The bus ride to the Blue Lock facility was eerily quiet. A few players whispered among themselves, but the tension in the air was undeniable. No one knew exactly what was waiting for them.
Isagi sat near the window, his gaze fixed on the passing landscape. The further they went, the more isolated the surroundings became—until, finally, the massive Blue Lock facility loomed ahead. A towering, pentagon-shaped structure, like a fortress built solely for football.
The bus came to a halt, and the doors hissed open.
"Alright, everyone out!" a staff member announced.
As the players stepped onto the concrete ground, they found themselves standing before a group of officials. At the front stood a woman with medium nice pink hair and sharp eyes—Anri Teieri.
"Welcome to Blue Lock," Anri said, her voice firm yet composed. "From this moment on, your life as you knew it is over. No phones, no outside contact. You'll live, eat, and breathe football in this facility. Your only focus will be on one thing—becoming the best striker in the world."
A few murmurs spread through the group.
"What the hell? No contact with the outside?"
"They're really treating us like prisoners…"
Anri didn't react to their complaints. She simply gestured toward the staff behind her. "Before entering, you'll receive your Blue Lock uniform. Hand over your personal belongings—we'll return them when your time here ends."
One by one, the players stepped forward, dropping their phones, wallets, and personal items into the collection bins.
The players filed out onto the pavement, where a line of officials stood waiting. One by one, they were handed a blue and black uniform with a number printed on the chest.
Isagi looked down at his uniform.
#290.
His brows furrowed. "What's this number for?"
No one answered. The staff simply moved on, handing the next uniform to Kira.
#291.
Kira frowned, but before he could question it, the players were ushered inside.
The facility was cold and industrial—endless metallic hallways, no windows, and an eerie artificial silence. It felt less like a training center and more like a prison.
After navigating the long corridors, Isagi arrived at the dormitory sector. A door labeled "Z" slid open automatically, revealing—
Four blank walls. A row of lockers.
And nothing else.
No beds. No tables. Not even chairs. Just a sterile, empty room.
Inside, there was already one other player. Isagi recognized him, though he said nothing. With a small sigh, he walked in, grabbed an empty locker, and changed into his uniform.
The door slid open again.
Kira stepped in, uniform in hand. He scanned the bare, lifeless room before his gaze landed on Isagi.
He exhaled sharply.
"Oh, at least I know someone here... even if it's a displeasure knowing you." His voice was laced with irritation.
Isagi sweatdropped. Yeah, he was definitely grumpy.
Slowly, more players began trickling in, each one scanning the room with mixed expressions of confusion and unease.
One by one, they changed into their Blue Lock uniforms—black and blue athletic wear that felt both lightweight and snug, designed for high-intensity movement.
Finally, the last player entered. The number 300 was printed on his uniform.
Without hesitation, he beelined straight for Kira and grabbed his hand, shaking it so aggressively it looked like he was trying to rip it off.
"WHOA!!! You're the Jewel of Saitama, Kira Ryosuke! It's really a pleasure to meet you, dude!" he practically shouted, his grin stretching ear to ear.
"My name is Igarashi Gurimu! Call me Igaguri!"
Kira blinked, clearly taken aback by the sudden energy.
Kira forced a smile, awkwardly pulling his hand away from Igaguri's vice-like grip. "Uh… yeah. Nice to meet you too, I guess."
Igaguri, still grinning, looked around the room at the others. "Man, this is crazy! We're all strikers from across Japan, huh? Feels kinda surreal." Some players were still stretching and adjusting their new uniforms. The numbered jerseys felt strange, and the meaning behind them was still unknown. **Isagi glanced down at his uniform—290.
Kira had 291.
And the last guy who walked in—Igaguri—had 300.
A hushed tension filled the room as everyone silently observed their numbers, confusion flickering in their expressions.
"What do these numbers even mean…?" someone muttered.
Isagi's gaze shifted to a player with messy blond hair, who was angrily glaring at the digits on his jersey. His frustration was written all over his face, fingers curled into fists. He clearly wasn't happy with whatever this number meant.
The room was tense.
