Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Ego Jinpachi lazed in his office chair, absentmindedly scrolling through football videos on YouTube. Doing so was not part of his job description, but he deeply enjoyed forgoing his job for mindless brain rot. The JFU didn’t pay him anywhere near enough to care about their useless projects, so he spent a fourth of his time half-assing their tasks and the rest kicking back in his chair and watching football matches almost religiously. If he were a religious man. But he wasn’t, and so, he watched them as if he was helplessly and hopelessly addicted, and they were his lifeline.

Nonetheless, watching such videos for hours on end did make him bored and subsequently dread his job for its sheer lackluster nature. He was just about to slip into the dark embrace of sleep when the loading screen of YouTube finally disappeared and showed him the next video he clicked on and the suggested videos’ thumbnails on the side.

A spark of interest coursed through him as he saw a rather plain-looking black screen thumbnail with an equally dull title to match. It had very few views and likes, probably due to the horrible marketing, but Jinpachi had always liked to watch new YouTubers start out, if only to make fun of them. He hovered over the video, seeing the rest of the video was similarly black-screened, and sighed. Clicking on the video, he read the title and the username. ‘Analyzing Noel Noa’s Match Against FC Barcha’ by FootballAnalyst11. It was so cringe that Jinpachi almost wanted to click off.

A youthful Japanese male voice filtered raspily through the speakers. Jinpachi made a face at the low quality audio. However, he ignored the grating texture on his ears and paid attention to the analysis. Rudimentary stick figures and sketches of his plans filled the blackboard, and Jinpachi found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen. It was clearly amateur and rough, but Jinpachi could sense great potential there; there was untapped, unpolished talent in this boy surely. As he spoke almost hesitantly about his analysis, he was explaining things each player on both teams did right and things they could improve upon. The analyst had things to work on, especially articulating more clearly what he was thinking, but Jinpachi could sense that his brain knew far more than his mouth could convey.

He leaned back after the video finished with a cheerful, meek little ‘thanks!’ and stared at the ceiling. With a thoughtful hum, he twirled his pen in his hand and clicked on the channel. That was his first video and the channel only had one other video. That one seemed to be a shorter one about Noel Noa’s match against England. That was also something he had noticed—the kid was a huge fan of Noel Noa. His section on the French player’s skills was long and overly full of praise and lacking any criticism. He sounded rather preachy and fanatic during those few minutes, so much so that Jinpachi had skipped forward a few minutes and still missed none of the important points.

After watching the other video, he was sure that the kid had some talent and was just wasting it with his horrible thumbnails, boring content, and frantic, unorganized speech. Mind made up, Jinpachi peered over his office wall to his secretary, Anri.

“Anri-chan, I’m sending a YouTube channel over to you. Figure out who’s the kid behind it.”

His secretary gave him a disapproving look, halting in her studious typing to give him an even more serious frown. “Ego-san, have you been watching videos instead of working again? You know I can’t keep covering for you so much.”

Jinpachi gave her a dismissive wave and pulled up her email address to send her a link to the channel. “It’s your job. You agreed to this arrangement. Email sent—find at least a name.”

Anri sighed, having no argument against that because she really had agreed to cover his ass when she pleaded with him to work for the JFU with her. Until she could convince the higher ups to let them work on her dream project, she would have to suffer with almost two times the work so that Ego wouldn’t run off. She truly believed Ego would be the only one capable of making Blue Lock a reality, so to see Japan win the World Cup… she would make this work somehow.

She pulled up the channel and worked her magic, blanching when she realized that the email attached to the channel was the boy’s actual email and contained his name and address easily accessible. She wasted no time in sending the kid a quick email to warn him that he should fix that before someone more unsavory contacted him. Although, she thought, glancing at Ego, who was watching the poor kid’s video yet again with an oddly wide grin on his face, it might be too late.

She sent an email back to Ego with the YouTuber’s details and made a quick wish that Isagi Yoichi would be ok, even with Ego’s attention on him.

———————

Ego fingered the corner of the paper he had printed out that listed all the details Anri could dig up about Isagi Yoichi. 11 years old, in a small neighborhood football club, and a striker, thankfully… Well, he was younger than Jinpachi had thought.

Without any further ado, he walked up the stairs of a quaint house in the Saitama prefecture and rang the doorbell.

Luckily for him, instead of his parents answering the door, Isagi Yoichi himself hesitantly peeked out the small crack of the open doorway. When they met eyes, Jinpachi saw his confusion and apprehension clear in his sharp blue eyes.

Jinpachi smiled widely at the kid and pushed up his glasses, not even bothering to try to be a bit less creepy for the benefit of the kid’s anxiety. The kid fidgeted, slowly making the crack in the doorway less wide in an attempt to separate himself from the strange man. Jinpachi simply grinned and handed him a piece of paper with his formal offer.

“Isagi Yoichi, how would you like to be the best striker in the world?”

Chapter Text

Isagi Yoichi loved football. It was an indisputable fact of life. He loved the feeling he got when the ball he kicked passed all the defenders’ feet and whooshed into the net. He loved being the one celebrated and cheered on by his teammates as he scored the winning goal, and he loved being the one to beat. He wanted everyone to keep their eyes on him and know that Isagi Yoichi was the best.

He loved football and everything about it. The techniques, the team dynamics, the way everyone had a subtle motivation that he could deduce to figure out their best field positioning—everything gave him a rush, as if he were a mastermind calculating everyone’s every move and accurately halting their plans before they even began.

His neighborhood team members always fought over who could have him on their team, so maybe he got a bit overconfident.

“Hajime, you lost the ball. Fix your foot positioning—it’s way too far to the left for someone who’s been playing football for so long.”

“Suzuki, are you even paying attention? Your aim is so off- I can’t even tell if you looked at the net before shooting.”

“Where were you passing the ball? There was no one there—I can’t cover for you all the time.”

His neighbors huffed goodnaturedly and chuckled among themselves, whispering about his ‘mean’ side. A few of them looked almost genuinely offended before seeing his concentration and shaking it off.

“Eh? Isagi, you’re being extra mean today! Did you eat earlier? I have some water if you want!” A small brown-haired neighbor laughed, jumping on his back cheerfully.

Another clapped a chastised boy on the back. “Don’t mind, don’t mind, Suzuki. Isagi-kun is just like that.”

Yoichi wasn’t proud of how his neighbors seemed to perceive him when they made him aware of his behavior on field, but he didn’t seem to be able to control it after a certain point in the game, all caught up in the adrenaline and the field’s endless rhythm and intensity.

There was always more to learn and decipher on the field. The information he was receiving could never be enough, so he just had to absorb more and more. His brain had to work five times as hard to observe, understand, predict, interpret, and react all at the same time. The way his teammate moved, their technique, the way their foot is angled which would reveal the trajectory of their shot, their momentum and how much speed they have, the amount of power in his own pass—all of it had to be studied intensely both in milliseconds in his head and for hours outside of the field.

