Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You learned from a very young age that not all people are created equal. 

Just like everybody else in elementary school, you believed your teachers who taught  ‘everyone was special’. Just because the boy that sat next to you was better at sports, doesn’t mean you were worth less. Perhaps you were better at studying, drawing, or singing. Everybody has subjects they are good and bad at. Which makes everyone the same. 

Your sweet parents insisted that you were just as talented as anybody else and even more. They swung you by the arms, coddled you, and whispered about how much of a wonderchild you were, how smart, how brave, how good you were. How you and your sister were the best daughters they could have ever had. 

Your naivete was destroyed when you graduated primary school and officially became a student at Muneyuki Junior High School, one of the best middle schools in the Saitama Prefecture. You passed the entrance exam with flying colors, after all. You worked hard like everybody else. Surely, you belonged to such an elite school. Surely, you would thrive there. 

Long story short: no, you did not. 

You shivered as a breeze wafted through the bathroom’s open window. It was a nice breeze, the kind you would enjoy if you were outside. Not if you were hiding in the last stall of the bathroom, dripping with frigid cold tap water. 

The school uniform your mother had ironed out so neatly the night before was completely ruined. Your soaked hair was plastered to your face and every time you shifted your weight, your socks squelched with water.

But you could hardly feel the discomfort. All you could process was the hollow ache that settled into your chest as you heard the high-pitched shrieks of laughter from the girls that emptied a bucket of cold water on you. That was the main thing you remembered from this embarrassing middle school memory; how much your heart hurt. It’s a kind of pain you can’t describe. 

They gasped out about how much trouble they were going to get into and how they couldn’t believe they did that between fits of cackles. One girl gleefully cried out how it was better this way because now you can miss the English test next period. Their voices grew fainter and fainter until you couldn’t hear them anymore. 

They sounded familiar. You knew those girls. They weren’t delinquents that carried nail-embedded baseball bats on their shoulders, swore in class, or smoked cigarettes behind the school. Those girls were good at academics; they sat in the front of the class in a big giggling cluster and stayed after class to talk to teachers often. They were smart. Very smart. So smart you can never catch up.

And that is the moment you knew that no one is made equal. Including you, the bottom-feeding student of an elite middle school. The worst of the best. The best of the worst. 

Maybe in elementary school, you could be better at drawing than the boy that sat next to you in class. Maybe then, you can have an inkling of pride that you were good at something. But it was different in middle school and high school. It did not matter much if you could draw a cartoon character cuter than that same boy when he beat you back-to-back in mathematics, science, literature, and history. And then you would probably figure out that he was also better at art than you anyway because that is what happens when you are just simply average. 

Needless to say, you didn’t make many friends in Muneyuki Junior High. Or in high school for that matter.

“Hey, what did you get on the test?”

Although no one was asking or referring to you, you instinctively hide your own exam paper. It wasn’t awful but for the amount of studying you did, you thought you would at least get into the nineties. Your heart practically sank when you saw all the red marks on your paper.

“Another 97? That is so unfair, I only got a 95!” Some boys behind you groaned amongst themselves. 

You train your eyes on the empty blackboard. If you don’t look at anyone, no one will notice you. No one will see you. No one will ask you.

A girl with pigtail curls and bright eyes skips past you with a spring in her step. You look down.

“Nao-Chaaaaaaan, do you mind if I take a look at your test paper?” She pouts to your deskmate as she holds her own exam close to her chest. “I want to see what I did wrong.”

The bright red 94 circled on the top of her test gleams like a jewel.

Staring up at the cute pigtail girl is the class beauty and know-it-all, Nakamura Naoko. It isn’t just enough that she is gorgeous enough to be a cover model, she is also a genius. She actually might be the school genius. The district genius. 

Nakamura smiles politely at Kei, the brunette pigtail girl. “Okay. Please give it back after you are done.”

You have always been a little afraid to ask Nakamura anything before. She is so tall, smart, and grand looking that you were worried speaking to her the wrong way would get you mauled by her friends. But now that Kei has broken the ice, now is your chance!

“Um,” You raise your hand a little bit to get their attention. They are so surprised you are speaking to them that their eyes widen a bit. “Can I please look at your test too? If it is okay.”

Nakamura’s brilliant gray eyes blink once. Twice. “Sure.”

You and Kei peek at her sacred test paper. 110. 

As usual, Nakamura’s friends freak out at her test score. (“A 110? How did you get above 100? Are you a prodigy or something?”) You don’t pay it much mind; the teacher said before that if your previous history project exceeded expectations, she would give an appropriate boost on the next test. It is what kept you from failing this time. 

You were hunched over,  frantically copying down the correct answers and procedures from Nakamura’s test when Kei taps you on the shoulder. 

“Can I see what you got on the test?”

You try to keep your face void of emotion but the slight downward quirk of your mouth gives everything away. Kei’s smile grows a tiny bit wider.

“I-I actually don’t—”

 Without another word, she takes away the paper you were so desperately protecting with your arms. Even though she is shorter than you, Kei successfully fends you off with one hand, ignoring your pleas to “please, give it back” before reading out loud: 

“79!”

She was loud enough that some people close to your desk turned around to see which idiot received such a low grade on such an easy test. Others pretended not to hear but you can tell they were listening to every word. 

“79,” Kei said again. As if the entire class did not hear her the first time. 

Your ears burn, burn, burn. Your face is white-hot with shame and you can feel your eyes becoming wet. 

“Kocho-san, below class average again ?” Haruka, the girl that sat behind you, asked. Normally she has a very nice smile but you can hardly stand the sight of it as she sneers at you. “That’s so funny. How did you even pass the entrance exam to this school?” Some people in the back of the room laugh and you can’t tell if it is directed toward you.

Kei moans dramatically as she sits on your desk: “You’re bringing our class average down! How are we ever going to beat Class 3 with us carrying you as extra weight?” 

They mean this as a joke, you think. Haruka and Kei are usually kind of nice; helping you with problems you don’t understand in math and testing you with your flashcards and everything. But you don’t know why they are like this today.

“I like her, though,” Haruka added on second thought as if to negate her passive-aggressive comments before. Your heart starts beating normally again. “She’s really cute and ditzy.”

Kei nods. “I like how she is so strong-willed!”

For a second, you think that everything has been glossed over nicely and that your classmates don’t actually mean anything they said. You just took it the wrong way.

But then Kei continues. “She has the strength of an ant. After all, if I were to get a bad grade on such an easy test, I would go back to public school with the other idiots.”

And then your heart stops again. The ache is back.

It’s fine that you don’t have many friends. It really is. You have gotten used to lonely study nights, wondering if things had been different, whether you would have gone with friends to karaoke or to the mall. Maybe a sleepover. 

(You never had a sleepover before. You see in it Western movies sometimes. It looks fun.)

If you had gone to the local high school instead of Kaneshiro High, you would have been top of your class. Top 10s in the whole school for sure. But instead, you had to push yourself that extra bit. You thought too highly of yourself and you are paying the price now.

You do not realize you are crying until Kei coos at you. “Awwwww don’t cry. We’re sorry for teasing you. We didn’t really mean it.” 

She rubs your back and you hate the fact that you were comforted just a little bit.

Haruka tugs a loose strand of your hair that has escaped your braid. “Yeah, we get it. We have poor grades too. We’re basically failing.”

“I am so bad at managing my time. I didn’t even study this time.” Kei adds. 

And suddenly, the room becomes very small. There are too many people crammed into this tiny pin-prick-sized classroom. You want to leave. You can’t breathe. Your hands are shaking, snot is going to run down your face any second, tears are pouring down your face, and you can’t breathe. 

As you snatch the paper out of Kei’s grasp and run out of the classroom, someone behind you calls: “If you need help finding a job, my uncle runs a chowmein restaurant!” Which cues an eruption of laughter.

You hate them. You hate them. You hate them. 

But for what though? Being smarter? Being more talented than you? That was just how the world works. Getting angry at others for surpassing you is something a sore loser would do. Getting jealous of someone else’s hard-earned achievements is not who you are. 

You slump down with your back pressed against the wall as you stare at the test score you spend so long studying for. Watching videos, taking notes, and reading the textbook for hours . You skipped meals and sleep for this test. For an easy test.

The number 79 brands into your brain with a sizzling iron. The red X’s and circles lift off the page and swim around you, like schools of fishes. Taunting you. 

Nothing in life was going the way you wanted. Failed debate competitions, rejected internship opportunities, not winning awards when you felt like you could. It is basically a pattern now.

The Taika no Kaishin test crumples under your white-knuckle grip. If only you had the courage to give up and drop out of school. Your mother loves you so much and your father is so proud of you. They are going to be heartbroken when they realize what a disappointment you are. All you wanted was to succeed. You just wanted to be good at something. 

Only one clear thought can be discerned in the incoherent, cacophonous symphony of your self-hatred.

I wish I wasn’t so lonely.

You press the ruined papers to your face and sob.

Chapter Text

“I’m home!” You call out as you open your front door. A gust of toasty air greets you from inside, warming your cold hands instantly. The delicious, savory aroma of homemade curry wafts from the kitchen.

You barely hear your mother’s voice over the sizzling sound of frying oil. Pork or chicken cutlets, no doubt. “Welcome home!”

Your father greets you at the dinner table with a newspaper in hand. You practically fling your shoes off to meet your parents in the kitchen. The smell of your mother’s home cooking becomes even more intense and your mouth waters.

“How was school?” Dad asks you over his copy of The Japan Times. 

“It was pretty good.” You lie. “I finished a lot of work.”

Mom finishes setting up the table and looks back at you with suspicious eyes. “Is that why you came home so late? It’s 6:00, darling.”

The lie spirals even deeper. “I went to the arcade with some friends. Sorry, it took so long.”

Of course, your mother has always been perceptive. She frowns at you but does not comment any further and instead urges everyone to dig in.

You feel guilty about lying to your parents. They always trusted you because you were a good kid but you didn’t want to tell them how you sat on the rooftop of your school watching the colors in the sky splash on the pretty city below. Admiring sunsets always make you feel less depressed. Even though you have no one to share it with, the sun and moon will always be there for you. 

The truth is, you haven’t been okay for a long time. You like to pretend you are when you call your sister all the way in Tokyo to check in on her. Mostly you talk about school but sometimes you make-believe that you spent the day in the park or you bought the latest chapter of your favorite manga. In reality, all you do is work. Relentlessly studying is the only thing keeping you afloat in that stupid elite high school.

Everyone talks about the immense stress at students endure at Kaneshiro High School. Parents complain about the excessive competition, the haughty teachers, and the fact that their children depend on cram school to keep up in their classes. But no one talks about the isolation. 

It’s…heavy. It’s a tender kind of hurt; not like someone punching or slapping you where it stings and smarts. Because that kind of pain can almost wake someone up. Loneliness is a slow, poison that numbs you until an overwhelming black nothingness crashes upon you like a tsunami wave. It is persistent. Like a mouse constantly gnawing at your heartstrings, snapping into two severed threads like broken piano wires. 

(Ah, you’re being dramatic again. That is a bad habit of yours)

But you ignore all of this as you take a big bite of your mother’s chicken cutlet. You ramble about how good it is, how crunchy the bread crumbs are and how juicy the meat is inside. Mom beams at you with a sunlight-bright smile and dad urges you to eat more rice before you stop growing forever. 

The hollow in your heart becomes a little smaller. 

“Oh, wonderchild, I forgot to tell you.” Your father rummages in a giant stack of mail on the counter that your mother has begged him to clean up but he refuses every time. You call it ‘Mount Delivery’. “There’s a letter here for you.”

The mail has already been opened for you. When you shoot him a look, your father splutters: “I didn’t read it! I just wanted to keep the envelope…”

You make a mental note to throw the empty mail away before Mount Delivery becomes a little bit taller. Slipping the letter out of the thick, snow-white envelope, you read the contents. 

“Kocho (Y/n)-sama….”

Your parents startle at the formal greeting. 

“We are pleased to announce that you have been selected for a prestigious managerial training internship.” Now it’s your turn to squeak. The letter explains that your recognition for the nomination was due to your outstanding academic record and your leadership potential. You can barely keep yourself from rolling your eyes.

“Do not miss this opportunity to enhance your academic profile and distinguish yourself as a promising managerial executive, especially of….” You squint. “A national soccer team??”

“Manager of a soccer team?” Your mother whispers to your father. “Aren’t they the mean-looking people that stand on the side of football competitions with their arms crossed?”

“I think that’s the coach.” Dad hisses back.

You continue scanning the rest of the letter. This is…an insane program. 300 cream-of-the-crop high school soccer players are chosen from all over the nation and will train in a facility called Blue Lock designed to maximize their playing potential. They will be pitted against each other in a series of competitions until one player remains. The top-five champions will play in the 2023 FIFA U-20 World Cup representing Japan. Everything is supported by the official Japanese Football Association. The JFA. 

This is insane. 

But what’s even more unbelievable is that you have been chosen to participate in this program…as a team manager. According to the letter, traditional sports managers come up with tactics, recruit and transfer players, negotiate player contracts, and speak to the media. But at Blue Lock, you will just be keeping track of player data, strategizing with the team, and reporting team progress to the coach.

That sounds cool and all but you don’t know anything about soccer. Sure, you know the basic rules and positions. You have seen Japan lose horribly in the Columbia match in the 2014 World Cup. You have seen meme compilations of players rolling on the ground in feigned agony before jumping up uninjured to celebrate a goal. In other words, you have no prior knowledge about soccer, whatsoever.

Which the letter acknowledges.

“In order to be an authorized manager at Blue Lock℠, you must pass an exam in standard football which will involve gameplay tactics, traditional positions, previous championships, and more. The test will take place online in two weeks.” 

And then there is information for you to create an account on their official website so that you may take the test. Nothing scammy or fishy so far.

“Is this…good?” Mom asks innocently. “Your older sister was asked to be in lots of internships so this must be real, right?”

Both your parents peer over your shoulder as you type in “Blue Lock” online. It’s legit. A Wikipedia page, a dedicated section on the JFA website, and tons of news articles all point to this program as a real thing. Just like the letter promised, an online source confirms it is a project training facility sponsored by the JFA to find the most talented player in the country that will win the next World Cup.

While mother freaks out and begins celebrating early, father is the reasonable one. He clasps you on the shoulder. “Are you going to participate?” He asks sternly. “It’s a lot of work to be a manager, especially for such a professional organization. You will miss a lot of school if you get in.”

But you can’t think too much about missing school. All you think about is being able to put down in your resume that you interned in the biggest administrating body overseeing the official national youth soccer team . The prospect of recognition, reward, and knowing that you finally did something impressive in your life is staggering.

You reel yourself back. Be realistic about this.

“I will only miss school if I get in.” You tell him, glaring at the blue pentagon stamped into the corner of the envelope. “I’ll take the exam first and then we can worry about that.”

Your parents tear up at your firm tone and serious face. Mother dabs her eyes with her apron. “My little wonderchild.” She says.

Across Japan, 300 boys receive a similar, albeit different letter from the Japanese Football Association. You feel a strange sort of serendipity shiver down your spine like an electric shock.

You are scared. You are so scared for this exam. Even though you studied everything the letter said to study for and more, you are beyond terrified. These past two weeks have been a grind. If you fail this test, that would reinforce your mindset that you were truly not destined for anything great. You would simply be a part of the majority, another arbitrary statistic.

The thought of going back up to that rooftop makes you want to throw up. 

You studied…too hard for you to accept failure so easily. You simply have to succeed. With every waking moment, you reviewed old FIFA matches, memorized positions, and tactics ad nauseum, and took quizzes from the perspective of players (When to pass to teammates, when to shoot a goal, etc. Gamesense is your worst subject). Surely, only good things can come out of your hard work.

It is 11:57 on a Saturday morning. Following the letter’s instructions, you create an account on the JFA website and join the meeting. You are given the randomly selected number 77.

Your hands go cold. There are a lot of people in this webinar. The number on the bottom right of your screen says 437.

437 competitors in total?

No. Stop. Getting all worked up before the exam even started will not pull you back. Just take a deep breath and be still.

The hand of the clock ticks down. 11:58. You feel your throat closing up as you open the tab to the exam. All the video cameras for the examinees turn on. All glum-looking girls that looked like they haven’t had a wink of sleep. One of the girls looks familiar. Long, straight gray hair with princess-cut bangs. Slender, tired silver eyes.

Nakamura Naoko? She was chosen too?

11:59. You hope she doesn’t see you. In a sea of empty faces, yours is just another one. Nothin special. If she sees you and tells other people at school how you tried to compete for a spot on the JFA internship, everyone in the class would make your life hell.

12:00. Noon. All your worries melt away as you the exam starts. You are in the zone. Just do your best. Don’t fail.

Don't fail don’t fail don’t fail don’t fail don’t fail don’t fail don’t fail don’t fail don’t fail don’t fail.

Your eyes zero in on the first question. The only sounds you can hear in your pin-drop quiet room are the sounds of your mouse clicking.

There are only 100 multiple-choice questions. It follows the standard formula of one blatantly incorrect answer, three possible answers, and one correct answer. This is a principle of test-taking you have eaten, slept, and breathed for the past five years. This is child’s play.

You are on question 37 (Offensive players are not considered to be in the arc if a player's foot just touches the line of the arc while in control of the ball. True or False?) when a robotic voice comes from the webinar browser. “Candidate numbers 103, 256, 19, 399, and 424 are eliminated for unauthorized internet searches within the last fifteen minutes. Please do not cheat on this exam. Thank you for taking this test.”

Even though you aren’t cheating, you still gulp. Don’t accidentally open a new tab unless you want to fail.

More people are eliminated as time goes on. The original 437 examinees have shrunk to 398. Your number 77 remains. What kind of people think they can cheat their way into such a prestigious internship? 

Though, their cheating methods are creative. One girl is called out for having written answers on a bottle of water. Others have notebooks full of notes sprawled out right under their camera. A few have tacked transcripts of soccer data on the wall in front of them. How the proctors or AIs or whatever catch them in the act, you can never know.

“Candidates 24, 89, 233, 354, 357, 386, 391 are eliminated for unauthorized open notes within the last hour.” The same robot voice says. “Please do not cheat on this exam. Thank you for taking this test.”

“ Candidate 77 has been eliminated for unauthorized internet searches.”

Huh?

True, unadulterated fear punctures your heart. 

It’s a cold feeling. It’s the same one you get when you realized there is a project due that day when you haven’t started at all. When the teacher calls on you for a question you do not know the answer to. When, in the first year of high school, some girls in your homeroom chased you to the bathroom and shoved you to the ground. When they spit on you and said you would never amount to anything.

Were they right?

Number 77 is you, isn’t it? But it can’t be. You haven’t looked anything up at all. Did you leave a tab open by accident? 

Is that why so many girls have been eliminated so quickly? Because their anti-cheating protocol is faulty? Please. Please. Please. 

Your hands are clammy. You can’t breathe. You want to die. You want to kill yourself. Please. This can’t be right.

Please close your exam and leave the webinar. A pop-up reads. Stop. I didn’t cheat. I won’t do it. I won’t leave. I’m innocent. Don’t make me fail. I just want to be good at something. Anything. 

“Ah, wait sorry.” A new voice echoes from your computer speakers. It’s not the computerized voice from before. It’s a real human man. “That was the program’s mistake. 77 is not eliminated. Close the message on your screen and proceed. Again, we apologize for the mistake.”

You vomit into your trash can in response.

Waiting for the results is hell. You jump every time the postman knocks. Sleep is a fictional concept to you. School would have been a lovely escape from constantly pacing at home with anxiety twisting and knotting in you like a messed ball of yarn but all your classmates talk about is this mysterious Blue Lock program the JFA is going to execute within the next month. 

You sneak a peek at your deskmate, who just like you, was also chosen as a candidate for the Blue Lock internship. Just as you expected she does not say a single word about it. Nakamura never was the type of person to brag about their achievements, no matter how impressive they may be.

Debate champion, top of the school, and the prefecture science fair winner. You guess that every square inch of her bedroom is decorated with shiny gold medals, plaques, and trophies. 

“Is there something you wanted to say, Kocho-san?” She asks. Oh no. You must have stared too hard.

To say you were mortified is an understatement. “Well—I—I mean…”

Nakamura stares at you unimpressed. 

“Um,” You lean closer to her to prevent any unwanted eavesdropping. “You were chosen for the Blue Lock internship, right?”

“No one has been chosen yet. I was a candidate.” She corrects scathingly.

“Oh.” You say softly. “I saw your name in the meeting.”

“I saw your name too,” Nakamura adds. “The monitor said you were cheating.”

Your mouth goes dry. “I—I didn’t—”

“I know.”

An awkward silence ensues. Normally, you would drop conversations like this so the other person wouldn’t hate you but Nakamura is the type of person you always wanted to be. Maybe you could…

“You are super smart; you’ll make it in for sure.” You tell her. It’s meant to be a compliment. A reassurance. But Nakamura’s eye twitches. 

She says coldly: “This type of thing is nothing to me. I do not care about sports. What I want from Blue Lock is prestige and nothing more.”

Just like you. 

“You shouldn’t see it as anything important either. 437 people may seem like a lot but you need to consider the JFA randomly chooses students from the top schools in the nation.” Nakamura continues. This is the longest she has ever spoken to you. “ Your selection was nothing more than a fluke.”

“So don’t throw away your shot. ”

That last part is said so quickly and quietly that you might have missed it. Before you can ask what she means, Nakamura is bombarded by her friends again. Her fierce expression melts away into her mask of idle smiles and trivial courtesy. 

Don’t throw away your shot. Don’t throw away your shot.

You like the sound of that.

You walk into the kitchen with your phone in hand. The bright navy background of the Blue Lock illuminates brilliantly. Your parents sit at the dining table, anxiously waiting for you to tell them. Dad has started his old habit of chewing on his thumbnail again. Mom wrings her hands, peeking at you with panicky eyes. 

“So?” Your father bravely asks. 

“I passed.” You tell them. “97th percentile.”

They collectively burst into tears from the joy

Additional Time: 

• Although their oldest daughter attends Tokyo University as a top student, they still get very excited when (Y/n) succeeds at something. They are very much the “oh, we never told our high-achieving children to study! They just did that on their own” kind of parents.
• Rea-chan (reader) does not like to use stall bathrooms unless she can lock the door behind her and have the entire room to herself
• Rea-chan’s dream for the distant future is to have a sleepover with many of her close friends

Chapter Text

“Huh? Kocho made it as well?”

Weirdly enough, this massive accomplishment does not make you drunk on pride like you thought it would. It was just…something you did well on. You don’t feel extraordinarily smug at your triumph, even though you worked so hard for it. You did well and that was that. Next time, you will work even harder. 

“Ehhhhh? She’s on par with Naoko-chan? That’s impossible!”

Heh heh heh. But still, success feels nice. Knowing that everyone is staring at your name on that list in awe and disbelief makes your heart jittery. Now everyone will see you as something more than the girl that gets mediocre grades on every exam. 

But you don’t feel better than everyone else, instead, you are more just…happy for yourself. Giddy. You have the sudden urge to dance and sing in the hallways like Elle Woods does in Legally Blonde after getting a position in a high-profile criminal court case. She bounces everywhere, shrieking with glee as she spins her friends around.

(It’s this exact emotion you feel after a single victory, unadulterated delighted joy, that confirms the fact that you are still not on the same level as anyone else. Such a thing is a common occurrence for real over-achievers and you must treat it as such. It’s nothing.)

“Kocho,” Haruka says suddenly. It makes you jump. “How is your surname written?”

You rummage through your book bag for a writing utensil before scribbling on the back of your homework in purple gel pen:  “胡蝶”. Butterfly. It’s also a direct translation of ‘butterfly’ in traditional Chinese. 

“Huh.” Haruka compares your kanji characters to something on her phone. “So you really did pass the exam.”

It’s meant to be a rhetorical question but you think it’s a little rude if you don’t say anything at all. To reinforce the fact that you really did not think very highly of yourself because of this one internship, you say: “It’s really nothing. All I did was study basic soccer rules.” 

This type of thing is nothing to me. Nakamura-san’s words echo in your head. 

“That’s cool.” Is all she says. Although it is underwhelming compared to how she and Kei cooed over Nakamura (“Oh my god. An internship at the JFA? You are so crazy smart. As expected from the genius of Kaneshiro High!), your heart swells twice its size. You smile to yourself. 

Kei stretches her arms so wide that her sailor uniform rides up a little. “Good job, Ari-Chan. You worked hard.”

She means Ari, not as in “exist” or “acceptable” but as “ant”. Like the insect. This has been Kei’s nickname for you ever since middle school. She means this as an insult but for the life of you, you could never figure out why.

“Why do you call me that?” You ask politely. “Is it because of my surname?”

Kei looks very surprised that you even asked. Which is normal considering in the past three years, you never had the courage to question her weird choices of nicknames. You are braver now. You aren’t a failure anymore. “You really want to know?”

You nod in a dignified kind of way.

“That’s because ants are strong, right? They work very, very hard. Until they die. They live to work, for the sake of the colony. But all they do in their short, meaningless lives is build a tiny nest.”

Haruka says seriously: “You have to try your very hardest in this internship, okay? Because something like this will never happen again.”

Your selection was nothing more than a fluke.

You know you are a pushover. Ever since you were little, you always forgave others. Giving them the benefit of the doubt. When Haruka and Kei came up to you in middle school and begged you to not tell the teachers that they hurt you, you agreed. Even though you hated them, you believed everyone deserved a second chance. When your bossy classmate demanded to take your place in the debate competition, you reluctantly allowed her to be even though you did all of the work. 

Maybe it was because you made it as an intern at such a prestigious organization. Maybe your patience was running thin that day. Maybe that stunt they pulled weeks ago still hasn’t left your mind. Whatever it was, you snapped. Words bubble up in your mouth like soda pop. Boiling hot, painful, soda pop.

“Aren’t you embarrassed?”

The class goes quiet. Even Nakamura, who is busying herself with doing classwork, watches the commotion with expressionless eyes. You hated attention but this was something you could not drop.

“What?” Haruka asks. 

“Aren’t you embarrassed?” You repeat. “Hurting me won’t ever make you feel better about yourselves. It’s pathetic.”

The words feel poisonous as soon as it leaves your mouth but it feels good. Years of pent-up feelings and things to say have climaxed to this single moment. 

Kei stares at you with big brown innocent eyes. “Why would you say that, (Y/n)-chan? I thought we were friends.”

Were you ever friends? She uses your first name, something she has never done before. Kei even attaches a cute honorific to it, like you were close to her. But… “You always hated me.” You say patiently. Like you are explaining mathematics to a young child. “I don’t think we were ever friends.”

For a while, you did. After they apologized to you for relentlessly harassing you in junior high, they asked if you can forget the past and be friends with them. At first, you were ecstatic. But then you soon realized they wanted to jab at you openly in class under the pretenses of “joking with a friend”. They chipped away at your self-esteem as a sculptor does to a block of marble. Small cracks and fractures form, fragments crumbling off in pieces and shards until the entire statue comes crashing down.

You would almost rather they hit you and insult you openly to your face as they did before instead of in this backhanded kind of way. 

“I never really knew what I did to you two.” You continue. Your words come out so slowly, so calculated. But it’s heavy; heavy enough that Kei and Haruka wince.  “I thought if I was kind to you, and endured silently, then you would stop one day.”

They loved Nakamura so much, after all. You thought if you were like her, you would be loved too. That never happened.

You added: “But you two aren’t like that at all. You were never going to stop.”

At this point, an incoherent murmur has transpired in the class. Kei’s face is red with shame and Haruka looks like she is about to burst out crying. Nakamura smiles at you.

“Please, never talk to me again.”

That ordeal felt like a fever dream. Even on the long, long bus ride to the Blue Lock headquarters, you can’t stop replaying it in your mind. Of course, you are dramatizing some parts in your “Imagination Theater”. Like making up that you punched Kei in the face and karate-chopped Haruka on the head. Or you suddenly gaining powers from Dragon Ball Z and “Kamehameha-ing” them into oblivion. You giggle at this ridiculous image.

Apparently, Nakamura thought about this too. Not your eighth-grade-syndrome daydreams, but about how you stood up to Kei and Haruka. “I was really shocked.” She tells you. Even though the bus is completely empty (only two people from Saitama), she loaded her suitcase in a nearby seat and sat next to you. You were so shocked that you didn’t even say anything; just scooted over to make room. “But I was glad. I don’t like Kei and Haruka at all.”

Now it is your turn to be surprised. Puzzled, you ask her: “Aren’t you friends with them?”

She shrugs. Her long, ash-colored hair falls behind her like a satin curtain. “I pretend to be. All they do is ask me for homework answers anyway. I only speak to them because Kei’s father is the CFO of the Kaneko Corporation and Haruka’s aunt is a big shareholder in MTT data.”

Those names completely float over your head. “Do you want to work in those companies?”

Narukawa tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. “They offered me a potential internship over the summer. I might do it after this one is over.”

It is just like her to have million internship positions lining up for her. “You are so lucky, Nakamura.”

“Call me Naoko.” She says. “And it’s not about luck. It’s about making connections. You should talk to more people and make connections too, Kocho-san.”

Call me Naoko. Her first name. 

Wait. Waitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwaitwait.

Your eyes well up with tears against your will. “Are…Are we friends now?”

“When I said connections, I didn’t mean me.” 

You must have looked as sad as you feel because Naoko, the class genius, and the stone-cold beauty softens. “Fine then. But don’t bother me a lot.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

You grab her by the arm and squeal with delight into her school uniform. She flinches hard but she doesn’t push you away. “You can call me (Y/n), then! Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh. I’m so happy I can die.”

“Then die.”

“No.”

On that five-hour bus ride, you delete all the sad songs on your playlist and replace them with bubbly, optimistic indie music. You ramble about whatever comes to mind in Naoko’s ear, who listens patiently. Whenever you have service, you text your older sister rapidly. When the internet becomes slow, you take lots of pictures. Your camera roll becomes full from the number of photos you take. The landscape on top of the Japanese mountains is a beautiful one. 

The stunning sight of autumn flowers, foliage, and the teensy tiny cities below makes your heart flutter. The sunsets in this place must be gorgeous. 

Naoko Nakamura is a logical person. To have a good idea of where she would live in the next few months, she meticulously researched this bizarre-sounding program. 

The Blue Lock facility is just as Naoko anticipates. The structure matches the photos on the JFA website exactly; a dark blue building shaped like a pentagon from a bird’s eye view. BLUE LOCK is printed on the side of the complex in bold navy letters. If her memory serves her correctly, the establishment is split into five stratums, for the five rankings of football players. 

The design is absolutely excessive, but it serves its purpose as a media showpiece. 

The main lobby inside is sterile; the white, concrete walls are completely barren. The only things that look out of place are the thirteen other girls waiting at the entrance. Some are dressed in their school uniform. Others are dressed casually. The ones dressed in school attire are most definitely the cocky ones, believing their attendance at a prestigious high school will earn them extra credit. The other girls dressed in simple jeans and shirts look beyond terrified. 

No one looks like they know what to expect.

As Naoko turns to look at (Y/n), it is quite clear which category she belongs in. Her eyes are blown wide and stares at nothing. Her hand that drags her luggage quivers uncontrollably. Her shoulders tremble like a leaf.

“Are you nervous?” Naoko whispers to her. Some girls turn to glare at her for breaking the silence. 

(Y/n) swallows once and gives her a shaky smile. “I’m just excited.”

Before Naoko can call her bluff, the secondary entrance opens. The person who walks out is not Anri Teieri, the Blue Lock Facility Executive Manager and JFA board member. Instead, a thin, pale man with thick black glasses steps out of the open doors. His presence is not intimidating in the slightest with his lazy posture, uninterested eyes, and bowl-cut hairstyle but the look in his eyes tells Naoko that this is not a man to be trifled with. 

“Hello, everyone.” He greets everyone nonchalantly. His voice is magnified with his microphone headset. “You were probably expecting Teieri Anri. Unfortunately, she could not afford to make time for you diamonds in the rough today. I will take over.”

“My name is Jinpachi Ego. I was hired to help Japan win a  World Cup victory.”

Naoko knew it. This is the man in charge of Blue Lock and everything that happens inside. His appearances in mainstream media have never been portrayed in an exceptionally positive light, but his position's significance has never been undermined. He is the JFA’s secret weapon; its last hope.

“Blue Lock is more than just a training facility. It is an experiment; a series of specialized tests and trials to engineer the perfect striker in all of Japan. Our goal and purpose are to maximize the forward position’s ego and self-worth to the highest degree. This is a formula I have created that will save Japanese football.”

What a delusional mindset. Maximizing a player’s ego will help Japan win the World Cup? This is the kind of surface-level explanation a child would give. Naoko asserted this as soon as Jinpachi walked into the room: this man is dangerously sinister. 

“Unlike the 300 soccer players I have chosen based on my biased and arbitrary judgment, none of you are fit for the position of this internship.”

The entire atmosphere of the room changes. The assembly of girls becomes agitated. 

“Ohoho! Look at that shadow pass over your face!” Jinpachi laughs loudly, an ugly sneer widening on his face. “All of you are students randomly selected from the best high schools in the nation. All of you are riddled with narcissism. To the point where success is just a simple past-time, isn’t it?”

“I’ll tell you right here right now: all your achievements from before die now in this room. None of it makes even the slightest difference in Blue Lock.”

Everyone in that stifling lobby murmurs amongst themselves. How insane Jinpachi is being. How idiotic this entire program is. 

“This is a joke.” One girl with glasses and a bob cut calls out. “I quit my NASA winter camp for this program. How can you say that with a straight face?”

Jinpachi scoffs. “If you want to leave, no one is stopping you. Leave, by all means. I reiterate: all of you were chosen by my arbitrary judgment. We have plenty of potential interns waiting in line to take your place.” 

The same girl puts her hand down, face flushed with anger. She looks like she wants to argue but she does not say anymore.

“The training you will go through is vastly different than my 300 strikers. For them, the objective is to spike their egos and conceit to the point of overwhelming talent. For all of you…” Jinpachi smiles.

“I will psychologically tear your self-esteem apart and rebuild you into that of a perfect soccer manager.”

The entire room goes silent. He goes on to talk about the benefits of interning at Blue Lock: gaining unparalleled leadership experience, the chance to become a real JFA manager after graduation, a handwritten recommendation from the association board members, and valuable exposure to the workforce. 

This is all knowledge Naoko knows like the back of her hand so she turns to see (Y/n)’s expression. She must be scared to death by Jinpachi’s formidable explanation. She must know by now this place is not a regular internship. This facility is designed to kill confidence, something (Y/n) had little of already.

But she looks mesmerized. Captivated by Jinpachi’s threats of expulsion and rejection. 

The man who already established himself as the god of this realm explains the layout of Blue Lock. There are 25 teams of 11 players, ranked from B-Z, best to worst. There are five stratum buildings that are categorized in levels of talent each containing five soccer teams. Managers have been randomly selected to oversee a random team from each facility. 

“Um. Jinpachi-san.” A brave girl with a round face speaks up. This interruption obviously does not fare well with him at all but the girl foolishly continues. “Why not split the role of managers between the best and the worst teams from each building? I don’t see the significance of us managers having teams are that almost the same in ranking.”

This makes sense from the perspective of someone who has never taken a data analysis class. Jinpachi’s tired eyes twitch at this question. “To answer that, I would need to explain the importance of random assignment, the sample of a population, the significance of internal validity, and the entire history of the study of statistical analysis. You are not intelligent enough to understand, so please bear with me.”

She blinks at this, hurt evident on her face. 

“Within sports competitions, the managers are the least valued yet most important operative in any athletic tournament. Without them, would there be soccer be considered a real sport at all? Would it be as famous as it is today without their help? Ask yourself this.” 

“Do you have what it takes to intern at Blue Lock?”

The entrance to the foyer opens. Naoko watches in horror as everyone loses their minds, clambering and shoving over each other to the other side. 

All except (Y/n).

“This is kind of fun, right Naoko-chan?” She beams. Without a care in the world, she skips inside with her sticker-plastered suitcase bumping behind her. The chaos of the other interns serves as embellishments. (Y/n) hums a tune that Naoko does not recognize as she saunters casually around the fighting contestants into the most important event in her entire life.

“Do you think our daughter will be okay?”

The man sitting across the dining table from his curious wife scoffs and threw down his napkin on the table in an exaggerated display of allegiance to his youngest. “Of course, she will be! Are you doubting (Y/n)? She’s one of the most intelligent, kind, gentle—”

“Yes, yes, she is darling, no doubt.” The wife coos, easing her husband’s almost comedic outrage to a simmer. In fact, he has not been genuinely angry with her, let alone his two daughters for many years. He doesn’t even have it in him, that softie. “But she will be alone for the first time in her life.”

“It’s good preparation for independence.” The man gruffs. “Chie learned young too.”

“But it is not good to compare (Y/n) with Chi-chan. They are very different girls, I hope you know.”

The husband says stubbornly: “She will be fine. She is a Kocho in her roots.”

The woman sighs and holds her peace by sipping her piping hot tea. Her husband is not being malicious by any means. But seeing how easy it was to raise Chie in terms of academics, they may have expected it to be the same with their second daughter. 

“But (Y/n) is very hard on herself. Not to mention she can be fragile at times.”

The man snorts but does not say anymore. After all, he knows deep down that his wife is right. It isn’t good to assume your child will be successful. They will fall and fail, and it is the parents’ responsibility to pick them back up. Encourage them.

This very simple task as a parent will be difficult seeing as they have never needed to do this before. 

Seeing the worry settle into her husband’s face, the woman sighs. “(Y/n)-chan is very smart. And very sweet. She will be fine, darling.”

“She will be, won’t she?” The man murmurs to himself.

Additional Time!

• Jinpachi definitely studied Statistics at University
• Teieri Anri was very upset when she could not make it to greet the managers
• Rea-chan does not like competitions because she always loses in them
• Rea-chan’s parents cried when they realize she cannot call them all the time 

Chapter Text

The very first thing the Blue Lock employees did was take everyone’s electronics. Phones, AirPods, cameras, and laptops were all confiscated and stuffed into plastic garbage bags.

