𝗘𝗚𝗢𝗜𝗦𝗧 | blue lock

Prologue.

A pitch black room, seldom illumination except for the light that seeped out from the miniature opening in the door. The unidentified figure that burrowed into thick bed coverings remained frigid, such lack of motion showing no signs of letting up. Not even a sign of life was apparent, nor a reaction to the occasional sweltering breeze that would push past the entryway.

"Eh? You were invited where?"

Strings of congratulatory expressions filled the classroom in a heap of boisterous pride. Pride that you'd have such a talented friend, pride that you received such a letter.

Pride from such a major adrenaline rush, pushing any and every logical thought into the back of one's head.

It shouldn't have been her story to tell, paying no mind to things that got in the way of her academic future, ignoring such noble gasps and yells. Sports were useless if you wanted to get anywhere in life; if you wanted to be guaranteed a top spot. Knowledge wasn't something that could disappear from the mind. When met with obstacles or rather tough opponents, figuring out what to do wasn't difficult. Physical exertion wasn't necessary, and you certainly weren't going to pass out from using your brain a bit.

If you cannot overcome such a hurdle, competition was never for you to begin with. And that is where male priorities lie, in a useless heap of cockfighting until you reign supreme and climb the ladder. Such sleaze-bags deserve that climb, because it only leads them downwards. Into such a selfishly feared gate. Hell on earth for them.

Losing that very dream. Which was a very, very pitiful one to begin with.

For a brief moment, she can feel beads of sweat jump off of her skin. A cool breeze fiddling with strands of her hair and pushing such a salty liquid to the side of her face, wet patches and streaks glistening on the sides of her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose. She's panting, and feels a wave of relief wash over her as that final whistle blows, and she crashes.

Slowly, that menacingly dark room is revealed a bit more, that white painted wooden door opening not even a fraction more.

Her eyes widen as she's brought back into reality, grip tightening on her mechanical pencil.

She was never one for semantics, but she prides herself in emotional maturity, finding a spot in her head that was just right. Perfect enough to inhale and exhale slowly, and return to her work, not even as much as a flinch when the room resounds with a large bang. Clipboard hit up against the chalkboard to call all attention forward facing, placing her writing utensil down neatly as she stands up without any rush.

Perfect, orderly. Just how things should be.

Just how she liked it.

She was rather lonesome for a high-school girl. Late in her career already, having turned 17 only a few months ago, but she was scraping by. She was satisfied with where she was headed, who wouldn't be?

Having dedicated her whole life to her future. No time to have temporary fun. No time for silly, pathetic, weak emotions. Everything was laid out for her nicely, having played her cards right with ease, parents proud and encouraging along the way.

But that unquenched thirst in her eyes; dangerously low and intimidating, unbefitting for someone living in such contentment.

It was all so seriously boring.

Perhaps that's why later that day, she kneels down on the light colored dirt path to pick up that white envelope, making a crisp noise as it scrapes against some engraved rocks. Right outside of the gym, after physical education.

That fucking idiot dropped it.

She hadn't even bothered to look up, more than aware that nobody was in the perimeter. No signs of life, not even the rustling of bushes, nor the snap of a twig.

It was all ironic to her. Bitterly ironic. It made her crack a light smile, but in no way did it hold a radiant, positive, shining ray of light. It was cynical in nature.

So what more is there to do then?

Opening the letter, her deft fingers curling around the opening as the slight stick that remained ends up tearing off with a satisfying 'click'.

Somehow, even then, she knew what she would find. An invitation letter, no surprise there.

"Japan Football Union..."

For someone proud of what their future beholds, for someone accepting such grave that they themselves had dug. For such a...

Egoist.

She feels herself shiver, nearly as if the air had turned cold, eyes squinting as her body lurches over for a split second. Remaining in such a brutal silence, a battle with her own mind.

But when a determined gaze comes out victorious, regaining her prior composure, she's nearly certain of her next move. She isn't sure if it'll guarantee victory, nor a permanent future.

Temporary satisfaction, wanting to experience that rush of superiority once more. To feel her veins rush, pump, beat with blood. Raw emotion, that old flame meeting her eyes once again.

And even if the light wasn't large enough to uncover the entirety of such a mysterious room, the figure had awakened from its absence, a heap of bedsheets pushed and torn in its wake, sitting up now.

And those lovely irises of hers spiral. They move so fast in scribbled orbit, a deep seated black flame engulfing her form, head-to-toe. Such a privilege was hard to come by, right? She was granted no happy sentences spewing from the mouths of small fry scum. But soon enough, the food chain would progress.

She will earn those words of praise in due time, feeling the width of the letter crush in her tight fisted grasp. She'll wait as long as it takes to release that outcry for war, relationships be damned. It isn't as if she's new to crushing even the strongest of bonds in her very palm.

But now that this form of escapism and amusement has made itself apparent,

Doing whatever it takes to be the greatest might as well be a breeze.