His hobby of replaying his plays in his mind took hours. He would find weaknesses in his plays and refine them until he had such a complex play in his mind that he didn’t even know if his body could keep up. But where his body lacked, his mind excelled.

Spending hours in his room staring blankly at the floor as he lay listlessly on his stomach had initially frightened his parents so much they had wanted to take him to the hospital to see if he would be diagnosed with some type of disorder. Embarrassed, he had explained somewhat poorly what he was doing:

“Oh- Don’t worry, mama! I’m playing football in my mind!”

“…”

They had taken him to the family doctor, and only after a lot of convincing did they finally accept that he wasn’t crazy in the clinical sense—he was simply crazy about football. They called him a genius and, really Yoichi was grateful for his caring parents, tried to understand what he thought about. Even if they didn’t particularly know anything about football, he appreciated that they tried. Although, it took him many years after that to really realize what they had done for him and appreciate it, but to be fair, he was only 8 when they had started helping him.

They bought him sketchbooks and a tablet to help him write out his thoughts, and it was monumental for his growth. Instead of painstakingly trying to imagine players in his mind, he just drew circles and made arrows to where they’d move. They’d listen to him when he rambled for hours about his new ideas for plays, and they let him hog the computer and TV for his match studying. They cheered him on enthusiastically when he implemented said plays into his games and successfully won off of his own new ideas.

So, for Isagi Yoichi, he loved football because football was his life. Who was Isagi Yoichi without football? His grades were average, and he didn’t excel in anything except football, except maybe physics and math if he really was stretching the definition of decent grades. But those were only because he had to think about things relating to those subjects very briefly and at the surface level during matches and while he analyzed them. Otherwise, he was a completely useless academic mess.

It was clear to the Isagi family that he would never get a normal job with his borderline abysmal grades, but it had always been clear to Yoichi that he would do something involving football. Even if he couldn’t be the best striker like Noel Noa or even play football as a star athlete, he always knew he would find his way to the field one way or another.

Which is what brought him to his brand new computer on his 11th birthday. His parents bought it for him and left him in his room, laughing and saying, “It’s for analyzing, Yo-chan! Remember what we talked about? Have fun!”

So Yoichi was sitting awkwardly in front of his computer, remembering the conversation he had with his father a few days ago about this football analyst he had seen on YouTube…

A few days ago, Yoichi had researched football analysis on a whim, wondering if people did similar things to what he was doing as a hobby all the time, and to his excitement, there were hundreds of thousands of results. The top results were YouTube videos. His interest had been piqued, so with an almost hypnotized glaze to his eyes, he hovered his mouse over the first video and clicked it.

“Hey, everyone! What’s up? It’s your favorite soccer channel back with another video! Today we’re gonna be talking about the best of Noel Noa’s goals, and we’re gonna break down his techniques and share some ways he—and you!—can improve shots! Stay tuned for the end, in which we’ll share some unique strategies the French man used in his best games!”

Of course, the video had been in English, but the subtitles translated just well enough for him to understand. He watched the entire video raptly, his jaw dropping lower and lower with each minute that passed. This. This is what he does! He could do this!

He had watched several of those types of videos, growing enamored with the thought of posting his own video and finally putting all that analysis sitting on his bookshelf gaining dust to use. He wanted recognition and attention for what he had dedicated practically his whole life to. Suddenly, it felt like a need rather than a desire to post a video and put value to his hobby. Why had he been doing all this work if he wasn’t doing anything with it?

He had spent the next few hours rewatching a particular Noel Noa game religiously and taking, for the first time, serious notes. He paused, replayed, and rewatched plays until he could probably draw them from memory. It took him a long time, but he finally had a somewhat comprehensive analysis of Noel Noa’s game against a Spanish team. He broke down techniques from both teams and drew up rough sketches of strategies that they used. He compiled a list of advice he had for each of the players and went in depth on each of the players best and worst showcases during that game. When he was finally done, he stared at the piles of papers on his desk with pride because he had done that! He had analyzed a whole game, its players, both teams, and their strategies! And it just felt so… right the entire time. It was like this was what he was meant to do.

“Dad! I think I should analyze matches on YouTube!”

His father dutifully watched the video he showed him for an example of what he wanted to do. He rubbed his chin afterwards and smiled. “It’s a great idea, Yo-chan! Just make sure you keep safe, alright? No putting your face in your video.” He took a sip of his coffee and smiled secretively. “Your birthday’s in a few days… I think you should wait until then, but definitely go for it!”

“Yes! I’ll do it! Thanks, dad!”

That’s what he had said… But now, staring at his new computer and trying to figure out a way to start filming a video… he was having trouble conjuring up the courage to put himself out there for the whole world to see. It wasn’t just fear for potentially being seen by millions of strangers, it was also fear that they would call him out and say that he was wrong or mean or not experienced enough to give such criticism. But he couldn’t let his parents down—they’d already done so much for his hobby, and if he had nothing to show for it, he’d feel bad.

He was vibrating nervously in his seat as he reworded in his head what he wanted to say a million times. Sparing a look at the clock told him that he hadn’t been able to bring himself to start recording or do anything for the past 49 minutes. He slapped his cheeks.

He should probably start if he was going to get a video done by the end of the day. He took a deep breath, noticing how it was pretty choppy—a sign that he was more nervous than he had ever felt before. Reminding himself that he wasn’t even live and could film over and over again, he started the screen recording.

“Um- oh- Oh, no I can’t do this.” Yoichi panicked, stopping the recording immediately, and cradling his head in his hands. He pulled his hair, a hysterical giggle falling past his lips. What the hell, why is this so hard? “Ok, it’s not that hard, yeah. Ok, let’s do this again. Sure.”

“Uh, hi. My name is- Oh frick, not supposed to say that, frick.”

Take 3.

“Hi guys! Oh damn, is it ok to call everyone ‘guys’... what if there are girls… Umm… It’s probably ok, right?”

Yoichi googled if it was ok to call people ‘guys’ and got no definitive answer. Select people would probably be mad, while others would be fine. Maybe he was worrying too much.

Take 8.

“Hi everyone! Welcome to my channel!” ………… “Oh frick I should really write a script, what the hell do I say now???”

Take 17.

“Hi everyone! Welghh-!” A sob is heard distantly. Presumably, the owner of the voice had started jumping and running around his room in frustration. “Whhhyyy me?”

Take 21.

“Hi everyone! Welcome to my channel where I’ll be reviewing and analyzing various games from around the world! I’ll go over the teanszqkdknf-” Banging can be heard from beyond the recording, as the boy banged his head on the table in frustration over his inability to use his tongue correctly.

Take 37.

