Gacha System in BLUE LOCK

Did you ever feel such crushing despair that it paralyzed you? The kind where every fiber of your being just wants to collapse, to surrender, to wait for the inevitable end? That's exactly what was happening to Shiro's team.

Reality hit them hard. They realized, too late, that the pros hadn't even been trying at the start. If their strength had to be measured, the professionals had been playing at a mere 5% of their capacity during the opening minutes.

But now, as the pros shifted gears and began to take Shiro's team seriously, the difference in their skill, strength, and experience became painfully clear. The atmosphere on the field grew suffocating. Every move the pros made was precise, calculated, and overwhelming.

No matter how much Shiro's team fought, they couldn't keep up. The professionals' technique was flawless, their physicality unparalleled, and their synergy untouchable. In a matter of moments, Shiro's team was broken down and left scrambling, unable to stop two rapid-fire goals from being scored against them.

Score:4-2

After the fourth goal, Shiro dropped to his knees, the weight of the match crushing him. His breathing was ragged, his body drenched in sweat, and his mind raced with disbelief. How could this happen? He had been completely countered, his every move anticipated and dismantled.

The realization stung deeper than any injury—he couldn't do anything. Every ounce of his skill, his strategy, his passion for the game had been rendered meaningless in the face of the overwhelming power of the pros.

For the first time, Shiro felt the helplessness of being outmatched, like a pawn on a chessboard dominated by kings. His fists clenched the grass beneath him, frustration and despair coursing through his veins as he struggled to make sense of his failure.

The match restarted with the ball at Shiro's feet. Determined to turn things around, he dashed forward, his eyes fixed on the goal. Leonardo Luna stepped in to block him, his expression calm but challenging.

"I admit it," Luna said as he matched Shiro's pace. "You've got some skill, but it's not enough."

The words struck a nerve, but Shiro didn't flinch. Instead, he tightened his focus, his body moving instinctively, preparing to face the challenge ahead.

Then, suddenly, Shiro made a quick adjustment, pulling the ball back before flicking it over Leonardo Luna's head in a bold move. However, Luna, using his low center of gravity and defensive experience, shifted his stance to block Shiro's advance.

But Shiro didn't flinch. His eyes burned with determination. In one fluid motion, he feinted a sharp move to the right, causing Luna to lean slightly in that direction. Seizing the opening, Shiro spun gracefully to the left, slipping past Luna with precision and composure, leaving the seasoned pro momentarily stunned.

As Shiro advanced, Dada Silva loomed in front of him, his towering physique and raw power a wall of resistance. He lunged, attempting to use his monstrous strength to overpower Shiro and take the ball.

To his surprise, Shiro didn't budge. His stance remained firm, his balance unshaken as he held his ground against the human tank.

In his mind, Dada Silva was stunned: What? He wasn't this strong before.

Shiro's focus sharpened, his body exuding a newfound resilience as he maneuvered the ball, preparing for his next move with unrelenting determination.

Seeing Dada Silva struggling to dispossess Shiro, Adam Blake rushed in from the opposite side to assist. The two pros, their towering presences closing in, aimed to trap Shiro between their combined strength and skill.

But Shiro anticipated their approach. With a quick drag-back of the ball, he lured both players into overcommitting before deftly shifting to his left. His fluid movement left the two pros momentarily off-balance, causing them to collide into each other with a thud.

The clash of two world-class players provided Shiro the opening he needed as he sprinted past them, the path ahead suddenly wide open.

As Shiro surged forward, Pablo Cavasoz appeared to his right, his confident smirk unmistakable.

"You might have outplayed those brutes," Pablo said, his tone laced with arrogance, "but you won't outplay me. My skill and vision are absolute."

Shiro didn't respond. His sharp eyes focused on Pablo's movements, his mind calculating his next steps.

The duel between Shiro and Pablo reached its peak as they battled for control. Shiro attempted an elastico, but Pablo read it with ease, blocking his advance. A step-over came next, then a hocus pocus, but Pablo remained steadfast.

"Is that all you've got?" Pablo smirked, his confidence unwavering.

