Five monsters in a room.
Zero chairs (except the one Silas was sitting in).
The atmosphere in Sector B was toxic. It wasn't the air conditioning. It was the Ego density. It was high enough to crush a submarine.
"I am striker," Kai Rivers said, filing his nails. "I take center. You four... try not to get in my way."
"Excuse me?" Vincent Drake laughed. A wet, meaty sound. "You're a twig, Goldilocks. I take center. I crush the defense line. You stand on the wing and look pretty."
"Illogical," Silas Vance chimed in without looking up from his tablet. "Vincent has the lowest pass completion rate in the group. Kai has the lowest physical exertion rate. Soccer has..." Silas paused, looking at the scarred boy. "...unpredictable variables. He is statistically a glitch."
Zero hung upside down from a pull-up bar in the corner. "Positions are irrelevant. Eventually, the ball comes to the Void. And the Void swallows."
Soccer sat on the floor, stretching his titanium ankle.
Boing. Click. Boing.
"You guys are loud," Soccer said cheerfully. "Like crows fighting over a shiny bottle cap."
Kai turned his cold blue stare on Soccer. "And who appointed you the zookeeper, Savage?"
"Coach Titan did," Soccer pointed at the screen. "Team of five. One Keeper. One Midfielder. Three Strikers. It's a Hyper-Attack Formation."
"Which means," Vincent cracked his knuckles, "we have no defenders."
"Who needs defense?" Kai smirked. "If we score ten goals, we don't need to defend."
"Against Japan?" Silas tapped his screen. "Japanese football is built on cohesion. Discipline. One mind. We are five minds. And three of them are psychotic."
"Hey!" Vincent pointed a steak knife (he was still eating). "I resent that."
Coach Titan's voice boomed from the ceiling.
"ENOUGH TALK. PRACTICE FIELD A. SCIMMAGE. NOW."
The Field of Broken Dreams
Practice Field A was pristine.
The opponent? A simulated team of eleven "Drone-Bots." Motorized mannequins on wheels that moved in formation.
"Easy," Kai scoffed.
Titan blew the whistle.
"GO!"
It was a disaster.
Zero stayed in goal, refusing to distribute the ball. "Come get it from the abyss," he whispered.
Silas ran to get it. He passed perfectly to Kai.
Kai trapped it—Dead Trap—and turned.
"Mine," Kai said.
"MINE!" Vincent roared, charging from the right.
Vincent tackled Kai.
His own teammate.
CRUNCH.
Vincent shoulder-checked Kai off the ball. "Too slow, Goldilocks!"
"You neanderthal!" Kai scrambled up, face red. "That was my line!"
Vincent ignored him and dribbled forward. A drone blocked him. He tried to stiff-arm it. The metal was hard. Vincent hurt his wrist. "Ow! Stupid robot!"
The ball rolled loose.
Soccer bounced in. Boing-step.
"I got it!"
Soccer scooped the ball. He looked for a pass.
Silas was open.
"Silas!"
Soccer passed.
Silas didn't move to the ball. He waited. "The angle was inefficient," Silas critiqued. "If I moved, I would lose energy."
The drone intercepted the pass.
The whistle blew.
Coach Titan stood on the sideline, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"Stop. Just stop."
The team gathered. They were sweating from anger, not exertion.
"You look like a Hydra cutting off its own heads," Titan growled. "You hate each other. Good. I don't need you to like each other. I need you to use each other."
He pointed at the screen. A live feed of the Japanese team training on the next field over.
They moved like water. Synchronized. Silent. Not a single wasted touch.
"They are the Blue Samurai," Titan said. "Their passing accuracy is 98%. If you play like this tomorrow, you won't touch the ball for ninety minutes. You will chase ghosts until your lungs explode."
Titan turned to leave.
"Figure it out. Or go home."
Nighttime. The Dorms.
The lights were off.
Soccer lay in his bunk. He listened to the breathing of the monsters.
Vincent snored like a bear.
Silas breathed rhythmically.
Kai breathed silently (probably judging the air quality).
Zero slept hanging off the bed, head down (allegedly).
Soccer couldn't sleep.
His titanium ankle hummed. It wanted movement.
He crawled out of bed. He grabbed his Copa Mundials.
He snuck out to the field.