The players were still processing the meaning behind their numbers when—
A loud buzzer blared through the facility, breaking the silence.
Heads snapped toward the sound as a screen flickered to life, revealing a familiar face—Ego Jinpachi.
His sharp, calculating gaze peered through the thick lenses of his glasses.
"Are you done changing? You lumps of talent…" Ego greeted, raising a hand in a casual dog paw wave.
…He's weird.
A few players exchanged puzzled glances, but no one dared to say a word.
"The others in this room," Ego continued, "are your rivals—the ones who will push you to greater heights."
A hologram suddenly materialized in his hand, flickering with digital precision.
Holograms? Isagi blinked. How does this even exist?
"I've used my personal judgment to quantify your abilities and rank you," Ego declared. "That's the number displayed on your uniform."
Murmurs spread through the room.
"Now, anyone can tell at a glance where you stand among the 300 people."
Isagi felt his thoughts spiral.
290.
Am I seriously only 290?
But instead of disappointment, a spark ignited in his chest.
There are 289 people stronger than me.
289 players against whom I won't have to hold back.
A slow, hungry smile stretched across his face.
Like coach, like student.
Ego's smirk widened slightly, clearly not ignorant of Isagi's reaction.
"That ranking will change daily," Ego continued, "going up or down depending on training and matches."
His next words, however, dropped like a bombshell.
"And finally, the Top 5 will be unconditionally registered for the U-20 World Cup happening six months from now."
The room froze.
Stunned silence.
Eyes widened. Jaws clenched. Some players took a sharp breath.
Just like that?
You get to play for Japan?
Before anyone could fully process it, Ego's voice cut through the tension like a knife.
"By the way," he added casually, "those who fail Blue Lock will forever lose the right to represent Japan."
A heavy weight settled over the room.
The murmurs from before turned into hushed disbelief. Some players stiffened. Others clenched their fists.
"What you need to succeed here is Ego," Ego declared, his eyes gleaming with intensity.
"And now… we will hold a little entrance match to test your aptitude."
He snapped his fingers.
A hatch in the ceiling opened, and a ball dropped from above, landing in the center of the room with a dull thud.
The screen shifted, displaying a cartoony image of a player along with his name—
Igarashi Gurimu.
The boy in question flinched.
"The time limit is 160 seconds. If you get hit with the ball, you're 'It.' Whoever's 'It' when time runs out will be locked off and sent back home."
Eyes darted to the ball.
"You cannot use your hands."
A simple game of tag.
But with everything on the line.
The ball had barely hit the floor before Igarashi Gurimu scrambled toward it like a man on the verge of death.
His panicked expression was enough to tell that he understood the stakes of this game.
If he lost, he'd be out.
Gone.
Dream over.
And he sure as hell wasn't going home this easily.
His hands were shaking as he lunged forward, nudging the ball ahead with his foot before zeroing in on his first target—
Naruhaya Asahi.
Rank 299.
One spot above him.
"Shit, shit, shit!" Naruhaya cursed under his breath, eyes widening as Igarashi swung his leg back for a wild strike.
He dodged.
Barely.
The ball whizzed past his side, slamming into the wall behind him with a hollow thud.
Igarashi yelped as he realized he missed.
Naruhaya grinned, already dashing away to the other side of the room. "Close, but too slow!"
Igarashi gritted his teeth. He wasn't losing to this guy!
He hurriedly chased after Naruhaya, kicking the ball with desperation.
Another dodge.
Another near miss.
The first thirty seconds went by in a chaotic exchange—Naruhaya staying on his toes, barely managing to keep out of Igarashi's frantic reach.
And then, in one split-second lapse, Igarashi managed to corner him.
His foot swung hard, sending the ball straight into Naruhaya's side.
Bam!
A sharp impact.
Naruhaya stumbled, jaw tightening.
A moment of silence.
Then the screen updated—
[Naruhaya Asahi → "It"]
"Tch… bastard," Naruhaya muttered, but he didn't waste a second wallowing.
He instantly kicked the ball toward the nearest person—
Kunigami Rensuke.