With a weary sigh, Yoichi started the recording for the last time. At least… he hoped so…

“Hi everyone! Welcome to my channel where I’ll be reviewing and analyzing various games from around the world! I’ll go over the teams’ strategies, the players’ skills, their best and worst plays in each game, and my advice on how they can improve. All this is to be taken not too seriously, so please no mean comments! Today, I’ll be analyzing the 2018 game between…”

It had taken hours, but Yoichi finally collapsed into his chair, done with the video. He’d really done it! He’d completed his whole video with only a few parts that he wasn’t happy with. Obviously, the drawings and mic quality weren’t great, but there wasn’t too much he could do about that. He rewatched his video and thought that maybe the only thing was, it was a bit boring to watch. His commentary was great and would be interesting if he was just talking to them, but since they couldn’t see his face, it was boring to just stare at a blank screen for the parts of the video in which he wasn’t drawing out plays. And maybe sometimes his microphone sounded scratchy, but he couldn’t change that, so he shrugged and let it be.

He slouched into his chair and settled in reluctantly for a long night of editing. By the end of the night, he was an expert in editing, and his video had big words to fill the space, and some flying emojis or gifs at appropriate moments. It was still dreadfully dull, but it was much better than staring at a blank black screen for 20 minutes.

Without another moment of hesitation, and because he was so tired he could fall asleep right there, he posted the video on his new account and shut his computer off, deciding to forget about it for a week or so because he wasn’t sure if he could do something as frustrating and tiring like that again and survive.

——————

Yoichi really hated Ego Jinpachi.

As he dragged himself back to his house, this thought was the only thing he could possibly think. His muscles were so sore that he might never walk properly again, his brain was so fried that he might never be able to have a normal conversation again, and his legs hurt in places he didn’t even know could hurt. The man was a nightmare.

He had just spent the whole day training without any rest—literally for hours straight. Because, as Ego-san drilled into him, his dribbling sucked, so he had to endlessly practice it until it was sufficient. He still hadn’t been able to please Ego-san enough for the suffering to end by the time he left, but the sun had already set, so the sadistic man relented.

When he practically collapsed in the entry hallway of his house, his mom jumped in shock.

“Yoichi! What happened? Did that creepy man do something? I swear I’ll sue!”

She hovered over him, checking all over like she could figure out what happened from that alone. He waved her off and lifted his head lazily.

“No… It was just really hard…” He let his head fall back down onto the floor. His mother shrieked.

She whisked him away to the dining table, where he scarfed down his meal like he hadn’t eaten in months, then sent him to shower and go to bed immediately. They certainly hadn’t expected such an… exciting first day when his parents agreed to let him train with the strange JFU man who showed up at their door. 

The terms of the agreement were all laid out very clearly, but there was just something about Ego Jinpachi that was off putting. Yoichi couldn’t care less about his somewhat suspicious behavior, but his parents were naturally cautious. They had demanded a written contract and clear conditions.

The main agreement was that Ego would train Yoichi for the indefinite future to become a better football player. When asked why he chose Yoichi, Ego had grinned so wide that Yoichi had feared for his face. The glint in his glasses only served to make him look even fiercer.

“I happened across one of his videos and decided the person behind it could become the best striker in the world. If they worked for it.” The last part was pointedly directed to him, which gave him an odd sense of foreboding as a shiver ran down his spine. He should’ve listened because the pain of training under Ego Jinpachi was unlike anything he could’ve ever imagined.

That statement had led them to the other parts of the agreement. Since Yoichi couldn’t legally work until he was 15, Ego-san had suggested that he ‘work’ under him as an apprentice. Technically, he wasn’t supposed to be paid, but Ego-san had shrugged and told them that if Yoichi wanted a little bit of compensation for the tasks he would be doing, he’d give him that. But nonetheless, Ego-san said that he’d be treated like an employee even if he wasn’t one in title. Obviously, he had to keep quiet about the arrangement, but Yoichi had been quite excited to be working under someone who promised to help him develop his analysis skills and editing, both for his own play and for his channel.

After Ego-san left, Yoichi was left with a new, grueling schedule. After school, he would attend his neighborhood’s club practice then bike immediately to the field that Ego-san would meet him in. They’d train for a few hours then Yoichi would go home and do any homework he had (or he would ignore it, as usual). After that, he would work a bit on his channel or analysis for a match. On Saturdays, he would train the whole day with Ego-san unless either of them had something important come up. And on Sundays, he’d spend the day at the JFU as an apprentice and cultivate his analysis skills and work on his channel and editing with Ego-san in his office.

Yoichi had been worried initially about the amount of time he was dedicating to this—or well, his parents had been worried because Yoichi had been ecstatic and didn’t see any problem with spending all his time on football-related things; he already did that anyway. His parents had expressed concern over his social life, but he assured them that he was fine socializing at just his club practice and school, not like he had any close friends to apologize to about his new packed schedule anyway. He had his mom’s friend’s son as an obligatory friend once a month, so he could make do with that.

And so started the first year of his misery… He’s joking… of course… But truthfully, Yoichi was astounded at how quickly Ego-san had worked. Yoichi saw improvement in all aspects of his play and his channel. By the end of the year, he had a couple hundred thousand subscribers and a bunch more views and likes. He also was significantly better at football than he had been before—his dribbling was no longer a huge weak point, his direct shots (Ego-san had told him to name his ‘weapons’ then had promptly shot him a look of disappointment at his lack of creativity as an almost 12 year old) were much more accurate, and his ability to see the whole field was so intense and grand sometimes that he had to take a long break to recover. His teammates started calling him a genius and even local newspapers had caught wind of his impressive performances in prefecture-wide U-12 club tournaments.

So he was feeling pretty good about himself going into his first year of junior high as a 12 year old. He immediately signed himself up for the football team as soon as he entered the building.

“Everyone welcome our new members, Isagi Yoichi, Buratsuta Aoi, Hayashida Katashi, and Matsuo Takeshi,” his new coach drawled boredly, flipping lazily through his clipboard papers. Yoichi shot an anxious look at the man, hoping just maybe that he was having a bad day.

Yoichi straightened up and bowed to his new teammates along with the other three. He shared a secretive look with Aoi-chan. “Please treat us well!”

Everything was going great, and his teammates smiled welcoming it at them. He thought his life was finally going in a direction where he could see a pleasant future. He really believed he could be the best.

He was naive.

Chapter Text

“Aoi-chan… we’re going to the same junior high,” Yoichi whispered into the porcelain night air of the playground.

It was one right in between their neighborhoods, close enough to both of them so that they could see each other once in a while but far enough away that Yoichi didn’t want to make the trip routinely. Their mothers lingered a while away, giggling to themselves about their children and taking photos when they thought the boys weren’t watching. Their rapid-fire, rhythmic conversation starkly contrasted the boys’ stilted and reserved, albeit fond, one.

