ISAGI POV
The heavy door at the back of the room slid open for the seventh, and final, time. A hush fell over the forty-odd players already gathered, the survivors of the Second Selection. We had all cleared the trials and matches, but the final, lagging team always commanded attention.
I watched the entrance with grim impatience. The first two figures to enter were complete unknowns to me: a player with long, dark blue hair who barely glanced at the room; a silent, shorter one with unsettling, shark-like teeth.
Then came a face I recognized. Reo. I grimaced. Reo looked beaten, not physically, but spiritually, the arrogant confidence he once wore was replaced by a kind of taut, resigned determination.
My attention skipped past him, straining against the shadows cast by the open doorway. My heart hammered in my chest. Where is he? I counted heads. Five members per team. There were two more shadows behind Reo, but only one spot left to fill.
The footsteps echoed in my mind as everything went silent, the tension in the room stretching until it felt like fabric about to tear.
The final two figures stepped through.
And neither were Kunigami.
The first was the composed, teal-haired striker I didn't recognize, scratching the back of his head, looking more annoyed than relieved. But it was the final figure, the one who stepped through last, that stole the breath from my lungs.
A blonde and pink-haired striker strode in, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, an utterly careless expression plastered on his face.
My eyes widened in pure, visceral shock. His presence, coupled with the absence of the one person who should have been standing there, was the answer.
"Kunigami...no..." I whispered, the crushing finality of the situation hitting me with the force of a punch.
I sprinted toward the newcomers, stopping in front of Reo. My voice cracked with urgency. "Hey, Reo. What happened to Kunigami?"
Reo's expression was flat, his eyes tired. "He lost, Isagi. We lost the 2v2 match, and they took me instead of him. The guy didn't have what it takes, end of story."
"Liar!" I screamed, feeling the rage boil up from my stomach. "Kunigami would never let it end like that! He's too strong, too stubborn! He wouldn't get eliminated by him!" I glared at the pink highlights striker.
The teal haired striker stepped forward, his eyes narrowed, his voice cutting and cold. "And yet, I don't see Kunigami here, do I? Your boyfriend had SUCH an incredible sense of justice, all the dude wanted was a fair game."
Pink highlights leaned in, pointing a casual, dismissive finger first at his partner and then at himself. "We are the ones who sent Mr. Straight Laced spiraling down to hell." His grin widened, manic and cruel. "He was boring. So, so boring. All that talk about being a hero, and he just went poof." He mimed an explosion that fizzled out weakly.
"You shut your mouth!" I lunged slightly, my fists clenching. "You have no right to talk about him like that"
"Chaos always wins, little dog," he chuckled, completely unbothered by my fury. "And chaos is beautiful. He was just too ugly to stay here." He stretched lazily, then his eyes snapped into focus, fixing me with a venomous intensity. "You look like you want to explode, little doggy. Maybe I should help you out?"
Before I could react, he coiled, his body twisting into an impossible stance. He launched himself forward, aiming a lightning-fast, horizontal jumping spin kick right at my head.
A blur of pink and red flashed across my vision. Chigiri, moving faster than I could track, grabbed the collar of my shirt and yanked me violently backward, pulling me out of the lethal arc of the strikers boot just as it whistled past my face.
"Chigiri..." I said softly, despite betraying and beating their team Chigiri still moved quickly to move me out of harms way.
He landed gracefully on one foot, spinning to face us with a look of pure, ecstatic glee. He wasn't even breathing hard.
"Nice reflexes, Red-head," the pink highlighter purred, his golden eyes locking onto Chigiri. "You want to dance too?"
"These guys are pissing me off," Chigiri said, his voice low with a suppression to it. "Anyone else?"
"Right there with you."
THIRD PERSON POV
Bachira stepped up, his usual playful energy replaced by dead serious notes. He started cracking his knuckles, his yellow eyes narrowed. "Want to take this outside, you two? Or maybe we just settle it right here?"
He gestured toward Shidou and Hibari with a dismissive flick of his chin. "Between Mr. I Spent Too Long In The Tanning Bed and Mr. I Style My Hair Like A Barbie Doll, I think this room needs a serious ego-cleaning."
Hibari, who had been watching the exchange with a look of profound boredom, finally shifted his gaze to Bachira.
"Just say you're jealous, greaseball," Hibari stated flatly. "Your obsession with my aesthetics is inefficient. Learn your place before you hear the same words your sad hero did."
