Chapter 4: Ball Tyrant, Team Z
After that, the 300 forwards boarded buses heading toward the facility known as BLUE LOCK.
Upon arrival, staff confiscated everyone's phones and wallets, then distributed a set of tight, one-piece compression suits to each player.
Naruhaya Asahi handed over the remaining 70-plus bills and the phone he had just bought to rewatch the World Cup, receiving his own compression suit in exchange. Looking down at the numbers printed on it — [297 / Z] — he walked into the corresponding Z dorm room.
The moment he entered, he saw a squinty-eyed guy, a landmine-haired guy, a handsome redhead, a sleepy bum lying down, and a bunch of other even weirder dudes.
After quietly inspecting this whole group of weirdos, Naruhaya Asahi exhaled in relief.
Thankfully, none of them were that black-haired boy.
And based on the headcount — including him, exactly 11 people — just right for a soccer team.
Nice!
Click.
The door behind him opened, followed by familiar voices.
"Isagi! Thank goodness, I'm so relieved someone I know is in the same room!"
"Kira— haha, same here."
OHhhhhhh~ NO!
Naruhaya Asahi felt like his hair exploded. He didn't even need to turn around to know exactly who it was — today was officially his Doomsday.
Already lost half his money… and now he was stuck in the same room with the person he least wanted to see.
Wonderful!
The group immediately opened up like someone had hit the "start chat" button and began talking endlessly.
Asahi, meanwhile, focused intently on their conversation. From the monk-looking guy with the chestnut haircut, he learned that the white-haired handsome boy was actually the jewel of Japanese football — Ryosuke Kira.
Because he shared the same "Jewel of Japanese Football" title as his idol Arthas once had before leaving Japan, Asahi took quite a liking to him.
Just then, the previously quiet screen let out a crisp beep.
Everyone turned toward it as Ego Jinpachi appeared, beginning to explain the structure and rules of BLUE LOCK.
First was the ranking system shown on their uniforms.
Ego had digitized their abilities based on his personal judgment and subjective evaluation. The number printed on each player's suit was their rank.
Rankings could go up or down daily based on performance during training and matches. The top five would automatically qualify as forwards for the U-20 World Cup six months later.
As for anyone who lost and got kicked out of BLUE LOCK — they would be banned from ever joining the Japanese national team in their lifetime.
Then came the brutal "Tag" game.
"Time limit: 136 seconds/2 min 16 seconds.
Whoever the ball hits becomes 'It.'
Whoever is 'It' the moment the time ends is LOCK OFF — kicked out.
Also, no handballs."
After that, Ego vanished from the screen, replaced by the first "It": the chestnut-haired monk Igarashi Gurimu.
[2:15]
The moment the ball dropped, all friendliness vanished.
Thanks to the elimination rule, everyone except a relaxed Asahi and the still-sleeping bob-cut boy started showing fear.
Asahi felt nothing about the "never join U-20 Japan ever again" punishment.
He didn't plan to stay in weak-soccer Japan anyway.
Even if he got eliminated here, he'd just go earn money and play in a stronger nation.
But watching Igarashi wobbling around kicking the ball randomly at people, Asahi's brows tightened sharply.
He had a feeling — losing to this clown would be the greatest humiliation of his entire life.
And watching this nonsense game of tag, Asahi decided the farce needed to end.
How did Mr. Arthas deal with things like this again…?
At that moment, Kunigami Rensuke and Bachira Meguru were locked in a tense standoff, neither noticing Igarashi's movement.
Suddenly, Igarashi struck — the ball flew like an arrow straight toward Kunigami's face.
But before it could reach him, a figure burst in from the side.
With lightning speed, Naruhaya Asahi executed a flawless scissor kick, clean and smooth.
PONG!
He stopped the ball dead at his feet like a graceful swallow catching a branch mid-flight.
In the monitoring room, Ego Jinpachi didn't even blink, terrified he might miss any detail.
Then his face slowly relaxed.
The corners of his mouth rose sharply.
[1:06]
The screen updated: Asahi was now "It."
"Hey! What are you doing?! That ball gets people eliminated!"
Kunigami stared in disbelief. Why would anyone voluntarily steal the ball when being "It" at the end meant your career was over?