Aoi-chan turned his head towards him from where he was lying on the grass, watching the evening stars. Yoichi, from his place on the swing next to him, locked gazes with him. His name was perfect for him. His bright blue eyes shone even brighter in the light of the moon and stars. They were the most striking part of his appearance, enrapturing his audience with their royal gleam and demanding glint. Yoichi smiled awkwardly, a small twinge in his muscle shocking his mouth into a socially acceptable grin.

“It’ll be the first time we’re in the same school,” he said, propelling as much enthusiasm as possible into his words so that Aoi-chan would reciprocate and Yoichi would be able to remind himself that he was basically his first best friend. It was sort of depressing. The neighborhood kids who were moving to different schools didn’t count.

“And on the same football team,” Aoi-chan added, a small, excited smile pulling the corners of his lips up. “You’ll still play with me like you promised, yeah?”

Yoichi’s smile twitched. Then regained its shape, with less strength than before. “I- Of course. I agreed I’d pass for you, right?” Unknowingly.

He had to look away, not wanting to make eye contact while blatantly lying. He gazed at the stars, the bright lights glimmering in the dull blue backdrop. He dropped his eyes to the ground, littered with empty patches of dirt amongst the dying brown grass. The playground was about twice as old as they were, but no one bothered to tidy it up or keep it running. Hence, the dying grass and endless spattering of weeds and dirt spots.

Aoi-chan hummed contentedly and followed Yoichi’s lead, eyes facing up. Yoichi’s head turned down so that his eyes were trained on Aoi-chan’s resting body. His mouth opened. Then he looked away, closing it.

“Yoichi, it’s- wow.” His friend stole a stealthy glance at him as he trailed off into awe. “It’s so exciting,” he exclaimed softly after a while, his small hand reaching up for the sky. “It’s been too long since we’ve played.” That was because Yoichi didn’t want to pass anymore.

But somehow his mouth wouldn’t move. He couldn’t force a sound out of his lips that would inevitably disappoint Aoi-chan. Their mothers’ eyes on them felt like chains wrapping his jaw to his head. His heart pounded in his little chest, and the words he heard shakily leave his mouth as his brain shut down were: “I’m looking forward to it.”

——————

Grasping the official letter from the JFU that Ego-san had given him in his hand, Isagi approached the tall black gates in front of the plain building. Is this the right place? He questioned, seeing as it was quite… small for the purpose he assumed it held.

He was just about to pull out his phone to see the directions once more when a set of footsteps rang out in the cold, dull air. Isagi glanced at the source of the sound to see Kira Ryunosuke, the star striker of the team he played against a few days ago. He wasn’t overly aggressive in terms of personality, but Isagi loathed the feeling he got around him whenever he made snide remarks about his nonexistent teamwork or his precise passes. Isagi thought he was a rather horrible person. Nonetheless, he had lost to Kira, so the guy mistakenly believed he was superior to Isagi and lorded his victory over him after the match.

You’d hit some really great passes to me if you were on my team. But then again… I don’t need a player that doesn’t want to work with me or the team.

The words rattled around in his brain, and he wasn’t even sure why they bothered him so much. He thought he had gotten over the sour feeling in his chest when his teammates shunned him or when anyone brought up the tension between the players of Ichinan. He thought he had resolved himself to walking the path of solitude long ago, but like an old, festering sore, the pain kept rising up at random moments, making his chest constrict and ache as he watched his teammates high-five and cheer together. And a few days ago, he had watched the other team celebrate their victory by gathering around their striker and cheering so loud, Isagi’s ears rang. He could never have that, he had thought, and he turned away to get to his locker before his teammates did.

Kira waved when he noticed Isagi was looking at him. “Isagi-kun! Nice to see you again- Did you get a letter, too?”

Isagi fiddled nervously with the paper in his hands. “Yes…” The silence stretched on a bit too long, and the paper in his hands wrinkled from the force he was exerting on it. He ducked his head. “… Excuse me.”

And sure enough, he couldn’t do it. Playing pretend with someone he disliked… wasn’t one of his abilities. Isagi sighed in relief, scurrying away from the dumbfounded striker.

However, perhaps he should’ve kept the guy around because as soon as he opened the door, he was practically assaulted by the sheer number of eyes. A quick scan of the room told him that all the occupants were strikers, but he barely registered that thought because there were just way too many people staring at him right now. The whispers were just as bad, and suddenly, Isagi couldn’t move, not even to flee.

Hey, isn’t that Isagi Yoichi?

That Isagi Yoichi? The one who-

The genius guy? Wasn’t he popular a few years back? They said he’d…

Didn’t he keep getting benched? So much for a striker, right?

Uncooperative bitch, huh?

Man, Ichinan really had their hands full with that asshole.

If he was on my team, I’d slap some sense-

“Yo, Yo-chan,” a lilting voice chimed as an arm was slung over his shoulder, effectively snapping him out of his stunned state. His neck almost broke with how fast he whipped his head around to look at his savior. He was met with a familiar proud smirk and bold blond and pink hair. Unconsciously, his shoulders drooped as the tension left him.

“Ah, Shidou-san,” he sighed. He let the older teen guide them out of the doorway and into the crowded room as the whispers died down with each withering look the tanned player gave and his intimidating aura. “Thanks.”

Momentarily distracted from his heated glaring competition with the other strikers in the room, Shidou laughed at him, bending down to look him in the eye. “I keep telling you to call me Ryuusei. Or,” Shidou started, gaining a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If you prefer, Ryu.”

“… Shidou-san, you were also invited?”

Shidou pouted goodnaturedly but didn’t comment again about Isagi’s persistent use of his family name. He faced forward and pushed his way through the crowd until they were almost by the front. “Got the letter and all, love.” He waved around the paper in his hand as proof. “Surprised?”

Isagi smiled fondly. It was always so easy to talk with Shidou. “Of course not… Just interesting that there’s only strikers here. Was trying to figure it out.”

“Woah, really? Perceptive.” He glanced approvingly at Isagi, which was a rather odd look for the normally wild and smug face. What was not odd was the way he purred the word as if it were an innuendo. Isagi stared unchangingly at him, but ultimately, he was used to this. Shidou smirked. “What? It’s sexy. I didn’t even notice-“

“Hello, you unpolished lumps of talent.”

Isagi was not amused at the title they were given. Even though he knew Ego couldn’t see it, he stared flatly at the stage where Ego-san stood behind a podium.

Ego-san continued his speech, speaking about being the best striker in the world, something similar to what he’d heard from the man for years. However… it, or rather, Ego-san, had never been this outwardly crazy before. While he preached about the importance of having an ego and putting your own goals ahead of the team’s victory, they’d more focused on elevating all of Isagi’s skills rather than hashing out their ideologies.

He wasn’t sure he could do what Ego-san wanted of him. To want goals… Well, scoring was a given; if he was to play football, of course, he would score goals. But to become the best striker in the world… to strive for such a goal… he wasn’t sure he had what it took emotionally. And yet again, the question he had been pondering for months came to the forefront of his brain. Why was he playing football?

