A/N: SORRY FOR THE ABSURDLY LONG TIME I DIDNT UPDATE! HERES A SOMEWHAT LONG CHAPTER FOR ME!

As I approached the entrance of the JFU Association building, a sense of anticipation twisted in my gut. The sleek facade was imposing, a stark contrast to the buzzing excitement emanating from the players arriving around me. I felt a mix of curiosity and skepticism. What did they mean by a "special player training program"? Did they really think they could change anything about how we played?

Just then, I noticed a familiar face from the nationals—the guy who had scored that annoying goal against us. Tachibana Ryuu, or something like that. People said he had raw skill and could hold his own on the field. He had this calm vibe about him, like he was shouldering his own expectations without even breaking a sweat. Maybe I was just projecting my thoughts onto him.

"Hey, you're Hikigaya, right?" he said, a hint of recognition lighting up his eyes. "I remember that match. You played pretty well, even if we did win."

"Yeah, well, that's football for you," I replied, shrugging off the compliment. "I guess it's just about who gets lucky on the day."

Tachibana chuckled, a warm sound that cut through my cynicism. "Luck plays its part, but it's all about skill and determination. I got a letter just like you, inviting me to join this… program. They say it'll change everything about how we play. But honestly, I'm just curious about what they're offering."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite myself. "So you're here just to see what the buzz is about?"

"Exactly," he replied, nodding. "I want to see if there's something more to this than just ego. Football is about teamwork, about understanding each other's movements. You can't forget where we started."

A pang of unease shot through me. I had always believed in going it alone, that relying on others was a weakness. "Yeah, well, I'm not looking to change who I am or how I play. I've always done things my own way."

"Same here," Tachibana said, his tone serious. "But that doesn't mean we can't learn from new experiences. Sometimes, the best way to grow is by challenging our own limits."

His words resonated with me, stirring something within that I had long tried to ignore. Maybe this program had potential, but I couldn't shake the feeling that it might lead to something I wasn't ready to confront.

Before I could dwell on it further, Tachibana gestured to the entrance. "Looks like we're about to find out what all this is about. You coming?"

With a reluctant nod, I stepped forward, my heart racing with anticipation and trepidation. This could either be the beginning of something groundbreaking or another step toward the same old cycle of disappointment. But as I entered the building, I felt a flicker of hope spark inside me. Perhaps, just maybe, this was the chance I had been waiting for.

BLUELOCK108BLUELOCK108BLUELOCK108BLUELOCK108BLUELOCK108

I stood in the dimly lit room, arms crossed, trying to find a comfortable spot in the sea of eager, athletic faces surrounding me. Three hundred players, all buzzing with excitement. Their chatter felt distant as my eyes drifted lazily to the stage at the front, where a man with an eccentric appearance stepped up.

"Aaah—uhmm—Aaa." The man's voice cut through the noise like a knife. He had a skinny build, straight bangs that hung just above his glasses, and a bolo tie adorning his black shirt. More college professor than soccer coach, really. I raised an eyebrow, trying to suppress a sigh as he surveyed the crowd.

"Congratulations, you unpolished gems," he began, dripping with condescension. Great, just what I needed—a motivational speech from someone who probably thought he was some kind of football oracle.

The room fell silent as his piercing gaze swept over us. "All of you Under-18 strikers are here because of my criteria, my biases, and my vision. 300 of you. My name is Jinpachi Ego. And my mission... is to make Japan a team capable of winning the World Cup."

'The World Cup? Is this guy for real?' I thought, my brow furrowing. This whole setup felt absurdly overblown, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was stuck in some bad sports anime. Yet, something about his tone kept me rooted. My instincts whispered that I shouldn't leave—not yet. I've always prided myself on being rational, but in chaotic situations like this, instinct tends to be the true game-changer.

Ego continued, his voice rising. "Japan needs just one thing to become the greatest football nation in the world—a revolutionary striker. From the 300 players gathered here today, I will create that striker through my project."

He pointed to the wall behind him, and the projector flickered on, revealing a massive pentagon-shaped building emblazoned with the words: BLUE LOCK.

Murmurs rippled through the crowd, but I remained quiet, narrowing my eyes at the screen. Ego's tone shifted, gaining a sinister edge as he outlined his vision.

"You will live here, train under my regime, and forget everything you thought you knew about football. As of today, your lives as football players, as you knew them, are over. From this moment forward, your only goal is to survive. Survive Blue Lock, crush the other 299 players, and rise as the world's greatest striker. That's it. Nice to meet you all."

A heavy silence filled the room, disbelief and confusion written across many faces. Then, a voice rang out, shattering the stillness.