“Is this really necessary?” The girl next to you barks as a worker gestures for her to take off her watch. “Who am I even going to communicate with this?” No one pays her any mind, and her vintage rose-gold Jacquline watch was thrown into the pile. 

Everyone was given plastic-sealed packages which contained the official Blue Lock uniform, sleepwear, and towel. An optional parcel was handed out, comprised of toothbrushes, toothpaste, facial cleanser, and soap. You already had these things in your suitcase, but you took a bundle just in case.

All the managers were instructed to go to their designated dorm indicated by the letter on the uniform packaging. You are Team Z, number 15. 

Your bedroom is plain and simple. A twin-size bed, a small dresser, a cheap mirror, a desk, a chair, and a closet. It is so boring that it almost looks like a hospital room. Or a jail cell.

Now that you think about it, the entire place feels like a prison. 

On your dresser is a packet labeled “IMPORTANT”. Most of the papers are just instructions on what to do in case of a fire hazard and stuff like that. The last page is what stands out to you.

Dear Kocho (Y/n),

Welcome to Blue Lock! Here, you will sharpen your important skills in data analysis, management, and communications under the Japanese Football Association.

Your job as interning manager for the 11 professionally selected youth soccer players includes keeping track of player progress, organizing data, and performing chores. 

Just like the 300 football players, you are participating in constant competition against your other managers.  Your progress will be quantified through a hierarchy system. This tells us who the most successful and hard-working manager is.

Under your pillow will be three things. A tablet, laptop, and an activity tracker watch.

You immediately stick your hand under your single pillow and pull out exactly what the letter specifies. They look terribly fancy and unlike any of your electronics back at home. They are ornated with a single blue pentagon.

Unlike normal electronics, there will be no apps for games and social media. These tools are solely for you to keep track of data, makes notes for yourself, and inform you of your daily schedule. The smart watch will remind you of deadlines with an alarm. At the end of each day, you will write and submit a report and data list on your laptop via email. 

You sigh. Your dreams of playing Plants vs. Zombies all day have been crushed.

The only apps you find on the tablet are a data spreadsheet, a daily schedule, the notes app, and communications. They share the same symbol of a blue pentagon. The only contacts on the tablet are Jinpachi and Teieri Anri. They disabled the feature to text new numbers and emails. 

The most important thing you will find is the Rank app. Click on it.

You comply. It is a classification list of fifteen different names. You recognize some of them: the winner of the Chiba prefectural creative writing competition, the girl who developed a code-designed flood alert system to prompt road closures from Sendai, and the daughter of the prime minister (okay, maybe that one was not true). Everyone here is the elite of the elite. 

The names are ranked by points that goes from biggest to smallest. Nakamura Naoko is number one with 3 points. You are number 15 with 0 points.

Why.

Those numbers represent how well you did in the placement exam . The top-scoring examinee achieves three points. 2nd place achieves two points, and third place achieves 1 point. Everyone else gets nothing.

Oh my god. After all this time, you are still the worst of the best.

Please remember that points are only semi-correlated with ranking! While your rank does depend on your exam scores, it is also your status in managerial work and your team’s goals in competitive matches. Points are the currency you receive based on your score in future exams. You can exchange those points for rewards in an exchange system! 

This hurts your brain so hard that you don’t even try to comprehend it. You will make Naoko explain it later. 

The good news is that you will have ample chances to increase your ranking and points. Do your best!

The bad news is that your ranking is directly correlated with the kind of privileges you will have. For example, the higher the rank, the higher quality of food, equipment, and bedroom you will receive. 

Oh. That’s why your bedroom looks like a solitary confinement cell. 

Managers will not be eliminated if their corresponding soccer team is. However, the performance of their team will directly impact ranking and points, just as your managerial tasks will!

Note: If you reveal your soccer team’s position and ranking to managers or players from other stratums, you will promptly be let go. 

Everything else you need to know will be on your tablet. Please do not lose your electronics. Try your hardest, my cute little managers!

Sincerely, 

Teieri Anri, JFA Representative.

You feel the slight weight of crushing responsibility resting on your shoulders. The golden eggs of the national Japanese football team lie in your hands. 

You distract yourself by messing around with your tablet some more. You discovered you can contact other managers through the messaging app if they accept your request. After sending a pending message to Naoko, you open your laptop.

To your surprise, nothing is blocked. Well, aside from the obvious ones like e-commerce, streaming sites, and game launchers. Everything else including video sharing, the general internet, and music apps are permitted. 

You are going to play the shit out of Snake.

“Oh wowwwwww Naoko-chan!” You gasp. “You look so good!”

The Blue Lock manager uniform fits your genius classmate weirdly well. Perhaps it’s the way her light hair compliments the darkness of the vest or the way the red bow brings the rosiness out in her cheeks. Or maybe it’s the fact that cover model beauty Nakamura Naoko looks good in anything.

“Whatever.” She says. “You look okay too.”

“Don’t I?” You grin and twirl around, your skirt billowing. You did look good. You had thought the Blue Lock uniform would be a blazer and a pencil skirt or something but you were not complaining. A set of clothing similar to your school uniform gives you a semblance of normality. Besides, the red bow was kind of cute. 

Naoko rolls her eyes and tugs you toward the smell of food. “C’mon. I’m starving.” And you open the door to the lunchroom.

You freeze in your tracks.

The cafeteria looks insane. It is way bigger than the one at your school. So big that voices echo in this chamber-looking room. Long tables are lined up in neat rows with chairs to complete where some managers and players are sitting and eating.

In the back of the room, are countless stalls. At a faraway glance, one can mistake them for electric water fountains but you soon realize it’s the food dispensary. People line up to press their identification badge to the touchpad before food drops down onto a little ledge. Almost like a vending machine.

“That smells so good!” You groan. That five-hour bus ride to the mountains took a massive mental and physical toll. A good plate of food with miso soup and rice is exactly what you need. “If I don’t eat in three seconds, I’ll die.”

“One, two, three. Die.”

“No.”

Eagerly, you mash your shoulder to the screen. You wonder if you get to select your meal on the touchpad, like an online menu kind of thing. You are kind of craving tempura and fresh daikon. Hopefully, they have fried stuff like that.

Beeeeeep.

Kocho (Y/n)

“Oh my gosh.” You whisper. “There’s a little cartoon me on the screen.” 

And there is. With exaggerated eyelashes, the cowlick that you can never get rid of, and a cute downward ‘v’ mouth, it’s you.

Beeeeeep.

Something dispenses in the slot. You excitedly take a look.

You blink once. Twice.

“What the fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” Naoko asks. In her hands, she holds a tray with miso soup, a full rice bowl, and a classic stir-fry dish with edamame, shrimp, and broccoli. The delicious smell seems to taunt you.

Awkwardly, she checks your tray. Soup, rice, and…oh. A small plastic cup of natto.

You slowly recollect what the letter said. About having special privileges, if your rank is high. 

“I want to kill Jinpachi Ego.” You say loudly. 

You spend the entirety of lunch washing the taste of natto down with miso soup while Naoko clumsily chopsticks some vegetables and shrimp into your rice bowl. This is absolute tyranny. You can handle the hierarchy, you can handle a sub-par bed, and you can handle some sweaty soccer boys. You cannot handle having terrible food. 

“Do you really hate natto that much?” Naoko asks curiously as you gag down slimy soybeans with a huge chunk of rice.

“It’s the texture.” You rasp. “It’s like raw okra. Straight up mucus.”

Naoko snorts and resumes back to her actually edible food. To distract yourself from the slimy grossness of beans, you look around the cafeteria. Mostly, everyone sits by themselves or with their teams. Some brave managers have already introduced themselves to their teams and are sitting with them.

You call them brave because the boys in this facility were not bad-looking. Better than the ones at school, at least.

“You know what I have noticed?” Naoko asks you.

“That the soccer players here are kind of hot?”

This time, she giggles out loud. “No! Be more serious. What are you even thinking about?”

You tell her solemnly: “Hot boys.”

After you pat Naoko on the back because she began to choke on her seafood from laughing at you too hard, she makes a full recovery. “I-I noticed,” She swallows once, her eyes watering from coughing so intensely. “Everyone’s badges that you come close to disappear.”

“Like the numbers and ranking?”

“Yeah. But I could see them earlier.” Naoko mumbles. “And yours is gone too…”

You smile nervously. This is the main difference between you and Nakamura Naoko. She is genuinely smart. Not just in academics and common sense (booooo), but in basically every aspect. Critical thinking, debate, as you just saw, deduction skills. You didn’t even realize the badges that come within your peripheral disappear.

Just to confirm, you steal a glance at a boy that walks past you. Dark badge. You look at the boy behind him. Dark badge. You check your own. Completely dim. Huh.

“I wonder why they are so keen on hiding ranks just for the soccer players.” She says, her mind completely in the Mind Palace or wherever Sherlock Holmes goes when he starts thinking too hard. “What Wing are you from again?”

“Wing 5.”

“Well, this is Wing 4.”

“Oh.” You peek nervously around at the cafeteria. At first, what felt like normal students your age now felt like the yakuza. It’s like those mafia movies where an innocent person walks into the wrong turf. “I guess I’m in the wrong place then.

“Yeah, you are,” Naoko says slowly. Like she realizes something. “I am part of Wing 4.”

This conversation has completely evolved out of your league a long time ago. You wolf down the rest of your rice and shrimp to escape Naoko’s big-brain ramblings.

“Hello everyone. You lumps of talent.”

Everyone in Team Z has begun to associate Jinpachi’s presence on the big screen TV as a negative reinforcement. As soon as his pale face appears on the station, Raichi chucks a pillow at him.

“Scram!” He yells. “What do you want now?”

“My apologies,” Jinpachi says with no apologetic tone at all. “Because one of you so graciously complained about the food in Blue Lock (Raichi growls at this), I forgot to tell you something very important.”

Isagi sighs. What Jinpachi deems “very important” ranges from extremely helpful, like genuine criticism of their practices, or saying something weird. Like his opinion on which condiments mix well together.

The said man says in the most deadpan voice imaginable: “Your team has been randomly selected to have a manager! Isn’t that exciting?”

This information falls into the former. Bachira tilts his head at the screen, Kunigami frowns, and everyone else directs their full attention to Jinpachi.

“Three random teams in each Stratum have been assigned a team manager. They have been chosen in a large pool of students from elite academies by my personal judgment.”

“A manager?” Isagi thinks out loud. His old football team in Ichinan High never had one. The baseball did, he believes. “What do they do again?”

“Oh, lots of things. Helping the team with tactics, delivering game footage from other playoffs to you, transcribing your progress, and lots of chores.”

“Chores?” Bachira asks with wide eyes. “Like laundry and cleaning and stuff?”

Igaguri smirks at everyone. “I feel bad whoever has to do Raichi’s laundry.” This earns him an assassin pillow to the back. 

“You will meet her tomorrow,” Jinpachi says over the chaos of Raichi and Igaguri trying to murder each other with their respective pillows. Igaguri tries sweeping the leg which Raichi dodges and retaliates with suffocation-by-mattress. The rest of the Team watches this attempted murder play out with blank interest while Iemon desperately tries to separate them. 

“Be nice to her.”

“The difference between a good and bad manager may determine the duration at which you stay here.”

Additional Time!

• Naoko’s little caricature cartoon character has cat-like eyes, a flat mouth, and straight-cut hair.
• Those cartoons are drawn by Jinpachi himself, who doodled a lot in high school.
• In Team Z, the most excited to have a manager is Igarashi and the least excited is Raichi. Everyone else is in-between.

Chapter Text

You blearily open your eyes to loud beeping in the morning. The Blue Lock smartwatch you wear around the wrist vibrates and sounds an obnoxiously loud wake-up alarm. Using all your strength and willpower, you roll over to check the time. 6:00 AM. 

You wonder if it is too late to quit Blue Lock.

It is a special kind of torture trying to knot a bow at 6:16 in the morning. You keep nodding off and your fingers keep accidentally unraveling the ribbon. At this time, the sun probably hasn’t even risen.

The other Wing 5 managers are just as tired as you. No one makes any small talk while brushing their teeth or washing their face. Walking to the cafeteria is quiet. Breakfast is quiet (steamed rice, miso soup, natto, and nori seaweed this time. How generous). Walking back to the dorms is quiet. You are sure you look awful with no makeup and horrible eyebags but everyone else is too tired to care.

7:00. According to the Schedule app, this is the last-minute chance for managers to input data they may have missed the day before. But since you arrived in the afternoon, there was no data to report. 

I wish I could have slept longer. 

At exactly 8:00 you stop at the Team Z gym. You actually wanted to arrive 10 minutes early but you got lost. Maybe your team won’t see you as diligent as you would like them to but it’s the thought that counts, right?

You look down at the tracksuit you wear that came in the clothing package, an Adidas-inspired jogging outfit with white stripes adorning the sleeves and pants. You initially thought it was fitting because you were meant to keep track of your team’s athletic data in the gym but maybe your uniform would have been better. You certainly don’t feel as cute as you would be in a vest and a skirt.

Take deep breaths. This is nothing. This is nothing. Smile and be nice. Now go! Gogogogogo!

You open the door. A bunch of boys wearing identical black and blue body suits look at you in mild shock. You stare back.

Oh help oh help this is so awkward why are they so good-looking how are you even supposed to do your job properly someone help me help me help me I can’t speak why am I like this

“Line up Team Z. Say hello to your manager.” A familiar voice echoes from the speakers.

There are so many eyes on you. Oh my gosh. Attention is really your biggest weakness, isn’t it?

Refusing to meet anyone’s gaze (you would positively die if you did), you dip a 15º bow. “My name is K-Kocho (Y/n). Please take care of me.”

“Awwww.” The cooing makes you peek up. A boy with bangs and longish hair that curl in the back with yellow under-lights whispers to his friend: “She’s kind of cute.”

You fight yourself to not hide your face in your sleeves as your face burns from the unexpected compliment. He thinks you are cute? Are you cute??? What if he is just making fun of you? Your brain practically fries to a crisp from your overload of worrying.

“You should know this already from your schedule, but you are here to take notes on everyone’s athletic prowess. All of the data you collect should be quantified as accurately as possible and submitted by the end of the day.” Jinpachi’s voice becomes scary. “If we catch you slacking off on your data input, there will be consequences.”

This makes you shiver. Will your points become negative? Maybe an elimination? Could you be blacklisted from every other internship that may come along in your life? Whatever it is, you don’t intend to find out. “Yes, sir.”

The speakers click once and Jinpachi is gone. 

There is a bit of an awkward silence. You hate it, but it feels even worse to try and make conversation if no one cares to speak to you. What if they hate you already? 

“Um.” One of them goes. It’s the player the first boy whispered to. He has dark hair, a normal schoolboy fringe, and kind blue eyes. “My name is Isagi Yoichi. I play as a forward. It’s nice to meet you.”

Before you can bow again, one of the other players snorts. He scowls at Isagi. “Idiot. We’re all forwards here.”

According to all those soccer websites you read while studying for the first exam, forwards are the strikers that play the offensive positions. It’s the players that the audience cheers for the hardest. No wonder Jinpachi wants to exploit their egos.

As the mean-looking boy starts arguing with poor Isagi, a tall player with spiky orange hair approaches you. He looks responsible. 

“Kunigami Rensuke. I look forward to working with you.” He holds his hand out and you shake it. His hand is warm and rough with callouses.

This breaks the ice with the other players. You meet Bachira Meguru (“You’re even cuter up close~”), Imamura Yudai (“Oh wow, Bachira wasn’t kidding!”), Chigiri Hyoma, and the rest of the team whose names you would have definitely remembered if Bachira and Imamura didn’t blow a fuse in your brain with their introduction.

It certainly doesn’t help that everyone is so pretty. If their soccer career ever goes sideways, they can find a job in the entertainment industry as an idol, no problem. You wonder if the soccer team at Kaneshiro were this good-looking. Surely not.  

Even with your mild inferiority complex, everything goes extremely well. For one, inputting data into your tablet is astonishingly easy. The treadmills save their average speeds and duration. All you need to do for that is type in the numbers the machinery memorizes after they finish warming up. Stamina for core training, jumping heights, and sidestep drill times are also straightforward. 

(You realize everyone is crazy athletic. They are top in the nation for a reason, after all)

They rotate by warmup and training stations mostly in groups of three which makes your job even easier. Check times, record data from machinery, eyeball jump heights, pass out water bottles and towels during a break, and repeat. It’s so easy, in fact, that you have extra time to study for a football game sense test the schedule informed you had.

__________________________________________

Which of the following is NOT considered a foul in soccer?

A) Tripping

B) High Kicking

C) Hand Ball

D) Charging the goalkeeper

E) None of the above

__________________________________________

You are circling ‘B’ with your pencil (what even is high kicking anyway?) when Raichi, the rude boy that snapped at Isagi,  takes Skills and Strategies for Improving Soccer Management Success out of your lap. He pants heavily from his running test earlier but somehow still finds the energy to read your textbook.

“These questions are stupid easy.” He drops it on the ground with a thunk. “How can you expect to help us strategize if you don’t know the fucking basics?”

“Raichi.” Kunigami warns.

Before he can snarl back with a retort of his own, you answer Raichi’s question. “Well, none of the managers know much about soccer. We have to take tests every day to learn more so we can help you properly.” You smile at him to show that you are not taking his jab to heart. He scowls.

“What bullshit.”

Oh.

Did you do something wrong? The other managers aren’t soccer trivia experts either so why are you taking heat for something you can’t control? Maybe you should have studied earlier in the morning.

“Ahhhhhh Kocho-chan, don’t look so sad!” Bachira slides down against the wall next to you, wiping sweat from his face. This is so sudden that it activates your fight or flight response. “You’ll make me sad too.”

Looking sad will trigger his sadness? Like the transitive property? Oh no. Well, it is your responsibility as the manager of Team Z to maintain high morale after all, so you push the corners of your mouth into a smile with your fingers. “Is this better?

Bachira grins sweetly at you which sends your heart fluttering at a million miles per hour. “Yes!”

“Raichi is always like that,” Chigiri calls out from the other side of the gym. “Don’t take him too seriously.”

“Shut up!” The man in question barks, jabbing an accusing finger between your eyes. Up close, his teeth are very sharp. Like a shark’s. “Stop going easy on her, just ‘cause she’s a girl!” 

The bell rings, signaling the end of warm-ups and the beginning of team training. 

As you scurry around the gym, picking up any dirty towels and empty water bottles that were left behind, Raichi turns around for the final time. “It’s ‘E’, by the way! Idiot!”

You blink. “Huh?”

“The question? ‘What’s not a foul’ or some shit?” 

None of the above? But that doesn’t even make sense…”Why? How is high-kicking a foul?”

Raichi scoffs at you like he is looking at a bug struggling to flip itself right-side up. “Figure it out, dumbass.”

That went well. Really well. Aside from Mr. Cookie Cutter Teeth yelling at you a little bit about soccer, everyone was very nice to you overall. Their kind smiles, their jokes, when they apologize so sincerely when they block your way and welcoming you into their team with open arms are things you haven’t felt or seen in a long time. You feel warm.

And besides, Raichi probably didn’t mean any of the things he said anyway. From the way he yells at his teammates, he probably treats everyone like that.

Team training goes smoothly too. You help Iemon set up cones and stuff before taking notes on everyone’s tactical skills. People like Bachira and Kunigami have very obvious strong suits from the perspective of a noobie like you but the others are harder to detect. Maybe when they play an actual game against another team.

When the lunch bell rings,  you are in a very good mood. Productivity + being surrounded by people your age that doesn’t hate your guts = being so happy that nothing can ruin your good mood.  

When the managers from Team W and Team X pass you by, you greet them cheerfully. “Hello! Did you two meet your teams yet?”

“I don’t think we can discuss that.” The short-haired girl cuts you off coldly.

The other manager smiles, but not with her eyes. “You’re Kocho-san, right? Aren’t you at the bottom of the ranking list?”

They giggle to each other and continue walking as you pout at their retreating figure. Jerks. 

Oh well. Screw them because your day is going great. Not even mean girls and the slimy, salty taste of natto can make a dent in your good mood. 

Your heart sings.

Studying has never been your forte. Sure, you only survived in Kaneshiro and passed the Blue Lock preliminary examination only because you studied but you aren’t exactly good at it. Basically anyone can spend hours and hours at a time cramming knowledge into their brain and that is exactly what you did.

Unfortunately, no one is born equal and you have to study harder than everyone else to achieve a mediocre score.

You are racking your brain with the Chapter Three notes which entail all the possible ways a player can fouled in a game when the metal box speakers embedded in the ceiling crackle. 

“Attention, all managers from Stratum 1 to 5, please come to the main entrance and exit for orientation... I repeat, all managers—”

Yes! A well-needed break. You throw down your stupid textbook excitedly. As you lean back in your chair, your back cracks dreadfully loudly. If you had to read another work of “17 Detrimental Laws of Football”, you would have cried.

The main gate of the Blue Lock facility is on the other side of the building from you, considering you are in Wing 5, the very corner of the establishment so it takes you a bit to jog over; not to mention how confusing the map you were given was. Sure, the pentagon shape was cool and all but it also made navigating halls and staircases stupidly difficult. You probably passed the main entrance four times before you stepped into the right lobby.

Before you opened the doors, you had an ugly thought. Why were they calling all managers together? The Blue Lock staff don’t seem particularly interested in having everyone socialize considering this environment was constructed for competition. The only reasonable explanation you can give is that…someone is going to be eliminated.

And you are currently in last place. Oh no.

But then again, there was no mention of manager termination in the letter, other than revealing team status which is pretty obviously something no one should be doing anyway. Sure, there was the ranking and point system, but there was nothing about Blue Lock that was seriously competitive for the managers. Even if you accomplish nothing great and you stick it out to the very end, the benefits you receive are astronomical.

So you confidently walk in. All fourteen girls are in the lobby. They must have been waiting for a while considering how they lean against doors and walls and while generally lounging around the area. The person who called you here is not present. 

Seeing all the managers in one place reminds you of yesterday’s lunch. And how Naoko accidentally led you into the wrong building and how you ate with the wrong Wing. And how you couldn’t see anybody’s rank from outside of Wing 5.

Just like before, all the manager’s badges are dim.

From next to the entrance, Naoko waves you over. “Hey.”

“Hi. How is your team?”

She sighs. “I don’t know if we can talk about that. But I will say that they are…” Naoko squeezes her eyes shut and pinches the bridge of her nose. Poor thing. She can’t even finish her sentence. “How is your team?”

You pause. The letter very clearly says managers cannot share the ranks of the teams or the abilities of the players. All you need to remember is that you can’t say you manage Team Z or describe their athletic prowess. Hopefully, you don’t slip up.

“They’re…nice.” You share carefully. “I like them a lot.”

“A lot?” Naoko echoes. “You just met them!”

“I am really sorry to ask, but is it okay if you two talk quieter?” A third voice chimes in. Another manager stares at the two of you with doe-like eyes from the floor. She’s pretty; heart-shaped face with curly dark hair tied in a green, puffy hair band and deep jade eyes. “You are a little loud.”

You duck your head in an apology but Naoko does not take this well. “Loud? You have to be joking. We were whispering the whole time.”

The green girl hums. Her mouth quirks up into a small, polite smile. “Maybe it’s just me. I can be sensitive to noise.”

Naoko’s blank, expressionless face is impossible to read. “And your name is?”

“Kumode Kaori. What about you?”

“Naoko Nakamura.” 

Kumode Kaori. What a strange name. You have met plenty of people with the first name Kaori but Kumode as a surname is a first. Kumo as in “clouds” or…

Naoko seems to have the exact same thoughts as you because she leans down and mutters: “Kumode…”

“Nakamura? You are the president of the Kaneshiro debate team.” Kumode Kaori’s soft smile never leaves her face. Her expression is content and indifferent but there is an indecipherable sheen behind her irises. “We competed against each other in the national tournament last year. I’m from Shinjuku Prep. Do you remember?”

Your classmate narrows her slender gray eyes in a way that she definitely did remember. Of course, she does because you do too. In the Final Summary segment, Naoko’s partner lost her nerve and burst out crying. This lack of composure lost the team several points which ultimately kept Kaneshiro from going to nationals. No one took the blow worse than Naoko, the team leader.

As if she noticed Naoko’s eminent bloodlust, Kumode changes the subject and turns to you “And what is your name, quiet girl?”

“I’m Kocho (Y/n).” You say politely. “I-If you know Naoko-chan, then you must know me, right? I go to Kaneshiro High too.” And you were on the debate team Naoko was on, but you don’t say this in case it comes off the wrong way.

She shrugs. “I like to ask for introductions. It tells me what kind of person they are.” For the first time since you met her, Kumode's eyes change to match that of her face. Her green eyes narrow as her mouth curls up into a conceited leer. “Your introduction tells me you are going to be…interesting.”

“H-Huh?”

“What is that even supposed to—”

Both you and Naoko were cut off as the doors swing open with a bang. Standing in front of the open doors is a woman wearing a white blouse and a black pencil skirt. Her reddish brown hair has been tied into a neat bun. In one hand, she holds a clipboard and in the other, she adjusts her microphone headset. 

Though her concealer does little to hide the darkness of her eyebags, her eyes are still bright and lively.  It’s Teieri Anri, the head of the managing team at Blue Lock.

“Sorry everyone, I’m late.” She apologizes. “I was…” Teieri says something that sounds suspiciously like ‘cleaning Jinpachi’s bedroom again’. “I am here to give you a proper greeting and let you know some important events that will commence in a week.”

You don’t know what it is about Teieri, maybe it is the fact that she was a breath of fresh air compared to the blunt, cold, and narcissistic Jinpachi Ego, or that she reminded you a little bit of your older sister. Whatever it is, you like Teieri. She seems nice.

“First of all, hello! I am Teieri Anri. I am a board member of the Japanese Football Association and the co-leader of the Blue Lock project.”

No one says anything. This is information everyone knew already.

“W-e-e-e-ll. I know Jinpachi-san is not very big on introductions because he wants to maximize competition at Blue Lock but I would like for the managers to get along.” Teieri clasps her hands together. “Shall we say our names?”

For a second, no one volunteers. If no one wanted to go first, you were willing to as to not embarrass Teieri. You know her type; sweet, genuine adults that just want everyone to be friendly towards one another. That might work anywhere else, but not Blue Lock. The fifteen girls in this room trampled across the corpses of 422 applicants to be here.

However, Kumode beats you to it. She raises her hand in the teensy tiny kind of way like she is shy to go first. But she does it anyway.

“I’m Kumode Kaori. I attend Shinjuku Preparatory High School for girls. I’m sixteen.” Her eyes shine under the fluorescent lights of the Blue Lock facility. “I am a national high school debate champion. I am the founder of eight charity organizations that have donated more than eight million yen to local children’s hospitals. I also won a merit of excellence scholarship from Hitachi Global for my entire high school career.” 

Everything she said would have sounded pompous if Kumode hadn’t said it so softly and politely. 

This sparks a chain reaction with everyone else.  From then on, every manager deemed it fit to list every single accomplishment they have made throughout the course of their lives. To impress Teieri? To impress the other managers? You don’t really know.

Schoolwide winner of software engineering, star player on the tennis team, cousin is Kento Yamazaki, uncle works for the Peace Corps in America, and much more. Everyone else’s introductions just seem silly. It pales in comparison to Kumode’s accomplishments. 

You hate it, honestly. It’s nothing more than a conduit trench filled with people desperately wanting to one-up each other to make themselves look good. It reminds you too much of your school. 

Besides, didn’t Jinpachi say the other day that all previous achievements die in this room? This was all futile. This entire place reeks of meaningless feuds and superiority complexes. It sucks.

Naoko’s introduction is modest. “I’m Nakamura Naoko. I’m seventeen. I go to Kaneshiro High. I like knitting.” Straightforward, simple, humble. You discover a newfound appreciation for Naoko. “Sorry for speaking a little loud earlier.”

It’s your turn as the last recipient. “Hello everybody. I’m Kocho (Y/n). I also go to Kaneshiro. My talent is working hard.” You want to say something different. Something that isn’t so desperate or competitive. Maybe a funny bit to break the tension. “Also my IQ is over 300 million.”

It works. Everyone laughs, including Teieri who covers her face with her clipboard. It successfully cuts through the thick of rigidity. You smile to yourself. 

Then, Teieri’s smile melts away and she clears her throat. Everyone silences. The real stuff begins.

“Here at Blue Lock, the 300 are the stars of the show, but the managers are the shadow masters controlling puppets behind the scenes.”

Shadow masters? Puppet controllers? Teieri Anri must be an otaku in roleplay games. 

“The audience may watch 11 sportsmen play soccer on their television but who is the one that recruits them for the team? Who handles contracts and sponsorships? Who popularizes them to the media? That is the job of a manager.” 

“It is Blue Lock’s responsibility and mission to utilize your talents to the best of your ability to optimize your contribution to Japanese soccer.”

Teieri is a master in rhetorical analysis. Her speech seems to make the whole room contemplate. Maybe there is more to being a manager than typing in a tablet all day and throwing dirty laundry into the washing machine. Jinpachi, who feeds on the lessness of others and creates fear in their hearts to incite competition, has a much different way of language than Teieri who encourages confidence and paints a bright possibility of the future with her words, no matter the unlikelihood.

“Depending on their managerial performances in the next week, I will select three of you to accompany me to a JFA board meeting after the First Selection ends. There will be team executives, board directors, investors, and…” Teieri’s eyes twitch. “...the chairman. This is an excellent chance to experience the internal on-goings of the JFA.”

She smiles, knowing the weight and extremity of her proposal. What Teieri Anri just did, was unspeakably paramount.

“I trust that you all know this is a golden opportunity and you will fight hard to one of the three lucky managers.”

Blood in the water is what it is. This offer is blood in the water for the fifteen managers in the room. At that very moment, everyone became enemies. 

Cutthroat, bloodthirsty high school girls are nothing less than sharks, after all.

“Work hard, my cute little managers.”

Kumode Kaori sits at her desk in the dead of night. Not working of course—she already finished the soccer test of the day—instead, she is reading the news.

It’s the usual things: newly introduced tax reform packages, the nuclear energy crisis, and…Blue Lock. In fact, the Japanese Football Association is on the front page of every single major news broadcasting network there is.

It’s nothing charming. Even with the JFA board members’ reassurance at the latest press conference, the media was still unrelenting toward operation Blue Lock as a whole. They emphasized how much money the JFA has wasted in sponsoring this program, the waste of the youth’s education in a place as unimportant as a training facility, and what a complete madman Jinpachi Ego is for founding such a lunatic idea.

Kaori knows the real reason they hate Blue Lock so much. The press doesn’t like anything they don’t know about. It’s the fear of the unknown. If Blue Lock isn’t a transparent glass wall where anyone can peek through and know the goings-on, they cry out ‘child exploitation’. ‘Corruption’. ‘Inhumane experiments’. 

It’s terrible to see the media rip apart the JFA like a hyena tearing apart a carcass. It’s much easier for them to point fingers at a single source and use them as a target of derision. Scapegoating Effect in Social Psychology can be interesting. But not so much when it is directed toward the place Kaori interns at.

Especially not when she gave up an internship under the Minister of Economic Strategy in the Cabinet for this place.

Should the Japanese public express their discontent with Blue Lock and demand a halt to the operation, it would be rather… inconvenient. Kaori, after all, had to work so hard to become a manager.

Hello everybody. I’m Kocho (Y/n). My talent is working hard.

The sight of that strange girl smiling into the crowd, trying so hard to stand out from the rest makes Kaori uncomfortable. What Kocho-san said was not very clever at all. Everyone works hard in Blue Lock. 

But Kumode Kaori tries not to judge people on a first impression. After all, she was once loose and forgettable too. Maybe Kocho-san is actually much more than she appears to be.

Kaori pulls out the communications tablet and lingers upon Kocho’s contact. Although she may not look special right now, she sure has potential. Maybe Kocho (Y/n) help her with something.

She better pray and hope that’s the case if she does not want to be left behind. 

Additional Time!

• Teieri likes to watch Penalty Kicks the best because that is when the goalie shines the brightest
• Chigiri Hyoma is glad that the Blue Lock managers are girls because he can borrow Rea-chan’s hair ties
• Isagi realized mid-conversation about the new manager that Bachira was already asleep and that he was speaking to no one. Poor Isagi. 

Chapter Text

Teieri Anri fights to not squint her eyes under the continuous, quick bursts of white light from the camera flashes. She has gotten quite used to the flash blindness, but she fears that blinking too much will give her early crow’s-feet wrinkles. Teieri can see the articles now: New Female Hire at the JFA Shows Signs of Aging at 22, Has the Stress Gotten to Her So Early? 

“...So we’ve gathered 300 of the most outstanding high schoolers around the nation based on their athletic prowess in football…”

Buratsuta Hirotoshi recites the script about the premise of Blue Lock word-for-word, albeit in the most unenthusiastic voice Teieri has ever heard. It beats even her own voice when she read her English paper out loud in front of her graduating class in college. 

“...to train them as strikers to lead Japan to a World Cup Victory. We call it the Blue Lock project.”

The moment Buratsuta-san concludes his introduction, the representatives of the JFA are hounded by the media. To quell the calamity of a million voices prattling at once, the old man calls on a woman in the front. 

“This may be a revolutionary project, but why do their academic lives need to be interrupted?” The reporter looks a little older, mid 40’s or so. Maybe she has a son in high school too. “Won’t this be disruptive to their futures?” 

This single question unleashes a tsunami of unanswerable questions.

“Why are you wasting the lives of the other 299? How are they supposed to integrate smoothly back into their high school career?”

“Do their parents know how much they are risking? This absolutely unacceptable!”

“What do you have to say to the 25 adolescent players that were sent home on the first day of the program?”

That money-grubbing tanuki panics, of course. He waves his hands around uncharismatically and stammers out pathetically that a parental waiver has been signed so that the JFA holds no legal liability for anyone whatsoever. For a man who pretends to be so well-spoken, his public-speaking skills lack significantly.

Stupid rodent.

“What proof is there that a single striker may turn Japan’s legacy of endless World Cup losses around? Is a single international football league victory that important to the JFA?”

Is a single international football league victory that important to the JFA?

Is a single 

                    international football league victory 

                                                                              that important to the JFA?

“Of course it is!” Teieri doesn’t realize she has stood up until her chair crashes to the ground at the sudden gesture. “Of course, a World Cup victory is important to the JFA!”

The other old badgers that call themselves association members may not give a damn if Japan ever makes a name for itself in soccer, but Teieri does. Ever since she was little, she would sit in front of the new flat-screen TV her father had acquired from his job and watch soccer matches until the sun went down. While other little girls her age watched airing cartoons like Pokémon and Sailor Moon, Teieri watched live World Cup games, crossing her fingers, hoping Japan would win. Just one time. So the rest of the world can see what they were really made of. 

Of course, it never did happen and that little girl grew up with the same wish from eighteen years ago. She now glares into a crowd of news reporters and cameramen for dismissing her dreams. 

“Blue Lock is a necessary program to advance Japanese soccer! Over the course of 30 years, Japan has progressed exponentially; more than any other country in such a short amount of time. We broke expectations, again and again, meeting eligibility for the World Cup with the whole world suspecting otherwise.” 

Buratsuta-san whispers her name frantically but she doesn’t pay him any mind. 

“In order to close that sliver of a gap, we have to kill the state of soccer in Japan. The cusp of change resides in the heart of Blue Lock! Don’t any of you have the courage to wish for a World Cup Victory?”

The audience murmurs amongst themselves. The flashes and ‘k-shk’ of the camera never cease for a moment. Teieri smiles warily into the crowd as an angry uproar ensues. Never has she once felt more lonely in her life than being stuck in a room filled to the brim with people that want to kill her dreams. 

Even after all that studying, you still got last place in the exam.

Sure, you didn’t do terribly. 89/100 is pretty good by your standards but in a place crammed to the brim with prodigies and geniuses, it is still the worst score. Naoko and Kumode are first and second place respectively and you…are fifteenth. Ugh.

You thought you did so well too. But with so many scores at 96, 97, and 100s (you can guess who got all questions right), you are unfortunately behind. Which means you have to grind.

All the other managers work hard too. Somehow, all the Wing 5 managers collectively decided to eat in the cafeteria after all the soccer players have cleared out for maximum silence and privacy. You thought you were being diligent by studying while eating but it seems like the other two managers do the same thing.

(At times like these, you are grateful for having such shit food because it means you can scarf it down quickly without savoring it so you can go back to studying)

It was hard, though. Kunigami politely invited you to eat with the rest of Team Z and you had to decline his offer. Damn. You wanted to so badly.

With everyone so busy, the Team W and X managers don’t jab you as much. They give you dirty looks when they can but mostly they study. Just like you. Naoko doesn’t respond to your messages as quickly, but it’s not so bad because you have your team.

“Chigiri-kun, how was the run?” You ask before handing him a water bottle. The manager manual advised you to not give athletes too much water during a workout so you stole some tiny water bottles from the manager's lounge room. 

He thanks you quietly and chugs the water down, crushing the plastic like all athletes do when they drink water. At first, you were very nervous to talk or help the players at all—especially someone as pretty-looking as Chigiri— but with your brain in complete disarray from stress, you manage it. “It went okay.” 

“Chigiri-kun, I noticed you have been consistently meeting the quota for the 12-kilometer runs.” You say sensibly. “From an outside perspective, I was thinking you could increase the time you run for or maybe the speed–”

“No.” He cuts you off sharply. “I don’t want to.”

You frown. The manual did not cover what a manager should do if an athlete refuses to follow the progression guide. You suppose everyone knows their own limitations best but Chigiri has been completing the normal runs everyone is subjected to so easily. He finishes at the same time as everyone else but he hardly looks tired afterward. 

“But you have been doing so well, and I figured—”

“I said no.”

You pout at his swift rejection. Stupid athletes. There is probably no one on this earth more stubborn than soccer players. Chigiri looks at you a little regretfully as he takes the towel you offer him but you don’t say anymore. 

“Kocho-chaaaaaan.” Bachira sings. “What about me? What have I been doing well in?”

