(Brain depository section.
By default, everyone talks on the field and can hear each other.
PS: Tactical arrangements excluded.)
Spotlights pierced the domed ceiling of the Zurich Opera House like white swords.
Below the stage sat the suit-clad FIFA president, media reporters with eyes full of fanaticism, and countless world-class defenders who had once been ruthlessly crushed by him on the green pitch.
Kazuki stood with one hand casually shoved in his pocket, while the other carelessly dangled the Ballon d’Or trophy—the symbol of the highest honor in the football world—as if it weren’t a supreme glory crafted from pure gold, but rather a bag of discounted potatoes he had just bought from the supermarket.
“Kazuki!
This is your fifth consecutive Ballon d’Or, completing an unprecedented personal Grand Slam!
Standing where you are now, what are your expectations for the future?”
A blonde, blue-eyed female reporter squeezed to the front of the stage, her voice trembling as she held up the microphone.
Expectations?
Kazuki lowered his head slightly, looking at the handsome but thoroughly bored face reflected on the surface of the trophy.
At the age of twenty-four, he had already won everything a professional player could possibly win.
The World Cup, the Champions League, league titles, the Golden Boot, the Ballon d’Or…
His goal compilation was long enough to be a feature-length film, and his dribbling moves were written into textbooks, clumsily imitated by countless teenagers on every street corner.
He was too strong—so strong that in the football world of this era, he couldn’t find a single opponent capable of making his heart race.
“Expectations, huh…” Kazuki sighed into the microphone, his tone carrying a humblebrag aura that made people want to rush up and punch him.
“My only expectation right now is that hopefully, some defender won’t have his ankles broken by my feints within the first ten minutes of the match, just so I can break a bit more of a sweat.”
The entire venue erupted, followed by an even more frantic flashing of cameras.
Bored out of his mind, Kazuki closed his eyes, enjoying the emptiness that came with standing lonely at the peak.
Being invincible really is as lonely as snow.
If there is a next life, I hope these boring days can come to an end…
The exact moment that thought flashed through his mind, the originally chaotic scene of the award ceremony suddenly vanished.
No screaming, no shutter sounds.
Replacing them was a bout of severe tinnitus and total darkness before his eyes.
“Defend!
Get back on defense!
Don’t let that monster break through!”
“Dammit, that U-20 striker is too fast!”
“Don’t give up!
This is the battle for survival in ‘Blue Lock’!”
Chaotic roars, violent collisions, and the dull thud of a football slamming heavily against the turf flooded into Kazuki’s eardrums like a roaring tide.
He snapped his eyes open.
What met his eyes wasn’t a magnificent opera house, but a massive, highly modernized football stadium.
The piercing floodlights illuminated the pitch as bright as day, and the distinct smell of soil from the turf blended with the scent of sweat, rushing straight up his nostrils.
“Where is this?
Am I dreaming?”
Kazuki instinctively tried to stand up, only to find that the height of his line of sight was wrong—he was sitting, sitting on a hard plastic substitute bench.
He looked down at his hands.
These hands looked to be seventeen years old at the very most.
Before he could recover from the shock of this “rejuvenation,” a mechanical, electronically synthesized voice exploded without warning deep within his mind.
[Ding!
Host’s soul fluctuations detected.
Spacetime anchor confirmed: The world of BLUE LOCK.]
[Resetting host’s identity…
Reset complete.]
[Current Identity: Rin Kazuki, 17 years old, Blue Lock Member No.
21, a bottom-tier dead weight.]
[The Strongest Goalkeeper System has been forcefully activated.
Binding in progress…]
What the hell?
Kazuki almost jumped out of his chair.
Transmigration?
Blue Lock?
That chuunibyou, hot-blooded manga he had read just to pass the time during a boring training camp, where a bunch of Japanese high schoolers turned playing football into something like a battle royale?
And furthermore…
“Wait!
What did you say this system is?
The Strongest Goalkeeper?!” Kazuki ranted frantically in his mind.
“Are you kidding me?!
I am the world’s number one striker!
The goal-scoring machine who broke a hundred goals in a single season!
And you’re making me a goalkeeper?
You’re using a nuclear warhead to crack a walnut!”
Completely ignoring his protest, the system continued to broadcast in its flat, emotionless voice:
[Binding successful.]
