Chapter 19: The Logic of the Striker
The walk back from the pitch felt like a blur of neon lights and heavy breathing. The locker room of Building 5 was usually a place of thick tension and hidden resentment, but tonight, it vibrated with the raw, chaotic energy of a miracle. Team Z was alive. They had survived the "King" of Team X, and the adrenaline was still humming in their veins like an electric current.
Eshan sat on his designated bench, leaning back against the cold metal lockers. While Igarashi was screaming at the top of his lungs and Raichi was aggressively shadow-boxing the air, Eshan remained the eye of the storm. He draped a white towel over his head, shielding his eyes from the harsh overhead lights. He wasn't exhausted—his lean, corded muscles felt warm and primed, not depleted. He felt relaxed. To him, the game hadn't been a desperate struggle for survival; it had been a series of tactile sensations—the leather of the ball against his boot, the shift in wind as a defender lunged, and the satisfying thud of the ball hitting the back of the net.
"We actually did it!" Igarashi shouted, jumping onto a wooden bench and nearly slipping. "We're the kings of Building 5! Did you see Barou's face?! He looked like he wanted to swallow his own tongue!"
"Shut up, Monk!" Raichi barked, though the usual venom in his voice was replaced by a jagged sort of pride. "We won because we finally started playing like strikers. But damn... that last play..."
Raichi's eyes drifted to Eshan, who was still sitting quietly under his towel. The room went slightly quieter. They all remembered it. They remembered the way Eshan had moved—not with the frantic desperation they all felt, but with a frictionless, easy-going grace that made the rest of the world seem slow.
Flicker.
The large monitor mounted on the far wall hissed with static, the blue light cutting through the dim locker room. The celebratory noise died instantly. The hollow, haunting face of Ego Jinpachi appeared, slurping loudly on a juice box. He looked at them with eyes that seemed to see through their skin and into their very bones.
"Pipe down, you mediocre brats," Ego rasped, his voice scraping against the silence of the room. "You managed to win a single game against a team of disorganized egoists. Don't act like you've won the World Cup. In Blue Lock, a team's victory is nothing more than a byproduct of a singular striker's ego. If you think this win was about 'teamwork,' you're further from the goal than when you started."
A list of names appeared on the screen, the digital numbers crunching and swirling as the system calculated the "heat" and the "logic" of the match.
1st: Eshan
2nd: Kunigami Rensuke
3rd: Isagi Yoichi
"This is the Internal Goal Ranking," Ego continued, his eyes glowing behind his glasses. "The one at the top is the 'King' of this room. He is the most valuable asset because he is the one who altered the scoreboard the most. In a game of five total goals, one person was the architect of three. That is a statistical dominance that cannot be ignored. Eshan... you have officially stopped being a 'piece' on the board and started being the hand that moves them."
"In Blue Lock, value is rewarded with resources," Ego sneered. "If you want to live like a pro, play like one. If you want to live like a failure... well, the radishes are waiting."
The King's Table
The cafeteria was a cavernous space, smelling of industrial cleaner and the faint scent of steaming rice. For most of Team Z, it was a place of hunger. For Eshan, it was about to become a place of luxury.
As the team lined up at the automated food dispensers, the atmosphere shifted. It was no longer the camaraderie of the locker room; it was the cold reality of the hierarchy. Raichi and Igarashi reached the front first. Clack-clack. Two plastic bowls of Plain White Rice slid across the stainless steel counter. No seasoning. No protein. Just white, flavorless starch.
"This is bull!" Raichi hissed, his knuckles white as he gripped his tray. "I defended! I blocked shots! And I get the same meal as the Monk?!"
Next was Isagi. He received his rice and a small, pungent bowl of Natto. Then Kunigami, who received his rice and a single Pickled Daikon. They looked at their food, then they looked at Eshan as he stepped up to the sensor.
The machine scanned Eshan's ID tag and, instead of a mechanical clack, it emitted a long, melodic chime that echoed off the high ceilings. A heavy, black stone plate slid forward. On it sat a 300g Thick-Cut Sirloin Steak, perfectly seared, with a sprig of rosemary and a dollop of garlic butter melting over the charred crust. Beside it were roasted potatoes and a glass of fresh, vibrant electrolyte juice.
The scent hit the room like a physical shock. The players from Team X and Team Y who were also in the hall turned their heads. In Building 5, steak was a myth. Eshan had made it a reality.
He picked up the tray with his usual easy-going grace. He didn't look at the others with pity or pride; he simply walked to the center of the long table and sat down. He wasn't being "cold"—he was just treating the reward as the natural conclusion to the work he had put in.
"Whoa..." Bachira slid into the seat next to him, his own bowl of rice and pineapple looking pathetic by comparison. "That smells like heaven, Eshan! You really are the 'Ace' now. Two goals and a steak... you're making me want to get serious!"
Eshan sliced into the steak, the knife gliding through the tender, red center. "It's just the logic of the facility, Bachira," he said, his voice smooth and conversational, yet carrying a new, quiet authority. "Ego is trying to teach us that our bodies are our tools. If the tool performs, it gets the best fuel. If it doesn't... it rusts."
Isagi sat across from him, staring at his Natto. He's not even bragging, Isagi thought, his mind racing. He's just... accepting it. To the rest of us, this steak is a dream. To Eshan, it's just the logical result of his existence. He doesn't have to shout about being the best because the world around him is already rearranging itself to fit that fact.
The Shadow of the Next Hunt
As the meal progressed, the massive monitors in the dining hall flickered again. The map of Building 5 appeared, with two icons pulsing red.
MATCH 2: TEAM Z (1-0) vs. TEAM Y (1-0)
The chatter in the hall died down as the statistics for Team Y appeared. They hadn't just won their first match; they had dominated it with a 2-0 shutout against Team W.
"Look at those numbers," Kuon said, his voice tight with a sudden spike of anxiety. "Zero goals conceded. They play a 'Total Defense' strategy. Their Rank 1 is a guy named Niko Ikki... apparently, he's a tactical specialist who directs the whole team from the midfield."
The rest of Team Z looked at the screen with varying degrees of worry. A team that doesn't let goals in was the worst possible match for a group of strikers who were only just beginning to find their rhythm.
Eshan finished the last of his steak and set his cutlery down with a quiet clink. He looked up at the monitor, his silver-gray eyes scanning the names. He wasn't thinking about "Absolute IQ"—he didn't even know what that was. He was just using his Awareness, feeling out the "vibe" of a team that plays for a 2-0 win.
"A team that hasn't conceded a goal is a team that is obsessed with control," Eshan said, standing up and stretching his arms. His movements were fluid, like a cat waking from a nap. "They think they can predict everything. They think if they close all the doors, they're safe."
He looked at his teammates, giving them a small, encouraging nod that broke the tension. "But doors only work if you use the handle. We aren't going to use the handle. We're going to blow the house down."
He turned to leave, his tall silhouette casting a long shadow over the cafeteria floor.
As Eshan walked out, leaving the rich scent of seared beef behind him, the rest of Team Z felt a shift in their own internal monologues. They were no longer a group of desperate individuals. They were a pack, and they were following a leader who made the impossible seem like a daily routine.
The "Internal Ranking" had done exactly what Ego intended. It had created a King, and it had created a hunger in the others to either serve him or surpass him. The hunt for Team Y had already begun in their minds.