Bachira Meguru is…an enigma. Unlike Chigiri, who is mostly polite and leaves you alone, Bachira clings to you like a kitten. He is always so cheerful which is crazy because you never thought anyone can be so enthusiastic while doing something as torturous as exercise. 

His superpower is probably perpetual sunshine.

You ponder his question seriously. According to your data sheet… “You have really good reaction speed. And attack awareness. You rarely take a shot with a possibility of missing.”

He gives you a toothy grin which you have come to learn means Bachira Meguru is up to no good. You realize what he wants to do much too late. Before you can dodge, he pounces and squeezes you with an aggressive, sweaty hug. Your brain short-circuits.

“That’s so nice of you, Kocho-chan~”

Oh god oh god he is so close he is so sticky would it be perverted to think he doesn’t smell bad ah ah ah aha ahahahaha is this how I die?????

“Bachira!” Kunigami roars. “What are you doing?”

The boy in question retorts with something that you can’t make out from the steam coming out of your ears. Bachira drops you to the ground gently as per Kunigami’s request and you fold to the floor like you are made of origami paper.

“C’mon, Bachira, you killed her!” 

“Oh man, does she have a pulse?”

“Goodbye, Kocho-san…”

The thing that would kill you isn’t the stress or the nasty food, it’s the unpredictability and attention of the cute boys. That would sharply drop your lifespan. You must be more alert if you want to survive in Blue Lock.

That’s the real test!...

“But I have to say Kocho-san,” Kunigami starts, scrubbing his short scruffy orange hair with a towel. “You know so much about us but we know so little about you. What do you do every day?”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that it is your job to know everything about them. All you do all day every day (besides studying, of course) is computing their quantified stats and trying to make sense of their success and failure during practices. Of course, you know all about them.

Most of the boys that came to check up on you now stare at you curiously, waiting for an answer. 

“Oh um,” You say awkwardly. “I just do manager stuff. It’s really boring.”

Wow. Great response. 

“I-I write reports, input numbers into the Blue Lock database, and study for the daily exams every night. I help with storage, sometimes.”

Naruhaya looks at you with a horrified expression. “That is really boring…”

Saying what you do every day really puts into perspective what a no-lifer you are. Ugh. “It’s okay though. The competition keeps me pretty busy, so it’s not that bad.”

“Competiton?” Kuon perks up. “There are other managers here?”

“Yeah. There are three managers in each stratum for all five stratums. So fifteen in total.”

“Academic clashes, huh? That must suck.”

Thinking about the distance between you and the top-ranking managers in the hierarchy makes you sigh. You need to study harder to catch up. A lot harder. “It does.”

Igarashi whistles in a low, low tone. “Girl drama…”

Girl drama? You suppose it is. Kumode singling you out in front of everyone despite only meeting you for a few minutes, the way the other girls sneer at you in the halls, and the fact that you are pretty sure the manager from Team X put a plastic bag full of garbage outside your dorm-room for no reason other than to be rude can be considered drama. 

Your expression darkens. The smell of sour strawberry milk and rotting banana peel had wafted into your vent too, which made your entire bedroom smell gross for the entire night. You hate this place. “They are all assholes. I’ll crush them, for sure.”

Bachira’s eyes widen. “That’s a scary look. I like that a lot.”

If the amount you studied before only gets you in last place, you have to work ten times harder. 

You read the textbook like it is keeping you alive. Old World Cup soccer matches with good narration become your best friend. Online quizzes, explanation videos, and football statistics are all you can see when you close your eyes. You study so hard that you start dreaming about soccer at night.

This reminds you of when you busted your ass studying for final exams back when you actually went to school. Studying became your only hobby during those times.

You eat, breathe, and sleep football. Whenever you are tempted to throw the towel in, you think about Haruka and Kei. How they laughed at you and believed you would never do anything important in your life. 

 If I were to get a bad grade on such an easy test, I would go back to public school with the other idiots.

You have to try your very hardest in this internship, okay? Because something like this will never happen again.

You are just an ant.

The lead of your pencil snaps from how hard you press it into your paper. They are wrong. You aren’t just a bug they can stomp and crush under their feet. You will show them otherwise. You won’t let the likes of them get the best of you. No way. No way in hell.

So you study and study and study.

The electronic smartwatch beside your pillow buzzes. You have long learned that wearing it around the wrist as the alarm goes off shakes you out of sleep too suddenly and waking up to pleasant, muffled vibrations beside your face is much more soothing. 

But it’s not the smartwatch alarm that wakes you up. The realization that ranking updates come out today startles you awake. 

Oh gosh.

For a good five minutes, you just lay on your bed, contemplating whether you should even check the ranking or not. If you improved and earned points for once, great! But if you didn’t, it would definitely ruin your morning and probably tank your productivity for the day.

But your mother also did not raise a pussy so you roll over and check the ranking app. 

Please. Please. Please. 

As usual, Naoko and Kumode are in first and second place in the manager ranks. They are also the top two for points with eight and seven points respectively. 

And your name is…11th place. 1 point.

11th place…out of 15 managers….That means you beat four other managers in task efficiency. Plus one point for your third placement in examinations. 

You bury your face into your pillow and squeal. Yes. Yes! Yes! 

Is this…what it feels like to have your hard work pay off? You deserved this, didn’t you? Nothing can bring you down anymore. Your happiness soars, your self-esteem soars, your ego and perception of self soars —

When you excitedly show the ranking list to Naoko during breakfast time, she is not nearly as ecstatic as you are. 

“Don’t go on having a big head like that. It’s nothing that special.”

“Huh? But I beat out four other girls in a single night!” You glare into your container of natto and nori seaweed and try to ignore Naoko’s greek yogurt, chia seeds, and fresh berries. Even with a higher ranking, the food is still the same. Jinpachi said something about “consistently having a good score” when you angrily texted him about it.

You think it’s just a ploy for you to continue eating disgusting food. 

Naoko mouths a spoonful of raspberries. Her messy hair-bun trembles, threatening to explode in a burst of bobby pins and hair clips. “You said yourself. Isn’t it strange to you that you improved so quickly in a single night?” 

Wobble, wobble. A hairpin peeks out from her hair knot.

“Well, I guess I was pleasantly surprised…”

Wobble, wobble. Her hair claw clip loosens and tilts to the side. 

Naoko sighs deeply like she is a wise, all-knowing immortal blessing you and your meager human self with her presence and knowledge. Smart and pretty people always have the biggest egos. “Think about it. Since it has only been a few days since this all started, ranks and points will fluctuate a lot. That is because gaining a single point or going slightly above average beats out people who have no points at all.”

Wobble, wobble. A plastic clip with a few long gray strands attached to it pops off her bun like popcorn. Naoko does not notice. 

That…makes sense you suppose. Only earning a single third place in the nightly examinations gained you a point, which set you aside from the other girls who scored only a teensy bit less than you. 

And rankings have been fluctuating a lot because of how easy it is to change your status. After all, it has been a nonstop battle between Naoko and Kumode for first place. Even a lower rank like the third place has been unstable with a lot of girls switching in and out for the place of the top three. Something as small as finishing reports an hour early may shoot someone up in the ranks.

It’s the bitter truth but it is still bitter. You just…need to work harder for longer. Since you aren’t particularly smart or talented, you need to make up for your disadvantages. 

“The First Selection is starting soon,” Naoko says in a poor fashion of cheering you up. A chia seed sticks to her upper lip. “If your team does well, then your rank will go up too. Is your team good?”

“I think so.” You pronounce slowly. “Their athletic stats are better than anyone I have seen, and they mostly have good chemistry. I believe in them.”

“You better pray and hope they win every one of their matches then because their performance will change your status for the better or for the worst,” Naoko warns.

Depending on others for your own sake has never turned out well for you. Group projects, team competitions, or partner tests are absolutely awful, in your experience.

But soccer is a fundamental team sport; there are eleven people on each team, after all. If you don’t trust the very people you are made to work with, how will you expect any success to come your way?

 You force down another mouthful of natto and rice and pretend it is delicious berry yogurt. Naoko’s poor odango hairstyle completely falls apart, sending her bobby pins and her claw clip clattering across the floor. She swears loudly. 

You had believed Blue Lock would be a place full of mature students, dedicated to creating opportunities for success and pushing themselves to a stable, secure future. You believed this would be a place full of tryhards, but sensible, respectable tryhards. People with working emotional senses.

Your beliefs were, unfortunately, very wrong.

300 million IQ genius inside. Watch out!

Your once clean and pristine dorm door has these words written in big, bold red letters. You swipe a single finger across the kanji words ‘天才’ and it smears. Lipstick.

You are no stranger to childish acts of harassment. You know to just suck it up and pretend it never happened because all these people want is attention. Which you refuse to give to them. 

All you do is wet a bunch of paper towels in the bathroom and try to scrub the markings off. Crimson water drips down the metal door like little bloody streams and pools on the concrete floor. It’s like a gruesome crime scene. Like one of those events that occur on the murder podcasts your sister likes to listen to on the train. 

The thought of texting Jinpachi to send another janitor to Building 5 after the trash fiasco makes you snort. He would probably throw a fit. 

But your sick little sense of humor does little to cushion the sting. It still hurts. And you might cry tonight if you don't try hard enough not to.

“Oh my.”

Your head snaps up like a rubber band. It’s Kumode in her manager uniform with her hands in the pockets of her pleated skirt. You inspect her lips suspiciously. No lipstick. 

“I am really sorry that happened to you. Some people are just plain mean.”

Oh. She is on your side. You scrub the words harder, annoyed at yourself for thinking the worst in others. The numbers have mostly been scrubbed off but a pinky splotch still remains as well as the other words. “It’s okay. It’s all childish scare tactics. It doesn’t matter to me.”

It does a little bit, but you can’t let her know. 

Kumode takes out a handkerchief from her pocket and helps you mop up the puddle of red water that has pooled on the ground. “Does Nakamura know?”

“No.”

She runs her fingers through her curly hair, which has been taken out of the scrunchie she had. Now that she’s up close and all, it doesn’t look natural. Her hair looks permed or curled with an iron. “What you said yesterday made a lot of people angry, I’m guessing. They thought you were making fun of them.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to. I was just trying to be funny.” You remember something strange Kumode said earlier during orientation. “I guess that makes me ‘interesting’.”

“It does. I heard all about how ‘interesting’ you are from Kaneko Kei. Do you know her?” 

Kaneko Kei? The girl in your homeroom? The same one that made your life a living hell for the past four years? That Kaneko Kei?

Your wad of red-stained paper towel drips onto the ground from how hard you squeeze it. And just like that, the pains of your past have followed you, even to a place like Blue Lock. 

You thought you could have started over here with no one knowing who you were and what kind of person you were. You could start…over. But what about now?

“I'm going to guess you do.” She stops cleaning the floor to stare you in the face. “And that helped me put the puzzle pieces together.”

You stare back into her bright green eyes. Something murky swirls in her irises, like a spiral of the infinite penumbra.

“I know you, Kocho (Y/n).”

That something coils in her eyes like black threads in a pool of chartreuse ink. 

“You were on Nakamura’s debate team, weren’t you? You didn’t speak at all during the competition but you wrote a lot of the counterarguments. You’re a good writer.”

 You know this look. This is an expression you see all the time.

“I know what kind of person you are. You hope that opportunities will come to you naturally. Fall into your lap like some kind of gift from heaven. I’m telling you right now that miracles don’t happen like that.”

You see it in your classmates. You see it in pro soccer players. You see it in your sister.

“Right now, the press is trying to slander the JFA any way they can under the public eye. They want to shut us down because they are too afraid of failure to see the possibility of success.” 

The thing in Kumode’s eyes…It’s called…It’s…

“This is a golden opportunity that you need to reach out and take. So will you help me defend Blue Lock?”

It’s egotism. Pure, unadulterated self-regard. She believes that of course, you will accept her offer. Who wouldn’t want to work with Kumode Kaori, the girl most likely to succeed? Of course, she thinks you would accept her offer. Of course, you would. 

Would you?

Additional Time!

• Team Z’s feelings toward Rea-chan vary. Bachira finds her interesting, Kunigami and Chigiri are civil, Imamura admires her from afar, Raichi looks down upon her, and the rest are indifferent with a hint of curiosity.
• Rea-chan is still nervous when she talks to Team Z, although she hides it better now
• The lipstick stained horrifically on the door, to the point where it couldn’t be cleaned off. Rea-chan had to text Jinpachi about it. He was lazy and just had the door replaced altogether.

Chapter Text

Today, at the start of the First Selection, the elimination process for the managers will begin. The lowest-ranking manager at the end of every three days will be let go. This procedure will continue until the First Selection has ended. Good luck, managers.

This is the very scary text that you received at exactly 5:59, one minute before your alarm went off. This terrifying information woke you up better than any coffee or alarm watch would. You practically bolted upright in bed with every single scary emotion possible racking your every nerve like a panic siren. 

Text Messages (3)

Naoko-chan ^3^ (6:13 AM)

Morning. Did you see Teieri’s texts?

You (6:14 AM)

Yeah :( That scared me a little

Naoko-chan ^3^ (6:15 AM)

Don’t be. You aren’t the lowest-ranked manager anymore.

I can help you study every night if you want

You (6:16 AM)

OMG really???

You are the best Naoko-sama <3

I can meet you tonight in your dorm if you wantttt 

I would offer you my natto as a reward but you wouldn’t like it. Jinpachi-san is mean

Naoko-chan ^3^ (6:23 AM)

Ew. Don’t call me that.

Also sure. Bring your textbooks.

Btw, meet me in the Building 4 cafeteria in twenty minutes. 

I think I get grilled fish today because I’m number 1 right now. I’ll share some

Lol Kumode must be very unhappy

You (6:25 AM)

For me??

I love you so much >:((( <33

Mwah mwah

Also, I have tea for you. On Kumode. She said something weird to me last night.

Naoko-chan ^3^ (6:30 AM)

Ew

You (6:31 AM)

Hehe

—seen, 6:32 AM

Text Messages (2)

Jinpachi-san ಠ_ಠ (6:22 AM)

Do you like the door now

You (6:22 AM)

YEESs

I mean yes, sorry about that

The janitors must have worked very hard.

You are up very early today, Jinpachi-san! Good morning :)

Jinpachi-san ಠ_ಠ (6:24 AM)

Don’t be so casual you brat. I am not your friend

I am going back to bed

You (6:24 AM)

Okay! Sweet dreams

—seen, 6:25 AM

Text Messages (1)

Kumode Kaori (6:35 AM)

Did you think about it yet?

—seen, 6:40 AM

End of Messages

The First Selection has officially begun. Team Z’s first match against another team from Building 5. Team X, if you are not mistaken. 

It’s 11:08. It starts in 22 minutes. Somehow, this feels even worse than when you took the Blue Lock entrance exam. Maybe this is what it feels like for a mother to watch their children leave the nest and go into the real world. 

“Okay. Oh gosh. I don’t know what to say.” You smother your face with your sleeves. “Do your best? Play well. I’m so nervous. Are you guys nervous?”

Kunigami sweatdrops. “Honestly, you’re making me kind of nervous right now.”

Meanwhile, the other Team Z members talk amongst themselves.

“Aren’t you tired, Bachira?” Isagi asks the eccentric striker beside him. “We did stay up pretty late practicing.”

The dribbler in question looks far too casual for someone about to compete in a soccer game. He stares upward idly with his hands behind his head as he leans against the sterile, steel wall. There is no doubt he is counting ceiling tiles. “Nope! Of course not. I’m too excited to be tired.”

Kuon feverishly reminds everyone of the predetermined positions with only a handful of boys listening, least of all Raichi who scowls and mutters something about Isagi getting lucky. But mostly, everyone seems to be chipper; talking to each other normally like nothing is happening.

It completely baffles you, of course. If you were them, you would probably be projectile vomiting like crazy. Your teacher from the first year called it “panic purging”. She said it was a common thing for people to do before big competitions. Not these guys, though. 

Even though you only met them a few days ago, you feel a profound sort of…admiration for these boys. They make fun of each other, yell at one another when someone misses a goal during practice, and relentlessly compete with each other, but they all take it with stride. They never take anything personally, instead they push themselves to improve.

“Oh look!” Bachira snaps awake from his bored stupor and points at the displayed time on the giant monitor suspended on the wall. “It’s 11:11! Make a wish.”

Most glance at the monitor to confirm that it is, in fact, 11:11 but no one seems eager to close their eyes and wish on it. Some even tease Bachira. 

“I didn’t know you were superstitious.” Imamura jokes. “You afraid of black cats and the number four too or something?”

Gagamaru joins in, though he may not be aware that he is even bantering by the monotonousness of his voice. “That is a little out of character for you.”

Bachira huffs in a mock-irritated way and crosses his arms. “I like all cats. Also, it’s just something fun to do! Even Igaguri’s doing it.”

Everyone wordlessly trails to Igarashi who has his hands clasped together as he recites long ramblings of things under his breath. If your ears don’t betray you, one of his wishes is for Tsubasa Honda to fall into his arms and marry him. 

Good luck with that, Mr. Chestnut Burr.

Of course, the Chaotic Trio™ immediately makes fun of him for his bizarre wish choices and you see Igarashi’s spirit fleeing from his mouth under the bombardment of Naruhaya, Imamura, and Raichi. 

You smile at the sight of Naruhaya tugging at Igarashi’s cheeks while the other two harass him. Even though you would never say this out loud, you think Team Z get along with each other much more than they would care to admit. 

“Kocho-san, you can do it, if you want. It’s going to be 11:12 soon.”

The sound of your name makes you jump a little. “Me? Why me?”

Chigiri shrugs. “You just seem like the type to like these kinds of things. My sister does.”

He is kind of right. Late at night when you crammed for quizzes or tests, you would make a half-delirious wish at 11:11 to get a 100%. It never works but as Bachira said before, it’s fun to do. 

Well, if it has never worked before, it surely has to work once sometimes right? According to the Law of Large Numbers and all that. 

So you ponder what to wish about.

Should you wish that Team Z would win their first match? For you to Improve in managerial ranks? For a billion yen to fall out of the sky onto your front step?

But those things would not do. You think back to the time before you were accepted into this internship. What is the one thing you want whenever you are feeling sad? What is the wish you would make when you watch clouds on your school rooftop by yourself? 

The truth is, you haven’t been okay for a long time.

No one at Kaneshiro talks about isolation.

Even though you have no one to share it with, the sun and moon will always be there for you. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and make your wish. As soon as you’re finished, you open them hesitantly.

“You just made it in time.” Chigiri tilts his head to the monitor. “Look.”

11:12.

Bachira looks very pleased that another person humored his antics. Excitedly, he asks: “What did you wish for Kocho-chan?” 

“W-Well…I…” Your face goes hot. 

All conversation falls quiet. Everyone is looking at you as if they are actually interested in your answer. You want to hide. You want to be invisible. If they stare at me like that, I might explode…Attention is the worst. 

“If you say you wish for us to win this game, I’ll actually kill you.” Raichi scowls. 

“Of course not!” You blurt out. “I wished for…I wished for a side dish besides natto today.”

 Isagi makes a breathy laugh like he didn’t expect to hear you say that. He almost seems startled by his own reaction. “You have natto too? I figured managers would eat better than us.”

Kunigami blinks his auburn eyes in mild surprise. “That’s it? If you really want to eat something else, we could always share some food with you.”

Ahhh Kunigami is so kind and dependable. Your heart becomes melts into a puddle of sticky goo at his sweet offer.

Of course, the superstition king, Bachira Meguru, calls out your disastrous mistake in the law of wishes. It only makes sense. He does seem like the kind of boy who watches the animated Cinderella movie enough to notice your slip.

“Awaaaaaa but because you told us all, it won’t come true!” He rocks you by the shoulder back and forth, and you are so glad that no one saw through your lie that you could barely think to panic from being held by a Cute Boy™. “You will be stuck with gross natto for all eternity…!”

Little does anyone on the Team know, that was not your wish at all. In fact, it didn’t matter if you only ate disgusting natto for the rest of your life. As long as you can make good friends in Team Z and not be lonely anymore, you would be happy. You would be forever happy.

The 11:11 Wish Commission better make good on this exchange.

“Your team sure likes you a lot.” Naoko eyes your teeming plate full of a random assortment of side dishes. She pokes at your small mountain of food with a silver fork, inspecting each vegetable and meat with intense care. “They gave you all this?”

“I…I guess.” You mumble. You were awfully shocked when Isagi wordlessly passed you a tray full of a little bit of everyone’s food. Even though they were so disappointed at losing their first game, they still thought of you. “They’re super nice.”

“Wait, is that curry? The stupid boys are getting things like curry?”

“Yeah. Curry.”

You are not fit to be manager here. You really aren’t. The shame and embarrassment of what happened earlier still stings like a fresh wound. 

Your team is a bunch of nobodies, huh?

Ugh. 

Why didn’t you say anything? A good, suitable manager would have snapped back. Made a grand speech about how their team would seize back the glory they rightfully deserved and probably punched the other person in the face.

Naoko stops prodding your food and asks softly: “Hey. What’s wrong? You look so sad.”

“I feel so sad.” You rest your cheek on the table. It’s cold. And probably greasy from the previous lunch period. “I think I’m a bad manager.”

“Why?”

And you tell her.

“ Hey. You’re Kocho, aren’t you? Team Z?”

You looked away from the waiting room TV. Things were not looking too well for your team. There was a bit of in-team fighting with players trying to score goals for themselves and number 10 on Team X is an absolute monster on the field. He scored three out of five goals and passed the final ball for the other two.

It was painful to be torn away from such an intense game but you did it anyway. “Yes, I am. You must be the Team X manager.” You knew her, mainly because you suspected she is the one that keeps putting garbage in your hallway. And judging by how bright her lipstick is, she was probably the one that drew on your door too.

You felt a mean sort of glee that you didn't use her name—Mihara—and referred to her as her position instead. This was your idea of creating a wall between the two of you.

“Good game. Barou-san is pretty good.”

“Number 10?”

“Yeah, that’s him.” She smiled at you nicely, tugging the ends of her high ponytail. Her glasses made her look cute, smart, and approachable; if only her eyes weren’t so sharp. “It also doesn’t help that your team is a bunch of nobodies, huh?”

You froze. 

This was new. No one has ever spited you by mocking other people before. It wasn't not direct, but it made you feel gross. Way worse than when she scorned your low score in ranks. Something hot churned inside you.

But you didn't say anything. You couldn't say anything.

You were a deer in headlights. Nothing resembling a retort came to mind and even if it did, they would stick inside your throat anyway. Like peanut butter.

It wasn’t until you turned around silently that you realized the doors have long been opened. Both teams shook hands and exchanged words of good sportsmanship, though their true feelings were written all over their faces. 

The Team X manager grinned. The overwhelming feeling of guilt crashed down on you like an icy wave. 

“Sooooo. You feel bad because you just laid down nice and still for some other manager to stomp on like a doormat?” Naoko summarizes bluntly before sipping a spoonful of miso soup. 

“Yes!” You collapse into the table and bury your face into your arms. “Why didn’t I say anything? What if my team heard? They probably think I’m so two-faced for not standing up for them.”

Your genius classmate chuckles to herself. “First of all, they are all narcissistic high school soccer players which means they don’t need someone to stand up for them at all, let alone a little morsel like you.” 

You glare at Naoko, even though your intimidation factor is equivalent to that of an angry rabbit. Even your own sister says so.

“Second of all, why didn’t you say anything? You were angry, right?”

“Of course I was angry!” You fume. “Why would she even say that to my face? Mihara should have shut her mouth and left me alone. Like, okay. One player on your team is slightly above average. Good for you! The rest of your team fucking sucks!”

You don’t realize how loud you are speaking until the whole cafeteria goes quiet after your hysterics. 

However, Naoko doesn’t notice. She takes it up another notch by slamming her hands into the cafeteria table. “Yes! Yes! You need to be more passionate, (Y/n)!”

“H-Huh?”

She points an accusing finger in your face. “All your life, you have quietly taken beatings from others for absolutely no reason! You’re an absolute pushover!”

“That’s mean, Naoko-chan…”

“I don’t care. It’s true. You make yourself an easy target. Of course, snakes devour the mouse that doesn’t run or fight back. You need to upgrade! Where was that girl that yelled at Haruka and Kei in front of the whole class?”

“I’m right here!” You say loudly. “I’m sick of being a doormat, I’m gonna…I’m…”

Naoko grabs you by the shoulder and peers into your eyes with her own steely ice-gray irises. “You need to metaphorically murder those skank bitches.”

Just like Kumode, her eyes have that look in them. Determination, egotism, and righteous fury are all coiled up in black tendrils that circulate in her silver irises.  

And then, it vanishes without a trace. “But you need to study hard first. You can’t do anything if you get kicked out in the First Selection.”

“C’monnn, you ruined the vibe!” You whine obnoxiously. “You were so cool for a second…”

You aren’t sure if you should tell Naoko about Kumode’s offer today.

Mainly because she already has a lot on her plate: apparently Naoko’s team lost horribly to their opponent today which tanked her ranking. Well, “tanked” may be too strong of a word as it only bumped her down to the second place and erased a single point but the difference between her and Kumode’s points was rather severe. 7 and 10. Naoko was absolutely devastated. Luckily, your rank mostly remains the same.

You also don’t want to tell her because she is a bit of a mom friend. Saying Kumode, the girl who argued so well during her debate session that she made someone on your team burst into tears, invited you to write essays defending Blue Lock to the public would only make her worry.

But why you? Why did Kumode ask you to help her?

She had claimed it was because you were a good writer but to be totally honest, you weren’t. Most of the arguments you drafted for your national debate tournament were scrapped and Naoko only used some of them in the end. And even then, others drastically modified them to be more fancy and eloquent and all that.

But still! There is a reason why you were able to come up with so many good counterarguments on the fly, even if some of them were shoddy. In the end, your debate team used them, didn’t they? More than anyone else on the team.

You sigh and watch as the percentage on the big-screen TV increase, slowly but surely. Fiddling with the HDMI cable that connects the monitor to your laptop, you simply think. 

The game footage that you are transcribing to the television is displayed on your computer screen in countless little squares, all showing the game from different perspectives. When you toured the soccer field for the first time, you didn’t notice any cameras at all. They must have been hidden.

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

81%...

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

Some players at the beginning of the game don’t cooperate with each other, stealing the ball left and right from their own teams, desperate to feed their egos and shoot a goal for themselves. How frustrating…Team Z could have won or tied if it wasn’t for the in-fighting at the start.

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

85%...

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

You watch as Barou aims all of his strength into one single kick that spikes the ball right into the goal. The net pitches like the sail of a boat from the sheer force of the soccer ball. This is when Team X began to center all of their attacks on Barou, not to seize the ball for themselves, but to win the game.

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

90%...

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

Team Z players dismiss their own positions as they desperately defend and scramble for the ball. Points are lost meaninglessly and easily. Iemon does the best he can as a goalie but it isn’t enough. 4-0. 5-0.

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

99%...

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

And then your team turns their zero into a one as Isagi passes the ball to Kunigami last second, completely evading Barou’s block. Kunigami shoots with his left leg, sending the ball sailing into the goal. 5-1. 

┎┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┒

100%! Download completed.

Now your team can watch this footage in the Monitor Room

whenever they wish!

┖┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┚

“Hey. Kocho-san?” Someone knocks on the wide open door to the Monitor room. It’s Kuon. “Team meeting. Are you almost done with work?”

You close your laptop and yank off the HDMI cable. “Yes. I downloaded the footage of our Team X game. Oh! And I downloaded the Team Y match against Team V.”

Kuon hums. “Thank you, Ms. Manager.”

“You’re welcome, Mr. Football Player.”

You follow him into the Team Z bedroom. If you thought your dorm was small and sad, this was even worse. It is just a sterile, steel box with lots of futons pressed together in the center of the room. To conserve heat maybe? 

The life of a soccer player is a difficult one.

Your pajamas are similar to the ones the boys have. They are the exact shade of navy blue but yours has a much more interesting design and material. Instead of a thick sweater and sweatpants-like clothing, your pajamas are satin, a short-sleeved shirt with a collar and white buttons, and shorts with white stitch outlines. 

Heh heh heh. Maybe being a manager is a little easier.

“Is everyone here?” Kuon does a quick count of everyone in the room as Imamura pats the empty space on the futons next to him. You listen obediently and plop down criss-cross applesauce into the circle.

“Okay, great. We need to list our ‘weapons’ and think how we can utilize each one in-game.”

“Weapons?” Naruhaya repeats. “Like our strengths?”

“Yes. Exactly. A talent that you are able to perform better than everyone else.”

Of course, Raichi butts in first. “My weapon is my magnificent shooting technique.” He makes sure to send a sneer in Kunigami’s direction. “And my motto is ‘sexy soccer’.”

You are sure this isn’t what he meant, but you can’t help but imagine Raichi dancing around provocatively in a Western cheerleader’s outfit, successfully distracting the other team. This makes you snort out loud and Raichi does not look too happy at your reaction.

“Mine is getting behind the enemy team!” Naruhaya announces chipperly.

Gagamaru’s weapon is “getting physical”, which you take to mean his physical strength and agility which he demonstrates during practice. Iemon is an all-rounder which is perfect for him as a make-shift goalie. Igarashi’s weapon is his never-give-up attitude which is a foreign language for him not having any weapons. 

There’s a large variety of specific skills in Team Z. As Kunigami dictates his weapon is left-foot shooting power and Bachira sleepily mumbles his weapon is dribbling, the gears in your brain start turning.

Kuon says that each weapon needs to be utilized in-game. That makes sense, of course, as the last game was just a free-for-all with no real planning or strategy. But converging each talent together and meshing them smoothly for a coherent soccer play is too messy. It’s like stirring a soup. The broth, meat, vegetables, and herbs can’t be blended together in a smoothie for it to taste good. They just need to mingle and know each other a little to make a good soup.

Why are you making food analogies? Are you still hungry?...

Kuon’s weapon is his jumping, of course, evident in his high measurements during the daily jump test. 

“Who’s next? Isagi?”

This catches him off-guard. “Uh, my weapon? Um…that’s…I honestly don’t…know…”

Based on the last game, Isagi’s shining moment was when he made that last-minute pass to Kunigami which earned the team a point. Igarashi seems to think the same thing, as he offers: “Passing?”

“No, I can’t say that as a striker.”

That egotistical boy…

Raichi takes advantage of the moment of vulnerability and sinks his fangs into Isagi’s hesitance. “If you don’t know what your weapon is, that means you don’t have one. Next!”

Poor Isagi. He’s just like you; so afraid of speaking over others that his turn is cut short.

“Kocho? What’s your weapon.”

You blink hard to shake yourself awake out of your thoughts. Your weapon? “Me? My weapon?”

Kuon smiles in amusement. “Yes, you. Your weapon.”

You don’t point out the elephant in the room that you aren’t playing soccer alongside them (thank god) so your ‘weapon’ so to speak isn’t important. But to humor them, you guess you can say something.

You learned a lesson from Isagi’s turn: say something or get made fun of by Raichi. So you quickly say the only thing that comes to mind. “I’m a good writer.” Kumode must have affected you more than you would like to think.

No one speaks for a moment. “As in I can come up with good considerations in debate spontaneously. And I can…” You realize how useless you sound as soon as you trail off. “Ah, wait sorry. That sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does,” Raichi says bluntly. “Who are you trying to debate with, the fucking soccer ball?”

You snap: “I wasn’t asking you, Cookie-Cutter Teeth weirdo.” You have a lot more to say but the mortification and realization of what you just uttered terrifies you. Oh no. Oh no. What have you done?

Imamura smothers his laugh with a fist in his mouth. Raichi looks like you just spat in his face. Bachira is fast asleep. But mostly everyone looks horrified and impressed with you at the same time. No one hears your ramblings of apologies over the sound of everyone freaking out with “ooooohhhh's”  and “what are you gonna do about it, shark teeth?”

They would have never left you alone after your little outburst but Kuon pulls everyone into place again. “Okay. Okay. Stop laughing.”  He thumps Igarashi in the chest. “Chigiri? What’s your weapon?”

The pink-haired striker sits rather far away from everyone. His knees are pulled to his chest, making him seem a lot smaller than he is. Chigiri would hate you forever if you said this out loud, but he looks like a lonely fairy princess who has been outcasted from their flower kingdom.

“Not telling.”

“Huh? But that’s the whole point of the conversation?” Igarashi splutters. 

“I know, but I don’t want to say it.”

You aren’t surprised by Chigiri’s response. His reaction when you suggested that he should run longer and faster during warmups was similar. He rejected your recommendation (which you took from the Manager textbook, by the way so it’s not as if your idea was bad) and refused to tell you why he was so adamant against it. Chigiri never seemed like the type to share much about himself. 

Kuon speaks over Raichi’s unfriendly grumblings: “It’s important that we know each other’s strengths so that we can use them properly in our games.”

You sigh and rest your chin on the palm of your hand. But how? It’s easy to say weapons should be utilized in a real match but the execution of it is the hard part.

Apparently, others agree with your sentiment as Iemon sensibly points out that without a real solidified strategy, the next game will turn into another free-for-all. Which is valid.

“Can’t we come up with a strategy where all of us can shine or something?” Isagi suggests.

Is that really possible? A real coordinated plan that involves everyone’s weapon equally? Does something that equitable really exist in this world? If it does, then it sure doesn’t exist back in Saitama.

Idealistically, the best weapon should steal the show and every other player should focus their skills to support the MVP, which according to the ranking, is Bachira. But you doubt this will fare well with everyone else. Besides, you like to be impartial whenever you can.

But is that even realistic? You can’t homogenize vastly different talents into one. As you said before, this strategy needs to be like a good soup. With ingredients separate from one other so the taster can enjoy the different textures and flavors…

Soup. 

Flavors. Vegetables. Meat. Herbs.

Soup. Soup. Soup. Soup.

“Oh my gosh.” You realize with a start. “Soup.”

“What the hell do you mean by soup?” Raichi snarls bitterly. Evidently, he is still mad about your Cookie Cutter comment. “Didn’t have enough to eat at lunch even with our charity?”

“Wait. Kocho-san. I know exactly what you mean.” Kuon whispers with a strenuous resolve you have never seen before. “We are on the same wavelength. Shall we say our ideas at the same time?”

“Yes, I think so.” You murmur. “On the count of three: One. Two. Three.”

“We split up the playing time evenly between the eleven of you so your weapons can shine!”

“Operation ‘Next-Up-It’s-Me’ Eleven!”

You blink. Once. Twice. The rest of the team is completely silent, baffled by Kuon’s absurd names for ideas. “I guess we aren’t on the same wavelength after all.”

The duration of uncomfortable quietness is broken by Bachira’s soft snoring.

After the tactics meeting with Team Z, you find yourself sprawled on Naoko’s queen-sized bed like a starfish. Her bedroom in Building 4 is sure as hell of a lot fancier than your little prison dorm. It even has a window. 

Following an intense study session with her mostly rubbing your nose into the textbook, drilling soccer formations into your head like a mantra, you decide to take a break. With such a full stomach and no will to do anything productive at all, you find yourself staring at the ceiling.

All you can hear in the dorm room is the quiet clicking of a laptop keyboard Naoko types away at. People like her don’t call it quits, after all.

The stillness of the place makes you think too much. And there is nothing more you dislike than overthinking.

“Naoko,” You say on a half whim. “I have something to tell you.”

The typing stops. “The thing about Kumode?”

“Yeah.”

She types for a little bit more before closing her laptop. “What is it? Did she say something mean?”

You shake your head. Kumode isn’t mean at all, you think. At least, not in the sense that Mihara and Yamada, the managers for Teams X and Y are. All she does is act soft. Quiet. In the kind of way that makes you think she knows much more than she lets on. 

During orientation when you first met her, Kumode didn’t flaunt her accomplishments that everyone else did. She just kind of stated it like it was absolute. Like it was nothing to her.

This type of thing is nothing to me.

“I don’t think so.” You say honestly. “But she did say something weird. She asked me if I wanted to help her write some essays defending Blue Lock from the media.”

Naoko scrunches her face up like someone just told her the chore schedule changed and she actually has bathroom duty. “Don’t take it. That is such an obvious trap.”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “A trap?” You echo. “How is it a trap?”

“To understand why it is a trap, you need to know the kind of person Kumode Kaori is. She is not nice at all.”

“Really?” Naoko’s exclamation surprises you. Sure, Kumode isn’t exactly Mother Theresa in terms of charity and kindness but she isn’t that bad either. All she really did was call you ‘interesting’ in a weird way and…that’s all she really did. Other than that, she’s just unassuming. “Are you saying that because she’s above you in ranks?”

“No.” Naoko blurts out. “I don’t care at all that she only beat me by three freaking points because my team is shit at soccer and her’s isn’t. She didn’t even pass me based on her own skill. So no. It doesn’t matter to me.”

Uh-huh.

“It’s just that…Do you remember Baishō Bunko?”

Of course, you remember Baishō Bunko. She was the one that started crying during her Refutation and let Kumode’s team go to the national championship. She was also the girl that demanded to be part of the oral speech team which ultimately stole your spot away.

That might be one of your biggest regrets in life. You shouldn't have agreed to her demands. That spot was yours and you gave it away just like that.

“After the regional debate was over and everyone left, she told me that the reason she lost her cool was because Kumode said something to her before the competition started. You know the dressing rooms where we had to wear uniforms and stuff? It was in there.”

“What did Kumode say?”

Naoko shrugs. “ Baishō never said. It was probably just some stupid junior high insult but it must have been kind of true. For her to get upset like that.”

Poor Baishō-san. You always thought she was just some pushy, bossy sophomore girl but you guess not. She is just as sensitive as anyone else. “You think so?”

“Everyone only gets upset at criticism that’s true in a way, you know? It must have hurt her a lot."

You are so funny Kocho. I thought you said you were good at Japanese Literature! But I guess not.

Aren’t you Kocho Chie’s younger sister? Maybe you can ask her for help when she comes back from university. She was one of Kaneshiro’s most gifted students you know.

Did you even pass the entrance exam? Did you pay-to-win or something? 

I don’t really think you are good at anything Kocho. 

“Yeah.” You murmur. You know that better than anyone else. “It must have.”

“And besides, Kumode’s argument wasn’t even that good. We only lost because of Baishō.”

