Blue Lock: Machiavellian

In the Saint Mary Orphanage in Tokyo, an eight-year-old boy with snow-white hair and ice-blue eyes lay sprawled in front of a flickering TV, drawn to a football match that had caught his attention quite by accident. He had been aimlessly flipping through channels, searching for a distraction from the suffocating boredom that permeated his life.

Shiro Tenma was no stranger to boredom. It enveloped him like a heavy fog, dulling his senses and dulling the world around him. Since he could remember, nothing had ever captivated him for long. By the age of three, he had exhibited an astonishing capacity for learning—walking, talking, reading, absorbing knowledge with an ease that left others in awe. He was a certified genius, his intellect soaring far beyond that of his peers. Yet, this gift felt more like a curse; it isolated him further from the world. He found people tedious, their thoughts predictable and their emotions perplexing. The chaos of human interaction was a riddle he could not solve, leaving him adrift in a colorless, mundane existence.

But today was different. As he watched the screen, his usually indifferent expression shifted to one of intense focus. The final of the 2010 World Cup—Spain versus the Netherlands—unfolded before him, and for the first time, something seized his undivided attention. His heart raced, pulse quickening with the electric energy radiating from the field. The players were not mere athletes; they were warriors battling for glory. The tension, the unpredictability, and the raw emotion etched on their faces struck a chord deep within him.

As the match progressed, Shiro's excitement escalated, mingling with an unsettling satisfaction. He reveled in the tension, keenly aware that each fleeting moment brought its own potential for dreams to shatter. The way the players fought tooth and nail for their shot at immortality stirred something dark within him—a perverse delight in witnessing their desperation. With every near miss, every agonizing close call, he felt a thrill surge through him, a satisfaction that pulsed like a heartbeat.

The crushing despair that turned dreams into nightmares was intoxicating. When Spain finally clinched victory, he felt a rush as the Dutch players collapsed in anguish, their aspirations evaporating into thin air. Their tears, the grimaces of defeat—they painted a stark picture that resonated with his own understanding of the world. In that moment, Shiro found beauty in the chaos, a twisted satisfaction in the fragility of ambition laid bare before him.

In this whirlwind of passion and conflict, Shiro Tenma felt something awaken inside him—something he had never experienced before. Excitement, yes, but also a darker, more thrilling emotion—a recognition that in the realm of football, dreams could rise only to fall, and he was exhilarated by the prospect of witnessing that relentless cycle. For the first time, he had discovered something worth watching, something worth feeling—a domain where his intellect could meet its match and where the stakes were as high as the ambition driving each player to their limits.

From that day forward, Shiro became captivated by the world of football, an obsession that quickly consumed his every waking moment. No longer content to merely watch a single match, he immersed himself in the sport, devouring broadcasts from various leagues—the Spanish La Liga, the English Premier League, Serie A in Italy, and the Bundesliga in Germany. Each match brought new insights, new strategies, and a deeper understanding of the beautiful game.

As he studied the intricate movements of players, he began to recognize the art of control that defined football. Two positions, in particular, ignited a fierce interest within him: the midfielder and the forward. To Shiro, the midfielder was a maestro, orchestrating the flow of the game with precision and finesse, guiding teammates like chess pieces across the board. This role fascinated him, for it embodied his tendencies—each pass, each tactical decision calculated to manipulate the outcome. The midfielder was not merely a player; he was the puppeteer, pulling the strings of the match, ensuring that every action aligned with his grand design. Shiro found a kindred spirit in this role, recognizing that true power lay in control, in the ability to dictate the pace and direction of the game.

In stark contrast stood the forward, a position that embodied a different kind of mastery. The striker was a beacon of hope for his team, yet he thrived on the despair of opponents, drowning them in crushing defeat. Shiro was drawn to this duality—the forward was both a savior and a harbinger of despair, the one who could turn dreams into nightmares with a single strike. In the striker's relentless pursuit of goals, Shiro saw an echo of his own darker inclinations; the thrill of watching rivals falter, their hopes extinguished in an instant, resonated with his soul.

He envisioned himself embodying these roles on the pitch—manipulating the game as a midfielder while simultaneously reveling in the downfall of his opponents as a forward. The more he learned, the more he realized that football was a battlefield, a ruthless arena where the strong preyed upon the weak. In this ruthless pursuit of victory, he found his calling, a path that aligned with his innate desire for control and chaos.

As his knowledge deepened, so too did his fascination with the psychological warfare inherent in the sport. The mind games, the strategic feints, the calculated risks—it was all a game of chess played at breakneck speed, and Shiro was determined to master it. With each passing match, he honed his understanding of not just the tactics, but the emotions that fueled the players. In this world where dreams soared and shattered, Shiro Tenma found a playground for his intellect—a place where he could manipulate not just the game, but the very fabric of hope and despair that defined it.

As Shiro delved deeper into the world of football, he found himself captivated by the legends who graced the pitch with their extraordinary skills. Players like Ronaldinho, Messi, Ronaldo, Zidane, and Iniesta became his idols, each one embodying a unique mastery that he sought to understand and emulate.

These players had an uncanny ability to dominate the field, weaving through defenders with a blend of grace and ferocity. They possessed a rare talent for bringing despair upon their opponents with nothing more than their skill, leaving a trail of shattered dreams in their wake. Shiro was mesmerized by Ronaldinho's dazzling footwork, his audacious tricks that left defenders bewildered. The Brazilian magician didn't just play the game; he painted it with joy, turning each match into a spectacle of creativity and flair.

Then there was Messi, a player whose vision and precision were unmatched. His ability to weave through the tightest of defenses, coupled with his clinical finishing, instilled a sense of dread in every opponent. Shiro admired Messi not just for his talent but for the way he transformed the hope of rivals into despair, the way a single touch could lead to a goal that crushed dreams in an instant.

Cristiano Ronaldo's relentless drive fascinated him, too. The Portuguese forward was a force of nature, embodying sheer determination and ambition. His knack for delivering in high-pressure moments sent opponents into despair, their dreams extinguished as he soared above them to score. Shiro found inspiration in Ronaldo's relentless pursuit of greatness, understanding that dominance required not just talent but an unyielding will to succeed.

Zidane, with his elegance and poise, commanded the field like a general leading an army. His ability to control the tempo of the game, to dictate the flow with a mere flick of his boot, resonated with Shiro's own desire for mastery. Zidane's presence was a reminder that true power lay in understanding the game's rhythm, in manipulating every movement to orchestrate a symphony of despair for the opposition.

And then there was Iniesta, whose vision and intelligence on the field made him a silent assassin. He would slip past defenders with ease, his passes threading through gaps that seemed nonexistent. Shiro marveled at how Iniesta could bring teams to their knees, his quiet demeanor masking the chaos he could unleash with a single decision.

These players embodied the perfect fusion of artistry and ruthlessness, dominating the game while reveling in the despair they inflicted on their opponents. They were not just athletes; they were architects of dreams and nightmares, and in their mastery, Shiro saw the blueprint for his own ambitions. As he watched them transform matches into arenas of emotion, he resolved to harness their spirit—his intellect as the guiding force, orchestrating chaos on the pitch and relishing the sweet satisfaction of turning hope into despair.