The heat of the Kagoshima afternoon shimmered off the artificial turf of the prefectural stadium. This was it. The stage was set for the final match of the Kagoshima Prefectural Tournament, the gateway to the nationals.
The stands were packed to capacity, a sea of cheering students, parents, and local football enthusiasts. The brass band blared a slightly off-key fight song, adding to the cacophony of noise that vibrated in the humid air.
On the pitch, the two teams lined up for the opening ceremony. On one side, clad in their red and black kits, stood Ichinan High School, the heavy favorites. On the other hand, the challengers, Kagoshima Minami, looked determined but already slightly overwhelmed by the occasion.
The stadium announcer's voice boomed over the loudspeakers, dripping with hype.
"Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the finals! On the left, the unstoppable force of this tournament, Ichinan High! Leading their charge, the speedster, Hyoma Chigiri! The telepathic terror twins, Junichi and Keisuke Wanima! And the silent conductor orchestrating the midfield, Renzo Takamine!"
A roar went up from the Ichinan side of the stands. But one voice cut through the collective noise like a hot knife.
"REN! HYOMA! KICK THEIR ASSES! IF YOU LOSE I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"
In the stands, standing on her seat and waving a massive Ichinan flag was Koyuki Chigiri.
On the field, Hyoma Chigiri winced, pulling the collar of his jersey up over his nose. The tips of his ears were burning red. He leaned slightly toward Renzo, who stood stoically beside him, staring straight ahead.
"How are you not dying of embarrassment right now?" Hyoma hissed under his breath. "She's louder than the entire brass band."
Renzo didn't turn his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward. He casually lifted a hand and gave a small, lazy wave in Koyuki's direction.
"KYAAAAH! HE WAVED AT ME! DID YOU SEE THAT? MY BOYFRIEND IS THE COOLEST!" Koyuki practically levitated with joy, nearly whacking a nearby spectator with her flag.
Hyoma groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I have no idea how you manage to keep up with that energy. Seriously, man, you're a saint or a masochist."
"Just enjoy it, Princess," Renzo murmured, using the nickname that always made Hyoma bristle. "She's the only one here who actually means what she's yelling."
From behind them, the synchronized, grating voices of the Wanima twins cut in.
"Shut up, Red-head." "Yeah, lock in, Pretty Boy." "Stop flirting with your sister's boyfriend and focus." "Yeah, focus on passing to us."
Hyoma and Renzo both ignored the brothers. The referee blew the whistle, signaling the end of the pleasantries. It was time to work.
Kickoff.
The game began, and immediately, the difference in class was apparent. But anyone watching Renzo Takamine closely would have noticed something peculiar.
He was playing the position he had told Leo he wanted in the dream: Center Defensive Midfielder. He was the anchor sitting just in front of the defensive line.
He didn't run. Not really. He drifted.
Renzo moved with an efficiency that bordered on laziness. He was never more than ten yards from the center circle, yet he was everywhere the ball needed to be. He was a black hole in the midfield, absorbing every loose ball, intercepting every hopeful pass from Kagoshima Minami before they could even cross the halfway line.
His eyes scanned the field, reducing the chaotic movement of twenty-one other players into vectors and open spaces. The "voices" of his instinct were screaming at him.
Drive forward. Dribble past that slow defender. Take the shot from thirty yards. Bury them.
Renzo silenced them. He received a pass from the left back, trapped it perfectly with the inside of his boot, and didn't even look up before drilling a low, forty-yard through ball that split the opposition defense wide open.
It was a perfect pass. Safe. Smart. Selfless.
The ball rolled precisely into the path of a red blur. Hyoma Chigiri ignited his engines. The sound of his acceleration was audible from the stands, a sharp intake of breath from the crowd as he left his marker standing still.
Hyoma reached the ball, cut inside, and slotted it past the keeper.
1-0.
Ten minutes later. Renzo intercepted a sloppy pass in the center circle. The path to the goal was open for a solo run. The old Renzo, the Tokyo Renzo, would have taken it without hesitation.
Today's Renzo paused, put his foot on the ball, drew two defenders toward him, and then flicked a simple sideways pass to Keisuke Wanima. Keisuke immediately one-two'd with his brother Junichi, the twins weaving through the disorganized defense with their eerie, unspoken synchronization before Junichi smashed it into the top corner.
2-0.
It was a demolition. Renzo was the puppet master, pulling the strings, making Hyoma and the twins look like gods. He provided three assists in the first half alone. His pass completion rate was 98%.
As the game wore on, and the score climbed to a ridiculous 5-0 by the sixtieth minute, a cold numbness began to spread through Renzo's chest.
It was easy. It was boring.
He was winning. His parents in the stands were no doubt smiling, relieved to see their son playing "safe," normalized football. His teammates were happy because they were getting all the glory. The team was going to nationals.
So why do I feel like I'm suffocating?
The words from his dream echoed over the roar of the crowd. If you keep holding your true self back, you are playing handicapped. That's not humility, Renzo. That's… cowardice.
Was this cowardly? He just lofted a perfect chip pass over the defense for Hyoma's hat-trick goal. The crowd was chanting his name now, acknowledging the quiet genius in the midfield. He was doing everything right by society's standards.
