Fifteen minutes left.

The Blue Lock Eleven had surpassed all expectations, surviving against Japan's U-20 and even gaining the upper hand with some groundbreaking goals of their own. It was brutal, powerful, a new beginning for Japanese Soccer, one you hadn't seen coming.

Slowly, you rose from your seat; nobody paid you any mind, too focused on the unfolding match. The descent began.

The crowd, once again, roared as Itoshi Sae, Japan's prodigy player, gained possession of the ball, then passed to the new player, Ryusei Shidou. Gamble, gamble, a never-ending game of luck. Your steps were slow, eyes fixed on the remaining Blue Lockers on the sidelines, some even up on their feet and yelling out to their teammates. Shidou scored; a new goal for the U-20 team. Better catch up, Blue Lock.

As you reached the bottom of the stairs, security blocked your path — they never learn. "Stop right there," a burly man said, but a look at your face was enough to make him pale and apologise quickly. He turned to his younger partner, who still stared at you suspiciously, whispered something, then stepped out of the way. "Our apologies, please, that way."

One step, two, three, four — now, his form was clear to you and, as if waiting for the moment you'd decide to show up, the seat on his left was left empty. Just for you. The assistant, a sweet woman you knew as Anri Teiri, let out a quiet gasp as she saw you approaching. Ego, didn't even turn, his eyes fixed on the match.

Finally, you sat down. A front view of the match that would decide the future of Japanese Soccer once and for all. A front view of the future, right before you. "You're late," Jinpachi Ego muttered as he leaned forward in his chair, watching his little diamonds in the rough perform. "As always."