"Hey, I can't agree with any of this!" Kira Ryosuke, from what I remember, the kid who's dubbed as the "JEWEL OF JAPANESE SOCCER" or something, shouted with his defiance very amusing. 'Ah, Mr. Hero Complex over there,' I thought, rolling my eyes. 'I know the type. Hayama would love him.'

"For most of us, our team is our priority," Kira continued. "Some of us are going to Nationals soon. There's no way I'll abandon my teammates for this—this insane project!"

The murmurs of agreement quickly spread. "Yeah! Why do we have to live together?" "I'm playing at Nationals too!" "This is ridiculous!"

I felt a sense of unease simmering within me. 'Why do we have to live together? Something feels off about this whole setup... But still, my gut tells me there's something worth staying for. Sorry, Coach Kido. I have to see what happens next.'

Ego's gaze swept over the restless crowd, his expression unfazed. He scratched his head lazily before sneering, "So, some of you are ready to bail already? Good. Leave. Get lost. Go back to your little teams and your high school championships. Go back to the shithole that is Japan's football."

A ripple of shock passed through the room. Ego's voice grew louder, more cutting. "You'd choose mediocrity over becoming the best in the world? Japan is pathetic when it comes to producing real strikers. We're the best at following rules, sure. We're organized, we're disciplined—big deal. But guess what? That's exactly why we suck at football."

The projector shifted again, displaying the Japan national team.

"Look at this!" Ego spat, his tone filled with disdain. "This team is second-rate. We may be good at teamwork, but we lack the one thing that matters in football—ego. All of you think football's about teamwork? About bonds and playing for your teammates?" He leaned forward, voice growing sharper, "You're wrong. Football is about scoring goals. It's about crushing everyone else on that field, even your teammates, to become the best."

A strange sense of agreement bubbled up inside me. 'He's harsh, but… he's not wrong. Japan's obsession with conformity is why we never make it far. This is a country that trims any flower that blooms differently. Yeah, this feels right, no matter how crazy it sounds.'

Ego's voice sharpened as he delivered the killing blow. "The best striker is the one who scores the most goals. Period. If you can't handle that truth, then fuck off."

The room erupted in anger. "How dare you insult Japan's superstars!" Kira shouted, trembling with emotion. "Players like Honda, Kagawa—they're the foundation of our national team! You're wrong about everything!"

But Ego's smirk only widened. "Honda? Kagawa? You mean the guys who haven't won a single World Cup? Pathetic. I don't care about them. I'm talking about creating a player who will dominate the world. A striker who will crush everyone else on the field, without hesitation."

He threw up his arms, practically shouting now. "Look at Noel Noa, the best striker in the world. He said, 'I'd rather lose 3-4 with a hat trick than win 1-0 with an assist.' Even Pelé, the greatest player of all time, said, 'The best forward? The best midfielder? The best goalkeeper? The answer is still me.' THAT'S the kind of ego you need! Japan lacks that! And I'm here to change that."

My heart pounded in my chest. Damn… it's like he's speaking directly to the part of me I've kept buried. That hunger to win, to stand out. Maybe this guy really does understand what football is supposed to be about.

Ego straightened, his grin returning like he'd just made the punchline to a joke only he understood. "From the corpses of 299 other players, I will create Japan's ultimate striker. A solitary hero. And if you don't have the ego to claim that title, then leave now."

As the doors behind him opened, I felt a strange mix of anticipation and dread. Ego made one final declaration, his voice echoing through the room like a challenge. "Imagine this: it's the World Cup Final. The score is 0-0. It's the last play. A teammate passes you the ball. It's you, one-on-one with the keeper. Do you pass it? Or do you take the shot? Only a true egoist takes the shot."

His words hung in the air, thick with tension. I could almost visualize that moment—the weight of the game resting on my shoulders, the roar of the crowd fading into silence as I stood there, faced with a choice. In that instant, I felt a flicker of something I hadn't allowed myself to feel in a long time—possibility.

What would I do?

It wasn't just about the game anymore; it was about everything. My instincts urged me to take that shot, to seize that moment. But could I really embrace the ego it would take to do so?

Ego's gaze bored into the crowd, and I could sense the unease rippling around me. But amidst the noise of dissent, a part of me felt drawn to his vision. Maybe, just maybe, there was something to this whole idea of becoming more than just another cog in the machine.

I'm tired of fading into the background. Tired of being just another player.

In that dimly lit room, surrounded by a sea of eager players, I found myself at a crossroads. Am I really ready to take the shot?

