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.

0:1 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.