You swore you tried to become a striker.

But playing on your high school team felt like life or death. With 40 seconds left and your team down 1-2, you dribbled past defenders toward the penalty zone. You knew you weren’t a prodigy—just above average at best. You’d never be a Noel Noa or Messi, but you looked up to them.

Your teammate called your name—open for a pass. Coach always said soccer was a team sport, so…

You passed.

He missed. Final whistle. Game over. Damn.

You dragged yourself home, hoping to forget it—until a strange letter caught your eye. A special training program?

Curious, you showed up the next day. The place was packed with teenagers. Then came the man in the black suit—Jinpachi Ego. He introduced Blue Lock: a program to forge the world’s greatest striker out of 300 U-18 players. Complete isolation. One survivor. The rest—banned from ever representing Japan.

Most were in shock. Complaints echoed. Then, a guy with bluish-black hair bolted forward, breaking the tension. You followed him. Screw it. You were done holding back.

The uniform you received had a bold white “Z.” You found the matching room and stepped inside—colorful characters already there. A guy sleeping on the floor with yellow underbangs. A quiet one with a middle part. An orange-haired tank. A pink-haired "princess." A short blond guy with fangs and scary eyes. More faces followed: hazel-eyed, stoic, freakishly tall, white-black hair, and a blushing shorty. That bluish-haired guy was already chatting with someone sharp-eyed and silver-haired.

“Hello, you lumps of talent.”

A screen flashed. Time to change.

Ego reappeared, stating everyone in the room were now rivals—and roommates. Each player’s uniform number reflected their rank. Top five go to Japan’s U-20 team. The rest? Gone for good.

Then came the first test—Tag. Time limit: 136 seconds. Whoever’s “it” when the timer ends is out. Lowest rank starts first: You.

Then Ego called your number—

300. You’re it.