[Given that the host’s deeply ingrained bad habits as a striker are firmly rooted, the system will initiate a forced correction mode.]
[Correction Rule 1: In any official match, the host can only take the field in the ‘Goalkeeper’ position.
If participating in a match in any other position, a Level 1 electric shock punishment will be administered.]
Kazuki’s current mood was exactly like taking a bite of a Michelin-starred meal, only to find a fly wrapped inside it—utterly disgusting.
He looked down at his own body.
Sure enough.
He was wearing a slightly bulky goalkeeper jersey with padded elbows and shoulders.
The color was a drab greyish-green that made him look like a complete background character, and a large number was printed across his chest: 21.
Looking further down.
Planted right next to him was a brand-new pair of goalkeeper gloves.
“I…
go screw yourself!”
Looking at that pair of oversized gloves, Kazuki felt the situation had reached the absolute peak of absurdity.
This was practically a public execution of his dignity as a god-tier striker!
This pair of feet of his was meant for playing the ball, meant for executing volleys, and now he was actually being forced to use his hands to block shots kicked by a bunch of little brats who were still playing in the mud?
This was like taking a top-tier surgeon who wields a scalpel and suddenly forcing him to change careers to slaughter pigs, while still requiring every cut to be done artistically.
“Hey, Kazuki!
What are you dazing off for?
Don’t think this is just a game, this is the U-20 decisive battle that determines our life and death!”
A furious shout came from beside him.
Kazuki turned his head and saw a boy with a spiky haircut sitting not far away, staring at the field with a tense expression.
Raichi Jingo, the stamina freak of Blue Lock.
Kazuki ignored him, turning his gaze toward the pitch instead.
Right now, the match had reached a white-hot phase in the first half.
The “Blue Lock” team, dressed in blue jerseys, was being suffocated under the oppression of the “Japan U-20 Representative Team” in their white jerseys.
Kazuki narrowed his eyes.
His top-tier dynamic vision, which belonged to the world’s number one striker, had not vanished.
Even while sitting on the bench, every player’s positioning, center of gravity shift, and muscle tension on the field appeared as clear as a slow-motion replay in his eyes.
“That number 11, Isagi Yoichi, right?” Kazuki watched the boy on the field who was desperately turning his head to observe, his lips twitching uncontrollably.
“What is he doing?
Is that ‘spatial awareness’?
Looks more like ‘cervical spondylosis rehabilitation training’ to me!
The left flank has clearly been wide open for three whole seconds, yet he’s still hesitating over the passing lane.
By the time he figures it out, the opportunity will be long gone.”
His line of sight shifted.
“And that red-haired princess, Chigiri Hyoma.
His speed is decent, but with this kind of straight up-and-down running style, he’d be cried to sleep by positioning blocks in the top leagues.
Where’s the change of direction?
Where’s the tempo variation?
Are you a hundred-meter sprinter or a football player?”
“That guy with the long lower eyelashes, Itoshi Rin, is it?” Kazuki looked at Rin, who was dribbling to break through, and couldn’t help but shake his head.
“His technique is admittedly the best among this bunch, but this playstyle is just too full of bitter hatred.
He could clearly resolve the issue with a single through-ball, yet he insists on forcing a dribble past opponents in this position just to prove he’s stronger than his brother who’s watching the show?
Childish.”
Kazuki’s occupational hazard was flaring up.
As a man who had once stood at the top of the world, watching this match—which looked like kindergarten kids pecking at each other in his eyes—made every single cell in his body scream “let me on.”
If I were the striker, I would have already scored three from that position!
If I were on the field, that defender’s positional flaw would be enough for me to nutmeg him ten times over!
Just give me ten minutes—no, five minutes!
I could teach this bunch of U-20 brats what the cruelty of the adult world looks like!
However…
Kazuki looked down at the gloves on his hands, then looked back at the bright red words [Goalkeeper Only] on the system panel.
Seriously, beep beep beep—beep beep (to avoid corrupting children, it wasn’t uttered aloud).
“Is this retribution?” Kazuki sighed toward the heavens, the inner miniature version of himself already kneeling on the ground and pounding his chest.
“Just because I acted a bit arrogant on the award stage, the gods threw me here to be a goalkeeper?
Isn’t this crossover a bit too drastic?
Why not just send me to play volleyball instead?”
Right at that moment, the situation on the field suddenly took a sharp turn.
