NIKE -Blue Lock-

True egoism

Men judge generally more by the eye than by the hand, because it belongs to everybody to see you, to few to come in touch with you. Every one sees what you appear to be, few really know what you are, and those few dare not oppose themselves to the opinion of the many, who have the majesty of the state to defend them; and in the actions of all men, and especially of princes, which it is not prudent to challenge, one judges by the result.

For that reason, let a prince have the credit of conquering and holding his state, the means will always be considered honest, and he will be praised by everybody because the vulgar are always taken by what a thing seems to be and by what comes of it; and in the world there are only the vulgar, for the few find a place there only when the many have no ground to rest on.

(The Prince, XVIII, by Machiavelli)

"Your beloved princess is back safe and sound, not a scratch on her, and even more of a bitch than before."

At those words, an irritated murmur followed, and the mistakenly typed b-i-t-c-h on the electronic file was erased. The man with black hair and eyes spun 180 degrees in his swivel chair, his shoulders lazily slumped against the backrest.

"So, either you're here because the Internet has run out of cat videos, or because you're unhappy with something." the director spoke in a bored tone, his eyes hidden behind the clear lenses of his glasses.

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned back to the wall of screens, adding a curt, "In either case, you're not welcome here."

Noel Noa leaned against the wall, his citrine-colored eyes fixed on one of the many monitors. He ignored the irritating sound of his peer sucking the remnants of a highly sugary drink through a straw. Ego raised an eyebrow and, without stopping the slurping, he followed the master striker's gaze.

He dropped the straw from his mouth.

"Ah... I wouldn't recommend staring at her too long." the director said sarcastically, fiddling with the straw by pulling it in and out of the can repeatedly.

"I'm convinced the more you look at her, the more she can get into your head."

The zombie nodded to himself, casting a wary glance at the screen and adding, "And there are already too many of us here having nightmares about Vinciguerra at night."

The master striker, tired of his colleague's useless chatter, pushed himself off the wall.

"She's changed." he commented in his characteristic deep and calm tone, referring to the two images on the central screen.

Ego's whistle echoed within the four walls (yes, surprisingly he can whistle, or at least it was never mentioned that he couldn't) accompanied by, "Sherlock, what are you doing here? I'm a big fan but I thought I chose Noel Noa as the coach of Bastard München."

The man with white hair ignored his peer's childishness.

The images they were looking at were two photos of Nicklaus Vinciguerra: the first was the official headshot taken months ago at the start of Blue Lock; the second was a screenshot from the training session of the previous night between the protagonist and the five master strikers.

Looking at them, Noel found it hard to believe it was the same person.

The endless weeks locked up with only men had given her an erotic and enigmatic duality, allowing her to blend the elegance of Nicole's dominant dark feminine energy with Nicklaus's assertive and masculine aura. The same eyes that in the first photo were bright and fiery were now a shade closer to dark blood or red wine, still full of pure and arrogant egoism.