𝐎𝐔𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐈 - ★ || 𝐁𝐋𝐋𝐊 ||

╰➤ 𝗦𝗘𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗗 𝗦𝗘𝗟𝗘𝗖𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡

       "𝗦𝗧𝗔𝗥𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗢𝗗𝗔𝗬, 𝗬𝗢𝗨 𝗪𝗜𝗟𝗟 𝗕𝗘 𝗗𝗢𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗣𝗛𝗬𝗦𝗜𝗖𝗔𝗟 𝗖𝗢𝗡𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗢𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚,"

Ego's sharp, authoritative voice sliced through the air like a razor, each word carrying the weight of unshakable authority. His piercing gaze swept across your team, lingering on each player with an unsettling intensity, as if he were sizing up every individual in the room for their weaknesses. The cold, calculating precision in his eyes was enough to send a shiver down your spine, a constant reminder that failure in Blue Lock came with dire consequences.

Everyone in the room stiffened slightly, snapping to attention under the force of his presence, aware that in this place, every word Ego uttered held the power to shape—or shatter—your future.

In his hand, a hologram of a soccer ball flickered into existence, spinning slowly in mid-air. The motion of the ball, so familiar yet now out of reach, seemed to mock the room full of players who had been deprived of their one true connection to the sport. The sight of it stirred something restless in your chest—a yearning to kick, to play, to return to the field that everyone had all been striving to dominate. But Ego’s next words crushed that hope before it could even form.

"For the duration of this training," his voice, deceptively calm yet laden with something sinister, sliced through the rising anticipation, "you are not allowed to kick a ball."

The reaction was immediate, almost explosive. The room, which had been tense with anticipation, now burst with confusion and frustration. Voices rose in a chaotic din as disbelief rippled through the group like a shockwave.

One of your teammates, his voice raw with outrage, shouted above the noise, "Wait, you're telling us that we're not going straight into the second selection?!" His words echoed off the sterile, metallic walls of the training facility, magnifying the disbelief everyone felt.

Another player, fists clenched at his sides, demanded answers with barely contained anger, "How long will this training take?" His question hung in the air, but it was soon drowned out by a chorus of similarly agitated voices.

"Yeah! We demand to know!" more players chimed in, their frustration building as the tension in the room rose like a tidal wave crashing against the immovable object that was Ego.

But despite the uproar, despite the boiling frustration and confusion that threatened to overflow, Ego remained completely unfazed. His expression didn’t waver, and not a single muscle twitched as he raised his hand.

With a casual flick of his wrist, he crushed the hologram of the soccer ball in his palm, the image disappearing as easily as if he were swatting away a nuisance. The gesture was deliberate, cold, and final. His sleep-deprived eyes, bloodshot yet razor-focused, narrowed into a glare that felt as if it could pierce through steel.