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Chapter Text

The pitch is filled with a thick silence that seems to swallow everything. Sweat pours from every cell of his body while Nagi stares at the rankings displayed on the large screen above the field with widened eyes. Heated breaths fog in front of his mouth in the cold night air, cooling his skin like a frozen blanket. Or maybe that's just how he wants reality to be. It's easier to blame cold air than himself, after all. He can simply say nature did its thing, and there was nothing he could do against it. Nature is stronger than humanity, so nobody will argue against it.

But Nagi knows, knows this is merely a fabrication of his head, a way to shield him from the undeniable truth that he sees, his way of denying that truth displayed on the screen. His breath is not fogging because it's cold outside. No, his breath fogs because he's cold, so incredibly cold. A strong sense of dread sinks into his body, and he feels helpless because he can't do anything to stop it. His chest churns, a heavy weight squeezing the remaining bit of precious oxygen out of his lungs. Nagi feels like he is suffocating, like he can't breathe anymore. His pants increase in number and intensity, getting closer and closer to yapping for air. The stronger he denies what his silver eyes show him, the stronger the feeling assailing him becomes.

Believing in a lie is always easy, even if he made up the lie by himself. Generally, lying is a pain because he has to think about it the whole time and recall it, but it's quick and easy. Gets him out of uncomfortable sticky situations, too. Accepting the truth, on the other hand, is the real pain. Acknowledging it is rarely comfortable and means he has to do something in the aftermath, something he doesn't want to do because it's a pain.

Not that he has ever felt the need to lie before, nor did he have to accept an uncomfortable truth. Sleeping, playing games, taking care of Choki, eating and drinking the bare minimum to stay alive, preserving the small spark of happiness he felt when his parents told him not to die before them, going to school and later on to work, repeat.

That's how Nagi imagined his life would be. Easy and comfortable, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing special. A simple, mundane life. That's all he wanted. He always imagined himself as one among many, not sticking out much except maybe his height and white hair, which could always be dyed black if the need should arise. He would live his life in comfortable solitude where nobody bothered him, and he didn't bother anyone in return. Truly, a slow and lazy life. It was his perfect and ideal image, one he laid out for the first time in kindergarten.

But then Reo swooshed into his life like a tornado of purple and ripped all of his plans away, sending him flying back to square one.

"Let's play soccer, Nagi!" Reo chanted like a mantra with this seemingly endless vigour and rich boy charm, not growing tired of him although he was widely considered as a total weirdo.

It was annoying at first and made his ears bleed more than once, but strangely enough, Nagi wasn't as annoyed about Reo's persistence as he normally would have been. It was not a pain, Reo was not a pain, so Nagi let it slide and after weeks of being worn down by the rich boy, he yielded to Reo's demands.

One game. That's what he promised himself and Reo. He would play for one game, show Reo that he's not good, that he's better off without him and then return to his slow life. He would brush off his encounter with Reo as an oddity, maybe remember it from time to time whenever he pondered his past life, but that would be it.

However, soccer was easy. It came naturally to him. Move your body to kick a ball. That's it. Nothing else is required. Nagi can do that. The sweat and aching muscles were a pain, but Reo was always so eager about it. Not to mention, Reo was not a pain, even a bit of fun to be around with. So soccer wasn't so bad because it meant spending time with Reo. Nagi stayed and after the one game, he promised himself to participate followed the second game and after that, the third game.

Let's play soccer turned into a mantra for him, too.

It was like a vortex of purple, Reo vortex, pulling him in deeper and deeper and deeper. Reo shared his dream with him, to become the world's best soccer player. Nagi was not surprised. Rich boys like Reo dream big. Besides, if Reo didn't dream at least about becoming the world's best, Nagi would have asked him if he was an alien and what he did to the real Reo.

What surprised Nagi was that Reo wanted to share that spot with him. There can only be one No. 1, so what was he thinking? Could you share the No. 1 spot? Was that possible?

Reo is amazing, so Nage believes that if anyone can do it, then it's Reo.

Blue Lock came, and their dream continued. They separated, went their own paths and then reunited, stronger than ever before. Or so it should have been.

In their current match, Reo made a big step forward, getting closer to his goal of reaching the top. Nagi did not. If anything he moved backwards, further away from the dream they share.

The display shows this truth brutally, showing that this dream of theirs is out of his reach now, forever.

Twenty-third, Nanase

Twenty-fourth, Nagi - Disqualified

The addition behind his name is cruel, but it makes it clear. Nagi is out, not good enough to stay longer in Blue Lock, not good enough to be Reo's partner anymore, not worthy enough to be devoured anymore. He's trash that needs to be disposed of.

"You've got to be kidding me..." Reo whispers beside him, purple eyes wide and flaring, not believing what he sees, what they see, the reality they face.