Ooh. Naoko is still bitter about that tournament, huh? Is that why she is so deadset on beating her?

“So you shouldn’t help someone like Kumode. I don’t trust her and you shouldn’t either.”

“I think I might do it anyway.”

“She just doesn’t give me good feelings at all and—Wait what?”

Before Naoko fully freaks out, you grab her by the shoulders to still her. “Think about it! I keep Blue Lock from going belly-up and I get to stand out. Everyone is going to see that essay and think of me.”

You don't want to stand by the sidelines anymore. Watching Baishō fumble her oral speech at that regional tournament killed you. It killed you. For once, you want to be the main character. You want to be great too. 

“Kumode is definitely going to stab you in the back.”

“Huh? Why would she? We’re on the same team, right? That makes no sense!”

But Naoko doesn’t give up. “What if no one reads it? Who cares what small-time high school girls have to say about the freaking JFA?”

“Then I’ll offer an insight into what happens to Blue Lock on the inside! That's a scoop the press will die to know.” Oh my gosh. You are getting so excited. Yes. Yes! This is going to save your academic career. Finally, you can be more than Kocho (Y/n), the girl who barely fulfills the status quo. The worthless insect. “Not everything but obviously enough that—”

“Okay. What if Blue Lock fails? The police raid it because it violates some law that none of us know about and this becomes the most disgraceful event in football history. Everyone will see you as the person that defended such a catastrophe—”

“Then I’ll go anonymous. If it goes well, then I’ll take the credit and if not, well—”

“Do you even hear what you are saying (Y/n)?” Naoko groans. “This is such a big risk. Why don’t you just quietly study, rise in the ranks, and make a name for yourself just within the JFA? Why do you have to branch out so far and beyond?”

Why do you have to branch out so far and beyond?

“Because unlike you, Naoko-chan,” You whisper. “I have nothing to be proud of. I don’t have anything that makes me different or better than anyone else. This is my only chance.”

I just want to be good at something for once. I don’t want to be a failure anymore. 

I want to fly. 

“Didn’t you tell me before to not throw away my shot?”

“I did say that, but not like this,” Naoko murmurs. “Whatever. Do what you want. I don’t really care."

This conversation was not what you had in mind. You had imagined Naoko to join in your celebration too and support everything you do wholeheartedly. But that was unrealistic of you. She has always been the logical and analytical class genius that sees things objectively, not the best-friend trope that blindly follows whatever you do. And you think you prefer it that way.

“I don’t agree. At all. I think it’s stupid, a waste of time, and useless. But if you want…” Naoko looks pained to even say her next sentence but she forces it out through gritted teeth anyway. “I can help you edit. If you want.”

Before she can shiver and shake off the ‘Ew, gross emotions! I hate this feeling’ vibes, you launch yourself at your silver-haired, gray-eyed, unmeltable ice princess in a ‘line ‘em up, take ‘em down’ American football-style tackle.

“WHAT are you DOING?” Naoko screams in utter disgust as you squeeze her tightly from the side around the waist. She desperately tries to fight you off with her arms but you have become a starfish. Nothing is making you break from the hug. “Get off of me, you pervert!”

“You’re the best, Naoko.” You mumble softly. “No one has ever been this nice to me before. Are we…best friends?”

She stops pushing you off. You can’t tell what she is doing or thinking because you have your face buried in her cardigan vest but you do hear her sigh. A deep, long, mature sigh. “Whatever. You freaky hugging koala weirdo.”

“Hehe.”

“Shut up and die.”

“No.”

Text Messages (0)

Kumode Kaori (6:35 AM)

Did you think about it yet?

—seen today

You (11:12 PM)

Yes, I did. I’ll help you defend Blue Lock.

Kumode Kaori (11:15 PM)

Great. Meet me tomorrow in the Building 1 cafeteria at 6:00 PM sharp. 

See you there.

—seen, 11:16 PM 

Additional Time!

• In case you haven’t noticed, Nakamura Naoko is a tsundere. Blue Lock’s very own ice princess!
• The people Rea-chan is most curious about are Kumode Kaori, the girl with no intelligible personality, and Chigiri Hyoma, the lonely flower prince of Team Z. 
• Everyone on Team Z started calling Raichi “Cookie Cutter Teeth” after that little fiasco. Raichi wakes up every morning praying for your downfall.

Chapter Text

You have mostly gotten used to the early mornings (or as you like to call it, psychological torture) Blue Lock forces you to go through. Because you complete all your tasks on time without fail, there is no need for you to wake up as early as you do but you do it anyway. Not because you are a tryhard that likes to go above and beyond but because the other managers do it. The hivemind sure is hard to break out of.

But you aren’t complaining. That extra time in the mornings gives you a small duration in which you are allowed to do whatever you want. 

You mostly just use it to kill time. Social media, free online games, and YouTube. The managers have figured out a way to download VPNs and bypass all the blocked sites on the Blue Lock Wifi and you use it to chat with your sister on shady messaging apps. 

Today, you are feeling particularly mature so when you see a popular news station publishing articles about Blue Lock under the Sports Section, you click on it on a whim.

JFA: Feat or Flunk? Can Blue Lock Really Help Japanese Football?

“I haven’t spoken to my son in seven days” Local Worried Mother Breaks Silence on JFA’s Latest Program

What the Japan Child Support Association has to say about Blue Lock! Spoiler Alert: It’s not good

How the Japanese Football Association is Breaking Your Wallet!

Kumode was right. Blue Lock isn’t popular at all with the media. There are some articles that express hope in the JFA or are neutral about the program itself but mostly, journalists are skeptical of Blue Lock, its ethical values, and how much money they use. 

A chill crawls down your spine like the creepy-crawly feeling of a spider. If the press keeps this up then…

You would be out of an internship. And you would be back in Kaneshiro. Never raising your hand in class, failing exams, being chastised by your classmates, and watching the sunset on the rooftop of your school. What a horrible-sounding future.

This essay better be the most goddamn eloquent thing you have ever written if you want to stay here.

Thanks to your speedy transfer skills, Team Z has rewatched the Team V. vs Team Y match countless times until they have pinpointed an excellent strategy to counter their opponent's weapons. 

The player to watch out for on Team Y is Number 9. Not only is he the only player that attempted any goals against Team V, but he is also the top scorer in the Kumamoto Prefecture, according to Kuon at least.

His dyed blonde mohawk may serve as a benefit to your team; at least his bright hair will be extremely noticeable on the playing field so Team Z can successfully block his passes. 

But then you realize that Chigiri, Raichi, Kunigami, and Gagamaru are complete sitting ducks if one were to judge “noticeability” based on hair colors. You make a silent apology to these players in your head.

Unlike the last game, you are determined to see the other team in person. To really know what the enemy lines are like. So you follow your team to the football field with a kind of confidence you would never have if you weren’t surrounded by eleven boys like bodyguards. In your head, at least. 

Team Y begins piling out of the opposite door. Each player looks scarier than the next. They do not seem like a very friendly bunch. 

But, you think as you peek at your own team, neither does Team Z.

And it’s especially intense as this is a competition between players who have lost already. A wild animal is most desperate and dangerous when it is backed against a corner by a predator. It will risk its life to claw at eyes, snap at throats, and draw blood any way it can. Because at that point, it has nothing to lose.

To say that this game is a turning point within the First Selection is a massive understatement. 

“Huh. They don’t have a manager?” Isagi notices as the entirety of Team Y steps out of their side of the entrance. “Team X did.”

“I guess that makes us better than them, right?” Iemon says awkwardly and gives you an experimental pat on the shoulder. At least you think it’s meant to be a pat on the shoulder. The weight and strength of this guy clapping you on the back nearly topples you over.

You steady yourself and beam at the goalie with everything you can muster. Does this mean you’re actually part of the team? “Of course it does. They have to get their own water and towels, after all.”

Some boys grin a little at your joke. You hope that makes them feel a little less tense.

“I’ll watch you guys from the monitor outside, okay?” You remind everyone. “I’ll start recording this match so you guys have something to watch when you’re done.”

“You will be cheering for us, won’t you Kocho-chan?” Bachira asks sweetly.

You nod dutifully. “Of course! I’ll be Team Z’s personal cheerleader. Like in American movies.”

This makes Kunigami and Raichi choke on their own spit. You wonder why? Maybe they don’t like Western films. 

The big-screen monitor in the waiting room displays a countdown timer. 3. 2. 1. Kickoff. 

Despite your team’s lack of interest in American movies, you have a fierce sense of confidence in this game just like an actual cheerleader. 

It isn’t like last time when everyone dog-piled on each other for the ball and a chance to stand out. They’re actually working together and maximizing their weapons on the field.

Of course, your idea of sharing playing time on the field only scratched the surface of the iceberg. Kuon filled in for the spots that you were too inexperienced to know; like rotating positions clockwise and switching main “actors” in order of the ranks. Actual soccer stuff.

Not to mention Team Z is genuinely talented. Blue Lock only picks the cream of the crop high school soccer players and they are in a way different league than the average high school team. They make Kaneshiro’s football team look like a complete joke.

Sure, Team Y isn’t too shabby either. They lost zero to eight in their first game, but that was mainly because Team V is a bunch of monsters. Especially Numbers 9, 10, and 11. They completely swept Team Y and controlled the ball most of the time. It was over before it began.

Never have you been so focused on a football game before. You haven’t even been this excited during the last World Cup. 

Since he is the number one ranked player in Team Z, Bachira has the ball for the first ten minutes. He effortlessly dribbles past the first two Team Y NPCs (Is that too mean? Sorry, Team Y) and makes a mad dash for the goal. You scrunch your face in irritation when he’s forced to pass the ball when he’s cornered in a three vs one. Imagine being so bad at the game that you need three players to pin down one person. 

Wait, no. Don’t be toxic. Raichi is influencing you in a bad way. 

After giving the enemy team a hard time for ten minutes, it’s Kunigami’s turn. Just like they practiced, every player switches positions in a clockwise motion. They have perfected this maneuver so well that everyone naturally flows into place. Like rotating gears that make the whole machine run. 

But Team Z isn’t the only one that concocted a detailed strategy before the game started because Team Y blocks Kunigami’s shots like they anticipated each attack.

You groan out loud as the unspoken MVP of Team Y scores a goal in the first 20 minutes of the match. What a stupid opening!

Team Z adapts quickly. They block Number 9 continuously which prevents them from making an offense attack but it also means Team Y controls the ball for the duration of the first half of the game.

“The first half is over already?”

Unfortunately, you already know who is speaking before you look up. And you willfully ignore her.

“Silent treatment? That’s not very mature of you, Team Z.”

You finally cave and make do with glaring at Mihara, the Team X manager, from a distance. If she says something snarky about your team again, you aren’t going to take it like you did last time. 

For what feels like years, both of you just stare at the TV. It’s the fifteen-minute break, and there isn’t much to see except for an empty soccer field.

This feels too awkward. Her presence is overwhelmingly uncomfortable. Obviously, she is here to talk to you because there isn’t any point for a manager to watch a live game when there you can download the raw footage from the Blue Lock database. And you are much too shy and clammy to ask her to leave.

Of course, Mihara is the one to break the ice. “Why do you care so much about your team anyway?”

“Huh?”

“I’m asking, why do you care so much about your team?” She echoes in a dramatically slow way as if you are too stupid to understand simple Japanese. “Maybe you should stop using headphones if you are that hard of hearing.”

“No, it’s just that…I thought every manager cared about their team. Isn’t that the point?”

Mihara snorts and turns her side to the side, to hide her amused expression. Her light-brown ponytail swings back and forth, like a pendulum. “Of course, it isn’t. Don’t you remember what the letter said? The letter we got the first day we came here, in case you forgot. Managers aren’t eliminated if their team is.”

“Yes, I know what letter you are talking about.” You say stiffly. “And what kind of plan is that? Don’t you try your hardest to help your team to do their best?”

She waves you off with a single, perfectly manicured hand. “I keep track of their progress and watch their games and all that if that’s what you mean. But if they get kicked out of Blue Lock, I stay here anyway. So what’s the point?”

What’s…the point? 

You have never heard a more ridiculous question in your life.

“There’s more to life than climbing the ranks, you know.” Your turn towards the screen again. Five minutes until the game resumes. “If you don’t support your team wholeheartedly, then what is the point of being a manager? You are just a glorified data collector.”

The game has started again. After Gagamaru scores a corner kick, the Team Y goalie makes a killer punch toward the ball, sailing it across the other side of the field. Just when everything seems impossible to manage, Isagi saves the ball.

“But, maybe you’re right.” You admit. “I’m not like you guys at all. I don’t win medals on the daily. I don’t achieve merits, awards, or prizes based on how smart I am. I don’t really know how to maintain my rank.”

When Mihara smiles at how you fan the flames of her ego and extinguish the sparks of your own self-worth, your expression darkens. “But that gives me an advantage. What is it that you said on the first day? ‘I gave up a NASA internship to be here?’ The stakes are so high for you. What if you don’t make something of yourself in Blue Lock? That is just an opportunity wasted, right?”

Her coy smile twists. Mihara doesn’t say a single thing. She can’t. Because judging by how red her cheeks become and how she can’t mouth out words properly, she knows you are completely right. If she is eliminated and goes home, she loses more than a Blue Lock internship. She would have wasted all other opportunities she gave up to work for the JFA.

You lose utterly nothing. In fact, just being here in this place is more than what you bargained for. You get to go back with more than you had. They can’t.

Mihara will hate you for this but words crawl up from your throat before you have the good sense to swallow them back down.

“You better support your team any way you can. Because if you don’t, I’ll sweep your rank from under your feet when you least expect it and send you back home.”

Swish! Gagamaru crosses the distance toward the line in three long strides and sends the ball streaking into the goal in one swift motion. Goal. The score is tied 1-1.

Team Z ended up beating Team Y two to one.  

To celebrate their first victory, you use your single point to trade in a sirloin steak dinner for them. With Gagamaru and Isagi’s goal, that is three steaks in total. At the sight of you carrying another steaming tray of meat, some of the boys collectively burst into tears.

You feel like a bar girl carrying foamy mugs of whiskey to thoroughly intoxicated, yet joyful boys. 

Igarashi eyes the steak you set on the table with a sparkly, yet teary look. “The steak goddess has arrived??”

“Kocho-chaaaan,” Naruhaya sobs with his arms outstretched. “You’re a lifesaver!… Gagamaru prohibited me from—”

Gagamaru rewards his tattletaling with a bonk on the head. “That’s because you ate my share of steak. Stop eating so much, shrimp.”

“Is it really okay for you to use your bonuses like this?” Kunigami asks hesitantly as you slice the steak into workable slices. This sobers everyone up and they don’t immediately dig into the food as you anticipated. “It’s your own hard work, after all.”

The empty hole in your heart has completely disappeared for the first time in your life. What is a piece of meat worth when you actually feel…whole inside. You like them. You like them so much. “Of course it’s okay. I want to celebrate Team Z’s win. My rewards are your rewards too.” When they don’t look convinced, you add: “It’ll make me sad if there are leftovers, so eat up!”

They don’t need to be told twice.

The other sidedish table is full of delicious-looking foods. Grilled mackerel, fried chicken, stirfry, vegetables, breakfast foods…Your mouth waters just by looking at the vibrant arrangement of the finest cuisine in this godforsaken prison.

Also, there is natto and pickled radish but you don’t pay those any mind.

Everyone grabs their share of food potluck style (Naruhaya takes a lot of steak pieces and Gagamaru pins him down in a headlock and hammerlock as punishment), conversation and laughs are abuzz. You notice the pickled radish is mournfully untouched.

“Cheers!” Porcelain teacups clink against each other like pretty wind chimes. Sencha tea.

Of course, because everyone here (11 out of 12 people) is a soccer fanatic, today’s game sparks into the conversation in no time. “But how did you know to get yourself into that position?” Kunigami asks Isagi. 

You are glad you watched their game so fervently because you know exactly what they are talking about. He is referring to when the last ten minutes of the game when Isagi positioned himself in a favorable spot for Bachira to make that final pass that ultimately won them the game. You cheered and jumped around like a madwoman when you saw this goal. If Jinpachi saw you through the cameras, he would have dismissed you for lunatic behavior. 

But that is not the only time Isagi made such a detrimental play in the game. He always seems to be in the right place at the right time.

“Well, it’s not like I actually know…” Isagi admitted. “I just wanted to try the chances that the ball might be passed there…”

Bachira tries to reward him with a piece of steak which Isagi impulsively dodges. As the dribbler attempts to force-feed that chunk of meat to him, Kunigami continues. “Isagi’s weapon may be “smelling a goal”. Without him, we would have lost the match.”

Always a hero-like thing to give credit where credit is due. Kunigami is such a nice boy.

“I refuse to acknowledge that.” Raichi scoffs; a perfect paradigm of Kunigami’s polar opposite.

“But it’s true.” You point out gently. “Didn’t Isagi block that pass from Number 7 to Team Y’s MVP? He basically leashed him down the entire time.”

“I don’t listen to nerds who don’t know the difference between fouls and misconduct.” The shark teeth boy snaps. “Did you even pass the test you were studying for?”

Nerd! Did he call you a nerd? 

You can tolerate any insult; you have heard them all. But you can’t accept being called such a name. 

“One of these days, Raichi-san,” You say seriously. “I’m going to use your toothbrush to scrub the toilet.”

Some boys (you can’t tell which one, you are giggling too hard) burst out in laughter. Bachira slings an arm around your neck and grinds his knuckles into your cheek as he coos: “What happened to you Kocho-chan? Are you finally standing up for yourself now?”

You feel close, so close to everyone. Even Raichi, whose vein is popping out of his forehead. Your 11:11 wish paid off, didn’t it? “I’m trying my hardest, Bachira-kun.”

But your wish doesn’t come true entirely. A lonely, pretty, pink-haired prince charming (or perhaps damsel in distress?) sits against the wall, watching from afar. 

It’s 5:59 in the evening. After trying to find Building 1 aimlessly like a blind woman for around fifteen minutes, Naoko swooped into the rescue. 

“You don’t need to take any special corridors, you dumb-dumb. Just keep walking straight until you see the sign.” Naoko explains exasperatedly as she drags you by the arm in the right direction. 

“It’s not my fault Jinpachi Ego designed this place like a pentagon.” You grumble. “What sort of madman does that?”

“The kind of madman that is Jinpachi Ego. We’re here.”

You don’t really know what you were expecting. It’s just like any other cafeteria in this entire place. Huge spacy room with tables, chairs, and food stations. Unfamiliar players and managers alike occupy the lunch room.

“You know, you don’t have to come with me, you know.” You whisper to Naoko as you head into this foreign wonderland. “Kumode and I will just talk about essay stuff.”

“I don’t have anywhere else to sit. Plus I need to make sure that she doesn’t bully you. I’ll watch you guys from far away.”

“Like a VAR?”

“Shut up. Those soccer fanatics are getting in your head.”

After Naoko leaves you all by your lonesome, you spot Kumode in no time. Her bright red ribbon from her manager uniform is a dead giveaway in a sea of black and blue body suits. Besides her sits a girl whose face you can’t see.

For a moment, you wonder if it is even her. If it wasn’t for her distinguishing curly hair and green scrunchie, you would have mistaken her for someone else. Kumode just looks so…normal. Her legs are crossed and she rests her chin on her intercrossed hands as she and the mystery girl chatter with each other. Well, the mystery girl chatters to Kumode, who doesn’t seem to be listening. 

“Hi.”

She looks relieved at your interruption and turns to you with a  smile “Hey.”

Kumode nudges her friend who busies herself with blotting the shiny red tint on her lips in the reflection of her steel water bottle. “Miyo, introduce yourself.”

Your smile freezes painfully on your face. “M-Miyo? Mihara Miyo?”

“Yes, Miyo. From Building 5. She’s my editor. Do you know each other?”

The said girl finishes fixing her lipstick and looks up at you. Nice eyes. Glasses. Shoulder-length hair. “Oh yes, we know each other.” She says overly sweetly. “Actually, we have a very nice conversation earlier today. Didn’t we, Kocho-san?”

Why.

Is.

This.

Happening.

You wish Naoko never told you to stand up for yourself at all. Did you think you were cool or something, saying all those things to Mihara? You should have just shut your big mouth and taken whatever she gave you. The life of a doormat was much easier than having awkward confrontations with mean girls. 

Kumode doesn’t address your stiffness or Mihara’s syrupy venom. Maybe she didn’t notice or she doesn’t care.  “We can get started after we eat.” When you and Mihara don’t immediately start walking, she shoos you two away with a gentle wave of the hand. “Go get your food.”

You obey. Mainly because you only nibbled some vegetables at the Potluck and left the meat for the boys. They would need it more, you think.

Because your team’s victory bumped you into 10th place, you get an omelette-rice today. The savory smells of chicken fried rice and tomatoes waft into your face and makes your mouth water.

From the corner of your eye, you see Naoko slurping on her soup and giving you the thumbs up from a distant table in the corner. You make hearts with your fingers in response.

When you come back to the table, you notice Mihara hasn’t come back yet. With no one to talk to, Kumode sits there quietly, slicing and eating her steak. You really hope this isn’t one of those things where no one talks to you in a big group and you have to sit there agonizingly, listening to every word. 

“Where’s Miyo?”  

“I think she is still getting dinner.”

“Oh. That’s fine.”

As you slice open your omelette to reveal the gooey interior blanketing your fluffy rice, Kumode continues to speak. “Can I be honest with you?”

You blink. “I–um. Yeah.”

“I didn’t just call you two over to Building 1 just to get our essay started.” She admits guiltily. “There was also another reason.”

“Wha iv i’?” You ask with a mouthful of rice.

She fiddles with the scrunchie that bunches her hair up in a ponytail, refusing to meet your (Hungry. You are so very hungry) gaze. “I didn’t have anyone to sit with. And I thought you were nice.”

“Oh!” Nice? She thought you were nice? Kumode Kaori saw you wiping lipstick off your door like the most uncool person to ever grace the planet earth and thought you were nice? “Thank you. That’s kind of you to say.”

“And you were witty too. I know I kind of started a trend where everyone sort of bragged about themselves in orientation and that sucked. But you were modest and funny about it. That was cool.”

Your face flushes from the barrage of unexpected compliments. Nice? Funny? Cool? Is she speaking to someone else? “I-I…Thanks. You’re cool too.”

Before Kumode can say another word, Mihara slides into the empty chair next to her with a loud clatter. She eyes your omelette and beams a picture-perfect smile at you. She has a steaming bowl of udon noodle soup.

Just like before, Kumode doesn’t address the animosity between you and Mihara. “This whole Blue Lock thing is pretty weird. Have you two ever done an internship like this before?”

You shake your head just as Mihara’s eyes light up. “Actually, my community service program had to travel to Senegal this one time to build a roof for a school. The living conditions were super different but it was fun.”

Community service? Traveling? Senegal? That sounds like so much fun. You have never stepped foot out of Japan, let alone another country with such drastic cultural differences. Sigh. “That’s the country in Africa, isn’t it?”

She doesn’t even try to hide her mirthless smile. “Yes, Kocho-san. In Africa.”

“No need to get all touchy Miyo,” Kumode says simply. “No one’s competing with you here.”

Even though she still has the guts to give you one last nasty grin, Mihara doesn’t have enough to say another word. No one wants to go against Future Valedictorian Kumode. 

So, she changes the subject. “Did everyone read Teieri-san’s letter again? I did.”

You nod silently while Kumode silently chews a piece of steak. You brushed through that letter again and again like a fine-toothed comb. You analyzed that letter like a detective going through a written confession. You drank that letter in like it held the secrets to the universe.

The only thing that stood out to you was Teieri’s warning. Under no circumstances will managers reveal their own team’s ranking to people from other buildings. In short: keep your fat mouth shut about Team Z with Kumode around. 

“It doesn’t mention anything about collaborating with other managers, but it certainly doesn’t encourage it either.” She continues. “Just don’t do or say anything that can incriminate us. If you say the wrong thing, you screw things up for the rest of us.”

Mihara doesn’t mention you by name but you sneaking suspicion that she is only speaking to you. 

“I don’t really want to talk about work,” Kumode says bluntly. Mihara startles at this declaration like Kumode just kicked her dog. “Can we just talk about normal things? Until we finish eating at least?”

“O-Of course Kaori…”

You see no issue with not discussing the essay right off the bat. You don’t like to work when you are eating either. It ruins the flavor of your food. Just as long as Kumode does not ask about your team…

“What is everyone’s team like?”

.

.

.

Heh?

“Kaori-chan…” Mihara giggles nervously. “You might have forgotten, but the letter said—”

She waves her off without another word. “Yes, yes, I know what the letter said. I’m not brain-dead.”

“But—”

“But what? We are here to be soccer managers. There is literally nothing for us to talk about other than our teams. As long as you don’t reveal details, we will be fine. It isn’t cute to be uptight, Miyo.”

You wince. That’s brutal, even by your standards. Mihara mutters something indecipherable. and shrinks into her seat like she isn’t there at all. 

Kumode gives you a pointed smile. “What about you Kocho? How is your team?”

You have a horrible feeling that not answering her question will lead you to Mihara’s fate of being lampooned, or worse. If it comes down to what was written in the letter, there were only a few things that you cannot talk about, right? No details, no ranks, no weapons. That shouldn’t be so hard.

You say with the utmost carefulness: “They’re really warm and welcoming, which…I didn’t really expect. From what I can see, they are super athletic and talented. I hope they pass the First Selection.”

There. Nothing incriminating at all. Nothing Kumode says will make you reveal more than you have to. Absolutely nothing.

“Are they cute?”

Your eyes brighten and your posture straightens too from how much that single question perks you up. “Yes! They are super cute.” 

Mihara widens her eyes at your enthusiasm and sneaks a glance at her to see her reaction. To her surprise, Kumode isn’t disgusted by your topic of choice at all. She looks interested. 

“I don’t know why more managers talk about how good-looking the boys here are. They look like models!”

Kumode winces at your sudden rise in volume and you shut up immediately. She really is sensitive to loud noise, isn’t she? But she doesn’t chastise you for it and instead nods good-naturedly. “That’s very true. Lots of lookers in Building 5. Have you met Mikage Reo yet?”

“No. Is he on Team—”

And then you realize your mistake. One, you can’t ask that. Two, she won’t know. Because she is part of a whole other Building.

A cup of ice water douses your chest. That was way too close for comfort. If you didn’t catch yourself in time, you would have been fired instantly.

“What team?” Kumode asks innocently. Mihara hides her smile behind her hand.

“Ah, wait. I can’t talk about that.” You dip your head in apology. “That’s my mistake.”

“Oh! Right! I’ll do you a favor by forgetting that ever happened. Woosh! Self-induced amnesia.”

That makes you giggle into your napkin. Maybe Kumode isn’t so bad after all. Why doesn’t Naoko like her again? She seems sweet. Well, at least to you. Not so much to poor Mihara. “What about you two? Anyone that catches your eye?”

“Not really.” Mihara checks her nails uninterestedly. “I work too hard to notice things like that.”

Kumode is the one to give you a real, human response. “Everyone in Building 1 is kind of plain. Well, except for Itoshi Rin but he’s unfriendly. He is actually on my team.”

“Itoshi Rin?”

“Oh, you know Itoshi Rin. Kamakura United Youth striker? Won the championship for U-15? Has an older brother?”

You shake your head sadly. “No…”

“That’s okay. He’s actually in this cafeteria if you want to see him”

It’s embarrassing but you turn your head so fast to spot this legendary Itoshi Rin that your neck cracks a little. You’re like a dog looking for squirrels in that one movie. Squirrel! Cute boys!

Mihara looks down upon you with the most unimpressed expression one can muster. “You’re a little boy-crazy, huh Kocho-San?”

“A little…”

Kumode directs you and a bored Mihara toward a group of boys who sit at a table on the other side of the room. They seem perfectly normal at first — laughing, talking, telling stories — and then you see Itoshi Rin. It’s like a spotlight turned on and accentuating the main character of the story. 

Oh.

My.

Gosh.

Hfdeghdgsferjdfhsdkhvbjksdvbkjs??? 

He is so good-looking?? Someone like that exists in this prison facility? His lashes are so long. His hair is so silky. He looks like he is indifferent and unconcerned with everything but that makes him kind of cool too. 

He looks like the kind of guy that would pretend to be cold and distant but would offer an umbrella to a girl in the middle of a rain storm. 

(“I noticed you didn’t have an umbrella.” He would mutter. “I live close by. So take this.”

“R-really? Are you sure Itoshi-kun…It's raining so hard.”

“it's nothing to me. But don’t take this the wrong way. It’s not like I like you or—”)

And then your Imagination Theater is shattered into pieces as Itoshi Rin looks up directly at you. The sheen of his turquoise eyes is so blinding that you notice much too late that he is aware you are admiring him like he is a Greek statue. And he looks annoyed.

You rip your eyes away from him and bury your face in your folded arms. His angry glare practical burns holes into your head. 

(“Never mind. I don’t offer umbrellas to weirdos that stare at me.”)

The embarrassment sears in her cheeks so severely that it actually hurts. It hurts to be this stupid, silly, and simpy. Why are you like this…

Kumode mistakens your humiliation for flusteredness and speaks directly in the crack of your arms like she is communicating with a turtle in its shell. “I know right? And he’s also a genius football player. Can you believe it?”

The word ‘genius’ makes you ache a little (ew) but other than that, your eyes are happy. Sure, Itoshi Rin probably thinks you are a drooly clown and probably hates you now but at least your Cute Boy-O-Meter is now full. “I definitely can…”

“He’s Itoshi Sae’s younger brother, isn’t he? He is supposed to be Japan’s best player.” You hear Mihara ask. 

Who's Itoshi Sae?...

“Yes, but don’t mention that to him. He hates talking about his brother.”

It must be really difficult to be the younger sibling of a soccer sensation like Itoshi Sae, especially since Rin is competing in the same thing as him. It’s like a crazy blood feud. 

You gave up on competing with your sister a long time ago. It was like a futile mission. Like Sisyphus rolling a boulder on top of a mountain. A fundamentally impossible task. 

Kumode turns to you and your thoughts dissipate like a school of fish. “I can introduce him to you. If you introduce Mikage Reo to me.”

Your brain makes a complete reboot, with wires, electronic beeping, and flashing green numbers. The whole nine yards. Loud, blaring red sirens go off in your head. Alert! Alert! “What did you say?”

“I’m saying I can introduce you to him because I’m his team’s manager.” She drops her spoon onto the tray and makes a move to stand up. “Here, I’ll bring him over—”

“Wait! No!” You cry and pull her by the arm back down into her seat. 

Kumode jerks her hand out of your grasp so forcefully that her sleeve buttons scratch you a little. An expression of alarm and startlement paints her pretty face and for a moment, you think you deeply offended her for not asking permission to grab her like that. But then, her pinched eyebrows vanish and she is all nice and smiley again.

Did you imagine that?

“What? Are you nervous?”

“I just think…it might be weird. I don’t want to bother him.”

Without warning, Kumode grabs your face with a single hand, forcefully turning your head to the side. She inspects your features carefully, like a scientist would analyze a petri dish. Her nails pinch you a little and you have to raise your neck up to meet her grasp.

In the faraway distance of the cafeteria, someone with the initials N.N. with silver hair and disguise sunglasses gasps loudly in anger.

“You have an…above…average face. He won’t be that annoyed.” Kumode says seriously. 

“You are being too polite, Kaori-Chan…”

Just above average? And why did she say it so hesitantly? Your heart wilts a little. “That’s fine. Thanks anyway.”

“Are you sure? Rin is soooo attractive in-game though. He’s a prodigy. He’s probably the best soccer player in the whole program.”

The word ‘prodigy’ makes you wince a little (ew number two). “Is that so?”

She continues to babble about her star player. Kumode kind of sounds like a mom whose son just aced midterm finals or something. “Would two you like to know his ranking? It’s super impressive. You guys won’t tattletale, will you?”

This time, Mihara doesn’t protest against Kumode’s idea of conversation. Instead, she stays quiet with an eerie shimmer in her dark eyes. 

What is happening?

 “R-Ranking?” You blink. “That’s against the rules though…We might—”

“We won’t if both of us keep mum.” She leans closer to you, so close that you can see gold specks drift in her green eyes like an emerald kaleidoscope. They float around in her irises, like tiny minnows swimming in a glass bowl. “Doesn’t that sound nice? A little secret just between the three of us!”

 If you reveal your soccer team’s position and ranking to managers or players from other stratums, you will promptly be let go. 

“I-I…” You shake your head. “I’m sorry. I don’t want you to get in trouble so it’s okay. Thank you for asking.”

Kumode probably thinks you are so uncool now. A real stickler for rules.

“Awwww…you’re no fun.” She pouts and rests her head in her crossed arms on top of the table. “I figured you would want to know since you keep looking at my emblem.”

“Your emblem?”

“I don’t know what the other managers call it. Crest? ID? Token?” Kumode taps on the little pentagon badge adorning her left shoulder. “This.”

“Oh! Your badge.” Your face warms. “I didn’t mean to stare…It’s just that Naoko-chan pointed out that when managers interact with people from other buildings, the team ranks on the badge disappear.”

Kumode’s smile falters and her eyes narrow the teensiest bit. “Is that so?”

Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. You don’t know why you wouldn't have but her reaction was a little unsavory. Sitting with smart people sure is a pain. Especially since they could run circles around you without you even noticing.

“I never noticed that.” Mihara frowns at her own badge. “Why do they disappear?”

“I don’t really know…”

“You must know. You’re friends with Nakamura, right? She must have told you something useful.”

“She really didn’t. I’m—”

“C’mon, don’t be stingy with info. Spit it out, Kocho.”

“Miyo, would you just shut up for once?” Kumode tilts her head to one side. “You are so loud. It’s a wonder my ears haven’t started bleeding yet.”

She says this in a perfectly mild and gentle tone but her words splinter into tiny, bloody barbs that sink into the flesh slowly. It is so utterly ruthless yet tender that it makes you squirm in your seat. Mihara squeaks in terror and looks down at the table. You can’t blame her; making eye contact with Kumode would surely leave her eyes bleeding.

The conversation awkwardly dissipates as everyone returns to their food. You never thought Kumode would be so willing to share such private information so easily with you. Not to mention how mean she has been to Mihara the entire time. Sure, Mihara hasn’t exactly been friendly to you but it pales in comparison to how Kumode bites her every other sentence.

She doesn’t bite like a dog, no. She bites like a venomous spider: it feels like a pinprick at first but the sting slowly starts to fester over time until it becomes agonizing.

You don’t really like it at all. It reminds you of Kei and Haruka all over again. No one deserves to be scorned at, no matter how annoying they are. 

“Can I see what you have written so far?” Kumode finally asks. You nod slowly and wordlessly pass over your laptop. The first thing that comes up after you use your fingerprint ID is the default documents app the Blue Lock computers came with already.

Her voice is different now. Earlier, when you two gushed over the soccer players together, she sounded girlish. A little immature. Just like you. But now, her voice is distantly cold and soft. It’s very much the kind of tone people use when they want to appear unassuming, yet dangerous. 

You need to know the kind of person Kumode Kaori is. She is not nice at all. Naoko had told you before. You doubted her at first, but now you aren’t sure anymore.

She starts reading your drafts. It’s mostly just a jumble of random brainstorms with random bullet points, comments, and websites that you have linked for yourself. You remind yourself to share your writing with Naoko after.

Kumode finishes reading fairly quickly and passes it to you. “This isn’t bad. Just make the pacing better and make it an actual draft. Do you have someone editing for you?”

“Yes. Naoko is editing for me but—”

“Nakamura? She’s a good choice. Maybe you can bring her next time.”

You shrug in response. You don’t really have the heart to tell Kumode that Naoko would rather jump in front of a moving train than eat dinner with her. 

“And Mihara, you are checking for Kumode, right?” You ask quietly in an attempt to include her in the conversation. You try to match her professional tone. It doesn’t work very well and you just sound like a mouse.

“Yes.” Is all she says. Welp. You tried. 

“Let’s try to finish our work before the Second Selection starts.” Kumode continues. “And then we can show it to Jinpachi and get it approved before we release it to the public.”

There is no ‘does that work for you?’ or ‘sound good?’ Just words explaining what is to come. 

Even after having dinner with her, you still have no idea who Kumode Kaori truly is. 

Additional Time!

• After Rea-chan’s first 95% in the Blue Lock nightly soccer exams, she pettily gave the test paper to Raichi as a gift. “I think I know the basics now.” She said cheerfully
• Mihara invited herself to eat dinner with Kumode after she became her editor. This annoyed Kumode a lot
• When Team Z argued amongst themselves on whether rice (Bachira, Kunigami, Iemon, Gagamaru, Naruhaya) or bread (Raichi, Chigiri, Imamura, Igarashi, Isagi) for breakfast, they consulted you as a tiebreaker. You admit that you hardly eat in the morning enough to have an opinion on your favorite breakfast foods. Team Rice and Team Bread turned and stared at you sadly like you were a puppy left alone in the rain. Now the first thing Kunigami asks you in the morning is if you have eaten yet.

Chapter Text

The workload as a manager has been lessened the tiniest bit. The daily exams are much easier now. Whether it is because you actually understand soccer well enough to do well or because Jinpachi Ego made the questions easier, you don’t really know.

That isn’t to say things have become relaxing now or anything. You still have to write detailed reports every night on the progress of your team. You still keep track of data, wash and dry their clothes, download game footage, keep track of the tourney diagrams, and watch old soccer games over and over again until you become physically ill. 

But on top of all of that, you write. You scribble ideas into your little Blue Lock notebook and transcribe those brainstorms into real documents on your laptop. 

The Pentagon Pamphets is the name of the collective essays you and Kumode will compile together. It’s a clever name she came up with. The ‘pentagon’ is an obvious choice: it is the shape of the Blue Lock facility and is the quintessential design on soccer balls. It’s short, classy, and most importantly “memorable to the average eye”, as Kumode pointed out.

In a way, that is what the Blue Lock essays are about. It gives everyone outside of this program a tiny window to peer into, quelling their own curiosity about this mysterious football program.

