CHAPTER 3 — The Boy Who Could Feel Football
Eshan Sato — Age 9
The schoolyard buzzed with the noise of children spilling out for club recruitment day. Whistles blew in the distance. Flags snapped in the wind. Kids shouted over each other, pulling friends toward baseball tents, basketball hoops, karate mats.
Eshan walked quietly among them, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning everything.
He wasn't nervous.
He felt… curious.
His new body was energetic, alive, full of potential he hadn't yet explored. And under that calm surface, a thin thread of excitement tugged at him — football.
He had seen the ball move yesterday. Felt it breathe under his foot. Something inside him had responded like a memory, like a calling.
But today would be different.
Today he would play against people.
He needed that.
He needed chaos. Pressure. Unpredictability.
Only then would he understand what his new abilities truly were.
And maybe… what he could become.
The Football Club Tent
A board hung above the tent:
"Nishikawa Elementary Football Club — Tryouts Open Today."
Kids were already gathered, most of them older than him.
Tall fifth graders.
Fast-looking sixth graders.
And a few short, nervous fourth graders clutching bags too big for their size.
A coach stood at the table — mid-30s, tanned skin, whistle around his neck.
He didn't look like he took things lightly.
"Name?" he asked each student mechanically.
"Fujimoto Ren!"
"Kato Yui!"
"Tanabe Ken!"
When Eshan stepped forward, the coach barely glanced up.
"Grade?"
"Third grade," Eshan answered.
That made the coach pause.
"Third? Tryouts are mostly for fourth and above. You sure you're in the right place?"
"I'm sure," Eshan said simply.
The coach narrowed his eyes for a moment — the look adults give when they sense something unusual. Then he sighed and nodded.
"Fine. Don't cry if someone knocks you down."
"I won't," Eshan said.
But internally, he thought: If someone knocks me down, I'll learn twice as much.
He signed the sheet.
He moved to the back of the line.
He waited quietly.
His heart was calm.
His breathing steady.
But his feet… they tingled.
The ball was near. He could feel it before he even saw it.
Warm-Up Chaos
The kids were split into two groups.
Older kids on one side.
Younger on the other.
"Dribbling lanes! Quick touches!" the coach shouted.
Balls scattered. Kids ran. Shouts erupted.
Eshan stepped onto the grass.
The moment the ball rolled toward him, he felt it — like a low hum under his skin.
The ball wasn't an object.
It was a heartbeat.
He trapped it lightly.
Only… the trap felt perfect.
Too perfect for a nine-year-old who should've struggled.
He didn't know how to describe it except:
My body understands the ball before my mind does.
He tested it.
Tap.
Tap-tap.
Roll.
He barely had to look at it.
It was like the ball wanted to stay with him.
One of the older kids gawked.
"Hey… he's good for a third grader."
Another frowned.
"That control… seriously?"
The coach lifted his head.
His eyes froze on Eshan.
"Oi! Number 32! You're a third grader?"
"Yes," Eshan said.
"…Huh."
But the coach didn't stop watching.
First Real Test — A Mini Match
After warm-ups, the coach clapped loudly.
"Alright! Two teams! Older kids vs younger kids. Don't worry about scoring too much — I just want to see decision-making. Move the ball. Communicate!"
Communicate.
Ah.
That was something he wasn't used to.
In his old world, he never played seriously.
He watched football.
Loved it.
But he wasn't a player.
Now he was one.
He moved into position instinctively — forward, but drifting slightly left. His new body knew where it wanted to stand before he consciously chose.
The whistle blew.
And chaos began.
The First Touch That Shocked Everyone
A long pass flew at him unexpectedly — too fast, too high.
Any normal nine-year-old would panic and mis-kick.
But Eshan felt the ball scream through the air.
Distance: 14 meters.
Spin: medium.
Drop: sharp.
He didn't consciously think this.
His body already calculated it.
He stepped forward — one clean step — and cushioned the ball with the outside of his foot.
Silence.
Because the ball didn't bounce.
Didn't wobble.
Didn't even make a sound.
It just obeyed him.
The closest defender slowed down, confused.
"What the… how did he—"
Pressure Arrives
Three older kids closed in on him.
One from the front.
Two from behind.
Eshan felt the pressure instantly — not as a conscious thought, but as a wave of weight in the air.
His foot brushed the ball
— so lightly it made no sound —
and he let it roll into a pocket of space to his right.
A defender lunged.
Eshan froze him with another silent touch.
Another kid shouted, "Stop him!"
He couldn't dribble past them.
Not yet.
He wasn't fast enough.
He wasn't physically strong.
So he escaped the pressure the only way he instinctively knew:
He passed.
Soundlessly.
Effortlessly.
A soft flick that slid between the defenders' legs.
His teammate gasped.
"W–what kind of pass was that!?"
The coach leaned forward in his chair.
Eshan's First Disturbance
The moment he made the pass, something flickered in his mind.
Not vision.
Not instinct.
Awareness.
Field Awareness.
Only a spark — a tiny flash — but enough for him to feel the positions of players around him for one second like glowing dots.
What was that?
It vanished instantly.
He blinked, breathing slightly faster.
Did I imagine it?
But no — he didn't imagine the perfect timing of the pass.
The ball traveled exactly where it needed.
His teammate dribbled forward and scored.
Younger team: 1
Older team: 0
Kids stared at him like he wasn't a third grader, but a monster.
After the mini-match, the coach blew his whistle harshly.
"Team younger, come here!"
Kids jogged and crowded around him.
But his eyes were on Eshan.
"You. What's your name again?"
"…Eshan Sato."
The coach frowned.
"You ever trained in an academy?"
"No."
"…Private coaching?"
"No."
"You look like you've been playing for years."
Eshan lowered his gaze politely.
But inside, he thought:
So he noticed.
The coach sighed deeply.
"You're in the club."
Kids whispered around them.
"Seriously?"
"A third grader?"
"How?"
Eshan ignored them.
He wasn't here for praise.
He was here to grow.
A New Routine Begins
Eshan walked home that day with a strange sense of fulfillment.
Not happiness.
Not pride.
But purpose.
He had felt things today that he didn't understand yet.
The way the ball communicated with him.
The way space tugged at him from behind.
The way defenders' movements predicted themselves in his mind.
And that flash — that single moment where the field lit up with invisible information.
He needed more of that.
He wanted more.
Under his dim bedroom light, he sat on the floor with a notebook.
Not a childish diary.
A log.
"Ball Feel — stable.
Pressure reaction — unstable.
Spatial flash — unknown.
Need more match experience."
His handwriting was messy, but his thoughts were sharp.
He listed ideas:
play against stronger players
focus on first touch
experiment with silent touches
track player movements in real time
learn timing, not speed
He wasn't genius because he was reborn.
He was genius because he knew he wasn't perfect yet.
Experience was the missing piece.
As he stood, ready for bed, he caught his reflection in the window.
A 9-year-old boy.
Small, yes.
Young, yes.
But inside him, a storm of potential was waiting to erupt.
"…And I'll get there."
His voice was steady.
"I'll stand on that field with Isagi, Rin, Barou, Nagi… all of them."
A slow grin tugged at his lips.
"And I'll win."
Not because he wanted fame.
Not because he wanted glory.
But because he wanted to see how far his abilities could go.
Eshan Sato would no longer be just a kid with potential.
He would become a threat.
A real striker.
One step closer to Blue Lock.