Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rain.
Cold.
Metallic.

That was the last thing Giyuu remembered, the taste of blood and Akaza’s fist tearing through his chest. His vision fractured like glass, and for the first time in years, he understood he wasn’t going to stand back up.

There was no fear.
Just acceptance.

His eyes closed.

He woke to silence.

A soft one.
Not the silence of death,
but the silence of a house.

A pillow supported his head.
Warm blankets cocooned him.
His fingers brushed cotton instead of dirt.

Giyuu’s eyes snapped open.

White ceiling.
Ceiling fan.
Sunlight filtering through blinds.
The faint hum of something electric.

He sat up fast.

This wasn’t the Butterfly Estate.
This wasn’t any estate.
No shoji doors.
No smell of wood or medicine.
No sword beside his futon.

Instead...

A modern bedroom.
Clean. Simple.
A desk with a glowing rectangle resting on it.
A sleek closet.
Posters on the wall of men kicking a strange black-and-white sphere.

He frowned.

...Where am I?

This layout is strange.

Western house maybe?

His lungs felt different, lighter. His breath didn’t burn. His ribs didn’t ache. He wasn’t injured.

Slowly, he slid out of bed. The floor was cold against his feet.

There was a mirror on the wall.

He stepped toward it.

Giyuu stared.

It was him.
But... not.

His face was the same, but younger, maybe sixteen.
His body smaller.
No scars across his arms or torso.
No callouses from a lifelong grip on a katana.
Even the stiffness in his shoulders was gone.

He touched his reflection.

“This is... me?”

The boy in the mirror blinked back.

He didn’t feel like a Hashira anymore.
He felt human.
Weak, almost.

A strange pressure tightened in his chest.

Panic.

But before it could bloom-

A small weight brushed against his leg.

Chachamaru.

A fluffy tail swished.
A soft meow rose.

Giyuu froze.

The cat lifted its head, golden bell collar chiming.
Same coat.
Same calm eyes.

“...It can’t be.” he whispered.

Chachamaru rubbed against his shin, like this was all normal.

He crouched, hesitant, then slowly pet the cat’s head.
Warm. Real. Purring.

“Am I dreaming?” Giyuu murmured.

Chachamaru meowed again, then walked toward the desk, toward the glowing rectangle, and tapped it with a paw.

Giyuu stared.

“...You want me to... look at that?”

The cat tapped it again.

The screen lit up fully, displaying numbers and icons.

Giyuu recoiled slightly.
It was like a talisman with moving images.

“What is this?”
He reached out, touched the glass,
and it reacted, shifting instantly.

He jerked his hand back.

Chachamaru meowed in a tone that sounded eerily like come on.

Phone.

A foreign word. A foreign world.

He tried again, tapping the icon carefully.
A menu opened.

He felt like a caveman discovering fire.

Then Chachamaru nudged his leg again and hopped onto the desk, pawing at a larger device, a computer.

The screen lit up, flooding the room with color.
Giyuu stiffened.

More strange symbols.
More moving images.

“...Is this... some kind of blood demon art?”

Chachamaru gave him a very judgmental stare.

Giyuu exhaled slowly.

“Fine. Show me.”

And somehow, the cat did.

Button by button. Tap by tap.
Chachamaru pawed, Giyuu imitated.

He learned what a “mouse” was.
That the glowing keys were a “keyboard.”
That people communicated through little glowing letters.
That clothes weren’t haoris anymore but shirts and jeans.
That society looked nothing like the Sengoku period.
That buildings stretched into the sky.
That electricity powered everything.

Giyuu absorbed it silently, expression unreadable,
but inside, unease rippled through him like a storm.

He knew two truths:

1. He had died.

2. This was a new world.

He wasn’t a Hashira here.
He wasn’t a soldier.
He wasn’t needed.

So then-

Why was he alive again?

And why was his heart beating so calmly…
as if telling him that this life, this strange, modern world,
was only the beginning?

Giyuu explored the house slowly, Chachamaru padding beside him like a second shadow.

The place was small but tidy.
Minimal furniture.
A living room with a couch.
A small kitchen, metallic appliances humming with electricity.
A narrow hallway leading to a bathroom and a spare room.

Everything felt untouched.
Lived in, but also... lonely.

Giyuu opened cabinets.
Found neatly stacked plates.
Instant food packages he didn’t understand.
Clothes he barely recognized.

There were no footsteps from another room.
No voices.
No presence.

He checked every corner, every door.

Empty.

The realization sank in with a strange weight, not heavy, but familiar.

“I see.” he murmured quietly.

Loneliness didn’t scare him.
He grew up with it the same way others grew up with siblings.

Still... something pressed against his ribs.
Recognition.
Memory.

He walked back into the living room and noticed an envelope on the coffee table.
It hadn’t been there earlier.

Or maybe he had simply overlooked it.
He was still learning how to see this world.

The envelope had his name on it in clean, modern handwriting:

Tomioka Giyuu

His chest tightened.

He opened it.

You have been reincarnated, Giyuu Tomioka.

Your previous life has ended.
This one begins now.

You have exactly one week to learn the basics of the modern world.
After that, your new routine will resume as if nothing is unusual.

Identity details:

• Name: Tomioka Giyuu

• Age: 16

• Status: Orphan

• Address: Pretend its sum random address vro

• Legal guardian: None

• Living situation: Independent minor with government support

• School: Ichinan High School

• Year: Second year

• Clubs: Art club, music club, psychology, and debate.

• Skills: Reading, art, martial instinct, physical skill, violin, and neurology.

• Notes: Personality preserved.
  Cold, observant, quiet. Loyal.
  Almost entirely identical to former self... almost.

Your memories of the past remain intact.
Use them wisely.

Your fate will shift soon.

Prepare yourself.

There was no signature.
No seal.
Just a clean ending.

Giyuu read the letter twice.
Then a third time.

His hand did not shake.
His eyes did not widen.

But inside, something cold settled into place,
not fear, not anger, but the same emotionless acceptance he had learned as a child.

He folded the letter neatly.

“...So I am still myself.” he murmured.

Chachamaru meowed, curling around his leg.

Giyuu crouched to pet him.

“I don’t understand why I’m here.” he said softly.
“But it seems I must live as... this version of me.”

He stood and walked toward the window.

Outside, cars rumbled past.
People walked with phones in hand.
Tall buildings framed the skyline.

A world too bright.
Too fast.
Too alive.

He felt out of place.
Like a relic.

But he had lived through worse.

He straightened his posture.

A week to learn.
A lifetime to survive.

His reflection in the glass stared back,
still calm, still unreadable, still Giyuu Tomioka.

Almost unchanged.

Almost.

Giyuu spent the first day inside, letting the strange new world settle around him.

By the second day, he knew he had to step out.

The letter said he had one week.
He planned to use every minute.

He dressed in the simplest outfit he could find, a plain black hoodie, jeans, and sneakers that felt like walking on clouds.
Chachamaru insisted on coming along, hopping into a cat carrier as if he’d done it a thousand times.

Giyuu wasn’t going to question how the cat understood all of this.
Some things were easier to accept than to explain.

The noise.
The movement.
The colors.

People rushed past him with wired things in their ears.
Cars honked.
Screens flashed advertisements.
The scent of food drifted from every corner.

Giyuu stood on the sidewalk, expression blank but mind whirling.

“...Incredible.” he whispered with awe.

A world without demons.
A world built upward instead of huddled in fear.
A world so bright it hurt his eyes.

He walked slowly, taking it all in.

Children laughing through their phones.
A bus roaring by.
A man in a suit eating something called “instant noodles.”

Giyuu had spent years fighting for a world like this.
He never imagined he’d get to live in it.

He found a mall.

The building was enormous and glassy, reflecting the sunlight like polished steel.
Inside, the air was cool and smelled of new fabric.

Giyuu stopped at a store displaying clothes far different from anything he’d worn.

A fashionable teenager approached him.
“Welcome! Can I help you find anything?”

“...Clothes.” Giyuu said after a long pause.

The teenager blinked.
“Uh... yeah, that’s kind of the whole store. Anything specific?”

Giyuu stared blankly.
“I don’t know.”

It took thirty minutes and Chachamaru’s occasional judgmental glare, but eventually:

• black oversized jackets

• fitted shirts

• dark cargos

• simple monochrome outfits

• athletic wear

• comfortable sweaters

• and a beanie Chachamaru forced upon him

The clerk whispered to their coworker,
“That guy’s aesthetic is so cold, it’s kinda cool...”

Giyuu acted like he didn’t hear.

Not that he cared. (nonchalant dreadhead ahh)

The cashier announced the total.

Giyuu opened his new phone, finally understood how to use it, and tapped the banking app.

And froze.

There were numbers.
Long numbers.
Numbers with commas in them.
More digits than he had fingers.

His account balance:

¥7,248,900,000.00

He blinked.

So I still have the same amount of money I had in my past life. 

How peculiar...

But useful.

He scrolled.

More accounts.
Multiple savings.
Investments.
Emergency funds.
Government acknowledgments.

Digitized, modernized, converted historical currency.

Everything he ever earned as a Hashira... still existed.

Just... updated.

He was rich. Filthy rich. Generationally rich.

The cashier watched him.

“Sir? Are you okay?”

“Yes.”
He paid calmly.

Inside, he felt something shift.

So money will not be a problem.

He could live comfortably.
Safely.
Independently.

It was surreal.

Slayer corps died penniless.
This Giyuu could die a billionaire.

He put away his phone and picked up his bags.

Chachamaru meowed approvingly.

He learned how to:

• use a phone

• search information

• cook modern meals

• do laundry with a washing machine

• understand traffic lights

• navigate apps

• buy things online

• use the shower without nearly flooding the bathroom

• ride public transportation

• and wear modern fashion without looking like a lost cosplayer

He stood in front of his mirror one evening, wearing a simple black outfit, hair tied back half-neatly.

He looked...

Normal.
Modern.
Alive.

Still quiet.
Still cold.
Still Giyuu Tomioka.

Almost unchanged.

But his eyes...
They held something softer now.

A spark of curiosity.

A desire to understand this world.

The week vanished quickly.
Giyuu learned how to survive, how to blend in-
and most importantly, how to move through this world without drawing attention.

Or so he thought.

The moment he stepped onto the school grounds, he realized something was very, very wrong.

The gate buzzed with chatter the moment he appeared.

“hey, who is that?”
“Isn’t he the new transfer?”
“He’s not new, idiot, he’s in our year!”
“He’s so... beautiful?”

Giyuu froze.

Beautiful?

People didn’t say that back home.
If they did, he didn’t hear it.

He continued walking with quiet steps, light, controlled, almost invisible. Years of demon hunting had made him unnaturally stealthy, even in a hallway full of noisy teenagers.

Yet somehow-

He attracted more attention by trying to be invisible.

By the time he had reached his shoe locker-

A group of students had gathered near the entrance.

All whispering.

All watching him.

Someone even gasped when his hair shifted in the breeze.

“What the hell, why is he gorgeous in both masculine AND feminine ways-”
“His eyes are insane...”
“He looks like he walked out of a painting.”
“Wait, guys, is he the one people were talking about? The ‘silent prince’ rumor??”

Giyuu blinked.

Silent... prince?

He opened his locker and found a stack of letters.
Colorful. Scented. Even glittered.

He stared at them silently.

Love letters.

He considered closing the locker again and never opening it ever.

