Blue Lock: Phantom Striker

The Tokyo streets were alive with neon lights and endless chatter, but Yoichi Isagi had no time to admire the view. He moved through the crowded Shibuya district like a shadow, unnoticed and unremarkable. Just another stray in a city that never stopped moving.

His stomach ached with hunger, a familiar pain that he had long learned to ignore. His hoodie was worn thin, his shoes barely holding together, but none of that mattered right now. Right now, his eyes were locked onto his target.

A man in a sleek black suit stood near a ramen stall, completely engrossed in his phone. His sharp, angular glasses reflected the screen's glow, and his thin lips were curled in a smirk, as if he had just read something amusing. But more importantly, his leather wallet peeked just slightly out of his pocket.

Jackpot.

Isagi moved with calculated precision, stepping closer as though he were just another pedestrian passing by. He bumped into the man's shoulder, light enough to seem accidental, but firm enough to mask his true intent. His fingers worked swiftly, snatching the wallet in one smooth motion.

"Ah, sorry about that!" Isagi muttered, bowing slightly before blending into the crowd.

The moment he turned a corner, he exhaled in relief, flipping open the wallet. His eyes widened at the sight.Thick stacks of yen, neatly arranged cards, and—

A hand clamped down on his wrist.

Cold. Unforgiving.

His heartbeat slammed against his ribs as he looked up. The same man in the black suit stood before him, his glasses gleaming under the streetlight.

"Not bad," the man mused, his voice a blend of amusement and something far more dangerous. "Quick hands. Good awareness. But a poor understanding of your opponent."

Isagi yanked his arm, but the grip was like iron.

"Wh-Who the hell are you?" he spat, attempting to mask his panic.

"Jinpachi Ego," the man introduced himself smoothly. "And you, my little stray, have potential."

Isagi scowled, trying once again to wrench free. "Potential? What the hell are you talking about?"

Ego chuckled, finally releasing him. He straightened his suit, looking down at Isagi like a scientist observing an interesting specimen.

"You think soccer is about teamwork, about playing nice with others? That's a lie. It's about ego. It's about being the best, no matter the cost. And you…" He tilted his head. "You survive by taking what you want. You have hunger. That's exactly what a true striker needs."

Isagi's breath was unsteady. He had been caught. This should've been the part where he ran. The part where he disappeared into the night like always.

But for some reason… he didn't move.

Ego smiled, as if he could see the battle raging inside him.

"Let me make you an offer, Isagi Yoichi. A chance to stop stealing scraps and start taking what truly belongs to you."

Isagi's hands clenched into fists.

For the first time in years… someone was offering him something.

Something real.

Something his.