Reo has made it. Nagi did not. It's as simple as that. There's nothing else to it, no secret meaning. They are separated again - this time forever.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Reo repeats. It's louder this time, his voice full of anguish and hurt. It reminds Nagi of that one time in the bathhouse. There, Reo sounded similar to like what he sounds now, but as far as Nagi can tell, it's worse this time. Reo is hurt.

And it's because of me. Becuase I suck Reo is hurt.

The thought comes instantly to Nagi when he sees the shocked expression full of disbelief on Reo's face. He's someone who can fight on his own now. He shouldn't look like this. Reo shouldn't look so broken.

"There's no way this can be real! This must be a-"

A strong hand comes to his shoulder, a large palm grounding Reo in their newfound reality. "This is not the right moment, Reo. Don't forget this is streamed worldwide."

It's Chris who warns him and puts shackles on Reo with his words, knowing what he is about to do. Manshine's masterstriker is not going to sit back and simply watch, not when the whole world watches. It might be hard, but it's for Reo's sake, even if he doesn't understand it at the moment.

"I don't care! I-"

"Ahhaah, what is this? Are you not satisfied with this outcome, Mikage Reo?"

A new voice suddenly fills the pitch, stopping Reo again. All heads turn to the screen, the rankings nowhere to be seen anymore. Instead, the image of the mad dictator, Ego Jinpachi himself, has overtaken the screen, casually slurping on noodles like he always does. In the past, Nagi didn't care about it. It was somewhat even funny how casual Ego can be. Seeing the man like this now makes his gut churn. How can the man still act so casually and unbothered?

"The rankings you just saw are the physical evaluation of your worth to the world, a price tag if you want. Your tag is worth 78 million yen, earning you the seventh spot in the Blue Lock ranking. Everyone below rank twenty-three is disqualified as of now, meaning you made it. You're one step closer to the top, the hero that will lead this backwater county to victory in the U20 World Cup. Does that not satisfy you?" Ego taunts while he inhales his noodles.

Reo grits his teeth in unfiltered anger. Nagi has never seen such an expression on his friend's face before. Reo is a master of his emotions. It's unlike him to lose control so much. The snowy-haired teen is reminded that that too is his fault because he couldn't keep their promise to reach the top of the world together.

"Of course, it doesn't! Because-"

"-because that lazy half-assed genius who doesn't understand his ego over there is no longer with you? Is that what this is about?" Ego finishes for Reo, putting words into his mouth as he pleases. "If that's the case, I have one question for you."

Blue Lock's dictator finishes slurping on his instant ramen, shamelessly wiping his mouth clean on his sleeve. Then he stares at Reo.

"Why did you shoot, Mikage Reo?"

Reo is taken aback by the question.

"Why did you shoot when you could have not? Why did you secure your survival and didn't drop out like that deadweight clinging to you?"

Reo's expression twists into one of panic as Ego cruelly reminds him of the reality that he indeed shot the second goal for Manshine in the match that is now over, meaning Nagi can't shoot anymore. The purple head, normally one capable of handling himself in any argument, scrambles for words and miserably fails. He only stutters, unable to form a coherent sentence. His blown purple eyes full of an emotion Nagi can't place find him, and they stare for a moment at each other. Then Reo returns his gaze back to Ego, breaking under the intense glare, so he returns his gaze to Nagi, creating an endless loop where Reo falls more and more apart.

Nagi doesn't like it, not at all. Reo shouldn't look like this, especially not because of him. Reo deserves better.

Ego, ever the impatient dictator, grows tired quickly. "No answer, Mikage Reo? Then I'll answer for you."

"Don't," Reo weakly rejects, but Ego doesn't care anyway.

"The reason why you scored the goal and secured your survival is the same. It's really simple," Ego says, gesturing with his hands as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"It's because you have an ego, and your ego hungers for more. That's all there is to it. It's the only difference between you two. You understand your ego and what you want; that shitty genius over there does not. You win and progress; he loses and gets disqualified. That's it. Nothing else."

Nagi watches as Reo's fingers coil into tight fists, only to loosen right after. His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. It's the first time Nagi sees Reo at a loss for words, unable to stand up for himself. Even when Nagi left Reo behind to learn more about the average shorty Isagi, the passion he embodies and the new feeling of frustration, he was able to say more than he does now. Reo looks so defeated and utterly helpless. Nagi feels his chest tighten at the view.

"With that out of the way, here's the overview of all the losers. Pack up and leave Blue Lock tomorrow. You're... locked off."

Of course, Ego, ever the cruel bastard, pronounces the last bit, making the painful obvious even more painful and obvious. The screen goes blank for a second before another set of names pops up. This time Nagi's name is on the top, leading the list with his twenty-fourth rank. The people below him are all those of lower ranks than he. Igaguri, Tokimitsu, Hiiragi. Some are familiar, others are not, but they all share the same fate as he does. Behind their names, emblazoned in thick letters, stands the addition "DISQUALIFIED," destroying every last bit of hope that there is a way back.

