Chapter 23: Arthas
Headquarters of the United States Football Federation.
Inside a soundproof room, a young woman with short brown hair was on the phone with a neighbor lady from their old neighborhood back in Japan, repeatedly explaining things like "please don't call the police."
Only after she finally finished explaining did she exhale in relief.
Then she walked toward the cafeteria inside the headquarters and returned to the corner where she'd been eating.
She called out to her younger brother:
"Asahi!"
Hearing his sister Mahiru's voice, Naruhaya Asahi—who was eating dumplings—immediately turned his head and greeted her.
"Mahiru-ne! The little ones have already been taken to read books by the babysitters."
Seeing that her brother's training uniform was dirty again, Naruhaya Mahiru couldn't help but ask:
"Asahi, do you still have spare clothes on your side? If not, I can take these and wash them."
Naruhaya Asahi shook his head.
The USF had its own dedicated laundry service for athletes, free of charge.
After two months here, he couldn't even remember how many sets of training uniforms he'd gone through.
He could only sigh in admiration at how well Mr. Arthas treated the football players under him.
Ever since he'd been accepted into the talent list for the "Tomorrow's Star" professional football development program, Naruhaya Asahi's life had become like paradise.
First, his family was allowed to settle in the U.S. through fast-track approval and enjoy high-quality education.
Then came the luxury chef and nutritionist team preparing delicious, nutritious meals; beautifully designed, comfortable clothing created by professional designers…
Everything felt like a dreamlike heaven.
Naruhaya Asahi looked at his own hands, already beginning to callus, and clenched them tightly.
A life this dreamlike—was almost too good to be real.
Even though Lord Arthas said that the first batch of talents would never be removed, Asahi didn't want to slack off.
Unlike the other two players who made it into the program, he had only entered by pure miracle.
And in recent training sessions, he had become painfully aware of just how huge the talent gap between players could be.
But it didn't matter.
If needed, he'd use his sleep time to train just like before.
Four hours of sleep a day—more than enough!
While eating beside him, Naruhaya Mahiru could faintly sense that Asahi was hiding his training injuries again. Her expression dimmed slightly.
Ever since their parents died in an accident, she and her younger siblings had lived through poverty every single day back in Japan.
She worked part-time at a dumpling shop to earn living expenses, bringing home leftover dumplings for the kids to eat.
Asahi had always been thoughtful and mature—constantly taking part-time jobs to lessen her burden. Whenever the younger siblings cried, he became the family's clown, bringing laughter back into the house.
Now Asahi had finally taken the most important step toward becoming a professional football player and brought the whole family to live in America.
But Asahi was still the same—never relaxing, never letting himself rest.
It was her fault…
The moment Mahiru thought about how she still couldn't take any burden off Asahi, she began stuffing food into her mouth and forcing down her emotions.
She was the oldest child. She couldn't let Asahi shoulder everything alone.
"Asahi, I've been thinking… I want to get a nutritionist license."
"!"
Hearing his sister say this, Naruhaya Asahi's first reaction was to assume she was giving up her own future because of his career.
He hurriedly swallowed his food, ready to stop her.
Seeing her brother panic, Mahiru laughed warmly.
"You're thinking something bad again, aren't you? Relax. I'm not becoming a nutritionist because of you. It's just… after working at that dumpling shop for so long, whenever I see dumplings, I can't help wanting to make delicious ones for you and the little ones."
"Just like how you chose football, I'm choosing dumplings."
She gently ruffled her brother's milk-caramel-colored hair.
The Naruhaya family would only continue to get better from here.
Hearing her explanation, Asahi finally relaxed.
After swallowing another dumpling, he suddenly remembered the phone call.
"Mahiru-ne, was that a call from our old neighbor earlier?"
Mahiru nodded.
"Mr. Arthas borrowed your identity to return to Japan, remember? Our neighbor said that 'you' bought a huge pile of electronics and clothes, then disappeared for a long time after leaving the house, so she thought you were being scammed. She immediately called internationally to check with me."