Asahi glanced around the room — only Bachira looked entertained — then sighed.
"The manager said the person who is 'It' at the last second gets LOCK OFF.
Meaning — only the one who ends up 'It' at the very end is out.
As long as I'm not It in the final second, I'm fine."
Kunigami understood, but the problem was…
Other than this boy, who else could guarantee they'd hit someone in the final second?
Kira met Asahi's eyes — and felt something cold crawl up his spine.
That gaze…
It pierced straight through him.
His heartbeat spiked — like some monstrous beast was hiding in the dark, watching him, waiting to swallow him whole.
The fear of being hunted flooded him. His legs stiffened.
Asahi spoke:
"Let me introduce myself. I'm Naruhaya Asahi — a forward with no team.
My idol is the American player Arthas.
I came here to train, so I can stand closest to him at the World Cup."
He gestured for Kira to introduce himself.
Kira wasn't someone who backed down.
"I'm Ryosuke Kira, forward of Matsukaze Kokuō High School .
I'm here to prove Ego Jinpachi's football theory wrong."
They both fell silent.
Asahi's eyes drifted over Kira, comparing him to Arthas.
Both were called jewels of Japanese football…
But physically? Worlds apart.
Arthas, despite barely hitting 170cm, had razor-cut muscles and monstrous leg strength.
Kira was… thin. Delicate, even.
And awareness?
Arthas would lock his eyes on the ball even if his leg was broken.
Kira was trying to avoid the ball.
Asahi's eyes darkened, tongue flicking lightly over his lips like a beast preparing to lunge.
Labels and reputation meant nothing.
Strength was proven through real combat.
He couldn't wait to see what "Japan's gem" could really do.
"I heard from Igarashi that you're a Japanese football treasure.
My idol Arthas had that title once, too.
So let's compare.
In the last ten seconds, if you can touch the ball at my feet, I'll acknowledge you as a teammate.
If not—
you're getting eliminated."
[0:10]
BANG!
The ball spun off Asahi's foot like a phantom.
Three figures dashed toward him simultaneously.
Bachira first — he'd been waiting on the left the entire time, aiming to snatch the ball by body-checking Asahi.
On the right, Isagi Yoichi — his blue eyes blazing with the desire of a would-be world-class striker.
When he realized Asahi only cared about Kira, ignoring everyone else, Isagi felt no relief — only pressure.
Heavy, suffocating pressure.
He remembered passing to teammates in big matches only to lose because of it.
Being ignored wasn't luck —
It was proof of being too weak.
He came to BLUE LOCK to change.
If he escaped through luck again… he'd be the same loser as before.
So when Bachira charged in head-on, Isagi readied himself to steal the ball the moment it popped loose—
BANG!
The ball shot upward like a cannon shell.
A split second later—
THUD!
Bachira took a full-force punch to the stomach, flying like a kite with its string cut, crashing into the redhead.
Immediately after—
Isagi's stomach took a vicious elbow, sending him straight into Kunigami.
Both felt like a baby Asian elephant had trampled their guts.
The ball dropped lazily back to the floor.
Kira saw his chance and lunged forward, stretching out his right foot to gain control—
But Asahi's foot touched it first.
Lightning-fast.
Still, Kira refused to give up.
His eyes spun rapidly, planning counter-options.
He leaned his body forward even if it meant taking a punch.
And then—
Asahi… simply passed the ball gently to Kira's feet.
The ball rolled perfectly toward him.
Kira froze.
Two seconds left.
Everyone stared at him.
A single push of the ball would eliminate someone.
Asahi?
The weakest Igarashi?
Someone else?
Kira felt like a god holding destinies in his hands.
Asahi watched with interest.
Kira's composure under pressure, the quick thinking, the willingness to face pain — Asahi approved.
So he stepped back, giving Kira full control.
Even if Kira tried to hit him, Asahi was confident he could kick it away before the final second.
[0:0]
The screen froze —
Kira was "It."
"Hah?"
Asahi let out a confused sound, his short caramel curls puffing up.
Behind the cameras, even Ego made the same sound.
Calmly trapping the ball, Kira smiled faintly.
