The buzzing sound of his phone jolted Tsubasa Hayato awake. The glowing screen displayed an unknown number, but it wasn't the call that surprised him—it was the words of the man on the other end.
"This is Ego Jinpachi. You've been selected for Blue Lock."
Hayato sat up, his heart pounding. Blue Lock. The nationwide program designed to forge the best striker in Japan—a place for ambitious goal scorers, not failed defenders like him.
"There must be a mistake," Hayato stammered, gripping the phone tightly. "I'm not a striker. I was… a defender."
Ego's voice, sharp and calculating, cut through the protest. "Football is not about positions. It's about results. You're here because you have potential, even if you don't see it yet. This is your last chance. Take it or stay irrelevant."
The call ended, leaving Hayato staring at his reflection in the dark window. The scars on his knee throbbed as memories of his injury resurfaced. His promising career as a defender had been shattered in an instant. Now, he was being offered a shot at redemption—but in a role he'd never imagined.
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Two days later, Hayato stood among a sea of determined faces in Blue Lock's towering facility. The air was heavy with tension and ambition. Around him were players who lived and breathed scoring goals, their eyes sharp and predatory. Compared to them, Hayato felt like an imposter.
Ego appeared on the massive screen above, his presence commanding the room. "Welcome to Blue Lock. Forget who you were before today. From now on, you are strikers. The only way to survive here is to outscore everyone else. There are no defenders, no midfielders—only predators."
The first challenge was announced—a chaotic free-for-all. Each player had to score as many goals as possible in ten minutes. Only the top scorers would advance.
Hayato stepped onto the artificial turf, his nerves spiraling. The whistle blew, and chaos erupted. Balls flew in every direction as players scrambled to score, colliding and fighting for dominance.
Hayato hesitated, watching the madness unfold. He wasn't used to this selfish, relentless style of play. His instincts as a defender screamed at him to intercept and block, but here, no one was protecting anything. It was a battlefield of ambition.
A ball rolled toward him, and Hayato lunged for it. He dribbled forward, but his movements were stiff, unpolished. A towering player slammed into him, stealing the ball and knocking him to the ground.
"You don't belong here," the player sneered before racing off to score.
Hayato clenched his fists. Maybe they were right. Maybe he didn't belong. But as he lay there, something ignited within him—a fire he thought had been extinguished.
Standing up, Hayato scanned the field. He didn't have the flashy skills of the others, but he had something they didn't: a defender's eye. He could read the flow of the game, anticipate movements before they happened.
Spotting an opening, Hayato darted forward, cutting off a pass meant for another player. The striker froze in shock as Hayato took control of the ball. This time, Hayato didn't hesitate. He feinted left, then surged right, slipping past two players.
As he neared the goal, a wave of defenders closed in. Hayato's heart raced, but his mind stayed sharp. He noticed the goalkeeper shifting slightly to his right, anticipating a shot to the far corner. Smirking, Hayato aimed for the near post instead.
The ball slammed into the net.
The whistle blew, signaling the end of the round. Hayato had only scored once, but it was enough to place him just above the cut-off line. As he walked off the field, battered but triumphant, he caught Ego's gaze on the screen.
"Interesting," Ego muttered to himself, a grin forming.
For the first time in years, Hayato felt alive. He wasn't just here to survive—he was here to prove that even a fallen defender could rise again.
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