"The time limit is 136 seconds. The one hit by the ball becomes the 'Tag'."
"The person who is the 'Tag' at the exact moment time expires..."
"Will have to pack their bags and leave."
"Furthermore, 'handball' is strictly prohibited."
"The lowest-ranked person will start as the 'Tag'."
Thud.
A panel in the ceiling opened, and a football dropped into the center of the room. As Ego Jinpachi finished explaining the rules, his image vanished from the large monitor, replaced by a 136-second countdown. The screen displayed the avatar of Igarashi Gurimu, with a massive 'Tag' icon hovering over his head.
"What kind of joke is this? This isn't soccer!"
"Dammit, I want to go home. When did the door close?"
"It won't open at all!"
Confusion rippled through the room. These teenagers had arrived fueled by Ego's speech, believing they were seizing a life-changing opportunity, only to find it reduced to a childish game. Isagi stood frozen, his brow furrowed as he tried to decipher the logic behind the madness.
Kira, however, stood to the side with a far colder realization. He knew this was a professional warm-up used to teach the essence of football: Sophisticated Egoism. In this room of twelve, the weak would be devoured.
Kira's palms grew damp with sweat. He remembered the original story all too well—this was the exact moment the "old" Kira was supposed to be eliminated by Isagi in the final second.
I refuse to lose my right to the National Team. Memories of his past life surfaced—the poverty that prevented his training, and the car accident that eventually took his legs and his ability to even play for a hobby. Now, transmigrated into Blue Lock, he had a second chance he could not lose.
How do I guarantee I'm not eliminated? Kira analyzed the room. His technical basics were superior, and he had his system experience cards. Yet, a nagging unease remained.
"Hey... are you kidding me? I'm the first 'Tag'?" Igarashi stammered, his voice trembling. "Fine, let's do this. Don't complain when you're the one going home!"
Despite his shaking, the "Chestnut Head" began to move toward the ball.
"Wait, Igarashi! Stop!"
"Ego's rules about the National Team—it has to be a bluff, right?"
"Don't be fooled by him!"
The others tried to reason with him, but their bodies betrayed them; even Isagi and Kunigami were backing away into the corners of the room to stay away from the ball.
"I don't care if it's a lie!" Igarashi shouted. "If I lose here, I have to be a monk in a temple for the rest of my life! I'm not going back to that!"
Kira finally realized the source of his unease: as long as someone else held the ball, they held the power to choose who to eliminate. To control his fate, he had to be the one with the ball. He decided he would take the role of 'Tag' and treat the other eleven as his prey.
As Igarashi finished speaking, a steady rhythm of footsteps echoed through the silent room.
Step. Step. Step.
The players watched in stunned silence as Kira walked calmly toward the ball, radiating an effortless, regal confidence.
"Kira?" Isagi gasped in disbelief.
"Is he surrendering? Why is he going for the ball?" the others muttered, intimidated yet confused by his aura. Isagi knew better; Kira was not the type to give up.
Igarashi stopped in his tracks as Kira reached the ball and placed his right foot firmly on top of it. Kira slowly looked up, his eyes filled with a terrifying resolve.
"Everyone, I have something to say," Kira said with a pleasant smile that made the room turn cold. "I want to make a bet. I'll challenge all of you at once."
"If you are the 'Tag,' try to hit me."
"If I am the 'Tag,' I'll pick one of you to hunt... based on my mood."
"If I lose, I'm eliminated. But if I win, from now on, I make the rules for soccer in this room. Deal?"
The monitor flickered as the countdown hit 120 seconds. The 'Tag' icon shifted from Igarashi to Ryosuke Kira. Standing in the center like a lion guarding his territory, the predator had claimed his hunt.