eating here all alone?” Meguru tilts his head, undecided. “Surely you wouldn’t bother anyone, right, Isagi?”

“I don’t think so...”

Isagi is as sure about all this as you are. After all, it’s obvious that you’re just some kind of spy who’s recently started meddling in matters you have no business in. This means that you might be eating your food in solitude, but that’s just something you have to get used to sometimes when you’re pursuing a certain goal.

Half in thought, you remain standing in front of the food counter and continue to stare down the menu. You actually know what you want, but in those seconds you can’t bring yourself to press the button. Not least because it’s kind of strange to be here, watching the boys seemingly busy stacking all the water for themselves.

“You’ve been watching the game closely, haven’t you?” Bachira starts again, as if out of nowhere, and you can hardly help but nod. It’s the same moment that Isagi seems to be listening more closely. “What did you see?”

It’s that question again, as if Meguru wants to repeat what you did once before in the video room. He wants to see the world from your eyes, at least for a moment, for whatever reason. There are probably a thousand reasons the whole thing might help him if he gets the chance to see other impressions. But you can’t quite grasp in what sense. However, you are also not the one who has to constantly develop on the field.

Still, you can’t really give him a useful answer. You can only tell him what you saw, how graceful Nagi was, how Reo passed him almost every other ball and also that Zantetsu seems to be a fast runner. All things that don’t carry any weight because you haven’t captured their emotions. Watching football every day when your interest isn’t the highest makes even the sharpest of minds a little dull.

It’s also something Bachira realises quite quickly at your explanation. “You didn’t enjoy it?”

You can’t lie to him. Not to this weird boy who is almost pure sunshine by now.

“Probably just nothing interesting happened. For a spectator, that is,” Yoichi interjects. “Normally people in the stands follow the ball, but there are also boring phases, and sometimes it only gets good when you can watch a certain player.”

“You think so?” Pursing his lips, Meguru crosses his arms behind his head. “I love everything about football. Somehow there’s nothing boring about it.”

You and Isagi can’t quite subscribe to that. But it leaves room to talk, and somehow that’s nice for the moment.

“Okay, so what did you see?” Yoichi puts his hands to his sides, almost amused, and you watch the two of them. It’s obvious that a friendship has already developed between them in such a short time that could come in handy on the field. It’s probably also this bond that has made Team Z stronger in the first place.

It’s strange how much you’ve missed out on just because you haven’t seen a few games.

“Well, everything that’s already been said, of course. But when I think about how down everyone was when they took the lead from us and how sometimes we thought we weren’t going to make it... Everyone was so depressed and tense and tried not to shout even after a single goal because it felt a bit too good to be true. Everyone was kind of scared that we might be happy for nothing, even though a goal is a great thing,” Meguru explains. “When our opponents took the lead, my first thought was that this could be super interesting. I mean, they were a real challenge, and that not only made it exciting, but it was also super fun!”

“Fun?” Isagi raises his eyebrows in disbelief. “I partly thought my dream was going to shatter today.”

“You don’t think about that when you’re faced with a problem... I mean, isn’t that like giving up?”

It’s strange, but Meguru is probably someone who doesn’t even see the consequences as long as he can rebel against them. In this case, he wasn’t thinking about the guaranteed expulsion they would have suffered if they lost; he was simply telling himself that a solution was more important than useless discouragement. That’s admirable, because very few people manage to stay positive in such stressful situations.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had so much motivation to really win and show what we’re made of since we’ve been here,” Bachira finally finishes, and Isagi is left speechless. Probably because he’s desperate inside.

Chances are good that you’ll be able to see his reaction when you watch the match footage. This way you can catch every little detail that you miss during the games themselves. It’s helpful, especially if you want to keep someone like Ego Jinpachi reasonably happy.

Eventually, Isagi gives in as well. “You’re really unconventional, Bachira. But yes ... that moment when all the tension falls away and you realise that you can only win if you surpass yourself on the spot is ... it’s unique.”

It probably feels like those moments when you only have five minutes until the end of an exam and you’re facing six more questions. And then you take a deep breath and try to get it right somehow, because if you fail, the final grade could cost you your head.

It’s the same with the guys here. Either they deliver results or they leave Blue Lock.

“I’d show you what it’s like to lose yourself in something like this, but I’m sure you don’t fancy learning football, do you?” The gleam in those wondrous honey-yellow eyes is almost a little teasing, as if he’s challenging you. But you can only refuse. The field is no place for you.

Meguru comments with a strange sound that almost conveys something like “your loss”, and Isagi notes it with a laughing shake of his head before turning his attention back to his tray and the countless bottles of water.

“I’ll go and get the others something to drink,’ he says. ‘Follow me when you’re ready.”

With that, he leaves you alone, and you get some time with Meguru.

This is actually the point at which you should tell him something about yourself. If you’re going to talk about the games, you can at least give him a hint of who you’ve taken notes on. After all, you can trust Meguru. If nothing else, you can be sure that he won’t pass it on to everyone and anyone as secret news.

So you tell him about a few of your impressions, about how Reo makes the game almost too easy for Nagi and also how similar many teams are. You tell him about a few wild strikers, about some who put more effort into their appearance than into strategy meetings, and also how some others have almost lost their minds after the first two days.

Sharing all these things with someone is a bit like getting something off your chest. And Bachira listens. He devours all your words and hangs on your lips like there’s nothing more exciting.

You’ve probably never talked for so long in one go. Not since you’ve been sitting here in Blue Lock, fulfilling your task, your mission. But to Bachira, it seems perfectly fine to just talk, and talk, and talk. You realise how fascinating some of the players in this concrete box really are. And that you’ve been eyeing more of them than you expected.

And as if all that wasn’t enough, Meguru arouses your interest in a player called Kuon shortly afterwards. Not because he’s a particularly good player, but because his desperation has led him to play for the opposing team in exchange for enough goals to make it into the second selection on his own. Actually, he’s one of those guys who is nothing more than a blank, boring, white canvas. Now he’s been given a lick of paint, and the question of where he goes from here could be intriguing, should you focus on him from time to time.

But it’s a fact that Ego will make every selection harder; after all, he has a goal in mind, and he’s not interested in anyone who doesn’t get him anywhere. This also means that this Kuon is very likely to leave soon, because someone who doesn’t believe in himself can’t get far. Just like Chigiri, for whom the next round could also mean his demise.

“In the end, Raichi punched him in the face,” Meguru concludes his story before changing the subject. “Isagi also found new rivals. I don’t know why, but somehow everyone wants to mess with him. He’s getting really popular!”

From the sound of it, though, he isn’t popular in a positive way. However, pointing this out to Bachira is of little value. He takes it with a broad smile and the simple statement that Blue Lock can certainly make friends out of rivals.

It’s a nice thought, but not one to rely on. After all, everyone has something to lose here, and Isagi could become the reason some people are no longer allowed to represent Japan in football. In fact, it wouldn’t even be surprising if friendships formed here were to break down as soon as someone is kicked out of this competition. People are unstable in their actions and decisions, and they too often look for someone to blame when they themselves fail.

“We should start heading towards the others.” Meguru takes over once again, and although it sounds absurd, you haven’t misheard.

We. Plural.

He still wants to take you to the room he shares with the others so that you don’t have to eat alone. Your only option is to talk back again, to make it clear to him that you can’t join him. Unless, of course, you want to ruin the mood like an uninvited guest and make sure that nobody can enjoy the victory thanks to you – except perhaps Bachira.

To make matters worse, Meguru won’t negotiate with you. He presses the button on the food counter – whatever it is – and places the steaming dish on your tray. In the next blink, he’s pushing you towards the exit, down the path to that damn room where you’ll have eyes piercing through you like you’re an alien.

But thanks to Bachira, there’s no way back. He somehow manages to make you feel like you can’t run away. Maybe it’s his cheerful smile, maybe it’s his detached words, all trying to tell you that you’re in the right place. You just can’t get away before the automatic door opens and reveals the room beyond.

This is actually the point where everything should become a little uncomfortable and suffocating, but no one here is capable of staring holes in your stomach. Everyone except Isagi has already fallen asleep, lying on the floor with futons within reach. Some have a football in their hands, others are asleep in a half-sitting position, leaning against the wall. Sleepy chaos reigns, inviting you to explore the circumstances more closely without being judged.

Meguru follows you until you settle down next to Isagi at the low wooden table, on which there are countless plates and bowls full of food. Yoichi is already shoving some of it into his mouth, a puzzled expression on his face.

“You came after all,” he realises, his brows raised, before looking at Bachira, who makes a happy peace sign. He probably realises in that second that you’re not here entirely by choice and that escape is impossible.

As a result, Isagi nods at you almost sympathetically before offering you the chance to try some of the other dishes. An offer you can’t refuse.

“I probably shouldn’t ask this, but do you have any idea what the second selection will be?” Yoichi starts a conversation between you that you can only dismiss.

So far, no one has told you what the next selection will be. Ego is keeping you in the dark too, and maybe that’s because in your position it shouldn’t matter what hell the boys will see next. After all, you’re only here to record and not to worry about anyone.

