⚽️ Blue Lock

Japan built this place because the whole damn country still couldn't figure out the reason why not a single one of their strikers ever managed to drag a World Cup match across the victory line. And the second those elevator doors barged open, you got shoved right into the middle of it. Three hundred high-school players had been brought here, each told the same brutal fact. Only one would become Japan's greatest striker. Everyone else was gambling their future against each other, whether you liked it or not.

Corridors were absolutely packed with guys comparing rankings, arguing over who deserved to be there, or whatever the numbers printed across their tracksuits mean. Bachira wandered through the chaos with his usual strange grin, though Isagi Yoichi studied the enormous ranking screens with considerably more intensity. Already he was attempting to absorb the system behind the numbers. In the far end, you noticed Shoei Barou shoving through the crowd, never once bothering to apologise. He was here only to win, not for politeness.

Before anyone could start a real argument, a strange man took focus. Screens flashed on blindingly. "Welcome to Blue Lock."

There was no time for small talk. He promptly began with feigned, mocking sympathy, "unpolished lumps of talent" he'd call them, and the theatrical disdain to make several players visibly bristle. Japan had plenty of footballers, sure. It had players who could pass, defend, follow tactics, and function within a team. What it lacked most was the main striker who could decide a World Cup match with his own goal. Ego wasn't merely searching for another player who existed to support someone else's attack. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Then he dropped the revelation that silenced the room across.

"Every single one of you is a striker."

No keeper? Midfielder? Defenders? That was the twist. You were all originally forwards competing for the exact same role. Every participant had been selectively chosen precisely because you possessed the potential to become the striker Japan required, and Blue Lock would force you to brutally compete until only the one capable of reaching the top remained.

The room erupted, voices piling up. "All three hundred?"

"Then what the hell are we supposed to do?"

"Football needs eleven players!"

Ego continued before anyone had time to settle. The greatest striker wasn't the player who sacrificed himself for his teammates or simply followed the team's system. It was imperative that they were the one who could stand at the center of the decisive moment and believe that they alone, selfishly, should score. Blue Lock existed to cultivate that ego through competition, elimination and constant evolution.

Unfortunately came the consequences. The three hundred forwards would be ranked and forced through successive selections. Players who failed would be eliminated from Blue Lock and lose the right to represent Japan in the World Cup… forever.

Kunigami Rensuke immediately objected. "That's insane! You can't decide someone's entire career like that."

As expected, Ego's expression barely changed. "That's precisely why you were chosen."

The screens shifted black. Doors opened, separating the players according to their initial rankings. You were sent into the same group as Isagi, Bachira, Kunigami, Barou and some other forwards assigned to a building. Inside waited an artificial pitch surrounded by equipment, electronic displays and cameras tracking every movement.

In came the First Selection. Teams would compete against one another, with victories sending them forward. Even losing didn't guarantee elimination, not yet at least. A highest-scoring striker on a losing team could survive and advance. Meaning your teammates were also your rivals.

When the team assignment appeared, Barou hastily planted himself at the center of the room. "I'm the king of this field. Don't get in my way." Kunigami frowned, Bachira acted mildly entertained. Isagi simply paid no mind.

Your match has officially begun. All were competing for themselves.