1 The Thrill

--- Chapter 1 ----

I ran.

Hard, thundering, echoes of my own breath ringing in my ears incessantly. Languid, irregular puffs of breath masking my vision, the kniving cold melting away with each motion. With every step.

Cleats - puncturing the mellowed grass. Digging deep, as my feet strided swiftly.

Eyes - focused on nothing but the ball. Body weaving through defenders, like the flicker of a flame.

The crowd gazing nervously. Impatiently, broke into a boisterous cheer. As if the game was coming to life.

The ball rollied gently. Swimming, under the blood, sweat, and tears that the game had to offer. My heart danced like never before. Adrenaline, pumping continously with each scream. Each roar.

At that moment, there was only one thing that entered my mind. Perhaps, the only thing that could even be pondered on -

'Only football...can make you feel like this.'

I felt my ears deafen, yet my eyes brightening. My feet draining, yet I keep running. Clouding my vision was nothing but the sight in front of me. The very pitch I was standing on.

The goal. The keeper. And, the rolling orb of wonder.

The ball, feeling never as light as before. My head, never as focused as it was now. However, the pressure that bore on my shoulder couldn't be heavier.

I felt time slow down. Eyes locked with the opponent. The scoreboard blinking 0-0 repeatedly, akin to a reminder. An alarm, that haunted every man's mind. That would decide, who will end up being the winner - or the loser.

Desperately, I calmed my racing heart. My peripheral vision catching onto the two people sharply, running by my side. Not too far.

Their form, pressing quicker and quicker. The colour they were wreathed in, finally becoming clear. One blue, one yellow.

One a teammate, and the other a defender.

My treading began to pause with hesitation. Doubt, just at the final stretch - a couple metres from the box.

The goalkeeper, crouching. Feet planted firmly, as his eyes traced the figure of the ball. Arms wide, palms open, brows furrowed.

The defender, hastening. Vibrations of powerful steps, relaying into my own. One foot beginning to deepen, almost as if he was going to slide.

Lastly, my teammate. Open, hand up to signal the need for a pass. Lips opening to form a shout that I could not hear. Drowned, by the waves of screams.

My breath stiffened as a decision was posed upon me. 2 minutes of extra time to go.

To pass. Pressure vanishing, as my teammate scores, shifting the tides into 1-0. Smiles, and shrieks of joy resounding through the stadium.

To shoot. Every breath - whispering on my back. Every gaze - concentrated on the name on the shirt. The pressure, solely on me.

With each second feeling like eternity, I finally decided. Left foot transmitting the softness of the mud, right foot lifting for a kick.

In this moment, anyone would know what to do. The answer was as clear as the sun, as obvious as the sky.

It was -

"To shoot!"

A smirk twisted my lips. Eyes droning, as I watched the ball simply fly. Soar. The contact, loud - perfect.

Undeniably, every person watched the ball sing with bated breaths. Some, with nerves of steel. While others, with tears of hope. They gazed, as the ball curved. As it brushed the wind. As it gently grazed the keeper's anguished hands - lodging itself into the top corner.

I stood still. Head gently tilted back, as my hair delicately moved with nature's will. Ears, filled with the eruption of the audience. Basking, in the presence of cheers, and applauds.

It wasn't long before I was attacked. My teammates lunged at me. Grasping, my uniform. Snorting with jubilation. Assured of their victory.

Even though there was a minute left, the opposing team had given up. Heads down, bodies sprawled on the ground. Arms - covering the tears of despair and loss.

Which finally became a reality at the blow of the whistle. Repeating. Once. Twice. Thrice. My sight, blinded by the radiance of the light.

At that singular moment, I felt like I was at the top of the world. The feeling, that this was what it meant to be a striker coursing through every inch.

The only thing that remained within the depths of my mind was the need for more. The thirst, of wanting to be on that pitch, playing just a little longer.

To experience that feeling of being the 'best' once more...

* * *

The moments after the game were a blur for Fukiwara Jun. At one moment he was on the field of ambrosia, and at the next he was back to the grim dullness of reality.

Mics, questions posed at his lips. Words, shouts aimed at his ears. Sight, filled by the ocean of interviewers that hungered for information. Answers.

They asked him countless queries, writing down Jun's answers like a tale. Listening to his words like a preacher. All the while the boy fixed his dishevelled appearance. Black hair falling backwards, which revealed his silver eyes that glew like elegant snow orchids.

Despite being drenched in sweat, and tiredness it hadn't lessened his charm one bit. Those once bright eyes, softening under the constant assault that made him want to escape.

However, on the exact moment Jun decided to leave and call off the questions with a polite smile - a final question served itself into his reddened ears.

"Why did you not pass...?"

The plaza remained still. Rumbling chatters that echoed like a chorus became dead silent. Movements coming to a stop, as their gazes focused on one single boy.

His eyes, widened with shock. As the interviewer began to carry on.

"You could've passed the ball, and let your teammate score an easy goal. You could've given all that pressure to someone else, but instead you didn't..."

Her brows furrowed, as she paused. A deafening silence lingering as she spat out her final words.

"You shot that ball. You hit it, even when you could've very well missed or cost the team a chance at victory. So...what was running through your mind when you kicked that ball - Fujiwara Jun?"

The boy was silent, and so was she. Lips, closed as he considered the question. Formulating an answer.

Why did he not pass it?

Jun had thought of that when he stopped off the pitch. Popping up numerous times, which he could never provide a solution for.

However, for some unknown reason, whether it was due to his subconscious taking over, or his body acting on his own.

The heart provided an answer when his mind couldn't speak.

"Instinct."

Fukiwara Jun was an individual who loved football. Not because of the joy of victory, or the feeling of friendship.

He did not play to win, or to lose.

He did not play for himself, or for the badge on his shirt.

He only played for one single thing -

The thrill.

When the apex of football players are playing at the final minute, what do they think of?

What do the ones, who reign on the international pitch, do when they are giving an opportunity to shoot or pass?

What decision do they make, to bring glory back to their people. Their nation?

The answer was obvious -

"I just instinctively shot."

What did Ronaldo think when he kicked that bicycle kick?

What did Havertz do, at the Champion's League Final?

What if Götze missed that fateful kick, that lead Germany to win the World Cup?

The pressure weighs you down from all angles, leaving no room for thought.

And at the moment when you can not think one bit, you let the body take control.

---

[A/N: Haven't seen a lot of Blue Lock fics, so I thought I'd give it a go. First time writing a sports fic. Also, don't take all the things said here to mind, this is all based on the perception that the manga had given me :)]