There is none. The realisation slowly settles in Nagi's heart and soul. He has lost. He can't play with Reo anymore, and that's not all. He can't play with Isagi anymore either. Both of them are out of his reach now. Forever. He has fucking failed.

I have fucking failed!

"Nagi, I-" Reo begins to say, but chokes on his words as he sees Nagi's expression. It's... he lacks the words to describe it properly. It looks like a chorus of emotions has been put into a mixer, and the result was then thrown at Nagi's face. It is not a good result. Sadness, grief, self-loathing, hatred, anger, rage. Nagi's expression shows bits of every dark emotion Reo can think about, but embraces none of them completely. It's impossible to say what is going through Nagi at the moment. Reo can only tell that the Nagi he sees now is not the Nagi he knows, or rather, it's a side of him he doesn't know about.

It's deeply unsettling and rips the heart inside his chest alongside his soul out of him, leaving him behind as a dead and empty shell that can only watch passively. In the passage of mere minutes, he has been rendered speechless not only once but twice. Reo feels helpless, his brain failing him in the worst possible situation. He knows he has to say something, anything, that he has to communicate, that he has to speak with Naagi, talk to him, but there's nothing in his mind, only an empty void similar to the one now residing in his bleeding, hollow ribcage.

Then Nagi falls to his knees, breathing becoming increasingly more difficult with every passing second. Ego's words are like a broken recorder in his head, "locked off" and "disqualified", haunting his seething mind. He feels so many things he has never felt as realisation about his new reality sinks deeper into his consciousness. He has to leave Blue Lock and with it, Reo and Isagi. He grits his teeth, his fingers digging into the fake grass, their blades slicing the skin under his nails, almost drawing blood..

Among everything that twists in his gut, he only recognises frustration, but it's not the same he felt when he saw Isagi and his light of rebirth for the first time. It doesn't make him feel excited, doesn't make him feel the fire he's missing  No, the frustration he feels now is fundamentally different, sparking the lids that lead to a dormant volcano that shows signs of activity after an eternity.

When was the last time he felt like this? Has there ever been a last time? Or is it the first time now? Nagi doesn't know. He's not a super emotional guy to begin with, so he's not very good with emotions. It's overwhelming, it sucks and it's pain. Nagi doesn't want it. He doesn't want to feel like this. He wants to play soccer with Reo and Isagi, not leave them an-

It becomes too much when realisation runs him over again. He snaps and the dormant volcano breaks out - no, the dormant volcano disappears in an explosion of violent force of heat and ash. When the dying fire mountain roars, the genius screams.

"RRRRAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!"

Nagi topples over, face hitting fake grass and dirt. His scream is loud and raw and primal, his voice failing him at the end because it is not made to reach such high octaves. The whole field is baffled, nobody daring to say a single word about Nagi's emotional outburst. Nobody dares to approach him, not even Chris or Lavinho, both forgetting that they are supposed to be reasonable adults and not impassive bystanders. They should step in, but they are rooted to where they stand, equally terrified by the genius' death scream.

Reo wants to move, to be by Nagi's side and hold him close, but he's frozen in place. Nagi's scream ringing in his ears is like that of a siren, but not the alluring call they use to draw in their prey. No, this is a scream of fury and unfiltered rage, a warning not to get close unless you want to doom yourself. The void in his chest becomes bigger. Nagi is suffering, and he can't move to help him as he should. Reo feels the worst he ever has. Nagi could beat him up for all he cares. It doesn't matter. Seeing Nagi, his treasure, the only person who sees him as Reo and not Mikage Reo, heir to a big company, like this, is utterly heart-wrenching. The heart already torn from his chest is now sliced into shreds on top of that, and Reo feels every cut with his whole body.

Nagi notices barely any of what is happening around him. His ears are deaf from a sudden spark of tinnitus, leaving him alone with his loud breathing and the lump of emotions that chokes him. But then, a new sound, a voice calling his name through the silence It is erratic, but calming and soothing like an endless ocean.

"Nagi..."

The snowy-haired teen feels his face being hit by a spray of water. A single wave of the endless ocean has found him and now circles him protectively, trying to wash out all the negativity that has taken hold of him. The bubbling guilt in his heart grows heavier because the voice calling for him sounds breathless, uncertainty residing where confidence should be. Slowly, as if the origin of the voice would vanish if he just moved slow enough, Nagi lifts his head until silver and sapphire meet.

Isagi stands at the entrance in black and blue and red and gold, all combined into one. Sweat drips from his face, creating wet dots on his uniform. He looks breathless, his chest rising and falling erratically. He must have run here after seeing the results. His eyes are blown wide, a spitting image of Reo's. Only the colour is different, not amethyst purple but sapphire blue. The shock and disbelief on his face are the same as on Reo's. If Nagi were to overlap their faces, only the eye colour and hair would enable him to distinguish between the two. That's how similar they look right now. Moreover, Nagi realises something. He has not only failed himself and Reo,... he has also failed Isagi.