Chachamaru would have hissed at him for running from his problems, so he simply... took the letters out, placed them in his bag, and continued forward.

When he entered the classroom, everyone stopped.

Conversations halted mid-sentence.
Chairs stopped squeaking.
Even the teacher paused with a marker in hand.

Dozens of eyes burned into him.

Giyuu walked to his seat quietly, sat down, and opened his bag.

Whispers ignited.

“He’s in OUR class. He's a total Ikemen!!"
“I heard he lives alone, he probably cooks for himself!”
“He’s so composed… holy hell…”
“Do you think he likes older women?”
“No, he totally reads romance novels.”
“Wait, I heard he’s super mysterious, like he disappears after school.”
“He moves like a ninja.”

(That last one wasn’t wrong.)

Giyuu stared ahead, expression flat, while chaos built around him.

Someone approached him timidly.

“Um... Tomioka-kun? There’s, um... a group that wanted to meet you.”

Giyuu raised an eyebrow.
“A group?”

The student pointed nervously.

Across the courtyard, a cluster of boys and girls stood together, holding a banner:

TOMIOKA GIYUU FANCLUB
– 2nd Year Division –
(Established literally this morning)

One girl waved shyly.
Another got dizzy and almost fainted when Giyuu’s eyes flicked her way.

Giyuu’s soul left his body.

“...I do not understand.” he said flatly.

The poor student stuttered, “Y-you don’t have to join! They’re just, um... big fans.”

“Fans?”

He had seen “idols” on television during his one-week crash course.

Was he an idol now?

He quietly turned away and left the courtyard.

The library.

The moment he stepped inside, everything felt... right.

Rows of books.
Soft lighting.
No shouting.
No glitter.
No random people trying to touch his hair.

He walked between the shelves, fingertips brushing spines lightly.

Modern literature was overwhelming in the best way.
Romance, mystery, fantasy, science fiction...
Stories without demons.
Stories about love and grief and wonder.

He picked up a novel, sat in the corner by the window, and read silently.

The world outside buzzed with energy-
but here, it was quiet.

He turned the page.

His breathing softened.

He felt... calm.

Alive, in a different way.

The librarian noticed him. (Ayo?? Aint u in yo 30s??)

She kept glancing over, flustered.

He had that effect.

But she didn’t approach.
And for that, he was thankful.

Giyuu spent the rest of lunch reading.
He cleaned up after himself.
Straightened the chair.
Pushed the book back neatly.

Neat.
Tidy.
Precise.

Old habits stayed with him.

He walked out as quietly as he came in, slipping through the hallway like a shadow.

Half the school tried to follow him.
None of them succeeded.

Stealth was something no modern teenager could beat.

Classes ended, and Giyuu slipped out of the building with the same silent grace he used during his Hashira days.
He avoided the fan club.
Avoided the love letters.
Avoided the people trying to “accidentally” bump into him for contact.

He escaped the campus easily.

Stealth was a blessing.

His feet carried him toward home, familiar with the route after a week of exploring. Chachamaru trotted along behind him, tail flicking happily.

The afternoon sun warmed the pavement.
Birds chirped.
For the first time since reincarnating, Giyuu felt... peaceful.

"HEADS!”

Giyuu turned instinctively.

A soccer ball flew straight toward his face with terrifying speed.

A normal person would flinch.

Giyuu?

He shifted his posture slightly,
muscles reacting before thought.

His foot came up.
Smooth.
Effortless.

He stopped the ball dead on the side of his shoe, letting it bounce once.

Then,

In one fluid motion, he flicked it behind him, over his back, over his shoulders,

A perfect rainbow flick.

The ball spun through the air like a rising water droplet.

The soccer players who’d been chasing it froze mid-sprint.

The ball descended.

Giyuu stepped back half an inch, timed it instinctually, 
and let it fall onto his foot like the touch of a feather.

Then he passed it back.

A clean, precise arc.
Landing exactly at the feet of the nearest player.

Not too soft.
Not too strong.

Professional-level touch.

Inhuman precision.

“...Bro.”
“What.”
“What the hell did we just witness?”
“Did he-did he rainbow flick? That cleanly?”
“No way.”
“No way that was a coincidence.”
“That was insane.”

Giyuu blinked, confused.

“I was just returning the ball.” he said quietly.

The entire team swarmed him.

“DO YOU PLAY?”
“ARE YOU IN A CLUB?”
“WHAT TEAM WERE YOU SCOUTED BY?”
“That first touch was unreal!”
“You have perfect control!”
“Your reflexes are cracked, dude!”

Giyuu stepped back, overwhelmed.

“I don’t... play soccer.”

Silence.

They stared at him like he had just spoken in demonic tongues.

“You... don’t?!”
“That wasn’t beginner level, man!”
“Your body moved like it knew what to do!”
“What are you, some martial artist or something?”

He blinked.

“...I train a lot.” he said simply.

That was the understatement of several lifetimes.

Then the captain stepped forward.

Tall, sweaty, panting from training.

“Try out with us.” he said immediately. “Just once.”

Giyuu stared.

“I don’t have interest in joining any more clubs.”

“It doesn’t have to be a club.” the captain insisted. “Just... try kicking the ball again. That’s all. You’re a natural. A monster.”

Monster.

That word hit him strangely.
Familiar.
But this time, not an insult.

“Please?” another player begged.

“You’d be amazing.” added another.

“Dude, you’re built different.”

Giyuu exhaled softly.

He didn’t want attention.
Didn’t want a crowd.

But refusing them would only cause more chaos, he suspected.

“...Fine.”

They cheered.

Chachamaru meowed in betrayal.

The coach appeared.

“What’s with all the yelling-?”

Then he saw Giyuu.

His eyes narrowed.

“Tomioka-kun? I’ve heard rumors about your reflexes.”

Giyuu didn’t like the sound of that.

The coach tossed a ball at him without warning.

Fast.
Hard.

Giyuu caught it with his foot instantly, no flinch, no stumble.

The coach’s eyes widened a fraction.

“...That’s not normal.” he muttered.

Giyuu tilted his head. “Is it... bad?”

“Bad? Kid, that’s elite-level reaction speed.” the coach said. “I want to see something.”

He pointed at the goal.

“Shoot.”

“I’ve never-”

“Just kick the ball into the net.”

Giyuu looked at the ball.
It was just an object.
Light.
Round.

He stepped back slightly.
Focused.

His posture shifted-
breath steady, stance balanced, precision honed to a blade.

He kicked.

Not randomly.
Not carelessly.

Perfectly.

The ball rocketed forward, 
fast, sharp, slicing the air with a whistle.

It slammed into the upper left corner of the net.
The exact corner.

The coach stared.
The team stared.
Even Giyuu stared.

“...Oh.” he said quietly.

Did I do it right?

The coach exhaled in disbelief.

“...You’re coming to practice.”

Giyuu looked deeply troubled.

The next day began with a mistake.

A small one.

A harmless one.

He walked through the wrong hallway.

Giyuu stepped into the courtyard with the goal of going directly home after class. No detours. No crowds. No unnecessary interaction. But the universe, as always, despised him. Because the moment he passed the athletics building, a voice shrieked.

“TOMIOKA-SAN CAME TO WATCH US AGAIN!!”

He stopped walking.

Again? I have never come here willingly.

Before he could step away, the soccer team poured out of the doors like a tidal wave.

“HEY! HEY! HE CAME!!”

“You’re joining practice right?!”

“Tomioka-kun, morning!! You look cool today too!”

“Can we add your picture to the fan page-”

“Fan... what?” Giyuu blinked.

“Ah, nothing! NOTHING!”

They surrounded him. They were close. Too close. He could feel air shift around him, their energy thick like fog. He breathed through his nose, counting silently.

One day. I agreed to one. After that, I will be free.

“Fine.” he muttered.

They cheered like they won nationals again.

AT PRACTICE

Giyuu kept his expression blank.

Inside, he was dying.

The manager handed him a uniform. “Here, Tomioka-kun! I guessed your size! Also, can you sign this?”

“Why would I sign-”

“It’s for the fan club!”

“There is a fan club?”

“Oh, dozens of members! You’re... kind of an icon.”

He stared at her. She stared back, blissfully unaware of the horror she had unleashed.

He changed quietly in the corner, ignoring the dozen boys whispering:

“He looks like he walked out of a magazine.”
“Bro’s legs are so toned wtf-”
“I bet he’s secretly a celebrity.”
“His hair is immaculate.”

Giyuu wanted to perish.

PRACTICE

“Ok, Tomioka!” the coach said. “Let’s start simple. Just pass the ball back to me.”

Easy. He could do that.

He lifted his foot-

Tap.

The ball sliced cleanly through the air, curving in an unnatural arc and landing perfectly at the coach’s feet.

Silence.

The coach stared at the ball. Then at Giyuu. Then back at the ball.

“…I said simple, kid.”

“That was simple.”

“…For who?”

Everyone broke into screaming.

“HE’S A MONSTER!! IN A GOOD WAY!!”
“THAT CONTROL?!”
“HE DIDN’T EVEN TRY!!”
“He’s like... a swordmaster in disguise.”

Giyuu looked away.

He was a swordmaster. That was the problem.

END OF PRACTICE

Every drill he did, he accidentally excelled.

Reaction drills? He dodged like they were demon claws.
Agility ladders? He moved like water, too smooth, too quick.
One-on-ones? He stole the ball before they even realized he’d moved.

At one point someone said:

“He’s not moving like a human… he’s moving like-like a wild animal who studied physics.”

The coach rubbed his face. “Tomioka… are you sure you’ve never played soccer before?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t blink.

No one doubted him, but they were terrified.

AFTER PRACTICE

He tried to leave quietly.

He failed.

A crowd waited at the gate.

A crowd. At school. Waiting for him.

“Tomioka-kun!! Good game!!”

“You were SO COOL!”

“Can we walk home with you?”

“Can I take a picture?”

“Are you single-”

“No,” Giyuu cut off immediately.

They froze.

“Oh… sorry…”

“I meant ‘no’ you may not take a picture.”

“Oh.”

Everyone exhaled like they had survived a near-death experience.

He finally slipped through the crowd and walked home.

Two blocks later-

People on the street recognized him.

“Oh my god, is that the soccer prodigy?”
“He’s even more handsome in person…”
“Who does his hair?”
“He looks like he belongs in a shrine.”

Giyuu tightened his scarf.

This was supposed to make them leave me alone. Why did it escalate?

Chachamaru peeked out of his backpack with a smug meow.

“I know.” Giyuu muttered. “I made a mistake.” 

The day Giyuu quit the soccer club, it was the quietest the school had ever been.

Not because he made an announcement,
Giyuu Tomioka would sooner jump off the roof rather than announce anything.

He simply walked in during lunch, placed the uniform neatly on the manager’s desk, bowed politely, and said:

“I am resigning.”

The entire club froze like someone had hit them with Total Concentration. Freeze.

“W–Wait, Tomioka-kun, WHY?”

“Did we do something wrong?!”

“Was it too crowded? Too loud? We can fix that-”

“You don’t need to fix anything.” Giyuu said, emotionless. “It is simply not for me.”

And because he looked like a fallen prince descending from a tragic novel,
and because his voice was soft and cold,
and because his face was so unfairly pretty,

they instantly forgave him.

“...Okay.” the captain whispered. “We’ll miss you, man.”

“Yeah... good luck, Tomioka-kun.”

