NIKE -Blue Lock-

Аминь

Her father...
A man who had found her at the age of five in a narrow street of Rome while she was running away for stealing an apple from the Sunday market, and, in order to keep her from being caught, had paid for her theft.

He had freed her only so that he could chain her again, to keep her for himself only.

Til the very end...

The dark, lightless eyes shifted to the bench placed a little further away, staring intently at the cell phone that had been silenced and left to the sad fate of loneliness.

She stared at it, without really elaborating a thought. Her brain had never been more static and silent before.

Slowly she rose to her feet, resting a hand on the wall to support herself. She slowly walked toward that little black box that contained a mass of insults, threats, and oral abuse that would be enough to expose everything and get rid of him forever.

But her finger pressed another contact, and her eyes absentmindedly scanned the call screen as she waited for that "calling mobile" to turn into a 00:00.

And when it actually did, turning as well into 00:01, and then 00:02, the redhead did not bring the mobile to her ear.

Only when the timer reached 00:09 did her lips decide to open for the first time since she had left the German stratum coach's room.

"Bring me my motorbike."

Skip time

Getting out of the Blue Lock is simple.

Simple if you are someone who has had the opportunity to get lost inside the facility and explore it, or someone who has learned by survival instinct to memorize the exits used by the director and manager.

Nicole shifted her gaze from the woods surrounding the building as soon as she heard the engine of a car.

Her eyes slowly moved to the black vehicle behind which a trailer had been attached. On top of the latter was the motorcycle with which she had won the very last grand prize, and also the one with which she had escaped from the old man's house the famous night of the match.

The chauffeur, who was now considered a subspecies of fairy godmother because of the way he accommodated Sae and Nicole's every request, quickly exited the car.

"Miss Vinciguerra, is everything alright?" he asked what he would like to ask while on call, quickly approaching the girl covered head to toe in black and handing her the helmet.

The redhead quietly grabbed it, nodding at the man's words without answering out loud.

He frowned slightly, concerned at the uncharacteristic silence of the Italian champion. He tried to get a better look at her, to analyze her impossible-to-penetrate mask, to understand what was going through the 18-year-old's mind to let her call him at 2:00 a.m.

But her icy composure was like an impassable wall.

"Miss Vinciguerra?"

The latter passed him without a word, heading toward the motorcycle and unhooking it from the straps that kept it anchored to the surface of the trailer.

The man followed her, watching her every movement as if he needed to memorize them.

"Miss Vinciguerra, does Mr. Itoshi know that you are going for a ride in the middle of the night?" he asked genuinely confused and concerned, trying to understand whether or not he had annoyed the girl by looking at her body language.

"Why? Do you think it's his business?" and as calm and composed as her tone was, he did not understand it even now that she had opened her mouth for the first time.