Hearing this, Asahi couldn't help laughing.
"Hahaha, well… that can't be helped. We didn't expect Mr. Arthas to actually use our house's spare key. It was originally for the neighbor lady, but in the end, it was Mr. Arthas who used it."
Mahiru laughed as well.
"No helping it. I don't know what happened with Mr. Arthas's flight, but knowing our house ended up helping him even a little makes me feel strangely relieved."
Asahi nodded.
He also felt that way.
For a global superstar like Arthas, it was hard to imagine their poor family could ever help with anything.
Mr. Arthas had wanted to return to Japan to see his hometown and observe Japan's football progress.
But ever since he'd gotten into conflict with certain officials six years ago, entering Japan under his real identity would likely cause public chaos.
So they hired Asahi—whose physique was almost identical to Arthas—to serve as the identity placeholder.
The world's top disguise masters gathered together.
Supported by the financial power behind the United States Football Federation, they used the most advanced disguise technology to create a perfect identity shell for Mr. Arthas.
First was the ultra-high-grade human-skin mask.
Its skin texture was indistinguishable from real flesh; the coloration was flawless; and it adhered so lightly and smoothly that it merged with Arthas's real skin.
Next came the ten-finger spiral-pattern adhesive strips, provided by Naruhaya Asahi himself.
These high-tech pads perfectly replicated Asahi's fingerprints, allowing Arthas to pass any fingerprint scanner.
Then there were hair strands identical in color to Asahi's milk-caramel hair—individually selected and processed to match his original hair exactly.
As for the voice, it was adjusted using a special gas.
Without the corresponding antidote, the effect wouldn't fade for at least half a year.
All the disguise components blended seamlessly together, allowing Mr. Arthas to transform into "Naruhaya Asahi" without flaw.
After that, Asahi handed over his personal ID card and a reinforcement-designated-player summons letter sent by the Japan Football Association.
Arthas, wanting to minimize complications, traveled light—carrying only two million yen and a black card.
Of course, external disguise and documentation weren't enough.
To avoid being exposed by family members or acquaintances, Mr. Arthas spent a tremendous amount of time observing Asahi's daily behavior.
He studied Asahi's mannerisms, habitual gestures, speaking patterns, tone, intonation—everything he could imitate—over and over.
Whenever Asahi thought about his idol observing him every day back then, he felt a strange mix of overwhelming happiness and eerie embarrassment.
Wait… idol…
"Oh crap!!"
Asahi suddenly yelled, startling Mahiru.
Mahiru swallowed her food. "What happened?"
Asahi grabbed his head and slammed his bright-red face onto the table.
"At home—there's still the videotape I recorded of the World Cup Final!! What if Mr. Arthas sees it!?"
Mahiru tried to calm him.
"Relax. You exposed yourself as a hardcore fan the moment you first met him. It's fine. Don't mind."
Her reassurance made things worse.
Asahi, mortified, collapsed against the table and started spiritually dying.
"Nooooo~~~" (;´༎ຶД༎ຶ`)
---
Japan.
Inside Blue Lock, Naruhaya Asahi (Arthas—still in amnesia) stared at the room in front of him.
This was the first stage of the Second Selection.
A completely enclosed square space, its walls made of surrounding screens, giving off a claustrophobic, oppressive atmosphere.
One of the wall panels slid upward with a mechanical hiss.
A machine slowly emerged.
Asahi's eyes immediately locked onto it.
He noticed a ball sitting inside the launching port—and instantly understood what the machine was for.
In the next moment, the machine fired.
A ball shot out at high speed.
But Asahi wasn't startled at all.
His reaction was superhuman.
He tilted his body slightly and trapped the ball with effortless fluidity.
Not stopping there, he scanned the surroundings like a hunting hawk.
As expected, the moment he received the ball, a virtual humanoid figure appeared.
