PINKLOCK Chapter 00/Prologue: You Belong Amongst The Best
Please read the author’s note and the characters' information at the end. (wc: 3153)
2025.
It was never a matter of fate. The position of this ball now, where it will land in the next second, and who will be the first to capture it. All of this must be a random selection of the universe. Or so I would have thought before PINKLOCK. Luck is one of the trillion factors that decide who gets to sit atop our corpses. Who gets to hold the treasure.
The ball flies across the field. I position myself, ready to be Queen. Maybe in one of the infinite universes that I exist in, there is a place where I can be chosen.
To the very right of my foot is a familiar warmth. I don’t get to process it or adjust to the nostalgic scent. The ball obeys her every command and falls to her foot like it's submitting. She read all of it. Every little trajectory, every twirl of the ball, and position of the players that I managed to analyze in these ninety minutes, she knew all of it before me. Her eyes darken as we meet once more, years later.
“Didn’t I tell you? You’re worth nothing here.” I want to deny, to reject like I've always done. Now she runs toward the goal after stealing my crown for the hundredth time while I'm frozen in shock. I became too arrogant. I thought I had evolved. Grown. But she always manages to prove me wrong.
And now, it’s my turn to do that.
November 18, 2018.
I wanted to go home while I was already in it. I reminisced about the times when I had a companion. My other half, who one day changed. It was an exhausting day for me. Waking up early to practice because I didn’t want my parents to know. It’s not like they didn’t know that I was playing soccer. They simply didn’t like it when I did. I hadn’t realized this when I was still younger, but now I do. I was meant to be a vessel for their dreams. So I left for the nearby field in the town.
They’re validation was my first reason to play, but soon, it was gone. The spark of excitement I used to feel when I’d score a goal. It had vanished. As soon as my brother was born.
“We have hope.” They’d cry out in bliss at the sight of him. I was eleven, and I was abandoned. I felt worthless.
I continued to play, however. It felt like the only reason I wasn’t a nobody yet was because I had some skill in the game. I would avoid letting them know, still. They didn’t like it when I had even a glimmer of faith in myself.
“You should focus on studying, he’ll be our champion.”
I had to prove myself to them.
The big game was the next day. Since we had moved to Japan when I was ten, I’d been playing here alone ever since. I had Kieymi at one point. She would reassure me, support me. I got too attached, perhaps. One random day, she changed. She grew hateful and even vengeful of me. I never shed a tear at the people who’d bully me. Not even many for the harsh words I’d hear at home. But a part of me died the day she became his way. We were soulmates. Now she’s a faint memory.
Now I stood there in the empty field from dusk till dawn, hearing an echoing cheer and wishing it were real. I would be playing against her the next day, and just the thought of it sent my heart dropping to my stomach. Kick after kick, I would score goals from different ranges and different angles. I practiced unique trajectories, imagining her begging face looking up at me from below. I wanted to crush her. Destroy her. Like she’d done to me.
Maybe that’s what got me to continue playing. The reminder that she’s better than me at something I began four years before her.
As I was panting from exhaustion and envy, I noticed a dark figure somewhere in the corner of the field. It was a woman’s body. She observed me closely. It wasn’t light enough to read her expression. But she looked almost malicious. I approached, and now I realize it could have been stupid of me to do so. She was harmless, however. She handed me a letter quietly and watched me take it. The now rising sun shed light on her glistening eyes.
“My name is Teieri Anri. My dream is to—“I wasn’t willing to hear a speech, so I turned around and hurried home to open the letter. I had a feeling I should keep it a secret, whatever it was. I felt that this ‘Anri Teieri’ was a genuine person, and she radiated the trust and faith I sometimes wished my parents did in me.
Things didn’t go as planned. They never do. My brother was four years old. He didn’t know any better, but I still almost resent him for that day. I was busy helping my mother with chores. Aman could walk at the time, like many four-year-olds. He saw the letter I had foolishly placed in his reach, which he brought out of my room, my comfort, and into what almost always feels like a battlefield.
