The fluorescent lights buzzed above the Blue Lock training facility, flickering softly as if mimicking the restlessness that had settled into the bones of Team Z. It had been two days since Jinpachi Ego's chilling introduction and their first elimination game. The pressure hadn't let up since. If anything, it had only multiplied.
The time between now and the match against Team X had passed in a blur of drills, 5v5 scrimmages, muscle fatigue, and endless instructions. No comfort, no certainty—only the ever-present weight of survival.
The sun hadn't even fully risen when Itsuki Amano stood on the turf field again. He rolled his shoulders, his breath fogging faintly in the chilled morning air as his thumb rubbed absentmindedly into the center of his palm.
It had become a habit—no, a reflex. Every time his thoughts grew heavy, every time doubt or drive threatened to overwhelm him, the motion brought him back.
"Yo! You're up early again," a voice called from across the field. Bachira strolled in with his usual lazy gait, dribbling a ball between his feet like a cat batting a toy.
"Couldn't sleep," Itsuki answered plainly.
Bachira grinned, kicking the ball up and catching it on his thigh. "Your monster bothering you?"
Itsuki blinked. "...Something like that."
The truth was simpler. He could feel it inside him—the need. Not hunger. Not nerves. But something deeper. A pressure that squeezed at his lungs and coiled in his gut.
He had to be perfect. No excuses.
Later That Morning – Training Begins
The rest of Team Z trickled in over the next half hour. Kuon, acting as the unofficial drill coordinator, clapped his hands together.
"Alright! 5v5 again. We're working on defense transitions today. You mess up the shift, you run laps. Got it?"
Grumbling rippled through the group, but no one argued. Everyone knew the match against Team X was closing in. Ego had made it clear: only the top scorer would survive if their team lost. That silent threat hovered above them like a guillotine.
Scrimmage: Team A vs Team B
Team A:
Itsuki
Chigiri
Raichi
Gagamaru
Kunigami
Team B:
Isagi
Bachira
Iemon
Kuon
Imamura
"Let's go!" Raichi barked, slamming his foot into the ball for kickoff.
The match exploded into motion.
Itsuki cut across the left wing, calling for a pass. Chigiri ignored him and sped forward, testing the defense with raw speed. It ended in a clash near the penalty box—Isagi intercepting a pass and instantly countering.
Itsuki backpedaled quickly, intercepting Isagi near midfield. His foot collided with the ball, hard. It skidded away toward Raichi, who gave a thumbs up.
Itsuki let out a slow breath, his thumb circling his palm again.
He was still adapting—timing, vision, spacing—but he could feel something sharpening inside him. In the past two days, he'd begun honing his most instinctive weapon: raw striking power.
In one of the later drills, he'd scored twice from near impossible distances. The kind of shots that made even Kunigami raise an eyebrow.
It wasn't elegance. It wasn't grace. But it worked.
Break Time
Everyone flopped to the turf around the halfway line, sweat clinging to their backs and knees.
"Team X isn't going to wait for us to figure it out," Kuon muttered, sipping from his water bottle. "We either become a real team… or we're dead meat."
"Speak for yourself," Raichi grumbled. "I've already got two goals this week."
"Same," Bachira chirped, twirling a lock of his hair.
Isagi sat nearby, silent, deep in thought. Itsuki watched him—curious, quietly measuring. The guy had good instincts. Not flashy. But sharp.
The contrast gnawed at him. Wasn't power enough? Wasn't that what strikers needed?
He didn't have Isagi's vision… but he didn't want it. He just wanted results. Goals. Success. Perfection.
He didn't care about being the best… unless it meant he could never be second-best.
Later That Night – Dorm Room
The team had eaten in tired silence. Their bodies ached, but no one complained. The hallway lights buzzed faintly as Itsuki stood at the foot of his bunk, wiping sweat from his neck with a towel.
Kunigami was reading in bed. Chigiri sat upside down against the wall, legs propped on the mattress, headphones in.
From the top bunk, Bachira peeked over. "Think we'll win?"
Itsuki paused. "If we don't, we come closer to losing."
Bachira smirked. "That's not what I asked."
Itsuki didn't answer. He dropped to the floor and pulled out his notebook—the one he kept tucked behind his pillow. Inside, on the next page, he scribbled one word in hard, heavy strokes:
"Win."