“I see...” Mouth slightly twisted, Isagi shoves some radish into his mouth. “Ego doesn’t make it easy for any of us, does he? They say you don’t know much about football. How did he even find you for this project?”

It’s a short story that you tell him. You can’t explain to him how Ego really became aware of you. He has told you the most important things, but where all these things started, when he could have any professional, remains a mystery. After all, there are certainly people out there who enjoy watching football as much as you do and know just as little about it.

Even if you were to ask, Jinpachi wouldn’t tell you anything more than what you already know.

All that’s left for you and Yoichi is the certainty that the next programme will be announced tomorrow. Until then, you can enjoy your meal and pretend there’s nothing to worry about.

Once again you devote yourselves to your meal in silence, and when you dare to glance at Bachira sitting next to you, it quickly becomes clear that he has done his best for the day. His head hangs down, the chopsticks lie loosely between his fingers, and his breathing is so even that it almost seems a little surreal. His dream world has collected him, and he is far too peaceful for you to wake him up.

So you take the bowl of food and the chopsticks from him to place on the table and gently push his upper body backwards. The warmth radiating from him nestles against your skin as he mumbles a few sentences that have no meaning.

As he lies down, you cover him up and allow yourself the luxury of looking at him. Not long enough to be suspicious, but long enough to memorise his cute face.

That leaves you somehow alone with Isagi. At least until you turn to him and realise that he’s lying with his head on the table, having given up the fight against sleep himself. You’re the only person still awake enough not to think about sleep – not right away – so you also throw a blanket over Yoichi before finishing your meal and getting up.

You can’t leave all those dishes in this room. The smell will get everywhere, and a little kindness won’t hurt. At the very least, you decide to take all the leftover food back to the canteen so the boys can sleep peacefully. That’s a whole ten rounds in and out, but at least you’re doing them a favour.

When things are finally halfway back in order, you make your way to your own room. There, where silence awaits you and where you can go through your notes again to make sure you’ve written down the most important things. You could also have Ego send you the day’s recordings so that you can watch them on your tablet. Like everyone else, you’re supposed to be in the video room, but you deserve a bit of relaxation too.

In the end, you barely make it up the stairs when Anri calls you. You answer her call on the device in front of you and are already preparing yourself for more instructions when her exhausted voice reaches you.

“Hey, I just wanted to call to tell you that you don’t have to watch any games for the next few days.”

No football matches means that the boys will be busy with something else, and that also means that you can get to know new sides and emotions of some of them. But first you have to find out what’s going to happen next.

“The boys are going to strength training,” Anri replies curtly. “Ego has put together a plan to get the boys ready for what’s coming. Their muscles need to grow, and they need more stamina. A good player knows how to take care of his body.”

A rule that applies to most sports. You need the right body for everything you do. Someone like Ego, in his current form, could no more be a useful sumo wrestler than a sumo wrestler could be a footballer. It is therefore easy to imagine the importance of training that focuses on different parts of the body.

“You are free to watch anything and everything you want. There will be no recordings these days, so manage your time well if you want to watch everyone.” Anri lets out a sigh. “You’ll probably be able to handle these moments better than the football matches.”

》CRUSH BLUES《

The boys’ training doesn’t start on the first day after the first selection is completed. Instead, Ego demonstrates something akin to kindness when he announces a day off – closely followed by the explanation that they will not go straight into the second selection but into training. He doesn’t say any more, which also means that most people probably think it will be a piece of cake.

But you know Ego, and he hasn’t left the impression that he’s going to make it easy for anyone in this concrete block. Who knows what his training will be like?

There’s little point in worrying about it, which is why you can enjoy your day off. You start with something hot to drink in the far too cold morning. Then you have a decent breakfast all to yourself in your room without anyone bothering. Ego has switched on the heating; it’s cosy, nobody has to be troubled by the cold, and you could almost believe that it’s a little bit idyllic this way.

The whole day could look like this – if it weren’t for the automatic door that opens out of nowhere as you lean back in your chair. Your attention is immediately drawn to the entrance and thus to Bachira, who is shading his eyes with one hand as if trying to see something in the distance. The smile on his lips widens as he catches sight of you.

He calls out your name as if he’s been expecting to find you somewhere. “We have a day off!”

You can smile at him or tell him that, of course, you know you’re all free today. Or maybe both. One thing’s for sure, you have to decide before Meguru continues to blabber.

“We could explore the other sectors!” His eyes gleam with excitement. “Secretly, along the walls, and then we’ll see who’s left as competition!”

You can understand his interest, after all, he is confined to this sector. Nobody here knows about the other teams hiding in the other four sectors. To him, everything you’re allowed to enter so openly must sound like an incredible adventure. However, Ego would wring both your necks if he caught you, and his eyes and ears are everywhere.

Consequently, you have no choice but to make Meguru realise that sneaking around the area is a terrible idea. On top of that, you wonder why he would seek you out when he could ask the boys on his team.

“Most of them want to relax. Or do something that will get us into less trouble. I thought you’d be bold, since Ego lets you go anywhere anyway.” He purses his bottom lip before looking at you like you shot his dog. “We really can’t go?”

You have no choice but to make it clear to him that Ego will probably punish him if he catches you both.

“I could hide behind you!”

As if he’s small enough for an action like this... It’s a silly, if sweet, thought that you can only firmly reject. After all, you have to take care of yourself too. If you let Bachira sneak into other areas of this concrete box, Ego will think you’re getting too close. And that’s the last thing you need.

It’s enough that you can’t quite bring yourself to be neutral. After all, you’ve just been watching Chigiri closely and have enlisted Meguru’s help. This doesn’t make you sink low enough to favour anyone, but you’re sticking your nose into a situation that’s really none of your business.

Bachira, meanwhile, lets out a dramatic groan as he throws himself into your bed and lies belly down. He doesn’t belong there, and yet he keeps his face buried in the duvet and no longer moves.

You just wait a little too long. Two agonising minutes in which Bachira finally rolls over and looks at you.

“I’d love to play football...”

It would be wiser if he rested like the others. After all, no one can say for sure that all hell won’t break loose tomorrow when Ego announces his training schedule. But Meguru doesn’t want to hear any of that. He turns onto his back, closes his eyes and breathes deeply.

“I would love to play with the others every day,” he continues. “Here I finally have a place where I can have fun with people who love football as much as I do.”

He sounds a little melancholic, as if he is reminiscing about something that is far too deep in the past.

“It’s something huge for me, you know?” He turns his head back in your direction. “And it’s just beautiful.” In the next moment, an idea strikes him, bringing a grin to his lips before he sits up abruptly. “Would you play with me?”

The question is almost amusing. After all, you can’t offer him anything on the pitch. Compared to the players here, you’re about as talented with the ball as a cow at knitting.

“That’s no problem, we can do very simple things! You could try your hand at goalkeeping, for example.”

Reminding him that you don’t know anything about football seems to be your only salvation. After all, that’s a truth you can’t escape. You’d be making more work for Meguru than entertaining him.

But he just won’t let up.

“Then I’ll teach you the game! At least a few little tricks. Maybe you’ll enjoy it.”

No matter what you say, he won’t let up. You have no choice but to put on some clothes that are suitable for sport and let him drag you out of the comfort of your room.

As soon as you’re standing on the artificial turf, you feel reluctant. It’s just one of those days when you’d rather curl up and read a good story than deal with the world and everything around you. It’s almost mean, but the hope that this athletic adventure will end quickly is there. You haven’t even taken your notebook with you. This moment is entirely something that Ego could interpret as friendship, and that could be your undoing.

All you have left is the vague wishful thinking that Ego is also taking a break for the day.

Bachira uses your brief, silent moment to explain your surroundings to you – as one does to a small child who has never seen the outside world. “Sooo,” he begins, giving you a wry look, “this is our playground.” He stretches his arms out as if you didn’t already know what he meant. “Two halves, obviously. Each with a goal. Your target? To hit that thing over there.” He points over his shoulder with his thumb at the net as his smile widens. He’s probably amused by your lack of knowledge, just a little bit.

In the next breath, he grabs your wrist and pulls you towards the centre of the field before leaning a little closer to you. “Here is where everything usually starts. The kick-off, the first pass, the moment you decide what rhythm you want to set.” With a quick turn, he points to the sidelines. “And the lines? When the ball goes out, there’s a little breathing room until it’s thrown in again.”

He walks a few steps ahead and then turns back to you. “It’s all pretty simple, if you put it simply. But the magic...” his honey-yellow eyes twinkle as he sets up an imaginary ball, “happens in between. In your sprints, your passes, your decisions.” With a wink, he tilts his head. “So? Ready to release your own monster here?”

You don’t own a monster, and, thanks to his explanation, you still know nothing about the rules of football. But perhaps his words are all you need to know here and now, because you’re not playing with rules, you’re just going to move the ball. Like a game of cat and mouse in which you can only lose.

But that doesn’t bother him. Meguru does his best to introduce you to football as a sport. He doesn’t seem to care that you’re a beginner. If you need time to learn, he’ll give it to you. A fact that becomes even clearer when he fetches a ball and places it at the desired distance.

