He’d only ever heard about your accomplishments through the news and magazines, etc… but here you were in the flesh… years later.
Your figure was highlighted by the moonlight shining through the open window.
You looked as ethereal as ever.
As if time didn’t affect you at all.
Athletes from all over the world came to gather at a formal black-tie event held at the Blue Lock facility for the night. With your busy schedule, Ego didn’t even think for a second that you would actually take some time off, just to attend.
“Shall I add Y/n L/n to the guest list as well, Mr. Ego?” His assistant, Anri, asked a couple months ago. “I highly doubt she’d come. But do as you like.” He answers her.
—
“Long time no see, Striker.” Ego says from behind you.
You knew that voice anywhere.
“I was wondering when I would finally run into you, Jin.” You said as you turned around to face him… the man who was the love of your life, once upon a time.
“I wasn’t expecting you to come.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, taking a few steps closer to you.
“I, um, tried to call y’know… after I received the invite. But your assistant said you were busy, so…” You fidgeted with your freshly manicured nails and chewed on the inside of your cheek; also taking a few steps closer.
He smelled so good, you could just nuzzle your face in his chest right about now.
A slight breeze suddenly blew through the open windows, earning a shiver from you. Ego noticed this and quickly threw his navy blue suit jacket over your shoulders, covering your exposed back.
“Oh, um-”
“You shouldn’t have worn such an exposing dress. Didn’t you check the weather? Tsk.” He cuts you off, pulling the suit jacket tighter around your front.
You blushed slightly as the tips of his fingers softly grazed your skin, causing another shiver to run through you. “I’ll have them turn the heater on.”
“N-No, it’s fine.” You grabbed his hand, stopping him from walking away from you.
He’s only ever walked away from you one other time, and you’ll be damned if you ever let him do it again.
“Your jacket is plenty warm, thank you.” You smiled up at him.
His hand moved on its own, slowly moving to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear…
“Meine Freunde, [My friends] I’ve been looking everywhere for you.” Noel Noa suddenly interrupts your moment.
Ego drops his hand and clears his throat.
“Noa, glad you could attend.” They met in the middle to shake hands.
Noa then turns to you and gives you a kiss on the cheek as a greeting. “Lovely as always, Schatz.”
You forced a smile up at him, “Danke. [Thank you.] Nice to see you.”
The ball slammed into the net, and people cheered. Cheered for you. It was another match where you hogged the spotlight, keeping everyone’s eyes on you. The adrenaline’s still pumped through your veins, and through the ring of all the acknowledgement, you catch the sound of the final whistle blowing, signaling the end of the game.
Your afterglow from that victory was too short for your liking. How disappointing. Then again, the opponents really weren’t all that.
Seeing the 6-1 in your favor was satisfying, though. All your goals. You expected nothing less from yourself.
That match was the regionals for the little tournament your team was in, and because of you, they’re making it to nationals. They should be glad you’re on their team. You, as their striker, practically carried them. In your opinion, the club would’ve been down the dumps if it weren’t for your presence. You found yourself hardly caring, despite it. As long as they continued their job of solely following you in the field, you’d gladly play the role of their savior.
After recollecting yourself, you trudged off the field. Everything that came after was a positive haze, a routine you’ve gotten used to, but can never get tired of. The praise from your teammates, coach, friends— to the present reporters pulling you aside to monopolize your time. Of course, you were ecstatic about the attention.
Microphones were shoved in front of you, recording every answer you gave out from their questions. Cameras flashed, and you gave your award-winning smile at every click of a photo. Amongst the blinding lights, you catch a pair of eyes staring at you. Of course, you knew there were always people staring at you— but this was different. She was assessing you. Perhaps a scout?
Whatever that look was for, you were sure it wasn't just a bystander staring.
You were right. It wasn't just a bystander staring.
〈 YOU’VE BEEN SELECTED FOR A SPECIAL PLAYER TRAINING PROGRAM.
– Japan Football Union 〉
The letter you received sure was interesting— why was it a letter, anyway? Couldn't it have just been an email?
But besides that, it was interesting. It was short and concise, with a brief explanation, a time, and a place in its contents. Very shady, but boredom really made you want to take it. It could be an opportunity for you to shine in an even brighter spotlight, an upgrade from a third-rate platform to the main stage. The location was very familiar to you, anyway, so this should be an official message.