Kumode, a top student in her school’s business and economics program, handles the explanation of why Blue Lock isn’t a major expenditure the JFA wastes and instead, is a net positive for the JFA and Japan as a whole.

Her section is essentially a whole bunch of econ jargon that you couldn’t understand even if you tried.

If Kumode is the ethos and logos, then you are undoubtedly the pathos. As she appeals to the big shots and big wigs, you appeal to the general population that does not know much about the JFA or Blue Lock that may be concerned about the boys inside. 

Are they happy there? Do they eat properly? Won’t they miss their family? What happens to their education when someone gets eliminated?

The first three questions are easy to answer. 

Well, they are mostly happy because they are striving to make their dreams come true. Yes, they eat perfectly fine, in fact, it's the managers you need to be worried about. Yes, of course, they miss their family but communications with the outside world are used as rewards to encourage them even further. But the last question is a difficult one. 

What happens to their education? After all, they would have missed weeks of school. Maybe months. And it isn’t as if Blue Lock is happening over summer break, in fact, fall is nearly ending. Right now is peak midterm season. 

Ugh. You will have to work on that part of the essay. For now, you write about your personal experiences, reassure common concerns, and shoot for the traditional Japanese ku wa raku no tane perspective of things. Isn’t this culture about working hard, so hard that they spit blood? Well, here it is, Blue Lock at its finest. 

Speaking of ku wa raku no tane, your manager rank improves a little even after only achieving the third-best score in the daily exams. Now you have another point and a new and improved rank of 9th place to show. 

At first, you celebrated, thinking it was because Jinpachi or Teieri believed you had been rapidly improving in data input or report summaries. Maybe your rank got boosted because of Team Z’s win against Team Y? But you soon learn it is because a manager of a higher rank than you has been eliminated. 

Because Building 5 is right next to the main exit, you heard the rumble of rolling suitcase wheels and soft crying at around 12 AM. You desperately want to open the door to see who it is but you realize last second that kind of behavior is distasteful.

And just like that, your tablet notifies you the next morning that the first ever manager to be eliminated from Blue Lock was Suko Saki from Building 2 for reasons unspecified. 

Jinpachi is absolutely ruthless. Public humiliation after being let go from the JFA? That man sure knew how to rub salt in the wound.

This gave you a burst of energy. It reminded you that eliminations are real and closer than you think. So you write. A lot.

It was like you were possessed by some kind of ghost. All of last night, you typed on your laptop in a literary fever. You wrote down every single grievance the media had with Blue Lock and brainstormed all kinds of ways to refute those claims. 

What you are trying to say is that you only got two hours of sleep. 

“Kocho-chan, you okay?” Imamura waves a hand over your face which snaps you from your sleepy stupor. “You were barely awake during warmups today.”

You rub your eyes, wiping away all the tired tears that wet your lashes. “I’m…I’m—” You barely suppress the nth yawn that threatens to creep up your throat. “Fine. I’m fine.”

Damn. You thought watching them practice would wake you up some more but the bright lights, the fresh smell of grass, and the distant sounds of laughter just made you more sleepy. It didn’t help that the boys decided to use their break sitting around in a circle around you. You could have hidden your eye bags a little better.

“Oh. I know why you’re tired.” Gagamaru realizes. This wakes you up a little as Gagamaru has said a total of maybe five words to you before. “You heard the ghost last night. Didn’t you?”

Ghost?

Naruhaya looks disgusted at Gagamaru’s theory. “What ghost? Don’t tell me Igaguri has been rubbing off of you…”

“Shut up Naruhaya. You guys didn’t hear the freaking crying last night?” Igarashi crouches down to your level and grabs him by the arm. “I heard before the JFA started Blue Lock, this place used to be a mental asylum. From the ’60s or something. You know what that means?”

“Fuck outta here with your stupid shit.” Raichi groans. “This conversation is so dumb.”

“I heard crying.” Gagamaru agrees solemnly. You can’t tell if he is being truthful or if he is trying to rile everyone up even more. “I also heard a low noise. Like something being dragged.”

Igarashi looks like the most excited he has ever been since he came here. “I’m telling you guys. It’s a ghost. My dad is a shaman so he does exorcisms and stuff so I would know—”

Gagamaru bobs his head in robotic agreement. “It must be a poltergeist. That would explain the dragging sound.”

“I heard crying too.” Sweet, susceptible Isagi blanches. His bright blue eyes widen a little as he mumbles: “I thought it was just Kocho-san or something…”

You stammer and splutter at this allegation: “H-huh? Why would it be me?”

“You were crying last night Kocho-chan?” Bachira tugs the corner of your sleeve while giving you concerned puppy-dog eyes. “What for?”

“It was a ghost, I swear! The dragging sound Gagamaru mentioned was probably its ghostly chains or some shit!”

“I can’t believe this shithole place is actually haunted…”

Dragging? Crying? Haunted? Ghost? Last night?

Oh my gosh. These idiots. They are talking about Suko Saki who was just eliminated. 

Raichi sucks down the rest of his water bottle and intelligently walks away, muttering about how his team is full of morons. You can’t blame him anymore.

“We need to exorcise it.” Gagamaru suggests seriously. “One of us needs to make ofuda. And then we need to borrow some salt from the cafeteria.”

“Some pepper too,” Igarashi adds stupidly. “In case the ghost tries anything.”

Kuon looks like he is suffering physically from how quickly (and weirdly) this conversation escalated. “Are you making a meal? Why do you need pepper?”

As Gagamaru and Naruhaya start arguing over what spices can be used to hurt the ghost (So far, they added MSG, cinnamon, and bonito flakes to the list), Igarashi rambles about all the ghost hunting his family did back at the temple, Isagi ponders fearfully over whether ghosts are real or not, Bachira pesters you about whether you have been sleeping enough or not, and Raichi looks like he is about to hang himself with a towel, you decide to end the conversation.

“Um. You guys.” You raise your hand timidly. “I-It wasn’t a ghost.”

“So it was you!” Bachira accuses. 

“N-no! It was…It was a manager from Building 2. She got eliminated. She had to pass our building to go through the exit and she was crying. And carrying a suitcase.”

.

.

.

.

.

Gagamaru and Igarashi’s shared brain cell explodes. 

“Managers can be eliminated?” Imamura asks in a quiet voice.

You nod and show everyone your ranking tablet like you are a little kid at show and tell. The team follows suit and sits criss-cross applesauce in a neat circle. “The last ranking manager is eliminated every three days. The elimination process stops until the First Selection ends. And that takes nine days. So two more managers will be kicked out by the end of this week.”

The boys are stunned silent. No one says anything for a long time.

“And you are only number nine in the ranking list out of 14,” Kunigami says matter-of-factly. “And more managers need to be eliminated.”

You nod again. “Even more later, I bet.”

Naruhaya remarks soberly: “Somehow, that’s even scarier than the crying ghost girl story.”

The next match is Team Z vs. Team W. 

Kuon is bathing or something so Iemon has taken over summarizing game footage. If Kuon is Team Z’s mom, then Iemon is no doubt the dad. He is usually the one to break up fights, stay later in practice to help you put away cones, and chastise others for not showing up to meetings on time. 

“...But they got the better of Barou’s Team X, who beat us 5-1. We should consider them stronger than us.”

Ha! You felt pretty mean about this but you were very smug when Mihara’s team lost to Team W. 

“Well, we are Team Z after all.” Naruhaya pipes up. “What is their playing style like?”

Yes! It’s your time to shine. Iemon gives you a thumbs-up and passes you the slideshow clicker.

“I am so glad you asked Naruhaya.” You say cheerfully as you skid to a halt in front of the television. “The top two scorers of Team W are these two.”

Click! Two nearly identical figures pop up on the screen. One happy, one angry. One is creepy and the other one is creepy too.

Unbeknownst to you, Chigiri blinks in surprise.

“These two are the Wanima brothers. Their playing style is a super coordinated of combination plays. It’s almost as if they are telepathic.”

The next slide show is a clip of the Wanima brothers completely juking a player on Team X with a series of seemingly random passes that the other brother anticipates perfectly. It looks almost like a staged performance. 

“These two scored all four points in their game against Barou’s team. Their distance perception, timing for…” You briefly forget your script for a moment. “...initiating moves, and extraordinary passes to each other seem to be their main weapons.”

“But just to each other, right?” Isagi asks. “Then…”

You grin. Not just because Isagi guessed the strategy immediately but also because you managed to present in front of your team with no major slip-ups. Explaining soccer things to a group of soccer players is a formidable achievement. “Ding, ding, ding, Isagi-kun! We split these mofos up.”

“Who put you in charge?” Raichi complains. “Isn’t Kuon supposed to be the coach?”

You press your mouth into a firm, straight line. “Well, any of you could have led the meeting if you had come to the game footage viewing last night. Where did you guys go?”

No one says a single thing and avoids your stern glare. Imamura whistles and twiddles his thumbs innocently.

Oh yeah, that’s right. All of these esteemed athletes went straight to bed at 10 PM. 

The door slams open which wakes Bachira up from his half-awake state. That boy keeps falling asleep in every single meeting. Maybe you need to get him some coffee or something beforehand. “Welcome back coach…”

Kuon’s face is a little red and his walking is completely disorientated. You frown at how out of it he looks. “Are you okay? It’s not good to stay under the shower for too long.”

“Yes, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, I lost track of time when  thinking about what to call today’s operation…”

“Don’t die in there or we will be down to ten players, idiot!” Igarashi calls out.

Hehe. The boy who thought a poor ex-manager was a ghost just because she was crying at night has the nerve to call someone else an idiot. Heh. 

“That’s okay, we’ll just have Kocho-chan play on defense the whole time, yeah?” 

You sweatdrop at this suggestion. Team Z would definitely have to go home if that were the case. All you can think of is you trying a slide tackle and falling on your face. For heaven’s sake, you haven’t even touched a soccer ball since elementary school gym class.

“Don’t look so worried Kocho-chan, we can train you.” Bachira teases.

Kunigami rolls his eyes. “Look at her; she’s terrified. Don’t scare her anymore.”

Kuon breaks the conversation (thank god, imagining yourself in a bodysuit and a blue jersey is torture. If the ball were to hit your chest, your boobs would deflate) and brings up Operation: Next Up It’s Me, Nine, the plan that the three of you conjured up last night during the footage viewing. Basically, it’s the same strategy as last time except players are put into groups of three at a time at thirty-minute durations so weapons can be used more effectively and no one’s playing time goes to waste. 

“We’ll call it Operation: Southern All Stars!”

Oh, dear. Kuon…

“That’s so lame. You took so long in the bath just for that?” Igarashi states this in a matter-of-fact way. The fact that Igarashi says correct things only 2% of the time, and the fact that he is right in this instance speaks volumes. And Kuon knows it too.

Raichi grumbles: “At least Soup was less shit.” He then adds: “Don’t look at me like that, nerd” when you give him an astonished sparkly-eyed expression. Maybe the shark tooth boy isn’t so bad after all.

It’s game day. The actual Team Z vs. Team W match.

Sure, the real part of soccer is shooting goals and tallying up points but the unseen part of this sport is the emotional warfare that happens behind the scene. Crushing the opponent’s nerves and scaring them so much that it affects their gameplay.

This is a fancy way of saying that you are going to stay on the field for the entire duration of the game. 

Well, on the outskirts. Obviously. You aren’t going to be running around like a referee. More like…an actual manager or coach who just saunters around outside the field, watching the game from up close. 

Ahuhuhuhu. With your very presence, Team W will sense the eminent bloodlust and unity cascading off your team. The pinnacle of tactical intimidation.

Unfortunately, they have the same idea.

“Hello, Kocho.” The Team W manager sniffs.

“Hello, Yamada-san.” You say politely. “Watching the game up close today?”

“Yes, of course. You?”

“Mmhm.”

(“What a boring conversation.” Igarashi whisper- shouts to Imamura. “Are all managers like this?”

“Stupid Igaguri. Can’t you feel it? Everything about their conversation is toxic. They’re arguing with their eyes!”

“Women are scary….!”)

You and Yamada stare into each other’s eyes while smiling back at each other in poisonous courtesy. Black ink swirls in both of your eyes. 

Are you ready to lose, genius?

Nope. I’m here to watch your spectacular fail up close.

Don’t get too cocky now Kocho. Failure is reserved for doormats like you.

Bold words coming from someone that will go home by the end of this week.

“Kickoff!” The recorded sound of a whistle blast from the speakers. 

The game starts now. Team W gets to control the ball first because the monitor randomly selects a team to kick first. Unlucky.

Just as predicted, the Wanima brothers pass the ball between themselves, ignoring their other teammates. Kuon had prepared a counterattack for this: some sort of defensive position which can allow Team Z to steal the ball from…

Did they just swerve around all the defense?

The twins pass the ball to each other in a zigzag fashion, seemingly at random. It’s nearly impossible to locate the ball with how fast they kick it to each other. 

“Our weapon is eye contact!” One of them cackles. It must be the younger brother because the older Wanima twin has alligator eyebrows. “Not something a makeshift defense can see through!”

Like they did with the others, they avoid Chigiri in a series of neat passes and quick evasions, but they also say something to him. Something that makes Chigiri grit his teeth and spins around toward the twin strikers, reacting at a speed you have never seen before.

“They used to be teammates, you know. The brothers and that Chigiri Hyoma.” Yamada gleefully whispers to you. “Back in middle school.”

If those creepy ass Wanima brothers bullied Chigiri before, you are going to beat them up.

Your violent thoughts dissipate as Isagi makes a perfect slide tackle, stealing the ball and making the alligator eyebrow guy fall on his face.

“What the hell? That was excessive and dangerous tackling! That should be a foul!” Yamada cries to no one in particular. “What is the VAR doing?”

“Not a foul if no one calls it.” You retort chipperly. “Nice one, Isagi-kun!”

The Team W defenders don’t seem like they are trying at all. Imamura makes a risky pass to Igarashi which would have easily been stolen by the Team W players but instead, they just follow the ball and press Igarashi. 

Another risky pass is made to Kuon who is practically surrounded by the Team W defense. There is no way anyone can make a goal here. They are just going to steal the ball back and then—

Kuon makes a monstrous vertical jump and headshots the ball straight into the goal. The enemy goalie doesn’t even react because of how fast it was. 

You have to smother your celebration yell because you read the sound of the audience can affect the players on the field. Even though you can’t make too loud of a noise, it doesn’t mean you can’t be snarky. You smile smugly in Yamada’s direction. 

The whistle blows. Kunigami easily snags the ball from a distracted Wanima brother (the alligator eyebrow one) and sends it flying to Bachira who takes off with it.

Wait. That easily? Isn’t Team W supposed to be good? Is this really the team that beat Barou’s team 4-1?

Bachira makes a brilliant high pass toward Kuon’s direction. With a single direct shot, the ball spikes into the goal yet again.

Two goals in the first twenty minutes?? Well. It is Team Z, after all. The best team in Blue Lock, in your wonderfully biased opinion.

Yamada refuses to look in your direction. Heh.

The first thirty minutes in-game as finished. The Green formation (GRN. Gagamaru, Raichi, Naruhaya. You suggested this name and everyone made fun of you for it. Sigh) goes up into offense positions, just like in practice. 

Naruhaya controls the ball deliberately with Gagamaru and Raichi by his side. Everything goes smoothly until…

Mr. Alligator Eyebrows grabs poor Naru-chan by the shoulder which sends him crashing to the ground in a tumble.

“Boo!” You yell out with your hands cupped around your mouth. “Is this soccer or rugby?”

The pre-recorded whistle blows. The speaker crackles before a gentle-sounding woman announces: “Foul. By Junichi Wanima.”

“That’s so stupid! We’re allowing flopping now?” Yamada moans. Before you can give her the meanest glare you can muster (Really? Flopping? How the hell was that flopping, you uneducated—), the penalty kick begins. 

Bachira makes a perfect arched kick in Kuon’s direction who bonks the ball back into the goal with another headshot. Three times? A hat trick??

The 45 minutes in halftime is up. Both managers split ways to organize towels and water bottles.

Three points ahead! There is no way Team Z can lose now unless they really throw. 

Imamura’s eyes water. “Helping us recover at half-time? Are you spoiling us Kocho-chan?”

“Of course, I am, with how far ahead you are!” You can’t stop yourself from gushing. If passing out towels and water bottles as the boys line up for the locker room would incite them to do as well as they are now, you will attend every single game of theirs. “Three points at half-time? I mean, we have this in the bag don’t we?”

As you deliver the last towel and bottle to Iemon, he pauses for a second. “You know, you can come inside.” He says stiffly. “It’s not as if we are changing or anything. We mostly just discuss the game. So if you want…”

“H-Huh?” Your old habit returns as you press your hands to your fire-hot cheeks to cool them down. Inside? The changing room? Where…changing happens?

“I…well…This is—” 

You end up declining on the pretense the guys might not feel comfortable with it when in reality you are afraid you will pass out and die from embarrassment. 

Is Yamada going inside the locker room?

As you look up to check, she gives you a scornful smile before she steps off the field. Not at all the kind of expression someone makes when they are behind three points. In fact, none of the Team W players seem all that worried either.

Huh.

 You don’t have that much of a good feeling anymore.

“They’re planning something.” You ramble feverishly. Your team walks awfully fast, so fast that you practically have to jog to catch up with them. “I can feel it. There must be a reason why their defense was so weak. Don’t you guys feel it too?”

“You got all that from a smile?” Kunigami asks carefully. The screen flashes with a bold Team Z, indicating that your team starts with the ball first. 

You puff your cheeks out in irritation. “It’s intuition, okay? They are up to no good. I just know.”

Naruhaya gives you a cheeky smile. “You’ll feel better once we’re up ahead by four points.” 

You know it sounds stupid. And far-fetched. But surely your opinion counts for at least something. Does no one else think Team W is…going easy on them for some reason? 

Regular people are just like judges at debate tournaments. No evidence, no good. 

Kunigami notices your upset expression and nudges you with his elbow. “We’ll be careful. Okay? Don’t worry so much.”

Your shoulders sag in defeat. “Okay.”

The kickoff starts. Formation GRN still have a little bit of their thirty minutes left so Naruhaya and Raichi control the ball, nearly all the way until the halfway line. When Mr. Alligator Eyebrows comes in with the shoulder charge, Raichi dodges out of the way with the ball in possession. Maybe you will get to see a ‘sexy soccer’. 

Your team sure is cool. Even with three points ahead of Team W, they are still hungry for goals. They never intended on stalling for an easy game. 

However, after passing the ball back to Kuon, Wanima snags the ball when he isn’t paying attention and takes off, much to Raichi’s outrage and dismay. 

Wait. That’s dangerous.

The last time Team Z got the ball back was because of Isagi’s slide tackle. Without it, the Wanima brothers would have controlled the ball the entire time with their tactical passes. 

The twins swerve around Isagi and Chigiri with ease and send the ball flying past Iemon. Goal.

You sneak a peek at Yamada who stands next to you with her arms crossed. That smile never left her face.

Team Z starts slipping up after that. Kuon sends a weak pass toward Isagi which the twins easily intercept. That simple mistake turns into another goal for Team W. 

It’s 2-3 now. Just one more slip-up and they catch up.

Your uneasy feeling becomes stronger.

Your attention turns toward your team. Raichi shouts at Kuon for costing the team two goals as Kuon prostrates himself in the dogeza position. The others try calming Raichi down before Kunigami pulls Kuon to his feet. Tension settles into the team like a thick, musty fog. 

Kuon’s distraction from the ball and weak passes remind you of something. They remind you of how the Wanima brothers played at the start of the game. The older brother also lost the ball to Kunigami because his head wasn’t in the game. The other Team W players didn’t even bother stealing the ball from Imamura or Igarashi. 

Huh.

A new thirty minutes have started for the BIK (Or KIB) formation, with Bachira, Isagi, and Kunigami. They dash in front of the goal, alternating the ball between the three of them but…

As if they saw through the Team Z combination play, the Team W defense pressured Kunigami and Bachira to the maximum and stole the ball right under Isagi’s feet.

Yamada hums a little tune to herself as the Wanima brothers run back toward their half-line. They score. 3-3.

“You…” 

She turns to you with a twisted-looking smile. “Yes, Kocho-san?”

“How did your team know what to do and at what time? That’s…that’s…”

How the hell did they read us so perfectly?

Team W’s leniency. The hat-trick goals. The missed passes. The mistakes. Yamada’s grin. 

It can’t be. It isn’t possible. But it is possible, isn’t it? That’s the only reasonable explanation you can come up with as to how quickly the tables have turned. 

“Who betrayed us, Yamada?”

.

.

.

The whistle blows and Yamada applauds you.

“I thought you would never figure it out Kocho! I was nearly jumping out of my skin to tell you earlier~” She clutches you by the arm in a painful grasp and points across the field with a single finger. “That’s your Brutus right there.”

Kuon.

Kuon, who called you Ms. Manager every day. Kuon, who helped you study for football exams. Kuon, who helped come up with strategies with you.

There is a Kuon-sized hollow in your heart. And it hurts.

Isagi seems to have figured it out too. He stands in front of Kuon with the rest of the team with a dark expression on his face that you have never seen him, kind, mellow, unassuming Isagi, have before. 

Et Tu?

“The game is ours, Kocho!” Yamada says sweetly. Her fingernails dig through your white cloth sleeve and into your skin. “I hope you enjoyed those three points when it lasted.”

There are many kinds of people in this world. William Shakespeare categorized people into three categories: Those that are born great, those that achieve greatness, and others that have greatness thrust upon them. 

Of course, he forgot the fourth kind: people who steal greatness from others.

Kuon willingly sacrificed the dreams of 10 other people just to advance to the Second Selection; a trial he doesn’t even know whether he would pass. Ego can be a scary thing. It hasn’t really occurred to you how many could fight tooth and claw for a speck of their ambitions to come true.

You might not understand because you don’t really have a dream to fight towards.

Unlike others, you don’t know what to major in for university. You don’t know what university you even want to go to. Your future is a big question mark. 

But not for the boys in Blue Lock. They want to play soccer professionally. That may sound impossible, just from an outside perspective but here they are, killing each other’s dreams for their own.

On that green grass field, their dreams can shatter at any second. It’s a gamble. It’s a slot machine. Can they become the greatest striker in the world or will they become nothing at all?

And here you are, without so much so as a trace of a dream to be found. People like you stay nothing: the wonderfully forgotten fifth category. People who never become great at all.

How can I help the team the best I can? This is the only thought that runs through your head as you watch your beloved team fight against Team W with only ten players. How can I help them succeed?

You may be nothing at all, but you aren’t stupid despite what others may think. The answer comes easily to you. 

The game continues.

Iemon blocks a goal that one of the Wanima brothers strikes. It barely scrapes past the post and rolls back onto the field It’s still in play. 

There are only ten minutes left. With the score being 4-3, there’s little chance for Team Z to turn the game around.

Five minutes. 

Your team smells desperate. Running around aimlessly, half-baked formations with one player gone, overlapped commands…

Time runs out. But three additional minutes are given; probably because of the wasted time from Wanima’s foul. Will it help?

“It’s okay, Kocho.” Yamada hums. You can barely hear her over the sound of your blood rushing in your ears. “If your team is eliminated, you won’t be. You can stay here for a little longer and leave with an honorary ribbon. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

Two minutes on the dot. Isagi saves the ball from leaving the touchline. He’s completely surrounded by defenders.

One minute. The game is basically over.

Until it isn’t. A single, racing panther with razor-sharp claws and fangs bounds from the jungle in a burst of flying grass and spray of dirt.

.

.

.

.

“Chigiri-kun?”

The playing field turns into a rainforest. The fluorescent light panels in the ceiling become the warm rays of the sun. The other strikers are nothing more than the useless capybara and toucans watching The Hunt aimlessly. He sprints across the wilderness at a speed he has never displayed before, evading forestry, streams, and animals like second nature. The panther turns into a magenta blur—like a smear of oil paint on a thin-wash canvas. 

Tunnel vision. An endless revolution of meaningless colors, shapes, and sounds. The rhythmic pace of charging across the ground matches his heartbeat. The square fraction of space where the human eye has perfect focus is zeroed onto the target.

Once more…I will dream.

Chigiri leaps into the air like a leopard pouncing on prey. Wanima Keisuke screams something completely incoherent. The goalie overestimates the trajectory and slides beneath him. The pentagon-printed ball is right where it needs to be. 

Slide. Swish. Bang.

Whistle. 4-4.

Is this…real life? Did Chigiri really score a goal at the last minute of the game? 

It’s tied. Your team didn’t lose. It’s tied. It’s tied. 

One second, you are beyond the touching lines, watching the ball sail into the goal, and in the next, you are flying across the field to freak out with your teammates. 

You don’t realize you are screaming in joy until your throat starts hurting and everyone else’s yells and shouts of celebration become louder because holy shit, Team Z didn’t lose and you have another chance to win this thing. 

For the longest time, you haven’t felt this excited about anything. But the drive, the adrenaline, and the blood rushing in your veins jumpstarted your emotions. It feels so good. 

Someone is lifting you around the waist and shrieking like a girl in your ear. You are laughing way too hard to care. Is this what winning feels like? Is this what barely surviving in a game feels like? It almost feels better than just sweeping the game and winning. It’s not about the trophy, it’s not about winning, it’s about the pure, unadulterated exhilaration. 

“YOU ARE OUR SAVIOR, YOUNG LADY!” Igarashi roars as he latches an arm around Chigiri’s neck, threatening to topple the pretty, young maiden off balance. 

As he jerks Igarashi’s grip off his shoulder, you babble: “You were so—” You flail your hands around. “—freaking fast! Is that your weapon?”

Chigiri laughs the prettiest melodious laugh that you have ever heard—like sweet bell chimes ringing in the wind. You have a feeling that such a lovely sound won’t be heard often so you savor every second of it. “Yeah. I guess.”

“Were you hiding it? Is that why you didn’t want to follow my training plan?”

You had meant this in a genuinely curious way. Maybe he just wanted to keep his speed a secret and use it in later games or something. But then his grin falters and your heart cracks a little. No. No! This isn’t the time for sentimental apologies!

“Listen, about that…I’m—”

“Shhh!” You hold a single finger in front of his face. Maybe if you were brave enough, you would press it on his mouth but alas. “You are not allowed to be guilty right now! You tied the game, after all.”

His abashed expression is replaced with that of a gentle smile. This is so unlike the moody, stubborn Chigiri that it takes you aback. His soft facial features and long lashes are more fitting for a shy smile, you have come to realize. “Thanks, Kocho.”

The Wish Commission never fails. 

Mostly never, you think as you trail your gaze over to Kuon, who is being stomped on by the Team W strikers. You wince as he takes a direct tramp to the face. Even though he betrayed your friends, his team, and your trust, you can’t help but feel…

Stop that. This isn’t your pity to feel. It is all up to your team. 

It is a very strange feeling. Having such an exponential rush of pure euphoria immediately followed by a gross, sticky sensation that clings to your heartstrings like tar. You hate it. To the point where you want to reach a hand inside your chest to scrape it off like it’s nothing algae sticking to a glass tank.

In a way, it sobers you up. Why did Kuon betray you? Did he not think Team Z had a shot at winning? Was passing the first selection really that much more important than his friends’ trust in him?

Your sad feelings are only accentuated as Isagi and Kunigami defend him in front of Team W, who mirrors their reaction with spite and malice. He was so well-loved in Team Z. Even now, he still is. What you wouldn’t give to have that kind of devotion and friendship in your life. 

How miserable you feel as you watch Kuon tear off toward the exit. What a nostalgic, wretched feeling it is. Suddenly, it becomes terribly cold in the field pitch.

“Hey.” Chigiri nudges you. “It’s okay. Kunigami handled it fine.”

“Yeah but…” You trail off. 

“But?”

You swallow thickly. “Why? Why did Kuon do that? I thought…I thought he was our friend.”

To your surprise, Chigiri doesn’t scowl or talk badly about him for his downright unforgivable, backhanded actions that put the whole team at risk. He only shrugs a little. “Soccer players are assholes.” He tells you gently. “Myself included.”

“Don’t be so impressionable, Kocho. Things like this happen more than you think.”

Additional Time! Bonus episode—Yesterday

“....and that’s the wrap on Team Z everyone. From the past games, we can see that their defense is weak. Their offense isn’t bad but it’s straightforward and easy to counter.” Mikage announces sharply. 

He presses the power button just as one of the taller players on the television headbutts a direct shot into the goal during a penalty kick. “Dismissed.”

His team obediently stands up from the ground of the video footage room. They are pretty responsible; mostly everyone on Team V listens to his presentation attentively and asks questions at the right time. Except for two people.

“Whatever Reo,” Nagi mumbles miserably. He hugs his legs to his chest and rests his chin on top of his knees, rocking back and forth like a sleepy child. “Is this meeting even necessary? 

“Of course it is Nagi. It’s not enough that we fully exploit the limitations of our own skills, we also need to know how to mold the advantages of the enemy team in an uncompromising strategy.” Zentetsu says all this very fast and neatly finishes with a push of his glasses onto his nose bridge. “Was that right?”

“Mostly, you half-wit megane.” Reo drops the wireless presentation clicker to the ground mindlessly before stretching his arms out in a yawn. “We worked hard today. Let’s get some sleep, yeah?”

They did in fact work hard today. Even after their easy victory against Team Y (8-0. Yeesh. That’s insane, even for him), they never once let their guard down and trained like there was no tomorrow. Then they beat Team W five to one. Then Team X five to two. And now they will defeat Team Z. There is no rest for the weary.

“Wait. Reo.” Nagi grabs Mikage’s leg just as he passes by to leave. “The TV.”

Mikage glances up and sees the monitor flashing still. He must have turned it on by accident when he dropped the clicker. “Oops.”

He must have royally fucked up the remote or something because the footage fast-forwarded itself to when Team Z tied itself with the Wanima brothers last second. A feat to be sure, but not an impressive one. 

“Reo. Who’s that?”

Mikage follows Nagi’s finger to the TV. There is an unfamiliar figure celebrating with Team Z in the middle of the field. They are not a player, as they don’t wear a jersey. In fact, they seem to be wearing a schoolgirl’s uniform. 

“A girl?” Zentetsu mumbles to himself. “I didn’t know Blue Lock is a joint soccer program.”

Mikage is quick to correct him. Despite his appearance, Zentetsu is no genius. “It’s not, idiot. That’s Team Z’s manager.”

Now both of his friends’ attention is directed toward him. “Manager?”

Mikage’s friends are brilliant. Don’t get him wrong; they are really talented and have loads of potential. But sometimes they are not the brightest. “You know the girls that walk around in skirts and stuff around the building? They’re managers for the other teams.”

Zentetsu says earnestly: “I thought they were reporters.” just as Nagi asks: “What do they do?”

“I don’t really know. Our high school soccer team was new, so we didn’t have one.”

Nagi’s eyes trail back to the television again. “She’s passing out water and towels. And hugging everyone.”

And yep. The Team Z manager is doing just that. She also seems to be crying from joy. 

“They do chores…right? Like cleaning up. Bringing stuff to players? Massages?”

Mikage gives Nagi a weird look. “I guess? Why do you care so much?”

The tired boy stays quiet for a moment. “I want a team manager.”

This time, Mikage Reo voices his exasperation out loud. “Wait, why? I already clean up after you. And I give you massages. Why do you want some stranger to do it for you?”

“Yeah, Nagi. Mikage is already our team manager.” Zentetsu says seriously. “We can just ask for an extra vest and skirt and make him dress like one too.”

“No, no. It’s…It feels better when a girl does it, isn’t it?” Nagi blinks blearily at everyone. “She likes…cheers you on during games. Gives you water. Wipes the sweat off your face. She does everything for you. I won’t need to do anything at all.”

He pauses for another second before mumbling again: “I really want a manager…”

Mikage wonders if it is too late to leave the conversation.

ADDITIONAL Additional Time! Bonus Episode-After Team W vs Team Z match!

You feel absolutely exposed being the only person on the sprawling green expanse of the soccer field. 

“I-I—” Your face flushes hot with embarrassment. “Are you sure? What if…What if I—”

The planning and preparation that led up to this minute are awfully detailed for a ragtag team of soccer boys. For one, they tricked you into coming to the training field under the guise of a ‘team meeting’ which you should have realized was a lie right away. Secondly, they have somehow acquired a pair of cleats that fit you perfectly. How did they even do that? No one on the team had feet that were even close to your shoe size. 

“You got it, Kocho-chan!” Bachira cheers from the sidelines. “Don’t be afraid! Mr. Ball is your friend!”

At the same time, Kunigami kneels beside you, teaching you how to properly shoot a goal. He tenderly adjusts your ankle in the right position. “You should take a running start before you kick it. Hit the ball with the top of your shoe; where the laces are.”

Your team, the boys whom you have been so loyal to for the last two weeks, are bullying you in the worst way possible.

In sheer desperation, you turn towards the moodier members of your team. Raichi and Chigiri, the two players on Team Z who you thought would have no interest in something like this, let this all happen without a single protest.

Chigiri mutters quietly. “I’m sorry. This wasn’t my idea…”

“You can’t throw on purpose,” Raichi tells you fiercely. “Especially after that asshole, Kuon, betrayed us. Kick the shit out of the ball!”

And with those words, your only lifeline and last hope crumble into sand.

“I haven’t played sports since I was a kid.” You whisper. The last thing you could remember about physical education was when you played baseball in gym class. You always forgot when to run and when to stop running. People would scream instructions at you from the side which would make you so nervous you stopped wanting to play altogether.

Isagi offers you a thumbs-up and a gentle smile. “We won’t judge if you miss the goal. Just remember to breathe and try your best.”

You suck in the deepest breath you could possibly muster. This is your own team. They have been nothing but nice to you, even though they don’t know you at all. This is just a fun little activity they wanted you to do. There is no point in being nervous about this.

“O-Okay. I think I’m ready now.”

As usual, Iemon is the goalie. He pretends to glare at you across the field like you are a real striker trying to earn a point for the team. Most likely, he would pretend to miss and let you have a little bit of glory, which you appreciate.

The ball rests menacingly in front of you. It seems to radiate a malicious aura, taunting you for your lack of football prowess.

Wait. Wait. Bachira said the ball was your friend. You squint your eyes and try to picture a smiley face on the ball instead.

Walking in your cleats is a little strange. As you step back away from the ball, the spikes in your shoes dig into the ground which gives a little resistance every time you lift your foot up. It’s also a little snug, but the others told you that was normal. 

You are at a comfortable distance from the ball. Your team whistles and encourages you but you can barely hear it. Just try your best. No one will judge you. 

I mean, how hard can it be? Jinpachi said it himself: soccer is just about making a goal. 

Funny ball go into net. 

You take a deep breath.

And you sprint faster than you have ever sprinted in your life. The world disappears around you. The only thing that exists is you and the ball. 

Lifting your leg back, you pour every ounce of your strength into a single kick that sends the ball flying at astronomical speeds. 

You bring a hand up to block out the glaring of the floodlights above. The ball travels so fast, in fact, that you can’t see it at all. Instead of diving for the ball like you thought, Iemon blinks. You blink. The whole team blinks.

Realization strikes you like lightning. You and the rest of your team turn around to see the ball soaring in a glorious arc in the complete opposite direction of the goal.

At the worst moment possible, someone opens the gates of the arena. 

“Why the hell are you guys here?” Igarashi complains loudly as he steps onto the field. “I’ve been looking for you every—”

He notices everyone’s scared expression and glances up, just in time to see the imminent danger sailing down from the sky. His scream of pure terror is cut short as the ball smashes into his face with the speed and power of a small meteor. 

It happens so fast. One second the ball is in the air and the next, Igarashi is sprawled across the ground dead as can be with the murder weapon resting beside him on the grass.

You fall next to your poor teammate in a dogeza bow, begging him for forgiveness through your sobs. Igarashi stares at the ceiling with a glazed look in his eyes as foam comes out of his mouth. 

Your team does nothing to help. As you cradle Igarashi’s head in your lap, the other nine boys collectively descend into madness.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA”

Raichi doubles over, clutching his stomach, cackling harder than you have ever seen him laugh before in his life. Bachira kneels on the ground, hyperventilating so hard that you think he might throw up. Kunigami has to lean against the wall to steady himself as his shoulders shake with laughter.

“He’s dead!” You wail out in a fit of real tears. “I can’t feel a pulse!” This only makes Naruhaya howl even louder as he bangs on the ground with his fists. 

Imamura cries out in between gasps: “How was the trajectory so perfect? That was so beautiful!” 

“This isn’t funny!” You sob as you try to glare at everyone. Your attempt at being angry is not only adorable, but it is also useless. “Stop laughing!”

“C-Chigiri,” Isagi barely croaks out. “L-let’s get him t-to the infir-firmary…”

The pink-haired princess nudges Igarashi with his foot. “I think it’s too late.” 

Needless to say, you are without a doubt the best striker in all of Blue Lock. Jinpachi Ego immediately recruits you for the World Cup after a stunt like that and you become Japan’s most egotistical striker. 

Chapter Text

Even though your team barely scraped by with a tie against Team W, that match in general left a bad taste in your mouth. 

For one, you really did not like how the Wanima twins treated Chigiri. It annoys you. The sneers, the taunts, the cheating—it’s all so painfully familiar. 

Maybe Chigiri is more similar to you than you think.

If Yamada was telling the truth and those three really were teammates back in middle school, something bad must have happened for the brothers to treat him like that. 

You want to know and talk to him but you don’t really want to ask. What if he thinks you are being nosy? Hello Chigiri-kun. I know we do not know each other that well but would you mind telling me what went wrong in middle school? Thanks.

It’s better to stay forever curious than it is for Chigiri to be uncomfortable with your questions. Sigh.

The second thing that annoyed you is the obvious one. The elephant in the room.

Kuon’s betrayal. Even thinking it out loud sounds so fictional. Your teammate, who you trusted enough to pour all of your good ideas into, stabbed everyone in the back and gave away Team Z’s strategy so he could be MVP. It feels like something that only happens in movies.

Was this really the same guy that came up with silly names for strategies? He said he liked to use “Operation” in his titles because they sounded like something from James Bond movies. He called you “Ms. Manager” in an endearing way and he always helped you drag Bachira to the video footage room during meetings. It just doesn’t seem possible.