“Asa, do you want to explain yourself?” My father stood, his arms to his side. He questioned why I had accepted such a letter. They never forced me to stop, but they disliked the idea of me playing professionally. Accepting a letter that was inviting me to play with real players was a sin in their eyes. My mother soon joined and began her rant. Both of their shouts were in a duet as they spat mild threats at me. My ears rang from the noise.
“Shut up!” I yelled, and then I regretted it. Silence filled the room for a brief moment. Each second felt like an escalation towards an impending doom. I trembled, wondering about the consequences of my outburst. Then, with a sharp pull, the letter ripped apart in my father's hand. I swore I felt my heart rip in sync. The two pieces fell onto the floor.
“You will never play Soccer again. It was never for you.” With that, he turned to leave, my mother clicked her tongue. I remember falling to my knees, picking the two pieces up with trembling hands. She left the dining room, where the scene took place. I wondered why the neighbors weren’t outside our house after the noise and looked at the large window. Kieymi stood there, watching closely. I couldn't read her expression. The vulnerability lay in me because I was naked. She saw through me. She fled soon after a brief eye contact.
In that moment, I knew she’d gotten the letter too.
I clenched my fists, gagging at the thought. She left an imprint of her gorgeous fucking almonds for eyes, her expression so stoic it angered me to my core. I locked myself in my room. Planning to isolate myself permanently. This big stage was for Kieymi. Not a loser like me, I thought. I fell to the floor, my head bent like I was praying to some God for the same blessings he’d showered on her. After a good thirty seconds of choking myself till my face went blue, I ran around my room searching for tape. The letter looked fucked taped together. But I’d made up my mind. Obsession always beats talent.
I was going to go to this ‘Pinklock’ and nobody was going to stop me.
Was it an escape? Was it a dream? I don’t know. When I get there, I want to see her again. And I want to shatter every piece of hope or desire that she’s ever had in the palm of my hand. Maybe… it was revenge.
The next morning came quickly. I didn’t get much sleep, like usual. I had packed all of my essentials, including the now pathetic but signed letter the night before. The night that changed everything. I carried my stuffed schoolbag to the window, from where I climbed out. It wasn’t too high to jump, but my legs still needed a little work. My father probably thought it was another day of school. But little did they know, I was gone for good. I did steal a little cash and some food from the fridge.
I ditched the ‘big game’. My priority was now elsewhere. And I knew that Kiyemi was also not about to appear in today’s match either. There was a given time on the letter, which said that if you failed to show up within, you wouldn’t be accepted. Something about ‘lock off.’ It piqued my interest, and I knew I had to explore it. Today, I feel it was the best decision I could have made at the time. It was a catalyst for my career.
My heart raced as I got into the taxi. I felt that I was doing something so wrong. So shameful. But I hushed the angry voices with music. Soon, I was outside a tall building. It was closed, as expected. The time on the letter says 1:00 p.m., and I was there at three in the morning. I waited outside, trying to get some rest on the bench. I fell asleep soon, in fear that I’d wake up dead. There was no turning back now.
“Asa! Asa-chan!” An annoying voice woke me up. The blinding sun was needles in my eyes despite the clouds following up behind. I rubbed my eyes. A light brown-haired girl stood before me, holding my belongings.
“Who the hell are you?” I rose from the hard bench.
“I watched you play in the sports day this year. Also, be a little more polite, would ya’?” Her voice was bratty yet sweet, matching the honey of her hair.
I finally grabbed the bag from her hand.
“It’s about to close, let's hurry.” She dragged me into the building with an arm. “I knew you wouldn’t show up to today's game.”
“I doubt we know each other.” My response was bland. I wasn’t aiming to make new friends.
“Yonago Kita High, right?” I wondered why this person was so excited to see me. “Ah- my name is Hoshino Tori.”
The gigantic doors behind us shut automatically, and I noticed many of us flinch. I looked around. It was an auditorium full of female players. I noticed a brown girl dressed in forest hues, and a young idol with cotton candy for hair. Then I even noticed two dark skinned women standing side by side. Some stares were intense, some were playful. I was dizzy from the earlier sun and now, the mixture of a hundred fragrances in the room.