A few days prior, he trotted to the German stratum in search of his ego, the thing he was lacking and the reason his offers constantly dropped with every match he played. Aside from Reo, Isagi is the only one he feels close to, someone whom he trusts and who isn't a pain, fun to be around even. That's why he thought that maybe Isagi could help him with the matter.

Turned out that Isagi did help him after his brain almost overheated, but what he said sounded a lot like something Chris already told him, that his ego starts with himself. So, although he got what he wanted, Nagi wasn't much further than before, so he whined, dragging himself halfway across Isagi's back and then sighed heavily.

"Maybe I should just drop out... Thinking all about this is a paaaiiin."

Nagi wasn't serious about it, of course. Just a moment of short defiance, where he had to let out the nagging feeling that constantly gnawed at him.

Isagi turned around at his words, almost dropping him in the process.

"What are you talking about?!" He then asked, bewildered, his eyes wild.

Nagi was surprised by the reaction. He thought Isagi would understand his attempt at making a joke, but apparently, he didn't. Slightly panicked over the fact that he had worried Isagi, Nagi wanted to set it right, but Isagi beat him to it.

"There's no way that you're dropping out, genius! I can't say how high your offer will be, but I know you will be okay!" Isagi said with a serious expression, but it softened when he continued. His voice became smoother, too. "So, what if you're in a slump right now? I have been there my whole life before Blue Lock, too, and I got out. That's why I can tell you of all people will be able to get out of it in no time. I view you as a more amazing player than Rin, ya' know?" The raven head finished. Then he tilted his head sideways and threw Nagi the most dazzling and toothiest smile he could muster.

Nagi was... floored to say the least. Not only by the smile Isagi gave him, but also the pure honesty with which he had told him how he thought about him. Nagi had no clue Isagi had such a high opinion of him. Better than Rin? Talk about putting pressure on his shoulders. Yet, Nagi still felt the corners of his mouth slightly rising upwards. He's not good with this whole smiling thing, but he knows it's something only Reo and Isagi can pull out of him.

"Thanks, isagi. This helped me a lot."

Isagi didn't answer, only responding with his smile that grew bigger. After their talk, Nagi stayed a while longer to hang out. With the NEL going on, they hardly had the time to do that since they were in different teams. They could only keep up with each other through chatting, and that hardly compared to seeing Isagi in person. So since he was already with Isagi, he might as well capitalise on the time he had with the average shorty.

They easily fell back into their dynamics from Second Selection. Isagi leaned against the backrest of his bed and played games on Nagi's phone or used the drawings app, which the tall genius had never used. Meanwhile, Nagi rested on Isagi's legs, using them as his pillow as he dozed off, simply basking in Isagi's presence and the comfort he offered. Occasionally, Isagi would comb through his hair, saying something along the lines, "Heyyyy, don't snooze off. You're heavyyyyy," to which Nagi would only reply with a soft moan, Isagi's hand in his hair worked like a charm that could force him to slumber instantly if it wanted to.

It's strange how the comfort Isagi gives to him is fundamentally different from the comfort Reo offers. Yet, Nagi feels like they are essentially the same, two alloys that melted together somewhere along the way and are now inseparable. Sometimes, he wonders whether he will feel double the comfort or not in case Reo and Isagi work their magic on him at the same time. He should defintely try this out one day.

Nagi returned on that night with an easy heart, feeling like everything would turn out alright.

Looking back on that day with his newly gained insight, he feels how his stomach churns from nausea. Isagi's confidence from that day has all but vanished, and Nagi realises that this his fault too. Isagi had unwavering trust in him, and he has gone and betrayed it. The dream he shared with Reo and Isagi's faith. He has betrayed both.

Nagi feels another scream of frustration scratching the inside of his throat, the tethered volcano about to explode once more. But then, rain starts falling, tears of the ocean that smother the embers. It's an embodiment of Isagi's broken stare, Nagi feels inside of him. The ocean weeps and sends a wave large enough to reach the skies. It breaks apart when it meets the shore and swallows everything.

Isagi's presence is always like this, a calming sooth that relaxes him just by seeing him. The scratching in his throat subsides, drowned by the crying ocean that settles in his core, the ocean that is littered with shards of broken amethysts and sapphires

Nagi slumps forward, his large body breaking apart like a fragile cardhouse. His head falls onto his arm, and it looks like he's bowing down in apology to Reo, to Isagi, whom he has both betrayed. Maybe he is. He can't tell. He only knows that he's devastated, knowing that he's the reason for putting those shocked expressions on Reo and Isagi's faces. All of it is his fault. It makes him grit his teeth again, clench his fist as anger bubbles again, but that too is suffocated by broken fragments of amethyst and sapphire.