“Do you want to try a shot?”

It’s a question, but it’s obvious he’s expecting your participation. And if he’s trying so hard, it would be mean to turn him down over and over again. Even if you do badly, you don’t need to be ashamed in front of Bachira. Not when he will probably explain a lot more to you should it become necessary.

So you take a few steps backwards. The grass rustles under your shoes, similar to the gentle breeze that doesn’t exist here. Meanwhile, Bachira crosses his arms in front of his chest and watches you with a mixture of anticipation and childlike curiosity. “Imagine drawing a line with your shot. One that only you can draw. A bit like with your notes.”

None of this compares to what you’re supposed to do, but you can’t tell him that. Drawing lines and writing notes are both strangely quiet affairs. This, on the other hand, requires a different type of effort that you rarely come into contact with. Still, you try to concentrate on the spot you want to hit. Then you move, feeling the swing in your whole body, the momentum that stretches from your feet to your hips. The moment stretches, and as your foot hits the ball, you can hear the satisfying sound of the leather flying away from you. It’s a clean, straight shot, travelling determinedly towards the goal corner. For a heartbeat, the world holds its breath, or maybe it’s just you, until the ball hits the net and comes to a gentle stop behind it.

“Yaaay!” Bachira shouts, throwing his arms up as if he’s hit it himself. He runs a few steps towards you, his smile sunnier than any bit of light you can expect from winter. “Well, how does it feel?”

Football probably isn’t a sport for you, but for now you can at least reassure him that you won’t run away and that you’ll strive to take some of his lessons with you. It might even help you with your view of the games you still have to watch.

And with that, you give Meguru the encouragement he needs. With a mischievous glint in his eye, he brings the ball back to you, facing you with his hands loosely at his sides. “Okay,” he starts slowly, tapping his foot lightly against the leather before passing it to you, “now you try and get past me. Just you, me and our monsters.”

You stop the ball, feel the slight resistance under your sole and dare to take a good look at Bachira. He’s serious. He wants you to challenge him. Someone who has no chance against him, of all people.

But this time you do him a favour and play along. In a single movement, you dart to the side to take advantage of a surprise attack. However, Bachira barely moves a step, as if he already knows what you’re planning. He waits, patiently, like a cat that knows when the mouse is going to take a wrong turn. And whenever you least expect it, he snatches the ball from you.

He does it over and over again until your breath rolls heavier over your lips and your heart beats up to your neck. In the end, all you have left is the courage to try something new, so in the middle of your next move, you attempt an awkward flick in the other direction but still can’t beat his reaction time. He seems to move with you almost fluidly, and when he suddenly presses a foot against the ball, your body doesn’t know what to do.

Part of you wants to retreat and take the ball with you, but you fail as you gallantly trip over your own feet and lose your balance. Saving those seconds is impossible, so you land bottom-first on the grass. The pain is a dull throbbing that travels up your tailbone. It’s bearable, but it’s not pleasant.

“Are you all right?” Meguru looks at you, eyes widening. But as soon as you nod, he bursts out laughing. Not mocking, not amused at your failure. Rather, it’s one of those laughs that lie on your skin like warm summer rain and remind you that even situations like these are somehow beautiful if you let them. And that’s probably Bachira’s magic. Spending time with him is strangely wonderful. It makes your task within Blue Lock a little less important than it actually is.

However, a brief shiver that sends an icy chill down your spine ruins the blissful thoughts. You immediately look over your shoulder, towards the entrance, but there’s no one there.

“Is something wrong?”

Bachira’s voice makes your attention turn forwards again, to your play partner, who has crouched down in front of you with his legs apart. With his elbows resting on his thighs, he pushes the corner of his mouth upwards with an index finger. “You should smile more! You’re pretty when you smile.”

For him, it’s just a simple compliment – probably. To you, it’s one of the nicest words you’ve heard inside this concrete block so far.

“You’re doing it again.” His hands lower before he purses his lips. “You really do look like a sulky cat. Or an upset one.”

You can only assure him that’s not your intention. It’s because of this atmosphere, which has so suddenly shifted, because you feel like you’re being watched. At least you’re almost certain that something was there. Something that would drive you mad if it had tugged at the hairs on the back of your neck for more than two seconds.

“I didn’t see anyone,” Bachira replies in thought. But he seems to want to be on the safe side for you, which is why he scrambles to his feet and hurries to the exit at lightning speed, then jumps around the corner – hands raised like an absolute maniac. Immediately afterwards, he whirls round to face you. “No one there!”

He’s cute, you have to give him that. Maybe a little too cute with his goofy demeanour, but still someone who knows how to treat a girl. That makes it easier to get back on your feet and take a deep breath. While you could spend more time with him, you know when it’s good to go back to your room.

Bachira bridges the distance so quickly at your decision that you have to blink a few times to realise his sudden closeness. “Just a little longer, will you?”

If you give in now, he’ll torture you with his game until you can numerate all your bones by tomorrow. So you push past him, ready to disappoint. However, you don’t get far before he wraps his arms around your waist from behind and rests his head on your shoulder.

“Five more minutes. It’s so much fun right now...” His voice reaches your ears pleadingly. “Can’t we really stay a little longer?”

You can say no. But you can also say yes. The decision is entirely up to you. But you also know that no matter what you end up choosing, it will be far from easy.

Chapter Text

The new year begins with ashen faces, wide eyes and groans as Ego reveals the training plan, which they all welcome with open arms and grim smiles. You don’t have to be a professional to know that Ego’s delusions don’t necessarily seem realistic. Ten hours of exercise a day can break a body, especially when it comes to boys who aren’t quite done growing, developing and maturing. However, Ego wouldn’t be Ego if he didn’t have a solution to such problems.

“The suits you’re wearing are specially designed for your training. They feature advanced technology that will prevent your frail bodies from falling apart.” Without changing his expression, he folds his hands in front of his face, and it’s hard to deny that in moments like these, he embodies the essence of a villain. “These suits will protect you from muscle injuries and the like, provided none of you stumble over your own feet like a newborn fawn.”

Everything he says makes breakfast a little gloomier. Some have stopped eating, others hold their heads in their hands as if it would save them from the misery that awaits. In some faces, you can see a hint of hopelessness, as if this challenge is impossible to overcome. And perhaps it is. Maybe you have to be a monster to get through a day like this. And that’s exactly what will give you the opportunity to find out which of the remaining players deserve a mention in your notes.

The year 2019 can start with a bang. Here and now, anyone can take the first step into a new life if they pull themselves together and are willing to go to extremes.

It’s obvious that you’ll use these days to check in on every section. Now that there are fewer players present, it will be easier to keep track of everything. There are still quite a few guys trapped inside this concrete box, but compared to the early stages of these selections, the remaining players almost fit into your hands, metaphorically speaking. Needless to say, it will be important to allow for variety each day. Routine will only lead to you seeing the same things in the end. There are plenty of other observations to be made. In nine days, a piece of information that Ego has kept from the participants of this madness, you can gather a lot of information, and you can’t disappoint.

Today, you follow the simplest pattern. You start in section one and finish in section five. Thus, after breakfast, your journey takes you straight to where you once met someone who didn’t even notice you. Itoshi Rin, as you discovered later in the matches, is one of those who didn’t get lost in the crowd.

Somewhere in the corridors between sections I and V, Ego gives the starting signal for the first task on the training list: endurance. Anything that will take their breath away is used to make their lives hell, and the first thing you see when you turn the corner into the training room of the first section are bodies on treadmills. The displays shimmer with a white lock on a black background. They have been robbed of all self-control. They can’t even choose their own pace, which causes the gasps and desperate cries of those who can barely keep up to sweep bitterly through the room.

In the face of all this, you are allowed to watch. Fortunately, you don’t have to get on one of these treadmills yourself. Your body is spared the ordeal these guys are put through. Compared to them, you are someone to be envied, because your task is much easier than living up to Ego’s skill requirements.

Slowly, you stroll through the room to watch each individual player. Some still seem energetic, as if they could run all day long, while others are already struggling with everything they hold dear. They have probably misjudged their strength or even mismanaged it, and it’s obvious which of them won’t make the cut if they don’t get their act together.

According to the data on the tablet, three of the athletes are performing best so far – a picture that remains unchanged as they show no signs of weakness even after thirty minutes. Among them is Reiji Hiiragi, who stands out with his relaxed expression, the two moles under his eyes, and his piercing white pupils. A little to the side is Shizuka Haiji with his dark grey-blue mop of hair that looks as if it has been glued together from confetti. They both distract themselves with banal conversation – at least they try to – and the only one who runs in silence, his gaze fixed on the opposite wall, is Rin Itoshi.

You hardly noticed him during the first selection games because the teams were unbalanced, and some seemed to be destroyed within minutes. You only noticed him in the hallway. His rigid manner, his serious face, his long lower eyelashes – if you gaze at him for long enough, you might even consider him handsome. At the same time, he seems almost lifeless, just like at this moment, when he barely blinks. He doesn’t let anything distract him, refuses to participate in conversation, and has no interest in his fellow human beings. It’s striking enough to warrant an entry in your notebook because he doesn’t seem like someone who would simply let Blue Lock shake him off.