The moon illuminated the empty pitch.
But it wasn't empty.
Kai Rivers was there.
He was wearing noise-canceling headphones. He was practicing the same trap. Over and over.
The ball machine fired. Kai killed the ball. Zero bounce.
Thump... Silence.
Thump... Silence.
"You're tight," Soccer whispered from the shadows.
Kai spun around. He pulled off his headphones.
"Stalking is rude, Savage."
Soccer walked onto the grass. He bounced on his left foot.
"You stop the ball perfectly," Soccer said. "But the ball wants to move."
"Control is absolute," Kai wiped sweat from his brow. "If I control the ball, I control the game."
"But Vincent doesn't want control," Soccer grinned. "He wants chaos. And Silas wants data."
"They are tools. Dull, blunt tools."
"And what are you?"
Kai looked at the moon. "I am the hand that wields them."
Soccer kicked a ball. He didn't kill it. He put backspin on it so it hit the ground and spun back to him like a yo-yo.
"Hands are soft," Soccer said. "Teeth are sharp."
He caught the ball.
"We aren't a person, Kai. A person has a hand, a brain, a foot. We're a pack."
"Wolves again?" Kai sneered.
"No," Soccer looked at the shadows where the other bunks lay. "We're a Hydra. Titan was right."
"A Hydra is a monster."
"Yeah. And do you know how a Hydra eats?"
Soccer passed the ball to Kai. Hard.
"All the heads bite at the same time."
Kai trapped the pass.
He looked at Soccer. He looked at the scarred ankle, now fused with science.
"I don't bite with others," Kai said. "I feast alone."
"Tomorrow," Soccer warned, walking away, "Japan brings a net. If you try to eat alone... you get caught."
Kai stood alone on the field.
He looked at the ball.
Alone.
For the first time, the word didn't feel like power. It felt like vulnerability.
The Next Morning. Game Day.
The "National Stadium" at the facility was intense. No fans. Just cameras, scouts, and glass walls.
Team Japan stood on the field.
They wore electric blue.
They weren't tall. They weren't massive like the Southern giants. They were lean. Their posture was identical.
Their captain, Taro, stood at the center. He had short black hair and eyes that looked like they had scanned every game played since 1990.
The Team USA (Provisional) walked out.
They looked like a mismatched puzzle.
Zero in black.
Kai in gold trim.
Vincent in torn-sleeved red.
Silas in grey.
Soccer in white.
No uniform. Just chaos.
The referee (a hired FIFA official) blew the whistle.
"You take it," Kai told Vincent, walking to the wing.
"Finally, you learned your place," Vincent grunted.
"Don't screw it up," Silas adjusted his glasses. "The math says you have a 40% turnover rate."
"Shut up, Calculator."
Kickoff.
Vincent tapped to Soccer.
"Go!" Vincent screamed.
They charged.
Five individual lines of attack.
Vincent ran right, wanting to smash.
Kai ran left, wanting space.
Silas stayed central, analyzing.
Soccer had the ball.
He ran straight down the middle.
A Japanese midfielder stepped up. Number 6.
Soccer tried the Spring Step. Boing.
He cut left.
Number 6 didn't tackle. He just... shifted.
Before Soccer could land, Number 7 was there.
Soccer tried to cut back right.
Number 8 was there.
They were a net. A fluid, shifting grid. They didn't man-mark. They zone-swarmed.
"Pass!" Silas yelled.
Soccer passed to Vincent.
Vincent lowered his shoulder. "Battering Ram!"
He hit a Japanese defender.
The defender didn't fight the impact. He rolled with it (Judo style). Vincent stumbled forward, off balance.
A second defender picked his pocket instantly.
"Counter!" Taro shouted. It was the first word spoken by Japan.
Suddenly, the blue wave moved.
Pass-pass-pass-pass.
It was dizzying.
They didn't hold the ball for more than one second. One-touch passing. Triangles.
Silas tried to intercept. "Their vector is..."
The ball went around him.
"Too fast!" Silas spun.
Kai refused to track back. "I'm a striker. Bring the ball to me!"
The ball did not go to him. It went to the US goal.
Zero stood there. The Void.
Taro received the ball at the top of the box.
He didn't shoot with power. He passed it into the corner.
But nobody was there.
Wait.
