Blue Lock: Limitless

A loud metallic clang echoed through the room.

Snapping everyone's attention to the ceiling.

From the center of the roof, a cubic door slid open.

Revealing a soccer ball that plummeted down with a resounding thud.

Bouncing once before rolling to a stop.

It landed directly in front of Isagi.

Jinpachi Ego's voice boomed through the room.

Seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere.

"The time limit is 136 seconds," Jinpachi announced.

"The player with possession is 'it.' Whoever is 'it' when time runs out… can get the fuck out of here."

The players froze.

Jinpachi continued.

"And of course… no using your hands. Those are the rules."

There Igarashi blinked in confusion.

His mouth slightly agape.

"Wha…"

Ignoring the murmurs in the room.

"'Tag' is but one of the many exercises pro players warm up with."

"This Egoism Test I have devised will provide great insight into the selfishness behind these strikers. Prepare, and attack. This isn't your average game of 'Tag.'"

The timer on the monitor above the room began ticking down.

135 seconds.

For a split second, silence gripped the room—then Isagi moved.

With swift precision, he kicked the ball toward Igarashi.

Who instinctively caught it with his feet.

The dull thud echoed ominously.

And the sound of the timer seemed to grow louder.

Igarashi's face twisted in shock as he realized what had just happened.

"W-Wha—?"

The monitor above them emitted a sharp boop!

As it updated to display Igarashi's information.

His name, face, and ranking—300, Z—flashed on the screen.

Marking him as "it."

Panic erupted in the room like a breaking dam.

"The hell?!" Jingo Raichi growled.

One of the players in the room.

With sharp amber eyes and pale blonde hair.

His forehead, already damp with sweat.

"A test as soon as we move in?! This ain't even football!"

Near the door they had entered from.

Yudai Imamura jiggled the handle furiously.

His slim build tense with desperation.

"Oh, shit! The door's not opening?!"

His voice cracked slightly, betraying his growing anxiety.

Igarashi, still frozen with the ball at his feet, muttered to himself.

"300th… so the worst player is the first to be 'it.'"

His voice wavered.

But he took a deep breath, steadying himself.

"I have to do this… So, whoever gets expelled—don't hold it against me."

The other players instinctively began backing away from Igarashi.

Their faces pale as they spread out across the room.

Everyone wanted to avoid being the next target.

Imamura turned toward Igarashi, waving his hands in an attempt to reason with him.

"W-Wait a sec! That thing about Japan's U-20... do you really believe what that guy said?! That had to be a bluff!"

Igarashi clenched his jaw.

"…I dunno for sure. But what if he was tellin' the truth?!"

His voice grew louder.

"If I lose, I'll have to become a monk at the temple…!"

He planted his foot on the ground.

"...A'ight."

Everyone stood on edge.

Their eyes darting between each other and the ball.

Their movements calculated as they tried to create as much distance as possible.

In the far corner of the room.

Isagi stood there scanning every player.

Above them, the monitor's timer ticked relentlessly downward.

123 seconds.

Without hesitation, Gurimu Igarashi exploded into action.

Sprinting toward Isagi's corner with the ball under control.

His aggressive movements instantly drew the attention of everyone nearby.

Imamura, Raichi, Kira, and Isagi.

"Wait... Don't all come here!!" Imamura yelled.

He shifted nervously to Isagi's left.

"We're stacked in the corner! Spread out!!" Raichi bellowed

His sharp teeth gritting in frustration.

Behind the group, Kira stood frozen, visibly tense.

Igarashi smirked through his labored breaths.

Locking his sights on Isagi.

"I'm coming for you, Isagi! Mr. 299!" he shouted.

Isagi took a deep breath.

His sharp eyes zeroed in on Igarashi's feet as he analyzed his movements.

Noticing a slight imbalance in Igarashi's approach.

Isagi decisively stepped to the side.

The ball swerved toward him but missed.

Ricocheting off the wall with a loud thud.

"O' Great Buddha!" Igarashi cried out.

Isagi, without hesitation, left the corner.

And regrouped with Kira creating space for himself.

"Ah! Shit! This is way too hard!" Igarashi growled.

Chasing after the ball, his frustration bubbled over.

He muttered to himself, "Fine, I'll go for everyone! Come on!"

Next to Isagi, Kira let out a deep sigh.

"This has to be a joke... there's no way pros actually train like this!"

Isagi glanced at Kira but remained silent.

"I'm only here so I can reject that guy's rotten ideology... Trying to stake our football careers on a two-minute-long game of Tag... is completely screwed up!"

Kira's voice grew firm.

"I won't let that guy destroy my future!"

Hearing this, Isagi's mind raced.

He respected Kira's determination.

But he could sense that Kira's emotions might cloud his judgment.

Isagi's thoughts drifted back to their last match in the Saitama Prefecture.

He recognized Kira's talent.

The immense potential he had.

He needs to realize what's at stake here...

Then an idea suddenly struck Isagi.

A way to set Kira on the right path.

Meanwhile, Igarashi grumbled under his breathr.

"Fuck, I can't hit anyone!" he shouted.

Sprinting after the ball.

"Come back, ball!"

As the ball rolled to a stop near Bachira, who was still sprawled on the floor, snoring lightly.

Igarashi's eyes lit up.

"Haha! That's the guy! Lucky me—he's still sleeping!" Igarashi shouted gleefully.

Making a beeline for the ball.

Just as he was about to strike, Bachira stirred.

In one fluid motion, he flipped himself upside down with his hands on the floor.

His leg snapping out like a whip.

His foot struck Igarashi square in the cheek.

"NGH?!" Igarashi stumbled back, clutching his face.

Which was now bruised and bleeding slightly from his nose.

"THAT HURTS... HEY!!" Igarashi roared.

Glaring at Bachira.

"THAT'S A FOUL! A FOUL! IN A MATCH, THAT'D GET YOU A RED CARD!"

Bachira lazily scratched his eye, his voice groggy.

"Munya~ wasn't the only rule no using hands?"

He stood up straight, yawning.

"Mornin'."

Isagi, watching this unfold.

What's with this guy?

Kunigami suddenly stepped into view.

Placing a firm hand on Bachira's shoulder.

His tone was stern.

"Hey. I hate that dirty shit. Play fair and square."

Bachira glanced at him nonchalantly.

"Well, ain't you serious."

Before the tension could escalate further.

The ball slammed into Kunigami's face with a loud smack.

"Dun!" The monitor updated.

Showing Kunigami's information.

He was now "it."

Igarashi celebrated with a triumphant yell.

"Hah! Found an opening! O' Great Buddha!"

Kunigami wiped his face.

Glaring daggers at Igarashi.

"...Fucking bastard," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Wasting no time, Kunigami unleashed a powerful kick.

Sending the ball hurtling toward Igarashi with pinpoint precision.

Igarashi's eyes widened in panic as he quickly darted behind Isagi.

Attempting to use him as a shield.

"Nice try," Isagi muttered under his breath.

In a blur of motion.

Isagi twisted Igarashi's arm flipping their positions.

Before Igarashi could react.

The ball struck him square in the stomach with a loud thud.

Igarashi collapsed to the floor, clutching his stomach.

"AHHH! DAMN IT!"

78 seconds left.