Chapter Text
In the central control room of the Blue Lock facility, the air was thick with the smell of noodles while they watched the chaotic, desperate struggles of three hundred teenage strikers fighting for their lives.
It was a symphony of panic, exactly the pandemonium Ego craved.
On one screen, a boy was crying; on another, two players were violently colliding; on a third, a fistfight was nearly breaking out.
Anri stood behind the main console, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her eyes darting anxiously across the screens. The sheer intensity of the project she had helped build was overwhelming.
"Ego-san..." Anri murmured, her voice tight with stress. "The stress levels in all rooms are peaking. The heart rates of the players are dangerously high. Is this really the best way to start?"
Beside her, Jinpachi Ego sat slouched in his chair, his long, spindly legs pulled up to his chest.
Without looking up, Ego continued quietly slurping. Then, he set down the noodles and gave a low chuckle. "This is only the filter, Anri-chan. Weeding out the weak fish." His black eyes gleamed under the flickering light of the screens. "If they break now, they were never meant to be strikers. A true egoist thrives in the mud."
Anri sighed, turning her attention back to the monitors. Her eyes swept over the grid of screens until they locked onto the feed for Room Z. She blinked, her brow furrowing as she leaned closer.
"Wait... Ego-san, look at Room Z. Player 290, Ren Shirogane."
Ego didn't look up from his noodles immediately. "What about him? Did he get hit and start crying?"
His voice was blank, but Anri thought she detected a flicker of interest behind his glasses.
"No... it's the opposite," Anri said, her voice filled with disbelief. "He's... he's deliberately keeping himself 'it.' He's hunting down the other players, tagging them, and then immediately stealing the ball back to make himself 'it' again. He's completely dismantled almost the entire room. Why would he do that? It's completely counterintuitive to the rules of the game!"
Ego paused. He slowly set his chopsticks down, a thin, unsettling smile creeping onto his face. He finally looked up at the monitor for Room Z.
On the screen, Shirogane was standing over a shivering group of defeated players, the ball trapped under his foot, his eyes locked onto Yo Hiori.
"Ah. So the dead battery finally sparked, huh?" Ego whispered, his voice dripping with satisfaction.
"A dead battery?" Anri asked, confused.
"Ren Shirogane..." Ego said, tapping a few keys on his console to bring up Shirogane's data profile.
Graphs of his physical specs, passing accuracy, and spatial awareness popped up——all of them exceptionally high, bordering on genius level.
"On paper, his specs are top-tier. He has the spatial intelligence of a playmaker and the physical output of an elite striker. But he has one fatal, disgusting flaw."
Ego leaned forward, his eyes widening behind his glasses.
"He has zero motivation. No drive. No hunger. He plays football because he's good at it and because of some pathetic, sentimental obligation to his sister. He's a passenger in his own body. A talent without a desire is just a high-quality corpse."
Anri stared at the data, then back to the screen. "But... if he has no motivation, why is he playing like this? He looks like a demon out there."
"Because I gave him a reason to care," Ego's amused sneer grew. "A cynical, logical mind like Shirogane's hates one thing above all else: being belittled. He thinks he's smarter than the whole system. So I ranked him 290."
Anri's eyes widened in realization. "You... you ranked him that low on purpose?"
"Of course," Ego sneered, scratching his messy black hair. "If I had ranked him higher up, he would have yawned, played defensively, and cruised through the test without showing a fraction of his true potential. But by ranking him 290, I insulted his intellect. I told him, 'You are trash, and your logic is worthless.' For a prideful creature like him, that is an intolerable insult."
Ego pointed a long, pale finger at the screen, where Shirogane was staring directly into the camera.
"Look at him. He's not playing to survive. He's playing to prove me wrong. He's using his overwhelming talent to spit in my face. He's saying, 'Look at your system, Ego. It's garbage, and I am the one who controls this room.'"
Ego leaned back in his chair, his smile stretching wider, revealing his teeth.
"Spite, anger, arrogance... the fuel doesn't matter, so long as it burns bright. I dragged that dormant battery of his into the fire. Now it has no choice but to ignite. He wanted to be a bystander, but I forced him to become an egoist."
60 seconds remaining.
Shirogane's eyes locked onto Hiori. The rest of the room had retreated to the walls, huddled like bruised, trembling spectators watching a gladiatorial arena.
Without a word, Shirogane engaged.
He shifted his weight left, baiting Hiori, then snapped his right foot around the ball in a low-driven strike aimed at Hiori's ankles——the same lethal shot that had claimed every other player.
But Hiori didn't panic, because he'd seen it before.
As the ball rocketed toward him, Hiori's eyes didn't track the sphere——they tracked Shirogane's hips. In a fraction of a second, Hiori took a light, feather-like hop backward. He twisted his torso mid-air, his body contorting with a fluid, almost weightless grace.
The ball whistled past, missing his shin by millimeters, and bounced harmlessly toward the far corner of the room.
Shirogane's eyes widened.
He... dodged it?
For the first time since he had stepped into this concrete prison, Shirogane's calculations had failed.
It wasn't a lucky stumble or a desperate flail. It was a perfectly executed dodge.
Hiori had read the trajectory, timed the release, and slipped through the teeth of his attack like water.