The whole field remains silent, nobody daring to say a word even when several minutes have passed.

Nagi's body twitches eventually. It's sore from the game, muscles exhausted from remaining stiff for so long in an uncomfortable position, broken from the realisation that he is disqualified, the realisation that has not grown tired yet to run him over and over again. He has to leave Blue Lock and with it, Reo and Isagi too.

Slowly, he rights his body to standing, his head hanging low in defeat. He begins trotting towards the exit of the field.

His steps are slow and clumsy, and he trips a few times, barely catching himself in time.

Nagi passes Reo, Reo who tries to reach out to him. Nagi shoots him down.

"Sorry Reo," he mutters as he passes by. "Sorry for betraying our dream."

Reo chokes on his breath, his arm falling back lifelessly to his side.

Nagi doesn't stop, doesn't look back. If he did, he would see the watery membrane inside Reo's eyes.

He trots further, one step at a time. He trips more, falls once and hurts his knee, drawing blood. He barely registers it, the pain no distraction from his shattered heart.

Nagi reaches the exit, the exit that is blocked by Isagi. He only knows when he sees his shoes, meaning Isagi is in front of him.

He changes his course and dodges Isagi, walking past him silently as if he were a ghost.

"Na-" Isagi tries, but Nagi shoots him down too.

"Sorry Isagi," Nagi repeats because it's the only thing he can think of to say, to say that he's sorry. "I'm sorry for betraying your trust."

Isagi, who also tried to reach for him, freezes, his arm stopped in midair.

Nagi continues, still not looking back at either Reo or Isagi, who are watching him retreat. Nagi knows it, feels the lingering gazes of purple and blue, amethyst and sapphire, burning into his back, begging him to stop. He doesn't stop, not feeling like he deserves to be in their presence any longer. Not after what he has done to them, not after he has betrayed them both.

Deep down, he knows that he should turn around and communicate with them, speak with them, but what is he supposed to say other than being sorry? What else has a loser like him to tell the No. 1 and No. 7? He doesn't know, has no idea what he should tell Reo and Isagi. That must be the reason why his lips develop a life of their own, spilling the lone and bitter truth currently residing in his empty, broken heart.

"Sorry that I'm such a pain."

He then rounds a corner and steps out of their view, a corner that doesn't lead to the English or German Stratum but somewhere else. Where Nagi doesn't know. But that's good. He's a disqualified loser undeserving of comfort.

Reo, who has somehow ended up at the exit of the pitch too, alongside Isagi, watches as Nagi leaves, a gaping gorge without bridges suddenly between them. The teens listen to Nagi's silent footsteps, listen to how they become quieter and quieter until they are gone completely. Nagi's presence fades like that of a ghost, and they are left alone in the empty dark corridor, Nagi's last words breaking the silence in their hearts and souls.

Sorry That I'm Such A Pain

Chapter Text

It's late in the evening, long past 10 p.m. on a workday. The moon sits on its throne high in the sky, bathing the vast landscape of Tokyo in its pale light. Few passengers are left on the streets, people who are more owl than human, preferring night over day. The streets are calm as well, with only a few stray cars remaining on the streets. Even a bustling city like Tokyo gets quieter when the night curtain rises. Naturally, a city this large will never be completely silent, but compared to daytime, it has gotten a lot calmer, a sense of repose dusting the city like a thin veil.

Yet, despite the settling night wrapping itself around the city, the building of the Japanese Football Union is brimming with activity, a stark contrast to the otherwise calm city. Countless cars are clogging the streets around it like a swarm of ants while reporters from all over the world stand at its gates, waiting for statements from the officials. Their languages overlap as some are talking among each other, while others report life on their NewsChannel about the current state of the JPU and the ending of the event that has attracted the attention of the whole world.

Inside, the employees are working overtime, answering calls and preparing statements to release to the public. Many are close to passing out, but adrenaline keeps them functioning. It doesn't matter, though, because none of them cares for their health anyway. The excitement brimming through their veins makes it worth going through such struggles.

It's an unusual view to see the JPU building in such a hectic state. Normally, the Japanese branch of the PIFA organisation is more of the calm side, with rarely anything happening that makes it the centre of the world's attention. They are not in focus, just like the rest of Asia. Most of it is going to Europe, Africa and South America since those three continents are the heavyweights in terms of soccer. However, that changed overnight when a certain project was launched, taking the world by storm.

Blue Lock.

It's the daring project led by Ego Jinpachi and Teieri Anri to produce top-tier strikers that can lead Japan to victory in the World Cup. It sounds like a fever dream from a child's wild imagination, but the concept is revolutionary, and it has already borne fruit when the Blue Lock Eleven won against the Japanese U20 team, drawing attention from the whole world. In no time, Blue Lock has become the hot spot for soccer, and with the beginning of the Neo Egoist League, the popularity only rose further because renowned teams from the big leagues of Europe joined the project, further increasing its reach.

