The light from the holographic projection gradually receded, five massive glowing doors standing quietly around the perimeter of the hall like five colossal jaws opening toward different destinies, waiting to devour this pack of famished beasts.
“Gambling our futures, huh…”
Fine whispers echoed among the crowd.
The hot blood kindled by Ego Jinpachi’s words just moments ago slowly settled down, replaced by more rational calculation and thinly veiled anxiety.
This was an irreversible choice; picking the wrong environment meant potentially getting knocked out completely in this brutal game of musical chairs.
Isagi Yoichi stood rooted on the spot, cold sweat dripping down his temple.
His gaze darted frantically between the five massive doors, finally locking onto the space between the black-and-red door representing “Germany” and the red door representing “England.”
His brain worked at breakneck speed, the gears of logic grinding to spark friction.
*Where to go?
Where SHOULD I go?*
*Germany has Noel Noa—he’s my idol and the ultimate endpoint of the ‘rationality’ I envision.
But…
my physical stats aren’t exceptional.
In a system that emphasizes numerical values and mechanized operations, can I truly survive?*
*On the other hand, England is rough, but that high-intensity confrontation might forcefully compensate for my physical shortcomings.
Besides…*
“Still hesitating, Isagi?”
A light, familiar voice interrupted his thought process right before it spiraled into an infinite loop.
Bachira Meguru leaned his body forward with his hands clasped behind his back, cheekily thrusting his face right before Isagi’s.
Those golden pupils reflected Isagi’s conflicted expression.
“Your eyes look so lost—they’re practically spinning like incense spirals.”
“Bachira…” Isagi let out a sigh, as if finding an outlet to vent.
“I was thinking, if I want to surpass Noa, shouldn’t I first understand his logic?
But is that world filled with rationality truly suitable for my current style?
Then again, I’ve been watching videos of the Premier League lately, and that fast tempo…”
“Nn~?” Bachira tilted his head, suddenly reaching out an index finger to poke Isagi right on the chest without ceremony.
“Stop using that silly brain of yours to overthink, Isagi.
When that projection first popped up, where did your body want to go as a first reaction?”
“Eh?”
Isagi froze.
In that exact moment—when Ego Jinpachi flashed Noel Noa’s photo, when that title of “World’s Number One” echoed across the hall—his heart had indeed skipped a beat, an irrepressible surge of impulse instantly shooting up his spine.
That wasn’t a decision made through careful deliberation; it was—craving.
“It was…
Germany,” Isagi muttered under his breath.
“Then trust that instinct!” Bachira put on a radiant, sun-pure smile.
“That’s your instinct as an egoist.
The ‘monster’ inside your body—where does it want to feed?
Go, Isagi!
Go devour that number one guy’s logic completely!”
Those words struck like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the fog inside Isagi’s mind.
“Instinct…
huh?” Isagi clenched his fist tightly, the hesitation in his eyes clearing out to make way for a fire named ambition.
“You’re right, Bachira.
If I don’t even dare to trust my primary instinct, I’m not qualified to talk about surpassing anyone.
“Hee-hee, that’s more like it!” Bachira nodded with satisfaction, before turning around to run off toward the other side.
“Then I gotta follow my instinct too!
My ‘monster’ says it wants to go to Spain to dance the samba!
Bye-bye, Isagi—next time we meet, it’ll be on the pitch!”
Watching Bachira’s departing back, Isagi took a deep breath, his gaze becoming incomparably firm.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the hall, Mikage Reo was frowning at the red door of England, turning to say to Nagi Seishiro beside him: “Nagi, even though football over there involves a ton of running, I’ve analyzed it.
England’s physical confrontation and fast-paced transitions can cover your current stamina and physical weakness to the absolute maximum.
To make you number one in the world…”
“Hey, Chigiri.”
Nagi Seishiro—who had been lounging lazily as if he might fall asleep at any second—suddenly spoke up, cutting Reo’s analysis off directly.
His gaze passed over Reo, landing on the red-haired youth doing leg stretches nearby.
Chigiri Hyoma paused his movements, raising an eyebrow in slight surprise: “What?
You’re interested in England too?
Don’t tell me it’s because you want to run.”
“I remember during our break earlier, you showed me a highlight reel.” In those eyes of Nagi Seishiro that usually lacked all drive, a rare spark lit up—an emotion called curiosity.
“That guy called the ‘Ice Prince’…
Dennis Bergkamp.”
Chigiri froze for a second, then broke into a smile: “Ah, that guy.
He’s an Arsenal legend.
Though he’s retired now, he was known as the man with the ‘Godly First Touch.'”
“Bergkamp…” Nagi Seishiro whispered the name under his breath, the image of that man in the video taking the ball out of the air like a feather floating into his mind.
“That guy whose trap was like magic…
played in an environment like England, full of clashing muscles like savages fighting?”