Number 292.
The ball came flying at him fast, but Kunigami was no easy prey.
His reflexes kicked in—he caught the ball underfoot, controlling it instantly.
His sharp, golden gaze flickered toward Igarashi, who was still trying to catch his breath.
Kunigami's expression hardened.
Perfect target.
With one powerful swing, he sent the ball rocketing back toward Igarashi's direction like a bullet.
Boom!
Igarashi barely had time to react before the impact slammed into his stomach.
The wind rushed out of him, and he doubled over, coughing.
The screen updated again—
[Kunigami Rensuke → Igarashi Gurimu → "It"]
The room fell into a brief pause.
Some players were panting, their breath coming out in short gasps. Others had clenched fists, their jaws tightening as they kept their eyes locked on the ball, waiting for the next move.
But Isagi?
He leaned back slightly against the wall, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but beneath the surface, a storm was brewing.
This was the great Blue Lock entrance exam?
The so-called battle for Japan's future?
What he saw wasn't a fight between strikers.
It was panic.
It was hesitation, fear—everyone scrambling around just to make sure they weren't the one eliminated.
They weren't playing to win.
They were playing not to lose.
His gaze flickered to Kira.
Unlike Isagi, Kira's shoulders were tense, his eyes sharp with a mix of unease and urgency. Every movement he made screamed desperation.
The way his fists clenched at his sides…
He was scared.
Scared of losing.
Scared of watching everything he built fall apart.
For a brief moment, Isagi wondered—
If Kira was so afraid, then what was he?
And then, in that moment of clarity, he understood.
Kira was thinking about survival.
But Isagi?
Isagi was thinking about winning.
And not just this match.
Not just this phase.
Everything.
Because that's what it meant to be the best.
It wasn't about making sure you didn't lose.
It was about making sure you were the one who won.
He let out a slow breath, his focus returning to the game.
Igarashi had finally gotten back on his feet, his movements still shaky but determined.
The ball was at his feet again.
20 seconds left.
This was his chance.
He didn't hesitate.
In one swift movement, Isagi stepped forward.
His steps were quiet, but his presence was impossible to ignore.
Before Igarashi could react, Isagi cut in from the side, his foot sliding in smoothly—
Stealing the ball like it was second nature.
"Wha—?!" Igarashi gasped, his body freezing up for a split second.
Isagi didn't even look at him.
This wasn't about Igarashi.
This wasn't about desperation or fear.
This was about listening to his ego.
He wanted more.
No—he needed more.
His instincts screamed at him, pushing him forward, urging him to chase something greater.
Because the best weren't born by dodging weaklings.
The best were forged by going head-to-head with someone stronger.
His foot connected with the ball—
And he sprinted.
His breath was steady. His body was light.
His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he cut through the room like a bullet.
Yes—this was it.
This was what he lived for.
The rush. The hunger. The undeniable pull of something beyond his reach.
His lips curled into a grin, excitement bubbling in his chest.
His eyes locked onto his target—
But then, before he could strike—
A foot slid in from the side.
Effortless.
Almost playful.
The ball was stolen.
Isagi's eyes flickered sideways.
And then—
"Heh… I like you."
A voice.
Bachira Meguru.
His golden eyes gleamed with something that sent a strange chill down Isagi's spine—
Recognition.
Like he saw something in Isagi that no one else had.
Like he understood exactly what Isagi was feeling.
Bachira's movements were fluid, effortless, as if this was all just a game to him.
And yet—
His movements were smooth, almost playful, as he dribbled past the scrambling players.
But his golden eyes weren't looking at them anymore.
They were locked onto Isagi.
"You wanna crush someone?" Bachira's voice came out in a low chuckle. "Then go for the strongest guy."
Their sights were set on the highest ranked player in the room. "Aomori's Messi", Nishioka.
And without hesitation—
He passed.
The ball rolled toward Isagi, crisp and clean.
A perfect setup.
A perfect chance.
His body reacted before his mind did.
He took one step forward.
Then another.
And then—he struck.
But Nishioka was ready.