“You were amazing.”

Giyuu bowed again, quietly, and walked out.

It was the most dramatic club resignation in school history.

AFTER SCHOOL

He escaped the building as quickly as he could, disappearing into the late afternoon light. The streets were calmer today. Fewer whispers. Fewer stares. Still too many for his liking, but he was beginning to excel at stealth.

He hated that this world forced him to use Hashira level evasion techniques just to buy groceries.

He stopped at the crossing. His phone buzzed.

Chachamaru lifted his head inside the backpack. “Meow?”

Giyuu opened the notification.

One new email.
From: Japan Football Union (JFU)
Subject: [BLUE LOCK] Recruitment Invitation – Tomioka Giyuu

He blinked.

He read it again.

Then again.

“What is Blue Lock?” he muttered aloud.

He clicked it open.

Tomioka Giyuu,

You are hereby selected as a candidate for BLUE LOCK, a private national project initiated by the Japan Football Union.

Your performance has been observed.
Your reflexes, control, spatial awareness, and physical instincts are exceptional.

Report to the designated location on the date provided.

This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

-Ego Jinpachi
Director of BLUE LOCK

Giyuu stared at the screen.

His eyebrow twitched, which for him was equivalent to him screaming.

“Meow?” Chachamaru asked.

“I do not know.” Giyuu said, bluntly. “But it is troublesome.”

He closed the message.

Then the phone buzzed again.

A second email.

[BLUE LOCK] – Do Not Ignore This.

He opened it.

I know you saw the first one.

Do not run away.
-Ego Jinpachi

Giyuu froze.

He slowly looked around.

No suspicious presence. No breathing out of rhythm. No scent of danger.

How did he know I hesitated?

Then the phone buzzed again.

A third email.

If you don’t show up, I’ll come to your school personally.

And from what I hear, you dislike attention.
Choose wisely.
-Ego Jinpachi

Giyuu’s soul left his body.

Chachamaru snickered. “Meeooow.”

“...I will kill him.” Giyuu whispered.

Then,

He sighed.

If this Ego person is bold enough to threaten me with crowds... he must know something. Or see something.

And I...

He looked at his hand.

The hand of a swordsman without a sword.

I need a purpose.

He opened the first email again.

And he tapped:

“Accept.”

THE DAY OF THE INTRODUCTION CEREMONY

The moment the doors slid open, chaos exploded.

The strikers shoved and sprinted, each one desperate to claim a spot in the front. The room filled with shouts:

“Move!”
“I’m not losing to ANYONE!”
“Where’s this damn ‘Ego’ guy!?”
“Who are these losers, get out of my way!”

They were loud. Arrogant. Hungry.

They reeked of pride.

Giyuu stood at the very back of the crowd, hands tucked into his pockets, expression unreadable. He didn’t move.

Not even an inch.

The other strikers poured into the hall like a stampede, but he remained still. Their rushing shoulders brushed past him. One nearly slammed into him, and stumbled back before contact was even made.

“W-What-?”

He hadn’t moved.

But somehow the air around him had shifted, a quiet pressure pushing bodies away like an invisible blade.

Tomioka Giyuu.
Silent. Unbothered. Walking at his own pace, as if he was entering a quiet shrine... not a battle arena.

All the boys gathered inside the massive dome-like hall, breaths heavy, nerves high.

A massive screen flicked on.

Static.

Then a sharp voice cut through the noise like a blade:

“Welcome to Blue Lock, you pieces of trash.”

The entire room froze.

A tall, angular man with wild black hair and sharp glasses appeared on the screen.

Ego Jinpachi.

“You have been gathered here for one purpose.” Ego said, eyes narrowing, “to forge Japan’s weapon of victory. A striker with an ego big enough to crush the world.”

Murmurs rippled.

“What the hell...?”
“Is this a joke?”
“Ego? His name is literally Ego?”

Ego spread his arms dramatically.

“Soccer is not a team sport. Soccer is a battlefield where the strongest striker devours all others. And I will force one of YOU to become that monster.”

Silence.

Shock.

Anger.

Disbelief.

Someone shouted, “This guy’s insane!”

Ego smirked. “Correct. And that’s why I’ll succeed.”

The room erupted, arguments, shouting, disbelief. Everyone was noisy. Except one. At the very back of the hall, Giyuu stood with arms crossed, eyes half-lidded. He listened. He observed.

Ego’s words were blunt. Cruel. Ambitious.

But to Giyuu, they were familiar.

Replace “striker” with “swordsman”
Replace “world” with “demons”
and Ego’s ideology wasn’t new at all.

It was survival wrapped in arrogance.

It was the Hashira’s reality painted in soccer colors.

Someone near him snorted, “What a joke.”

Giyuu spoke for the first time.

“Quiet.”

The boy flinched. “Huh-?”

“You’re too noisy. Pay attention.”

His tone wasn’t loud.
Wasn’t angry.
Wasn’t emotional.

But it cut through the chaos like a silent threat.

The people around him stiffened.

Because something about him-
his posture, his eyes, the cold stillness in his voice-
felt like someone who had seen death more times than anyone here had seen a soccer ball.

Then, slowly, unrushed, untouchable-

Giyuu began walking down the steps toward the center.

While everyone else shoved, pushed, and fought for position...

He moved with the calm of flowing water.

Stillness within strength.

Ego noticed.

On the screen, Ego’s eyes narrowed subtly.

That one... he doesn’t flinch. Interesting.

As the crowd roared, Giyuu stopped at the edge of the group. His presence was quiet, but heavy. A few boys instinctively stepped back, unsure why.

Ego continued. “From today onward, you are prisoners of Blue Lock. You will eat, sleep, and breathe soccer. Only one of you will walk out of here as Japan’s ace striker.”

Giyuu’s expression didn’t change. Inside, one thought formed:

If this is another battlefield.

Then I will survive it too.

The moment the metal door slammed shut, Giyuu was hit with two thoughts:

1. This room was barely the size of a penalty box.

2. The outfit they forced on him was an insult to humanity.

A tight whole body exercise suit.

He stared down at himself.

I would prefer demon guts on my haori to this.

Around him, the other boys groaned, tugging on their uniforms. Someone, unbelievably, was asleep in the corner. A boy with fluffy curls, curled up like a cat, drooling peacefully.

Giyuu blinked. How? How does one sleep in a steel box during a crisis?

The boy opened one eye.

And grinned.

Bachira Meguru.

“Oh! You’re the pretty guy from the hallway~” Bachira waved. “Hi hi!!”

Giyuu stared.

Bachira stared back, smiling like a gremlin.

He was... strange. But harmless.

Giyuu looked away, scanning the others.

Kunigami Rensuke, tall, muscular, disciplined stance.
Strong, Giyuu thought, instinctively analyzing. He trains seriously.
Isagi didn’t exist here, so Kira was the “ace” of the group, smiling politely.

But Giyuu knew that he was hiding his smugness and hostility.

Igarashi existed. Unfortunately.

The screen flickered on overhead.

Ego’s face appeared.

“Congratulations. You are now in First Selection, Room Z.” Ego declared.
“You will play-”

The trapdoor opened, and a single ball dropped in with a clang.

“-tag, but soccer. Last one with the ball gets eliminated.”

Everyone stiffened.

Bachira perked up. “Ohh, fun.”

The countdown began.

10… 9… 8…

Kunigami cracked his neck.
Kira adjusted his hair.
Igarashi shook like a leaf.

Giyuu stood with arms at his sides, emotionless.

3… 2… 1-

The ball rolled.

Silence.

SLAM.

Kunigami punted it toward Bachira.

Bachira dodged, laughing, always laughing, and wrapped himself around Kunigami’s arm like a koala.

“Gotcha, Kuni-kun!”

“GET OFF!!”

Kunigami pried him off with ridiculous strength, tossing him across the room like a sack of flour. Bachira flipped and landed on his feet, still smiling.

Impressive.
Dangerous.
Chaotic.

Then-

Igarashi panicked.

“NO NO NO PLEASE, DON’T TAG ME-!!”

The ball bounced near him.

He shrieked and immediately sprinted behind the nearest person-

Unfortunately for him...

It was Giyuu.

He grabbed Giyuu’s shoulders from behind, using him as a human shield.

“Bro, don’t you know who you’re holding?!” someone yelled.

But Igarashi didn’t listen.

He gripped tighter.

Giyuu’s eyebrow twitched once.

Only once.

He grabbed Igarashi’s wrist.

Crack.

“OWWWW-!! WHAT THE-?!”

Giyuu released him immediately. “You will not use me as protection.”

Before Igarashi could complain more, Bachira, grinning, tapped the ball once with his foot.

And passed it directly to Giyuu.

“Here! Have fun, Tomioka-kun~”

The room froze.

Giyuu looked down at the ball.

“…Why?”

“You’re it!” Bachira beamed.

“I never agreed to-”

But the rules didn’t care.

Giyuu sighed.

He drew his leg back.

He didn’t aim for the body.
Or the chest.
No.

He aimed directly at Kira’s-

SLAM.

The ball struck Kira square in the forehead.

A perfect, brutal, merciless shot.

Kira flew backward, crashed to the floor, and lay there twitching in humiliation.

Everyone stared.

Bachira whispered, awestruck: “...Holy shit.”

Kunigami muttered, “That was a sniper shot...”

Igarashi shrieked, “You killed him!!”

On the screen, Ego smirked.

“Kira Ryosuke, eliminated.”

Kira jolted upright. “WHAT?! Because of THAT?! Because THAT STONE-FACED FREAK HIT ME?!”

Giyuu stared back at him, empty-eyed.

No apology.
No expression.
Just silence.

Kira pointed, furious. “YOU-!! WHO EVEN ARE YOU?!”

Giyuu blinked once.

“I’m just passing the ball.”

Kira was dragged out, screaming.

The room remained in stunned silence, the echo of that perfect, devastating strike still vibrating in the metal walls.

Bachira walked up to him, eyes sparkling like he’d found his new favorite toy.

“Tomioka-kun...”
He grinned.
Wide.
Wild.

“I think you’re my favorite kind of monster.”

Chapter Text

Giyuu’s eyes snapped open.

Not to the metal ceiling of Blue Lock.

Not to the digital clock or the sterile, modern walls.

But to-

Tatami.
Old wood.
His futon.
His old uniform against his skin.

He sat up slowly.

His haori, half red, half patterned, was draped over him exactly as he used to wear it.

He touched it.

Real.

Soft.

Old.

...This is my estate.

The cicadas outside hummed like nothing had changed.
Like decades hadn’t passed.
Like he hadn’t died under Akaza’s fist.
Like he wasn’t living in a metal soccer prison.

He stood, silent, dazed.

The floor creaked beneath his feet.

He walked out the sliding door.

The morning air was crisp, Japan before all the modern noise. The grass swayed. The distant mountains painted the sky. His estate was exactly as he left it-

Except it felt warmer.
It felt lived in.
It felt like home.

Why... am I here again?

His breath was steady, but his heart wasn’t.

Without thinking, his body guided him down the familiar path, toward—

Kagaya-sama’s estate.

His steps grew faster.

He reached the gates.

They were open.

Which made no sense, there should be nobody left alive to open them.

He entered.

Silence.

Then-

Laughter.

Familiar voices.

Giyuu blinked and stepped closer.