A rare, electric jolt of surprise and thrill shot down Shirogane's spine.
"Ah, close one," Hiori murmured, landing softly on his feet, his expression still carrying that infuriatingly calm, polite smile. "Your form is really clean. If I hadn't watched you hit the others, I probably wouldn't have reacted in time."
50 seconds remaining.
Shirogane felt the corner of his mouth twitch.
Is he mocking me?
No——Hiori spoke quietly, almost curiously, but there was respect in his tone now.
He sprinted past his opponent, his boots digging into the ground as he rushed to retrieve the loose ball before it stopped rolling.
He trapped it, spun around, and immediately went back on the offensive.
What followed was a breathless, high-speed game of cat and mouse that made the rest of Room Z hold their breath.
Shirogane pressed forward, his dribbling becoming sharper, more aggressive. He unleashed a barrage of attacks——sharp cuts, sudden stops, and rapid-fire feints. But Hiori was like a ghost. He possessed an incredible, innate understanding of the sport. Every time Shirogane looked to unleash a shot, Hiori would subtly shift his positioning, closing off the angle or forcing Shirogane to take an extra touch to waste an extra second.
Left. Right. Feint.
Hiori slipped away again, his movements flowing like a river.
"You're getting a bit hasty, aren't you?" Hiori observed, his voice entirely steady despite the frantic pace.
"Damn right——" Shirogane growled under his breath.
Every instinct shouted that he could keep this cat-and-mouse up——he was easily outrunning all the others. But with Hiori, the chase gave him no satisfaction. Each parry annoyed him more, lighting the fire he hadn't known was smoldering. Hiori was right: Shirogane was hasty... because losing, even here, was intolerable.
25 seconds remaining.
Shirogane's chest rose and fell. A strange, unfamiliar heat was beginning to bloom in his lungs.
He was being stalled. By some guy ranked 291.
This is ridiculous; why am I working this hard? I don't even care about this stupid project. I should just let the timer run out. I should just quit.
But as he looked at Hiori's calm, analytical eyes, something primal reared its head inside Shirogane. It was screaming in protest not to stop.
No. I will not let it slide this time.
14 seconds remaining.
Shirogane suddenly stopped dead in his tracks. He dragged the ball back, his crimson eyes shifting into intense focus.
The irritation vanished, replaced by a cold, absolute resolve.
He was done playing tag.
Shirogane suddenly planted his left foot into the ground before his entire body coiled like a heavy steel spring, drawing back his right leg that surged with overwhelming strength.
Hiori's eyes widened. For the first time, a flicker of genuine alarm crossed his face. He instinctively threw his arms up, shifting his weight to dive.
But it was too late.
The sound of Shirogane's boot striking the ball was like a gunshot echoing through the enclosed room.
It was a monstrous, violent release of raw, unbridled power. The ball deformed against his foot before exploding forward, tearing through the air with a violent hiss.
Hiori tried to twist out of the way, but the sheer velocity of the shot defied reaction.
The ball slammed violently into Hiori's shoulder, the sheer force of the impact spinning him around and knocking him off balance.
He stumbled back, hitting the turf with a dull thud.
[PLAYER 291: IT]
7 seconds remaining.
For a split second, Hiori thought his football career might already be over.
Until he looked up.
Shirogane was already moving, his gaze locked ahead as he balanced the ball on top of his foot before flicking it upward.
The next instant, he twisted his body and smashed through it with his instep, driving the ball straight at the first unremarkable teammate he had spotted.
"Wai——"
The target had no time to react.
The shot slammed into him before he could even prepare, turning the supposedly simple game of tag into instant chaos and...
[GAME OVER]
The room fell into a dead, suffocating silence, broken only by the sound of heavy panting.
Shirogane stood in the center of the room, his right leg still slightly raised from the follow-through.
A dull, throbbing ache pulsed in his foot, a physical receipt of the violence he had just unleashed.
He stared down at his boot, his mind momentarily blank.
When was the last time... I kicked a ball with everything I had?
He couldn't remember.
He would do just enough to win, sometimes even less than that or just enough to satisfy his teammates, and then he would lose interest.
He had never felt the need to push his physical limits. He had never felt the need to exert 100% of his strength, because doing so felt pointless. It was exhausting, and he simply didn't care enough.
But just now, because of a split-second of pure, childish irritation... he had given it everything.
A slow, dry exhale escaped his lips.
He looked over at Hiori, who was sitting on the turf, rubbing his bruised shoulder with a wry, painful smile.
"Ow... that really hurt," Hiori muttered, looking up at Shirogane with wide, astonished eyes. "You're a monster, you know that? You completely broke your own rhythm just to hit me."
Shirogane didn't answer. He turned his head, his gaze landing on the security camera overhead.
Behind the screen, Jinpachi Ego was staring back at him. The man wasn't smiling anymore.
Instead, he was looking at Shirogane with a terrifying, intense curiosity, his fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"Why... did you save me?" Hiori asked, looking up at him.
Shirogane huffed through his nose. "I thought it'd be a waste to let your career supposedly end here, so I took care of one of the frauds hiding behind us instead."
Hiori's lips curved into a sharp grin. That intense spark in Shirogane's eyes was something he'd never seen.
"I'll remember that..."