Notes on: Itoshi Rin
- A very concentrated person, always in focus.

No sooner have you made your note than your gaze glides over the others again, only to linger on Hiiragi once more. It’s only a fleeting moment, but it’s enough to draw Haiji’s attention your way. His eyes pierce you, scrutinising you before he puts a finger to his lips, as if he can no longer hold back his curiosity.

“What are you noting?” There is interest in his green gaze that seems intimidating compared to Bachira’s. Darker, consuming, not tinged with the warmth you are otherwise accustomed to. “Do you show this to Ego at the end of the day?”

To find out as much as possible about the players, it’s best to talk to them. You don’t have to tell him what you’ve written, but you can explain that Ego receives your notes at the end of the day, adds to them, and includes your observations in his evaluation. Of course, the players themselves contribute most to their statistics, but a weak mind will break over time, and Ego doesn’t want to have to factor in failures like that when the selections are finalised. He only wants the best of the best. And you help with that by watching the circumstances and noting all those you’re sure have a future in this hell. It starts with their abilities and goes all the way to their character. You pick up on doubts, worries and problems along the way.

“So you’re really something like a spy.” He tilts his head as the treadmill speeds up. “You should help us. I guess you’re writing down nice things about the ones you like the most.”

In that respect, you have to disappoint him. You are neutral in your notes. Anything else would be nothing more than a lie that helps neither Japanese football nor the players in this concrete trap.

“That’s what you say now,” Hiiragi interjects, panting. The fact that he joins the conversation just as you are making it clear that you don’t manipulate anything and record everything as it is doesn’t bode well. On top of that, more and more eyes are turning in your direction, as if everyone wants to know what’s hidden behind your existence. “But the truth is, as the future has revealed to me, no one can say whether you’re really taking neutral notes or not. Why don’t you show us something to prove that you’re as serious about this as we are?”

You can’t do that. Whatever you’re recording, it’s none of their business. So you can only respond to Hiiragi with rejection. They’re worrying too much about something that shouldn’t matter at all right now. They’ve almost finished the first hour of training and have three more to go before they can take a break. They can’t waste their energy on useless questions during an endurance run.

“That means each of us has to be careful what we do around you.” Haiji purses his lips subtly, and although you could certainly counter that, it’s Rin who intervenes.

“Would you damn NPCs finally shut up? If you really believe that Ego’s minion’s ridiculous notes carry more weight than your performances, you had nothing to offer from the start.” His gaze wanders briefly in your direction. “And you should at least have enough brains to not get in anyone’s way or distract them. Otherwise, go back and clean Ego’s shoes if you can’t do anything else.”

He’s probably letting you know in a friendly way that your presence is pissing him off. Your mere existence is enough to throw him off balance, which also means you have to adjust one of your impressions of him: Itoshi Rin does notice others. He just doesn’t give a flying fuck about all those who are pushing through this training alongside him. And that probably makes him a lousy team player.

What becomes even clearer, however, is that you aren’t welcome here. Most of the players do their best not to look in your direction because you are a distraction. The rest either laugh in your face or glance at you from time to time as if they would be happier if you just sank into the ground. In between is Rin, whose friendliness rivals that of Chigiri. Still, you need to stand firm. The task at hand is to deliver notes to Ego. Important things that catch your eye. But evaluating a bunch of boys as they run and run, hoping they don’t lose their breath, doesn’t tell you much. There will be other moments for you to find things out. For sure. Now isn’t one of them.

You could stare them down until the first ones collapse, but that’s not something of value. It’s smarter to move on, check out the other sections, and figure out which other faces you need to remember and who still can’t spark your interest. So you turn around, leave this area behind, and sneak down the hallway, past automatic doors and corridors, until you see a sign for Section II. From here, it’s not far to the next training room.

When you arrive at the door, it opens, like so many things, as if by magic. What hits you in the next moment is the smell of sweat, stale air and the sound of strained panting. The endurance training has been going on for just over an hour now, but some of them are already visibly exhausted from what Ego is demanding of them. Yet they are still at the beginning, caught up in the first task of the day, which will be repeated for the others to come.

Before you can look around to take in every player, one of them draws your attention. “Oh, if that isn’t Ego’s pet!”

He flashes you a smug smile. You barely remember him. His blond hair is spiked upwards, his eyes accentuated with sharp eyeliner. Slightly tanned skin, pink in his hair. He is one of the players who hasn’t stood out with his skills so far. Yet he is bursting with energy, and it’s hard to believe that he has nothing else to offer.

Shidou Ryuusei is one of the puzzles you’ll probably have to solve before it makes sense. The first piece of this puzzle is thrown at you in the span of a heartbeat. Compared to many others, he hardly seems out of breath. What’s more, he hardly seems to care about the sport. He enjoys this run with a broad smile and cheerful noises, as if he can finally release the energy he couldn’t get rid of in the games against other teams.

“Seen anything that promises excitement yet?” His grin widens. “Say, you don’t know anything about football, but you know about other people’s minds, huh? You really think you can understand players without even understanding the game itself?” He doesn’t take his eyes off you for a second, as if he wants to pierce you with his gaze. “Either you’re just as stupid as the others here, or you see something others don’t. What do you think makes a soul explode?”

You have no idea what he’s talking about, but it probably has something to do with his overflowing energy. However, it doesn’t answer his question, and he’s getting increasingly restless, so you have to ask him to explain himself more clearly. A mistake, you realise.

“Huh? More clearly?” His smile fades, and suddenly it seems as if you are nothing more than an insect that has no business being here. “How clearly do I have to express myself to you, dimwit? Ever heard of satisfaction? The biological cycle of life, in which you pass on your genes to ensure your existence forever?”

Satisfaction, perhaps even in Ryuusei’s sense, in a football match would require knowledge of football. Against Bachira, you didn’t gain much in that sense, except that it’s exhausting and difficult and not for you. Not in the same way as it is for the boys in this concrete block. Besides, you don’t know anything about Shidou either. Something you make clear to him. To find out what gives him true satisfaction in a game, you need to get to know and study him better.

It’s not the answer he wants to hear, yet it’s something that gives him a kind of joy that makes him tease you. “In short, you want to get to know me? Is that your way of flirting, little stalker?”

If that’s the case, your job is probably to flirt with everyone in this place. You present this thought to him dryly, with all the courage you have, because he can’t get off the treadmill. Like everyone else, he has a goal to fulfil. Ego will probably kick him out if he just jumps off and decides to get close to you in some way. It’s the only security you have, because even in this place, there’s hardly anyone who looks at you as if they want you here. There is interest, certainly, but it’s no secret that they want your notes to find out if they can influence you. It’s a perfectly normal human reaction. There’s probably no one except Bachira and maybe Isagi who wouldn’t like to take a look at your writings. You can’t trust anyone, and apart from what you’ve learnt so far, there’s a lot more to consider when you get up close and personal with the players in this situation. They might try to use force; it wouldn’t be a surprise. Some people solve their problems this way. Someone more hot-headed than Chigiri could be dangerous.

“If you’re going to flirt with everyone here, I expect you to make an effort not to bore me.” Shidou, meanwhile, is not letting up. “Maybe you’ll manage to cheer me up a little, who knows?”

Thinking about it could open a lot of doors that you’d better keep closed. Not only because you’re not allowed to get involved with any players, but also because someone else is looking at you, eyes wide with panic.

“I’m so sorry!” His voice is higher than expected. “The others... I’m so sorry.”

“It’s got nothing to do with you, Tokimitsu. Unless you have thoughts in your head that you should apologise for!” Another one interjects, and a few laugh.

It’s not possible to feel welcome here, but you can make a note of Shidou, based on his loud, idiosyncratic character, and Tokimitsu, whose panicked expression contrasts sharply with his size and muscles. You can compliment one, but the other makes you worry whether someone like Aoshi Tokimitsu can even survive in a place like this.

These are thoughts you ultimately have to shake off, because the happiness of these players isn’t in your hands. All you can do is watch, be attentive, and ignore the stupid comments of the others. It’s better not to listen to wild animals playing sports when you yourself are the deer they could tear apart at any moment. It’s like pressing both hands over your ears. That way, you can silently watch as some collapse after two and a half hours or slip on the sweat they’ve lost.

One crashes face down onto the treadmill. Two others jump off in time before their legs give way. Shidou is sweating like crazy, but he still seems to have energy. Tokimitsu stumbles twice, then continues running with apologies on his lips, as if Ego himself would shoot him otherwise. Sometimes, said Ego even appears on screen. He flashes up on a monitor, orders the boys back to training and threatens them with the simple question of whether they want to go home if they dare admit their fatigue. No breaks. No mercy. Water bottles are placed in holders on the side. When one is empty, Anri comes to refill it.