A long room was lit softly by lanterns. Tatami. Low tables filled with food he hadn’t tasted in... lifetimes. Tea steaming. Plates of fish, rice, mochi, shared between people sitting seiza-style.

People he knew.

Rengoku, scarred but smiling, laughing so hard he nearly toppled over.
Sanemi, grumbling with a mouth full of food.
Gyomei gently wiping tears from his cheeks as he listened to Rengoku’s story.
Mitsuri feeding Obanai dango.
Muichiro asleep on Tengen’s shoulder.
Tengen arguing with Sanemi about who was more “flashy.”

Alive.

All alive.

Giyuu’s breath caught.

He took one step forward.

The floor creaked.

Every head turned.

Silence.

Shinobu was the first to react.

Her eyes widened, wide like he’d never seen on her.

“T... T-Tomioka-san...?”

Her chopsticks slipped from her fingers.

Rengoku stood, mouth parted, breath trembling.

“Tomioka-kun...?”

Sanemi froze mid-bite, the food dropping to the floor.

Mitsuri gasped, tears instantly forming.

Uzui’s hand moved to his swords out of reflex, then fell when he recognized him.

Muichiro blinked awake. “Giyuu...?”

Obanai stared, stunned.

And Giyuu-

Giyuu couldn’t speak.

His chest tightened painfully.
He swallowed, once.
His fingers trembled.

They were alive.

All of them.

Shinobu rose to her feet slowly, voice trembling, not teasing, not mocking, but soft.

“Giyuu-san... is it really you?”

He opened his mouth.

Only one broken word came out-

“...Kocho-san...?”

The room burst.

Mitsuri sobbed into her sleeves.
Rengoku nearly ran to him.
Shinobu covered her mouth, tears slipping down her cheeks despite the smile forming.

Giyuu stood frozen.

Alive.

They were alive.

And for the first time since he woke in the modern world-

Tomioka Giyuu’s mask cracked.

A single tear fell.

The room warms with laughter, the clinking of bowls, the soft crackle of a charcoal brazier. For the first time in months, Giyuu sits among the living, among his comrades, and the world does not feel heavy on his shoulders.

He explains everything. (idk how else to do timeskips bro...)

Mitsuri refuses to stop hugging his arm, tears still slipping down her cheeks. “You really came back... I can’t believe it...!”

He allows it. Quietly. Awkwardly. But he doesn’t pull away.

Shinobu, sitting perfectly straight, gives him a sly smile. “Are you the same age in that world?”

He exhales slowly. “I’m sixteen in that world.”

Sanemi chokes on his tea. “SIXTEEN?!”

Mitsuri gasps dramatic­ally. “Waaah! Tomioka-san as a high schooler must be so cute-!!”

Giyuu flinches. “Don’t make me sound strange.”

Obanai narrows his eyes. “Explain. Properly.”

So he does.

He tells them of waking up in a new body, familiar yet not. Of uniforms, textbooks, glowing screens, strange machines. Of crowded classrooms filled with noise and chatter. Of people approaching him constantly. “...And for some reason.” he says, expression darkening, “they created something called... a fan club.”

The entire room freezes.

Then-

“PFT-”
“Hah?”
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?”
Mitsuri squeals. “KYAAAAA THAT’S SO ADORABLE-!!”

Giyuu’s face slowly shifts into something extremely rare...
a look of absolute disgust.

“I don’t want people... following me.” he mutters, shoulders stiff. “Watching me. Calling my name. Asking for pictures. Bringing gifts. I can’t walk home without being stopped.” Shinobu’s smile trembles as she tries not to laugh. “You poor thing. Truly tragic.”

“It is tragic.” he replies flatly. “I dislike socializing.”

Sanemi snorts. “No shit.”

Rengoku leans forward, eyes blazing kindly. “But Giyuu! Did you make any friends?”

“...No.”

“Did you try?”

“...No.”

Mitsuri pats his hand sympathetically. “You’re still you.”

He continues:
How the soccer club discovered him by accident.
How he only kicked a ball to get it away from him, only for them to cheer like he performed a miracle.
How he was dragged into training.
How the fan club doubled because he looked “cool.”

Giyuu’s eyelid twitches.
“Their enthusiasm is... overwhelming.”

Shinobu rests her chin delicately on her hand.
“You know, Tomioka-san, this might be the first time I’ve ever seen you visibly upset.”

“I’m always upset.”

“No, no. This is new.”

Muichiro tilts his head. “So you’re sixteen. With fans. And talent. And people chasing you. That sounds like a lot.”

“It is.” Giyuu says quietly. “I preferred dying on a battlefield to... being social.”

Mitsuri gasps. “DON’T SAY THAT!!”

“Mm.”

Gyomei smiles gently. “Truly, the burden of popularity weighs heavily on the humble...”

Uzui laughs. “Flamboyantly troublesome, hm? Being too beautiful is a curse, after all.”

Giyuu stares at him, expression flat. “It is.”

They talk for hours.

The hashira tease him. Comfort him. Celebrate him.

They ask about the new world, cars, electricity, hot water, cafes, libraries stacked with novels he’d never imagined.
And he lights up, just a little, when he speaks about literature. “Books...” Giyuu says softly, “are something I look forward to. That world has many.”

Shinobu smiles at that. Truly smiles.
“You deserve a peaceful life, Tomioka-san.”

Sanemi mutters, “Even if you’re terrible at being normal.”

“I’m aware.”

Mitsuri squeezes him again. “I wish we could see you there! I want to see high school Giyuu-kun! And your pretty uniform! And your popularity! And-”

“No.” he says immediately.

“Awwww!!”

Hours pass, warm and slow, until the candles burn low.
And for the first time-
Giyuu rests among them.

No obligations.
No demons.
No death.
Just the quiet miracle of being home.

The night settles over the estate like a soft shroud, pale moonlight spilling across empty corridors and the courtyard stones. After the others leave, after Mitsuri’s teary goodbyes, Rengoku’s booming encouragement, Shinobu’s gentle teasing, Giyuu stays behind, sitting on the engawa with his haori pooling around him like memory made cloth.

He exhales.
A long, slow sigh.
The kind that empties something deeper than lungs.

His breath fogs faintly in the night air.

Then-

“Tomioka.”

The voice is rough, familiar.
Giyuu glances over his shoulder to see Sanemi walking toward him, white hair glinting under the moon, sword at his hip like instinct. He sits beside Giyuu without asking. “...Hey.” Sanemi mutters.

Giyuu nods.

Silence.
Not tense, just full. Old. Heavy with years they never got to live. Sanemi leans forward, elbows on his knees. “So... you’re back.” Another small nod. Sanemi huffs a laugh. “You’re still the same ice block.”

“...Not entirely.”

Sanemi studies him. Giyuu doesn’t meet his eyes.

Then, unexpectedly, Sanemi’s lips tug into a small, quiet smile.
Soft.
The kind he never showed in front of others.

“I wish we could just... pick up where we left off.”

Giyuu’s fingers curl against the wooden deck.
A faint ache stirs in his chest.

They both remember.

Flashback, late afternoon, months ago.
Golden light spills through the trees.
A bench behind the training grounds.
Sanemi sits close, closer than necessary, their shoulders brushing.
His rough hand reaches for Giyuu’s.

Giyuu doesn’t pull away.
He doesn’t blush, doesn’t say anything.
But the corner of his lips...
twitches upward.

Sanemi laughs under his breath.
“You’re smiling.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“...Shut up.”

Sanemi laces their fingers together anyway.

Giyuu lets him.

Flashback, Sanemi’s estate, storm raging outside.
Thunder shakes the walls.
Sanemi’s hair is damp from rain.
Giyuu stands stiffly, refusing to look at him.

“We can’t, Shinazugawa-san.” Giyuu says, voice low, trembling only at the edges. “You know how society views... people like us. Nanshoku is-”

“I don’t give a damn.” Sanemi snaps, stepping forward. “I don’t care what anyone thinks.”

Giyuu finally looks up.

Sanemi’s voice breaks.
“I love you, Tomioka.”

And Giyuu’s breath catches-
Just a moment-
Before he forces it away.

“Even if you do.” he says, “it doesn’t change the world we live in.”

Sanemi reaches out-
Giyuu steps back.

The memory fractures there.

Back to the present.

Sanemi sits beside him now, shoulders relaxed, gaze drifting upward to the moon. “...That world of yours.” he mutters, “people don’t look down on that stuff, right?”

Giyuu’s brows lift slightly. “No.”

“So you could... be yourself.”

“I don’t think I know how.” Giyuu murmurs.

Sanemi snorts softly. “Figures.”

A breeze passes.
It ruffles Giyuu’s hair, lifts Sanemi’s bangs.

They sit together in silence, the kind only two people with shared wounds can share.

Finally, Sanemi speaks again, quiet, almost careful.

“If you ever want to try again... in that new life...
Don’t talk yourself out of being happy.”

Giyuu turns to him, eyes dark and unreadable.

Sanemi smiles crookedly, not quite sad, not quite hopeful.
Just honest.

“That’s all I wanted to say.”

Giyuu’s throat tightens.

“...Thank you.” he says softly.

Sanemi pats his shoulder once, firm, warm, familiar.

Then he stands.

“Don’t make that new world colder than it has to be, Tomioka.”

And with that, he leaves him under the moonlight.

Giyuu watches his silhouette fade into the night.
The ache in his chest lingers, old, bittersweet, alive.

He sits there long after, quietly sorting through the remnants of what once was...

...and the possibilities of what might come next.

Giyuu slips under the futon in his old estate, wooden beams above him creaking softly with night wind. The tatami smell, the weight of the blankets, the distant sound of cicadas, it’s all so real he lets his eyes drift shut.

For the first time in a long time, he sleeps without tension.

When he opens them again-

A fluorescent ceiling stares back.

A sterile white room. Metal walls. The faint hum of ventilation.

Giyuu blinks. Once. Twice.

Slowly, he sits up.

“...Did I... come back?”
His voice is quiet, almost cautious.
“Was that... a dream?”

But the ache in his chest, the memory of warm hands, familiar voices, Sanemi’s half-smile-
It all feels far too real to dismiss.

He lowers his gaze.
A flicker of sadness shifts behind his eyes, subtle but unmistakable. “...I see.” He inhales once, lets the feeling settle... and pushes it away with practiced ease.

Duty first. Feelings later. His eyes drift to the small analog clock on the bedside table, its ticking a soft contrast to Blue Lock’s cold metal.

5:00 AM.

Of course. His body never forgot.

Blue Lock doesn’t rise until eight.
He has hours.

He swings his legs off the bed, feet landing silently. Brushes his teeth with precise, quiet motions. Slips into the Blue Lock bathroom, ties his hair back, and applies the skincare Chachamaru nearly bullied him into buying. He works through the routine without expression, patting toner onto his cheeks with disciplined indifference.

Then-

He steps out into the empty hallway.

Silence.
Stillness.
Most of Blue Lock is snoring like wild boars.

He has nothing else to do.
No sword to sharpen.
No patrol route.
No demons.
No mission.

No quiet estate full of friends.

Just the hum of modern AC and the echo of dreams that might’ve been more than dreams. Giyuu sits on the edge of his bed again, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor. “I’m... bored.” He says it flatly, almost offended by the experience of having free time.

His fingers tap his knee once.

He could:

-train
-meditate
-read
-explore the facility
-or try talking to someone

His face immediately twists faintly at the last option.

“...No.”

He stands.

