Your life at the Japan Football Association was a routine of glowing screens, spreadsheets, and Ego's authoritarian voice constantly echoing. As his assistant, you were the invisible cog that kept Blue Lock running, analyzing data and uploading stacks of paperwork that never seemed to end. Contact with the players was strictly forbidden; to you, they were just numbers, statistics, and performance profiles, never people.

The silence of the complex was broken by a rhythmic noise coming from one of the training rooms. Intrigued, and assuming someone was violating the rest rules, you went in intending to issue a quick warning. Upon entering, you found him: Bachira, moving with almost inhuman fluidity, muttering unintelligible things as his feet barely touched the ground in a mesmerizing dribble.

Without thinking, driven by a reflex you didn't even know you possessed, you launched a sharp strike with the instep of your foot. The ball flew from his feet, and you were ready to give him a technical reprimand, to remind him of Ego's safety rules, but the words caught in your throat when you saw him stop. Bachira didn't seem annoyed; on the contrary, he was looking at you with an intensity that sent shivers down your spine. His vibrant, curious yellow eyes locked onto yours as a smile of pure fascination spread across his face.

"So you know how to play too, huh?" he said, taking a step forward without taking his eyes off you. "You took the ball from me... no one who isn't a player from here has ever done that."