But Ego-san had placed his trust in him and invested so much time in his skills. He owed it to him to at least continue trying and to support his crazy project. And… Ego-san had promised. He promised that he would find his ego here. More importantly, he would rediscover his passion here. Ego… was important to Ego-san’s vision, but to Isagi, ego and passion went hand and hand, especially to someone like him who had lost both. For someone who still retained their passion for football, they didn’t have to worry about passion, just focusing on ‘ego’. But for Isagi, to remain on the path he had been walking, or rather, carve another more enjoyable path for himself, he would need to find his passion first then create his ego.

Well, whatever the theory, what mattered were the results, and those results were promised to him by the head of this crazy Blue Lock project. So he would try for him and for the sake of the boy he used to be.

He tugged Shidou’s arm as Ego directed their attention to an opening door, which would lead them to Blue Lock. The striker gave him an incredulous look, immediately understanding his request. “Really? I thought you wouldn’t want to go.” He smirked and quietly whispered, “It’s because I’m going, right? You wanna play with me more, yea?”

He wouldn’t say no to more matches, but that certainly wasn’t the reason he wanted to go. He tilted his head. “That’s not…”

“Don’t be like that- We’re gonna have so much fun together.”

Shidou readjusted his arm, gently grabbing Isagi’s wrist and pulling him towards the stage. Since this is what he wanted in the first place, Isagi didn’t protest and simply let himself be dragged to the front.

The crowd of strikers parted warily for them, completely silent but Isagi could feel their judging stares, waiting for his next move so that they could critique him. There were a few interesting and eye-catching faces in the crowd, but Isagi didn’t linger on them, anxious to be out of the spotlight. Shidou, on the other hand, basked in the attention, shooting him an ecstatic grin as everyone watched their every move. He challengingly met eyes with each arrogant striker that snickered at Isagi almost as if he was looking for a fight, which was most definitely the truth, if Isagi knew anything about Shidou Ryuusei.

They climbed the steps to the stage, and as they passed Ego to walk through the door, he met eyes with his coach of five years. The man subtly raised a brow in a challenging swoop, and Isagi responded with a frown and turned his head to the door. If Ego-san was right, he would find his lost passion for football here. He looked at the bright room before them and the outline of Shidou’s shadowy bright figure in front of him. He hoped Ego-san was right.

——————

Turns out, Ego-san was feeling particularly diabolical because he took their phones. Isagi, who had come to rely on analyzing matches and posting videos to reduce stress, huffed and crossed his arms as he sat in the bus that would take them to the Blue Lock facility. Yesterday, he had been so enveloped in his mind, which was stuck on loop with the same depressing notion that he was aimless in his pursuit of football, that he had stayed up all night staring at his ceiling. At four o’clock, he’d decided not to waste any more time, so he spent the rest of the night (or morning?) analyzing Noel Noa’s best match, in his opinion. It had helped him calm his frantic mind, but there wasn’t much he could do now that his phone was confiscated. So he sat stewing in his negative thoughts, letting himself fall deeper and deeper into the black hole of his mind.

Did he have any more reason to play football? He didn’t feel personally motivated anymore, so… what was keeping him here besides disappointing Ego-san? He always did that anyway—it wouldn’t be anything new. Maybe quitting was his only option-

“Hey, Yo-chan, you left me all high and dry back there!”

Starling, Isagi saw a shadow fall over him and from his peripheral vision, broad, tanned arms leaned on the back of his bus seat and the one in front of him, both preventing his escape and blocking the entry of other people into the bus as his body was occupying the space of the aisle. Isagi could already see a line forming and the slightly inconvenienced pissed faces.

Isagi cleared his throat, staring pointedly at the forming line and nobly ignoring Shidou’s previous words. Shidou barely spared them a glance, pointing lazily with his arm still perched on the back of the seat at Isagi’s side. “Seat taken?”

Isagi looked one more time at the line that was starting to get restless and loud with complaints, then silently scooted over, giving up his precious aisle seat for a window seat and allowing Shidou to box him into the cold, hard metal side of the bus.

As the annoyed chatter died down, Shidou turned to him. “What ya thinking so hard about? Your pretty face is all scrunched up.” Shidou’s eyes peered down at him, seeming to see right past his pseudo-relaxed expression. “You’ll get wrinkles that way, you know?”

Isagi blinked, mind finally retreating from his dispiriting thoughts. “Ah, I’m not worried about that.” He traced his fingers consciously over his forehead. Wrinkles weren’t important anyway, just a normal sign of aging. He dug his fingers into his temple, thoughts screaming at him once again.

Shidou made sure Isagi could see his hand before he gently made contact with his wrist and pulled it away from his head. “Then what are you worried about? Don’t bully your head like that- It ain’t healthy.”

Isagi sighed and with a muted groan, the bus drove away from the city. “It’s… not important.” He didn’t feel like he could look Shidou in the eye anymore, so he looked out the window at the whizzing buildings.

He could see Shidou’s reflection in the window giving him a strangely uncharacteristic frown before accidentally meeting his gaze in the window. He grinned, holding eye contact. “Well, if it’s about the other day, I don’t have any STDs, so-”

Isagi whipped around with a light blush on his face, too stunned to think. “Shidou-san!”

It being fairly quiet on the bus made him extra conscious of all the eavesdropping ears. He looked around to see if anyone was giving them an obvious glare, but, if anything, they were avoiding his gaze.

“Ah, right, not in public, yeah, Yo-chan?” Shidou leaned back in the seat, hands relaxed where they rested behind his head. He lowered his voice, leaning slightly into Isagi’s ear while staying on his admittedly larger side of the seat. “But seriously, if it’s about that, then don’t worry so much. You have me, remember? I’ll get you all excited.”

Thoroughly familiar with this behavior, Isagi looked at him from the corner of his eye, smiling softly at the more sincere tone in Shidou’s voice. His lips curled playfully. “Mm. I have my doubts. We’ve played many games before, you know? Haven’t you failed to arouse my ego?”

“Whew, naughty. What would your mother think if she heard you now?” Despite his teasing, there was a small frown pulling at his lips once he finished talking. Isagi almost regretted revealing his problems to Shidou; it was causing unnecessary worry.

Isagi pressed his finger to Shidou’s temple, bringing him back to reality, as he had seemed to be thinking deeply about Isagi’s passion problem. “ You don’t worry so much about it. I’ll figure it out…” And after a few moments of silence in which Shidou simply stared at him with an eyebrow raised, Isagi added quietly, “Thanks.”

Shidou let the conversation end there, and Isagi was eternally grateful because he wouldn’t know how to respond if he pushed the topic. The bus to Blue Lock probably wouldn’t be the best place to discuss that either. Isagi closed his eyes, focusing on the bumping and flow of the bus as it drove across the roads.

