"Your defensive positioning and footwork are both impressive. Based on your current valuation, I'll reserve a starting defender slot for you. If you're interested, we can revisit things once the final offer list is released."
After sending off the last trialist, Shinichi slumped into his chair, pressing his fingers hard against his temples.
"Um… Shinichi-sensei, here's the compiled player data."
A boy cautiously pushed the door open, handing over a thick folder.
"It includes estimated valuations and a rough draft of potential formations. Also… there's a note at the bottom—left by a player who was lingering outside the building. He asked me to deliver it to you."
"Got it. Thanks."
Shinichi nodded and forced himself to sit up straighter as he started flipping through the documents.
"You adjusting okay to your new role?" he asked without looking up.
"Settling in all right?"
"Yes, sir! I know I'm not as good as the pros yet, but I'll work twice as hard!"
The boy's voice rose with conviction, his eyes suddenly sharp.
"I won't let you down, Shinichi-sensei!"
"Relax. I've got the files. You're dismissed."
Shinichi waved him off gently. As the boy exited, Shinichi couldn't help but smile and shake his head.
That kid's name was Tetsuya Mikami.
He had been eliminated in the second phase of Blue Lock. In the first phase, he'd loudly complained about switching from sprinting to football, only to find himself crashing headfirst into Shinichi—the so-called "cross-discipline prodigy."
To be honest, when Shinichi first heard that name, he nearly had a panic attack.
"Mikami Tetsuya? Please no. Not the guy who nuked Evergreen with a single bullet..."
Especially considering this kid's background mirrored that of a certain top-tier ADC from the Japanese servers all too well.
The idea that Mikami's last-ditch attempt to reinvent himself through football had been crushed by Shinichi's own hand had left Shinichi drenched in cold sweat.
Fortunately, things had worked out.
Thanks to a special reward Shinichi earned, "that guy" in Mikami's previous world had been ousted, along with the cult-like influence he brought.
Which led Mikami to—somehow—end up bowing deeply and swearing loyalty to Shinichi.
Shinichi finally relaxed.
While Mikami's skills on the pitch were average, his analytical talent was surprisingly good.
So Shinichi decided to bring him on as an assistant—a sort of apprentice data analyst, similar to Airi's assistant role.
The other mentors had all brought in staff from their own clubs—Shinichi, on the other hand, had only himself and now one loyal rookie underling.
"'Red-Haired Bishounen'... this keyword is turning out to be way stranger than I thought," Shinichi muttered to himself.
"It's the same red-tier rarity as 'Evergreen,' but the effects are miles apart. No injury resistance, and the stat boosts are randomly allocated. I was starting to wonder why two abilities of the same level had such a big gap—But maybe... I haven't truly understood what this one can really do."
Shinichi picked up the small note with a strange look on his face and muttered to himself,
"Mikami Tetsuya was one thing—that was already random enough. Charles somehow clinging to me is another mystery. And now even Aryu seems to be leaning toward joining me."
"Sure, all of that can be explained by ability—sheep naturally follow a strong leader, and top players tend to gravitate toward the top. But if we add this to the mix…"
He leaned back in his chair again and let the note flutter back onto the table.
The message, scribbled in sharp strokes, read:
"I'm willing to join your team at zero bid, to take revenge on Kaiser for abandoning me. For that purpose, I'll become your vassal—and help you reach the top of the world."
— Alexis Ness
Shinichi burst out laughing.
"Hahaha! Now this… this is interesting. Ness really caught me off guard."
But the grin faded just as quickly.
"Still… no. I need to think carefully."
"I have no intention of winning through alliance-stacking. Even if I do beat Noa that way, what's the point? To everyone else, it might still look like a glorious victory. But for someone aiming to be the world's number one, a win like that would be nothing but a stain."
Shinichi wasn't delighted by the offer.
To him, beating Noa wasn't the goal—it didn't even matter if he lost here.
He had time.
Time was on his side.
What mattered was how he won.
Even if he barely scraped a win with overwhelming firepower on his side, it would mean nothing if the world didn't recognize the achievement as legitimate.
That kind of hollow glory—Shinichi had no interest in it.
He sighed, pressing a hand to his temple.
"Hiori, Kurona, Zantetsu, and Sae… Those four are pretty much locked in."
"But beyond that… things get tricky."
What made it worse was the upcoming draft phase.
In the final player selection, each team would pick players in order based on their previous stage results—from strongest to weakest.
And because Blue Lock had no results in the first phase, Shinichi's team would pick last.
That was the cost of being a late entry.
Just like in card games—if the King suddenly enters mid-duel, he's still getting penalized with half his life points.
But in reality, this selection process wasn't as simple as a mentor choosing a player and then matching them with a price tag from the bid list.
Not only did the players themselves have full autonomy to accept or reject any offer, but the other mentors also had the right to bid on the same player, in turn—based on order of priority.
Once the first round of bidding ended, if a player was unsatisfied and at least one mentor still wanted to pursue them, the process would reverse—mentors would place second-round bids in reverse order.
This cycle would repeat until the player accepted an offer or all mentors backed out.
To illustrate:
Mentor 1 bids first for Player A. Then Mentors 2–6 follow in sequence.
If Player A isn't satisfied, the order reverses—Mentors 6–1 get another chance.
And so on.
But here's the catch: bids can't be duplicated within the same round.
So, let's say Player A is worth ¥100 million. If Mentor 1 bids exactly that, then no other mentor can match it in that same round.
They're forced to either underbid, making their offer less competitive, or overpay, risking becoming the fool who offers above market value.
Also, there's no fixed minimum increment for higher bids.
In fact, mentors can bid lower if they have other incentives—like offering a starting position, promising more exposure, or claiming their team is more likely to win prize money.