"Don't look so shocked. I'm leaving BLUE LOCK voluntarily.
I still have the national tournament."
Asahi squatted, clutching his head.
"Wait— are you serious? Leaving BLUE LOCK means losing your chance to ever join Japan's national team! WHY?!"
"Yeah, I gave up.
When you said Arthas used to be Japan's football jewel… it made me think.
I saw how the media crushed him when he criticized Japanese soccer.
If the Daigo family weren't an ancient noble house with heavy security, their front gate would've been destroyed by crazed reporters."
"If word spreads that I abandoned my team before nationals, the media will destroy my parents, teammates, and coach — endlessly."
His voice trembled.
"Asahi… you don't belong to a team.
You haven't gone through major tournaments.
You don't understand the media's obsession with star players.
You're free now —
but one day, you'll face this too."
With that, Kira left the Z room in his tight suit.
Just before the door shut, he turned back and shouted at Asahi:
"I'll watch your U-20 games and cheer for you!"
Bang.
He was gone.
The screen lit up again — Ego Jinpachi returned.
"Well, that didn't go as I planned.
But congratulations, you lucky nobodies.
You survived thanks to the conflict between a star player and the media.
But next time won't be so easy."
Igarashi suddenly shoved Asahi by the collar.
"Hey you brat! That last move — you were totally aiming to eliminate me!"
He had seen Asahi's motion in the last second.
If Kira hadn't self-eliminated, Asahi definitely would've aimed straight at him.
"Yeah."
Asahi answered coldly.
This guy's performance absolutely deserved rank 300.
The caramel-haired boy easily flicked Igarashi aside and looked around the room.
"Someone once whispered to me —
if you want your garden to stay beautiful,
you must constantly pluck out the ugliest flower.
My garden doesn't need trash."
Then he looked straight at the screen.
"Manager, can you explain to these guys what this whole Tag game was actually testing?
I don't think they get it."
Ego grinned.
"Ok. Listen up, you idiots.
Look around — this room is exactly 16.5 × 40.32 meters, same as the penalty area.
75% of goals come from the penalty box.
This is the striker's battlefield.
Meaning — footwork in this space defines a striker's entire value."
Some players went pale.
"In this Tag game, runners need prediction, strategy, active movement.
The chaser needs tight dribbling, aiming in motion, and high-quality shooting.
It's pure striker training.
And 2:16?
That's the average ball-possession time per player in a real match."
As Ego spoke, Asahi helped the coughing Bachira and the groaning Isagi back to their feet with a friendly smile.
He clearly approved of their attempts to take the ball.
"Just now, except for Asahi preparing to pass, and the two who got knocked out —
everyone else gave up in the final moment."
"Imagine this:
Last attack of a match.
Everyone crowds the box.
Your teammate's shot rebounds off you.
But you gave up, so you didn't see the ball right at your feet.
A light tap and you would've won."
"A striker is someone who fights until the final second.
Asahi, Bachira, and Isagi weren't ruled by groupthink.
They had pure, selfish will to win.
That is the ego I want in a striker."
"Got it, you lucky idiots?"
Igarashi grumbled.
"Will this unreasonable crap keep happening…?"
"Unreasonable?
OF COURSE.
This is competition.
Your beloved world-class strikers survive this madness every day.
So — how does it feel, fighting for your life for the first time?
Scared—?"
"Can you skip the useless crap, Manager?"
Asahi cut him off.
He already knew Ego was about to give a speech about desire for victory.
He didn't want to hear it.
"Oh? You have something to say, troublesome game-controller?"
"Yes."
Asahi stepped into the center.
He waved so everyone could see him.
"Everyone, I hate players with bad technique.
In future matches, if anyone bores me or pisses me off,
I'll make you sit on the bench the whole game.
Don't doubt me."
"I'm done.
Continue, Manager."
Ego took this in, smiling widely.
He raised both hands, ten fingers spread but only one from each hand extended — 11.
"Then I won't waste breath.
Congratulations.
You've passed BLUE LOCK's residence exam.
There are exactly eleven of you.
You're a shared-fate unit now — sometimes allies, sometimes betrayers, always rivals."
"Team Z!"