At some point, he lost a sense of time, his mind running too fast that he sort of wore himself out. His muscles relaxed against his will and his head drooped. Soft puffs of air left his lips as his mind slowed, and he finally lost himself to the darkness.

——————

Yoichi didn’t like making waves. He didn’t like having people glare at him or insult him or gossip about him behind his back. He liked to stand out and be the best, but that was just part of who he was. But it seemed somehow like he had made a huge mistake—a huge wave—at that moment.

It was halfway through the second half of the practice match of their third practice. They had been individually training and working on their skills, and now they were finally putting themselves to the test against each other in a game.

Yoichi had been thrilled , he recalled, wiping the dripping sweat off his forehead with the collar of his jersey. It would be his first match with players that he would be with for the entire year. Soon enough, he would celebrate and commiserate with them through every match. His heart pounded, drowning out the sounds of offended gasps and angry scoffing. His clenched fists were starting to hurt from all the tension and blood loss. Ever since he started analyzing, and even before that, he wanted a team. He had wanted good players to play with that would act like a fine machine, amazing with details and meticulous about technique. His eyes focused and unfocused with the effort it took to not blow up at one of his teammates again. Feeling the blood pumping in his veins had never made him feel more alive, and he only got that from football. But he had never felt so ostracized.

“Get your head out of your ass! Dribble properly! A toddler could do it better than you. I’ll show you how it’s done, you dimwit.”

But it was Aoi-chan that was throwing him off the most. His mind raced and anger pulsed through him. He didn’t want to yell at Aoi-chan; it was a line he wouldn’t want to cross as his childhood friend, even though their friendship was orchestrated by their mothers. But his mouth had different ideas.

“Aoi! Stop asking for a pass, you moron. Can’t you tell I don’t want to pass to you? I’m a striker! But you? You fail at even coming close to that title. Your aim is pathetic, your movements are subpar, and even if I did assist you, you’d lose the ball before you even reached the penalty box. Fix your fucking positioning.”

Imaginary steam poured out of his ears, but the fog in his brain dissipated. He paled, taking a sharp inhale through his teeth. Aoi stood where he had been waiting for a pass in a state of shock. Instead of passing, Yoichi had taken the shot and scored, being the only player to have done so in the first 39 minutes of their practice match. Even if Yoichi had wanted to pass to him, two defenders surrounded Aoi, and as a striker, Aoi wasn’t experienced enough to get past them. He shouldn’t feel bad, Yoichi reasoned. But staring straight at Aoi’s astonished, twisting face, a part of his chest swooped down to his stomach and held his feelings in an unrelenting, heavy grip.

Yoichi’s face crumpled. “Hey… wait, Aoi-chan, I didn’t-“

“Save it,” Aoi spat, a hand clutching his jersey at his chest. Yoichi could hardly see him through his guilt, but Aoi had a disheartening expression—his teeth were clenched and his eyes looked vaguely cloudy, but his eyebrows were tense and furrowed, justifiably angry. “Fucking forget it, Yoichi. You didn’t what? You didn’t mean it?” He laughed sarcastically. “Don’t give me that shit. You know exactly what you said, and you meant it.”

Yoichi stepped forward reaching for him, seeing the vision of a shadowy bright comfort flickering and dying before him. “No, Aoi. I’m sorry- I…”

Aoi, who had presumably been waiting for something, sighed in frustration at his silence and turned around. “Just fucking stop. It's embarrassing. You think you’re so much better than me? Fuck you, you’re nothing more than a dumb, arrogant kid.”

Yoichi let him walk away, a numb feeling creeping up his spine as he stayed stock still in his skin, the prickling eyes judging him and poisoning his pride. He stood alone among the 21 other people on the field, all of them watching him like they wouldn’t mind if he disintegrated on the spot. He slowly marched back to his designated spot on the field for the restart.

His teammates gave him a wide berth and refused to speak to him. They gave him weary looks, anticipating another meltdown. The whistle blew, signaling the resumption of the game. Yoichi positioned himself as always, in an opportune situation with minimal opposition for a goal. His team’s midfielder gave him a brief both anxious and indignant look and passed it to Aoi, who was being blocked by 2 defenders. Aoi glared at the net as if it had personally killed his entire lineage and drilled the ball past the defenders’ feet and the goalie’s fingers. Then his painfully bright blue eyes glared at Yoichi, telling him ‘Look. I’m better than what you thought. I proved that you were wrong. You were wrong.’

Yoichi didn’t have time to nonverbally respond when the entire field erupted in cheers for Aoi. Not even the loose teams they formed stopped the other team from circling Aoi and congratulating him. Yoichi could tell they were glancing at him—that they were happy Aoi told him off and made him look like a fool and an angry idiot. Aoi shot him a smug smirk, every bit of malice Yoichi had ever seen in the world dripping from his mouth, and right there, he knew that whatever beautiful moments they had shared were gone and dead forever, lost and left in the patchy grass and starry skies of their childhood playground. He looked down at the ground of their junior high’s football field surrounded by the cheers of others who were just starting to dislike him.

Yoichi subdued his ego, willed his eyes to stop shaking, and kept his mouth shut.

Chapter Text

Even though they had just practiced for hours, Shidou and Isagi lay on the grass of the empty field, catching their breath while they gazed at the setting sky.

“Shidou-san,” Isagi started, his breaths still coming out short and the wisps of them showing in the cold air. “I was thinking about it and… it seems you know a lot more about me than I know about you.”

Isagi hadn’t done this in a long time: socializing with a friend, that is. He didn’t know what was acceptable to ask and how a normal friendship was supposed to progress. Not that theirs was normal either. Normal seemed to run away from him and trouble found its natural place ingrained in his veins.

“Hoho~ showing interest in me, Yo-chan? Finally warming up to me?” Shidou grinned at him, turning onto his side to wink at Isagi.

Isagi frowned at him. It’s not that he wasn’t interested in being friends with Shidou. He knew Shidou would be someone to watch ever since he met him. But perhaps it was only now that he realized that he really enjoyed spending time with him. And he didn’t have many friends, so it was novel. He wanted to know all about his new friend because, to Isagi, a friendship should be taken seriously, having experienced the loneliness of having none and the betrayal of losing one.

“You’re avoiding the question again, Shidou-san.” Isagi traced the beginnings of the constellations with his eyes.

Shidou flopped back onto the grass with a sigh. “So persistent.”

In the resulting silence, they both stared at the yellows and pinks in the sky, which were changing quickly to shades of blue.

Isagi liked these moments, too. When Shidou would get oddly quiet and let Isagi retreat into his mind and reflect.

“You don’t have to tell me you know,” Isagi conceded. It was perfectly normal for Shidou to not want to tell him things. If Shidou hadn’t personally witnessed the source of all Isagi’s trauma, he wouldn’t have told Shidou anything, after all. But it felt unfair to Shidou that Isagi burdened him with all this, and he hadn’t reciprocated. “I just feel like you know all of my fucked up shit, and I haven’t helped you with any of yours.”