Seeing Anri every now and then gives you the opportunity to realise that she is just as unwelcome as you are. For the players, she is simply “Ego’s assistant”. The woman who is always where Jinpachi wants her to be. You are in the same position, but she isn’t doomed to find clues about the boys’ idiosyncrasies among sweaty bodies.

It would probably be easier to gather information where there is more conversation. Where the atmosphere is better. Where Bachira is, for example. Sure, Chigiri can’t stand you, but Meguru is a ray of sunshine, and Isagi is friendly. In between, there are other players who seem less aggressive than what you came across in the first two sectors.

You could turn around right here and right now and just walk away. But running away is vulnerable, and some of the boys would take advantage of that. That’s why you have to hang in there. You have to prove that you won’t be intimidated, even if they’re mentally pushing you off the nearest cliff.

And you do manage to make it to lunchtime without backing down or retreating to another room. However, this also means you can’t escape before Shidou appears at your side and wraps a sweaty arm around you. The uniform does little to reduce the smell of sweat and the dampness of his body.

“Shall we eat together, little stalker?” His question is detached, a little loud, and a little purring, as if he wants to seduce you, and yet it is nothing more than an offer that is best declined.

However, this is your chance to get to know Shidou and thus deliver results. He already has a small entry in your notebook, and even if he wants to question you, you can simply avoid it. It’s almost too simple, and yet you let him drag you to the canteen, and you both order a meal. For Shidou, it’s a steak, some salad, and rice topped with a raw egg. The fact he has the energy to eat at all makes him stand out from the crowd here. The others cling to their water bottles, gasping for air and just trying to breathe. Meanwhile, Ryuusei cheerfully shovels rice into his mouth, along with some meat.

You do the same, starting your meal and looking at him for a moment. Of course, he doesn’t miss it. He’s too attentive, too eager to hear what you’re going to say first. Simultaneously, he grins as if he understands what’s going on in your head. That, or he’s imagining how long you can entertain him before he finishes you off.

Ultimately, you start with something very simple. His goal in Blue Lock is obvious; after all, they all want to be at the top in the end, but the question of what football means to him can tell you a lot.

“You’re not very bright, are you?” is his immediate response, and he almost seems amused by it. “Football is something that can trigger a state where there is only you and the ball and challenges to be destroyed. That thrilling feeling of ruining others on the field and getting the ball to the goal, the excitement, the thrill, the opportunity to plant your seed...”

The mere idea seems to excite him. Shidou enjoys finding challenges on the field. He wants more, seems insatiable, and perhaps that is a hunger that makes him stronger than anyone else here. So you follow up, wanting to find out what it is that makes him explode on the field, but the corners of Shidou’s mouth slip down.

“I don’t know, it just happens.” More steak lands between his teeth. “That’s why I hate boring matches. They don’t even get me close to that feeling.”

His statement raises the question of whether Blue Lock can really give him what he craves. For Ryuusei, it’s a clear fact that he doesn’t even have to think about.

“Blue Lock will surely present us to the world when we are no longer enough to play tedious elimination games. It’s the easiest way to meet players who can offer something and help me achieve that hot state of reaction... Sounds exciting, don’t you think?”

Any sane person would say otherwise, because Blue Lock isn’t easy in the slightest. Any other way would be more merciful than this hellhole that Ego has imposed on them. For Shidou, however, it’s different. With someone like him, that’s hardly surprising.

You spend the rest of the meal in silence. He’s not interested in you or your notes. To him, you are just a component that can provide him with some extra entertainment. Few people see any other value in you. In the end, you are just the one with the notebook. A target. A source of information. Not a human being. No one with more character than what can be found between the pages of your book.

After eating, you leave the second section and sneak over to the third. It’s time for the extreme core training session, and the boys are already panting helplessly when you enter the room. Some of them keep their lips tightly pressed together, as if that can stop them from making any sounds that might betray their weakness. No matter where you look, everyone is suffering in their own way. Some are hanging from an iron bar, trying to lift their legs – weighted with chains – up to their chests. Others are sitting on the floor, legs bent and slightly raised, while they twist their upper bodies from side to side, a ten-kilo weight plate firmly in their grip.

The pitiful sound of another boy draws your attention to the next group. Supported by their forearms, positioned in a perfect plank, they try everything to keep themselves up. The vests they wear look almost normal. But it’s obvious that they are weighted, that they could pull the young men to the ground at any moment.

One of them, with a Blue Lock sweatband around his forehead, has his eyes squeezed shut so tightly that he looks like he’s in pain. His black hair is a little sticky, and sweat is dripping mercilessly down his chin. His skin is so wet that it probably stings his face despite everything, so you show kindness. If Anri isn’t there to help, then you will.

Towels are stored here on a wooden shelf on the wall, and you grab one to crouch down in front of the boy. Then you ask if you should dry his face, and he seems surprised. But he agrees faster than expected, and you carefully dab the sweat from his face.

When he opens his violet eyes a little later, he blinks at you a few times before putting on a strained smile. “Thank you! I thought I’d have to keep my eyes closed the whole time.”

He doesn’t attack you, doesn’t mock you, and doesn’t immediately make a snide remark about your presence. Instead, he’s just nice.

“If you’re lucky, she’ll do it more often. Then you can stare at her even longer, Nanase.” With a wink in your direction, someone at the bars draws attention to himself. A guy with narrow eyes and a split tongue, which he shows off when you look at him for a second too long.

“Don’t say that! She helps. That’s nice,” Nanase replies. It’s not even a counterattack. Everything about him seems too friendly to put someone in their place.

And his opponent knows it. “The nice ones are usually the ones with something to hide. If you’re not careful, she’ll note your lack of backbone. You should try harder.”

“And that’s coming from someone who can’t even do that. Instead, you throw words around as if you’re better somehow,” another interrupts, also trapped in a vest full of weights. With his dark hair styled upwards, he seems almost relaxed in his position. Without all the sweat on his face, you could almost believe that this training is child’s play for him.

However, your attention doesn’t linger on him for long before someone to your right speaks up. “Would someone please wipe the sweat out of my eyes too? It’s so rare to see a girl here. Even Anri hardly ever shows up.”

“Otoya... Are you ever thinking about anything else?” Nanase shakes his head, somewhat lost. “She’s probably busy taking notes.”

You are, but you can also help. Wiping Otoya’s face is no big deal, and when he looks at you with wide eyes to say a blissful “thank you”, it’s almost cute how much friendlier this group is compared to the others you’ve encountered. Afterwards, you sit down to take a few notes, asking Nanase for the name of the boy who backed him up. Simultaneously, you ask him to tell you what makes each of them tick. He gives you his impressions, and you remember at least some of them.

You note that Karasu Tabito is sharp-witted and apparently has no time for useless nonsense. According to Nanase, he is someone who can work well with others as long as they do what he wants, and that is one of the things that makes him valuable to a team. In addition, you note Nanase’s openness, which makes it very easy to work with him. His character is simple and approachable, and it makes you wonder why he is in Blue Lock at all.

“My family received a letter with an invitation. Ego must have seen something in me that can be built upon here.” He looks at you, determined to give it his all. “I want this. Here, I can show that I’m more than just average. No matter what I have to do to achieve it.”

Even if the training is hard and painful. It’s an interesting way of dealing with the circumstances. Not least because every boy here forms a certain mosaic that brings its own unique mysteries with it.

“I’m here,” Otoya interjects unasked, “to meet cute girls from all over the world.” He winks at you. “Friendly, honest, always with a smile on her lips...”

“You mean Nanase, only female?” Karasu comments from the side, and Otoya’s offended sound suggests that wasn’t quite what he had in mind.

So far, he hasn’t been able to spark any interest. He likes to fantasise, but beneath his behaviour seems to lie someone who brings his own unique drive to the field. There’s no point in focusing on him now. Not least because there’s nothing worth mentioning.

Still, you chat with the two of them a little longer without anyone interfering. Most people here are too busy breathing. Apart from that, they need their concentration. No one has the nerve to devote their attention to your humble self. In that sense, they are all focused, presenting a picture so uniform that no one stands out. No one except Nanase, who is distracted from the weight by the conversation, along with Otoya, who chimes in from time to time, and Karasu, who at least looks at you and thus listens.

Every twenty-five minutes, they are allowed to drink something and take a five-minute breather before tackling the next exercise. It’s a kind of cycle that brings groaning and panting to the fore. At some point, even Otoya falls silent, and a little later, you find yourself constantly checking the time display so you can cheer them on. Not with big words, but with small goals they can achieve.

After two hours, a new sound appears, along with an artificial voice that sounds almost like Ego. It’s a sign that it’s time for strength training. Something that’s met with a collective gasp and is also a cue for you to move on.

Nanase is just settling down on a leg press when he gives you a gasping smile. “See you tomorrow.”

He’s probably the only person in this concrete block who’s looking forward to seeing you repeatedly over the next few days. Presumably, this group will become one of those you’ll enjoy watching. Not being stared at or bombarded with stupid comments is relaxing when you need to concentrate on a task. However, now you have to move on to the fourth group, which is probably just as exhausted as the one you’ve just experienced.

