Blue Lock: Phantom Striker

Yoichi Isagi walked back to the small, crumbling apartment he called home. Ego's words echoed in his head like a taunting whisper.

"Let me make you an offer, Isagi Yoichi."

He had spent years learning to ignore empty promises. The streets had taught him that no one gave without expecting something in return. Yet, something about Ego was different. The man hadn't pitied him. He hadn't scolded him. He had seen him.

He stopped in front of the rusted door of his apartment, its peeling paint barely holding onto the wood. The lock was broken, not that it mattered. There was nothing worth stealing inside.

Pushing the door open, Isagi stepped into the dimly lit room. A stained mattress lay in the corner, covered in mismatched blankets he had found on the streets. The only furniture was a crate he used as a table. A cracked mirror hung on the wall, reflecting the face of a boy who had long since stopped looking at his own reflection.

He sat down on the floor, knees pulled up to his chest. His hands curled into fists.

"A chance to stop stealing scraps and start taking what truly belongs to you."

A bitter smile crossed his lips. What had ever belonged to him?

His past was nothing but loss.

He remembered his parents.....warm voices, gentle hands ruffling his hair. They used to take him to the park, kicking a ball around, laughing as he stumbled and tried again. Soccer had been his first love. His dream.

Then, everything was gone.

His relatives had descended like vultures, stripping away everything his parents left behind. Money, home, memories. They had left him with nothing. Just a name and an empty stomach.

He had begged, fought, stolen, whatever it took to survive. And soccer? That dream had died the day he realized dreams didn't fill an empty belly.

But now…

He looked down at his hands. Calloused. Dirty. The hands of a thief.

Was Ego really offering him something more? Or was this just another lie?

Isagi let out a slow breath.

He wasn't a fool. He knew that in this world, the strong took what they wanted. If he had to fight for a place in this Blue Lock program, so be it. He had fought for everything else in his life.

His fingers twitched. A familiar urge stirred inside him.An itch in his legs, a hunger in his chest.

He needed a ball.

His eyes darted around the room. There was nothing. Of course, there was nothing.

But… maybe he could make one.

He grabbed an old shirt from the corner, tearing it into strips. Then, he dug into the small crate, pulling out scraps of cotton and fabric he had collected for warmth in winter. His hands worked quickly, wrapping, twisting, tying. The shape was uneven, the weight all wrong, but when he held it up, it was his.

A makeshift soccer ball.

Something inside him tightened.

A thief could steal anything....but some things had to be made with his own hands.

Without another thought, he grabbed his hoodie and slipped outside.

The city was quiet this late at night, but Isagi knew exactly where to go. A few blocks away, behind an abandoned shopping complex, stood an unfinished construction site. The project had been abandoned years ago, leaving behind beams, cracked concrete, and wide-open space.

His personal field.

Under the flickering streetlights, Isagi set the ball down and took a deep breath. His heart pounded. His body, exhausted from the day, still felt a rush of energy as his foot tapped against the fabric-wrapped ball.

The moment his foot connected, something in him clicked.

The ball rolled forward, wobbling on its uneven surface, but Isagi didn't care. He chased after it, dribbling between piles of rubble, weaving past steel beams like defenders.

He wasn't stealing now. He wasn't running. He wasn't just surviving.

He was playing.

For the first time in years, he felt alive.

And for the first time, he felt like maybe—just maybe—he could take back what was his.

His dream. His future.

His place in the world.

And if Ego's offer could give him that?

Then he would take it.