Shidou chuckled, but there was a sort of edge to it that hadn’t been there before. “You don’t have to help me with anything. Doubt you could. I just happen to be that good that I can beat those guys up for you.”

Sensing the end of that route, Isagi relented. It wasn’t in their nature to be straightforward with each other anyway. Talking was a luxury for those with normal issues, but for them, they preferred connecting through football and contact. It was easier that way, for both of them.

He rolled on his side, leaning over Shidou and donning a minuscule mischievous smile. “And soooo handsome too. My knight in shining armor.”

Shidou grinned back up at him. His hair had slightly slipped from its perfect style due to the hours of training and lying on the ground. It fell around his head and framed his face, the pink starkly shining against the green.

“Tempting, Yo-chan.” A hand reached up to breach the space between them, the chasm bridged by his warmth. His fingers brushed across Isagi’s cheek and the bags under his eyes and found their way to his hair swooping in a neat, tangled curl in front of his ear. Shidou rolled the strands between his fingers gently. “Does that make you my princess?”

Isagi smiled softly, letting Shidou brush the hair behind his ear, an uncertain but adamant expression on his face. Shidou’s hand trailed tenderly from his ear to his cheek to his neck where his jersey just barely slipped down to reveal his collarbone. His fingers lingered, as his eyes bored into Isagi’s intensely, reluctance dormant but steady in his gaze.

Isagi wanted a memory to be erased by something more pleasant, and somehow… he could tell there was something similar guiding Shidou as well. He swung himself closer, hand coming to rest hesitantly on Shidou’s shoulder. “How can I ever repay you, Shidou-san?”

“…”

Charged air raced between them. Shidou hesitated. Isagi slipped his hand downwards, placing it over Shidou’s pounding heart. From this connection, he could tell…

“The stars are beautiful tonight. Watch them for me.” The world flipped, as Isagi found himself lying on the grass, staring at the shining stars above and the dark, radiant face of his first true friend. They shared a secretive, content smile, knowing somehow that tonight would be the night they helped each other replace a memory. Shidou cradled his cheek softly. “Call me by my given name.”

Isagi closed his eyes, feeling soft skin brush against his jaw and upper neck and hands wrapping around his back to embrace him soothingly under the moon. Isagi’s hands snaked around his head to card through his hair in a mollifying manner. A head settled under his chin and legs intertwined with his as Shidou buried his face in Isagi’s neck and Isagi opened his eyes again to praise the sky. “Just this once, Ryu-chan.”

The two bodies, tranquil under the shine of the moon, lay there, thinking of memories past and waiting for night to fully conquer the sky to rewrite them.

——————

“Ego-san… are you sure he’ll be ok?”

Anri questioned worriedly, tapping her fingers on her clipboard. Looking at the list of strikers, she could see a familiar name calling out to her. She didn’t like the idea of having them in the same building, no matter how separated they might be.

“He’ll manage,” Ego responded, lips tightly pressed together. He watched Shidou and Isagi enter the building together, Shidou teasingly poking at Isagi’s tired face and squishing his cheeks below his eye bags. A few feet behind them, he observed another striker watching them intently. Ego’s brows furrowed slightly. “I have no doubt he’ll thrive here.”

“More than with Ichinan for sure…” Anri fiddled with her papers hesitantly. “But… Why did you put him in this stratum? And Team Z?”

“Two other stratums have Shidou and Rin, so that’s an obvious no.” Ego slouched in his chair, watching Isagi and Shidou part ways. Isagi hesitated in front of the door to Team Z.

“Wouldn’t it have been better to put him with Shidou? He’s a familiar face; it might’ve helped him get settled in.”

Anri might not have spent as much time with Isagi as Ego did, but she could tell from their brief conversations that Isagi deeply connected with Shidou. Emotionally, Isagi might do better with someone looking out for him in Blue Lock. Anri rolled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“No, I don’t like that guy,” Ego huffed childishly. Anri frowned. “His football is full of ego, but he’s not the type of person that should be around Isagi.” Anri could sort of understand what he was getting at. When she heard what had happened to Isagi, she wanted to cry and cradle him. She had never wished for a child, but Isagi was so precious that it was a close thing. She wanted him to have an easier time in Blue Lock; he had already experienced too many horrors that a child should never go through. “Kid wouldn’t learn to socialize with normal people if I left him with that demon.”

She prided herself on being an independent, strong-willed woman with a hunger for a now-attainable goal. It was a dream that she could now taste, looking at all the strikers Ego had gathered, hungry to make a name for themselves and cultivate their vicious, little egos. But it was because she was strong that she could admit that her heart was soft. It was cruel to subject that child to more stress. And deep down, she knew Ego understood that, but that sentiment was overridden by his desire to create a striker with an irresistible ego. Ego was a sadistic man obsessed with football, but he was also a human. “Ego-san, you can admit that you are worried about him.”

Ego was a stubborn, proud man, so it didn’t surprise her that he ignored her. “Rin is obviously out—he’d latch onto Isagi like a fucking leech. They need to develop separately first before synching up. And obviously there’s that fucker in the fourth stratum.”

Anri allowed him to avoid the topic. Isagi was now changing reluctantly in front of Team Z, warily observing his surroundings. She hoped they made the right choice. “So why Team Z?”

“Oh, that’s because I’m fucking with him.” Anri choked on air. So they really put him so low just because? What an Ego thing to do. “However… I also want him to believe there are quite a number of stronger players, and I want him to start striving to beat them. Some extra motivation to awaken his ego.”

“What if that doesn’t work?” Anri stepped forward to get closer to the screens. A pang ripped through her heart as she recognized the uncertain and uncomfortable expression on Isagi’s face. “What if he remains unfeeling about football?”

Anri certainly hoped the kid they both raised to be one of the best could overcome his fears and achieve what they wished for him, but there was always a doubt. She treated him as her own, so she didn’t want to abandon him. But she was subjected to the whims of her boss.

“That won’t happen,” Ego affirmed with conviction. “Whether he realizes it or not, he’s not lost that ego, he’s just suppressing it. He’ll run into many obstacles in Blue Lock, and somewhere down the line, he’ll recover it. It doesn’t really matter when because he improves rapidly but the sooner the better.”

Ego zoomed in on Isagi’s room, making those 12 strikers fill up the whole screen. Anri’s eyes darted again to Isagi, who was carefully observing the boy sleeping on the ground.

“I would like him to start using his ego to dominate matches—what a sight that’ll be. He truly has a shot at becoming the best striker in the world.”

Then Ego pressed a button and started to speak to the room directly.

“Are you done changing, you lumps of talent?”

——————

“Yo-chan, this’ll be the last we see of each other for a while,” Shidou said, squishing Isagi’s cheek fondly. They entered the building, carrying their uniforms for different stratums.