He decides to train.
Not because he wants to-
but because doing nothing feels too much like being alone in that empty estate again. He stretches, rolls his shoulders, and walks silently toward the gym.

Another day begins.

And even if the dream is gone-

The memory of warm voices lingers behind him, faint as morning mist.

The cafeteria buzzes with early-morning chatter, plates clattering, Bachira laughing too loudly, Kunigami complaining about Raichi’s crumbs, Chigiri sipping tea like he’s above all of it. The usual Team Z chaos. Giyuu walks past the entrance, fully intending to keep going.

Head down.
Quiet step.
Invisible.

But then-

“TOMI-CHAN!! HEY!! Over here!!”

Bachira’s voice cuts through the entire room like a bomb.

Every head turns.

Every pair of eyes lock onto Giyuu like he’s some celebrity walking a red carpet.

He freezes.

A muscle in his jaw twitches.

He absolutely wants to pretend he didn’t hear it, but Shinobu’s teasing voice echoes in his mind: “You look almost approachable, Tomioka-san. Keep it up.”

He inhales.
Exhales.

Then, with the soul of a man walking to his execution, he turns and approaches the table.Bachira beams like sunshine on two legs. “Tomi-chan!! Sit!! Sit!!”

Giyuu sits. Because he is physically pulled into the seat by Bachira’s spider-monkey grip. Team Z stares at him like he’s a rare animal in a zoo. Igarashi immediately points at him, offended. “You!! You’re the guy who broke my wrist!”

Giyuu looks at his arm.
Calm. Blank. Evaluating.

“It’s not broken.” he says quietly. “Just dislocated.”

Igarashi lifts his arm.
The bone is... slightly protruding.
Everyone winces.

Giyuu reaches over without hesitation.

“W-Wait-”

SNAP.

Igarashi SCREAMS.

Team Z jumps.

Giyuu releases his arm, unfazed.
“I popped it back into place.”

Igarashi looks at him in horror.
“...Ow.”

“You’re welcome,” Giyuu replies.

The table goes silent for a moment.

Then Kunigami clears his throat.
“I’m Kunigami Rensuke. Nice to meet you.”

Giyuu nods. “Giyuu Tomioka.”

Chigiri leans forward, hair shimmering. “Chigiri Hyoma.”

Another nod.

Raichi waves with an arrogant grin. “Raichi Jingo!”

He reminds me of Shinazugawa-san.

Kuon raises a hand, smiling politely. “Kuon Wataru.”

Gagamaru mumbles a greeting through a mouthful of bread. Everyone introduces themselves one by one, loud and warm and messy. Giyuu listens quietly, posture perfect, face unreadable. Bachira elbows him.
“So, Tomi-chan! What do you like? What’s your hobby? Favorite food? Favorite monster? Favorite shoelace color?”

“...No.” Giyuu says.

“What do you mean no?”

“No.”

Igarashi snorts. “He means he doesn’t want to answer you.”

Kunigami laughs. “He’s blunt, huh?”

Giyuu takes a sip of miso soup, expression perfectly still.

“...I like reading.”

Team Z collectively gasps like he just revealed national secrets.

“That’s it?” Raichi asks.

“That’s enough.” Giyuu replies.

Bachira grins and leans onto his shoulder.
“Well, whether you like it or not...
you’re one of us now, Tomi-chan.”

Giyuu stares straight ahead.

He doesn’t argue.

He doesn’t smile either-

But his shoulders...
relax by one millimeter.

Maybe Shinobu was right.
Maybe being “almost approachable” wasn’t the worst thing.

Team Z dives back into their noisy chatter, engulfing him in their chaos as if he’d always been there. And for the first time since waking up in this world,  Giyuu doesn’t feel completely alone at the breakfast table.

The gym is loud, alive, buzzing with bodies hitting limits they didn’t know they had. Team Z does push-ups. Bachira cartwheels for fun. Raichi complains. Gagamaru stretches like a praying mantis. Chigiri floats around like an elegant flamingo. Giyuu warms up quietly in the corner, pulling his hair into a half-tied knot.

He doesn’t speak unless spoken to.
Doesn’t joke.
Doesn’t smile.

But he watches.

Always watching.

Kuon jogs over, wiping sweat from his forehead.
“Hey, Tomioka-san. Want to try vertical jumps?”

Giyuu tilts his head. “Vertical... jumping?”

Kuon nods. “Simple test. You just jump as high as you can and mark the wall. Good baseline for explosive strength.”

Giyuu shrugs.
“...Very well.”

They take positions beside each other.

Team Z doesn’t even notice, they’re too busy screaming over some dumb push-up competition on the other side of the gym.

Kuon stretches his arms, rolls his shoulders, then crouches-

And leaps.

WHAM.
His fingers slap high against the measurement board.

“68 centimeters.”
He beams, proud. “Not bad.”

Giyuu steps forward silently.
He crouches-

-and jumps.

WHIP.
His body slices through the air, clean and controlled.

He lands without a sound.

The chalk mark appears:

66 centimeters.

Only two centimeters below Kuon.

Kuon blinks.
Then blinks again.

“...No way.”

Giyuu brushes chalk off his fingers.
“Is that… good?”

Kuon laughs softly, surprised, not mocking.
“No one’s ever gotten that close to me. Especially not someone shorter.”

Giyuu looks down at himself, then at Kuon.

“...Is the difference significant?”

“At this level? Absolutely.”
Kuon smiles, gentle, respectful, never invasive.
“You’re impressive.”

Giyuu’s face remains flat.
But his ears... turn the tiniest shade red.

“...Thank you.”

Kuon chuckles. “You’re polite. That’s rare around here.”

Giyuu nods once.
“I was taught to be.”

They reset positions for another jump.

Kuon glances at him again, just a little curious.

“You know... you move like someone who’s spent years training something other than soccer.”

Giyuu pauses only a fraction of a second.

“...I was taught martial arts.”

“That explains the posture.” Kuon smiles. “You stand like someone who knows exactly how to take a hit without flinching.”

Giyuu’s eyes soften for the faintest moment.
A flicker of memory.
A world long gone.

“...Perhaps.”

They jump again.

Kuon: 69 cm.
Giyuu: 67 cm. (Istfg if i see another comment abt 69 or 67 i WILL start tweaking...)

A tie in spirit.

But Kuon doesn’t push.
He never pushes.

He gives Giyuu space.
Quiet praise.
No loudness.
No grabbing.
No forcing him into the spotlight.

It’s... nice.

Surprisingly nice.

Giyuu takes a slow breath, looking at the chalk-covered wall.

“...You’re skilled.”

Kuon laughs under his breath.
“Coming from you, that feels like a rare compliment.”

Giyuu doesn’t deny it.

Team Z still isn’t paying attention. They’re too busy doing dumb things like trying to see who can do handstands while Kunigami yells at them.

It’s just Kuon and Giyuu.
Training.
Calm.
Respectful.

Giyuu realizes something-

He doesn’t hate this.
Not at all.

Chapter Text

The clock clicks softly.

5:00 AM.

Giyuu is already awake.

He stands in front of the bathroom mirror in the dim Blue Lock lighting, shirt lifted just enough to expose what time could never erase.

The first scar stretches across his back, long and cruel.

Tsutako shielding him.
Tsutako’s blood splattering everywhere.
His survival at the cost of her life.

His fingers hover just above it, never quite touching.

Then his right eye.

The faint scar near it is almost unnoticeable now. Almost.

But he remembers.

Final Selection.
Sabito running ahead.
Sabito fighting alone.
Sabito dying because Giyuu was too exhausted to move.

Because he survived.

And then-

His stomach.

The worst one.

A circular, brutal scar.

Akaza’s fist.
His ribs shattering.
His vision fading.
Death.

His reflection looks young. Too young. Sixteen again. Clean face. New muscles. New world.

But the scars are still there.

“...Stupid.” he mutters.

His voice is flat, but his hands tighten against the sink.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

I don't need these reminders.

Of how pathetic I was.

I was weak and cowardly.

Even to the very end.

His breath trembles once.

Tsutako never came back.
Sabito never came back.

This world and the other didn’t change that.

Only the Hashira were spared.

And somehow, that makes it heavier.

He lowers his shirt.

The fabric hides the scars, but not the guilt.

“...I didn’t save them.” he says quietly.

Not accusing anyone else.

Only himself.

Silence answers him.

He turns on the tap. Cold water rushes over his hands, grounding him. He presses his palms flat against the sink and steadies his breathing the way Urokodaki once taught him.

Inhale for four seconds.
Out for six.

Again.

“...But I’m still here.”

Not as comfort.

As burden.

As responsibility.

As punishment.

And maybe, just barely, as opportunity.

He straightens.

His eyes in the mirror are calm again. Cold again. Controlled again.

But behind them lives the boy who watched everyone die.

The boy who still walks forward anyway.

He turns off the light.

Steps back into the empty hallway of Blue Lock.

Ghosts at his back.

Future ahead.

And this time-

He doesn’t intend to collapse before it reaches him.

The field is chaos.

Team Z is supposed to be “learning teamwork.”

In reality, 

“YOU’RE DOGSHIT, BRAINLESS MONK!!” Raichi roars, pointing straight at Igarashi’s face.
“EH?! YOU’RE THE ONE OVERDOING EVERYTHING!!” Igarashi shrieks back, flailing his arms.

Kunigami pinches the bridge of his nose. “Can you both shut up for five seconds and focus?”

Chigiri, arms crossed, hair swaying as he paces along the sidelines, mutters flatly, “This is why I hate group projects.”

Kuon is in full damage-control mode, arms spread as if physically holding the team together.
“Guys, guys, calm down! We’re wasting stamina! Let’s reset the drill and-”

“I LIKE SOCCER!!” Naruhaya announces cheerfully to Iemon out of nowhere.
Iemon nods politely. “That’s... great, man.”

Meanwhile-

Giyuu stands slightly apart from the disaster.

Hands behind his back.
Eyes tracking the ball.
Breathing steady.

He’s the same as usual.

No lingering sorrow.
No visible cracks.
No emotional shift anyone could point at.

Just quiet focus.

Raichi steals the ball aggressively and charges forward alone. “I'll just do it myself."

He immediately loses it to Kunigami, who barrels through with pure force.

“Pass, damnit!” Kunigami yells.

Raichi tackles him.

They both go down.

Igarashi trips over nothing and falls on top of them.

Chigiri clicks his tongue. “This is painful to watch.”

Kuon rubs his temples. “We are not surviving like this...”

The ball rolls loose.

No one notices.

Except Giyuu.

He steps in.

One smooth motion-
a controlled trap with the inside of his foot-
no wasted movement.

Then a short, precise pass-
clean-
perfectly timed.

It lands right at Chigiri’s feet.

Chigiri blinks. “...Huh-?”

Instinct takes over. He sprints.

The team reacts late.

Kunigami shouts, “Nice pass!”
Raichi scrambles to catch up.
Kuon finally exhales in relief.

The drill continues, but the fighting immediately resumes five seconds later.

Giyuu drifts back to his usual position without a word.

Kuon jogs up beside him during a brief pause.
“Thanks for that earlier. Clean assist.”

Giyuu nods. “...He was open.”

“That’s not what I meant.” Kuon says gently. “You saw the flow faster than everyone else.”

Giyuu doesn’t respond.

Because to him-

This isn’t chaos.

It’s just another battlefield with loud soldiers and no formation.