Then… I saw Kiyemi. I wanted to hide. After what she’d seen last night, I can only expect that she’ll have a lot to tease me for. Her pin-straight, ash-brown hime cut gracefully blew by her sides as she approached me.
“What do you want?” I began. She ran a finger through my bangs, correcting my messy hair. My eye twitched. How could you be so composed? So… okay with yourself and so confident before me despite all you’ve done to me?
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her eyes skimming my features. Her voice was bland, like her expression. She looked as if trying to decode what had changed in me.
“I’m a fucking soccer player, what do you think I’m doing here?”
“Is that so?” Her voice was cold. Nothing like the warmth that once uplifted me. I didn’t grace her with a response.
Tori watched the scene unfold, stepping in. She was blissfully unaware of our past connections. “You wanna be an asshole? Go do it somewhere else, bitch.” She spat out at Kiyemi. She chuckled in response and fled, leaving a pat on my shoulder. I was a bit shocked at the pretty lady spitting such venomous words. But I was okay with it. I traced the place on my shoulder where Kiyemi had just done a moment ago, but then quickly stopped myself.
Then, the lights went out. A lanky man with a jet black bowl cut became prominent on the stage, the blinding spotlight fixated on him. We looked at him curiously. A bunch of gossips were heard before he began to speak.
“And test, test, test. Congratulations and welcome, diamonds in the rough. You are the 300 18 and under strikers who have been chosen due to my arbitrary and biased decision making. And I am Jinpachi Ego, the man who was hired to ensure Japan’s future victory at the World Cup.”
We looked at him like he was insane... Which was our first impression of him, anyway. Hired? By whom and where did the World Cup come from? He continued to speak.
“It’s simple, really. In order to outstrip the rest of the world, Japanese soccer requires just one thing. And that is the birth of a revolutionary striker. I’ll be performing an experiment to turn one of you 300 into the single best striker in the world.” The girls looked around, as if the man on the stage had just grown another head. Did he just say… experiment? We were all equally confused and even a little unsettled by the psychopathic man in front of us.
“Um… sir?” the brown girl in the crowd raised a shy hand, “By ‘experiment’, you mean real training, right? How is your training better than other training camps and team practices? And… who’s paying you?” Good questions, I thought. The man before us now was a freak, after all.
He scratched his bowl cut, “Paying me? Is that all you heard? The JFU will be paying me once a Japanese team wins the World Cup.” He shakes a hand, that money didn’t matter to him, “, and as for what makes my training more reliable than the coaches you’ve been playing with for so long... Let's just say, uh, everything. You will all play a survival style of soccer. Here, it's not just some game, but a battlefield. Your coaches focus only on the physical aspects of the game, whereas your psychology and play style are what truly create your games. I will put you through psychological warfare and break you down mentally. This will restructure you for better playing. Here at Pinklock, you will train in a hyper-modern facility with high-tech and robotic analysis, which you can find nowhere else in this country. Lastly and most importantly, your next games will not depend on your teammates or the power of friendship. But on your EGO. “
We were all suspicious of the man. And yet, we were all intrigued. He continued to speak for three to four minutes about some ‘EGO’ that we lacked. I remember him expressing some pity for the country with statements like, “Is the future of Japan really in your hands?” he looked down at us like we were trash.
“What exactly do you mean by EGO?” a girl with striped hair, who was twirling it around her finger, raised a question, “and how is it a reliable method of securing the World Cup?”
“Hm?” the man was puzzled, he scratched his bowl cut for the hundredth time. “Tell me, why is Japanese soccer still not worthy of a win? No, let me ask you this: What is soccer? Is it about the eleven players working together? The bonds you form? Self-sacrifice? Fighting for your teammates? That kind of thinking is why this country's game has remained weak. I’ll tell you the right answer: soccer is about one thing.” He paused for a brief second, which left us all anticipating his next words: “Scoring more goals than your opponent does.” He shouts out in a frantic scream, which causes us to flinch, his body bending in all sorts of weird ways. We all gasped at the sight of the freak show he was putting on.