The U-20 Representative Team’s striker, Sendo Shuto, seized upon a mistake in the Blue Lock defensive line, slipping through like a loach and unleashing a powerful shot the moment he found his footing!
The quality of this shot was average, and the angle wasn’t particularly tricky either.
But in Kazuki’s eyes, Blue Lock’s starting goalkeeper—that guy named Gagamaru Gin—although his reaction reflexes were indeed outstanding, his goalkeeping technique was simply the rawest of amateur styles.
“His center of gravity is too high, and his diving speed is slow by 0.5 seconds,” Kazuki instinctively formed a judgment.
“If it were a professional goalkeeper…
wait, this ball can be saved.”
Bang!
Using a highly bizarre handstand posture, Gagamaru Gin barely managed to tip the ball past the goal line with the tip of his toes.
“Nice save!!!”
The substitute bench erupted into cheers, everyone celebrating this extreme rescue.
Only Kazuki had a face full of dark lines as he covered his face: “What kind of movement was that?
Are you here to play football or perform acrobatics?
A standard lateral dive could have solved the problem perfectly, yet you insisted on making it look like a gorilla dancing…”
[Ding!
Strong desire to complain and tactical analysis capability detected from the host.]
The system’s voice rang out once more, this time carrying a hint of schadenfreude.
[Newbie Mission Released: The Goalkeeper Showing Early Radiance.]
[Mission Description: Take the field as a goalkeeper in this U-20 showdown and complete at least two saves.
Furthermore, these two saves must be accompanied by psychological humiliation (trash talk) directed at the enemy strikers.]
[Mission Reward: None]
[Mission Failure Punishment: Forced to wear a maid outfit during a week of physical conditioning training.]
“Beep beep beep—beep beep…”
Mission reward none?
Maid outfit?
Physical conditioning training?
“System, do you have some kind of major illness?!” he roared in his mind.
“Moreover, I’m a substitute right now!
That Gagamaru Gin is perfectly fine, how could they possibly let me onto the field?”
Before the words fully left his mouth, a miserable shriek suddenly echoed from the pitch.
Gagamaru Gin, who had just completed that extreme save, was currently clutching his waist in agony due to his overly bizarre landing posture, his facial expression twisted into a distorted mess.
The team doctor quickly rushed onto the field.
After a brief examination, he shook his head toward Ego Jinpachi by the sidelines and made the substitution gesture.
“Waist sprain, unable to continue the match.” Gagamaru Gin was the only person here who could barely fulfill the goalkeeper position (even if he relied entirely on raw reactions to hold the line).
Now that he was coming off, who was going to guard the net?
Everyone looked at each other in dismay.
(I want to report this!
This damn system must have rigged it!)
In the shadows by the sidelines, that crazed coach with the bowl cut and glasses—Ego Jinpachi—slowly turned his head.
The gaze behind his lenses acted like a cold searchlight, sweeping across the panic-stricken faces on the substitute bench.
Finally, his eyes locked onto the corner, settling on the boy who looked utterly done with life, staring blankly down at his gloves.
“Rin Kazuki.
You go.”
“That dead weight?”
“Can he even do it?
He seemed to have zero presence in the previous selections!”
“It’s over, it’s completely over this time.
They’re actually letting the bottom-ranker guard this crucially important goal…”
Amidst a flurry of skeptical whispers, Kazuki slowly stood up.
He merely glanced sideways at his teammates beside him, muttering a quiet “dumbasses.” Then, he methodically adjusted the loose goalkeeper jersey and forcefully pulled the Velcro straps of his gloves tight, producing a crisp “riiiip” sound.
Wearing a maid outfit was out of the question—impossible in this lifetime.
Since there was no other choice…
Kazuki lifted his head, and within those eyes that originally belonged to the world’s number one striker, a bizarre and dangerous flame ignited at this moment.
The corner of his mouth hooked into a wicked arc as he murmured in a voice only he could hear:
“Even though it’s with my hands, violently grinding the ball kicked by these self-righteous brats into the dirt and listening to their desperate wails…
seems like it might actually be pretty fun?”
Kazuki cracked his neck, producing a series of popping noises, and stepped out onto the green pitch.
The demon who had once struck terror into the hearts of defenders worldwide had changed his skin today, standing right on the goal line.
Strikers, your nightmare has begun.