On the one day Blue Lock finally grants its three hundred merciless strikers a break, the dorm intercom delivers a new kind of challenge: find a hidden medal, and dinner becomes an all-you-can-eat fantasy. Fail, and it's training hell till midnight.
For Isagi Yoichi, this is just another competition to win—no different from fighting for the ball. But as he sets out with his self-proclaimed "great detective" partner Bachira (whose phone meets an untimely demise in the worst possible place), it q
Blue Lock: Holiday Mystery Mayhem - Proof of seriousness—even without this medal, I will become the best in the world
The sound of the door closing echoed faintly down the hallway.
Isagi Yoichi stood frozen in the fourth-floor corridor. The cold of the door still lingered on his back.
(You're still not serious.)
Nagi Seishirou's words spun around and around in his head.
(I'm not giving this to anyone who can't become the best in the world without a medal.)
A dull ache spread slowly through his chest.
No. That's not it.
I was searching for real.
But—
"...Damn it."
He muttered under his breath and pressed a hand against the wall.
Cold.
And that cold felt strangely comforting right now.
Footsteps. He heard them.
From the stairwell—quiet, unhurried.
He looked up.
Silver hair swayed softly in the dim light of the corridor.
Hiori Yo.
He was carrying a book in his arms. His silver hair, tinged with blue, was silky-smooth, and his cool blue eyes looked straight at Isagi.
"So you went to see Nagi."
His voice was quiet.
"...Yeah."
"Nagi is waiting for you to get serious."
Hiori stopped walking.
About two meters between him and Isagi.
He didn't try to come any closer.
"You set this up, didn't you?"
"Yeah. I hid the medal."
He admitted it without hesitation.
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I wanted to see everyone get serious."
Hiori's voice was as quiet and flat as ever.
But somewhere beneath those words, something burning seemed to hide.
"Is that all? That's all it took for you to mess with us like that?"
Isagi's voice grew slightly rough.
"That's all. But it's boring when someone who isn't serious wins."
Hiori stared steadily into Isagi's eyes.
"The medal was supposed to come to you naturally. But you were still clinging to rewards. Dinner this, training that. You were desperate over things like that."
The words stabbed into his chest.
(Clinging to rewards.)
(It's not that I wanted the medal.)
(I just didn't want to lose.)
Memories from middle school resurfaced.
The national tournament finals.
That day, I wanted to win.
No—that's not it.
I didn't want to lose.
That was all.
I was running from the feeling of wanting to win.
"You should understand. What it is you really want to do."
Hiori said only that, then passed by Isagi's side.
His silky silver hair stirred the air.
"...Show me your real resolve."
Without turning back, Hiori spoke.
His voice dissolved quietly into the corridor.
Isagi was left alone.
He couldn't move, his hand still pressed against the wall.
(It's boring when someone who isn't serious wins.)
(Clinging to rewards.)
(I just didn't want to lose.)
All of it was true.
It hit dead center.
"...Damn it."
He muttered again.
His voice was trembling.
"Isagi!"
Suddenly, a bright voice rang through the corridor.
From around the corner of the stairwell, a boy with messy blond hair and black streaks poked his head out.
Bachira Meguru.
His golden eyes sparkled as they fixed on Isagi.
"What's wrong? You look terrible. Did you find the medal?"
"...No."
"Huh? What's up? You seem kinda down."
Bachira tilted his head.
Isagi pulled his hand away from the wall.
"Bachira. I might've been wrong about something."
"About what?"
"I wanted the medal. I wanted the reward. I wanted to eat whatever I wanted at dinner and skip training. That was all."
Isagi's voice was hoarse.
But the words came out of his mouth clearly.
"But that's not it. I want to be the best striker in the world. That doesn't change whether there's a medal or not. That's my real goal."
Bachira stared at Isagi's face for a while.
Then he grinned.
"That's all you need! That's what being serious means!"
"Serious..."
"Yeah! A medal's just decoration! You're gonna be the best in the world, right? Then that's enough!"
Bachira's voice was endlessly bright.
"But I wanted the medal. I wanted the reward. I'm pathetic for that."
