Chapter Text
- Blue Lock一緒
In that moment, Yoichi Isagi woke up.
The feeling hit him right away, and it wasn’t pleasant. His body was stiff, tense, like he’d slept twisted up in some awful position. The floor beneath his back was cold. Way too cold to be his bedroom.
“…Did I fall outta bed?” he muttered, letting out a shaky laugh that died almost as soon as it left his mouth.
When he opened his eyes, a harsh light burned into them, forcing him to shut them again.
When he tried once more, the light hit him full-on, making his eyes sting like hell.
They hurt. Damn it, they really hurt.
He tried again, blinking slowly, forcing his vision to adjust. The walls were white. Too white. The kind of white that reflected the light so hard it almost hurt to look at.
Isagi pushed himself up slowly, sitting there while his brain ran a thousand miles an hour. He wasn’t home. He was in a room that was way too big. In front of him, a massive glass wall stretched across one side of the room, spilling a ghostly blue light over the marble floor. In the glass, a dark figure stood above, watching. Not moving.
The space around him felt endless. The ceiling was so high he couldn’t even tell where it ended, and the cold marble sent a shiver crawling up his spine. The whole place felt solemn… almost sacred.
Like an abandoned church.
Or worse. A mausoleum.
Panic crept in.
Had he been kidnapped or somethin’?
A chill ran down his back.
“Wh-what kinda place is this…?” he whispered, barely loud enough to hear.
Was it a dream? No… it felt way too real. The cold. The light. The silence.
Then he remembered the night before.
The loss.
The final whistle.
Nationals slipping right through his fingers.
Going home without saying a word. Smiling at his parents like it didn’t hurt. Falling onto his bed with his head full of regret.
I should’ve taken that shot.
And now he was here.
“Where the hell am I…?”
The thought had barely formed when something else caught his attention.
Another chill crawled up his spine.
He wasn’t alone.
A short distance in front of him stood a completely black figure. It didn’t reflect the light. Didn’t cast a shadow. It was like a person-shaped void. Isagi tried to focus on its face, desperate to make out anything—anything at all—but he couldn’t. A thick haze covered it, twisting his vision and denying him clarity.
His body went stiff.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t speak.
He just stared.
His throat tightened. His thoughts fell apart, and for the first time since he started playing soccer, Isagi didn’t know what to do.
Is this it?
His eyes burned as a cruel thought took hold. Maybe he’d never go home. Maybe nobody would ever know what happened to him.
Then, the figure took a step forward.
And the silence broke.
That’s when Isagi noticed something else.
He really wasn’t alone.
At first, it was just a sound—a shaky breath that wasn’t his. Then another. Then more. The silence wasn’t empty anymore. It was full. Full of tense bodies, just like his.
He turned his head slowly, like moving too fast might make things worse.
People were everywhere.
Some sitting on the floor. Others standing. All of them looked just as confused. Guys around his age, more or less. All dressed like players, wearing different sports uniforms, like they’d been pulled from completely different places.
One of them caught his eye right away—a guy with light, messy hair and half-lidded eyes, looking more annoyed than scared. His posture was relaxed, almost lazy, like this whole thing was just a hassle.
Not far from him stood someone who really stood out.
Tall, with long red hair falling over his shoulders, pale skin, moving with a kind of natural elegance. He touched his leg carefully, barely hiding the tension on his face.
Nearby, a broad-shouldered guy clenched his fists tight. His gaze was sharp, challenging, like he was looking for someone to blame. There was anger there. Pride, too.
“What is this place?” someone muttered, breaking the silence.
Isagi swallowed hard. His heart was pounding, but hearing another human voice helped, just a little. He stood up carefully, never taking his eyes off the black figure.
“Did you guys… wake up here too?” he asked, his voice quieter than he meant it to be.
Some nodded. Others barely reacted.
“Yeah,” the redhead said. “Don’t remember comin’ here on my own.”
The blond yawned.
“What a pain…” he muttered. “I was sleepin’ real good.”
Isagi blinked, surprised by how calm he sounded.
“I—I’m Isagi. Isagi Yoichi,” he said, almost on instinct. “You guys…?”
The broad-shouldered one spoke first, frowning.
“Kunigami. Kunigami Rensuke.”
“Chigiri Hyoma,” the redhead said, straightening up a bit. “And I don’t like this at all.”
The lazy-looking guy glanced at him sideways.
“Nagi Seishiro,” he said, like even introducing himself was too much work. “Can we leave now?”
Isagi opened his mouth to say more, but stopped.
There were others. Way more.
A dark-haired guy with a sharp stare stayed quiet, like he was memorizing the whole room. Another wore a strange, relaxed smile—more curious than scared. And someone else, elegant and cold, hadn’t said a single word since Isagi woke up.
Too many.
Before Isagi could make sense of it, the black figure moved again.
And this time, everyone was watching.
It stepped forward once more.
Not fast. Not threatening. Still, the air shifted. Conversations died instantly, like someone had turned the volume of the world all the way down.
When it spoke, the voice didn’t come from one place. It echoed through the entire room—clear, steady, and emotionless.
“You have been brought here to witness the only future where Japan wins the U-20 World Cup.”
The words hit hard.
Isagi felt his shoulders tense. Around him, reactions broke out at once.
“The future…?” someone murmured.
“What the hell are you talkin’ about?” another snapped.
The system didn’t respond right away. It stood there, unmoving, like those reactions didn’t matter.
“In most timelines,” it continued, “Japan fails.
Fails as a national team.
Fails as a project.
Fails as a generation.”
An uncomfortable silence settled in.
“In the future, you will witness a key player who never made it to Blue Lock.”
“That absence changed every decision.
Every match.
Every outcome.”
Isagi swallowed.
“Blue… Lock?” he whispered, testing the name like it didn’t feel real.
“As a result,” the System said, ignoring him, “Japan lost the U-20.”
“And with it, its future in international football.”
Some clenched their fists. Others looked away. Nobody smiled.
“You are not here to change that outcome,” it stated.
“Nor to stop it.”
A pause.
“You are here to watch.”
The floor trembled slightly. The wall in front of them lit up, forming a massive screen that split the room with its glow.
Isagi felt his stomach twist.
He didn’t know what they were about to see.
And he didn’t know why he was there.
But one thing was clear.
Even before Blue Lock began…
They were already being forced to watch a future that never came to be.
And the projection began.