You tap the open doors of the cafeteria. Just like Kunigami said, Kuon sits at a nearby table with his head in his hands.

What are you supposed to feel in a situation like this? Sadness? Anger? Disappointment?

You don’t know which one is what you are experiencing so you instead feel nothing at all. 

“Kuon-kun? Do you have time to talk?”

He doesn't respond, nor does he look up. You take a seat in front of him.

“Kuon?”

“Don’t you have something to do as a manager?” His voice comes out empty. Flat. Nothing like the kind, warm tone he used to use before.

“I’m doing it right now.” You say quietly.

No one says anything for a heartbeat as you try to articulate your thoughts. You don’t know what kind of person he is anymore. All those times you conversed with him were clearly a facade; a mask he used to gain everyone—your—trust. So who is he really?

You gather every ounce of your courage you have and say: “There are still I lot of things I don’t understand. Why did you betray us? We had a really good chance of winning, didn’t we?”

“No.” Kuon laughs coldly. “No, we did not.”

To ground yourself in reality, you grip the edges of your chair. You can’t get nervous at a time like this. You want to know. You deserve to know. “Why?”

He shakes his head and chuckles to himself like he can’t believe the audacity of your question. Like you are stupid or something. “Do you remember Team X?”

Of course, you remember Team X. He is only asking to spite you. But you nod anyway.

“Team W beat them 4 to 1. Get it? They scored 4 to 1 on a Team we played badly against. What chances of winning are you talking about?”

“But we’re better now! Do you really have no trust in your own team?” You ask ruefully. “We…Football is an 11 player sport! If you can’t put faith in your team, how can you call yourself a—”

“Don’t lecture me on teamwork, Kocho.” 

His words were poison and malice swarms in his eyes like a cloud of thick buzzing flies. And at that moment, Kuon Wataru is flooded with memories. Memories that he would rather not reminisce on.

He remembered putting a soccer team together from scratch in his high school. It was a tedious process, looking for people that would join a half-baked sports team at Kitsunezaka High School. But eventually, Kuon barely scraped together eleven friends into the soccer club. 

He was the only one on the team that knew how to play. Even though hardly a single person had any experience with soccer, or was even interested in the sport itself, Kuon had full faith in his teammates. No matter how many times they failed to make a decent pass, forgot a basic rule, or didn’t show up to practice, Kuon still believed in them. If they loved soccer like he did or made a fraction of an effort as he did, that invisible club would have made it to nationals. He was sure of it. If they wouldn’t try for the sport itself, they might have tried for him, their friend. Their coach.

Despite all odds, Kuon trusted in his team. He had faith in his team. 

And where did that get him? 

“What do you know about soccer? You work a few days in a dead-end internship to make your life more interesting and suddenly you are some kind of professional sports manager? Get over yourself. No one on Team Z was ever going to make it past the First Selection anyway. ”

“No, you get over yourself!”

Kuon’s sinister sneer fades from his face as you stand up over him, pointing your finger in his face.

“Sacrificing your team just so you can move on to the Second Selection? What kind of stupid plan is that?”

The ache in your chest expands as you exhale, like a hot air balloon. When you inhale, all your organs squeeze and shrink into a pin-sized dot, crushing your ribs from the pressure. Your fist is clenched so tightly that your palm stings. 

From the corners of your eye, you can see white mist creeping into your vision from the peripheral. It’s hot, painful, and wet; and it’s the reason why you can’t shut up.

“What kind of…of—” Your hands flail around as you struggle to find the right word. “...loser admits defeat like that? By throwing in your lot with Team W? That just proves you’re not fit to be a striker!”

“What if they didn’t let you have those three goals? Huh? Would you have thrown away you and your team’s career for nothing?”

You don’t want to look at Kuon. It’s not even like you can see him through your red-hot tears. Maybe he is laughing at you. Maybe he is angry. Maybe he feels genuinely bad. You don’t care at all what his reaction is. 

You roughly swipe your tears bubbling down your face with a sleeve as you shove your chair back.

“Jerk!” You snap one final time before slamming the cafeteria doors shut. 

As soon as you finish bubbling in the last answer on your scantron, you flip your test over immediately and bustle out of the stifling silence of the Building 3 cafeteria. This is probably the first time you have ever finished a test early. The other test-taking managers grumble at your loud, quick movements but you are too busy and too annoyed to care. 

Seriously! All you wanted to do was give Kuon a chance to explain himself and all he does is treat you like you were just some bumbling idiot that doesn’t know anything about soccer. Sure, you aren’t a sports genius or anything, but you are still the manager. A lot of the strategies they use in-game, you came up with!

But you are the kind of person that can’t stay angry for long. It tires you out too much.

You stumble in the direction of your dorm room, eyes prickling with tired tears.  You spent most of last night tossing and turning in bed, thinking about the final match for the First Selection. It is Team Z vs. Team V, easily the scariest opponent of Building 5. Not only have they not lost a single game, but they destroyed their rivals. Pulverized them. 

Team V is undoubtedly a roster of soccer geniuses. Which mildly annoys you.

There are so many things you need to do too. You have to re-watch the Team V footage tonight again just as a refresher. You might as well charge your laptop as you do so. Then you have to work on your essay. After that, you should probably toss the dirty towels and jerseys into the wash…

And that is not to mention how you have to emotionally nurse yourself from Kuon’s betrayal. That was a severe blow to your well-being. To think the entire time, you were feeding information and ideas to the enemy himself. 

If Kuon’s plan had worked and he sent everyone in Team Z back home with their heads in their hands and their goals crushed like wilted flowers, would he still feel good about himself?

You fall asleep that night to the thoughts of broken dreams and perpetual failure.

Stress manifests in your nightmares as forgotten final exams, the echoes of cruel laughter, grabbing hands that tear at your clothes, and the frigid coldness of water dripping off of your clothes. Faceless figures taunt you, their voices resounding in the empty school hallways like a broken cacophonous symphony. 

It’s so dark. Everything has been engulfed by ink-like gloaming. Only the glint of the torn sheet metal of locks and cracked door hinges light your path.

It’s funny how in all your bad dreams, you can never run properly. Your shoes stick to the tiles like they are made of chewed bubblegum and eventually, you stumble to the ground.

Something cracks. Your hands sting. Blood pours out of your nose and mouth as the shadows bore into your eyes like ants and you vanish into nothing more than a speck in the universe. Your birth certificate vanishes, your parents now only have a single high-achieving daughter, and Naoko fake-laughs with the people she pretends to like.

Life goes on and you are forgotten forever.

The next day is mostly uneventful. You avoid the other managers,  perform chores on time, submit your report barely on time, and…continue writing your essay. Working is the only thing keeping your brain from thinking about the game today and thinking about the game makes you so nervous you want to die. So you work to keep your mind quiet.

All the way until dinner.

“(Y/n)...you good?” Naoko leans in between the computer screen and your face so suddenly that you jerk back. “You haven’t even touched your omelette.”

I argued with our team traitor yesterday. I couldn’t sleep properly last night. I’m scared my team will lose their final game. And also I forgot to wash towels again so I had to wait up early to do that. Life is not treating me well, Naoko-chan. 

“I’m just tired.” You say sadly. “I am really nervous about the game tomorrow.” 

“Oh. Last one, right?”

“Mmhmm.”

“But your team has been doing well up until now, right? So don’t be worried.”

“You’re right Naoko-chan, I should just have faith—” You pause for a split second until her words sink in. “Wait. How do you know my team has been doing well?”

There is no possible way. She is part of Building 4, which means she does not have access to the video footage from your stratums. Unless she does? Was that actually an option the whole time that you somehow missed out on???

She giggles at your perplexed expression. “It’s pretty obvious. Whenever you come to eat with me, your feelings are shown pretty clearly on your face. You were disappointed one day. Then super happy the next. And the next.” 

“Naoko-chan…” You sweatdrop. “Are you a stalker?” This is embarrassing. Can people read you that easily? Should you start wearing a mask wherever you go?

“You know, it’s not necessarily a bad thing. I became…ugh…friends…with you partly because you are always so honest.”

“That’s not true.” You fiddle with the ends of your sleeves. “I lie. All the time.”

“But the truth always comes up on your face again. That’s how I know you will never use me for anything like Haruka and Kei. You just genuinely wanted to be friends. I could just tell.”

You guess that it’s true. You didn’t want to be friends with Naoko just because she is smart and beautiful. Is there even such a standard for wanting to be friends with someone? You would be friends with a rock if it could talk to you.

(And you were friends with one when you were younger. His name was Mr. Rock. He was a psychiatrist, had two kids, and was very kind to you)

But the way Naoko said it makes you appear to be a better person than you actually are. You aren’t a saint or anything. You are just…you.

“Whatever,” She mutters as she half-mindedly scrapes some shrimp and fried mackerel on top of your untouched omelette. “I said too much. Just stop worrying, okay? Your team will be fine.”

You tilt your head curiously. This is out of character for her. She usually makes some scathing remarks to you before negating them with her actions. That is just who she is; a tsundere that runs hot and cold. But now, Naoko is trying to comfort you with words. Maybe she is trying to break out of her comfort zone, just like you. 

She rests her chin on her open palm. “I think I saw them once when I was using the bathroom is Building 5. One of them is mean-looking, right? And one of the others is quiet with long pink hair.”

“There were a lot of them and I was annoyed at first because they were blocking the way but they talked about you. They treated you like you were part of the team. So I will be rooting for them, okay?”

You sniff sentimentally. “Naoko…you sometimes say mean things but you really are a nice person inside, aren’t you?”

“Shut up. I am mean.”

“Is that why you are giving me the good parts of your food?”

“I said shut up.”

Kumode really hates this place.

The steel, lifeless walls of Blue Lock reminds her of a hospital or an asylum. Drab, mechanical, cold, and the perpetual smell of antiseptic. The only thing resembling a pattern on the walls are two vertical gray dots arranged on every metal slate, like dominoes. She bravely reaches out a hand and touches the steel paneling. It’s warm.

There are almost no windows at all, except for her bedroom (being number one has its perks) and the front entrance. Such a place could drive someone crazy. 

It already has, she muses. Didn’t that girl from Building 2 run away from this place crying her eyes out?

And yet, Kumode is here to defend it. Protect this steel war bunker of a building from the media. What an absolute predicament.

Anything for love, she supposes. And for her internship.

The black-heeled Mary Jane shoes managers are made to wear clack obnoxiously on the silver tiles. If it weren’t for her ridiculous schoolgirl get-up, Kumode would look and feel like a secretary, carrying this bundle of papers to her boss. How embarrassing.

It is not a long walk from her dorm room to Jinpachi Ego’s office, but it is still long enough to give her time to think.

Wasting no time at all, she raps on the door sharply. 

After a minute or two, the door opens. The smell of stale food and the flavoring of instant ramen hits her in the face.

“Hello, Jinpachi-san.” Kumode bows politely. “May I speak to you about something? It’s urgent.”

There is not an ounce of emotion on the man’s face. The only thing even slightly out of the ordinary is the smear of kewpie mayo on the side of his mouth and the eyebags that seem even darker than usual.

“...How important is this?”

“Very important, sir.”

Jinpachi groans and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. With a lazy motion of his fingers, he gestures Kumode inside.

As Naoko spoons the last bite of her seafood stir-fry in her mouth, she ponders something that has been bothering her for the last few days. The badges.

She hasn’t mentioned anything more to (Y/n) ever since that first day because Naoko figured she might get bored of repetitive conversation. But that doesn’t mean she has stopped thinking about it.

Blue Lock is backed by the Japanese Football Association which accumulates…a couple of billion yen each year from the national sports budget?  If they were willing to blow money on touchscreen-activated doors, such a prestigious training facility can afford to buy working emblems, Naoko is sure.

And that talk about her team earlier. (Y/n)’s  stood out to her, not only because they were an enthusiastic bunch but also because their badges were dark. And so was her’s at the time.

This is just like when (Y/n) first ate with her in Building 4. Everyone within a ten-meter radius had their badges dimmed because of (Y/n)’s very presence. That makes no sense. Why did Jinpachi and Teieri make it so individuals from different Buildings couldn’t see each other’s ranks? Even at the time, Naoko thought it was strange.

Perhaps it was just a fluke. A mistake in the system. 

This is all not to mention how Jinpachi and Teieri have strongly discouraged inter-stratum relationships. They have not outright banned it because something would be terribly suspicious if they were hiding something, but they have done small things to keep Buildings separate. 

Instant elimination of managers who shared team rankings. Not allowing game footage from other buildings to be seen. They even gave managers different eating times. If it weren’t for the fact that Naoko could not give a single shit about her own team, she wouldn’t be able to eat at all with (Y/n).

Perhaps the Blue Lock executives wanted managers to focus solely on their team. Maybe they were worried about sharing confidential information.

But the more realistic explanation is that it was for another reason. So Naoko ponders and comes up with a possibility. An insane possibility. It explains why players from different Buildings almost never see each other. It explains why the food from each Stratum is basically the same. It explains why managers are forbidden to talk about their teams to each other.

It explains…

All the mismatched puzzle pieces in her mind palace fall into place, creating a clear picture. 

Naoko swallows her food so fast that she starts to choke. (Y/n) shrieks a little and pounds on her back with a surprising amount of strength that dislodges the chunk of broccoli instantly.

“C’mon. We have to find Jinpachi.”

“Huh? What for?” (Y/n) asks nervously. “I haven’t finished eating yet…”

“There’s no time for eating, idiot, we cracked the code!”

“...What code?”

There is hardly any time to explain. Naoko grabs her wrist and sprints out of the cafeteria. They crash into some boys along the way who yells at them to “watch where you’re going!” from behind but she can’t pay attention to them right now.

From the background, Naoko can vaguely hear (Y/n) begging to tell her what she is doing. It’s muffled. It’s just white noise.

Where’s Jinpachi’s office again?

Shit. Shit. Upstairs. Right corridor. Turn left. Go forward. Pass the great hall. Go past Buildings 3 and 2. 

Player dorms. Manager dorms. Empty useless rooms. The Building 1 gym.

Go. Go. Go!

The door. There’s no plaque or anything that labels whose room is it but light streams through the doorframes. This is the room of the man that has tricked everyone in the game.

“Naoko—” 

She opens the door.

Naoko has gone insane. 

Her eyes widen out of nowhere, splutters out her food, and after she recovers, drags you out of the cafeteria like a sack of potatoes and starts booking it across the facility like a madman. 

You have never seen her like this. Mostly she’s quiet and polite to everyone around her. Naoko apologizes when someone bumps her shoulder even though it’s never her fault. She makes small talk with the managers in her building. She nods stiffly to her team even though she hates them. But right now, her eyes have a look in them. A familiar look.

Egocentricity vortexes in her eyes with spots of light and bursts of color, like fireworks. 

“Jinpachi Ego…” She mumbles absentmindedly to herself. “You lunatic. Uso-tsuki!”

Before you can stop her, before you can get it through her smart yet utterly insane judgment that maybe knocking on the boss’s room would be better than just opening it without an invitation, she slams open the door.

BAM!

Naoko opens it so forcefully that the floor lamp in the room wobbles back and forth, threatening to topple over and smash into a million pieces.

“Jinpachi Ego!” She announces confidently. “I know your secret!”

What. 

Is.

This.

Is this some kind of main-character moment? Are you just the side character that gets to watch the big-brain ideas Naoko thinks of unfold?

Jinpachi does not seem flustered or angry at the sudden interruption. He doesn’t even seem annoyed that there is probably a hole in the wall the doorknob made. He only blinks up at the two of you with tired eyes. “Oh. It’s you two. We were just talking about you.”

And then you notice Kumode standing behind him with a bunch of papers in her hand. 

“What are you doing here?” Naoko snarls like an angry cat. 

Kumode scowls. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Why were you talking about us?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“I-I—” You look between the two of them, holding your hands up to prevent them from clawing each other’s faces off. Which Naoko will and can do. “Let’s explain why we’re here first, Nao-chan…”

Which you would like to know too.

Naoko shoots another death glare towards Kumode before she composes herself. 

“Jinpachi-san,” she starts with the professional business voice she uses when talking to teachers, principals, and judges. Adults really like this version of her. “I am here to politely demand an explanation as to why the football team ranks are the same across all the buildings.”

.

.

.

???

HUH?

Naoko takes a deep breath and continues. “I noticed that every time a manager enters another Building, the badges the soccer players and other staff wear completely disappear.”

“Correct,” Jinpachi says simply. “That was done on purpose.”

“But what is the purpose? If the team ranks were distributed fairly across all 275 players, then there is no need for such electronic programming. Unless there is another reason.”

Jinpachi looks mildly intrigued. Kumode looks disgusted. You are lost and confused as shit.

Naoko makes a breathy laugh. “All of the team ranks are the same across all five buildings, are there? There is no Team B, C, D, and the rest of them! It’s all Teams V to Z throughout every Stratum!”

You can feel all ten neurons in your brain firing at rapid speed, and still, you are baffled.

Of course, Kumode instantly understands and is quick to snap: “What would even be the motive? There’s—”

“—no point! I know.” Naoko takes a pause. “Which is what I am here to ask. What is the point? Because I know for a fact my theory is right. There is no denying it.”

Jinpachi gingerly picks up a ballpoint pen off of his very messy desk and chews the cap. “And you two unpolished gems figured this out together?”

You flush. “I—”

“Yes,” Naoko says firmly. 

The tired, egotistical narcissist that is Jinpachi Ego, sighs a deep heavy sigh. He swivels around his chair with one knee tucked under his chin. His expressionless face is now thick with deliberation. 

After what feels like forever, he pushes something under his desk. “Anri-chan. There’s something interesting in my room right now.”

Not even a second goes by until someone peeks into the open door. “What is it Ego-san? Is there another bug—”

She cuts herself off when she spots the three managers in the room. One smug, one angry, one bewildered.

“Indeed, Anri-chan. There are three.” Jinpachi half-heartedly gestures across the room. “Our plan has been figured out.”

“Wha–huh?” Teieri splutters. “What do you mean ‘our plan’? You don’t mean—”

“Yes, Anri-chan. Our plan. The one that includes there being no ranking system at all. There are only Teams V, W, X, Y, and Z in Buildings 1 through 5.”

The woman blanches. “That easily?”

“Yes!” Naoko shrieks. “I knew it! I knew it from the start!”

Jinpachi pinches the bridge of his nose as Teieri begins to panic. She taps the corner of her clipboard with her finger as she mutters quietly to herself. “Oh, what to do…what to do…”

Finally, Jinpachi looks up at you and Naoko slowly and disinterestedly. “You know, when selecting random high school girls, I had only wanted to choose one student from Kaneshiro Technical High School. I feared that the two girls chosen might be friends which would pose a great setback in my formula.”

“But, under someone’s guidance, I relented. And allowed both of you to be chosen. That was my mistake.”

He suddenly jabs the pen in your direction like a sword. “You were this close to being cut. Your presence in my room at this very moment is a pure stroke of luck.”

As your heart cracks like Jinpachi’s door frame surely is, Naoko says loudly: “So what? (Y/n) and I weren’t friends before we came. Anyone could have figured it out.”

“No. They couldn’t have. I purposefully had Anri-chan create intense animosity and competition between the managers so no one could collaborate against us. So color me surprised when Kocho-chan and Nakamura-chan began texting back and forth about casual things.”

You stammer: “Y-You could see our texts?” Just as Naoko sneers: “That’s illegal!” 

“That does not matter in the slightest,” Kumode says irritably. “There are plenty of managers who have alliances with each other. So your plan would have been figured out regardless. It wasn’t exactly a hard one to crack.”

“Yes. Lots of managers became friends with each other but they are all in the same building.” Teieri points out. “Meaning they would have never known that other stratums have the same team as theirs.” 

Kumode doesn’t give up just yet. “But what about our essay? Kocho is from a different building than I am. That is a major sign of inter-stratum relations, isn’t it?”

“Essay?” Teieri repeats with a dazed look of pure perplexion. “What are you talking about?”

“Would you like to know the common denominator in your little breakthrough, Kumode-chan?” Jinpachi asks boredly. 

Teieri huffs angrily at being ignored.

“I hand-picked every single manager in this facility. All of them have two distinct characteristics: One, they are in the top 1% in academics and extracurriculars. Two, they are overwhelmingly selfish and narcissistic.”

He stares at you with his dead, intense expression, and you wince. “All except you. You, Kocho (Y/n), without any impressive achievement or egotism. You were the crack in the picture.”

“Without you, Nakamura would have never made befriended anyone. Without you, Kumode would have never asked to write your stupid little essays. Instead, they would have mindlessly participated in the bloody competition between managers with no friendly interactions at all. Or ‘alliances’ as Kumode put it.”

It takes a while for you to realize that Jinpachi is crediting you for everything. In a weird, condescending way. “Oh.”

Kumode frowns. “If you say she is so unimpressive, then why would you even admit her into Blue Lock? No offense, Kocho-san.”

You sigh. “None taken.”

“You forget, Kumode-chan. I choose everyone within my biased and arbitrary decision-making.” Jinpachi deadpans. “I chose a manager for Building 3 solely because her cousin is Kento Yamazaki, who I am a huge fan of.”

“Did you get that autograph I asked you about?” Teieri whispers from behind her clipboard.

“Of course,  Anri-chan.” He turns to the three of you. “Now begs the question. What shall I do with the three of you now that you have figured out my single-blind study?”

Jinpachi snaps his fingers in a mock ‘eureka!’ motion. “I know. All three of you have been eliminated. Lock off.”

.

.

.

.

.

Lock off?

Additional Time! Sometime before~

You are so terribly sleepy.

Maybe you should have listened to Naoko and slept earlier last night instead of staying up so late writing your draft for the essay. Or maybe you should have gone against your better judgment and stolen coffee from Teieri’s office. 

Regardless of what you should have done, you focus on the present. It’s 11:51 PM. You had a grand total of four hours of sleep last night. Your eye bags are probably drooping on the floor by now.

Even so, you should be productive. You will go to sleep but only if you finish writing the second draft of the essay. Being a manager is terribly busy.

So terribly busy, in fact, that you don’t see where you are going and crash directly into someone.

“Oof!”

The crash disorients your sleep-deprived self so much that you drop your laptop. Your laptop without a case. That holds all of your important documents. You drop it.

Everything happens in slow motion as you relive the past ten seconds again. You bump into someone tall. They don’t budge at all but somehow you do, and your fingers Ioosen by accident. Your laptop slips out of your hands from how wobbly you become and it hurtles to the ground like an atomic bomb. It makes the classic bomb-dropping whistle too.

So this is how it ends, huh?

You might as well just pack up and leave now. Goodbye Blue Lock. Goodbye Team Z.

Goodbye…

And then that same person you crashed into catches your laptop on top of their foot, balancing it perfectly on its edge.

“Ouch…”

Oh no. What have you done?

“Oh my gosh. I am so sorry. I wasn’t watching where I was walking and I hurt you by accident—” You babble mindlessly as you pick up your laptop which had toppled over on the ground by now. “I am so so so sorry. And you caught my stuff before it broke too! So thank you for that. But also sorry…”

“You’re the Team Z manager.”

Huh?

You look up at your bumpee (is that the right word? Maybe your victim) for the first time. And boy, do you regret it.

Swoopy white fringe. Tired brown eyes. Really, really tall. 

Really, really handsome. 

Your face explodes with a red-hot heat that can probably melt metal if someone were brave enough to press a pipe to your cheek. Your mouth moves but no words come out no matter how hard you try. With just one look, this boy ripped out your tongue and left you completely defenseless. 

In what world is this fair?

“Nagi? What’s wrong?”

The tall, white-haired devastatingly handsome boy turns around just in time for another attractive boy to walk into your peripheral. “Reo…”

He’s tall too. Purple bun. Sharp eyes. As soon as he sees you, he offers you a polite, yet charming smile. 

“Oh hey. You’re the Team Z manager, aren’t you?” He grins boyishly. “We saw you on TV.”

You are dying.

You must be dying. Your soul is escaping out of your mouth. Also, you see your great-grandmother waving at you from beside a river.

A sudden shock of recognition that both boys had asked you a question that you were not answering because your spirit was busy deciding whether to leave or go shakes your body with a jolt. Just like electrical cardioversion, you are electrocuted back to life.

“Um, yes I-I am. I’m the manager for Team Z, Kocho (Y/n).” You bow your head 10º. Not as much as how far you bowed for Team Z, but still up there. You are loyal after all, no matter how handsome these boys are. “Nice to meet you.”

“I think we’re going up against your team soon.” The second boy starts the conversation very comfortably like he has done so a million times.

No introduction. That’s fine. You can do small talk. “Oh, you two must be part of Team V then. Your team played very well so far. No losses.”

Good job (Y/n). Not even one stammer.

“Yep.” He pops the ‘p’. “It’s nothing special, but our coordination is pretty uncanny. Team Z hasn’t played badly either.”

The white-haired sleepy prince charming looks very bored at the conversation at hand as he mostly lets you and his friend do the talking. Instead, he only stares at you curiously. Does he not like talking about soccer? You thought everyone in Blue Lock loved soccer. 

He cuts off the other boy’s casual conversation about the performance of other teams and asks: “When we play against your team tomorrow…will you remember us?”

Huh?

Of course, you will. No one has ever caught your computer mid-air for you. And nobody this handsome has ever approached you with a conversation first. “W-Well. I guess so. If you want me to…” 

Maybe…he is asking because he wants to be friends with you. And that is the only plausible answer you can come up with. Yes. Yes! Mr. Handsome Sleepyhead. You can be friends. 

You decide an olive branch is the best way to go about this. You have to be brave for once. This may be the peak of your social career. Go! You got this! Just do it!

“Um. What are your names? If you don’t mind me asking.” Oh gosh, they are both looking at you. Abort. Abort. Your social career is dead. “Only if you want to. I guess it was pretty weird of me to ask—”

“Don’t worry about it.” The purple boy says pleasantly. You aren’t sure why, but his general demeanor, voice, and cheery expression make you feel at ease. He doesn’t make you like you are wasting his time by being alive. Mr. Social Butterfly, huh? “I’m Mikage Reo. And this is Nagi Seishiro.”

Mikage Reo…Mikage. Reo.

Oh! Mikage Reo!

He notices your expression of recognition and a glaze goes over his eyes, like a shadow. His smile is no longer sweet or sincere. It becomes practiced. Businesslike even.

In that very moment, Mikage Reo wore the mask of the perfect, aristocratic, interview-savvy son he was engineered to be. This is the very first personality he learned to use around the media when he was only around six. 

(“Remember Reo. Smile for the camera! Say how grateful you are to our investors for being so generous. And don’t forget to compliment the interviewer!”)

“And before you ask, yes, I am the heir to the Mikage—”

“You’re the guy Kumode-chan talked about!”

Mikage’s coy, unsentimental smile drops into that of genuine confusion. “Kumode?”

“Yeah! She said that the guys in Building 5 were…uh…” Your hands tremble a little. Maybe you shouldn’t have said that. Didn’t Kumode have a crush on Mikage? And then you just blurted it out like that. “N-nevermind…”

To your horror, he doesn’t look even the slightest bit interested in her at all. Poor Kumode. “She sounds kind of familiar, I suppose.”

“Y-yeah! She’s like…um…” Should you act as a wing woman? Try to cover your mistakes? You make a mental apology to Kumode, wherever she is. “She’s the manager in Building 1. She’s really nice. And pretty. And smart. Maybe you should…consider…well, going out—”

“Hey. (Y/n).” Nagi cuts you off in a drawled voice. 

All thoughts about helping Kumode in her romantic endeavors scatter like grass seeds in the wind. Did he just use your first name?... Are your ears betraying you?

Mikage gives him a strange look. “What are you…”

“Don’t change the subject,” Nagi mumbles wearily. “Be honest. Do you like us?”

Do you like us?

Do you like us?

Do you like us?

D o y o u l i k e u s?

Boom! Your heart explodes. Just like that. This entire conversation is entirely too much for your small brain to handle. All your defense systems and rational thought come crashing down like the walls of Jericho. Like them?? Does he not realize the effect they have on you? Have they realized what an absolute garbage simp you are?

It doesn’t help at all that his voice is all scratchy and tired-sounding. This is your worst nightmare. This is so scary.

You cover your burning hot face with your sleeves. You really screwed up, didn’t you? 

Mikage looks at Nagi. Nagi looks at Mikage. They look at you. You look at them between the gaps in your fingers. You look at yourself. 

Yup! It is time to do what you do best.

“T-This was a nice talk…I—uh—I’ll remember you two tomorrow. A-and thank you for being so—”

And that’s when you give up on finishing your meaningless sentence and do the manliest thing you can muster: run. Like a scared animal, you start to run away from your troubles with your laptop held close to your chest. That’s it. You are never going to be brave again. Your social life will just remain stagnant and you have to accept it.

But wait. Why are you running so slow?

As the Team Z manager, Kocho (Y/n), waddles away like a penguin with her brains practically melting out of her ears, both boys observe her retreating figure.

“She’s okay.” Nagi yawns and blinks the sleep out of his eyes, prompting his friend to offer a piggyback ride. As he clambers on top of Mikage, he grumbles:  “I think she likes us. What do you think?”

Mikage snorts and flicks a lock of hair out of his face. “I think she’s a scatterbrain, is what she is. There is nothing going on behind those eyes.”

“Looking for a manager is such a pain. Can’t we just keep this one?”

“I don’t think Jinpachi would allow it. And besides, why did you ask if she likes us or not?”

“To see if she would want to be our manager.”

Mikage sighs and shifts Nagi into a more comfortable position. “I don’t think she took it like that.” 

(You tell Naoko tearily that you walked away from two hots guys mid-conversation like an idiot and that you think they hate you now. She laughs at you so hard that milk sprays out of her nose.

Chapter Text

“Alright then. What is it that you wanted to speak to me about?”

Kumode stepped forward and offered her stapled packet of papers to Jinpachi Ego. He accepted it hesitantly and held the documents to the light of his monitor to see them better. The luminosity of his computer’s eerie blue glow reflected in his glasses, entirely masking his expression.

“What is this?”

“It’s a series of essays,” Kumode said softly. “It compiles every question and condemnation from major news outlets and refutes them. You may see it as a promotion and advocacy for Blue Lock directly from the interns.”

Jinpachi heaved a great sight and turns to the very first page, the general introduction of the Pentagon Pamphlet . 

He reads out loud: “To the People of Japan and those following the Japanese Football Association: after reading this synthesis the interns have composed detailing the unequivocal merits and advantages of this unparalleled program, you are called upon to deliberate on Modern Agoge that is the Blue Lock and the general future of football in all of Japan.”

That introduction was the part Kumode and Kocho collaborated on together. It took much longer than she would like to admit, but Kumode supposes it’s not bad for a first draft. 

“The Agoge.” Jinpachi repeated slowly. “Like the Spartan military training?”

“Yes.”

He rapidly flipped through the pages, speed-reading each line not at all meticulously.  Kumode proudly noted that he lingers an extra hint of a second on her section on the economic portion.

There isn’t anything condemnatory in the essay whatsoever. Mihara and Nakamura made sure of it. Every slightly revealing piece of information has been circled in bright red ink and there is not even a speck of team ranks mentioned at all. 

He eventually reached the end and folded the paper in on itself.

“Who wrote this with you? You couldn’t have done this by yourself.”

This made Kumode seethe a little. Why couldn’t she have done this by herself? She certainly could have, she just chose not to. “Kocho, mainly. Two other managers acted as editors.”

“And who are they?”

“Nakamura Naoko. And Mihara Miyo.”

Jinpachi heaved a great, obnoxious sigh. Like he would rather be doing anything than having this conversation. “I assume you want to publish this.”

“Yes. I think giving the managers inside the Blue Lock facility a voice will help convince the general public that this program is beneficial.” Kumode explained with a gentle smile on her face. If Jinpachi agreed to give these essays a platform on the Blue Lock website, her internship here will be secured in stone. “We don’t need to reveal much, just a few scraps which may soothe their worries.”

“That won’t work.”

Her smile fell from her face. “What? Why?”

Jinpachi blinked slow, tired eyes at her. Dropping the papers on his desk nonchalantly, he said: “The media won’t care at all what some high schoolers interning at the JFA think of Blue Lock. It is only natural you side with your workplace. Do you know what a ‘cognitive bias’ is in psychology?”

“Yes, I know what cognitive bias is.” Kumode tried to keep the malice out of her voice. “Then what do you propose I do?”

He looked away from her and instead, concentrates on the live game for two random teams playing on the monitor before him. They wore opposing colors of black and white. It seemed as if the players wearing black jerseys are winning. 

“The first option is to throw your essays away. Don’t publish them at all. At least in that sense, there is no risk whatsoever. The public image of Blue Lock stays the same.”

Kumode’s eyes narrowed by a fraction.

“But you managers are awfully narcissistic so I will assume that idea does not fare with you well. The second option is to leak it directly  to the media itself.”

“Directly to the media?” Kumode echoed. “You must be joking.”

“You can offer these essays on a silver platter and make it seem like you are ‘breaking the rules’ in releasing highly classified information. It will be devoured like shark bait.”

She tries not to argue with him. Instead, she nudges him in the right direction with words. That is often how it is with stubborn men in positions of power. “But sir, isn’t that entirely separate from Blue Lock itself? No one will think the JFA is backing these essays up. We need the support from—”

“That is exactly the point.” Jinpachi interrupts smoothly. “These…” He flicks the papers with a single hand, sending them fluttering to the ground. “...essays need to be completely separate from Blue Lock. What if it fails and is completely torn apart by critics? Censured by the media?”

“But—”

“Are you going to let Blue Lock take the bullet that you fired?”

“No,” Kumode said crossly. “So what? If you have us pretend to leak this, we are supposed to take the fall if it goes sideways?”

“Depending on how well it performs, you may be rewarded generously. If it fails, you will be fired. Locked off.” 

“Don’t look so upset, Kumode-chan.” Jinpachi pushes his glasses up. “This is the very real world managers live in. Who takes the backlash from the public the most? Who shields their football team from controversy?”

“Release it, don’t release it, it does not matter to me. Just make sure the program as a whole stays out of it. Just remember you are solely responsible for the risks you take.”

And then the door slams open before Kumode can say another word.

This isn’t real. It can’t be.

“All three of you have been eliminated. Lock off.”

Ice crystals form in your heart.

The reaction is instantly apoplectic. Kumode immediately goes ballistic on Naoko who is quick to yell back. Teieri desperately tries to soothe and convince Jinpachi otherwise over the loud commotion. The clock ticks much too slowly. Their voices slow down and garble into nonsense. Your vision becomes hazy. 

You are quiet. Taking in everything that has happened. Absorbing everything in front of you.

What just…happened?

You were brought here against your will by your friend. She cleverly reveals a part of the program that was meant to be hidden. And now all three of you will be fired because of something out of your control.

But weirdly enough, you aren’t angry at Naoko. Not at all. She clearly thinks you are, based on the teary expression she gives you from the corner of her eye.

This is all wrong.

“Why are we eliminated?” You ask politely. “Just because we figured it out?”

“The three of you are experimental white mice that have escaped the maze. To let you stay here will be a dangerous move on my behalf.” He turns back to his several computer screens, ignoring Teieri, ignoring the managers, ignoring the world. Jinpachi waves you off. “The exit is in Building 5. Lock. Off.”

You bristle at his nonchalant demeanor. Does he not understand how important this internship is to you? How, if you go back to Saitama now, everything you have built in this godforsaken prison crumbles into waste? No. That can’t happen. Not by the likes of freaking Jinpachi Ego. 

“To put it simply, we are being let go because you were careless enough to not fix loopholes in your plan.”

“Yup, that is precisely correct.”

Naoko and Kumode’s argument slowly dies down as your voice gets louder. “How can you fire us just like that? We are the most valuable managers in this building right now. You said from the start that a good manager is someone who controls the operation from behind the scenes!”

Because what is he implying? For a simple mistake he made, he is willing to throw away the precious internships you fought tooth and nail for. It was almost as if to Jinpachi, managers are worth less than cannon fodder.

He and Teieri exchange looks. Maybe you are being too loud. Maybe you will be reprimanded for disorderly behavior. All you know is that you are angry. 

“And that’s what Naoko did, isn’t it? She utilized her talents the best she could by discovering the blueprint of your program! How is that not the characteristics ideal manager? Plus! Plus…”

Something in your brain switches. A hot, bubbly feeling pool behind your eyes and threaten to burst like a dam. Your teeth grit together. Your nails sink into the grasp of your cardigan.

Experimental white mice can still bite. You want to get rid of me Jinpachi Ego? Try and see what happens. 

“Plus, if you fire us, our team's gameplay will be severely affected.” You know this is the real kicker. This is the thing that Jinpachi really cares about. Not the managers. The players. “We have developed meaningful connections with them already and their performance on the field will suck if we were fired without a real explanation. They might even riot and quit.”

You speak so quickly that by the time these words leave your mouth, you are out of breath. But you continue. “S-So if you w-want us to lock off, this will be detrimental t-to your lumps of talent or w-whatever you call them. And your s-social experiment will fail.”

Mic-drop. Boom. This is the height of your debating career. Sure, you accidentally used the slippery slope fallacy but it was barely noticeable. Maybe if you are lucky, you can have Naoko write you a recommendation for you to become Vice President of the club when you get sent back home.

Teieri whispers something indecipherable to Jinpachi, covering the side of her face with a clipboard. You hope she is on your side. She’s really nice and gentle so surely she will speak up for you. Right?

Eventually, he gives in. Jinpachi groans, taking off his glasses and scrubbing his face with a hand. Teieri smiles to herself. 

“Fine. Okay. Okay. I take it back. You three are officially rehired.”

Rehired. 

You and Naoko shriek together which makes everyone in the room flinch. She grabs you by the wrist and together, you perform some weird ritual folk dance. Kumode awkwardly stands there like a coat hanger stand.

“If any of you reveals this part about the first selection to your team, or other managers, or even mention it briefly to each other, you will be locked off. No exceptions, whatsoever. If you so much so breathe something that sounds slightly similar to what happened today, you will be eliminated.”