Taking this into consideration, it's no wonder the building of the JFU is busier than a beehive. It's the natural result of Blue Lock's success and the attention that comes with it.

However, one single room inside the building is completely different when compared to the rest of the building. It's a lone room at the end of a long corridor, equally silent and calm as death itself. Outside stand a tall man and a woman, both wearing sunglasses although they are indoors. They wear matching suits too, standing protectively before the corridor's entrance. They are surrounded by an air of authority, daring anyone to come even remotely close. The employees who have to walk past them are watched with hawk's eyes, their every movement taken apart to demask any potential aggression. When the workers round the corner, they all breathe in relief, wiping away the sweat that covers their faces from the brief but terrifying encounter.

Which makes the whole ordeal even more terrific for the poor employees is the fact that neither of the two people is from Japan. The man has dark skin and a shaved head, while the woman is pale in complexion and has fair blond hair that reaches her shoulders. One look and everyone can tell they are foreigners, people from overseas who travelled here for a reason. Above them hangs a VIP sign, indicating what their job in this foreign nation entails. They are the bodyguards of someone important, a person vital to the world of soccer.

The person in question, whom the woman and man guard, is indeed sitting in the room that is completely shrouded in an eerie darkness. The windows are covered by silky, thick curtains of royal blue through which no light can enter, be it the shine of the moon or the artificial illumination of the street lamps. The room itself has enough lamps and lights that could provide visibility, yet none are switched on. It morphs the room into something otherworldly, an enclosed space separated from the rest of the world. The inhabitant of the room is quite pleased about this detail. The calm and solace allow him to focus undisturbed on the sole source of light inside the domain he currently calls his own.

It comes from a screen, a large TV hanging on the wall opposite him. It's hardly enough light to illuminate the whole room, so the sole person sitting inside appears as a mere silhouette among shadows if anyone were to enter. However, whether the light is switched on or not doesn't matter in the end. The thick air swirling around the man, impregnated with his overwhelming presence, will make it hard to discern his appearance. It is similar to the presence of a dragon sleeping on its treasury. The pale glow of the gold and jewels, the light that catches in gems of sapphires, diamonds and amethysts vanishes beneath the dominant aura of the mythical lizard because even a sleeping dragon is a creature that instils fear in the masses. No one who is in their right mind and values their life will step close to the monstrosity that can snuff out their lives with a mere puff of air.

This throws up the question of why bodyguards are positioned outside when it is obvious that the man who sits in the room and resembles a mighty dragon is not someone who needs protection. He's more than capable of taking care of himself, able to deal with anything the world can throw at him. Maybe it's the standard society expects from a man in his position, the expectation that he has bodyguards who follow him like shadows, always keeping an eye on his safety. It's a pointless endeavour because one glare from his piercing, icy blue eyes will shatter even the primal resolve to hunt from a ferocious wild beast, making it run away from him with its tail between its legs.

His bodyguards are more facade than anything else, a fact they are aware of. Yet, he will acknowledge that their presence helps in keeping unwelcome people away from him. The moment of repose he experiences at the moment is only possible due to his bodyguards standing outside and guarding the entrance, so he will condone their presence and profession, meaningless as it might be.

This allows the man to focus his icy blue eyes on the large screen. It displays a soccer match which he watches with a passive expression taking over most of his face. His mask is one of neutrality, revealing nothing about his thoughts. It adds to the strong impression he embodies, the scales that lurk under his skin. The displayed match he observes is not a regular one either. It's the final match of the Neo Egoist League, Barcha versus Manshine City. PxG versus Bastard München has reached its conclusion not long ago, and the last remaining match to arrive at that point is about to end too.

The man with his vast collection of experience can easily tell as such. Moreover, he can tell how the game will end, too. One look at each player is all that it takes for him to assess their talent and potential. Absorbing all this information allows him to create a perfect copy of the match in his head and, like a game of chess he has memorised for decades, it plays out exactly how he imagined.

Peasants are sacrificed, knights fight to protect what they hold dear, but it all comes to its end when walls are breached and the king meets his inevitable end and is felled by the hands of a bishop.

It takes only a few minutes more before the ending whistle sounds as the game comes to its natural conclusion. Barcha wins with 3:2 against Manshine City in the exact way his mental game of chess predicted. Everything is exactly as it should be. One side wins while the other loses, yet the money still flows. It's the natural order of this world, although many dislike this view and don't want to accept it. Not that the man cares much about the opinion of others. If the revenue hits the quota he has set, the rest doesn't matter to him.