A winger appeared there at the exact second the ball arrived. Synchronization.
The winger crossed it low.
Taro had continued his run.
Zero dove to intercept the cross.
Taro didn't shoot. He dummy-stepped over the ball.
The ball rolled to the far post.
Another blue jersey tapped it in.
GOAL.
Japan U-18: 1 - Blue Lock 5: 0
Time: 3:00
Efficiency. 100%.
Team USA stood frozen. They hadn't touched the ball since Vincent lost it.
Vincent punched the grass. "They cheat! They run too many patterns!"
Kai stared at Taro, who was already jogging back silently.
"They aren't even sweating," Kai whispered.
Soccer bounced on his titanium foot. The vibration traveled up his leg.
"They're a river," Soccer said. "They flow downhill."
He looked at his disjointed, angry team.
"If we build a dam with five rocks," Soccer said, grabbing the ball from the net, "the water breaks us."
"So what?" Kai snapped. "We lose?"
"No," Soccer placed the ball on the center spot.
His eyes burned grey.
"Water breaks rock," Soccer said. "But do you know what breaks water?"
"Heat," Vincent said, remembering Soccer's old metaphor? No.
"Explosions," Vincent grinned. "Explosions work."
Soccer smiled. A terrifying, reckless smile.
"Hey Calculator," Soccer shouted to Silas.
"Yes?"
"Stop calculating the pass."
"That is illogical."
"Calculate the Ricochet."
Silas paused. "Ricochet variables are exponential chaos."
"Exactly," Soccer looked at Kai. At Vincent.
"Don't pass to each other," Soccer said. "You guys suck at sharing."
"So?"
"Shoot at each other," Soccer said.
"What?" Kai frowned.
"Shoot the ball. Hard. AT ME. Or AT HIM." Soccer pointed to Vincent.
"You want me to pelt you with the ball?" Vincent asked, interested.
"Yeah. Hard as you can. If you pass nice, Japan steals it. If you shoot like a cannon..." Soccer flexed his new ankle. "...we deflect it."
"Pinball," Silas realized. His glasses glinted. "High-velocity redirection. The reaction time required is 0.1 seconds."
"Zero-Impact Reflex," Soccer nodded. "I have it. Do you?"
Kai smiled. It was arrogant again.
"0.1 seconds? I can do it in 0.05."
Vincent cracked his neck. "I can shoot hard enough to take your leg off, Assassin."
"Try it," Soccer said.
He turned to the Blue Samurai.
"Okay water-boys!" Soccer yelled. "Let's see if you can catch a bullet."
Restart.
Silas kicked off to Vincent.
"FIRE!" Soccer screamed.
Vincent didn't look for an open lane. He didn't look for a tactic.
He wound up his massive leg. He aimed directly at Soccer, who was standing twenty yards away surrounded by three defenders.
BOOM.
A rocket. A literal clearance kick aimed at a teammate's chest.
The Japanese defenders flinched. Why is he killing his own player?
The ball flew at Soccer at 70mph.
Soccer didn't trap it.
He raised his titanium foot. The wall.
He deflected it.
One-touch volley redirection.
The ball changed angle by 90 degrees instantly. It didn't slow down; it sped up from the ricochet physics.
It flew toward Kai on the left wing.
Kai didn't trap it.
He swung his heel.
Scorpion Redirect.
He back-heeled the screaming ball toward the center.
It zigzagged across the field like a laser beam bouncing in a mirror maze.
Zip-Zap-Zoom.
The Japanese disciplined defense crumbled. You can't zone-mark a pinball machine.
The ball reached the box.
Zero (who had run up field?? Yes, the maniac).
Zero blocked the final pass with his chest.
It dropped to Silas.
Silas didn't shoot. He tapped it.
Soccer, sprinting onto the play, leaped.
Titanium Launch.
He pushed off the spring. He flew.
He headed the ball down.
GOAL.
Blue Lock 5: 1 - Japan: 1.
The five monsters stood in the penalty box. They looked insane.
Vincent was laughing. "I almost took your head off!"
"The angle was obtuse!" Silas screamed, losing composure. "It defied three laws of motion!"
Soccer landed. He patted his titanium ankle.
"The Hydra bites," Soccer whispered.
He looked at the shocked Japanese captain.
"Okay. Level 2."