"That's not true! You're always serious! That's fine—that's what being serious is!"
Bachira gave Isagi a light push on the back.
His hand was warm.
"C'mon, let's go! Everyone's waiting in the lounge!"
The dorm's common lounge.
Evening light poured in through the windows.
Isagi and Bachira sat side by side on the sofa.
Isagi stared at his own hands.
(Even without the medal, I'll be the best in the world.)
(I've decided.)
He raised his head.
A strong light dwelled in his brown eyes.
"Bachira. Listen."
"What? So formal all of a sudden."
"Even without this medal, I'll be the best in the world."
He said it clearly, without hesitation.
Bachira clapped his hands.
"Isagi, that's so cool!"
"Yeah. I'll show you. My real resolve."
Isagi smiled faintly.
That's when it happened.
In the shadow of the lounge entrance, a silver-haired boy reading a book let his lips curl ever so slightly.
Hiori Yo.
He closed his book and quietly left the room.
And then, on the fourth floor, Nagi's room.
In the dim room, Nagi Seishirou was staring up at the ceiling.
"...Isagi. I knew you'd understand."
Nagi pulled the medal from his pocket.
The golden light shone quietly in the dark room.
"I'll give this to you. ...Well, it's still a pain, though."
Nagi's door opened just a crack.
From the corridor, the light of the setting sun streamed in thin and narrow.
People had gathered in the cafeteria.
The restless buzz before dinner.
But today was different from usual.
Chigiri Hyouma slammed his hand on the table.
"Give me back my socks!"
"Shut up! Compensate me for my protein!"
Kunigami shouted back, not to be outdone.
"My wallet's gone... If I could buy one with money, I would...!"
Mikage groaned pathetically, patting down his pockets.
"Hmph, you lot, don't make a racket in front of a king! I am the king!"
Barou flashed a defiant grin and puffed out his chest.
"My intuition's never wrong! The medal's over there!"
Bachira ran around the cafeteria, pointing in every direction.
The whole group was in an uproar.
And amid it all, only Isagi didn't move.
Standing at the cafeteria entrance, he quietly chewed over Nagi's words.
(The medal doesn't matter.)
(Someone who's truly serious is serious even without a medal.)
(I'll become the best striker in the world.)
"...Let's go."
Isagi spoke quietly.
"Where to?"
"Nagi's room. All of you, come."
Isagi's voice was strangely calm.
Fourth floor.
In front of Nagi Seishirou's room.
Isagi Yoichi, Bachira Meguru, Chigiri Hyouma, Kunigami Rensuke, Mikage Reo, Barou Shouei.
Six of them lined up in a row.
Isagi knocked on the door.
Knock, knock, knock.
"...Ugh, what a pain."
A listless voice came from inside.
"I'm coming in."
Isagi opened the door.
The room was as dim and cluttered as ever.
On the bed, fluffy white hair sank into the sheets.
Nagi Seishirou.
His hundred-and-ninety-centimeter frame sprawled out, he turned sleepy light-blue eyes toward them.
"What, all of you? You're so loud."
"Nagi! Give me back my socks!"
Chigiri stepped forward.
"I don't know anything about socks."
"Then what about my protein!?"
"Don't know."
"Wallet too!?"
"I said I don't know."
"You dare mock a king!?"
Barou shouted.
"So annoying. Go home."
Nagi buried his face in his pillow.
"Everyone, calm down."
Isagi stepped forward.
"Nagi. You have the medal, don't you."
"...Yeah, I have it."
Nagi lifted his face from the pillow.
"Give me that medal."
Isagi said it straight.
Nagi looked at Isagi with sleepy eyes.
"No. It's a pain. I decided I'd give this to whoever's the most serious."
"The most serious?"
"Yeah. All of you are just desperate because you want the medal. But someone who's really serious shouldn't care about a medal."
Everyone in the room stiffened at Nagi's words.
"What are you saying! As king, I have every right—"
Barou shouted.
"A king's a king even without a medal. Why do you want it so badly?"
"Guh..."
Barou was at a loss for words.