Yet, despite that conviction, he feels a nagging sensation unrelated to business. It's a nasty little thing crawling under his skin, like a parasite trying to penetrate his sturdy armour of mental fortifications. It's a feeling he is not completely foreign to because the world is a place that has the annoying habit of deterring from carefully created plans and schemes. At the same time, the man feels estranged from the sensation under his skin, almost as if he's experiencing it for the very first time, although he knows it's not.

The reason is simple. Time has made him forget about this feeling. That gives rise to a thought in his mind, a thought that is jarring but also intriguing: How long has it been since the last time it took him more than one glance to understand the value of a player? How long has it been since he has been forced to keep his eyes on a player for more than a second? How long has it been since he last felt a spark of excitement ripping through his body like a lightning strike? When was the last time he felt excited over the endless possibilities of soccer?

It must be more than a decade, at least, if not longer. That's why the sensation curling under his skin is equally brother-in-arms and uncertain variable to him. Icy blue eyes lock onto the player in question, gaze distant and analytic. It's the fifth time he has done this now, the fifth time where cold eyes focus on the dead peasant instead of the king, sensing that there's more to the peasant than the open eye can tell. His mind wanders to the past, recalling encounters that are similar, yet fundamentally different.

A small, dirty youngster living in the filth of the city of love, Paris, who brimmed with limitless talent for soccer.

A chubby boy with the initials of royalty in his name who dreamed of soccer, but was bullied by the peasants in his surroundings and his own meek demeanour.

A cheeky lad dancing like a butterfly in the wind from a remote, unimportant backwater town in the depths of the Brazilian jungle, wishing to earn enough money with soccer to help his home and the orphanage he grew up in.

A twisted brat who knew nothing about manners and had only soccer in his brain.

The man had only a few encounters that left a lasting impression on him because he was unable to distinguish their value for soccer at first glance. More than three, however, were not required. Yet, here he finds himself now, staring at a dying lump of talent for the fifth time, none the wiser.

Among those rare cases he has experienced in his long life, this in itself is a novelty. If one look hasn't been enough, the second would tell him everything he needed to know. And if the second look still wasn't enough, the third and final look would reveal everything. He would lift the rags the peasant is wearing and show him what is hidden beneath the dirt. In the cases the man experienced, he would find the qualities of a king, lumps of talent that needed special treatment to grow and blossom, as befitted the qualities of a king they displayed.

A king can't grow to his full potential if he's treated like a peasant after all.

And yet, here he finds himself stuck in this odd situation, paying a single player more attention than any other player before and still unable to tell even the most mundane aspects. This player, this boy, is the special case among special cases, and the man has to wonder: What will he find if he were to lift the rags and look beneath?

A mass of weakness or strength? A prodigy or an oddity? Worthless trash or an unpolished gem on the verge of disappearing forever?

He can't answer any of those questions, and it's mildly frustrating. At the same time, he feels a blooming sensation of curiosity over this strange discovery, a feeling he thought he had lost a long time ago when he left the pitch and took residence in a chair on the leading board of the PIFA.

This development is... most fascinating.

The man continues to watch a little longer, unsurprised when the rankings reveal what he has anticipated. The player that he has taken an interest in gets disqualified, one rank short of making it into the Japanese U20 team. He observes how the player collapses to the ground, a jarring scream following soon after, before he switches the TV off. He has seen enough, already knowing what will come next. Jinpachi is not a blank sheet to him after all. He can easily discern what goes through the head of Blue Lock's mad dictator, so watching any further is a pointless endeavour that won't make him any money.

Leaning back, he sinks into the leather of the chair he is sitting in and allows his eyes to close for a moment of repose. He sorts the information he learned throughout the match, feeling mild disappointment over the fact that Jinpachi still behaves like an amateur after everything he taught the boy. Chris is much the same, not fit to teach others since his narcissistic, self-centred personality is too distinctive and constantly gets in the way. To think he's the same little, chubby boy who was unable to stand up for himself in the past is almost amusing.

Comparing both impressions he has of the two men, he's more disappointed about Jinpachi's behaviour, though.

"After all those years, you are still wet behind your ears, Jinpachi, a bratty little greenhorn that talks about unpolished gems while being one himself. Truly disappointing."

The man's heavy voice fills the empty void of the room like the snarl of a sleeping dragon. It's not with resentment he says those words, but with brutal honesty founded on memories available only to him. His words are the conclusion after knowing Jinpachi for numerous years, remembering the time when he was a young and naive brat and only knew the word soccer. It's also the judgment he can make based on his years of experience, after having met thousands of different people across the globe.

Leaning deeper into the chair's leather, he allows his mind to wander a bit more, a result of the rare moment of quiet peace he finds himself in. It wanders to the player, of course, viewing the child from different positions and perspectives and yet the mystery remains unsolved, a riddle that is too complex to be solved in a manner of mere seconds or minutes. If nothing is done, it will disappear too, remaining a mystery till the end of time, the peasant remaining a peasant for eternity.