Shidou pops up next to Bachira and says the words right into his ear.
"Lock..OFF!"
The confrontation was interrupted by the sudden, sharp crack of a speaker system. Every screen in the joint room flickered to life, displaying the hunched, hollow-eyed silhouette of the man who ran this hellhole.
"That's enough, my diamonds in the rough. Gather round."
Ego Jinpachi appeared on the central monitor, slurping a cup of instant noodles with a disturbing lack of urgency.
"The second selection is officially over," he stated, his voice echoing through the silent room. "Thirty-five of you have survived. Now, it's time to see which of you actually has the right to be called a striker."
"But there's been a change of plans. The big cheeses behind Japanese soccer, those fossilized suits at the JFA are convinced that Blue Lock poses a threat to their interests. They want it shut down. They want you gone."
A ripple of unease swept through the room. The players, who had just spent weeks fighting for their lives, now faced a threat from the very organization they hoped to represent.
"So," Ego's lips curled into a jagged, sickly sweet smile, "we are going to challenge them. Lookey here."
A graphic appeared on the screen, showing the Blue Lock logo facing off against the official crest of the Japan National Team.
"The next selection will be held three weeks from today. It will be a single match: The Japan U-20 National Team vs. The Blue Lock Eleven."
The room erupted.
"The U-20 team!?" "Are you serious? We're going up against the actual national squad!?"
Ego raised a hand, silencing the chaos with a single, sharp look. "And if you win that match...we can essentially hijack the U-20 team. We take their jerseys. We take their slots. We take their future. The JFA wants to use this match to make us laughing stocks. So, will the Blue Lock program go up in flames, or will it hijack Japanese soccer? That is up to you."
Idle chatter started to kindle, the weight of the stakes sinking in, but Ego's eyes snapped wide.
"Ah, ah, ah. I'm not done yet."
Before he could continue, Hibari Yakushiji stepped forward, his hand still in his pocket as he looked up at the screen. His expression was flat, devoid of the shock that had paralyzed the others.
"Hey, glasses," Hibari interjected, his voice cutting through the noise like a scalpel. "We've got thirty-five damn strikers standing here. Do you have some kind of master plan for forming a team for that?"
Gagamaru, standing near the back with his usual deadpan stare, tilted his head. "Perhaps some of us will move to midfield and defense?"
"Correct, you unpolished gemstones," Ego bounced off Gagamaru's comment. "A makeshift team of forwards. That is exactly the idea. A team built entirely of the world's most selfish strikers. A monster with eleven heads."
The chatter started up again, louder this time, until Ego's voice boomed over the speakers.
"CUT THE CHATTER!"
The silence that followed was absolute.
"The players I am about to name will form the core of the team. They are Blue Lock's top brass, based on a comprehensive evaluation of the Second Selection and the World Five match. Should you hear your name called, step forward."
"Number 1," Ego announced. "Rin Itoshi."
The prodigy stepped forward, his aura a wall of cold, sharp ice. Hibari's brows furrowed. 'I'm not number one?' He tightened his jaw, his mind already recalculating. 'Fine. Number 2 is an acceptable starting point. I can work with that.'
"Number 2," Ego's voice grated. "Ryusei Shidou."
Shidou let out a sharp, jagged bark of laughter, practically dancing into the spotlight with his hands behind his head.
Hibari felt a vein throb in his temple. 'I'm below that damn hypersexual?'
"Number 3," Ego continued, indifferent to the tension in the room. "Hibari Yakushiji."
Hibari stepped forward, his face a mask of flat, clinical boredom, though inside, he was already planning his move to overtake the "demon" and the "prodigy" in front of him. Being Number 3 was an inefficiency he intended to correct immediately.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anybody still reading this story? No?
Anyways sorry for the long absence, just haven't had the motivation to write like at ALL or do anything for that matter. Depression sucks, 0/10 would not recommend.
Anyways I decided to come back with a double chapter to make up for the absence!
Also Hibari debuts as Number 3 below just Rin and Shidou. I have it this way so Hibari doesn't become complacent and he knows he still has people to crush and something to work towards while becoming the best striker.
I don't remember if I said this before, but I am writing two fanfics at the same time so I am trying to balance updates best I can. I won't plug it here so if you guys are curious and wanna check it out. Just search my pen name on fanffiction. net as its the same here.
Anyway Ussylliss out!