“And you, Kocho-chan,” Jinpachi points his pen at you for the second time today. “Are on thin ice. If I were you, I would stay out of trouble. So watch that smart mouth of yours.”

“If I hear so much as a pin drop from your side of the building, you will be locked off for sure. No doubt about it. Understand?” 

You nod. “Got it. Watch my mouth. No dropping pins.”

He squints at you. “Not literally, idiot. Just don’t be annoying.”

“Oh. Right.”

“How did someone like you get an internship at the JFA?” Kumode mutters to herself. 

You haven’t quite processed what just happened fully yet.

Naoko revealed Blue Lock’s secret or something which no one was supposed to know. Kumode was there for some reason. Jinpachi made a scary face and was like “NO ONE MUST KNOW AND I MUST PURGE YOU FOR YOUR KNOWLEDGE” and fired all three of you. And then he unfired you. 

And then he called you annoying.

With the weird events that happened yesterday with meeting Team Z, Naoko’s outburst, and the situation with Jinpachi and Teieri…maybe it is safe to assume that yesterday was not real. There must have been a carbon monoxide leak that made you hallucinate.

You suppress your stressful memories of the past and chuck your beeping smartwatch across your room. You have bigger fish to fry today.

And by bigger fish, you mean the game today. The Final Game. The Game That Decides it All.

You avoid all things that may cause bad luck in your morning routine. When you brush your teeth in the Building 5 girls’ bathroom, you take special care not to use the sink with the broken mirror. You run past the corridor with storage room number thirteen. You refuse to look at Mihara in case her negative vibes ruin your luck.

You even invite Naoko to sit in the Building 5 cafeteria instead of your usual hangout in Building 4. Anything relating to the death number is not welcome.

“I kind of prefer eating here,” She says as she looks around, like a child admiring all the animals at the zoo. No other manager or soccer player pays any mind to her. “My building’s managers aren’t here to bother me. The teams here don’t piss me off as much. It’s nice.”

“What actually happened with your team?” You ask gingerly. “I just hear you complaining about them but you never actually said what they—”

A shadow crosses over her face. “You don’t need to worry about them (Y/n). Just know there is an annoying freaking bug on my team. Who is a major pain in the ass.”

“What do you have against bugs?” You mumble, slightly offended at her choice of words. After being tormented for so long by Haruka and Kei with all kinds of insect-related insults, you have the sudden urge to defend your tiny critter friends. “Bugs can be good.”

“Oh, is this because of your last name?” Naoko’s face crumples a little. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I know you didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then I’m sorry for yesterday then. That was stupid of me.”

You swallow your food as quickly as you can. “ It wasn’t like you did it on purpose or anything! So don’t worry. It’s no biggie.”

She doesn’t answer you immediately. Instead, Naoko refuses to meet your eyes and pokes at her french toast with a fork, watching it become soggier from the syrup by the minute. 

“Nao-chan?”

“I almost got you fired. And you know it too.”

You don’t say anything for a quick moment. You know this. She knows you know this. You know that she knows you know this. 

“But I didn’t though. None of us did.”

“And what if we did? What if Jinpachi doubled down and refused to let us back on the internship?” Naoko’s eyes become mistier and mistier. “It would have been my fault. Because I was so full of myself and wanted to prove I was right.”

This is the first time she has ever expressed emotion other than annoyance, tenderness, and neutrality. Watching her almost cry makes you want to cry too. 

It’s fine when you are sad. Everyone that is close to you knows you cry about eight times a day; from watching sad K-dramas, from eating hot food too fast, when you lie awake at night and the dark thoughts get to you…it’s basically a pastime at this point. You are used to it. People who pretend to be tough like Naoko never cry. They suck their tears back into their system and absorb them in their bloodstream which builds up over time. They put up a glass exterior wall that can shatter at any moment. 

Seeing Naoko on the verge of tears is a sight that you have never seen before and never want to see again. 

“You are being so dumb.”

She stares at you with watery eyes in surprise. The roles have completely switched this time.

“You didn’t mean to. Plus Jinpachi is a complete lunatic. Like, any normal boss would just laugh it off or something but he is just weird. Even if I was fired, it wouldn’t be so bad because…” Your eyebrows pinch together. “I already got what I came for. I can already put Blue Lock on my resume and be done with it.”

I have nothing to lose. If I were to be fired, then I would have more than what I bargained for anyway.

“You’re dumb too.” Naoko scrubs her eyes with her sleeve roughly, like she is angry at herself for almost crying. “How can you even say that? Why are your expectations for yourself so low?”

“Fine. We’re both dumb. Is that better?” 

“Fine!” She snaps.

“Fine.”

For a tense few seconds, both of you stay quiet. She quietly swirls her toast in her syrup watching it fall apart completely while you lay your cheek on your palm, staring at nothing.

You want to be the kind, smart friend: the kind of person that knows what to say in any kind of situation. The friend that can cheer someone up and comfort them with only a few words. But you aren’t.

Finally, you say: “You want to watch Attack on Titan together in your room later? I found a good website.”

Naoko sniffs dramatically. “Okay.”

Your health is not the best compared to other regular high school girls.

It isn’t as if you are chronically ill or anything, but there are small, tiny things that your body does that most people don’t go through. It’s so unimportant, in fact, that you haven’t even seen a doctor for it. Your dad just casually mentions that your aunt goes through the same thing and the conversation ended there.

Some of your symptoms include nosebleeding when you are under a lot of stress. Crying a lot (maybe this is normal, you aren’t quite sure). Also, the most relevant one to your situation right now: getting nauseous when you are nervous.

As you stand in the waiting room, waiting for the gates of the Blue Lock field to open, you feel horribly sick. The thought of your team possibly losing to Team V, easily the most talented roster of players in all of Building 5, makes your stomach churn.

Which really sucks. Because the more nervous you get, the sicker you feel. And the sicker you feel, the more nervous you get because you are feeling so sick. It is a cycle of endless torment and you don’t even want to think about cycles because those are circles and circles go around and around and around and around and that makes you even sicker—

“Um. Are you okay, Kocho?” Isagi whispers. Always the perceptive one, that Isagi Yoichi.

“Yes, I’m fine.” You lie. To really sell the point, you shake off your fatigued and nauseous jitters before giving him a poster-child smile. “See?”

Bachira must have lied to you on that first day because this does nothing to soothe Isgai’s stress. It’s a very good thing that everyone else on your team is talking among themselves, discussing potential strategies, and giving wary glances to Kuon who refuses to interact with anyone. All except Isagi, who gives you the softest, most concerned expression anyone has ever given you.

It’s a ‘yeah okay, I will pretend to believe you to be polite’ look. 

You remember how Naoko once said that your expressions are obvious to others and embarrassment washes over you like a tidal wave. 

“Well, I’m a little nervous.” You admit. “What about you?”

Isagi snorts. Not necessarily at you, more like at your question. “I was so scared last night that I could barely sleep. My hands couldn’t stop shaking.” Even now, his smile trembles a little. 

And that is when you sense it. The thick haze of fear emanating from all of you. It’s a sensation you have familiarized yourself with. Moments before you have to give a presentation in front of the class. Before a debate competition. When you took the Blue Lock examination. Only this time, it comes from your friends and it is ten times worse.

It’s part of the manager’s job to motivate players before and after a match. You aren’t good at this sort of thing because most of the time, you are the one being comforted and encouraged. But you are determined to change. That old you needs to die so that you can better yourself as a person. 

“Well, you shouldn’t be.” You start awkwardly.

Wow, (Y/n). That sure helped him loads.

You start over. “Team Z is…the most talented team in the whole building. I have faith in you guys.” The more you talk, the more you actually believe what you say. It smolders in your chest like the beginning sparks of a campfire. “I have no doubts whatsoever. There isn’t a future where Team Z doesn’t succeed.”

I’ll make sure of it. I promise I will think of something to help you guys.

Isagi looks at you in mild astonishment. In a fit of overwhelming emotions and clumsy gestures, you punch him lightly in the shoulder.

“Ow.” He mocks.

“You better win this.” You mumble. “I will be so mad if you guys receive anything less than a startling victory.”

Before he can respond, the gates open with a loud mechanical rumble.

The thick tension and fear doesn’t let up once everyone steps onto the playing field. 

Five minutes until the timer finishes counting down. Everyone stretches on the field, killing time as much as they can before the game starts. 

You grasp the edges of your skirt as hard as you can to keep yourself from shaking. Don’t show any signs of nervousness. This isn’t how a team manager acts.

In just a little while, the game will start. And your team will either leave with their hopes and dreams crushed to pieces, or they will gain a slightly bigger chance of achieving it. 

Is pitting young boys against each other to fight tooth and claw for a wisp of a dream ethical? 

Your essay is supposed to defend this very stance. But the more you write, the more you think. From any other perspective, yes. It is perfectly fine. They all came on their own accord. They all want this.

But people can be blinded by their dreams. They can be so blinded by the light at the end of the tunnel that they fail to see the raging waters that rush past beside the rickety bridge they balance on. They see the eye of the hurricane and not the absolute ravage it creates.

You want your friends to succeed. You want their dream to live.

You don’t want them to end up like you. Without a single accomplishment in their life and without any goals at all. 

You can think of something. Another way. If the worst happens and your team loses, maybe they could still make something of themselves if you only think. 

In your own quiet storm of desperation, an idea comes to you. A strand of an idea.

But before you can give it more thought, someone touches your shoulder.

“(Y/n).”

You jump so hard out of your skin that your teeth chatter against each other. Only one person aside from Naoko uses your first name in Blue Lock. It’s a voice that you have been dreading hearing since yesterday. 

Nagi peers down at you curiously. You dip your head politely in return. It’s nice because you can avoid eye contact with him.

“Do you still remember me?” He asks.

“I—” You wring your hands nervously. He still remembers that? “Yes. Of course.”

Is talking with the opponent team allowed in soccer? What if…What if Nagi is trying to squeeze out Team Z’s secrets by chatting with you? Ha! That won’t work. 

They can’t figure out your team’s plan if you forgot what the plans were. 

As if to confirm your thoughts, Raichi treks in your direction. He doesn’t look very happy. “Why the hell are you fraternizing with the enemy?” He growls. “Isn’t Kuon betraying the team enough already?”

You gulp. “I’m not fraternizing! I only talked with Nagi-san a little yesterday.”

“That’s what fraternizing is, idiot!”

“What are you yelling about?” Someone calls from the other side of the field. “Is there something wrong?”

The blood drains from your face. Great. 

Being the nice people that they were, your team has come to see what all the fuss is about. The last thing you want is an argument.

“The game is about to start.” Kunigami gives the curtest of nods to Nagi which only balances on the edge of polite. He is so close that you can feel his warmth right behind you. “Let’s be practical, yeah?”

“Who are you telling to be ‘practical’ Mr. Prim and Proper?” Mikage asks in a playfully cold tone as he rests his arm on Nagi’s shoulder. “Isn’t your teammate the one being obnoxious?”

This makes Kunigami’s eye twitch. Raichi snarls a “haaah?” in response. 

You glance to and fro rapidly anxiously as the situation becomes increasingly tense. This is the worst-case scenario. 

It’s like a testosterone battle…!

“It isn’t very sportsmanlike to let your team forbid your manager to talk to others, is it?”

You are very sure that Kunigami, the most reasonable and fair guy on the team, isn’t appreciative of being lectured on being ‘sportsmanlike’ at all.  A vein pops on his forehead.

“Um.” You say quietly. “This has been a misunderstanding. Raichi-kun was actually—”

“Obnoxious?” The man in question sneers. “I’m gonna kick your ass on the field, you bastard!”

“I would like to see you try.”

Oh, you are such a coward! If only you spoke louder earlier and had the guts to split them up now. You are a failure of a manager…

Even with both teams attempting to quell their local wild child down (Can Mikage be considered a wild child? All he is doing is retorting snarkily to Raichi which is arguably even eviler ;-;), a saving beacon of light enters. In the shape and form of a tall, pretty, high school boy with white hair.

“Ah. This conversation is such a pain.”

Mikage scoffs at Raichi one more time before making stepping back. Oh, thank god.

But you celebrated your relief much too early as Nagi decides to drop the bombshells of bombshells, a tactical grenade right in the middle of the Blue Lock arena.

He turns to Team Z lazily, like he couldn’t care less about the soccer game that is about to start in a few minutes. His posture is lax, his eyes are tired, and…he is utterly apathetic.

“Team V is guaranteed to move on to the Second Selection,” He says matter of factly. “And I think, objectively, we are a lot stronger than you.”

“You son of a—”

“I’m asking nicely…if we could please have your manager for ourselves after you get eliminated? I promise to treat her nicely.”

For just a second, everything in your vision turns white, like a flashbang. 

.

.

.

.

.

Bachira is the first to respond. He pouts and crosses his arms in an ‘X’ formation. “Zettai yada! (Y/n)-chan is ours!”

Your face lights on fire instantly as you crouch to the ground with your hands smothering your eyes. If you can’t see it, this isn’t happening.

This has to be a bad dream. This has to be a bad dream. 

You hear some boys on your team choking in surprise. Imamura calls Nagi some not-nice names that you can’t bring yourself to repeat. Mikage sighs exasperatedly. 

Oh why did this happen? Is it because you spoke with him the other day? Why did you have to do that oh gosh you were fraternizing with the team didn’t you everything is bad and wrong and you need to drop out of Blue Lock this instant

Is that why Nagi asked if you liked him yesterday?

The VAR announces through the speakers that all players must settle into position on the field before the time is up or both teams will lose this game. This finally convinces everyone to leave your little shame corner. 

You may not know a lot of things but you do know that Nagi Seishiro is a dangerous man and you must stay away from him if you want to live longer.

Handsome tired boys + Asking you to be his manager = fundamentally shorter life span. This is the chemical law you have invented so you can stay alive in a place as dangerous as Blue Lock.

Sure, Indiana Jones swings on vines and dodges man-eating alligators, flesh-hungry apes, and human-sacrifice cults but does he interact with cute boys on the daily? Huh? Does he have to deal with constant attention from those cute boys??

When you are brave enough to stand up shakily and look again, you realize the nervous tension has disappeared. But it has been replaced by a competitive spirit that was not present before against the matches for Team X, Y, or W.

It’s…intense, almost like a shockwave after an explosive detonates underwater. 

This is your team’s last chance. If they beat Team V now, all eleven will go onto the next selection. If they don’t…well, you don’t even want to think about it.

You clench your fists so tightly that your knuckles turn right. Try your hardest, Team Z.

The whistle blows and the kick-off begins. Nagi starts the game off by making a short pass to Mikage. As expected. His arrogance is not for nothing, considering his passes always make for a direct goal for his team. Having him run free is dangerous.

As Bachira and Isagi step in to block his way, he kicks the ball to the second in command of Team V, the tall boy with dark hair and glasses. The smart-looking megane.

Those practice games and the outlined strategy paid off in the end because Raichi and Naruhaya intercept the speedster immediately. Then, just as everyone imagined, the ball is passed to Team V’s super soldier. The MVP.

Nagi Seishiro. 

But right now, none of that matters. With a well-timed jump, Igarashi catches the ball with a chest bump and directs it right to Isagi.

Counter time, prodigies. 

After receiving Bachira’s long pass to the other side of the field, Gagamaru makes a heaving dive that almost scores a goal. Instead, it bounces off the side of the metal frame.

So close. One more time.

It’s Team V’s ball. Mimicking your team’s strategy exactly, Mikage sends the ball soaring toward the opposite side of the pitch with a smug expression.

For a moment, you are not impressed at all. There is no way they can imitate a play that Team Z spent so long preparing for. It’s impossible. It would take a team of pros to copy such a move well enough to make a goal.

Then Nagi Seishiro traps the ball with a technique comparable to professionals. In one swift control and kick, it blasts straight into the goal, right past Iemon. A goal in the first five minutes.

You are suddenly reminded of your intense resentment of geniuses. 

Out of the entire Building, he is the most dangerous player. Not just because he hones a staggering weapon of trapping, but because Nagi reminds you of the students back at school.

The type to sleep in class. The type to never care about anything. The type to never answer the teacher’s questions during lessons. 

The type to ace their exams without a second of studying.

He and Mikage have not played soccer for a very long time. Only six months, hardly any time at all compared to the other players who have been playing since they could walk. And they are good. Their roster has crushed every single poor team that came their way. 

Nagi is a fundamental genius; someone who excels at whatever they touch and do. It’s like the difficulty settings in life are set in easy mode for him. You would never admit it, but prodigies like him make mediocre people like you disappear into the glare of their spotlight. Geniuses are the worst. 

No one is created equal, especially not someone like Nagi Seishiro. 

They score another goal. Then another. 3-0 in the first fifteen minutes.

From that point on, the game becomes brutal.

This match is nothing like the previous ones. The Team Z vs. Team V game is utterly vicious. Bachira manages to surpass all odds and strike a goal, turning the zero into one. Goals are shot and blocked like no tomorrow. Your team pincers off Mikage’s passes by having Raichi cover him the whole time. Nagi’s ball is cut short by Igarashi’s legendary face block. 

You feel a strange sort of euphoria watching them play. Sure, you would get excited when they scored a goal or when something cool happened, but you would never get so happy just from watching them play. This feels so right.

Team Z scrapes by with two goals, making the score 3-2 before halftime begins.

Your hands shake as you give out water and towels. Your face is damp. Your eyes are blown wide. But you aren’t nervous at all. Not even a little bit. 

No matter how hard you try, the smile never leaves your face.

“Whether you like it or not, we have another 45 minutes left!” Igarashi hollers from inside the locker room.

You were wrong for looking down at his ‘never-give-up attitude’ weapon. Judging by how hyped your team looks and that spark of determination in their eyes, enthusiasm is just as good of a weapon as far as you are concerned.

The break ends before you know it, and the game starts again.

Team Z’s defense is practically impenetrable. Every time Mikage takes control of the ball, Raichi is always behind him, guarding his every move. Preventing him from sending the ball to Team V’s super soldier: Nagi. 

You shriek as Mikage elbows Raichi in the throat. Surprisingly enough, Raichi isn’t all that upset about it judging by his roguish smirk as he nurses his neck. Mikage’s break in composure allows Team Z to take a penalty goal. 

Defense and offense positions are secured like the cogs of a gear. Your team seems to evolve in that very field; a carnal kind of awakening that can only occur in times of real desperation. 

Both teams have gone mad. They play like they want to kill each other. They play like they, so badly, want to slaughter each other’s dreams.

They play soccer like they aren’t afraid to die. 

The sky could fall on those boys right here and right now; and all they would think about is the game at hand. It’s repulsive. It’s remarkable. It’s cruel. It’s sensational.

The sheer ecstasy you feel when they make a goal. The crushing disappointment when they miss. It sings in your heart like a broken, beautiful symphony. 

The Team V megane launches the ball across the field with a long counter offense, evading your team’s defense completely. A blur of black and white flashes across the sprawling green sea, chasing the ball like it’s a jewel-encrusted crown to be conquered. Floodlights wink into your vision.

Their last goal was…a turning point. It was but one single goal but it awakened a slumbering giant. Even though he scored most of his team’s goals up to this point, Nagi Seishiro has yet to show an ounce of his true ability. 

And now, if the vivified genius scores one more point, Team Z will never catch up again. They will be one goal ahead and with your team’s abject situation, a tie is still considered a loss. Team Z needs an unequivocal win to make it to the next selection. But how?

Desperation has a smell. It’s a thick, overpowering, bitter stench that stings the roof of your mouth and singes your olfactory with a sour throb. 

Desperation has a color. Darkness settles over the field with a rank mustiness that only you can see. It crawls from behind the eyes of your players and crisscrosses in their irises like insects marching in a death circle. It streams down their face like a hot poison. 

Desperation has a form and it looks like Kuon Wataru tackling Nagi from the side with his teeth bared. The white-haired genius’s ego vanishes without a trace as he crashes into the dirt and grass. His gray eyes widen with a mild shock, his mouth only slightly agape as if being seized violently in the midst of a game was only a modest inconvenience to him.

A whistle screeches. “Foul. By Team Z.” Even the woman behind the speakers couldn’t keep the outrage from her usual temperate voice. “Denial of an obvious goal-scoring opportunity.” 

“Red card to Kuon Wataru. He’s off.”

You cover your mouth. It’s an apoplectic paroxysm of swearing, shouting, and a maniacal fury that shows itself in clenched jaws, tight fists, and Mikage Reo. One of Team V’s star strikers has to practically fight him from lunging at Kuon in a fit of rage. Not that you can blame him. Such aggressive contact between players has always been taboo. 

Nagi quietly mumbles that he’s alright which only tempers Mikage by a fraction. And Kuon…

You don’t understand it at all. He could have passed the first selection automatically if he didn’t prevent Team V from scoring. And he made it clear that he didn’t want to rely on the uncertain success of his own team. So why?

Sacrificing your team just so you can move on to the Second Selection? What kind of stupid plan is that?

Would you have thrown away your team’s career for nothing?

Don’t lecture me on teamwork, Kocho.

You know why. It’s the festering love of the game that made him tie himself with your team. One will stay true to his nature, no matter how hard he tries. In the end, his desire to win was overwhelmed by his own ego. You have to win for me because I will become the best striker in the world. 

He had so very clearly cut himself off from the team, and now he sacrifices himself for the very thing he denounced. Sacrifices. Sacrifices.

As he steps off the field, his gaze lingers on yours for a second too long. His hardened expression softens by a fraction as Kuon slinks off the pitch and into the exit of the arena. You wonder what goes on in his head.

Three more minutes. Team V’s penalty kick. 

Too many times did the opposing players nearly take a goal during the PK. Too many times did your team barely save the ball. Every time you think that it’s all over, an invisible hand yanks your bleeding heartstrings with unforgivable strength and cruelty, threatening to snap it in two, only to reluctantly release its grip when your team blocks the goal.

Gagamaru kicks the ball out of the goal. It soars across the pitch. 

Counter counter counter counter counter counter counter counter counter counter counter 

All your emotions are heightened to the maximum. But you aren’t just watching as an audience…it is as if you are sprinting across the vast green expanse of the field too along with your team, with your eyes fixated on the ball. The world would break up into millions of millions of puzzle pieces, disappearing into fragments in your peripheral.

Is this what soccer feels like? 

Bachira slices through Team V with his impeccable dribbling. Before they even realize it, he is halfway down the field with the ball in control. Kunigami and Chigiri are held down respectively by the defense. Both strikers scored goals earlier, so it only makes sense that their opponents are wary of them.

Even then, they shout for the pass. They plead for it. They beg for it. 

The ball drops in front of Isagi. Without it even hitting the ground yet, he draws his leg back and sends the ball flying into the goal.

The sight of a beautiful 3D function greets you.

Just like that, the match ends. Team Z wins 5-4. 

Of course, the stunning victory today calls for an equally stunning celebration. A wonderful spread of food is displayed across the array of plastic tiny tables you and your team stole from the cafeteria. Because your entire team managed to make it past the first selection, that means you get awarded another point. Which you traded in for steak immediately.

You’re so happy! You are so freaking happy. The temperature in the Blue Lock Facility has remained stagnant since you came here but you feel warm all over. Instead of walking from place to place, you skip like a fairy nymph. Joy blooms underneath your skin like morning glory blossoms.

Your heart is so, so light and the ache is now completely gone. It has been crammed full of feathers as soft as the skies and you feel so complete. 

Everyone else is in high spirits too. Gagamaru chokes Naruhaya out for nibbling on the gyoza early again. Imamura and Igarashi wage war on each other in an epic onslaught of pillow-throwing. Kuon reminds everyone to start cleaning up for the potluck, restoring his position as the "mom-friend" of Team Z. Chigiri secretly munches on his share of sirloin steak as he watches the battle commence like a grand queen gazing upon the citizens of the kingdom. 

As you fold another futon in on itself as you hum a little melody to yourself, Bachira throws himself on the pile of mattresses next to you in an explosion of blankets and pillows. Your attempt at cleaning up Igarashi and Imamura’s mess goes wasted, but you are so cheerful you don’t care at all. 

“Kocho-chan…”

“Hm?”

Bachira rolls over on his (yours?) stack of cushions to properly pout at you. He wraps a blanket around himself like a cape. He surely is the comfiest superhero ever to live. “I’m angry at you, you know.”

“H-Huh?” The mattress you were dragging over falls to the ground with a thump. 

Bachira? Angry? At you? 

Your first panicky instinct is to go over all possible scenarios that may have occurred to cause Team Z’s sunshine boy to be mad at you. Did you forget to give him water? Did you step on his foot by accident? Did you not cheer hard enough for his goal?

And then it hits you. He must have heard your conversation with Mihara from a couple of days ago. Where she insults your team clear as day and you didn’t say a single thing back to her. Like you agreed with her or something.

It makes sense, in a way. Bachira must have kept this to himself for a long time. He waited until the games were over to properly talk to you about it. And then the rest of your team will know what a horrible doormat manager you are and never speak to you again.

“I-I’m really sorry Bachira-kun…I didn’t—”

“You never told us you knew Nagi!”

“Nagi?”

And whoosh! All your mindless worrying blows away into the North wind. Of course, Bachira would never be angry. You don’t think he is even capable of it. 

You breathe out a huge sigh of relief. That means no one knows yet. Thank heavens. 

“How do you know him, Kocho-san?” Isagi, Team Z’s MVP for now, asks from across the room. He holds a tray of filled water bottles and places it on a table. “He seemed really close to you.”

“He called you by your first name!” Bachira whines. “I want to call you (Y/n) too.”

This makes your face explode in a lava-hot heat. 

(I mean, o-of course Bachira-kun can! If he really wants to. Is what your heart wants to say if you were bold enough. But unfortunately, that is a Charisma Level 14 move and you are only Level 2)

“I-I only met him a day or two ago…We just made small talk.” You dip your head in apology towards Bachira and again to Raichi, who scoffs at you from a distance. “I’m really sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

But that begs the question. Why did Nagi ask for you to be their manager? Was it just to trash-talk your team? Or does he…?

You clap your hands to your cheeks. Absolutely not! You can’t let yourself think like this. Nagi will not live in your head rent-free if you can help it.

“Enough talking about that jerk!” Imamura announces loudly. “We beat him, didn’t we?”

This sparks a chain reaction of hollers and cheers from your team. You hear a few “yayyys~” and “NAGI IS TRASH” from the commotion.

Naruhaya yells out: “We need to do something fun! I vote for karaoke!”

Bachira looks excited, Isagi looks apprehensive, and everyone else exchanges glances, waiting to see who would object first. Karaoke does sound fun, but is it practical? How would it even be set up…To no one’s surprise, the first person to protest it…

“Don’t be stupid.” Raichi sneers. “You see a karaoke machine anywhere?”

“Well, Kocho has a laptop, doesn’t she?” Naruhaya says hotly. “We could just play instrumentals off on that.”

Huh. That is true. You can bypass basically all blocked websites with a VPN. You already have one downloaded anyway from watching anime with Naoko.

“That’s so lame. The music wouldn’t be loud enough.”

“Plus, what would we even use as microphones?”

For a moment, it seems that everyone’s karaoke dreams have been shattered. But then, you raise a shaky hand.

“I don’t think that’s an issue.” You whisper. Even though your voice is as quiet as a mouse’s, the whole room goes quiet and your face bursts into flame. The attention is so intense it hurts, but your force yourself to continue.

“I…I can just connect my laptop to the monitor up there—” You point at the big screen TV hung up on the wall. “—with the HDMI cables they have in the video footage room.”

Everything seems too good to be true. But Kunigami drags everyone back to reality against their will.

“That may work, but what about microphones? It’s a good idea, but—”

“There are microphones in the storage room.” You interject. Kunigami blinks at your sudden interruption; it’s the first time you have ever done something like that, but your eyes shine so brightly. You actually want this karaoke thing to happen. And so Kunigami the Gentlemen doesn’t argue any further. 

“Um!” You suddenly snap out of your delusional stupor. Are you being selfish? You absolutely love karaoke but…“Everybody wants to, right? I don’t want to force this on anyone if you don’t want….”

At that very moment, the few people that were hesitant about karaoke decided it wasn’t that bad of an idea at all. Eleven “aye’s” and zero “nay’s”.

“Can we assemble them in time?” Isagi asks.

A smile spreads across your face. “Give me five minutes, tops.”

In a flurry of wires, fast typing on your laptop, and a sprint to the Building 5 storage room that put Chigiri’s speed to shame, everything is perfectly set up. 

Microphones connected to the TV. A playlist of songs waiting to be sung. Your favorite karaoke website with a bubble-pink background. It’s all done.

You weren’t called the “hardworking ant” in Kaneshiro for nothing, as Kei graciously told you that fateful day.

“That was so fast…”

“I barely even saw her…I only saw a blur…”

“I call dibs on the first song!”

Karaoke night turns into a “dine and eat while you watch the clowns on stage embarrass themselves” night. You think it’s better this way since people like Chigiri and Gagamaru might not want to sing at all, and that’s fine. They can just eat and watch.

 It turns out that Naruhaya is an exceptionally talented singer. His spectacular performance for Sakayume by King Gnu in the Jujutsu Kaisen movie brought real tears to your eyes.

“Kocho-san, are you…crying?” Iemon asks nervously as Naruhaya belts out the saddest part in the song (“You said you would always be by my side~ I took it for granted~ That’s what I thought at the time~”). You wipe the tears from your eyes with your sleeves. 

“It’s so sad…” You sniffle. “Yuta and Rika are so cute together…”

Unfortunately for you, the beautiful moment ends as soon as Igarashi volunteers to be next.

In elementary school, your teacher told your class there are around 50,000 characters in the Japanese written language with around 3,000 of them in common use in modern times. You marveled at the writing system, in awe of how few characters there are compared to English’s 100,000 and Chinese’s whopping 500,000.

Tonight you weep at the lack of Japanese characters because you fail to find the right words to describe Igarashi’s singing voice.

Horrible? Cacophonous? A symphony of cicadas? It has the microphone peaking, Isagi covering his ears with pillows, Chigiri nursing a headache, and Naruhaya stealing all the dumplings when everyone was distracted. You are also pretty sure Imamura passed out a few times by how awful it was.

Eventually, Kunigami had to intervene in Igarashi’s performance for the sake of everyone’s mental stability. Thank you King Kunigami. 

With Igarashi banned from ever singing again for the rest of his life, Bachira is next.

He selects Likey by TWICE. You recognize this song immediately; your sister had made you learn the dance with her for the UTokyo hip-hop club. The thumbnail for the music video is chock full of pretty Korean girls wearing candy-colored outfits posing all cute for an imaginary camera shot.

It is very much a Bachira kind of song. It was either this or a kid’s show opening. “I didn’t know you speak Korean, Bachira-kun.” You pipe up as he starts the song and picks up the microphone.

He grins mischievously at you and hands you a microphone too. “I don’t.”

 Your heart sinks.

The obligatory scattered claps are drowned out by the duuuuuuuun duuun of the opening chorus. Bachira drags you onto your feet.

“You’re my backup dancer.” His golden eyes glint with something dangerous. “And my ad-libber.”

Oh no. No. No.

Is this really happening?

Are there really ten pairs of eyes on you, watching you humiliate yourself in real-time? 

Yes, there is. But somehow, the bitter, wintry edge of your insecurity and stage fright melts away with the sunny instrumental of the song. You are nothing. You are everything. Your terror has been numbed by Bachira’s anesthesia of positivity. 

Oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh oh gosh. 

“Hey!” You clap to the beat as you do a weird shuffle dance. What are you doing? What the hell are you doing? This isn’t you. The old you would never do this. The old you would die. “Twice!”

Why aren’t you scared?

“SO LAND AH ME LIKEY ME LIKEY LIKEY LIKEY” Bachira screams into the microphone like a madman. His fake Korean is so terrible that you burst out laughing as you poorly recreate the dance chorus. “Me likey, likey, likey!”

“WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT?” Raichi screeches over the blaring sound of the infectious, cheery song. This absolutely sends everyone into a fit of laughter and Bachira’s high-pitched imitation of a Korean girl band singer certainly doesn’t help.

“DEGEUN DEGEUN DEGEUN.”

“Heart, heart!” You barely gasp out.

The song is so stupidly catchy that some of the guys start chanting the parts of the song they actually know how to say as Bachira keeps singing his gibberish Korean. Whenever the chorus repeats, deafening roars of “ME LIKEY LIKEY LIKEY” rings in the room like a panic alarm.

There is something so beautiful about a bunch of athletic boys yelling “BB CREAM PA-PA-PA” and “LIPSTICK MA-MA-MA” with their awful English and reducing themselves to complete idiots for girl group songs they have never listened to a day in their life that makes you thankful to be alive. 

Eventually, the song ends with a last little heart, heart and you are caught in a commotion of flailing arms and thunderous yells.

You find a spot in the back of the folded futon palace right next to Chigiri. He watches blankly as Raichi grumbles to himself, trying to pick a tune.

“That song Bachira sang is kind of familiar.”

“Oh!” You are so surprised that the local Team Z princess isn’t dying of cringe after your performance that you almost drop a piece of steak in your lap. “It’s really popular. Maybe you heard it in a clothing store or something.”

Chigiri’s pretty features draw together into a frown; not in an angry way that you always thought it meant, but in a thoughtful, pondering kind of way. Like a wistful, handsome scholar contemplating the universe. You have the sudden urge to pinch his cheeks and tug them.

Oh no! Perverted thoughts! Go away go away go away go away go away!

“I recognize that dance too…my sister made me practice with her once for her university’s dance club.” He looks down at his hands before imitating the double L’s as the girls do in the dance.

“Really? Same here!” You copy his movements. Bring the hands sideways from the chest into double L’s, checkmarks under the chin, and pop the hip. Huh. That’s exactly how he learned it too. The chances are so small but… “What school does she go to?”

“Tokyo University.”

“H-Huh?” You blink in shock. “My sister—”

“MASTER RAICHI JINGO IS GONNA DROP BARS ON YOU LOSERS TONIGHT!” Raichi howls. “LISTEN UP, IDIOTS!”

The beat drops so loudly that you can feel it in your chest. 

No one actually knows how to sing along to Raichi’s aggressive rap so everyone just calls out the adlibs which mostly consist of swear words.

Then Iemon sings a slow, sad ballad with thick compressed bass and piano. No one has their phones to wave their flashlight so everyone just settles for swaying a stretched-out arm to the beat.

The rest of the night carries a similar theme. It’s a lawless wasteland of terrible songs, purposefully bad singing, and giggling so hard your stomach hurts. You like these boys so much. Is this what it feels like to have lots of friends? Is this what it feels like to be wanted?

Hey mom and dad. Your daughter is finally having fun with her friends. Please don’t worry about me anymore.

Eventually, karaoke night comes to an end when Jinpachi Ego himself sends you a very nice text message.

Text Messages (2)

Jinpachi-san ಠ_ಠ (11:17 PM)

Hello, Kocho-chan 

Congratulations on your team passing the first selection

You (11:20 PM)

Hello, Jinpachi-san :D

Thank you so much! That is very nice of you

We are celebrating by having a karaoke night!

Jinpachi-san ಠ_ಠ (11:21 PM)

I can fucking tell

Turn the music down or I will turn it down for you

You (11:22 PM)

O_O 

Jinpachi-san ಠ_ಠ (11:22 PM)

If I hear your teammates sing anime openings one more time, I’m firing you

I will actually fire you this time

I will relish the sight of you being locked off

This is your final warning

You (11:23 PM)

I am so sorry, sir.

—seen, 11:23 PM

End of Messages

Additional Time!

It wasn’t hard at all wrapping up karaoke night. 

Everyone was practically asleep by the time you closed your laptop and turned off the TV. Prying the microphone out of Kunigami’s hands was really the only hard part. That, and trying to toss covers over everyone’s sleeping figure was difficult too.

(Igarashi was particularly hard to tuck in. He was sleeping in a downward dog position)

When you were clearing off the tables, one of the plates accidentally clinked against each other and your heart jumped. Weirdly enough, no one reacted. Bachira mumbled something about receiving a pass from Messi and Isagi snuggled deeper into his blanket like a sleeping bunny but that was basically it.

Football players sleep as soundly as rocks, apparently. 

As you sneak out of the Team Z dorm with your laptop, microphones, and cables in hand, you hear a voice behind you.

“Hey. Kocho.”

“Eek!”

If it weren’t for the fact that you wrapped the wirework around your arms, your stuff would have crashed to the ground. Again. At least you learned something from Nagi the other day.

But it isn’t Nagi this time. It’s a girl with wavy black hair wearing Blue Lock manager pajamas standing in front of you. Her arms are crossed.

“Kumode-san? What are you doing in Building 5?”

“Jinpachi texted me saying you were goofing off and that I needed to manage you. What were you doing?”

“Uh.” You casually snatch a microphone that dangled dangerously in mid-air from a single cable. “Karaoke.”

“If you keep this up, you could get eliminated you know. You don’t want to be locked off, do you?”

“No…”

“I don’t want you to be fired either. So you have to stay diligent, especially since Nakamura nearly fucked us over last night.”

Your sheepishness of being caught doing something you weren’t supposed to vanish without a trace. “What? Naoko didn’t do anything.”

Kumode’s eye twitches “You have to be joking with me.”

“Well—” How do you say this properly? Think. Think. “It’s true we almost got fired. But we didn’t, right? It wasn’t like she did it on purpose or anything.”

“You know what, Kocho?” She steps closer to you with her green eyes flickering under the fluorescent lights. Kumode isn’t much taller than you but her staggering presence makes you pace back away from her. “Maybe you can forgive Nakamura because you two are besties or whatever, but I can’t.”

This may be the first time you have ever seen Kumode with so much emotion on her face. 

“I worked my ass off for this internship. Do you know how it felt to almost have that taken away from me because your friend wanted to play the heroine in a detective movie? I was in Jinpachi’s office because I was asking him about our essay. I wasn’t even a part of whatever the fuck you two were doing.”

“Can you get it through your head yet? I was almost fired for nothing.”

You don’t want to admit it, but Kumode isn’t wrong to be angry at Naoko. She was almost locked off for that had nothing to do with her. Kumode was at the wrong place at the wrong time because she was trying to get approval for the compositions you two wrote together. 