In short, while the structure looks like the NBA Draft, it's really more like Blue Lock's version of The Voice—a chaotic, mentor-vs-mentor pitch war with unpredictable twists.
Even though the player's will plays a huge role, Shinichi wasn't the type to expect his loyal followers to sacrifice fair pay just because they wanted to play under him.
That would go against his principles—and worse, hurt his reputation.
Which is why he had to prepare multiple backup plans.
Like the document that Tetsuya Mikami handed him—the player profile folders.
Right on top was Hiori's file, complete with photo and projected valuation:
Player Name: Hiori Yo
Estimated Bid: ¥250 million
Acceptable Range for Hero Assembly: ¥200–¥300 million
Shinichi stared at it, sighed, and muttered:
"Man… these guys are like my brothers, my dearest comrades—my family. They're the ones I want to march toward the dream with."
"But if those bastards raise their bids… I can't really stop them."
He dragged himself into the lounge behind his office and flopped down on the bed, switching off the lights.
In the darkness, only a pair of moonlit eyes gleamed—filled with quiet resolve.
"In football, your value decides your future."
"Even those I've raised with my own hands… will be judged by that rule."
"After all, the reason I built this foundation in the first place… was for the World Cup. That's why I helped nurture players like Niko and Igarashi. Ego Jinpachi's ultimate goal in all this was always the same—winning the World Cup."
"That's the only place where they'll be guaranteed to walk beside me. Outside of that? Even I can't bind them forever."
Of course, that was still uncertain—
Who knew what new features the system might release?
If the government could support Blue Lock, then surely a club system wouldn't be too much to ask.
But even someone like Jordan—who built a dynasty with homegrown talent—was still criticized.
Shinichi knew that even if he gained full control of a club, he couldn't lock in the same squad forever.
No matter how much he wanted it, Hiori and the others wouldn't be able to stay with him for the entirety of their careers.
"Even though your growth has already far exceeded my expectations, if any of you start to believe that just relying on me guarantees your future—thinking everything will be fine just because I'm here—then don't blame me when I push you all off a cliff, just like Agi did to Nagi."
...
Of course, Hiori and the others had no idea what Shinichi was thinking at the moment. Or rather, since they hadn't yet received the rules for the final selection phase, they had no clue just how serious things really were—or just how insane Ego Jinpachi's designs had become.
So aside from Sae Itoshi, who continued trialing with other leagues, the other three came to the Blue Lock building on time every day like clockwork.
They trained with Shinichi, participated in scrimmages, and essentially became sparring partners for his experiments.
Meanwhile, with the Hero Assemble phase approaching fast, many players who had already tried out with their desired mentors began trickling into the Blue Lock facility.
The result? Mikami Tetsuya's daily report folders kept growing thicker and thicker.
Then finally, on the afternoon of the sixth day, as soon as the scrimmage ended, everyone's phones lit up at once with a chime.
"A new update—looks like the final selection rules for Hero Assemble have been released."
The moment those words were spoken, all attention snapped to their phones. But as they scrolled through the notification, the expressions on many players' faces quickly changed.
Mentors could now bid against each other.
Which meant that top-tier players could easily get overbids as mentors competed for them—but with a fixed salary cap of 1 billion yen, everyone else would have to take pay cuts just to make a team.
Some might even have to join with zero pay.
"Shinichi... you already knew about this, didn't you?" Hiori asked, not looking particularly surprised.
He had more or less suspected there would be some form of inter-mentor competition—but Ego's implementation had clearly gone far beyond his imagination.
He hadn't expected that there would be no bid restrictions at all—complete freedom for mentors.
Did no one consider what would happen if a mentor got carried away, blew their entire cap on one player, and then couldn't afford the rest of the starting lineup?
Especially someone like Lavinho—he didn't exactly scream "calculated strategist."
"Wait… does that mean… you might not even be able to pick us after all?" Kurona finally connected the dots, his face suddenly panicked.
Meanwhile, Zantetsu still looked totally lost—he had no idea why Kurona was getting worked up.
"Exactly. If another mentor offers more than I can afford, I won't chase it."
Shinichi's voice softened as he looked at Kurona.
"But relax. A higher bid means you're valued. And this is all still hypothetical—you might not even get an offer. In the end, I might be the only one who wants you."
Kurona finally calmed down, and Shinichi made a mental note to raise this group's importance in his plans.
Passionate, team-driven kids like this—they were the real deal.
Not like that money-hungry Lorenzo, who had pledged loyalty to him one day, and then ran off to try out with Noa the next.
"Oh right, one more thing."
Shinichi clapped his hands to draw everyone's attention again.
"Tomorrow marks Day 7 of the free trial period—the final day before Hero Assemble. All six teams' mentors will gather at the central Blue Lock stadium for one last joint trial session."
"It will be your last chance to boost your value before the second phase officially begins. Participation is optional, but I hope you'll take it seriously."
"Your future is yours to decide."
...
Blue Lock – New Hero Battle Live Chat / Comments
"Finally the last day! Man, these constant tryouts have been kinda boring."
"Right? Especially the Italian Ubers side—watched the stream for 6 days and all they did was physical testing and tactics drills."
"Germany's Bastard München is a bit more entertaining. Noa sets up obstacles and gives live scores—those breakdowns are actually fun to analyze."
"I've been following Blue Lock's tryouts. Way more fun. Every afternoon it's scrimmage time, and Shinichi just switches teams and destroys everyone. Hilarious."
"Yeah, I still have doubts about him being a mentor, but no one can deny he's the best of the new generation."
"Forget that—have you seen their training? It's insane! Not one guy has made it past 7 sets so far."
"Aaaaahh I can't wait for the team selection to start! Bring on the battles already!"
"Chill! One more day. Let's see how the joint tryout tomorrow goes. I'm hoping for some wild matchups."