The dormitories were eerily quiet that night. Tsubasa Hayato sat on the edge of his bunk, his body aching from the chaos of the first challenge. He stared at the crumpled jersey in his hands, replaying the goal he had scored over and over in his mind. It wasn't flashy, but it was calculated, deliberate—a small spark of hope in the overwhelming storm of Blue Lock.
But he couldn't shake the looks he had gotten after the game. The other players didn't see him as a threat; they saw him as a fluke, someone who didn't belong.
"Hey, wildcard."
Hayato looked up to see Shoji Matsuda, a cocky forward who had scored three goals that day, leaning against the doorway.
"You got lucky out there," Shoji sneered. "You're a defender trying to play striker. You're not going to last long."
Hayato didn't respond. He simply met Shoji's glare with steady eyes, determined not to let him see the doubt creeping in.
---
The next day, Ego's voice boomed through the facility's speakers. "Your next challenge will test your ability to adapt. You will form teams of three. Your goal: defeat the opposing team and score the most points. The losing team's lowest scorer will be eliminated."
The room erupted in chaos as players scrambled to form alliances. Hayato, still an outsider, stood alone until he was approached by two figures: Barou Shouei and Nagi Seishiro.
Barou, the self-proclaimed king of the field, towered over Hayato with an intimidating glare. "You'll stay out of my way," he said bluntly. "I'll handle the scoring."
Nagi, on the other hand, barely looked interested. "Whatever. Just pass me the ball if you can't do anything."
Hayato bit back his frustration. This wasn't a team—it was a ticking time bomb.
---
The match began, and chaos once again unfolded. Barou charged forward like a bull, bulldozing through defenders, while Nagi's effortless ball control left opponents scrambling. But the team dynamic was nonexistent. Barou refused to pass, taking wild, selfish shots, while Nagi only moved when the ball was handed to him on a silver platter.
Meanwhile, the opposing team—a coordinated trio led by Shoji Matsuda—capitalized on their disarray. Within minutes, they scored the first goal.
"Pathetic," Barou growled, glaring at Hayato. "If you can't keep up, get off the field."
Hayato clenched his fists. He knew Barou and Nagi were incredible players, but their arrogance was holding them back. They didn't see the bigger picture—the flow of the game, the spaces waiting to be exploited.
As the match progressed, Hayato began to observe. He noticed the subtle gaps in Shoji's defense, the way one of their players drifted too far from his mark. An idea formed in his mind.
"Nagi!" Hayato called out, surprising the aloof player. "Get ready to move on my signal."
Nagi raised an eyebrow but didn't argue.
When Shoji's team pressed forward, Hayato intercepted a pass with precision, quickly dribbling past two players. He spotted Nagi lingering near the penalty box and sent a perfectly weighted lob over the defenders.
"Now!"
Nagi's instincts kicked in as he controlled the ball with a single touch and fired it into the net. The score was tied.
Barou scoffed but couldn't hide his grudging approval. "Don't think this makes you important."
---
The final minutes of the game were a test of endurance and strategy. With the score tied 2-2, Hayato orchestrated one last play. He used Barou's aggressiveness as a decoy, drawing defenders toward him while threading a pass to Nagi, who calmly delivered the winning goal.
The whistle blew, and their team emerged victorious.
---
In the locker room, Barou confronted Hayato. "Don't think I needed you. I carried that match."
Hayato met his gaze without flinching. "If you didn't need me, we wouldn't have won."
Barou's glare intensified, but he said nothing, storming off instead.
Nagi, lounging on the bench, smirked. "You're weird, but I guess you're useful. Let's see how long you last, wildcard."
As Hayato sat down, he couldn't help but smile. For the first time, he had proven he could keep up with the best—and he wasn't done yet.
---