"Socks, protein, wallet. Why make such a fuss just because you lost them? Just look for them yourself."
Nagi's voice was as sleepy as ever.
But his words cut strangely to the core.
"None of you are searching for real. If you really wanted it, you'd be more desperate."
The room went silent.
No one could argue.
That's when.
Isagi took another step forward.
"Nagi."
"What."
"Even without this medal—I'll be the best in the world."
Isagi said it quietly.
Nagi's eyes opened just a little.
"...Huh?"
"I'll become the best striker in the world. Even without a medal, I'll become the best with my own resolve. So I don't need the medal."
Isagi stared straight at Nagi.
A strong light dwelled in his brown eyes.
Nagi watched Isagi's face for a while.
And then.
"...That's it."
Nagi slowly sat up.
"Isagi. You're serious."
For the first time, light dwelled in Nagi's light-blue eyes.
"Even without the medal, you'll be the best in the world. Those words—they're real. I'll give this to you."
Nagi pulled the medal from his pocket.
The golden light glinted in the dim room.
And he tossed it toward Isagi.
The medal traced an arc and landed neatly in Isagi's hand.
"Nagi...!"
"You were the most serious."
Nagi said only that, then collapsed back onto the bed.
"But since it's a pain, bring me my share of the dinner feast too."
"You never change."
Isagi smiled wryly.
"Isagi, you did it! You got the medal!"
Bachira bounced up and down with joy.
"Hmph, well, I'll let Isagi have it this time. A king is magnanimous, after all."
Barou crossed his arms and looked away.
"My socks..."
Chigiri's shoulders slumped.
"My protein..."
Kunigami hung his head too.
"My wallet..."
Mikage was still patting down his pockets.
"Yeah. But this isn't over yet."
Isagi gazed at the medal in his hand.
(I'll show you my real resolve.)
(I'll become the best striker in the world and prove it.)
Outside the window, the setting sun dyed the dorm red.
A long day was coming to an end.
But Isagi's heart was burning.
Dinner time.
The cafeteria was livelier than usual.
Isagi's team could eat whatever they wanted, as much as they wanted.
The table was crammed with fried chicken, curry, hamburger steak, sushi, ramen, even dessert.
"So good! Let's eat!"
Bachira lunged for the fried chicken first.
"You eat way too much."
Isagi laughed as he brought curry to his mouth.
"...So annoying. I told you to bring me food."
Nagi was sitting beside him before he knew it.
"Get it yourself."
"Too much of a pain."
Nagi slumped limply onto the table.
"Guess I have no choice."
Isagi placed a hamburger steak in front of Nagi.
"...Thanks."
Nagi sluggishly picked up his fork.
Meanwhile, outside the cafeteria windows.
The losers were running laps on the grounds.
Chigiri, Kunigami, Mikage, Barou.
"Damn it! Why do I have to run!?"
Barou shouted as he ran at the front.
"Shut up! It's because you couldn't get the medal!"
Kunigami yelled back from behind.
"I don't even have socks, and I'm running..."
Chigiri ran with tears in his eyes.
"I can't even call a taxi without my wallet..."
Mikage sobbed, out of breath.
"Those guys sure have energy."
Isagi laughed as he looked out the window.
"Right! But they kinda look like they're having fun!"
Bachira laughed too.
"...So annoying."
Nagi slowly ate his hamburger steak.
In the corner of the cafeteria, Hiori Yo was quietly reading a book.
Every now and then, he glanced at the group running outside and let his lips curl faintly.
(Everyone's serious.)
(That's what I wanted to see.)
Hiori returned his gaze to his book.
The next morning.
Isagi Yoichi woke up in his room.
Morning sun streamed through the gap in the curtains.
(Right, where did I put the medal?)
He reached under his pillow.
Not there.
He searched the bed.
Not there.
The desk.
Not there.
The closet.
Not there.
"...Huh?"
Isagi looked around the room in circles.
The medal was gone.
"Hey, Bachira! The medal—"
Isagi burst into the room next door.
"Huh? What's wrong?"
Bachira sat up, still half-asleep.
"The medal's gon
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