You found yourself in the address given in the paper— a rather worn down building, but it was a place you grew semi-accustomed to— and entered the property. The halls were as plain as ever, you noted, as you stood in front of a set of dark double-doors. Opening it, you were greeted by what seems like an entire batch of people. Significantly more teenage boys in a single room than you can count.
Despite wanting to, you didn’t comment on it. You instantly felt their stares turn to you the moment you stepped into the room, and you remained unyielding under the pressure of the multiple gazes. In fact, you felt good that your presence was being seen, even more so when a good handful of them seemed to recognize who you were. You could say the vibes you gave off demanded attention.
“–Test. One, two,”
You heard a whisper through the speakers from who knows where, making you scan across the room to find where it came from. The moment you found it, though, you tried not to walk out the door right then and there.
“Congratulations, you unpolished gems,” the voice boomed through the room. Right at the same time, the lights closed, and a spotlight pointed towards the source: a lanky man who sported a bowl cut and rectangular glasses, Jinpachi Ego. Who, to you, was a very familiar face. “All you under 18 strikers have been chosen solely based on my criteria and biases to be here today. All 300 of you.”
You watched in silence as he introduced himself— really, you only watched, not listened— zoned out with most of his words going in one ear and out the other. He was saying something about making Japan capable of winning the world cup. Japan, winning, and World Cup in the same sentence was something you never thought you'd hear from someone like him. Is he being for real? Maybe you should actually start listening.
“I'll put it into simple terms,” it was then that you caught the projection behind him, showing the Japan flag. “Japan only requires one thing to become the strongest powerhouse in soccer,” he stated, bringing his arms out, in what you think is for adding dramatic effect. “And that is the creation of a revolutionary striker. From you three hundred players gathered here today, I will forge the best striker in the world through a certain project.”
He really talks a lot, you note. “Look here,” Ego prompted, stretching a finger up, “For this purpose, we have built a facility…” the projection behind him switched to a photo of a pentagonal-shaped infrastructure. “Called Blue Lock,” it was composed of what you could guess was five separate buildings, with a stadium in the middle of it. Above the image, ‘Blue Lock’ was a bolded text. A whole facility for this?
You tuned out most of the rest of whatever he was saying— something about living within the building, not being able to go home, and considering your football careers over— you didn't need much of those details, anyway. “If you manage to survive Blue Lock, and defeat the other two hundred ninety-nine players around you…”
Oh? That sentence made you stop tuning his words out. A last-man standing, huh?
“You, the last player standing… will have become the best striker in the world.”
Now, that got you interested.
“That is all for the details,” he remarked, stuffing his hands in his pockets and hunching over. “Nice meeting you all,” he concluded, ready to end it with that. That was, until someone within the crowd raised his hand, retorting his speech.
“Hey! Sorry, but,” he put his hand down. The boy had blond hair, eyebrows stitched together into a frown. You notice that he seemed to have a friend beside him, a guy with black hair and blue eyes. “I can't agree with what you said just now,” he says. He tells of how he can't accept the terms, likely because of the nationals. You can't blame them— if some sketchy man you didn't recognize put you together in a room with hundreds of others, all the while spouting some rant about making the best striker— you'd be skeptical to go forward with it, too.
His words seem to put the crowd on his side. That wasn't surprising, he had a valid point. You watched as they raised their own thoughts too, before turning your gaze towards Ego, who scratched his head, before casually saying they were all fucked in the head, telling them to get lost.
Him and the blond guy had a back and forth. It resembled a heated debate on twitter, to you. Maybe your brain is just weird. Ego then proceeds to say how horrible the Japan football team is, to which you think he has a point. Compared to other countries, it is shit. Mister bowl cut then gave examples of exceptional players, linking them all with the same trait: ego.
The man almost looked like a lunatic— like he was someone who was absolutely insane.
You liked that look. It was something right up your alley.
“You will not become the greatest strikers in the world,” he prompted, an expression that seemed to cut right through all of you plastered on his face. “—unless you have the ego to match.”
Wow, you liked this vibe already.