Then, slowly, he set the pencil down and rubbed his thumb into his palm again. The pressure was still there. But he didn't run from it.
He welcomed it.
Tomorrow was the calm before the storm.
And then—Team X.
The next day was just simple shooting drills against blue lock man. Nothing really happened.
The dorm room of Team Z buzzed with anticipation. It was a dry, electric tension that hung in the air, too sharp to be casual. The boys of Team Z sat in a disorganized circle on the floor, eyeing each other like wary animals.
They were about to play rock-paper-scissors to decide positions for the upcoming match—something that should've been trivial. But here in Blue Lock, every inch mattered.
"Alright," Kuon said, standing like some kind of self-declared referee. "Let's make this fast. First pick gets first choice of position. No arguments."
They began.
Paper. Scissors. Rock. The cycle repeated. Laughter and tension mingled as they eliminated each other until, finally—
"I win," Isagi announced, his voice calm but carrying just enough weight to make everyone glance up.
Without hesitation, he declared, "I'm going forward."
Itsuki Amano observed from his spot on the edge of the group. His thumb ran slow circles over his palm—his usual tick, subtle but constant.
He wasn't surprised by Isagi's choice. It made sense. And honestly, Itsuki didn't mind. He didn't care where he played, as long as he had space to shoot. The urge to score wasn't a hunger for recognition—it was deeper. Like a sickness he couldn't cure.
After positions were locked in, the TV in the corner of the dorm flickered on with a sharp crackle. All eyes turned.
Jinpachi Ego's face filled the screen.
"You bunch of wannabe strikers... It's time for reality. Welcome to Blue Lock's First Selection."
The room went dead silent.
"You'll play in a round-robin tournament against four other teams: X, Y, W, and V. Each match lasts 90 minutes. The top two teams will advance. Simple, right?"
Murmurs rippled through the room.
"But," Ego's voice sliced through, "if your team loses, you're not necessarily doomed. Because if you score the most goals on your team, you alone can still advance."
The weight of his words hit like a sledgehammer. Suddenly, every teammate became a rival.
"Your first match begins in two hours. Team Z versus Team X. Prepare yourselves."
The screen went dark.
No one moved.
Then, Raichi muttered, "So... if we lose but score more than everyone else... we survive?"
Silence.
Then yelling. Accusations. Panic.
Itsuki stood quietly, back to the wall, letting the chaos play out. He didn't join the shouting.
Because he already knew what this place was:
Hell in cleats.
---
Night fell over the field. The lights above shone like false stars. The turf beneath their cleats felt stiff, as if the grass itself were bracing for what was to come.
Team Z stood at the center circle.
Across from them, Team X looked like a pack of wolves. No smiles. No emotion.
Except one.
Barou Shouei.
He stood apart. Tall. Muscular. Eyes like a killer. Ranked 250th. His aura was oppressive. Even without touching the ball, he drew attention like a black hole.
Isagi took center. Beside him stood Bachira. Just behind, Itsuki flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders.
His rank? 266.
It didn't matter.
The whistle blew.
Minute 1: Kickoff.
Team X wasted no time. Quick passes. Clean triangles. They didn't hesitate.
Team Z tried to press, but their formation crumbled almost instantly.
Itsuki sprinted down the right flank, already calling for space. Isagi tried to drive forward but was closed down fast. Before he could even pass, Raichi lunged in and stole the ball from his own teammate.
"MOVE! I'm scoring first!" Raichi barked.
Isagi looked stunned.
Not that it mattered. Because seconds later, Kunigami shoved Raichi off the ball and made his own run.
Chaos.
From the sidelines, Ego watched on the monitor, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"Perfect. They're already breaking down."
Team X responded. If Team Z wanted to self-destruct, they'd let them.
And then… Barou moved.
He didn't yell. Didn't demand the ball.
He just took it.
Barou intercepted a lazy pass, dribbled forward with purpose. Isagi turned to stop him, planted himself directly in Barou's path.
Barou didn't slow.
He did a heel flick—elegant, effortless. The ball popped up and over Isagi's head.
Itsuki's eyes widened. Flashy. But clean.
Barou nutmegged Kuon.
Then Imamura.
Then he fired.
The shot rocketed past Iemon.
GOAL. 1-0. Team X.