And he already knows how those end.

Kunigami finally snaps. “If we don’t start working together, we’re done for!”

Raichi snarls back, “Shut up and play, muscles for brains!”

"Look who the fuck's talking."

"HAH?? REPEAT THAT FOR ME, WON'T YA?"

Igarashi starts praying.

Chigiri sighs in genuine exhaustion.

Naruhaya is still talking.

And Giyuu-

Giyuu watches them all with quiet, unflickering eyes.

Same as always.

Still calm.

Still distant.

Still, somehow, the most dangerous person on the field without raising his voice even once.

The shouting never really stops.

Raichi and Igarashi are still at each other’s throats.
Kunigami is one bad second away from snapping.
Chigiri has fully given up on pretending this drill is productive.
Kuon is sweating from stress more than training.

And Giyuu?

Giyuu stands where he always does.

Still. Silent. Watching.

He doesn’t intervene.
Doesn’t pass.
Doesn’t direct.

He simply exists.

Then-

“Bachira! Where were you?!” Kuon calls out, scanning the field.

A voice sings from behind them.

“Hereee~!”

Bachira appears out of absolutely nowhere, popping up beside Giyuu like a jump scare.

“I got lost...” he says cheerfully. “Oops!!”

Before anyone can react, he flops half his weight against Giyuu’s shoulder, arm slung around him like they’ve been friends for years.

“Miss me, Tomi-chan~?”

Giyuu stiffens.

Doesn’t push him away.
Doesn’t move.

But-

His eye twitches.

Once.

Barely noticeable.

Chigiri sees it.
Kuon sees it.
Kunigami definitely sees it.

Raichi squints. “Did... did the ice statue just react?”

Giyuu says nothing.

Bachira tilts his head, studying his face up close, grinning wider.
“Oooh? You twitched~ That means you feel something!”

“...You’re heavy.” Giyuu replies flatly.

Bachira lights up. “You noticed me!!”

Kuon exhales in exhausted relief. “At least you’re back. We’re falling apart here.”

Bachira looks around, taking in the chaos, the arguing, the collapsed players, the monk still praying on the grass.

“...Oh. That explains the noise.”

He straightens up at last, giving Giyuu one last bright smile before bouncing forward.
“Don’t worry! The monster and I will fix it!”

“I did not agree to-”

Too late.

Bachira is already stealing the ball mid-argument between Raichi and Kunigami, laughing as he dribbles straight through the mess.

Team Z jolts into motion again out of pure panic.

And Giyuu is left standing where he was, watching Bachira’s wild movement with quiet, unreadable eyes.

“...Why me. he murmurs.

But this time-

He doesn’t move away.

The analyzing room is quiet.

Screens glow softly with replay footage from training, Raichi shouting in the background audio, Bachira laughing, the ball ricocheting across the field in fractured patterns of failure.

Chigiri sits stiffly on one of the benches, towel around his neck, eyes unfocused.

Then-

Someone sits beside him.

So quietly that Chigiri almost jumps out of his skin.

“...When did you-”

“You’re injured.”

The words are calm. Flat. Certain.

Chigiri freezes. Slowly, he turns his head toward Giyuu.
“Yeah. How’d... how’d you know?” His voice dips, barely hiding the edge of something wounded.

“The way you move.” Giyuu replies. “You slightly wince when you step on that leg.”

He points, precisely, to Chigiri’s right leg.

Chigiri’s breath catches.

“...I tore my ACL.” he admits. “I used to be the fastest. But... there was an incident. I twisted my ankle and it pressed on the ligament.”

His fingers clench into the towel.
“I’ve never been the same since.”

Silence hangs between them.

Then-

“You have a mental block.” Giyuu says.

Chigiri stiffens. “Huh? The hell did you say?”

“You’re afraid of injuring yourself again.” Giyuu continues evenly. “But the chances of that are miniscule. Just do it.”

Chigiri’s head snaps toward him, eyes blazing.
“It’s not that fucking easy, you know? You wouldn’t know! You’re not injured!”

For the first time-

Giyuu moves.

He raises a hand... and taps just beneath his left eye.

“I am blind in my left eye.” (DONT BULLY ME THIS IS A HEADCANON WHEN HE GOT INJURED IN FINAL SELECTION B4 SABITO D1ED.)

Chigiri’s anger falters. “What...?”

“I was thirteen.”

The room feels smaller.

Chigiri’s mouth parts. “Oh... I-I’m sorry, I-”

“No point in apologies.”

The interruption is gentle. Final.

Giyuu looks at him, not cold, not judging, but steady.

“Ignore the injury. Think of your desire.” he says. “Don’t you want to be the best?”

Chigiri’s breath stutters.

Best.

Fastest.

Uncatchable.

The thing he buried under fear and excuses suddenly claws back to the surface.

Giyuu stands.

Walks away without another word.

But something he said stays.

Not loud.

Not cruel.

Just true.

And for the first time in a long while-

Chigiri feels the urge to run again.

Not away.

Forward.

The second half of training begins in the late afternoon.

Exhaustion hangs in the air.
Sweat drips.
Tempers are short.

Raichi steals the ball with a snarl. “OUTTA MY WAY, THIS ONE’S MINE!!”

He barrels forward with brute force, muscles tensed, eyes locked on the goal.

No one challenges him.

Kunigami is out of position.
Kuon is trying to direct traffic.
Igarashi is... somewhere panicking.

And Chigiri-

Chigiri moves.

A red blur slices through the field.

For just a split second, Raichi feels the air shift beside him.

Then-

The ball is gone.

“HUH-?!” Raichi skids to a stop, spinning around.

Chigiri is already halfway down the field.

Hair flying.
Stride long.
Feet barely touching the grass.

Fast.

Faster than he’s been since his injury.

Giyuu sees it immediately.

He chose.

Raichi shouts, “OI, GET BACK HERE, PRINCESS-!!”

Too late.

Chigiri cuts past Kuon with a sharp angle change, doesn’t slow, doesn’t hesitate-

And slams the ball straight into the net.

GOAL.

Silence.

Then-

“What the-?!”
“When were you that fast?!”
“NO WAY-”

Igarashi points at him, jaw dropped.
“WHEN WERE YOU THAT FAST, PRINCESS?!”

Chigiri stands in front of the goal, chest heaving.

For a moment, fear flickers in his eyes.

Then it’s swallowed by something hotter.

Pride.

He turns back to the field, lips curling into a sharp grin.

“...I just stopped running away.”

Raichi stares at him like he’s seen a ghost.
Kunigami breaks into a wide grin. 

Kuon exhales slowly, stunned. “That speed... that changes everything.”

Bachira claps excitedly. “Yaaay!!"

Giyuu says nothing.

But his eyes soften, just a fraction.

Not approval.

Recognition.

Chigiri jogs back to the center of the field, passing Giyuu on the way.

For just a moment, their gazes meet.

No words.

No thanks.

Just understanding.

The scrimmage restarts.

And this time-

Team Z is no longer moving like a broken mess.

They’re beginning to look like a threat.

Raichi charges again, teeth bared in frustration.

“GIVE IT HERE—!!”

Giyuu receives the ball without flair. No tricks. No showboating. Just a clean trap with the inside of his foot.

Raichi lunges.

And for the first time since entering Blue Lock-

Giyuu moves like a striker.

He shifts his weight, then rolls the ball behind his standing foot in a tight arc.

A roulette.

But unlike Bachira’s playful version, Giyuu’s is silent.

Efficient.

Cold.

He spins around Raichi’s body while leaning into him, their backs brushing, Raichi’s momentum crashing forward while Giyuu shields the ball behind his own heel with absolute precision.

For half a second-

Giyuu’s back is to Raichi.
The ball is untouchable.
Raichi is completely trapped.

Then-

Giyuu finishes the turn and steps away like water slipping through fingers.

Raichi stumbles. 

Too late.

Giyuu is already past him.

The field freezes.

Bachira’s eyes go wide with delight.
“...He copied me...?”

Kunigami blinks. “Did he just-?”

Kuon stares in disbelief. “That was... a perfect roulette.”

Igarashi/Igaguri's jaw drops. “SINCE WHEN CAN YOU DO THAT?!”

Giyuu advances without rush. No wasted movement. No panic.

He doesn’t shoot.

Instead, he slides a dead-perfect pass straight to Chigiri-

One touch.

One step.

GOAL.

The net snaps.

Silence hits the field like a shockwave.

Then-

Raichi explodes.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT JUST NOW?!”

Bachira sprints over, grinning so wide it hurts.
“Tomi-chan!! You stole my move!! That was sooo cool!!”

“I observed it once.” Giyuu replies calmly. “It was sufficient.”

Chigiri is still standing in front of the goal, staring at the ball in the net.

“...That pass.” he mutters. “...It felt like he already knew where I’d be.”

Kuon exhales slowly.
“He didn’t hesitate. Not even a little.”

Giyuu returns to his usual position on the field as if nothing happened.

No celebration.
No acknowledgement.
No pride.

Just another movement completed.

But Team Z is staring at him differently now.

Not as the quiet pretty boy.

Not as the strange new guy.

But as something else entirely-

A striker who learns in silence… and executes without mercy.

Team Z files into the cafeteria in a loud, messy cluster.

Raid through the doors.
Arguing.
Laughing.
Complaining about training.

Then-

The air changes.

Conversation dies mid-sentence.

Forks freeze halfway to mouths.

At the center of the cafeteria-

The Top Three.

Itoshi Rin.
Number 1.

Aryu Jyubei.
Number 2.

Tokimitsu Aoshi.
Number 3.

Just their presence alone crushes the room flat.

Rin sits with his legs crossed, posture straight, eyes sharp like a blade resting in its sheath. Aryu lounges back with practiced elegance, long legs stretched out like he owns the space. Tokimitsu hunches over his tray, trembling slightly as he eats with shaking hands.

Team Z’s blood runs cold.

“Th-Those are...” Igarashi whispers.

“The Top Three...” Naruhaya breathes.

“Why are they here?” Kuon mutters.

Nobody moves.

Nobody dares.

Except-

Giyuu.

He sits at the end of Team Z’s table, spoon in hand, calmly eating his meal as if nothing in the entire room has changed.

No tension in his posture.
No hesitation in his movements.
No fear.

Just slow, quiet bites.

Everyone notices.

Raichi stiffens. “That idiot... does he not feel the pressure?!”

Bachira leans forward, eyes shining. “He’s totally not scared, huh?”

Chigiri glances at Giyuu, then at Rin. His stomach tightens.
“...That’s dangerous.”

Whispers ripple through the cafeteria.

“Who is that guy?”

“He’s not reacting at all...”

“Is he stupid or just insane...?”

"Dude, that's Giyuu Tomioka! They say he's a analytical genius and physical monster!"

Rin notices.

Of course he does.

His gaze slides over the room with habitual disinterest, until it stops.

On Giyuu.

The only one not staring.

The only one not frozen.

The only one who doesn’t care.

Rin’s eyes narrow.

He looks weak, Rin thinks.
Quiet. Still. No presence.

Giyuu lifts his gaze at that exact moment.

Their eyes meet.

The cafeteria vanishes.

Pressure slams into the space between them.

Cold blue meets burning teal.

It’s not rage.
It’s not hostility.

It’s instinct recognizing instinct.

Everyone watching feels it-

Like static crackling in the air.
Like the moment before thunder breaks.

