Prologue
Rain lashed against the narrow alleyway, turning dust to mud beneath sixteen‑year‑old Joshua's boots. He huddled beneath a battered awning, back pressed against the cold brick wall, breath puffing in ragged clouds. His hands—calloused and blistered from years of backyard practice—clutched a worn football jersey, the colors faded but unforgettable: the same vibrant orange and black of the Blue Lock facility. Tonight, that jersey felt like a shackle, a reminder of everything he'd lost.
Joshua's story should have been simple. A promising forward from a small town, with parents who dreamed of European leagues and World Cups. But ambition turned to abuse when they decided Joshua's destiny belonged only to their own pride. Every missed shot, every lost match cost him not encouragement and guidance, but lashings and insults.
Flashback: Home No More
Joshua's father towered over him in the kitchen, veins bulging on his neck. "You had one job—score. And you missed again!"
Joshua clutched his side, still sore from a rough match earlier. "I-I tried—"
"You embarrassed this family!" his mother snapped, slamming his cleats onto the floor. "You're no son of ours if this is your best."
That night, the shouting reached the neighbors. When the police arrived, they found Joshua on the porch with a bleeding lip and empty eyes. The officers offered him a bed in a foster home. He fled instead, alone in the rain, with only his dreams and his jersey.
Hours later, soaked and shivering, he stumbled upon a small park shelter, where a thin fourteen‑year‑old boy sat on a bench, knees drawn to his chest. The boy's hair was damp and dark, eyes wide with the kind of fear Joshua recognized all too well. Beside him, peeking out from a threadbare jacket, was the top of a soccer ball.
"They don't want me anymore," the boy whispered, voice trembling. He raised his gaze, and Joshua saw the face of thirteen‑year‑old Isagi Yoichi: the same Isagi whose reputation as a brilliant striker had already reached the ears of Blue Lock scouts, even before his family turned their backs on him.
Flashback: Isagi's Last Night Home
Isagi's father's words still echoed in his mind. "You'll never be like me. You can't even decide when to shoot!"
"I'll get better, I promise—"
"You're not cut out for football. And you're not staying here to waste our time." His mother's voice had no warmth. She handed him a bag, eyes cold. "Leave."
Isagi obeyed, afraid and confused, holding only his ball and a dream he wasn't ready to give up.
Joshua softened. He crouched beside Isagi, offering his jacket. "Name's Joshua," he said, voice rough but gentle. "You lost too?"
Isagi nodded, stiff‑lipped. "Yoichi Isagi."
And so, beneath that shelter, two broken strays found each other.
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A Bond Forged in Struggle
The days that followed blurred into routines of scavenging for food and searching for safe rooftops to sleep on. Joshua taught Isagi how to kick aside empty cans to find the ones still holding scraps, how to spot a sympathetic night guard who might slip them extra sandwiches. In exchange, Isagi shared his intimate knowledge of forward positioning—angles, timing, the moments when a striker's run could split a defense.
Joshua saw in Isagi not only a reflection of his younger self, but also the raw potential hidden beneath the boy's bruised confidence. And Isagi saw in Joshua a protective older brother he'd never had.
Even brothers need a provider. That role fell to Mansell, Joshua's childhood friend. Living with his aunt two towns over, Mansell held down two part‑time jobs—as a dishwasher at a late‑night diner and as a stock clerk at a convenience store—sending every spare penny to a post office box Joshua rented under a false name.
When Mansell first heard about Isagi's situation, he didn't hesitate. He expanded their meager budget for food, slipping larger bills into envelopes. "No one deserves to be alone," he'd written. "Especially not a genius with feet like yours."
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The Call of Blue Lock
Two months later, Joshua held a battered letter in one hand while Isagi read over his shoulder. The Blue Lock facility had reopened applications for its striker-focused training program. The competition was legendary for weeding out all but the most ruthless players. Most saw it as a gateway to glory; for Joshua and Isagi, it was a lifeline.
"I can't do this alone," Joshua told him, voice low as thunder rumbled overhead. "You need to go. Show them what you're worth."
Isagi's eyes flickered between the name—Blue Lock—and Joshua's determined expression. "We go together," he said. "It's the only way."
Joshua hesitated. But then he remembered the ache in his parents' words. And he knew that if Isagi failed here, no one else would be there to catch him.
"Together," Joshua agreed.
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Into the Fray
They arrived at Blue Lock's vast training ground on a misty morning. Towering walls carved the horizon, and the roar of thousands of unseen spectators vibrated through the air. Joshua's heart pounded—this was the stage he'd only dared to dream of. Isagi swallowed hard, gripping his jersey.
A stern voice echoed through speakers: "Welcome to Blue Lock. Here, we sculpt champions. Strikers who will bring glory to Japan—and, eventually, the world."
Joshua and Isagi exchanged glances. Behind them, a figure stepped forward: Seishiro Nagi, the prodigious forward who'd become a legend in the program's first season.
"They think they can play," Nagi murmured. "We'll see how long they last."
From a distance, Rin Itoshi leaned on a railing, silent and unreadable. Shoei Barou cracked his knuckles, already sizing up his competition.
Joshua's grip tightened on his jersey. Isagi squared his shoulders. Together—bound by hardship, brotherhood, and Mansell's tireless support—they marched toward the field, ready to prove that even the most fractured bonds could forge the strongest steel.
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End of Prologue