“Bingo.” Chigiri flipped his long red hair, a hint of pride in his eyes.
“To be able to play with an elegant first touch amidst that meat-grinder defense, making defenders who rely purely on physicality fall down like clowns—don’t you think that’s what a true genius is?”
“I want to try it.”
Nagi Seishiro turned his head to look at Reo, his tone carrying a note of certainty.
“Reo, I want to go to England.
Not for some hassle like building muscle, but because I want to see if my ‘trapping’ works over there.
I want to try and see if I can trap the ball in a place like that, just like Bergkamp.”
Reo stared at Nagi in sheer amazement.
This was the first time Nagi hadn’t relied entirely on his judgment, but had instead made a choice based on his own interest in football itself.
A moment later, Reo let out a helpless laugh: “I was planning to go to England anyway.
Fine, to England we go.
I’ll forge you into a world number one that surpasses that Bergkamp guy.”
“I’m going to England too.” Chigiri Hyoma stood up straight, stretching out that right leg that had once been injured.
“I’m going there to prove that speed is the ultimate weapon to tear through all muscle defenses.”
As the core figures of various factions made their decisions, the crowd began to split off rapidly.
At the same time, Rin Kazuki was leaning against a pillar, watching the surrounding crowd make their choices with an amused smile playing on his lips.
There was no hesitation in that smile—only the thrill of a hunter spotting its prey.
“Hey, ‘poison-tongued goalkeeper’ over there.”
“Looking at you, seems like you decided long ago?”
“Of course.” Kazuki darted a glance at him.
“Why, Model-san hasn’t figured out where to strike a pose yet?”
Yukimiya wasn’t provoked, offering only a faint smile: “I’m torn.
My 1v1 dribbling breakthrough style might suit Spain, but Germany’s 1v1 philosophy is very attractive to me too.”
“Go to Germany.” Kazuki suddenly spoke up, a cold glint flashing through his eyes.
“Because I’m there.”
Yukimiya raised an eyebrow: “Oh?
Are you saying having you in front of the net will help block the opponents for me during practice matches?”
“Ha?
What kind of fever dream are you talking about?”
Kazuki snorted as if he had just heard a joke, shifting his body away from the pillar.
“I mean, if you don’t come to the same team as me, you’ll never see how a REAL ‘striker’ plays football.
How sad would that be?”
“A real…
striker?” Yukimiya froze.
“Aren’t you a goalkeeper?”
“Goalkeeper?” Kazuki cracked his neck, joints popping crisp and loud, a ferocious and arrogant smile breaking across his face.
“That was just a temporary gig for leisure.
That damn system ban…
ah no, that boring restriction is over.
Reaching a new environment means it’s time for my ‘seal to be lifted.’ Model-san, go to Germany—I’ll show a guy like you, who only knows how to look pretty in print magazines, what violent aesthetics that dominate the pitch really look like.”
As time ticked away, everyone made their final choices.
Ego Jinpachi looked at the finalized roster on the screen, a weird curve hooking at the corner of his mouth as he pushed up his light-reflecting glasses:
“Well then, selection complete for all members.
Phase Two of Blue Lock, the ‘Neo Egoist League,’ officially begins.”
According to the system’s final tally, the distribution list for the Top Five Leagues was as follows:
[German Stratum · Bastard München]
The overlord known for rationality and logic.
Members: Isagi Yoichi, Yukimiya Kenyu, Raichi Jingo, Gagamaru Gin, Neru Teppei, Kurona Ranze, Hiori Yo, and the man who might upend everything—Rin Kazuki.
[Spanish Stratum · FC Barcha]
The free nation of creativity and technique.
Members: Bachira Meguru, Otoya Eita, Haru Hayate, Miroku Darai, Kitsunezato Teru, Wakatsuki Itsuki, Sokura Tetsu, Himizu Aiki, Haiji Shizuka.
[English Stratum · Manshine City]
The high-speed battlefield of speed and physical combat.
Members: Mikage Reo, Chigiri Hyoma, Nagi Seishiro, Kazuma Nio, Taiga Tsunzaki, Junichi Wanima, Kairu Saramadara, Reiji Hiiragi, Hajime Nishioka.
[Italian Stratum · Ubers]
The iron wall of tactics and defense.
Members: Barou Shouei, Oliver Aiku, Aryu Jyubei, Niko Ikki, Shuto Sendo, Gen Fukaku, Shingen Tanaka, Kyohei Shiguma, Yukio Ishikari.
[French Stratum · Paris X Gen]
The ambitious smelting pot of money and rising stars.
Members: Itoshi Rin, Karasu Tabito, Tokimitsu Aoshi, Tsurugi Zantetsu, Nanase Nijiro, Kento Cho, Haruhiko Yuzu, Shido Ryusei, Akira Endoji.