Shiro, however, had one more trick. Feigning a backheel pass, he drew Pablo slightly off-balance, his anticipation betrayed by Shiro's deception. In that split second, Shiro executed a behind-the-back elastico, threading the ball cleanly through Pablo's legs with a precise nutmeg.

Pablo could only look back as Shiro blasted past him, the momentum now fully in his favor.

As Shiro surged past Pablo, a blur shot out of his blind spot—a flash of speed and precision. Before Shiro could react, the ball was gone, stolen cleanly. Standing in front of him now was Loki, a sly grin curling his lips.

"You're skilled, I'll give you that," Loki said, his voice carrying a tone of both amusement and condescension. "But let me remind you of something—this is the world stage, and Japan is still far from its level."

Loki dribbled the ball with effortless control, his eyes gleaming with the confidence of someone who had conquered fields far grander than this. The weight of his words hit like a sledgehammer, a stark reminder of the gap Shiro and his team had yet to bridge.

Ego Pov:

Up in Ego's office, Anri stood by the large screen displaying the match, her brows knitted in concern. She turned to Ego, who sat calmly in his chair, observing the chaos on the field with his usual detached expression.

"Ego," Anri began, her voice tinged with frustration, "Shiro is arguably the best in Blue Lock right now. He's in the flow, playing at his absolute peak. So why? Why can't he keep up with these players?"

Ego didn't look away from the screen, his sharp eyes tracking every movement. He let out a dry chuckle, the kind that always carried a tinge of condescension.

"Anri," he said, his tone matter-of-fact, "it's simple. Being the best in Blue Lock doesn't mean anything on the global scale. Shiro is a nameless teenager from a country barely scratching the surface of football supremacy. He's an unpolished diamond, sure, but these players? They're finished weapons forged in the fires of world-class competition."

Anri frowned but remained silent, allowing Ego to continue.

"These pros didn't just master the fundamentals; they've honed their skills against the best on the planet, year after year. Their speed, their technique, their decision-making—everything operates on a completely different level. Even if Shiro's flow state gives him a temporary boost, it can't bridge the sheer gap in experience, mentality, and physical conditioning."

Ego's gaze shifted to Anri, his grin razor-sharp. "Flow is a tool, not a miracle. And tools are useless if the wielder doesn't understand the battlefield they're fighting on. Shiro's arrogance and raw talent got him this far, but against players who've perfected their craft? He's like a child trying to outwit a chess grandmaster."

Anri looked back at the screen, watching Shiro struggle as Loki stole the ball from him. Despite her concern, she knew Ego wasn't wrong.

Shiro Pov:

Loki, the God Sprinter, erupted forward, a blur of motion that left the air trembling in his wake. His dribble was not just about speed—it was an art form, a symphony of fluidity and precision.

First, Tokimitsu tried to stand his ground, using his imposing physique to block Loki's path. But Loki's feint was so subtle, so devastatingly deceptive, that Tokimitsu froze for a split second. That was all Loki needed. With an outside-of-the-foot flick, he darted to the left, leaving Tokimitsu lunging at empty space.

Karasu rushed in next, his eyes scanning every twitch of Loki's body, searching for a weakness. Loki welcomed the challenge with a playful grin. As Karasu closed in, Loki executed a lightning-fast elastico, dragging the ball from the outside of his foot to the inside in one fluid motion. Karasu anticipated it and moved to block, but Loki was already one step ahead. With a sudden chop, he reversed direction, leaving Karasu twisting helplessly as Loki surged past.

Hiori was the last line, his sharp mind analyzing Loki's every move. "He'll cut to the right," Hiori thought, preparing for the intercept. But Loki, as if reading his mind, did the unexpected. With a roulette that was as elegant as it was explosive, he spun past Hiori, the ball glued to his feet.

Each dribble was a masterclass, each move perfectly calibrated to dismantle his opponents. By the time Loki emerged on the other side, the three defenders were left scattered in his wake, mere spectators to his brilliance.

As Loki lined up his shot, his body coiled with precision and intent, a shadow loomed behind him. In the blink of an eye, Shiro, the "White Demon of Tokyo," surged forward, his figure cutting through the field like a phantom.

