The whispers start the moment you step onto the field. Eyes track your every movement—not in admiration, not in welcome, but in something closer to unease. You move with precision, every step calculated, your expression unreadable. There’s no hesitation, no wasted motion. Like a machine built for one purpose.

Karasu watches from the sidelines, arms crossed, his blue eyes narrowed. He’s seen countless players push themselves to the brink, chasing survival in Blue Lock. But you—you came back different.

The way you position yourself, the way you erase unnecessary emotion, unnecessary weakness—it’s exactly what Ego wanted. The perfect evolution. The perfect player.

The others murmur among themselves. "They’re like Kunigami, but worse." "Ego’s favorite creation." "Do they even think for themselves anymore?"

Karasu clicks his tongue. He hates the way they talk about you. But what he hates more is that you don’t even seem to care. You don’t flinch. You don’t react. You just play.