Icy blue eyes open upon that conclusion, narrowing in a wave of displeasure. The nagging feeling twisting under his skin is slightly stronger than before.

After a moment of consideration has passed, he lets one of his fingers travel across the smooth surface of his chair's armrest, feeling where leather becomes wood. A moment later, he finds an irregularity on the surface, small indentations lined up in a row of two. His finger slides to the upper centre of the panel, pushing down on the button.

"Yes, sir?" Comes the voice of his assistant instantly, the woman standing outside this room. Reaction time less than a second. He knows because he counted mentally. He's pleased about it. He has high expectations of himself, so he expects the same from anyone working directly under him.

"Sabrina, bring Hirotoshi to me," the man demands, not saying why he wants the presence of the JFU's president in his room.

"I'll see to it at once, sir."

The line hangs up, right after, as Sabrina doesn't waste time. That's what he likes about her. She doesn't question his orders and instead acts.

Besides, he does not need to explain himself to anyone since he stands at the pinnacle of the soccer world, because he is the peak of the soccer world. To him, the JFU's president is merely a name on paper, a face not worthy of remembering. He can be replaced at any given time. All it needs is a word from him.

There's one aspect he will acknowledge, though. Hirotoshi, unlike many others, understands that soccer is purely a business, just another way to earn money. The endless circle of revenue, cost efficiency and success. He acts accordingly, and that is more than enough for the man sitting in the chair. Hirotoshi can wriggle like the worm he is on the hook of the rod the man is holding to his heart's content. As long as he earns money, the man doesn't care about anything else.

One and a half minutes or ninety seconds later, a presence appears on the other side.

"Enter," the man calls, not needing to wait for a meaningless knock. He knows who it is, so why should he waste his precious time on pleasantries? He has called for Hirotoshi, and he trusted Sabrina to get the job done. In his opinion, humans waste too much time on purposeless endeavours that only cost a lot of money unnecessarily.

The door opens, and a person enters. A quick glance that barely lasts a fraction of a second confirms that it is the man he has requested: Hirotoshi Buratsuta, president of the Japanese Football Union.

"It's a plea-"

"I thought about your proposal," the man begins, ignoring the attempt at exchanging courtesies. This is not a gala event but a business talk, nothing more and nothing less. The man prefers to get to the point immediately and not waste time and money. Knowing without watching that Hirotoshi holds his breath in anticipation, the cracks in his poor masquerade painfully obvious, he continues, "After careful consideration, I accept it."

The mask falls, revealing the grimace of a beaming child who looks like he received a bag full of juicy candies just now. If that was actually the case, the man might have huffed in a brief moment of amusement. Considering he's facing a grown man, the view is disgusting.

"However," his voice booms, cutting off Hirotoshi before he can show more of his displeasing nonsense. "I have one condition."

"Of course! Anything you want!"

A fast and efficient reply, exactly how he likes it.

"Very well," the man responds, allowing a small nod of his head, which seals the deal.

"You shall be informed about the specifics on a later day. You can leave now."

Despite his clear dismissal, Hirotoshi lingers, obviously thinking of prolonging their encounter more than it needs to be. The dragon awakens from its slumber and peeks at the insect that dared to crawl too close. The man throws an icy-cold glare at the president of the JFU, showing his displeasure. Incompetent as Hirotoshi is, he understands the message and scambles out of the room after he bows deeply.

The door closes, and calm returns, embracing the man in comfortable silence once more. However, it's not the end of a long day. At least not yet. There's something he must do beforehand.

His finger returns to the panel, pushing the same button as before.

"Sir?" It's Sabrina's voice again.

"Clear my schedule for tomorrow."

"I will see it done."

"One more thing. Prepare my car. There's somewhere I want to go."

"Naturally, sir. Everything will be arranged. We will await your arrival."

The line disconnects, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

Slowly, he rises to his feet and moves to the vitrified door leading to the balcony. Stepping outside, he's met with crisp night air. There's a small marble table on which a bottle of sake stands. It's a local product with a long tradition, according to what he has been told, brewed in the same way for more than a thousand years.

He pours himself a cup, pleasantly surprised by the richness of the taste that dews his lips.

Looking towards the sky, he observes the movement of the moon as it travels slowly across the heavens.

"Well now," he muses to himself. "How long has it been since I last went into the field myself and dirtied my hands?"

As he ponders it, not really seeking an answer, he thinks about the player again.

"Hmpf, I wonder what you will turn out to be, lump of talent banished from Blue Lock. A dirty peasant? Worthless trash? An obedient slave? An empowered king? Or will you be something entirely else altogether? Something that escapes even my gaze?"

He huffs as possibilities appear in his mind one after another.

"Truly Fascinating..."

He continues to stare at the moon above him and simply lets the night fade away. Tomorrow will be an interesting day for him, one way or another.