The automatic doors, which remain closed to separate different sections, are opened just for you and Anri. You step out of comfort and into the unknown with a single stride.

No sooner have you reached the exercise room than you are hit by the pungent smell of intense exhaustion. Some are sitting on their knees, unable to lift the five-kilo weights even an inch. In one corner, a boy with black, wavy hair tries to lift twenty kilos, only to fail. Every time he tries to lift it, sweat drips to the floor as his arms tremble and his lips grow paler and paler.

“Kiyora, you should lift less.” Out of nowhere, another boy appears next to him, with brown hair and a gentle smile on his lips. The round glasses on his nose slip down from time to time as he wipes his forehead with a towel. He has placed his own weight on his shoulders – a total of forty kilos on a bar, with which he forces himself into a squat. He understands as well as everyone else that Ego doesn’t joke around when it comes to kicking someone out of this constellation.

Kiyora, the boy whose breathing is a little too heavy, ultimately complies with the suggestion. His fingers tremble as he goes down to ten kilos, and you don’t know if that will be enough for Ego or if it’s part of the training. After all, it’s important to learn to assess yourself. Yet it’s almost impossible to surpass yourself if you can’t even carry the same amount as the others.

“Even with less weight, half an hour can be brutal. Ego won’t accept if we don’t at least manage to complete our training somehow,” explains the stranger next to him, his voice soft and friendly, as if he wants to cheer Kiyora on and support him in his own way, because they are all in the same boat and a few words of advice can’t hurt. That also means that they are all confident in their skills. If a piece of advice causes someone to lose, they were probably never good enough in the first place. Most people in this concrete box know that.

“This is Yukimiya Kenyuu.”

The sudden statement next to you causes you to startle, jerking your head to the side to look into friendly, large blue eyes before you fully register him. His hair is almost sky blue, and looking at him intently for more than a few seconds gives him the touch of freedom that is missing within this construct. As if he could reach for the clouds because he is somehow part of the endless expanse out there. In his hands are dumbbells, which he lifts and lowers repeatedly, as if his arms weren’t about to fall off at any moment. You ask him his name, because that’s all that matters right now.

“Hiori You,” he replies. “I think you’ve already heard Kiyora’s name. Over there is Aryuu Juubei.” He nods towards someone with long, black hair. “He’s trying to take the training with style.” A soft laugh escapes his throat.

And then he introduces you to everyone in the room. He also tells you what he knows about them. For example, that Kiyora is a fighter, while Yukimiya actually works as a model, and Aryuu wastes almost an hour on hair care. He talks about everyone, giving you clues about what to look out for and which players are worth including in your notebook. Each of them could get a page in your notes, but when you open it, your first word goes to Hiori – his friendliness, helpfulness, ability to distract from himself and pretend he’s nothing more than a source of information.

He glances briefly at your record before his smile suddenly seems more tense than before. You’ve caught him, he can’t hide it, and yet he tries his best, in his own unique way, not to draw any further attention to himself.

“You don’t need to write anything down about me.” His eyes watch your every move. “The others here are a step ahead of me.”

Looking at Hiori You, it seems there are no limits to his possibilities. Not even when the first half hour is over and they all change their training equipment. He moves fluidly from his dumbbells to the weightlifting bar that will define him along with the other things. Simultaneously, he withdraws in his own unusual way, because although he stays, he continues to keep a low profile.

He is like Chigiri Hyouma. A boy who tries to sweep his goals and reasons under the carpet or who is only here to prove something to himself. Of course, the question arises as to what is holding him back. Why does he want to escape you? Why does he act as if it’s better not to stand out and just be average?

Everything You answers is vague. “I’m just being honest.”

Maybe he is. But maybe he’s also a terrible liar, like Hyouma, who is deceiving himself even though he actually wants something else entirely. He is another mystery that you will pay more attention to in order to figure out what place he occupies in Blue Lock. Is it worth it if he stays, or is he just someone who will soon disappear from here to be completely forgotten?

》CRUSH BLUES《

Looking at your notebook, an observant eye will notice that the top corners of the first few pages already look a little worn. But it also becomes clear how often you leaf through and read your words, trying to find the right ones before they end up on Anri and Ego’s tablets. You’re trying hard. And yet your collection is only growing slowly because many players still lack that special spark. No one can blame you for that, but given the pace Blue Lock is setting, you should adapt.

You spent the weight training session with Hiori, which also means you’ll be spending the hundred laps of sprinting with those who, strangely enough, take up most of your time on the clock.

As soon as you reach the fifth sector, you can hear the panting and gasping of those present. It takes barely more than five steps before you meet the first boys. You recognise most of them immediately. Chigiri jogs rather than sprints, while Isagi, Bachira and Kunigami waddle behind. Hardly anyone has the energy to give it their all anymore. Most of them look like they can barely stand on their feet.

One of the few who is running as fast as his body will allow is Barou. He rushes past you so quickly that you turn while walking to follow him. Simultaneously, another note ends up in your book. This boy’s rigid endurance is either astonishing, or he is made of pure willpower. Whatever drives him is enough to outdo most others.

Just as you lower your notebook and turn forward, you crash into someone. Reo Mikage grabs you by the shoulders before you can stumble and fall.

“Sorry,” he gasps breathlessly before speeding off, Nagi close on his heels.

No one here seems to notice you. Familiar faces have contorted into rigid masks of exertion. Some slow down more than they should before starting to run again. Isagi slips on a few drops of sweat and hits his knees. Too many spots on the floor are barely providing any grip, and yet some are running as if their lives depended on it.

You carefully drag yourself to the canteen. From here, it’s only four metres to the point where the players stop, turn around and run back. Ego has probably marked out about a hundred metres for the sprint, so they have to run back and forth fifty times each. He’s probably even counting so that no one thinks they’re allowed to stroll.

Standing in the doorway to the dining hall, you’re out of the way. From here, you can watch as the training takes its toll. Two fall flat on their faces and lie there for a while, gasping for air. One loses consciousness, collapses and remains lying there without you being able to do anything. Before you can lift a finger, Ego’s voice booms from the speakers, making it clear that losers are abandoned. Of course, you protest; after all, you’re not a monster. But according to Ego, the suits are equipped with sensors that tell him when something serious happens.

Simply standing by isn’t always the easiest thing to do, but defying Ego could jeopardise your position. All you can do is obey and hope that everyone who falls gets back up again.

However, it’s not reprehensible to feel your heart sink when someone bursts into tears or can no longer stand on their shaky legs. It’s human nature. At the end of the day, you are unfortunately more than just a book in which skills, possibilities and beliefs are recorded.

Suddenly, someone grabs you by the wrist, and at first you can’t keep up. It takes two breaths to process the reddish-pink hair. Chigiri doesn’t even let go when he’s sure you’re jogging obediently beside him. Instead, he holds you firmly until you’ve covered some distance. Only then do you notice that he’s running just fast enough to satisfy Ego.

“You really don’t have any notes about me,” he finally begins. “I saw it.”

His statement doesn’t make much sense at first, but the longer you think about it, the clearer it becomes that you’re not imagining his words. The only question that remains is when exactly he saw your notebook.

“When you were playing with Bachira ... or rather, when you were getting up close and personal with him.”

Yesterday, on your day off, when you gave in to the idea that it was probably okay to grant Meguru’s wish for a playmate. What you sensed then wasn’t just your imagination. Someone really was watching you. To make matters worse, it was Chigiri.

“You’re distracting him,” Hyouma states, and you can’t help but disagree. You only helped him because he asked.

No doubt you talk a little too much to make it clear to Chigiri that you don’t have time to distract anyone and that Ego has imposed clear rules on you. Sure, maybe you’ve been a little charmed by Meguru, and you’re probably a little too nice to him, but those are minor details that are none of Hyouma’s business.

For a moment, he sizes you up as if he doesn’t believe a word you say, and maybe you’re just bad at lying. Maybe he sees something that gives you away. With someone like Chigiri, you can imagine that happening when he pierces you with his gaze. That’s also why you advise him to mind his own business. After all, he has his own problems. Things that will get him kicked out of Blue Lock. Even worse, why is he putting himself through this gruelling training when he’s just hoping to get out of here?

“What I decide for myself is none of your business.” He looks away without letting go of you. “Stop getting involved.”

You could promise him that if he would stop snooping around in matters that are none of his business. But neither of you are particularly good at just doing what you’re supposed to do, and it’s this fact that elicits a smile from Hyouma.

“Probably...”

If he tries hard, if he takes control of his life, he can achieve something. You tell him that the world is his for the taking. If he dares, it’s better than wondering later what could have been. In his current state, he won’t have a future in the world of football anyway. That’s a reality he has to face. Either he fights for his dream and maybe fails, or he doesn’t even try and definitely fails.

“You’re persistent.” He looks at you again. “And you don’t even get anything out of it.”

That’s not entirely true. After all, you get paid to take notes and watch the players. Sure, Ego won’t be thrilled when he notices that you’re interfering more than necessary, but he won’t punish you for it if the result is another player he can mould.