His sprint was ferocious, his pace nearly matching Loki's in raw intensity. The look in his eyes was one of unyielding determination, a predator closing in on its prey. Loki, sensing the danger too late, turned his head just as Shiro struck.

With perfect timing, Shiro executed a clean tackle with his left leg, sliding in with surgical precision. The ball was dislodged from Loki's feet, spiraling out of his control. The force of the tackle was so exact that it left Loki stumbling momentarily, his attack shattered.

The players could almost hear the unspoken roar of defiance in Shiro's movement. The God Sprinter's assault had been demolished, leaving the battlefield in awe of the White Demon's determination.

With the ball firmly at his feet, Shiro stood tall, his sharp gaze locked onto Loki, whose smug confidence painted his features. Shiro's chest rose and fell with steady breaths, the weight of the match and the thrill of competition fueling his fire. A smirk crept across his face, and his voice rang out, steady and defiant:

"You really think I'd crumble because of some so-called gap between us? Wake up, shitty sprinter. This is football—a game played by millions, where every single one of us fights, bleeds, and dreams to stand at the top. It's not just about talent or speed; it's about heart, about proving you belong on that stage. That's why I love this game."

His words carried a weight that silenced the field for a brief moment, even drawing Loki's full attention. Then, with a deliberate touch, Shiro nudged the ball forward, his body coiling like a spring, ready to explode into action.

His movements were calculated, his stance unwavering. This wasn't just another play—this was a challenge, a declaration of war. Shiro's unyielding spirit surged, ready to clash with Loki's raw speed and skill in a duel that promised to push them both beyond their limits. The air around them seemed to hum with anticipation as Shiro took his first step forward, the battle truly beginning.

With the fire of determination burning in his eyes, Shiro pushed the ball to the left, drawing Loki in. But just as the god sprinter adjusted to intercept, Shiro spun on his heel, pivoting sharply in the opposite direction, his movements fluid and precise. The ball stayed glued to his feet, a testament to his technical brilliance.

Loki, however, was no ordinary defender. Anticipating Shiro's strategy, he instinctively stepped back, widening the gap between them. His defensive stance expanded like a fortress, using the additional space to create a broader defense zone.

"Smart move," Shiro muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning Loki's positioning. The two were locked in a mental game now, each calculating the other's next step. Shiro's relentless focus and Loki's disciplined reaction made the moment feel electric, the tension thick enough to cut through.

The duel grew fiercer with every passing second, a battle of sheer will and skill between Shiro and Loki.

Shiro started with a feint, shifting his weight to the right and performing a double elastico to the left. But Loki, with his unmatched reflexes, adjusted instantly, shadowing Shiro's movements and cutting off his angle.

Not deterred, Shiro tried a step-over to hocus pocus, attempting to throw Loki off balance. Yet, Loki's defensive stance adapted seamlessly, staying low and tracking the ball with laser focus.

Gritting his teeth, Shiro pulled the ball back with a drag-back spin, transitioning into a reverse Cruyff turn to escape Loki's reach. For a moment, it seemed like he had found an opening, but Loki recovered with a burst of speed, blocking the path.

Feeling the pressure mounting, Shiro unleashed a flip-flap sombrero, lifting the ball over Loki's head in a bold move. Loki, however, backpedaled in time, intercepting Shiro's trajectory and forcing him to retreat.

Finally, Shiro attempted a Marseille roulette, spinning on the ball with precision to create separation. But Loki's uncanny ability to read and react allowed him to cut off the exit route, leaving Shiro locked in place once more.

Shiro's mind raced as he faced Loki's impenetrable defense. "He's a fucking wall," Shiro thought, his heart pounding in frustration. "He's using his speed and awareness to adapt to my dribbles, countering me at every turn. What can I do?"

The realization hit hard: I've always relied on instinct and physical ability to break through opponents. But this… this is different. Loki's defense isn't just skill—it's intelligence. I need something more. I need to outthink him.

The moment was critical, and Shiro's mind surged with possibilities. He knew this was more than just a duel—it was a challenge to evolve.