Barou didn't celebrate. He turned to his stunned teammates and spat out:
"You're not here to score. You're here to feed me. I'm the king."
---
Team Z's formation dissolved like paper in rain.
Players began hogging the ball.
Igaguri intercepted a pass meant for Bachira. "Blue Lock isn't about teams," he said smugly. "It's about who scores the most goals!"
A Team X defender tackled him instantly.
Itsuki moved back into midfield, trying to anchor. He yelled for passes—never got them.
He saw Isagi's frustration build. And Bachira's. The two began a two-man weave, passing only between each other. It created a flicker of order amidst chaos.
But it wasn't enough.
Team X adapted.
They funneled every pass into Barou.
And he delivered.
Minute 14: Goal 2.
Barou charged from deep. Used a long-range shot that curved past the keeper.
Minute 21: Goal 3.
Barou outmuscled Gagamaru and volleyed a high pass into the net.
Minute 28: Goal 4.
Barou made a solo run from the midfield circle. Danced around three players. Finished with brutal precision.
Team Z couldn't breathe.
Itsuki attempted a long-range shot after finding rare space. It soared… and clipped the crossbar.
He fell to one knee. Palm against knee.
"...Damn it."
He didn't cry. But he felt that sting in his chest.
Not good enough.
---
Isagi looked around.
He saw selfish teammates.
And one figure standing still.
Itsuki.
Always trying to position. Always moving smart.
But never selfish.
Then Bachira grinned. "Hey, Yoichi. Want to do something fun?"
They hatched a plan.
Bachira began dancing with the ball, drawing defenders.
He cut through one… two… then passed cleanly to Isagi.
Isagi surged forward.
Barou emerged in front of him, a wall of rage and talent.
Raichi screamed. "PASS TO ME!"
Kunigami roared. "I'M OPEN!"
Isagi hesitated.
Then his instincts took over.
He passed.
Kunigami struck.
GOAL. 4-1.
Barou turned and sneered. "You passed up the shot? You're worthless."
Isagi flinched. So did Raichi.
But Itsuki… he nodded.
Right choice. Even if it hurt.
---
Scene 5: The Final Goal
With minutes left, Team Z tried to rally.
Itsuki received a deep pass from Bachira. He took two touches, unleashed a shot.
Blocked.
Team X countered instantly.
Barou took the rebound, ran coast to coast.
Team Z chased. Fell.
Barou scored again.
GOAL. 5-1.
---
End of Match
The buzzer rang.
Team X didn't celebrate. They didn't need to.
Team Z collapsed to the ground.
Sweat. Mud. Silence.
In the locker room, Raichi snapped. "You passed up your chance! We lost because of you!"
Isagi didn't respond.
Others joined the argument. Chaos again.
Then Kuon slammed his fist into a locker.
"Enough! One more loss and we're all out. Pull yourselves together. We can't keep playing like this."
Itsuki sat quietly again. Thumb to palm.
Then he spoke.
"Next time… we score together. Not alone."
Everyone looked at him.
And slowly, for the first time…
Team Z started listening.
After a few minutes, the conversation shifted. A question lingered in the air — unspoken, yet heavy on all their minds.
What did Ego mean by 'football from scratch'?
Chigiri, arms crossed and legs still trembling, finally said aloud, "Maybe it means rebuilding how we play from the foundation up. Freestyle. No structure. Just instinct."
Isagi raised his head, eyes narrowing. "That chaos… it was like freestyle, yeah. But Barou killed it. He turned all that chaos into something organized. He became their axis."
"He was a foundation," Bachira chimed in, voice quieter than usual. "And when he started scoring, the rest of Team X started syncing with him. He didn't play with them — they played around him."
Isagi's fists clenched on his knees.
A foundation… That's what we need. Someone overwhelming enough to drag the rest forward.
Just then, the screen in the locker room lit up. Ego's familiar sharp gaze appeared, casting a chilling presence over the team.
"Your conclusion is correct."
The team froze, attention drawn.
"In football, especially in Blue Lock, the ability to play from scratch—freestyle—is essential. But without a core, chaos leads only to collapse. That is why you need a foundation—a striker capable of becoming your sun."
He stepped closer to the screen.
"But there's something even more important. A weapon."
Everyone perked up.