“My purpose here, is to create such a player in Japan,” he added, lowering his head. “From the corpses of 299 players…” Ego brought a finger up as a gesture to his next words. “One hero will rise in all his glory,” he declared.
“Alright, you unpolished gems. Let me ask you one last question,” the noiret tapped on his temple, pointing to his brain. “Imagine this: you are at the very finals of the world cup,” he started. “Playing under the eyes of 80,000 spectators in the stadium… you are on that very field. The score? 0-0,” Ego added the details, and you noticed how most of everyone followed along with his words. “It’s the stoppage time of the second half. The very last play.”
“A teammate has managed to pass the ball to you. It’s a one-on-one with the goal-keeper,” the vision played in your brain, using the best of your imagination. “There’s a teammate six meters to your right. If you pass it to him, you’ll probably score that goal. The hopes of all of Japan lie on your shoulders. You are at a turning point at the world cup finals…” in your mind, you could see yourself kicking it in without reluctance.
You wouldn’t dare pass when the chance of scoring a goal was right in front of you.
“Without hesitation, you shoot.”
Of course you’d do.
Ego moves to turn his body, facing to the side. “If you desire that rebellious ‘egoism’...” the doors behind him opened, filling the room with light from what’s on the other side. He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his free hand behind his back. “Then step through the gate,” a crazed grin stretched along his face. “I’ll say it once more, loud and clear.”
“Football is a sport to develop you all as strikers. Think of literally everyone else on the field as supporting you,” he pointed to the crowd in order to emphasize his point. “When you’re on the field, you are the star.”
Damn right you are.
“Your greatest joy is scoring points, and nothing else,” he said. “You live for the excitement of that very moment,” his grin got eerily wider, his eyes swirling with some sort of drive.
He was right with that. The sake of your goals are the only thing that gets your blood pumping in a game. Whatever drugs Ego’s on, you were starting to crave it, too. Even if you never thought you’d admit that to yourself. Maybe your past self was too judgy. He can be relatable, occasionally.
“Now that’s a striker, don’t you think?”
Suddenly, someone from the crowd steps out, rushing towards the gate— it was that boy next to the other guy that debated with Ego. He seemed to have enabled a chain reaction, as one after another, people rushed forward as well, before everyone was running towards the entrance, uncoordinated.
You knew better than to run along with the crowd and possibly bump into people, so you waited until most of them were a good distance away from you. And you say most, as in the corner of your eye, you spot someone walking the other way, towards the exit, with somebody else chasing after him. You ignored them.
Calmly, you strided over to the gate. You had no need to rush. As you passed by Ego, he spoke up, making you halt in your steps.
“I see you actually made it, [Name],” he remarked, making you glance at him. He was slouching, as always. Head looking down with his horrible posture. “Long time, no see.”
“Still the same as ever, huh, Ego-san?” you reply, adjusting the strap of your carry-on. You turn your head, fully looking at him. “You really gonna do allat?” you ask, referring to his earlier speech about making the best striker. It was a very ambitious goal, but since it was Ego, you could tell it might be possible. A lot less far-fetched if it would be you who remains the last one standing.
Ego nods. “Of course,” he answered. He leans back, looking at the ceiling above before heading to another topic. “You're here to be what the players aim to beat,” the man stated. You weren't sure whether you should be happy about the fact that he acknowledged that you're good enough to be the ideal model in this project, or be offended that he doesn't seem to consider you a contestant worthy of participating to be the best striker.
“Am I just here to set a standard for you?” you scoff, tearing your gaze away from him. You look back forward, walking towards the gates once again. “I’ll beat them all,” you state, confidence lacing your tone. “You know I will.”
He hums, muttering something incoherent under his breath. He tilts his head up, watching you move towards the door. “We’ll see,” he replies to your statement. “Prove yourself worthy of a main role, [name].”
You turn around, catching a glimpse of him looking at you with expectation. You raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging on your face.
“Don’t I already do?”
(a/n) tofumi is here with another fic. no, i'm not okay. I wrote this slop half asleep so mb for any mistakes.
I have plans for this fic TRUST. if you noticed, mc is a bit like gojo. I lowk wanted to try to do a cocky, extroverted mc because most of my mcs are introverted hhh
anw enough yap 👅 next chapter will be next year cause I still have more prep to do
