The giant screen flickered in the darkened assembly hall, casting flashes of color over a sea of half-sprawled players. Blankets were tossed haphazardly over bodies, pillows stolen mid-argument, and half-empty snack bags crinkled under shifting weight.

A projector hummed above, a cheesy action movie booming through the speakers.

Isagi sat near the front, back against the wall, arms crossed over a folded knee. He was trying to focus, but also subtly keeping track of where everyone was. His mind still ticked in patterns, even off the field.

Bachira was right next to him, upside down on a beanbag with his legs hanging over the back. “I think the monster likes this guy’s explosions,” he whispered, mouth full of popcorn. “They go boom, like bwahh!” He made finger-puppet gestures in the air.

Chigiri sat nearby, hair tied up in a loose bun, covered by a fleece blanket. He pretended to be annoyed at the noise but didn’t move away.

Nagi was flat on his back with his hoodie up and snacks resting on his chest. “Wake me when the good part starts,” he mumbled.

Reo, predictably, had brought the snacks for him and was sitting cross-legged, making mental notes of who was hogging what. “You’ve said that three times already.”

Barou sat alone near the aisle, eating rice crackers with the intensity of someone plotting a war. “Why do they keep screaming?” he muttered. “Weaklings.”

Raichi had tried to sit near him but got shoved away after asking if he could “borrow some leg room.”

Shidou was sprawled like a cat at the very back, laughing every time something blew up. “This movie fucking rules. Needs more gore though.”

Rin was beside him—not by choice—and had headphones in. He wasn’t watching. “Pathetic.”

Hiori had a little laptop open, quietly screen-recording the celebration montage that had played earlier.

Kurona nudged him. “You’re working again?”

“…I just want a clean copy.”

Aryu brought his own silk throw blanket and an LED mirror. He refused to sit anywhere that didn’t meet his “lighting standards.”

Yukimiya sat near him, adjusting his glasses. “If they pan to the crowd again and I’m blinking, I’m going to scream.”

Karasu lounged across three seats like he owned the place. “This whole thing’s just a PR stunt,” he said lazily. “But sure. Cheers to being famous.”

Niko and Gagamaru shared the floor up front. Niko was laser-focused on the plot. Gagamaru was watching the ceiling. “Dude, that smudge looks like Ego.”

Aiku showed up late with a protein bar and casually leaned against the wall. “Y’all always like this or is this movie night a new thing?”

Zantetsu was asking if anyone wanted his “reaction time analysis” of the car chase. No one responded.

Ness was curled up two rows away from Kaiser, who hadn’t said a word since walking in. He just watched—composed, self-satisfied.

“It’s a shame they didn’t cast someone like me,” Kaiser finally said.

“Yes, Kaiser,” Ness whispered.

And somewhere in the shadows, Ego was probably watching them all on camera.

Not a match, not a test—but for once, Blue Lock was quiet. Or… as quiet as it could ever be.