“You’re so slow...” The drawn-out groan behind you makes you look over your shoulder at Bachira, who is covered in sweat as he tries to keep up. His playful nature seems stifled, and it’s probably his fatigue talking.

You and Hyouma carefully make room for him so he can rush past. Meanwhile, you think you can hear Meguru’s stomach growling.

“Where does he get all this energy...” Chigiri watches him briefly before shaking his head and stopping. He forces you to halt as well.

Then he finally lets go of you. You are free, yet neither of you moves as you look at each other, not uttering a single word. It’s a little like when your arguments end. But this time, Hyouma doesn’t look at you as if you’ve crossed a line. Instead, he lets out an exhausted sigh, turns away from you and starts running again. This time faster than before.

Chapter Text

“I’d also like to have free choice in what I eat,” sighs Hiori, even though his selection is greater than what you see with many other players. Eating natto every day, as Isagi does, seems worse than being able to indulge in gyoza and other foods.

But he’s not wrong either. After all, you have real free choice. Whatever you want is served to you – no ifs, ands, or buts. Because your body is entirely in your hands and because your performance doesn’t depend on how you eat. Compared to the players, you live in luxury, if anything in this concrete block can be classified as luxury. Because the truth is that everything comes at a price. No one can promise that Ego won’t put you on a diet at some point if you’re no longer useful to him.

“If you look at the circumstances in more detail,” Yukimiya begins, “you’re in the same position as us.” He gives you a slight smile that makes him a little too handsome for this place. He’s one of those players who, if he makes it to the top, will have the most fangirls. He probably already has them, considering that he works as a model and, at eighteen, is on most people’s list of what many consider perfect.

When you ask him what he’s doing in Blue Lock and what makes a model subject himself to a mess like this selection process, he thinks about his words for a moment. Most people here know immediately how they’re going to answer. Yukimiya Kenyuu takes his time. It doesn’t seem like he has anything to hide, yet he obviously wants to make sure he doesn’t say anything that might give the wrong impression. He probably learnt that in his job. The press can be cruel, as you hear and see time and again in sensationalist articles and one-sided opinions without any basis.

“Let’s just say I’d like to score the perfect goal before I go blind,” he finally replies, and it’s probably the first time you’ve spoken to someone here who is running out of time.

At the same time, you need to dig deeper, want to know more about him, want to understand how far he is willing to go. It’s one of those moments when he looks at you as if he’s trying to weigh up whether it’s wise to talk to you about it. After all, you could ensure that he gets kicked out of Blue Lock after this training session because he can’t fight the tooth of time. But he also seems to understand that this is a chance to prove himself. Those who have the will to fight are also willing to give more than the others. At the end of the day, Ego cares most about the skill of his rough diamonds. He doesn’t care how fragile they are, as long as they do exactly what he and Anri hope they will: take Japanese football to a new level.

“It doesn’t hurt. At least not as long as I don’t overexert myself,” he explains slowly. “It’s a retinal damage that sometimes blurs my vision or causes blind spots.”

Of course, this raises the question of how much time he has left before he has to worry about going blind. His answer consists of a shrug, a smile, and “currently maybe five to ten years,” which is possible if he is treated well. He doesn’t tell you how many of those years he has already used up. But the effort of playing football, the pressure he puts on himself, the stress on his body – all these things could speed up the process. The exact time he has left is uncertain. But he knows he wants to use it to reach the top of football, and you’re in no position to talk him out of it. This is his dream, and he’s not willing to give up.

Hiori listens to the discussion as well, and although he doesn’t have much to say, his contribution is as simple as it is unsettling. “I’m sure that if you want to make the top, you can do it even with a condition like this. At least then you’ll be able to say you were number one.”

“I don’t think being number one is as important to me as scoring a goal that will be remembered,” replies Yukimiya.

A goal that he may remember himself, as long as he still has the chance. No matter how long he has been struggling with this condition, he is clinging to this one attempt with everything he has. Perhaps Blue Lock is his last chance before the door to the top slams shut in his face.

It would be something you should record in your notes. But even you can’t promise one hundred per cent that Ego will act as you expect him to. On the other hand, he probably already knows about Yukimiya’s eyes; after all, this guy doesn’t throw himself at just any boy who won’t benefit him in the end. Consequently, you take a chance and write it down, along with the note that Yukimiya is willing to sacrifice everything if he has to. This way, you can also note that he is a team player, thinking back to Kiyora.

Immediately afterwards, as you put the notebook aside, you look at him again. A little more closely. Sometimes you learn things about people this way that they don’t say out loud. But Kenyuu proves that he is mature enough to watch his own behaviour. This way, it’s almost unnoticeable that he doesn’t ask any questions. In all the time you’ve spent together at this table eating, he hasn’t asked you a single thing. Hiori tries to keep the conversation going, and Yukimiya joins in when he feels it suits him.

This makes it surprising that he’s even sitting at this table with you. In his own unique way, he is completely unapproachable and at the same time someone who seems open to everything and everyone. Whatever is going on inside him remains something you cannot deal with right now. Instead, you devote your attention to Hiori, who stares at Kenyuu in the same way you do. He’s probably plagued by similar thoughts.

Ultimately, you ignore Kenyuu. For now, you’ve gotten enough information from him, which gives you the freedom to probe Hiori. He seems to be the closest to someone like Chigiri when it comes to the reasons behind Blue Lock. If you learn to understand him, it might be easier to lure Hyouma out of his shell. It’s an opportunity you can’t pass up, so you pursue the matter. Not directly, but you ask him why he doesn’t praise his own talent a little more. If he’s made it this far, he’s outdone a lot of competitors. That’s remarkable, and he should show more pride.

“Do you think so?” He tilts his head casually and looks at you with raised eyebrows, as if he doesn’t understand your statement. “Maybe I made the leap, but in a selection there are always the strongest and the weakest. Just because I was able to go one step further than others doesn’t make me someone who can say he won’t be gone next round.”

Because he considers himself to be among the worst of the remaining players. The question is, why is that? What is the reason he is here if he’s not confident in his abilities?

With a smile, he rests his head in one hand. “I am confident. But ... do you know anything about video games?” He sits up straight again. “The levels in some games start out very easy so you can get used to the game system and find out how good you are. Later on, it gets so hard that you don’t even have time to think about it. You just act.”

In principle, he explains to you in his own unique way that Blue Lock is like a game and that you are probably in the tutorial right now. This means that Hiori is slowly adapting, that he is aware of his surroundings and making conscious decisions. He internalises things so that later he can act in his best interests without thinking. This probably makes him weaker than other players right now, but he is someone who can master the long road ahead. Based on this, you can note him down as a tactical player in your observations. Someone who knows his limits and exactly how to overcome them without stumbling.

And so the meal comes to an end, and the boys are forced to return to their sport. They have extreme core training ahead of them, which is hardly less brutal than the weights they are forced to lift afterwards. You accompany them anyway and watch as each one takes their position, and when you spot Kiyora, it becomes obvious that most of them are using less weight than the day before. They have understood that it’s important to hang in there. If they don’t grit their teeth, they can’t survive, and that probably becomes a little clearer to them with each passing day.

Your gaze wanders around the room, over the equipment, and over all the demands that Ego has placed on them here so that they can either perish or grow. There is no in-between, no guarantee that he desires anything other than perfect players with suitable bodies so that they can achieve what they need to. They are all trapped in these rooms, in their full-body suits, in their own ideas and imaginations and desires to make it to the top.

For a moment, you linger on thoughts of Hiori and the way he approaches this situation. He does exactly the same in sports. He starts with leg raises, as if he wants to work his way up slowly, even if it seems almost futile. Or maybe he’s just come up with a training programme that works with Ego’s. Something that will get him the same results others will achieve – just with a different strategy.

At the same time, you’re struck by his dreamy gaze. He seems to be somewhere else, somewhere where you can’t reach him and where training isn’t so exhausting. In this scene, it’s striking that his pretty face, a little feminine with its soft features and long eyelashes, doesn’t match his body.

“You’re watching everyone very closely. Especially Hiori,” someone next to you remarks, and you glance to the side to notice Yukimiya. He has chosen a medicine ball, which he will use for rollouts. “Is it because of the conversation at the table?”

You say yes because you think you recognise many of the things Hiori said in those few minutes. It’s a bit silly and probably not even what he meant, but it’s better than having no clue at all.

“You’re really trying, aren’t you? This isn’t just a show to give Ego what he wants...” Once again, Kenyuu catches your attention. There is no smile on his lips, and his piercing eyes behind the glasses seem to bore right through you. He clearly shows that he doesn’t trust you, yet he is willing to find out what you’re doing here. “Ego agrees to let you hear the players’ stories?”

Yukimiya is no idiot, that much is clear. He asks you this question as if he wants to make sure you know what you’re doing. That’s why it’s not a good idea to answer this question. If Ego finds out that you’re increasingly guided by your own interests, ignoring some players even though they probably deserve more, he’ll tear your head off. After all, Ego assumes that you have an eye on everyone. However, the truth is slowly turning out to be something else.

