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03.BAD IMPRESSION
*⋆｡˚𖦹࣪˖ ִֶָ⋆｡°✩
EVERYONE
knows that meeting new people is hard. Especially when those new people are a bunch of rowdy, sporty, dumb teenage boys who have nothing on their mind except soccer and other dumb, stupid things. You find yourself debating this as you walk out of your room, now wearing the unofficial official managerial uniform (which, to be fair, is just a matching black and blue jacket and leggings, with whatever kind of undershirt you want. Today, you chose a white tank top) and shoes that you could never dream of affording if you did not take up this job.
The Team Z in big, bright, glowing neon blue letters on the door is impossible to miss, but even after observing the others walking into their designated rooms, you still find a sliver of anxiety creeping up your spine that you had walked into the wrong room and would make a fool of yourself in front of these—probably mean—teenage boys.
These are the rising stars that you were betting this career—and by extension, your chance at a nice homelife—on, and you would be lying if you said you had high hopes for this team. Your best player was just kicked out, which was ironic considering he was nicknamed the Jewel of Japan, and now, you were left with the real bottom of the murky, disgusting barrel.
If you had to describe what you were feeling in one word as soon as you stepped through that door, it would have to be regret.
All eyes turn to you instantaneously, some blinking in surprise, others' mouths falling in shock, and some shrugging and turning the other way, completely unphased. You stand there, notebook under your arm and your other hand on your hand, an eyebrow raised as you stare back with as much confidence as you can muster as if saying what are you chumps lookin' at?
"Jewels need help to shine, and sometimes, that requires personal care." Ego's voice rings out throughout the room, and his creepy face appears on a large-scale screen. "This woman is your manager. She will help each of you with anything you can think of. Her job here, at Blue Lock, is to make your daily life—the parts of it that do not revolve around soccer—easier. Consider her as a part of the team."
Oh, and a part of the team you were, you think, when you get promptly ignored in a way that makes you feel like you matter nothing.
You walk forward, clutching your notebook in front of you, and plaster a smile on your lips, "I'm [name]. It's a pleasure taking care of you all."