The moment the ball left Isagi's foot, Nishioka spun to dodge.
He was fast.
Fast enough that the ball just barely grazed his hip as he slipped past the direct strike.
His eyes burned with focus, his sharp reflexes displaying exactly why he was ranked number one here.
But Isagi didn't panic.
Because he had already figured it out.
Nishioka was playing to avoid elimination.
That was the difference between them.
Isagi wasn't thinking about surviving.
He was thinking about winning.
So—
He adjusted.
Just as Nishioka moved, Isagi pushed off his back foot—
—and lunged.
His body cut off the escape route, sealing Nishioka's movement.
A sharp, instinct-driven press.
Nishioka's eyes widened—realization hitting half a second too late.
He had nowhere left to run.
And before he could react—
Bachira passed again–
His movements were effortless, fluid, as he passed the ball to Isagi.
"Here ya go, Monster~"
With a flick of his foot, Bachira sent the ball right back.
A perfect pass.
5 seconds left.
Isagi's breath was steady. Focused.
This time—Nishioka had no escape.
The strongest player in the room was cornered.
His expression, once sharp and confident, cracked. A flash of frustration. Desperation.
But Isagi didn't care.
He wasn't going to hesitate.
Because this was what Blue Lock was about.
You devour the one in front of you.
You become the best by crushing those above you.
And so—
He struck.
A clean, precise hit.
The ball soared through the air—
Straight into Nishioka's chest.
A solid thump echoed through the room.
Nishioka staggered, his breath hitching—
The buzzer rang.
The screen flashed red.
ELIMINATED: NISHIOKA
The highest-ranked player.
The strongest one here.
Had just been eliminated.
And in the final moments—
As Nishioka lay there, stunned, his body frozen in disbelief—
Isagi stood over him.
His breath was steady. Controlled.
His eyes, however, burned with something raw.
Not relief. Not satisfaction.
Euphoria.
The thrill of devouring someone stronger.
His lips curled into a grin—sharp, knowing, and completely unshaken as he stared down into Nishioka's wide, dazed eyes.
"Turns out… the strongest guy wasn't all that strong."
A heavy silence hung in the air.
Nishioka's body tensed as the buzzer rang, his breath coming out in ragged gasps. His mind was spinning.
This… this wasn't real, right?
He was the number one player here. The highest-ranked player in this room. How the hell could he be the first one eliminated?!
His fists clenched. His vision blurred with rage and disbelief.
And then—
"Nishioka, you're out."
Ego's voice was cold. Unforgiving.
The room fell into an eerie silence.
The doors to the facility slid open with a mechanical hiss.
"Player Nishioka, exit."
Nishioka's breath hitched. His eyes darted toward the open door.
And something inside him snapped.
"Wait! No, this is bullshit!" His voice boomed through the room as he shot up to his feet. His hands shook, his face twisted with frustration. "This was just a stupid game of tag! This isn't real football!"
No one moved. No one spoke.
They just stared.
Some out of pity. Others out of contempt.
He lost.
And in Blue Lock, losing meant disappearing.
But Nishioka refused to accept it.
He turned to Ego, his face red with anger. "You can't do this! I have more talent than anyone here! Why should I be the one to go?!"
His voice cracked.
Desperation leaked through his words.
Ego, however, simply stared down at him through the screen. His expression was unreadable.
And with his unamused, bland expression now intensifying if that was possible.
"Pack your bags and lock off."
The words hit like a guillotine.
Nishioka froze.
For a second, the entire room did.
And then, like a final nail in the coffin—
The robotic voice repeated:
"Player Nishioka, exit."
Nishioka's face twisted in pure horror. His eyes darted around, as if searching for someone—anyone—to back him up.
But there was nothing.
No support.
No sympathy.
He had lost.
And no one was going to save him.
His legs felt weak. His breath was uneven.
And then—slowly, unwillingly—he turned.
With heavy steps, he walked toward the exit.
The doors slid shut behind him.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
No one dared to speak.
The reality of Blue Lock had set in.
For the first time, they all truly understood.
This wasn't just some test.
This was a battlefield.
