Blue lock: Reborn Egoist

The air in the training room was thick with tension. Eito's muscles ached, his legs shaking from the effort. He had been practicing for hours, pushing himself beyond his limits. The two older boys, his new opponents, stood across the room, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Eito's body was exhausted, every movement more labored than the last. He could feel his Stamina beginning to wane, but he refused to let it slow him down. No excuses. He had to prove himself.

"Focus, Eito," Ego's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and unrelenting. "Don't just react. You need to think, and anticipate. You're not just fighting for the ball, you're fighting to dominate."

The words hit him like a jolt of electricity, resetting his mind. Eito's eyes flickered toward the ball, and then he felt it—the instinct, the surge of energy. He was no longer just playing. He was calculating, studying his opponents.

The older boy with the messy hair made his move first, charging toward Eito with a look of determination. Eito's Agility kicked in, his body reacting just a fraction of a second faster than before. He sidestepped, feeling the air move past him as the boy missed his tackle.

Eito's foot connected with the ball, sending it skimming across the field. But it wasn't perfect. The pass was off-center, not precise enough to give him the advantage he needed.

"Don't hesitate," Ego's voice echoed, pushing him further. "Every decision counts. Don't think, decide."

Eito's focus sharpened. He watched the ball roll toward the other boy, the one with the solid build, who was already in the position to intercept it. There was no time to waste. He had to act.

He darted toward the ball, reading the other boy's movements. The boy took a step forward, preparing to make his move. In that split second, Eito predicted his opponent's next move, sensing the exact moment when the boy would lunge.

With a quick feint, Eito faked to the left, then cut sharply right. The boy lunged and missed.

Eito had an opening. He could see the goal ahead, the small gap in the defense. His heart pounded as his instincts took over. This was it. The moment he'd been waiting for.

He pushed the ball ahead, his Technique improving with every movement. His foot swung forward, and the ball left his control with a clean strike.

The shot was swift—direct—and this time, it was perfect. The ball flew past the older boy, who dove to block it but was too slow. It hit the back of the net with a satisfying thud.

Silence followed. Then, Ximena's voice, filled with pride, broke the stillness. "¡Bien hecho, Eito! That was a great shot."

Ego didn't move. His eyes were intense, evaluating the play. After a long pause, he spoke.

"Better," he said, his voice quieter this time. "But there's still room for improvement. You need to trust yourself more. Don't second-guess your instincts. You can feel the game now, but you must have the confidence to take it to the next level."

Eito stood still, his chest heaving with exertion. He had scored. But the words from his father hung in the air like an unspoken challenge. Trust me more.

He understood what Ego meant. The hesitation—the uncertainty in his movements—had been the barrier. But now, he could feel the rhythm of the game. He was starting to understand how to think as a striker, how to make those instinctual decisions. But there was still something missing. His Ego was still undefined.

He wasn't just playing for the win; he was playing to prove his worth. To prove that he was the best. His father's expectations were high, and they would always be. But Eito wasn't afraid anymore. He was ready for what came next.

Ego motioned to the older boys, who stood with their arms crossed, clearly impressed but still holding back. "We'll go again. This time, I want you to push further. No holding back. I want to see how well you handle true competition."

Eito nodded, his heart racing with anticipation. He was ready. The next phase of his training had begun, and this was where he would make his mark.

The game wasn't just about the ball, the techniques, or the strategies. It was about how he handled the pressure, how he built the hunger inside him that would push him further, faster, and harder. It was about mastering the art of ego, about becoming the best striker, about knowing he could and would surpass everyone else.