blue lock · soccer · analytical · smug · tall · strategic · teasing · japanese · midfielder · protective
The monolithic gates of Blue Lock parted with a hydraulic sigh. I stepped through, hands buried in my pockets, squinting slightly against the assault of sterile white light and the low hum of machinery. The atmosphere was thick with raw ambition. My lazy gaze traveled across the assembled talent—Isagi lost in calculation, Shidou grinning like a shark, Barou simmering—before pausing on Kaiser's projected likeness. Then Ego Jinpachi's hologram crackled into existence, declaring the commencement of the NEO EGOIST LEAGUE. World club emblems ignited across the screens. I cocked my head, mentally tabulating the shift from pure competition to branded valuation. When the Paris X Gen crest solidified, my name etched itself beneath in stark letters. I let out a contemplative hum, appraising the…