"I'll say this one more time: football is a sport designed to elevate strikers like you. Think of everyone else on the field as your support. Cast aside your common sense! When you're out there, you are the star."

I had never heard anyone speak about football this way before. What experiences had shaped Ego-san's perspective on the game?

"Your greatest joy is scoring points, and nothing else. You live for the thrill of that moment," he concluded, his gaze piercing through the room. "Isn't that what it means to be a striker?"

Just then, a player with striking black hair and piercing blue eyes sprinted toward the door, with a perturbed Kira saying his name out of surprise "Isagi?!" This guy, now breaking the tension in the room. His sudden movement set off a chain reaction, and soon others were following suit, rushing toward the door like a row of dominoes toppling over. As I took a step forward, my heart raced—not from excitement, but from uncertainty.

When I reached the door, I glanced back at Ego, who was watching the players with that same unwavering grin. "Is this project actually going to work, or is this just a waste of time?" I asked, cutting straight to the point.

Ego met my gaze, his confidence unshaken. "Of course it will. I've designed it to bring out the best in strikers—those who are ready to rise above the ordinary."

I crossed my arms, skepticism creeping in. "And you think that's all it takes? Just to throw out the old playbook and make everyone ego-driven?"

Ego chuckled, a sound that felt both reassuring and unsettling. "It's not about throwing out tradition; it's about evolving beyond it. Strikers need to understand that their success comes first. Teamwork can't hold you back."

I raised an eyebrow, pondering his words. "So, you really believe a lone wolf can cut through the competition alone?"

His gaze sharpened, and I could see the passion behind it. "Absolutely. You have the skills to go through any defense, don't you? Why not embrace that? This program is about breaking the mold, about making you the player you were always meant to be."

I smirked, a flicker of intrigue sparking within me. "You might be onto something. But I'm not just going to play your game blindly."

Ego's grin widened, and for a moment, I felt the weight of his ambition. "Good. I want players who think critically, who challenge the status quo. If you're willing to put in the work, this might be the change you're looking for."

I paused, contemplating his offer. Maybe it was time to see if this radical approach could lead to something more than just personal success. "This better not disappoint me," I said, my resolve hardening.

And with that, I stepped through the gates, ready to embrace whatever lay ahead.

'Whatever happens next… I'll crush it. I'll crush everyone.'

(POV CHANGE: 3rd person)

As the gates closed behind him, Ego sat down, a wicked grin on his face. "300 players... and not a single one walked away."

Anri Teiri, the woman who proposed the project, entered the room, her voice trembling slightly. "The gears have started turning. From now on, I'll follow your every command."

Ego chuckled darkly. "We'll have to sacrifice 299 players… but the one who emerges will be worth it. This is the essence of Blue Lock."

Anri nodded. "Yes, it is."

Ego stood up, his eyes gleaming with ambition. "Then let us begin. This will be football's most critical revolution."

As the echoes of the departing players faded into silence, Ego leaned back, relishing the emptiness of the room. Let the games begin, he thought, savoring the chaos he had unleashed. I'm curious to see who will rise from the ashes of this ruthless competition. Will it be one of the predictable faces I just dismissed, or will an unexpected talent step forward?

He envisioned the countless training sessions, the relentless battles, and the fierce rivalries that would unfold in this very space. Each player will be pushed to their limits, stripped of their comfort zones. Their weaknesses will be exposed, but their potential… He smirked, relishing the thought. Only the strongest will survive, and from their struggle, I will mold a player unlike any the world has seen.

His grin widened as he imagined the World Cup stage—the roar of the crowd, the weight of expectations, and the thrill of victory hanging tantalizingly close. What will it take for that one to claim their destiny? Will they have the courage to embrace their ego?

Ego's gaze flickered around the empty room, now just a shell filled with echoes of ambition. I will find out soon enough. The world is about to witness a transformation, one that will shatter the norms of Japanese football. And at the center of it all will be the ultimate striker, born from my vision.

Let them fight, let them clash, and let them bleed. I'm ready for the spectacle.

With that thought, a spark of anticipation ignited within him. This is only the beginning.

A/N: ONCE AGAIN, I'M SORRY THAT IT TOOK ME THIS LONG TO UPDATE, BUT I'LL JUST SAY THAT THIS CHAPTER WAS PRETTY MUCH COLLECTING DUST FOR THE PAST MONTHS, AND I'VE SINCERELY FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS ONE, I CANT REALLY PROMISE CONSISTENT UPDATES BUT SINCE SEASON 2 OF BLUE LOCK IS OUT I MIGHT JUST HAVE THE MOTIVATION TO UPDATE AGAIN, BUT FOR NOW, TOODLES!