No one breathes.

Aryu blinks slowly, then smiles. "His looks are lethal, that man."

Tokimitsu’s fork clatters onto his tray. “E-E-EH?! Th-Th-The room just got scary-!!...”

Rin doesn’t look away.

Neither does Giyuu.

Seconds stretch.

Then-

Giyuu looks back down at his food.

And continues eating.

Just like that.

Rin clicks his tongue quietly.
“...Tch.”

But his eyes stay narrowed long after.

Team Z exhales all at once like they were holding their breath underwater.

Raichi slams his tray down.
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT JUST NOW?!”

Bachira laughs, dizzy with excitement.
“That was fun! Tomi-chan just made an enemy!!”

Chigiri watches Giyuu with something close to awe.

“...He didn’t flinch.”

And somewhere deep inside Itoshi Rin-

Something awakens.

Not irritation.

Not interest, well, maybe interest.

But the beginning of a rivalry that won’t stay quiet for long.

The locker room smells of sweat and anticipation. Cleats squeak against the floor as Team Z shuffles about, everyone trying to claim the one coveted spot: striker.“Okay.” Kuon says firmly, “we need to decide the forward. Only one person can lead the attack.”

Hands fly forward for a quick round of rock-paper-scissors.

Gagamaru, Raichi, Bachira, and Giyuu, all four staring at each other with unwavering focus. Hands twitch. Eyes lock. The air feels tense, like a battlefield.

Giyuu silently calculates as he watches their fingers. Wait... he thinks, all three, Gagamaru, Raichi, and Bachira, are going paper. The slight flick of their wrists suggests paper. How strange.

His own fingers flash out scissors.

“Damnit.” Raichi mutters.

Kuon exhales and points at him. “Alright then. Tomioka-kun, you’ll be our focal point.”

Giyuu simply nods, expression unreadable.

FLASHBACK - ONE HOUR EARLIER

In a cold, metal room, monitors line the walls. Ego’s voice booms over the speakers, crisp and cold.

“Welcome, participants of the first selection. There are currently 55 people here. You will compete in Building 5. Only the top two teams will progress.”

He pauses, letting the words sink in.

“The rest will be eliminated, ineligible for the national team. However, the top scorers from the three losing teams will advance to the second selection.”

Images flash on the screen: players dribbling, passing, striking.

“When all matches are over, if more than one player has the most goals in a team, we will use fair play points. The player with the least penalty points will advance.” Ego leans forward, voice slicing the room like ice.

“Your own goals, or the team’s victory? The fate of a striker will be put to the test. This is soccer created from zero. The first match begins soon. Team Z versus Team X.”

BACK TO PRESENT, LOCKER ROOM, 5 MINUTES BEFORE MATCH

Kuon stands in front of the team, jersey tucked and eyes forward.

“This will be the formation. Everything revolves around Tomioka-kun at center forward.”

Bachira grins, sliding on his jersey. “Gotcha.”

Igarashi, tying his shoelaces, mutters, “Can we even win with a weak team like this?”

“Stop complaining.” Kunigami snaps, lacing his cleats with precision.

Naruhaya adjusts his jersey. “Man... I don’t wanna play in defense.”

Raichi cracks his knuckles. “All we gotta do is win, right?”

“No objections here.” Gagamaru says calmly, waiting for everyone else to settle.

Chigiri frowns, surprised by Raichi’s confidence. “‘All we gotta do is win’ huh?”

“Can you really play as goalkeeper?” Imamura asks quietly.

“I’m just doing it... just cause.” Iemon shrugs.

Giyuu exhales softly. Creating soccer from zero? What does he mean by that? Modern days are confusing...

Kuon glances at the clock. “It’s almost time.”

The team files out of the locker room, following Kuon down the tunnel, toward the bright, green expanse of the field.

Giyuu walks last, calm, silent, letting the noise of the team wash over him, but his mind sharp, observing, calculating.

The first match of this new world is about to begin.

They stepped onto the field.

Bright stadium lights washed over them, artificial grass stretching endlessly beneath their feet. The air felt thick—like static before a storm. “Hey... look.” Kunigami muttered. “Team X.”

Everyone stiffened at once.

Everyone-

Except Giyuu.

Team X stood across the field with strange confidence. Not loud. Not chaotic. But heavy. Like predators waiting for something to move first.

Giyuu’s hand lifted instinctively to his hip.

Oh. Right. I don’t have my katana.

His shoulders eased slightly.

I’m safe.

Igarashi, weirdly enough, looked confident now, far too confident for someone who’d been shaking in the locker room. The rest of Team X looked like forgettable background characters at best.

Except one.

Barou Shouei.

The moment Giyuu’s eyes landed on him, he felt it.

A violent, overwhelming ego.

Hair that defied gravity. Broad shoulders. Red eyes burning with dominance.

A so-called 'king.'

The whistle screamed.

KICKOFF.

Giyuu moved first.

The ball stuck to his feet like it belonged there. His footwork was clean, precise, no wasted steps, no hesitation. He slipped between two defenders, then three, movements sharp and efficient like flowing water.

Too easy-

Something slammed into him from behind.

The ball vanished.

Raichi.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Giyuu asked, brows knitting together by the smallest, almost invisible degree.

Raichi grinned back at him, eyes wild.
“The rules say the top scorer goes through, right? I don’t give a damn about the team. I’m doing this my way.”

Giyuu stared at him for half a second.

I thought he was like Shinazugawa-san...

His jaw tightened.

He’s not. Shinazugawa-san isn’t this arrogant.

Giyuu took off after him.

“Now you’re talking, Raichi.” Kunigami charged in and stole the ball clean off him.

“If that’s how it works here.” Kunigami said calmly, irritation flaring in his eyes, “then I’ll play for myself too.”

Raichi snarled, veins bulging.
“Kunigami... I think we’ll get along just fine.”

“HEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” Igarashi screeched.

“I WANT IN TOO!!” Naruhaya yelled, sprinting straight at the ball.

“What about our positions?!” Kuon shouted desperately.

Kunigami and Raichi slammed forearms into each other.

The ball ricocheted loose.

Giyuu was already there.

He stole it instantly.

“Selfish,” he said flatly, dribbling forward again. “Ever heard of coordination? We went over the plan.”

Team X’s defenders rushed him-

And immediately started shoving each other.

“MOVE! I’ve got this!”
“No, I DO!”

They collided.

How arrogant. Stupid, Giyuu thought as he slipped right past them.

Their minds are fogged by a desire that will never come true if they keep acting like this. How childish... Even Inosuke would know better.

He blitzed forward.

All around him, players fought for themselves.

Is this what Ego meant by “creating soccer from zero”…?

His eyes narrowed.

This isn’t even soccer.

A pressure slammed into his back.

Something predatory.

Barou.

He bulldozed through players with raw force, crushing Team Z’s formation apart just by charging forward. His eyes locked on Giyuu. “Don’t stand in my way, peasant.”

Giyuu didn’t slow.

“Does everyone here have the manners of an animal?” he replied coolly, locking eyes with him.

For a split second-

Barou shuddered.

Then his lips curled into a violent snarl.

“I’ll kill you.”

Giyuu ducked between two bodies at the last second, slipping through like flowing water, the ball never leaving his feet. He emerged on the other side and didn’t even look back.

Instead-

He passed.

A perfect, arcing ball slicing through the chaos.

Straight to-

Chigiri.

Chigiri’s foot connects with the ball, and for a fraction of a second, the noise of the field seems to vanish. Then his body surges forward, red hair whipping behind him as he explodes into motion with a speed that rips straight through disbelief.

Defenders react too late, boots scraping uselessly against the turf as he leaves their reach behind in an instant.

Raichi’s voice cracks through the air in shock, yelling about when Chigiri ever got that fast, but Chigiri doesn’t hear a single word.

The fear that once chained his legs is gone. The memory of pain still lingers faintly in the back of his mind, but it no longer grips him. Each stride feels lighter, stronger, freer than the last as the goal rushes toward him. He doesn’t hesitate. He doesn’t doubt.

He strikes, and the ball slams cleanly into the net. The stadium erupts in sound as Team Z freezes for a heartbeat in disbelief before chaos breaks loose. Chigiri stares at the net like it might disappear if he blinks, his legs trembling as a broken laugh slips from his lungs.

GOAL!!!

TEAM Z - 1

TEAM X - 0

“I ran.” he whispers to himself, almost in disbelief. “I really ran.”

From midfield, Giyuu watches in silence. The goal itself doesn’t stir him much, he had already seen the opening, already trusted the result, but something in Chigiri’s expression confirms that this moment means far more than a single point.

Good, Giyuu thinks calmly.

But the air doesn’t stay light for long.

A pressure creeps up his spine, slow and heavy, unmistakably violent. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is. When he finally turns, Barou’s red eyes are already locked onto him with consuming intensity. The goal has stopped mattering. The team has stopped mattering. From that moment on, only Giyuu exists in Barou’s world.

Barou stops playing soccer after that. What he begins doing instead is hunting. Every time Giyuu touches the ball, Barou slams into him with brutal force, a shoulder to the ribs, a violent check from behind, a stomp that lands just short of his ankle.

When Barou rips the ball away through sheer strength, his voice is low and venomous. “You’re in my way, peasant.”

Giyuu stumbles only once before regaining his footing, realizing with unsettling clarity. 

So he abandoned soccer for obsession?

How childish.

So petty.

Barou crashes through Kunigami like a living battering ram, then tosses Raichi aside just as effortlessly when he charges in next. “This is my field.” Barou spat.

Team Z begins to fracture, not tactically, but mentally. Kunigami attacks alone. Raichi charges alone. Chigiri sprints down the wings alone. Even Igarashi forces himself into the chaos. Positions dissolve. The plan evaporates. The match mutates into survival.

Giyuu regains possession near center field, and barely manages two steps before Barou is already in front of him.

Their shoulders collide with bone-rattling force, and Barou leans in close enough that Giyuu can feel his breath. “Now you’re looking at me.” Giyuu steadies his stance, but for the first time since entering Blue Lock, uncertainty creeps into his chest.

What is the correct choice here?

Ego’s question echoes through his mind, his own goals, or the team’s victory.

He dodges left and Barou follows instantly. He cuts right and Barou mirrors him perfectly, the two circling like predators in a tight, silent standoff. If he passes, he may be eliminated. If he chooses only his own goal, the team might collapse.

Barou lunges again and growls for him to make up his mind. And in that moment, Giyuu finally understands: this world does not punish selfishness, it demands it. But blind selfishness only devours everything around it.

Giyuu pivots and slips past Barou by the narrowest margin possible, the ball staying with him not through power, but through control. In the same instant, he sees Kunigami charging, Chigiri tearing down the wing, and Raichi storming into the box.

Three choices. Three futures. Barou surges at him again with murderous intent. So Giyuu chooses neither extreme. He passes, not to retreat, not to vanish, but to command.

The ball snaps to Kunigami, who fires immediately. The shot is blocked. The rebound sprays wide, and Chigiri arrives like lightning to cross it back into the box. Bodies collide and someone misses.

Someone falls.

The ball spills loose and rolls straight back toward Giyuu. Barou is already charging again, snarling for him to run. Giyuu doesn’t. He strikes low and clean, the shot slicing through the keeper’s fingertips and burying itself in the net.

GOAL!!!

