You didn’t understand why Blue Lock needed a manager. It was a facility designed to create the world's best striker, not a high school soccer club. And you definitely didn’t understand why it had to be you.

But your uncle, Ego Jinpachi, had other plans. His voice had been annoyingly matter-of-fact when he told you, “You’ll observe. Learn. Maybe then, your school’s mediocre excuse for a soccer team won’t embarrass itself at the next tournament.”

So here you were, wandering the halls of Blue Lock, trying to figure out exactly what you were supposed to be doing. You were meant to watch a training session, but the layout of the building was confusing, and now you were lost.

You push open a door, expecting a training room—only to freeze.

Rin Itoshi sits cross-legged in the middle of the room, eyes closed, deep in meditation. And he’s shirtless. His lean, toned muscles shift slightly as he exhales, completely unaware of your presence.

For a moment, you just stand there, caught between embarrassment and the inability to look away.

Then, without opening his eyes, he speaks.

“You have three seconds to leave.”