Your gaze keeps lingering on those who possess something moving. Something that arouses interest. In this case, Hiori, who still resembles Chigiri in some ways but is much more headstrong than expected, and Yukimiya, who, with his fate, subconsciously ensures that you keep turning your attention to him for two seconds now and then. You don’t look at Kiyora or any of the other boys in the room. They don’t exist.

Yet they try just as hard as the other two.

It’s a mistake. In your calculation as well as in Ego’s. When you made these notes for others, you never had to get close to your targets. You could hide, watch them from a distance, and follow them like a shadow. On top of that, you had all the time in the world. There was no constant pressure to deliver a daily update.

Here, it’s different. You observe, get closer, talk to them, and ultimately fall victim to a terribly human problem: curiosity. Once you feel a certain influence, it becomes almost impossible to treat everyone equally. You look less at the general concept and more at those who can captivate you.

And if you think about it long enough, you realise that it already started when you saw Bachira in the canteen. The moment he was asleep, and you had to wake him up to point out that he would be late if he didn’t hurry up. You should have noticed it earlier, the moment you couldn’t take your eyes off him, but you let yourself be influenced. Quite ordinary. Quite normal. Deadly in the face of Ego.

“It’s easy to believe that you tick the same way he does,” Kenyuu continues, unfazed. “He watches us in everything we do and simultaneously sends someone like you here. No one knows what you write down or what words you use. You could make sure that our performance isn’t good enough in the end because you only have bad things to say about us.” When he looks at you this time, a sincere smile appears on his lips. “But you really care and are interested in what makes each person tick.”

You can agree. You can deny it. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s right. If you didn’t have a certain interest, this task would be in the hands of the wrong person. Still, there’s this problem that with every step you take, you sink deeper into this quicksand that could suffocate you in the end. You have to be more careful and not let yourself be influenced any further.

So you give Yukimiya a nod before turning your gaze away from Hiori, trying to find something exciting about the other boys in the room. Someone who can capture your interest and with whom you haven’t exchanged a single word yet. Someone who hasn’t already shifted and ruined your perspective and perception.

》CRUSH BLUES《

You can’t look away. No matter how often you try to convince yourself that it’s silly to always stare at the same people, you can’t find much appeal in Igarashi or Kunigami. Nagi, who already has an entry in your book, and his constant companion Reo are only able to hold your attention until they start complaining about training.

The weight training you spend with Sector V today gives you time to watch absent-mindedly. You probably shouldn’t think about Kenyuu’s words, but it would be nonsense to claim that he is wrong. Consequently, it would be wiser to find a way out of this problem. However, that would also mean that you would have less contact with players who are interesting as people. No more conversations with Bachira. No more arguments, or at least not many more, with Hyouma. No more exchanges with Hiori and Yukimiya. No more moments with Nanase or Otoya that make your days a little happier when you get away from people like Rin and Shidou.

Once again, your gaze fixes on Bachira, who is leaning on a bench to lift a five-kilo dumbbell sideways to chest height before lowering it again. You have no idea how many times he has repeated this process, but sweat is dripping from his forehead onto the leather of the bench. He has tied his fringe back with a hair tie and a clip, but it does little to protect his face from hair. It sticks to his cheeks and his chin, and you can’t help but grab a towel and go over to him.

As soon as you stand in front of him, he looks up at you, and, even though the effort must be taking its toll on his body, he gives you a smile. Then he closes his eyes, as if he already knows what you’re planning to do, and you take the opportunity to dry his face. At the same time, you brush the sticky hair away from his skin and make sure the clip is secure in his hair.

When you take a step back, he opens his eyes. His movements never stop, and although you would like to give him a break, you cannot request it.

“Hey,” he addresses you, and you can only listen. “Would you bring me some water?” The pleading look he gives you is irresistible. “As cold as possible. Please. Yes?”

Saying no would be inhumane, especially since Anri isn’t here. She’s already busy running around the other sectors. On top of that, she takes care of washing the players’ laundry, as you found out. She places orders and makes sure the boys always have food ready and also that all the necessary items are replenished. She is the one who keeps Blue Lock running while Ego devotes himself entirely to the players and the programme.

This information was given to you after you pointed out the lack of supervision when it comes to the ordeal the boys are put through. It underlines who has which role and also that Anri has the most to do here.

So you take the liberty of grabbing Bachira’s water bottle and running off to fill it with fresh, cold water. It’s certainly not the best option, because it will only make him warmer, but you don’t want to deny him his wish either.

As soon as you’re back in the training room, you breathe in the stuffy air, which emphasises how much effort goes into every movement. The weight training drags on, and the training room is filled with heavy breathing, the metallic clanging of weights and occasional frustration because everyone thinks they’ve already reached their limit.

Right now, it would be simpler to retreat to a corner and take notes. It’s easier to concentrate between your own words and the movements of the others. Then you wouldn’t have to deal with that quiet tugging in your chest that arises when you involuntarily look at Bachira as if no one else is in the room.

In the next blink, the signal sounds, making it clear to everyone that they’ve got five minutes to get to the next exercise. Meguru uses it to sit down on the bench. He’ll probably devote himself to bench presses next.

He keeps his shoulders slightly bent forward, his arms hanging loosely at his sides, as if he suddenly lacks the strength for anything more. As you approach with the water, he lifts his head and smiles that familiar smile you saw on your first day here.

“I think my arms are officially done now,” he sighs deeply, but you both know there is no escape. He still has a little bit to do today. His arms can’t give up now.

So you hand him the bottle, but he doesn’t move. Meguru makes no attempt to take the water. Instead, he lifts both forearms, only to let them drop again immediately, as if even that is too much effort.

“I can’t,” he says and laughs softly. “If I move them now, I’ll fall apart.”

It’s crazy, after all, they’re wearing their suits, which are supposed to help them avoid injuries they’ll regret later. But Bachira doesn’t give in, even though he doesn’t have time for such games.

You know you have to keep your distance; that situations like this are exactly why you keep straying further from your neutral path. Still, you unscrew the lid of the water bottle and hold it close to his lips, like a request you don’t voice. Meguru looks at you curiously, without expectation, and leans back a little. He knows exactly what you’re offering him when you put the bottle to his mouth. You tilt the vessel carefully, taking care not to be too hasty. He drinks, and you feel his closeness changing the space between you. His breath brushes your fingers, warm and calm, and for a moment you forget the noise of the others. Your hand remains surprisingly steady, even though the situation brings an awkward uneasiness.

In the middle of it, you give him a short break so he can decide if he wants more. His smile is at least as tempting as the sparkle in his eyes. “You’re always so focused. Even now, you look like you’re comparing notes on something important.”

He continues drinking, raising his arm as if to grab your wrist, and involuntarily moves closer. He slides forward in his seat until your knees touch, until his arm almost brushes your stomach as he reaches up. You could just take a step back now, but something about the thought is terribly out of the question. Meanwhile, Meguru pauses briefly, his lips still on the rim of the bottle, and looks at you from this much too close distance.

“When I’m this close, you seem to hold your breath,” he observes, not teasingly, but rather with interest.

You probably do, considering that you’re very close to asking Ego a thousand questions. Worse still, being this close to him doesn’t feel wrong. Everything about this situation is reprehensible, and yet you belong exactly where you are.

You force yourself to breathe evenly as you continue to hold the drink. The job is to document his development, not to become part of it. Hyouma has already warned you, and Yukimiya has also mentioned it. But Meguru’s easygoing manner, this natural closeness, blurs every boundary. All you can do is take the water bottle from his lips and make it clear to him that he should focus his energy on training. Otherwise, exhaustion could catch up with him sooner than he would like.

This doesn’t seem to be a problem for Bachira.

“Don’t worry,” he says quietly. “I won’t pass out. And if I do, you’re there.”

He relies on you completely, as if you’re the one who makes sure he doesn’t have to worry about anything. In the next blink, he grabs your wrist, brings the bottle of water to his lips and drinks. There’s no escape, just his fingers on your skin. Heat emanating from him and settling deep into your cells. His eyes sparkle with life, as if this situation is just another natural moment between you. As if you never act any differently when you’re together.

“It’s funny,” he adds, slowly straightening up, which makes the closeness more intense. “Sometimes training feels easier when someone you get along with is watching.”

He finally steps back, just enough to give you space again, and stretches his arms as if they’ve suddenly regained their function. His grin is almost teasing, yet you can’t hold it against him as he lies down on the bench to devote himself to the weights again, just in time for the signal tone.

You use this opportunity to turn away and see if anyone else needs your help. Staying with Meguru now could make Ego think badly of you. So you grab another towel, which you give to Isagi during the next five-minute break. Along the way, you fill up water bottles, try to engage Reo and Nagi in conversation, which they both barely notice, and finally find yourself back near Bachira. With your notebook close at hand, you let your gaze wander. Discreetly, a little helpless in light of your position. Until you get stuck on Chigiri. Those piercing eyes that make your heart beat a little faster as he watches you and shakes his head. He sees what you’re doing and knows that you can’t quite say where all this is leading.

And he also realises that you’re on the verge of making an incredibly stupid mistake.