Ego's voice cut through the tense air, his flat tone unforgiving.
"That's another one. Now there are only 275 players remaining after our little entrance test."
Ahh…. there it was again. That grin.
A few players flinched. Others clenched their fists, their expressions hardening.
Isagi?
He barely reacted.
His gaze lingered on the door where Nishioka had disappeared, his mind processing everything that had just happened.
Realization.
This is how it works.
This is what it means to survive here.
It wasn't about past rankings. It wasn't about talent on paper.
It was about results.
And he had delivered.
A slow exhale left his lips as a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.
One step closer.
But this was just the beginning.
Ego continued, his cold, analytical gaze sweeping across the remaining players.
"This is what Blue Lock is. Your status, your reputation, your past achievements—none of that matters here. Only those who can prove their worth in this moment will survive."
His sharp eyes narrowed.
"If that scares you, then leave now. Otherwise—
—fight."
The screen went blank.
Ego's words still lingered in the air.
Then—
A familiar presence stepped forward.
That guy from before.
Bachira.
His golden eyes gleamed with the same wild glint he had when he stole the ball from Isagi earlier.
He stopped right in front of him, tilting his head slightly, an amused grin playing on his lips.
"What's your name? Monster."
That word again.
Monster.
Isagi didn't react immediately. His neutral expression remained unchanged, his mind still replaying the events of the game.
Finally, he met Bachira's eyes.
"Isagi Yoichi. Yours?"
Bachira's smile stretched wider.
"I'm Bachira. And the monster inside me is telling me to follow you."
There was something unsettling about the way he said it.
Something that sent a strange shiver down Isagi's spine.
But at the same time—
It was intriguing.
This guy…
He was different from the others.
"Ugh… sure." Isagi replied with a sweatdrop.
The sound of a loud buzzer echoed through the room.
The steel doors leading out of the room slid open, and a mechanical voice followed.
"Preparations for the First selection will begin tomorrow. This is your dorm from this moment.." then the wall to the left side opened like a window. Few futons and pillows falling out of them. "Use these to sleep at night." BBZT.
The tension in the air finally started to dissolve.
Some players sighed in relief. Others still looked tense.
And some, like Kira, stood frozen in thought.
Isagi took one last glance at the empty space where Nishioka had disappeared.
Then, without another word, he turned to leave. Bachira came behind.
"Ahh, where are you going? Isagi." Bachira asked.
"I am hungry so, cafeteria." he turned with a small smile, pointing his thumb at the door leading to the cafeteria.
Bachira followed right behind him.
"Ohhh, don't mind if I join."
They left behind a bewildered crowd behind them.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author's Notes:
Yo, the entrance exam is done here. Well… I don't really have a solid opinion on this chapter myself. Normally, when I'm writing, I feel it—like, I just know if I'm cooking or if it's mid. But this chapter… man, I don't know. Maybe I cooked, maybe it's mid.
I feel like there are a few inconsistencies, but when I read it again, everything fits properly. Maybe it's just me being an overly perfectionist.
And yeah—NISHIOKA IS NOT HAVING A COMEBACK IN MY STORY. HAHAHA. Dude wasn't even used after all that hype in the first few chapters.
Also, if you haven't already figured it out after reading the last chapter—Kira is staying in Blue Lock.
I didn't just want to eliminate some weak guy and be done with it. This first selection had to mean something for Isagi. The feeling he got after defeating Kira was something he tried to chase later in the story. So, I wanted this selection to be more than just a warm-up—I wanted it to solidify his mindset. (Imamura is now not here with us.)
You can only be the best if you devour someone stronger than you.
I think Isagi started really leaning into this mentality in the later stages of the Second Selection. But in this version? We're starting that right here.
Wow, I yapped a lot. My bad, but I just wanted to share this haha. (I think this chapter also falls on the shorter side. Sorry for that but if i continue this any longer this chapter will become too big. Also you can read 5 chapters ahead in my pa*treon. the link of it is in the sypnosis.)
Signing off,
SG
Editor's Note :-
That is such a long author's note....
Why did you write this much….