But inside, the ego was starving. He wasn't playing football; he was solving an equation he already knew the answer to. There was no heat, no friction, no life in this style of play.
The final whistle blew. Ichinan High was the prefecture champions.
The team celebrated wildly. Hyoma was dogpiled by the Wanima twins. Renzo stood slightly apart, watching the celebration with a detached expression.
The awards ceremony went quickly.
"And the tournament MVP, for his masterful control of the midfield, Renzo Takamine!"
Renzo walked up to the podium. He accepted the small golden trophy, bowed politely, and rejoined his team without a smile.
The trophy felt hollow in his hands.
As the team began to disperse toward the locker rooms, Hyoma jogged over, draping an arm around Renzo's shoulder, still buzzing from the adrenaline of his hat-trick.
"We did it, man! Nationals! You were insane today, Ren. Those passes were laser-guided. We need to celebrate. Koyuki said she's buying us ramen, you don't wanna miss a free meal!"
But then Hyoma stopped. He looked at Renzo's face. The teal eyes were dull, looking through Hyoma rather than at him. It was a look Hyoma recognized from his own days nursing his ACL injury.
Before Hyoma could ask what was wrong, a hand grabbed the back of his jersey and yanked him backward.
"Koyuki? What the hell-"
Koyuki had somehow made it down from the stands to the pitch side barrier. Her face, usually bright with energy, was serious.
"Leave him be for a bit, Hyoma," she said quietly.
"Why? He just won MVP. He should be happy."
Koyuki shook her head slowly. "He's figuring something out. Something big. You remember what we talked about yesterday? About the Tokyo videos?"
Hyoma's eyes widened slightly. "Yeah. You think…?"
"I think he just played a perfect game and hated every second of it," Koyuki said, her voice full of worry. "Let him process it. He needs to be alone right now."
Hyoma hesitated, looking back at his friend, then nodded slowly. "Alright. But you better fix him with your girlfriend magic later."
****
Dinner that night at the Takamine household was grand.
Akari had cooked a celebratory feast, which included fried chicken, sushi, and everything Renzo liked. But the guest of honor was barely touching his food. Renzo sat hunched over his bowl, pushing rice around with his chopsticks. The MVP trophy sat on the kitchen counter, ignored next to the toaster.
Akari and Daiki exchanged worried glances across the table.
"Renzo, honey," Akari started cautiously. "Are you feeling okay? You played wonderfully today. Everyone said so."
"Yeah," Daiki added. "A real team player out there, son. Controlled the whole game without even breaking a sweat. That's smart football. Safe football."
Renzo flinched at the word "safe."
"I'm fine," Renzo said quietly, not looking up. "Just tired."
Miu, sensing the tension, ate her food quickly and excused herself to watch TV, leaving the three of them in an uncomfortable silence.
Just then, the sound of the mail box echoed through the room.
"That must be the late post," Daiki said, grateful for the distraction. He got up and walked to the front door.
Renzo put his chopsticks down. He was done pretending to eat. He felt sick. The victory today tasted like ashes.
How long could he keep this up? Another year? Through college? Until he eventually quit the sport entirely because the boredom became unbearable?
Daiki returned to the dining room, a strange expression on his face. He held a single, sleek black envelope in his hand. It looked official, expensive, and vaguely ominous.
"It's from… the Japan Football Union?"
Renzo looked up, his interest piqued for the first time all evening. He reached out and took the envelope. The paper felt thick and heavy.
There was no return name. Just a logo embossed in blue foil: a stylized padlock.
He broke the seal and pulled out a single sheet of stiff cardstock. The message was brief, printed in sharp, aggressive lettering.
To the diamonds in the rough,
Japan's football is dead. It is a rotting carcass of mediocrity, drunk on the pathetic ideal of 'teamwork.'
If you possess the ego to step over the corpses of your peers and grasp the title of the world's greatest striker, then come to the JFU headquarters.
This is Blue Lock.
Jinpachi Ego
Renzo read the letter once. Then twice.
The silence in the dining room stretched thin.
"Renzo?" his mother asked, her voice trembling slightly. "What is it? Is it about the nationals?"
Renzo didn't answer immediately. He stared at the paper, and slowly, the heavy, suffocating blanket of normalcy that had covered him for a year began to burn away.
His parents watched in growing alarm as a transformation overcame their son. The dullness in his teal eyes evaporated, replaced by a sharp, predatory glint that hadn't been there since Tokyo.
And then, it broke free.
It wasn't the polite, practiced smile he used for them. It wasn't even the gentle smile he saved for Koyuki. This was a wild, feral, teeth-baring grin that stretched from ear to ear, a look of pure hunger. The look of the monster they thought they had buried.
"A funeral for mediocrity, huh?" Renzo whispered.
He stood up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. He looked at his terrified parents, the mask completely gone now, revealing the starving egoist beneath.
"Sorry, Mom. Dad. But I don't think I can play 'safe' anymore."
He looked down at the crumpled letter in his hand, his grin widening into something terrifying and beautiful.
"This better be fun."