"A striker's weapon is the unique strength that breaks enemy formations and seizes goals. It must be singular. Unmatched. A signature that no one else can replicate."
He pointed toward the screen.
"If you don't know your weapon, or can't use it, you don't belong in Blue Lock."
And with that, the screen went black.
The room was silent again—this time, with purpose.
Each player sat with Ego's words rattling in their minds.
Weapon...
Foundation...
And then, at the edge of the bench, Itsuki Amano let out a quiet breath. His thumb rubbed his palm, slow and deliberate.
Post-Match – Dorm Showers, Late Evening
The hiss of water echoed against the tiled walls, a steady rhythm that dulled the edge of failure but couldn't wash it away.
Itsuki Amano stood beneath the stream, head bowed, arms braced against the wall, letting the hot water beat down on his shoulders. Steam curled around him like ghosts of missed chances. The sound of the others—arguments, bickering, posturing—was faint now, muffled beyond the bathroom door. Out here, there was only the roar in his head.
5–1.
A crushing loss. A lesson.
He rubbed his thumb slowly across his palm again—his tick. But tonight, it didn't ground him. It reminded him.
That moment when he took the shot.
The arc was clean. The power, perfect. The ball left his foot with conviction—his kind of strike. And yet, it slammed into the crossbar. Not the net. Not the glory. Just a hollow clang of "not enough."
He clenched his jaw.
Barou had scored five. Five.
And Itsuki? Nothing.
He turned slightly, letting the water hit his face, letting it hide the tightness in his throat.
"A striker who chokes in front of goal doesn't deserve to be one."
Barou's words echoed, but they weren't meant for Itsuki—not directly. Yet somehow, they hit harder than anyone else's.
Because he had felt it too.
That hesitation.
That flicker of doubt.
And that meant he wasn't a striker.
Not yet.
He slammed his fist lightly against the tile, just once. Not in frustration at anyone else—just at himself. His standards. His promise.
To be perfect. To stand at the top.
And yet today, he was a supporting piece. A bystander.
As he dried off and looked into the mirror, his reflection stared back—soaked, flushed, and still breathing hard.
"You're not there yet."
But he would be.
He would burn this feeling into memory. Let it sharpen him.
The next match… things would change.
POV: Isagi Yoichi
Team Z Dorm Room, Moments Before Lights Out
Isagi sat on his bunk, eyes fixed on the ceiling, hands behind his head. The room had quieted—tension still clung to the walls, but the earlier shouting had faded into exhausted silence.
He replayed the match in his head for the hundredth time.
Barou.
The monster who tore them apart.
But in the chaos… another face stood out.
Itsuki.
Isagi hadn't paid much attention to him during the first few days. The guy kept to himself. Serious. Always analyzing. Always calm. But on the field, he had fire.
There were moments where Itsuki moved just right—found the right space, made the right decisions. He didn't try to take over. He waited. Observed. When he struck, it was with precision. Not wild like Raichi, not unpredictable like Bachira. More like… a scalpel.
That shot at the end. So close.
If that ball had dipped an inch lower…
Isagi rubbed his temple, frustrated.
They were all here to devour. To stand out. But there was something about the way Itsuki played—as if he wasn't chasing the spotlight… but building toward something.
Isagi turned his head and glanced across the room, where Itsuki lay on his back, unmoving, staring up at the same ceiling.
Quiet.
But definitely not sleeping.
He's not done.
Neither am I.
---
POV: Barou Shouei
Team X Dorm Room, Lights Out
Barou sat upright in his bed, arms folded behind his head, eyes wide open. The others were already drifting off. Fools. Let them sleep. The field was where he ruled—but the mind? That's where kings planned their next conquest.
Five goals. As expected.
But not all trash was equal.
That guy from Team Z—the one who nearly scored at the end.
He remembered him. Cold eyes. Tense posture. Calculated movements.
That shot.
Barou could still hear it. The crack against the crossbar. Pure power. Not wild, not reckless. It had intent. Like it was meant to challenge him.
He didn't flinch when Barou stormed the field. Didn't whine. Didn't crack.
Most of the others played like scared dogs.
That guy? He played like he hated being overlooked.
Barou smirked in the dark.
He wasn't a threat.
Not yet.
But if he survived long enough… maybe he'd be worth devouring later.