Its body was entirely wrapped in a blue bodysuit, its neck and ankles bound by chains—clearly a representation of a goalkeeper.
[BLUE LOCK MAN]?
The rectangular blue zone behind it was clearly the goal.
Next, a red circle appeared on the turf and began shrinking. Asahi instantly deduced that the red circle represented his movement range restriction.
This was a goal-front scenario drill—forcing players to make instant decisions.
Break through the shrinking movement zone, get past the keeper, and score.
"Looks like Blue Lock got some decent funding~"
Asahi smiled—
but immediately afterward scowled in extreme annoyance and blasted the ball into the goal.
The goalkeeper had only just arrived at the defensive position.
The screen updated:
[Stage 1 — Countdown 89:52 — 99 GOALS remaining]
Asahi tore through the stage at terrifying speed.
No matter how the passes varied in difficulty, his adaptability was absurd.
Even when defender holograms began appearing, he barely needed to exert effort.
Soon, the remaining count dropped all the way to 16.
But as he kept scoring, he grew visibly irritated with the goalkeeper's increasing difficulty.
[BLUE LOCK MAN] was decent—but nowhere near a World Cup Final keeper.
Too stiff.
Poor body flexibility.
No instinctive saves.
No eye-feints.
No surprise reactions.
Tch.
Even at maximum difficulty—still too easy.
Then Asahi suddenly had an idea.
He began deliberately kicking the ball directly at the goalkeeper.
Sure enough, the hologram staggered violently and collapsed—then shattered.
Soon a new one respawned.
He kicked the ball straight at its head again, cracking the projection's neck area.
Then he repeated the process, making his shots harder and harder.
In the monitoring room, Anri Teiri and the engineers watched silently.
Ego stared at the footage.
When he saw the little tyrant blast a ball so hard it decapitated the hologram keeper—and then grin like a serial killer—he finally picked up the mic and issued an urgent broadcast warning.
Hearing the warning, the amused tyrant reluctantly stopped.
He glanced at the timer.
Still over thirty minutes left.
If he passed too late, only garbage players would be left to choose as teammates.
"Tch."
With a flick of his leg, he rifled every remaining ball into the goal.
In under a few minutes, the last 16 shots all hit.
He cleared Stage 1.
In the monitoring room, Ego watched him leave, then switched to observing the other players—who were struggling desperately just to score once.
Beside him, Anri Teiri was drenched in sweat as she checked the budget reports.
Stage 1's training chamber was built using modified explosive-power equipment from Germany's top clubs. Balls were launched from all four walls, and the ultra-high-resolution panels surrounded the players entirely.
The most expensive part was the AI goalkeeper system—[BLUE LOCK MAN]—constructed using data from the world's top goalkeepers.
Each ball had embedded micro-sensor chips to allow physical interaction with the hologram.
A marvel of intelligent sports technology.
But the cost—
Anri Teiri clasped her hands behind her back, sweating.
"Ego… forgive me for being blunt, but… we're out of budget."
"Shut up, Anri."
Hands folded over his knee, Ego stared at the players, entranced.
"Magnificent. This is the space I envisioned."
"Each player uses their weapons differently. Each finds their own way to clear this stage.
For those who got here only by relying on others' goals, these 90 minutes are a filter removing them.
But for the ones who can turn 0 into 1—
the destroyers of their own limits—
this place is an evolution chamber."
Anri swallowed.
"Then… what about Player Naruhaya…?"
Head tilted slightly, Ego spoke:
"Ah~ for him, this stage is nothing more than a temporary anger-relief field…
and a cheap imitation of the football he's used to.
It's high-tech for Japanese players…
But compared to what they have in America—
it's still behind."
At the word America, Anri shuddered as the image of Arthas flashed in her mind.
"Heh… the world's most expensive footballer — and the training ground built by the corporate giant behind him…"
On-screen, they watched other players struggle desperately to score just one goal.
"Japanese football…"
Ego murmured.
"…started far too late, didn't it?"