I couldn’t help but wonder where this man picked up his ideologies from. And just why did they make so much sense? If all teammates are trying to better each other instead of focusing on creating their own goals, they’ll have minimal and luck-based goals depending on the positioning of players. But if all eleven were self-absorbed ‘egoists’ like this guy wants us to be, we’d create many and potentially legendary goals.
The man then quoted Cristiano Ronaldo, Eric Cantona, and Pele. About their selfishness. I didn’t want to believe him. He was right, but I didn’t want to. It was the opposite of everything I’d ever been taught. It was undeniable. Soccer, at its very core, was about being the one who scores the most goals. Even your teammates are competition.
“You can’t possibly become the best striker unless you’re the biggest egoist. Which is why you’re all here. So I can create a player who has what it takes. Someone to climb on top of 299 corpses. A solitary hero...” he continued. Everyone looked at each other. Some were left with their mouth agape, some frowning.
I felt a sense of disturbing belonging.
Maybe that one thing that put Kiyemi in front of me was this ‘ego’, I thought. Even if she didn’t know or put a label on it yet. Just maybe, if I could achieve something supernatural like she did on that day, I’d be able to demolish her. Surpass her. And that’s why—my foot, without my permission, stepped closer to the stage. The curtains behind him now were raised, and beyond a blinding white, I could not see. It was an unspoken invitation by the madman before us, asking to join him in his fantasies. he smiled like a maniac while he spurted what sounded like idiocy continuously. No one dared to step forward. Yet, I gravitated toward him.
“So what you're saying is...” A familiar voice claws at my nerves. “…Is that only one of us survives at the end?”
I turned to face her once more. Her almonds were now full of anticipation and the same anxiety that was coursing through my veins. I wanted to say nothing and everything to her at the same time. But I only said one, plain warning. I spoke, one last time, yet I knew a hundred more conversations were to come. I ran toward the man, like he was a savior. He did notice me, closest to the gates of what looked like heaven. What could be hell. His eyes widened as he watched me pace towards him, and all I hoped was that what she heard me say last was enough. Enough for her.
“There can't be two bests now, can there... Kiyemi?”
Authors note and characters:-
Pinklock is situated in Japan hence, all characters speak in Japanese but writen in English unless stated otherwise. The first selection will be written in past tense as it falls all the way back to November 18, 2018. It is intended that Bluelock and Pinklock occur in the same universe because after the third selection, Pinklock characters will play against the boys team. The winning team will then play against Japan’s U20. Some characters will be eliminated and some will appear later. You must trust the process. One chapter will be written per month because I am also undergoing finals as I write this. All writing done here is solely by me alone. OCs and their backstory is written by tagged people mostly. Please do not translate, plagiarize or share my work without my permission. All chapters are more that 2k and less that 5k words. You may draw a scene or character but only after permission js granted which you may do in message or ask. Background characters are untagged as they will not have much of a role. I request that all people’s who sent a character tagged below send me their discord username (preferrably in tthe cmnts) so that we may have an open discussion for suggestions and feedback. If you want to add Characters submitted by readers so forth are tagged at the end. I would greatly appreciate if the OCs tagged in this series could reblog my post because that support would motivate me to write further!
🚬 I'm sorry it took a minute, girls, and also I couldn't fit all characters into chapter zero, but don't you guys worry because they will be mentioned when it is your characters' team's turn to play against Asa's. I will try my best to write them all justly and let all of them shine. Also, someone also asked about elimination. if I plan to eliminate a character, I will discuss it with you and justify. I won't do it out of the blue, I love your ocs lol. please enjoy my babes and tell me who's your fav so far.
Find the characters and their rightful owners in my PINKLOCK CHARACTERS post.
@kiyy0mei , @innvmorati , @minlahzz , @feliwnni , @alexiaray , @kacchans-waifu , @jwmiooa , @pinkymangacaps , @cafem3wcuryy , @prettyluvvs-ichi , @plutoplue , @serial-gooner-lain , @hygienic-law , @dollyrins , @onlykaiiisagiz , @t3chn0chan ,