“I-I understand why you’re angry…” You hold your things close to your chest and bow. “I’m sorry that you have been unfairly associated with us, but I hope you won’t hold it against Naoko. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“And how do you know that? Maybe she was trying to get us in trouble on purpose.”

You stay quiet for a moment. “She’s my friend. She wouldn’t do that.”

 “She’s my friend.” Kumode mimicked you. “You only knew her since the start of this internship. Did you know Nakamura has a petty grudge against me because I beat Kaneshiro in the tournament a year ago? She would do anything to see me fail.”

You frown at this accusation. “But she helped edit our essay.”

Kumode scoffs. “And a fat lot of good that did. Jinpachi is refusing to back us up.”

“Huh? What does that mean?”

“It means, that Blue Lock isn’t going to publish our pamphlets. If we want the world to see them, we need to leak it to the media directly ourselves.”

You blink. Oh. “That shouldn’t be an issue, right? We can do that, no problem.”

She smiles at you cheerlessly. “Don’t be stupid, Kocho. If we publish those essays under our name, whose head do you think will roll if they aren’t received well?”

“But they might be! We worked so hard on them, maybe—”

“We are not risking my internship for some what-ifs.”

You wilt like a winter flower. Really? Was your plan finished, just like that? “We should at least try…”

This time, Kumode laughs out loud. “Your head is full of sunshines and rainbows. You think if you just work hard on something, then you will succeed. That isn’t how the world works, Kocho. Stop being so naive.”

Don’t be so impressionable, Kocho. Things like this happen more than you think.

“Here.” She jams a piece of paper forcefully in your chest before letting it flutter to the ground. “RealSeven Media’s contact information. Honestly, you should just trash this. Whatever you do, just leave me out of it.”

When she turns to leave, she looks back at you one more time with an indecipherable expression. “If you are actually going to publish our essays…then have fun going back home. I heard Saitama is beautiful at this time of the month.”

Chapter Text

Jinpachi Ego may just be the worst person to ever live.

He looked at the beautifully written essay that you and Kumode painstakingly composed, read through every lovely literary device you came up with, realized how you and Kumode wanted to protect his crazy soccer program the world is out to destroy and hacked a loogie on it. A metaphorical loogie, but a gross loogie nonetheless. 

Not to mention how Kumode snapped at you yesterday. Yes, you understood why she was angry or whatever but still. It’s not fun being lectured by anyone, especially someone younger than you. Stupid Kumode.

But now…

There is a decision to be made.

Ever since you were little, you struggled a lot with learning to be decisive. Whether it is choosing what you wanted for dinner, having a favorite manga, or knowing which stuffed animal you liked best in those claw machine games. After staring at the toys inside the glass box for what felt like years, you would whisper to your sister which one you thought was cutest, and then she would try to get it for you.

“The time it takes for you to choose a plushie is way longer than me actually playing the game,” Chie complained once as you watched the crane drop a little black cat toy into the prize drop area. 

(She was really good at the game. If you asked her to, she probably would have cleared out every claw machine in Saitama. But you felt like other kids deserved to have plushies too, so you didn’t. Even then, no one had quite as many prizes as you did.)

You read the scrap of paper Kumode graciously thrust into your chest the other day like a mantra. True to her word, it is a legitimate email to RealSeven media, one of the biggest cable networks in the country. 

This can either make or break your career. Huge emphasis on the “break”.

You groan and flop onto your bed, staring at the square tile fluorescent lights that act as lamps in your crappy dorm room. That’s the biggest thing you would change about your sleeping space; the extreme lack of cute, homely light fixtures makes your bedroom feel like a gym or a kitchen.

That and…a larger, softer bed. A window. An actual wardrobe and not just Blue Lock uniforms which you have to handwash every other day. A rug would be nice too.

It is 12:36 AM and you can’t sleep. To pass the time, you recheck the rankings. Still number nine. Even though your team passed the second selection…

You want to text Naoko but that girl sleeps at 10 PM on the dot every night. Waking up to a grumpy, sleepy Nakamura Naoko sounds very scary.

Your team is definitely out cold by now. There is no data input to be finished. It is much too late for your sister to reply to chat messages.

The world is entirely asleep, except you, your thoughts, and that stupid piece of paper.

If you actually are publishing our essays, leave me out of it.

Will you publish those essays? Do you want to publish those essays? Kumode sure thinks you would.

On one hand, you take a gamble in sharing The Pentagon Pamphlet. The world gets a glimpse of what goes on inside the hallowed steel halls of the Blue Lock facility. Their speculations, their curiosity, and their fears will be vanquished. 

But what if they don’t? The media might find holes in the essay the size of pinpricks and rip them into sizable tears for the public to discover and devour.

But you are a high schooler. The optimistic side of you says. The angel on your right shoulder wears looks identical to you with a white nightgown with a flower crown. Her hair is also wet for some reason. It’s not as if you are a scandalous politician or something. They would go easier on you.

The only thing worse than getting dragged online is not being noticed at all. The pessimistic side argues. The devil on your left shoulder is you but with the scantiest clothes you have ever seen. Fish nets, exposed cleavage, tongue piercing. Your mother would cry if she ever saw her. Being invisible and being hated all lead to us being fired. Why take the chance?

No achievements come without a bit of risk. Didn’t you say to Mihara the other day that not having anything to lose is actually your advantage? The angel places her hand on her hip.

Yes, a real advantage that would be if we got kicked out of here. The devil giggles. This is the first time in years we had this many friends. Will you throw it all away for a chance to be recognized?

But if we don’t, Blue Lock might come crumbling down like the Walls of Jericho and you might never see your friends again.

But maybe it won’t—

“Shut. Up.” You say out loud. “I can’t think properly with you two arguing like this.”

Heeding your command, the optimist and pessimist on your shoulder disappear. Now it’s just you and your indecisive thoughts remaining.

Thinking is hard. 

You reread the note for the nth time tonight. It isn’t anything special—just a piece of lined paper with an email address and the words “RealSeven media” written above it in black pen.

 It isn’t in Kumode’s handwriting which is something you have practically memorized by how many of her brainstorms and drafts you have read. It is much too neat to be Jinpachi’s writing and foreign enough to not be Mihara or Naoko’s writing.

It has to be Teieri Anri’s note.

You crawl underneath the comfort of your covers even though you weren’t tired at all from your rampant thinking. Maybe…you should ask Teieri what she thinks about all of this. She seems nice. And then after, you could talk to Jinpachi some more. Call your parents to see what they think—maybe your sister too—and—and…

As soon as you roll over on the cool side of the pillow, you fall asleep soundly. 

The next day is an interesting one.

Firstly, your smartwatch doesn’t wake you up at 6:00 in the morning like it always does. Your biological alarm shook you awake at around 8:00 and you practically flew into a panic, thinking you were terribly late for your managerial duties.

If Jinpachi was thinking of firing you before, he definitely would now.

But no, you weren’t late. Once you checked your tablet in a petrified frenzy, you realize managers were allowed a two-hour delay because the first selection just ended. Even though you are happy you had gotten the extra two hours of sleep, you can’t help but wish Jinpachi had the good sense to let managers know beforehand. Now you are just stressed out and awake.

Secondly…

“What the hell? The second selection doesn’t start right away?” 

For once, no one on your team attempts to calm Raichi down. They too, woke up excited to clobber the players from other stratums, only to have their mood sour at Jinpachi’s announcement.

“Shut up,” Jinpachi says smoothly on the big-screen TV like he has done this a million times. “While we wait for the second selection to begin, this team will need to undergo extreme physical conditioning.”

And to make matters even worse, he continues: “During this period, you won’t be allowed to use a ball for anything. If you violate this rule, you will be expelled.”

This doesn’t faze you in the slightest (physical training will help them with football, regardless of whether they can use an actual ball, right?) but for Team Z, this is probably akin to Jinpachi announcing that they would not be allowed to breathe air and they would instead need to learn underwater breathing.

This earns Jinpachi Ego a very pissed “fuck you!” from Raichi. No one bothers to calm him down.

“Don’t get cocky just because you passed by the skin of your teeth in the fifth stratum.” Jinpachi sneers. “You will train until I tell you to stop, trash.”

You wonder if he was ever a soccer player before he started this crazy Blue Lock program. He sure is toxic and egotistical enough to be one. 

“If you would like a representation of how far from the top you pieces of garbage are, you should take a look at what Stratum one is doing.” The screen then displays technology beyond your imagination: VR headsets designed to exhibit real games to test reaction time, speed, agility, and stamina; tons of bar-and-whisker graphs, bar graphs, scatterplots, and pie charts that portray the statistical analysis of player’s assets in soccer.

This would have all impressed you loads if you had not known that this was completely untrue. Stratums 1 through 5 use the same kind of training equipment and all have the same low-ranking teams. 

You aren’t stupid enough to tell anyone this fact but Jinpachi Ego sends you the scariest, iciest death glare one can muster to make sure your mouth is shut as your teammates ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at the futuristic technology. It works.

“Oh. I almost forgot.” The crazy robotics and data analysis on the screen are replaced by…the managerial ranks? 

Oh no. It can’t be.

But it is. It’s all fourteen remaining managers’ names and cartoon characters lined up in ranking order. 

Your cute little cartoon with the upside-down ‘v’ mouth and the pretty eyelashes is ranked number nine with zero points; just like how you remembered it last night. Nakamura Naoko is in second place still (poor thing) with three points and Kumode Kaori is number one with a whopping 8 points. 

“Yay. Your manager was not eliminated this selection.” Jinpachi says in the most monotone voice you have ever heard. Two dangerous red “X’s” cross out the bottom two names, which vanish leaving the last rank as number thirteen. Four spots away from being fired. “Kocho was very hardworking: her inputted data was relatively accurate, she was diligent in her duties, mostly kept on top of her tasks. She is overall, a decent manager.”

You smile shakily. Gagamaru rests an open hand on your head awkwardly.

“But you were shit at taking tests. Your highest score for all the exams you have ever taken was a 96% which the top three managers consistently surpassed. You are trash too, don’t forget it.”

And just like that, any traces of fond feelings for Jinpachi Ego disappeared. 

“This waiting period will be easy for none of you, managers and football players alike. Maybe this will remind you that you are all the barrel of the bottom.”

The “physical conditioning” as Jinpachi so nicely put is nothing short of hell.

If the warm-ups and machine training could be considered hard, the new exercise routine is grade A, elite-style torture. It hurts to even watch them.

Two sets of 2-hour endurance runs at 20 kilometers per hour. Rigorous weight training. Two sets of one-hour planks and Russian twists. 100 laps of sprinting on an empty field. 

Every.

Single.

Day.

If those numbers don’t seem like much on paper, it’s certainly terrifying to see in person. 

Even if they had reached their limit, they simply had to endure even more suffering and torment because if they don’t, it was going to be a short, easy walk to the Loser’s Gate.

It’s a collection of blood, sweat, and tears. You wonder if this kind of maltreatment is even legal. Maybe Naoko is right and the police will break into Blue Lock for mass child abuse or something.

(Igarashi asked you hoarsely if you could forge some data to make it easier on them. Before you could answer, Jinpachi’s face appeared on the TV, jump scaring everybody)

This duration of physical conditioning tests your athletic prowess too. You have to run around like mad, trying to make sure everyone is doing their exercise correctly and on time. Towels and water are practically a scarcity by how many times you need to fetch them. 

Aside from that, you also have to help some unlucky team players with tasks as simple as walking because their muscles are so sore. When you helped Isagi limp to the cafeteria, you pinched his bicep by accident and he screamed in agony like he was being burned by thousands of needles. You couldn’t stop apologizing.

And the best part: sprinting across the room with a bucket in hand to catch someone’s vomit before they puked all over the ground. The first few times you missed because you weren’t experienced but now you know the trick. Igarashi and Imamura get nauseous around eating times so you expertly flick a bucket across the ground, sliding it right in front of them as they bend over and retch. 

None of them, except Bachira, have any appetite, which is weird because you thought intense exercise would make them hungrier. Nope. They work out so hard that all they want to do is sleep.

They train until their muscles snap and the next day, it starts all over again. You would think the first day is the worst, but the most painful day is always ‘the next one’, because the pain they feel currently will double tomorrow. It’s terrifying to watch. You sniffled a lot watching them train so hard. All of this for some stupid pentagon ball. 

If your team’s stress is physical, then yours is mental. 

There is a scrap of paper burning a hole in your pillowcase back in your dorm room. And you don’t know what to do with it.

A couple of days ago, it would not have been hard to throw away. Toss it in the trash and forget about it forever. But…

“You have been writing more? Even though Kumode and Mihara gave up on the essay?” Naoko asks through a mouthful of rice. “Those wussies.” Ever since you two started eating in Building 5 instead of Building 4, her mood has drastically improved. She no longer peeks around her to avoid other managers and soccer players, instead, she just eats and relaxes.

“Yes…” You aren’t very hungry so you only grabbed a bowl of soup which Naoko gawked at you for (“What? No dinner? Are you sick or something?”). “I don’t know why. I guess it’s just like a burst of inspiration. Have you ever come up with really good ideas at the worst times?”

“No.” Is her blunt answer. “I can think of good ideas whenever I want.”

“Oh.”

“For example, one of my good ideas is to start filming Blue Lock like it’s a reality TV show. People like drama and soccer, right? And then we make the boys do modeling gigs which will earn everyone tons of money. Boom. Blue Lock becomes an international sensation and we all leave as millionaires. We never have to work again.”

You stay silent, slowly taking in what she said. Wait. That is a good idea. And it would totally be successful too. “Oh my gosh.”

“Yeah, I know. I’m the smartest.”

“If you are the smartest, please help me think of what I should do next, Naoko-sama.”

She wrinkles her nose in disgust. “Don’t call me that. And isn’t the answer obvious? Just don’t publish them at all.”

“H-huh? You really think so?”

“I mean, yeah. Kumode may be a complete bitch but she isn’t stupid. If she’s backing off on publishing the essays, then that means there is something really wrong.”

In Naoko’s silver irises, you see the sprawling flat plains of the savannah. The sight of a pride of lions leaping from the tallgrass, fleeing from an unknown danger is enough to make the herd of gazelles, bison, birds, and cotton-tailed rabbits run away as well. 

After all, what could be so dangerous that the apex predator of the prairie would turn tail and retreat?

You pout. That means all of your hard work really was for nothing. All those all-nighters and missed opportunities to mess around on your computer…

“What is this?” Naoko suddenly asks. She holds the piece of scrap paper which was hidden snugly in your pocket. You have no idea when she dug it out.

“Uh. It’s the contact info for RealSeven media.” When she gives you a dubious look, you say quickly: “Kumode gave it to me. I think Teieri wrote it for her.”

“Teieri is trustworthy, at least.” Naoko looks thoughtful. “You should go talk to her before you do something dumb.”

“Have I ever done anything dumb before, Nao-chan?”

“Yeah, you have. Remember when you thought penalty kicks were awarded for every foul? You even got it wrong on every single test.”

“Oh right…”

“And you let Mihara, Kei, and Haruka bully you.”

“...”

“And you dropped your natto on the ground once which you cried about. And you had a karaoke night with your team at like 12 in the morning. And you ran away from the two hot guys in your building—”

“Naoko.” You say sadly. “Has anyone told you that you are very mean, sometimes?”

“Yep. All the time. Why, do you think so now too?” 

“Hmph.”

Even as the Kaneshiro genius and ice princess brutally makes fun of you for being silly, you can’t help but think that she would get along with your friends. 

Naoko possesses an ego that the boys on the football team have. She is tough in the way that snide comments and cold remarks don’t bother her. And when they do, she is not the type of person to take it silently. Confrontation doesn’t scare her as it scares you. 

In that way, she reminds you a little of your older sister. They are both the kind of people who, if they ever worked in retail, would yell back at customers if they were being impolite. You can imagine Naoko in a McDonald’s uniform, screaming at some old man with her foot propped on the counter.

“I think you would like my other friends.” You say breezily, tugging on her silver hair absentmindedly.  “Should I introduce you to them sometime?”

“I would rather die than meet new people.”

“Then die.”

Naoko squints at you. “That is my line, you sneak fuck.”

Your face feels hot. There are butterflies exploding in your stomach and not in a cute, romantic way. The paper feels damp and crinkly in your sweaty hands. 

All prominent symptoms of being nervous. And who can blame you? The last time you talked to a Blue Lock executive, you were almost fired for no reason at all.

But you reassure yourself: Teieri Anri is different! She was the one to convince the stick bug-looking psychopath, Jinpachi Ego, to not fire you. She is the only woman on the JFA executive team. Plus it doesn’t hurt that she has a kind smile too.

If this works, this could be huge. Having even a single adult in this facility on your side is a major advantage over the other managers. They could be the Dumbledore to your Harry Potter. Or the Mr. Miyagi to your Daniel LaRusso.

With this optimistic thought in mind, you knock on the door to Teieri’s office.

There is a slight pause before a muffled voice calls from within. “Come in, please!”

You oblige. Opening doors in Blue Lock is always fun; with a press of the button, it slides open like sliding shoji doors. It reminds you of your grandmother’s house.

Teieri’s workspace is nothing like Jinpachi’s. You don’t really know what you were expecting. Perhaps even more monitors? Crazy high-tech gear? Stacks upon stacks of the manager-compiled data?

But no. If anything, her office is perfectly conventional, if not a little homey. Organized desk, a couple of color-coded folders, a tin cup (World’s Best Executive Manager),  writing utensils, and a small heap of papers. A purple yoga mat is sprawled across the floor along with some potted plants. A small bookshelf rests next to her desk.

Her office even has a window. Sigh.

“Hello, Kocho-san.” Teieri greets warmly. She closes her laptop and spins in her chair toward your direction. “Is there something you need?”

You gulp. “Um. Yes, there is.” And on second thought, you add: “Teieri-san.”

“I just wanted to ask…” You take out the slip of paper. “Did you write this for Kumode?”

She takes the scrap paper and inspects it attentively. It is probably smudged beyond recognition with so many people that have handled it before. “This is RealSeven media’s contact information, right? Then yes, I did.”

Wow. Just like you thought. 

…

Now what?

You suddenly realize Teieri has been sitting there patiently waiting for you to continue. “Oh! Um, sorry about that. Kumode told me yesterday that…she lost interest in wanting to publish the essays.”

Her kind smile falters. “Did she now? That’s a shame. It was so well-written too.”

“That’s what I thought too! And, um, I have a lot of faith in our essay. So I was wondering…what do you think I should do next? Publish them myself?”

This is your main character moment! The moment you finally break out of your shell and become the best manager who has ever lived. But Teieri doesn’t jump up celebrating your courage in joy or anything like that. She just sits, there, quietly taking in what you said with a thoughtful gaze. You cringe.

“Could you remind me again why Kumode decided to opt out of the publications?”

You blink. “Oh. She said it was because she didn’t want to leak it directly. Something about the managers taking the blame if it failed

“Ah. That’s understandable. If your little essays weren’t received well, Blue Lock would have to make a spectacle of firing those behind it so the program isn’t hurt.”

Like cutting off an appendage that has frostbite. You shiver. 

“And now you want to take over and leak it to the media under your name? Is that it?”

“I guess it could be a possibility…”

“Even with having the risks in mind?”

“Well—” You pause. I mean, the worst-case scenario that could happen is that Blue Lock fires you, right? That doesn’t sound so bad just by itself. You still get a handwritten recommendation from the directors themselves. You have the best-bragging rights of anyone you have known. This could shoot you straight into the best local public university there is.

But you can never see your friends again. You go back to Saitama, regretting that you ever stepped out of your comfort zone. The whole world will know that you are nothing more than a drop-out failure of the most innovative football program in history. You disappear without a trace in history.

You revert back into an ant.

“I can see you are still thinking about it,” Teieri says gently. “And that’s okay too.”

“Just remember, Kocho-san, that superheroes don’t exist in the real world. There are only people taken for granted. That is just how our society works. Sacrificing yourself may seem like a good and noble thing to do but ultimately, who takes the brunt of the hit? And who will forget your good deeds and take your gifts for cheap?”

Superheroes don’t exist. There are only people taken for granted. 

You suppose Teieri is right about that. Plenty of your “good Samaritan deeds” have been swept under the rug before. Not that you wanted praise or validation for such minuscule kind actions, but at least something would be nice.

But this is different. This time, your friends' careers may be on the line. Say, on the slightest chance that the JFA shuts down Blue Lock due to the pressures of the public, what will happen to everyone? 

Ah. Stop thinking so much. All that worrying will show itself as wrinkles on your face. You tap your forehead with the heel of your palm to clear your head. 

Your head hurts. Your head hurts so bad. 

Blue Lock would have to make a spectacle of firing those behind it so the program isn’t hurt.

Like a public execution. A theatrical declaration that the JFA has nothing to do with the scoundrel managers that have slandered the media. With a quick, soft-spoken order, and a creak of a wooden frame, the guillotine blade could decapitate your life at Blue Lock.

But…

You weren’t even meant to have a life at Blue Lock at all. Your admission was a mistake, truth be told. Even Jinpachi admitted it. Everyone thinks so. 

For a simple nine out of fifteen ranks, you studied until your ass off. You studied until you felt physically sick and even then, you weren’t top three. Not even close. 

Oh, what a poor little ant you still are. The best of the worst and the worst of the best. It feels like nothing has changed. Have you even improved at all from your days in Kaneshiro?

In your depressed stupor, someone flicks on the lights to the Building 5 video footage room. It is so sudden and so bright that it blinds you, painfully so. You yelp and smother your face into your knees.

“Kocho?” A familiar voice asks. “Are you here?”

The blood drains from your face. No. Nononono. Your current position right now…isn’t favorable at all.

After you slowly and agonizingly got over your fear of the dark when you were little, you learned that not being able to see anything clears your mind. If all you can see is darkness and blobs of shadow, your brain can’t be overstimulated with bright colors or shapes.

So sometimes, against your better judgment, you tend to turn off the lights in a room just to quell your mind. 

But that turned out to be a shit idea because now Isagi is going to walk in on you tucked under a desk like a weirdo.

“Kocho?”

It’s like Jurassic Park. If you don’t move an inch or make a single sound, maybe he won’t see you. He will just pass you by.

“Uh…What are you doing?”

It doesn’t work. Maybe your tricks would have worked on real dinosaurs but definitely not on local soccer player Isagi Yoichi. 

Said boy blinks at you dazedly a few times. It is certainly a strange sight; seeing his manager curled up into a ball underneath a steel office desk that had been pushed haphazardly against the wall. In the dark, no less.

“I am having a dilemma, Isagi-kun.” You say haughtily. 

He grins and plays along with your utter refusal to acknowledge the elephant in the room. “About what?”

“Important manager things. Silly boys like you won’t understand.”

“Silly boys like me, huh?” He gingerly sits on the floor next to you, careful not to overwork his muscles. “Is that why are you hiding in a pitch-black room under a desk?”

Your awkward smile freezes on your face. You were hoping he wouldn’t mention that.

 “It’s like you are preparing for an earthquake.”

You reach out a threatening, ominous hand, ready to squeeze his arm again without mercy. His grin drops from his face as he jerks out of your reach just in time. Isagi’s last memory of him crying like a child when you pinched him by accident remains fresh in his brain, so it seems. 

“I guess it helps me think.” Well, technically, it helps you not think but explaining would get complicated. 

“Do you want me to turn the lights back off?”

You shake your head. “It’s okay. What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to watch the Team V footage again because they also passed the first selection but…” Isagi breathes out a long, weary sigh. “I watched it so many times already. I think I memorized it.”

You don’t doubt he has. He really is an amazing player. Keen spatial awareness is a weapon that you never knew existed at all; being able to look down at the field like a chessboard. It’s what allows Isagi to take the best positions to strike goals in, not just so the team can win but also so he can stand out as the best striker.

Out of all the players on Team Z, you secretly think he is the most egotistical in game. The blue vanishes completely in his eyes when he takes control of the ball. You have never seen quite a look on anyone’s face before.

Isagi always knew how to make quick split-second decisions with playing football. That vision of his allows him to see the game from an entirely different perspective is what helps drive his ego. It’s what allows him to steal points and win.

Huh. Wait.

“Say, Isagi-kun…” He blinks at the mention of his name. “You must be super duper smart to have such good game sense when playing soccer, right?”

Isagi’s face flushes at the compliment. “Uh. Not really. My grades in school aren’t good. Like really not good.”

“Well, would you say you are good at analyzing stuff outside of sports?”

“I guess?”

You beam a sunlight bright smile. “Then could you help me with something? I have been thinking about this for a while.”

Before he could awkwardly agree, you slowly learn toward him. You are close. So close that Isagi could see each of your pretty curled lashes up close. So close that he could see the gloss of your lip balm. So close that he can count each tiny little freckle on your face. Your head tilts to the side as your eyes narrow just a fraction in concentration.

 If it is even possible, his face turns even redder. What is she doing? Why is she so close? 

“Got ittttt.” You drawl out cheerily before pulling back with your silver laptop in hand. Reaching behind Isagi to grab your computer case sure was difficult. “If you have time…could you please read something I wrote? And then I want to ask you a question after…”

With a few quick taps and swipes of the touchpad, you open your essay in a document format before handing your laptop to Isagi.

Your documents reflect in his brilliant blue (Admiral blue? Royal blue? Navy blue? Anyway, they’re gorgeous) eyes as he begins to read. “The Pentagon Pamphlets? What is that?”

“It’s…well, you don’t know this since you don’t have internet access but Blue Lock is under fire by journalists. Mainly because they can’t see why winning the World Cup is such a top priority. They are afraid the strikers in here are wasting their time.”

“That’s stupid. We came because we wanted to be here.”

You nod furiously. “Exactly! And so I…and another manager wrote a bunch of essays basically arguing back against them. This is what we came up with.”

With your eager expression and rapid gesturing of the laptop, Isagi agrees to read your beautifully crafted baby.

It takes him an awfully long time to read. Even with his meta-vision, Isagi Yoichi is a terribly slow reader. He pauses sometimes to reread paragraphs you are positive he just looked over. It makes sense, kind of. Isagi doesn’t seem like the kind of guy to read a lot of books outside of manga. 

And finally, after what feels like a hundred years, he reaches the end of your essay. “I don’t get it.” Is his honest verdict.

Your shoulders droop.

“B-but like, in a good way! This feels like one of those official, important documents my teachers made us read in Literature.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Especially this part—” Isagi highlights a sentence. “Those who denounce Blue Lock and urge for government intervention in such a monumental concept are hypocrites. They hold no real consideration for the very people they claim to fight for and only wish to publicly express popular sentiments to prove their moral conscience and social correctness in an otherwise rigid society. That’s really cool.”

Your eyes light up. You had written that part. Reading all those dumb articles where all the journalists do is virtue signal to their impressionable audience makes your blood boil. And the JFA can’t even retaliate because then they would have to reveal all details of the program to the world which they can’t do. 

“D-do you think I should publish them?”

“Hm?”

Your hands wring together. “Well, it’s already been read by Jinpachi and Teieri already so it’s okay for publication but they want us to issue it under our own accord.”

“Under your own accord? Why?”

“Sotheycanfireusiftheessaysendupbeingadetriment.” You utter as quickly as you can.

“Huh?”

You gulp. “So that if the essays are not widely received, then Blue Lock can fire us and claim it was just some big mistake. That way they don’t take any of the blame.”

Isagi’s eyes bulge out of his head. “Fire you? Then why would you do it?”

“I like Blue Lock, a lot.” You say quietly. “I really, really like it here. And I don’t want the JFA to even consider disbanding it.”

Your hands tremble as you continue rambling. “I made a lot of good friends here and I don’t want that to end. I…I really, really want you guys to succeed. I want to see all of you become the best strikers in the world. So…so…yeah. That’s why.” 

This is embarrassing. This is terrible. Is this why Naoko said you were bad at hiding your feelings? You literally just spill your guts to whoever bothers to listen. Does…does Isagi think you are clingy? What if he doesn’t like you anymore?

But he doesn’t cringe or recoil away from you like you thought he would. Instead, his cheeks turn pink. “Is that what you really think?”

Ashamed of your warm feelings, you nod seriously. 

“That’s…the nicest thing someone has ever said to me. I don’t think my parents understand my desire as much as you.”

Oh. That means he doesn’t hate you. 

With warm squigglies in your heart, you slowly crawl out of your little hidey hole to sit a little closer. That’s allowed, right? Hopefully, he has a small comfort bubble. If he asks, you can scoot back under the desk. 

“You know,” Isagi continues, not staring at anything in particular. “My old coach on my high school team used to have this saying. One for all, and all for one.”

“What does that mean?”

“It was his way of saying how important teamwork is. He always said how a game of soccer couldn’t be won by one person alone. Said it so much that I thought I would go crazy.”

You hide your smile behind your hand. “But that’s exactly the opposite ideology in Blue Lock.”

“Yeah. Exactly. Teamwork is the ‘Japanese way of playing’ and all.”

A silence settles between the two of you. It isn’t uncomfortable. Normally, quiet moments terrify you and you end up embarrassing yourself by trying to make things less awkward. But with Isagi, it feels nice. 

He frowns slightly like he is remembering something. You wonder what.

“And I didn’t agree with that style at all. I never understood it.”

“I see.”

“Which is why I don’t think you should risk your…internship, right? You shouldn’t risk your internship only to help us. Sacrificing yourself to help others is something I don’t agree with. Your writing is good and all, but if you really got fired, that would…” 

Isagi sighs. “But if you are also writing for yourself, then I would say go for it. If Blue Lock is something you want to defend, then I can’t say you shouldn’t do it. Besides, I don’t think your essay will be disliked. Manifest your ego, right?”

You don’t want to meet his earnest eyes. “Do you think it’s useful for managers to have ego?”

“Yeah. Duh. Do you know how much pride someone needs to manage a team full of narcissists? I bet it’s more than the actual players sometimes.”

“I guess so.”

Then, Isagi’s attitude changes. As you turn to look at him, his warm smile drops. The enthusiasm on his face is now replaced with conflict. “I don’t think you have enough egotism right now.”

You would have felt hurt by his words if you were not mesmerized by the neverending whirl in his eyes. The blue has vanished without a trace and instead, black droplets of ink circulate in his irises. Isagi isn’t conscience of what he is saying to you. This isn’t him. It’s his Ego talking.

“I heard you. That day during the Team X match.”

Fuck. Your mouth goes dry. Shit. 

“You were talking with their manager.”

No. Nononononono. 

I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry 

“Isagi-kun, I—”

“It doesn’t really matter to me.” Is his blunt, straightforward answer. “But you just took it quietly. Do you really believe what she said?”

Shame. Categorical and utter shame washes over your body like a cold flood. Your palm stings like someone has sewn cross-hatch switches into your flesh with needle and thread. The string loops around your throat like a noose and yanks, threatening to cut into your skin. The needle stabs into your pupils and you feel hot tears bubbling in the corner of your eyes. 

A living embroidery of disgrace, you have become. Kocho (Y/n), the girl whose cowardice has hurt the people she cares about. 

“Isagi-kun, I am so, so so sorry.” Your words taste like nothing on your tongue. 

He doesn’t seem to hear you. “Why didn’t you stand up for yourself?”

All the rest of your meaningless babble of apologies falls apart in your mouth like ash. It sticks between your teeth, fills your mouth, and lodges in your throat but you can’t seem to spit them out. All you say is…

“F-for myself?”

“That manager was making fun of you, wasn’t she? And—” Isagi makes a face. “I saw what was written on your dorm room door. I didn’t want to bring it up to you because I figured you would be embarrassed but…”

300 million IQ genius inside! Watch out!

“I…Isagi…”

“I guess you could say I’m overstepping boundaries.” He smiles sadly. “I understand. But I used to be like you, you know? I cared a lot about what others thought of me.”

All for one and one for all. 

“Maybe I’m exaggerating a little, but I was kind of a doormat in a way. Do you relate?”

Do you…

Relate?

“Of course I do.” You breathe out. “I’m the biggest doormat I know. I just get scared of conflict and when I try to stand up for myself, it backfires sometimes. So I prefer just staying quiet.”

How many times has someone made snide remarks to your face and you decided to simply take it, with your head hung low? How many times have adults unfairly chastised you, embarrassing you in front of all your peers? How many times have you been grabbed, pinched, slapped, and had your hair yanked when teachers couldn’t see?

A cool breeze. The smell of disinfectant. Bright red. Your hair sprawled out in clumps. The uncomfortable stickiness pooled onto the cold tiles of the bathroom floor. 

Naoko is right. You were only ever targeted because you were too weak to actually do anything about it. If only you had the slightest bit of courage to tell someone, then they would have stopped. But you couldn’t even do that.

Why can’t you do what others can do so easily? If you were simply smart, none of this would have happened in the first place. You feel so small. So worthless. 

“Hey. Hey.” 

You swallow hard. Isagi’s egotism has fully disappeared and now it’s just him. No pride, no uncomfortable truths, no pity. Just plain old, kind, gentle Isagi Yoichi. He smiles. 

“We should make a pact. You know what that is?”

A pact. A word from your childhood that you forgot was in your vocabulary. That word was cool. A pact. A blood pact. It was like something from an action movie. 

Children make pacts when they want to promise something they really cherish. Usually, it’s something small. Let’s make a pact to play again after dinner. Let’s make a pact to share our food. Let’s make a pact to always be best friends. 

When you nod slowly, Isagi grins boyishly. “We should promise…that…we will try not to be doormats again. I will find my ego when I play in a match and you need to stop people from walking on you. Sound fair?”

Promise…to try not to be doormats.

Maybe if there is someone to always hold you accountable…then maybe you can improve. Maybe you can be more than this washout you are. Maybe…

This is Blue Lock. If you can’t be more than you are now, you don’t deserve to be here. Leave Kaneshiro behind. Leave Kei and Haruka behind. Leave everything behind.

Leave everything behind. No matter the cost. 

“Okay.” You whisper. “I promise.”

Isagi’s smile becomes brighter and holds out his fist. It takes you a moment to realize he’s offering a fist bump.

With a heavy, dry determination settling in your chest, you bump your knuckles against his. A brofist pact, the strongest of them all.

If Blue Lock is something you want to defend, then I can’t say you shouldn’t do it. 

And with Kumode’s scathing recommendation, Naoko’s suggestion, Teieri’s reminder, and Isagi’s encouragement, you make your final decision. You should have seen it coming all along.

The Kocho Sisters Group chat <3333

Kocho (Y/n)

Hey nee-chan

I know you are in class right now

But

I think I’m going to publish my blue lock essay

By the time you read this, i will either be an overnight sensation 

or i will be out of an internship

Tell mom and dad hi for me

Love you

—delivered (4:32 PM)

To: [email protected]

Subject: Press Release from a Manager Interning at the Japanese Football Association

Dear Hanae Hoshino-sama,

I am one of the fifteen interning managers chosen for the JFA-sponsored soccer program, hand selected by Teieri Anri and Jinpachi Ego in an entrance examination. I am contacting Real7Media because your news station has been writing extensively about Blue Lock and my statement on it could be beneficial for your viewership-based coverage. 

Countless media outlets have speculated on the development of this groundbreaking program and are curious to learn more about it. I hope to shed light on these mysteries in a series of essays which I have attached to this email below. These documents answer many frequently asked questions, clarify some common misconceptions, and argue for the importance of securing a Japanese victory for the World Cup.

However, this is not an official statement from the Japanese Football Association or from Blue Lock itself. In fact, my superiors are unaware that I am even submitting this at all. I am aware of the consequences and I have already accepted what might happen to my career if my small project is publicized. This is simply a series of compositions written by a soccer manager who is passionate about the future of Japanese soccer. 

Whether you choose to cover these articles is entirely up to you. It should be noted that this is the only glimpse of Blue Lock the public will see outside of what is portrayed. Please do not undervalue such a golden opportunity.

Thank you for your consideration in advance,

-Aegis

You type this email out on your laptop in the dead of night. As soon as you send it out, you bury yourself underneath your blankets, shaking uncontrollably. If you are lucky, you wouldn't wake up tomorrow. 

Additional Time!

Today is a particularly uneventful day for a certain student at Tokyo University. 

Kocho Chie had (woefully) finished her assignments for the week much too earlier under the guise she would go out for drinks with friends. But three out of the nine people that agreed to go became sick which meant their party was no longer eligible for the “larger-than-a-party-of-eight” discount. 

Not to mention her Approximation and Online Algorithms class was canceled. Ugh. That flu bug going around sure is potent.

Now she just lies on her bed watching re-runs of her favorite shows, trying to ignore the churning stress and anxiety in her heart.

It doesn’t work. Chie puts her phone aside and stares at the ceiling of her dorm. Iron Chef isn’t so much fun to watch anymore. 

What can she do to pass time? She can go for a morning run. She can surf the internet. She can go to bed early. Pirate a movie, watch YouTube, read a book, study for her test three weeks from now…

Then Chie remembers. She rips her covers off and makes a beeline toward her tiny desk. A huge smile spreads across her face.

Ah~~~ She still can’t get over the fact that her super-smart little sister snagged an internship at Blue Lock! What an absolute mega-genius. Chie definitelyyyyyy did not brag to all her classmates about (Y/n)’s accomplishments ad nauseum. Gasp! Who would assume that?

Her internship is kind of weird though. (Y/n)’s higher-ups don’t allow phones for some reason and social messaging platforms have been blocked on her computer. So all they have for communication is a shady chatroom website that censors the most random words and crashes at unexpecting times.

It’s an awful way of communication. But how else is Chie supposed to chat with her beloved imouto? And how else is she supposed to reassure her tearful parents asking daily about their youngest? 

Eight new messages. Her smile becomes even brighter.

And she devours (Y/n)’s rapid-fire texts from yesterday in moments. Publish. Internship. Overnight sensation. Chie’s brown eyes widen. No way. There is no way.

She rereads the messages. Once. Twice. Then she opens up the official website for Real7Media.

Anonymous Manager Breaks Silence on the JFA’s Blue Lock program; “This revolutionary approach to modern football will save Japanese soccer”. Secrets ongoings of Blue Lock, debunking myths, and more!

Chie’s jaw drops. 319 thousand people have opened this article.