"Ah... ah! Congratulations, all of you diamonds in the rough! You are the 300 under-18 forwards I've handpicked entirely on my own judgment and biases."
"And I am Jinpachi Ego! The Football Association hired me to help Japan's national team win the World Cup!"
"Let me put it simply: Japan is just one step away from becoming the best in the world! That step is to cultivate a revolutionary striker. From these 300 players, I will forge the world's greatest forward!"
"This facility—Blue Lock—was built for that purpose. Starting today, you will live here together and undergo the elite training I designed! You won't be able to return home, and you must say goodbye to your old football lives."
"But I promise you this: the one who survives, eliminating 299 others, will become the world's number one striker! That's all. I look forward to working with you."
Hearing Jinpachi Ego's speech, which sounded like some pyramid scheme, I knew for sure: I had been transported into the world of Blue Lock.
That's right—my name is Ryūma Banjō. When I first crossed over, I thought I'd become "Kamen Rider," even daydreaming about transforming and fighting alongside Big Brain.
But it turned out to be nothing more than a name coincidence—something that crushed me for quite a while.
This all started a year ago, during one of my corporate drone weekends.
That night, I was still awake at 3 a.m., binge-watching Blue Lock. I was completely hooked and didn't fall asleep until 5. And when I finally did... I never woke up in my old world again.
When I opened my eyes, I thought I was still dreaming. From outside the unfamiliar room came a gentle woman's voice, calling me for breakfast.
"Ryūma, wake up! You'll be late for school. Come down and eat!"
I instinctively got out of bed, left the room, and went downstairs. But seeing an unfamiliar man, woman, and a beautiful young lady left me frozen in place.
Then, all of a sudden, a flood of foreign memories slammed into my mind.
"Argh—it hurts!"
With that cry, I collapsed on the spot. Before I fully lost consciousness, I heard panicked voices around me.
"Ryūma? Ryūma, what's wrong? Don't scare your mother like this! Call an ambulance!"
When I woke again, I was lying in a private hospital in Hokkaido.
"Doctor, what's wrong with this child? He just collapsed out of nowhere—it nearly scared us to death."
(That gentle voice again... must be Mom.)
Listening to her, my consciousness slowly returned.
"Yeah, I was terrified too. My little brother's always been fine—why would he suddenly faint? Could it be some illness?"
That soothing female voice reached me, and I slowly opened my eyes, sighing as I replied,
"Sis, can't you just wish something good for your little brother once in a while?"
My sister blinked, then rolled her eyes with a helpless smile.
"Oh? You're awake? Still cheeky even now. Looks like you're fine after all?"
The beautiful woman beside her—my supposed mother—added worriedly,
"Yes, it seems you're okay. The doctor said as long as you woke up, it wasn't serious. You really scared your mom."
"Don't worry about me. I probably just stayed up too late... or maybe got tired from football practice. I'm fine."
Of course, that was an excuse I made up on the spot. No way I could say I fainted because the memories of my new life had flooded in after transmigrating. That would've landed me in a psychiatric ward, not a hospital.
Not long after, I was discharged. The doctors couldn't find anything wrong—just told me to rest more and not overdo training.
By then, I had accepted the truth: I had crossed into Japan, into a middle-class family with both parents alive—and even a pretty older sister.
"Hmm... This doesn't exactly sound like the usual protagonist setup of dead parents and a tragic past!"
"And it's been days since I got here, yet no system has appeared. Guess no truck, no system, huh?" I muttered bitterly.
"Well, whatever. At least my past self had freakish football talent. Insanely freakish."
"Winning a few World Cups shouldn't be hard. That alone would make this second life worth it."
After digging into my past self's memories, I found his football skills were on a completely different level compared to anyone at my school—or even nearby schools.
On top of that, I had rare heterochromatic eyes. At first, people noticed just because they looked unusual. But once my talent exploded on the pitch, they started calling me a genius—the world's number one striker.
But as I got stronger, crushing other schools with overwhelming wins, no one dared invite us for friendlies anymore.
Because whenever I got serious, the game instantly turned into a massacre.
Every match ended with scores at least double the opponent's.
My reputation spread quickly. Those I crushed began whispering behind my back, calling me the "Heterochromatic Monster."
Still, I kept going to school and clubs like my past self, while also practicing techniques of Blue Lock players.
Ryusei Shidou's violent, flashy finishing inside the box—disgusting guy, but his scoring instincts are top-class.
Kenyu Yukimiya's overwhelming one-on-one dribbling.
My dribbling was similar to Yukimiya's, but leaned more toward Loki's style—explosive speed, unrelenting speed, and massive strides driving the ball forward.
To my surprise, training these skills went smoothly. Things that should've been insanely difficult improved steadily as I practiced.
But no matter how much I tried, Seishirō Nagi's absurd Ball Control never came to me. That guy really is heaven's chosen.
Just when I thought I'd join Japan's National Team, become a global super-genius, and stroll into the World Cup to take the trophy...
An invitation letter shattered that fantasy.
"You have been selected as a designated reinforcement player."
The moment I saw those words, I didn't bother reading the rest.
"No way... Did I really end up in Blue Lock's world? The monsters here are terrifying! Damn it, this has to just be a coincidence..."
Back to the present. After hearing Jinpachi Ego's cult-like speech, I knew for sure—I was in Blue Lock.
But that was fine! If everyone were weak, the World Cup would be boring. Competing against monsters and geniuses—that's thrilling!
"Excuse me, but your explanation isn't convincing enough! I can't agree to this!"
"We all have teams we care deeply about. Some of us are even preparing for the national tournament! How can we abandon our teams for some vague experiment?"
Others quickly joined in:
"Yeah! I've got nationals coming up too. Forcing us into this group living out of nowhere is ridiculous."
"Who even are you anyway? Send out someone reliable!"
(Hah, so it's that hypocritical poser, Ryōsuke Kira. No wonder his voice sounded familiar!)
(Tsk, look at him pretending to be righteous! Just wait until his face gets smashed in during Blue Lock's first selection—I can already laugh just thinking about it.)
(Oh? That black-haired, blue-eyed kid beside him must be Yoichi Isagi. Better enjoy his clueless look now—once Blue Lock starts, he'll turn into a ravenous predator devouring everyone in his path.)
I smirked to myself at the thought.
Just then, Jinpachi Ego responded.
"Oh, is that so? Seems you're all beyond saving. Then leave!"
"If winning high school tournaments in this football-weak country matters more to you than becoming the world's top striker—fine, go!"
"The idea of people like you carrying Japan's future fills me with despair!"
"Listen closely! Japan's football organization is world-class, but in every other aspect, it's second-rate."
"So let me ask you: what is football? Eleven players working together? Valuing friendship? Selfless sacrifice? Fighting for teammates? That is exactly why Japan will never rise to the top!"
"Here's the truth: football is a sport where you score more goals than your opponent! The one who scores is the greatest! If you want to play make-believe with your friends, then get out!"