TEAM Z - 2

TEAM X - 0

The field explodes with noise as Team Z erupts around him. Barou skids to a stop, staring at the goal, the field, and then Giyuu. His voice drops almost to a whisper. “...You used me.”

Giyuu meets his gaze without flinching. “Yes.” Barou’s hands tremble, not with fear, but with obsession, with realization, with hunger. And Giyuu stands there with steady breath and calm eyes, knowing he has chosen a third path.

Not ego alone. Not teamwork alone. But a battlefield where both become weapons.

Giyuu doesn’t hesitate after the restart. The moment the ball touches his foot, Bachira is already moving, slipping between defenders with that familiar, unpredictable rhythm like he’s dancing through invisible gaps only he can see.

Their eyes meet for half a second, no words, no signal, and the ball is already gone, snapped cleanly from Giyuu’s foot into open space. Bachira laughs as he catches up to it, spinning past one defender with a loose, fluid roulette before tapping it right back.

The ball travels again, back and forth between them, fast enough that Team X can’t properly track who has possession anymore.

It’s not random. It’s not chaotic. It’s synchronized.

Bachira surges forward suddenly, breaking the pattern on a whim. He slips between two defenders like water through cracks, giggling breathlessly as one reaches for him and grabs nothing but air. Another steps in to block his path, but Bachira cuts inward at the last second, heel flicking the ball ahead before he even finishes the turn.

The keeper braces, expecting a shot, but Bachira passes instead, sliding the ball back toward Giyuu at the very edge of the box. Giyuu meets it instantly and returns it just as fast, a sharp pass that rips open the defense completely. Bachira bursts through the opening, eyes wide with exhilaration, and drives the ball straight into the net. The goal hits with a violent thud, and Bachira throws his arms into the air, laughing like the world itself just played along with him.

GOAL!!!

TEAM Z - 3

TEAM X - 0

The field barely has time to breathe before it happens again. Team X scrambles into position, panic creeping into their movements now that something they don’t understand is controlling the tempo.

Giyuu takes possession this time and moves forward without wasting a single step, his dribble precise and economical, cutting just far enough to force defenders to commit.

Bachira shadows him at his side like a living distraction, dragging two players with him effortlessly.

Giyuu waits until the very last second, then slices past the remaining defender and steps into the open lane. The keeper charges. Giyuu doesn’t rush. He simply places the shot, low and unyielding, threading it past the keeper’s leg and into the corner of the goal. The net ripples again. Silence follows, short, stunned, disbelieving.

GOAL!!!

TEAM Z - 4

TEAM X - 0

By the time Team X manages to recover, their formation is already cracking. Giyuu advances again, and this time the defenders collapse on him in desperation, three bodies converging at once.

He allows it to happen. As soon as the pressure hits, he turns his hips and sends the ball flying to the right, straight into Kunigami’s path.

Kunigami receives it with a grunt of surprise, then his expression hardens into focus. There’s no hesitation in him, only power.

He winds back and unleashes a brutal, full-force strike that tears through the air like a cannon shot. The keeper barely reacts before the ball is already behind him, slamming into the net for the third time. Kunigami exhales sharply, fists clenched at his sides as realization crashes into him.

GOAL!!!!

TEAM Z - 5

TEAM X - 0

Three goals.

Three different scorers.

And for the first time since the match began, Team Z is no longer scattered, no longer desperate, no longer fighting alone. They are moving as one, not because Ego told them to, but because Giyuu and Bachira dragged them into it through action alone.

The moment Kunigami’s goal slams into the net, something in Team Z finally breaks loose. The tension, the fear, the selfish scrambling, it all detonates into pure, uncontrollable relief. They rush forward all at once, voices colliding in loud, messy celebration as bodies crash into Kunigami first, then spill over into Bachira and Giyuu without any mercy.

Arms hook around shoulders, people jump, laughter bursts out raw and unfiltered.

Kunigami stiffens in surprise before laughing, Bachira practically bouncing on his toes as he flings an arm around Giyuu’s neck without asking.

Giyuu freezes on instinct. His body goes rigid the second contact hits, nerves lighting up in quiet alarm the way they always do when he’s surrounded like this.

He hates being touched.

Always has. Too close, too loud, too much.

Bachira presses in anyway, warm and unrestrained, cheek bumping against his shoulder as he laughs into his ear like this is the most natural thing in the world. For a moment, Giyuu is painfully aware of every point of contact, Bachira’s arm, Kunigami’s shoulder brushing his back, someone gripping his sleeve.

And yet... he doesn’t pull away.

The discomfort is still there, sharp and instinctive, but underneath it there’s something softer, something unexpected. He lets it happen. Just this once.

Raichi’s voice cuts through the celebration like a blade. “Why didn’t you pass to me, huh?!” he snarls, fury plain on his face as he stares straight at Giyuu.

The noise around them dulls slightly, tension rippling back into the air. Giyuu doesn’t answer.

He simply averts his gaze, eyes sliding away with quiet indifference, as if Raichi’s anger doesn’t even register as something worth responding to.

Kuon steps in before it can spiral. He laughs, breath still shaky from running, and pats Giyuu on the shoulder in an easy, friendly gesture.

“Let’s just be happy we made it, okay?” he says, trying to keep the mood light.

Then, almost immediately, he notices the way Giyuu subtly stiffens again, shoulders tightening under the touch, and Kuon withdraws his hand at once. The movement is small, considerate. No tension. No pressure.

And for the first time since the game began, Team Z stands together, not perfectly united, not without cracks, but no longer completely broken apart, either.

In the analyzing room, Rin Itoshi leans forward, eyes sharp and calculating, every micro-movement on the field recorded in his mind. Beside him, Aryu Jyubei shifts in his seat, an amused smile tugging at his lips as he watches Giyuu maneuver the ball with fluid precision.

“Very glam, that one.” Aryu murmurs, his voice low but carrying a trace of awe. “Giyuu Tomioka, was it? I’ve heard of him, but seeing him play, he moves like he’s already ten steps ahead of everyone else.”

His eyes linger on Giyuu, observing the calm control in his posture, the subtle ease with which he reads the field. Aryu leans back slightly, almost unconsciously smoothing his fingers over his lap as he continues, “The way he combines precision and instinct... it’s unnatural. Almost like he doesn’t need anyone else, yet he makes the team better just by being there.”

Tokimitsu Aoshi, on the other hand, is more tense. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, fingers tapping nervously against the armrest. His eyes dart between Barou’s simmering rage and Giyuu’s composed movements. “Is... is it supposed to be like this?” he asks, voice small, almost frightened. He swallows and leans back, arms crossing defensively over his chest, as though bracing himself for some inevitable eruption. “I mean that guy... Giyuu. He barely moves and already he’s-he’s dominating without even... without even trying. It’s... intimidating...!!”

Rin doesn’t respond, only narrows his gaze. He can feel the tension radiating from Barou on the field, but Giyuu’s calm, almost cold control unsettles even the top striker.

Rin’s mind runs through potential outcomes, calculating every possible opening Barou might exploit, and yet, Giyuu’s movements remain unpredictable.

He doesn’t panic.

He doesn’t rush.

Every step is measured, every pass deliberate. Rin recognizes it instantly. this is not just a talented player. This is someone who thinks in three dimensions while everyone else is still stuck in two.

Aryu continues to speak, his tone more fascinated than analytical now. “And look at the way he interacts with the team. Not much emotion, barely speaks, yet the others follow him naturally. There’s something magnetic about him. He’s exactly the kind of player who can change the flow of a match just by existing.”

Tokimitsu flinches slightly at Aryu’s words, but doesn’t argue, there’s no denying the truth in the observations. Barou is still coiled, silent, dangerous, but the power balance has subtly shifted, and everyone in the room can feel it.

The top three sit in tense silence after that, watching Giyuu’s next moves. Rin’s mind whirls with strategy, Aryu marvels quietly at Giyuu’s elegance and effectiveness, and Tokimitsu, well, Tokimitsu simply braces himself, hoping the field doesn’t explode before he can figure out what to do next.

The locker room buzzed with voices, laughter, and the clatter of cleats as the players came down from the adrenaline of the match.

Chigiri and Giyuu sat off to the side, quietly exchanging words.

For the first time, Chigiri looked content, a rare, easy smile gracing his features. Giyuu, too, felt different, relaxed in a way that didn’t happen often. Chigiri didn’t overstep. he respected the space around him, didn’t press too close, didn’t crowd him.

He’s... nice.

 Giyuu thought, observing the calm way Chigiri carried himself. For once, Giyuu didn’t feel the usual prickling discomfort that came with someone touching or hovering near him.

Suddenly, the large screen in the room flickered on. The sound of Ego’s voice cut through the chatter, sharp and commanding. “Yes, very good. You’re on the right track.” he said, making the entire room startle. Conversations halted mid-sentence, eyes snapping toward the screen as Ego’s presence filled the room.

“Hi there, unpolished gems of talent. The second match in Building 5 has just concluded. Team V defeated Team Y, 8–0.”

Igaguri’s hands shot up to his head, disbelief written across his face. “What? 8–0?!” he shouted.

The rest of the room fell silent, stunned, muttering among themselves. Giyuu’s eyes narrowed slightly, analyzing the result. Very impressive, he thought. They must be well-coordinated. They must understand each other completely.

Bachira, on the other hand, could barely contain himself. He bounced on the balls of his feet, grin stretching across his face, restless and excited. Everyone glanced at him, startled by the contrast between his energy and the rest of the room’s tense astonishment.

Ego continued, voice cold and precise. “The Japanese love having roles allocated so they can simply complete their tasks. As an example, take one of the few major sports where Japan is on par with the world. baseball. Its inning system clearly separates the team, and there is no physical contact on the field.”

Must be nice.

“Each role is clearly defined in this sport and it fits the Japanese psyche like a glove. That’s why we are strong.” Ego continued.

“But that is not the case in soccer. Soccer is played on an open field where offense and defense alternate fluidly. It can be extremely physical, and in this sport, simply performing the tasks you’re given is not enough. You need personal skills. Individual skills. In Japanese soccer, the positions we can be proud of are the midfielders and full-backs. They work for the team, transforming the striker’s solitary ‘1’ into ‘100.’ Without their devotion, Japanese soccer would never have reached its current level. Therefore, there can be no revolution.”

Ego laughed at that last remark, the grin on his face sending a chill down the spines of everyone in the room, even Giyuu. The laughter was sharp, predatory, echoing off the walls as if the words carried power beyond their meaning.

“So, unpolished gems of talent, overwrite your consciousness.” Ego said, voice rising.

“In soccer, scoring a goal means destroying the other team’s structure. It makes the striker a destroyer. Scoring is a revolution on the field, wrecking the opponent’s order.

Do not allow yourselves to be trapped by the notion of roles, or you will fail to create something from zero. Take up your weapon, strikers! Decide which weapon you will use to disrupt the other team, to make them yield, to destroy them. Think carefully about how to use your body, your mind. It is always your weapon that kick-starts this revolution we call scoring. Victory only exists once you go beyond that.”

The screen flickered and went dark, leaving a silence in its wake. The locker room felt heavier somehow, each player absorbing the weight of Ego’s words differently. Bachira’s grin had faltered slightly, replaced with focused determination.

Chigiri blinked slowly, a sense of resolve settling over him.

And Giyuu? He let his gaze drift briefly to the screen, expression unreadable, already calculating, already thinking how to turn this “revolution” into something he could control.