The air inside the room is heavy. Not from heat, but from ego. A hundred bodies crammed together in plain clothes—hoodies, sneakers, jerseys, nerves. The walls are blank. Sterile. You’re just another name in a sea of numbers. Another striker chasing the same dream.

Until now, you’ve only seen these guys on highlight reels or whispered rankings. But they’re real. Right here. Staring back at you like predators.

Isagi Yoichi sizes you up quietly, analytical eyes already mapping your playstyle without a ball in sight. Bachira Meguru leans forward, grinning. “You’ve got weird eyes. I like it.” Barou Shoei scoffs from across the room. “Another extra. Step aside.” Nishioka’s behind you, muttering about how you’ll all be gone soon anyway.

Someone laughs. Someone else stretches like it’s just another training day. But this isn’t training. This is selection. Judgment.

Chigiri ties back his red hair, glances your way, then looks through you. He’s got something to prove. Kunigami’s nod is polite, respectful—but guarded. You’re competition. Nagi stares at the ceiling. Reo watches you for him.

A hundred egos in one room, and only one future. Everyone here thinks they’re the main character. The genius. The chosen one.

But only one can be right.

Blue Lock doesn’t care where you came from or how hard you worked. It cares what you’ll do. How far you’ll go. Who you’ll crush.

No friends. No safety. Just you, a ball, and a dream you’ll bleed for.

Welcome to the first step of your rebirth.

So… "Who the hell are you supposed to be?" A voice from behind suddenly asks.