HIBARI YAKUSHIJI POV
I looked over the endless sea of strikers, my teal colored hair certainly made me a stand out amongst this bland looking crowd. Naturally, my looks made me a target of a lot of stares upon entering the auditorium like room.
My hair was not a result of genetics as my father and mother both had black hair. I dyed it from the original jet black that I once worn. Sure it made me stand out, but thats exactly what I wanted. As a warning to everyone on the field who they should be looking at. I was however, born with my green colored eyes, but I digress.
I entered further into the room and found some standing room among the plethora of strikers around me. I stood and waited, after a little bit I heard the door creak open and naturally turned my head to see.
Two strikers entered, one with light blonde hair and the other with short black hair. I recognized the blonde as Ryosuke Kira, star player of Matsukaze Kokuo High School. I heard some buzz about he was being recruited for Japan's U-18 team. I think all of that is just rumors to hype the guy up though.
Can't say I was familiar with the striker next to him however. He just looked so ordinary, like he didn't stand out at all.
I dismissed the two of them and returned to just waiting around again. Shortly after I did, the lights shut off and a large spotlight was put on center stage.
A man walked out with his hands in his pockets and the spotlight following him. Tall, lean, dressed in all black, and wearing an expression like he couldn't care less what we thought of him.
"Good evening, diamonds in the rough," the man said, voice flat and deliberate.
He introduced himself as Jinpachi Ego. The man tasked with ensuring Japan's victory at the next World Cup.
Then he told us we were the three hundred of Japan's greatest 18 and under strikers chosen according to his philosphical analysis.
That part made me raise an eyebrow. Greatest? I looked around again. Most of these guys looked like they were pulled from a backup roster or a school tournament flyer. I wasn't impressed. I had seen better in Tokyo alone.
And this guy? He didn't look like a coach. He looked like he crawled out of some shut-in's apartment after watching too many documentaries on national geographic. Other strikers also seemed to share my thoughts.
"Who does this guy think he is?"
"What a clown."
Still, I listened.
He talked about how Japan had never produced a World Cup winning striker. He went on about how ego was the missing piece, that teamwork was the problem, that the Japanese system held us back.
He might have looked like a lunatic, but I had to admit, he made some decent points.
"An experiment will be conducted on you 300, it will result in the greatest striker this world has ever seen. Here at this facility." A large monitor activated behind him to showcase an extremely large facility.
"Blue Lock."
The screen demonstrated various rooms and installations of this building.
"Starting today, you will all be living there together and undergo a special training regimen I have personally designed to transform and elevate your abilities to world class level. You won't be allowed to go home and your previous soccer careers will be a distant memory. So get comfortable."
"If you commit and work yourself to be the last one standing among the 299 others then I personally guarantee you will be the greatest striker in history. That about sums it up."
With that, the lights returned, but so did the reluctant whispers.
"How stupid"
"Waste of my time"
I didn't say anything. I was still thinking. Not about the rules. Not about how long we'd be here. Just the idea. One striker. One survivor.
Then, from the crowd, someone stepped forward.
It was Kira.
"Excuse me," he said, voice even and respectful. "I can't agree to this, I already have nationals coming up with my team. This whole Blue Lock thing sounds more like a prison than a serious program. I'm not going to abandon my team just to become your little guinea pig." His tone now had a pinch of malice in it; so this is what was under that nice guy act.
Some others nodded along. A few looked relieved that someone else had spoken up.
Ego didn't blink. He just stared at Kira like he was boring.
"If you want to go play your little tournament, then...LOCK OFF. Whoever wishes to leave can go," Ego said. "But understand this. The moment you walk away from Blue Lock, you're handing the title of the world's greatest striker to someone else. Not losing it. Giving it away. Like a gift. You'd rather be Japan's best high school player than the best in the world? Don't make me laugh"
Kira looked as if he wanted to say something, but was cut off.
Ego Said Japan had never produced a world-class striker. That what we lacked wasn't skill or training.
It was ego.
He said teamwork had infected Japanese football. That selflessness was killing ambition. That what Japan needed wasn't another pass-happy support player.
What Japan needed was a selfish, goal-obsessed striker.
He was clearly off-center. But he wasn't wrong.
"Soccer," he said, "is not about eleven working as one. It's about one outshining the other ten."
'Now that's something I can get behind.' I thought to myself, something stirring up inside me.
"A striker's ego…is not a weakness."
He let that line settle before continuing.
"It is the core of who you are. The belief that you, and only you, deserve to be the one who decides the match."
"When the ball is at your feet, what matters is not the team. Not the coach. Not the system. It's the voice inside your head that tells you the goal belongs to you and no one else."
He stepped forward.
"That voice, the one that says 'pass' is a lie. The one that says 'wait' is fear. The real striker only hears one thing."
He raised his hand and pointed at his chest.
"Me."
Some guys swallowed hard. Others avoided eye contact completely.
I didn't blink.
Doors parted behind Ego, "Step through and be reborn."
"Football may be a game of eleven, but victory is always decided by one. The one who shoots. The one who scores. The one who refuses to let someone else write the ending."
He let that hang.
"If you can't accept that your ego is your truth..."
...
"Then you're no striker at all." A crazed smile formed on Ego's face.
What I heard wasn't a warning. It was a declaration. A challenge aimed straight at me.
This was my path.
Not to a trophy. Not to some school title.
To the top.
Where ego isn't just allowed, it's required.
This was the place where mine would thrive. Where I could let it grow, break boundaries, and explode beyond anything this country had ever seen. And when it's all over, there won't be debates. There won't be rankings.
There will just be me.
And the 299 others?
They'll be on their knees.
Groveling. Choking on the difference.
Watching as I walk this path alone.
I surged forward, a euphoric smile on my face, I discarded my bag, dropping everything I once knew to chase this feeling.
The feeling of greed, desire, everything I ever wanted.
I felt hundreds of eyes on me, but I didn't care, nor was I alone.
The ordinary looking boy from before was beside me, running towards the top.
'I am an egoist!' I clenched my fists as adrenaline pumped through me as I charged forward to a future I was certain of.
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A/N: All done let me know what you guys think, and tell me if there is anything I can improve upon.
Ussylliss out