Isagi halfheartedly pushed his hand away and pouted at him. “It’s not like we’re going to war, Shidou-san. You don’t have to sound so…” Isagi didn’t exactly know what word would best describe Shidou’s tone.

Shidou slung his arm over Isagi’s shoulders in some sort of a parting hug. “Ah~ so heartless. But that’s sexy, too, you know?”

Isagi huffed, slightly leaning into Shidou’s shoulder. “Alright, alright. Go. I’ll see you soon.”

“Don’t give up on football, Yo-chan. I’ll wait for you.” With a fond, serious smile, Shidou released him and sauntered off, waving passively at Isagi in lieu of a goodbye. With a small smile, though he couldn’t promise anything, Isagi turned to the door in front of him. Team Z.

Using his knowledge of Blue Lock and his sadistic coach, this was probably the lowest level team in the building. 300 strikers and supposedly 26 teams due to the English alphabet system. If Ego-san tried to split everyone up into 26 teams, there’d be 11 players on each and 14 left over. But considering that that wouldn’t be even or fair, it couldn’t be 26 teams. Mentally looking over the numbers again, he realized that 11 and 14 added together to be 25, meaning if he took the 26th team out and distributed all of those ‘Team A’ players to the other 25 teams, they’d have an even number of players in each team. But the reason he didn’t think of that first was because a football team was made of 11 players. So why would Ego-san split them into 12 person teams?

Another thing was bothering him about Shidou’s uniform, too. It said Team V, but he hadn’t been directed to the same stratum as Isagi. (The assistants hadn’t dared question him when he walked the total opposite direction to accompany Isagi when he smirked dangerously at them.) The only excuse he had to stick by Isagi was to walk him to his team for some reason. But if he was in a different stratum, shouldn’t he have something like ‘T’ or ‘D’ on his armband?

This all led him to reasonable conclusions. One, Ego-san was definitely going to eliminate one person from each team. This was totally reasonable because he had said from the start that he’d whittle them down until one remained. And if he wanted proper teams, he’d weed out one player to create 11-player teams. Two, that all the stratums were V-Z. It made sense to Isagi, who was used to Ego-san’s fucked up way of thinking. He was motivating all of them to do better and create their ego by convincing them that there were hundreds of players better than them in the building. It was so Ego-san that he wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

Obviously, he could read, too, that Ego-san had put him in Team Z to motivate him. To convince him that there were many other people he needed to challenge and that he couldn’t be complacent or too arrogant. His coach was also forgetting who exactly made the list of the 500 best strikers in Japan. He literally knew where he stood. That man had another thing coming for him if he truly believed he could fool Isagi with this half-assed planning. Nonetheless, he was looking forward to meeting some of the strikers he had taken note of. Perhaps coming to Blue Lock wouldn’t be a mistake.

Opening the door, he immediately regretted his previous statement, as Kira waved him down. “Isagi-kun! We’re on the same team, isn’t that great? We can play together!”

All Isagi could hear was “You can finally pass to me.” Maybe that’s what he was thinking. It was unsettling either way. He didn’t even know him.

Isagi hurriedly sidestepped around Kira, uncomfortably noticing how many people were already there and staring unkindly at him. “That’s great, Kira-kun…”

Kira's smile dropped slightly, but he let him pass. Isagi ignored the snickers and whispers in the room as he approached the lockers, carefully stepping around a boy sleeping on the floor—wait, what? There was a boy sleeping in the uniform, thumb halfway into his mouth, mumbling something about passes from Zico. Well, Isagi’s seen weirder, but something in him felt warm from seeing such a childlike innocence and stance.

Approaching the lockers, he was attacked and blinded by a white shirt flying into his face. He just barely held himself back from screeching, but it was a close thing. His whole body flinched backward, and he just managed to raise his hand to pry the shirt off his face.

“Oh, sorry,” a voice apologized. He locked eyes with—oh wow, those were some huge muscles. His eyes ducked down to his abs against his will. His body was absolutely insane. Did he work out 24/7 or something?

“It’s fine…”

Isagi looked down at the uniform in his hands. Was he supposed to just change in front of everyone? All their eyes were glued to him. Pointedly, he turned to look over his shoulder, glaring at the first person he saw. The bald boy immediately looked away, and most seemed to take the hint, pulling their eyes away so fast as if they had been caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

While their attention was forcefully directed elsewhere, Isagi practically jumped into his clothes in his haste to spend the least amount of time vulnerable in front of borderline hostile strangers as possible.

Once done, his attention traveled back to the sleeping boy on the ground. Should he wake him up? Ego-san had started talking about rankings at this point, and it seemed unfair that the boy was sleeping during the explanation. Isagi glanced at his arm. His rank was 293. Ego-san was definitely messing with him.

Now Isagi was seriously debating moving to wake up the boy. Ego-san was explaining a tag game that would, as Isagi predicted, eliminate someone from Blue Lock. He didn’t want to see someone kicked out just because they had fallen asleep waiting for others to arrive. But moving would require him to once again attract the attention of all the other players in this room. And for once, their eyes weren’t focused on him, so drawing attention back to himself seemed like a bad idea. He hated having so many strangers look at him with disdain, pretending to know what he was like when they didn’t even have the slightest clue.

“This is no ordinary game of tag…” Ego-san finished, and suddenly, everyone was panicking. People rushed to the door or swore angrily, but a football dropped from the ceiling despite their pitiful behavior.

The bald boy was the first to end up with the ball, having the lowest rank in the room. “300… I’m ranked the lowest so I’m ‘it’ first?” He questioned. Isagi couldn’t help but feel like listening to him speak was like listening to a fake monk overcome with insanity preach about their religion as you hurriedly pass them on the street. In other, kinder words, his voice was grating. “But I’ll do it. Guys, no hard feelings, ok?”

Isagi tuned out for a bit but when he tuned back in, the bald guy, Igaguri, the screen showed, was spouting nonsense about being stuck in a temple. Ah, look at that. His guess was not too far off.

Igaguri frantically looked around the room and zeroed in on someone with 299 on their arm. He had stubble on his chin and grey hair, which made him look pretty old actually. But the guy had enough sense to dodge easily away from Igaguri’s weak attempts at hitting him.

Igaguri groaned in frustration. “Ugh! I can’t hit anyone!” Then he spotted the asleep boy on the ground, still mumbling about passes. Isagi, who had migrated away in his attempts to avoid Igaguri’s senseless shots, rushed forward, eyes narrowing.

“Haha! You! Still asleep? You’re mine!” Isagi could roll his eyes at Igaguri’s dialogue options. They were so cringe-worthy.

Isagi saw parallels unwillingly. In the beginning of his descent to madness, he had wished someone had saved him, instead of watching it happen in silence and shock. They had all stood there as Aoi hurt him, and they hadn’t cut in or said how unjust it was. For whatever reason they had—that they hated him, that it wasn’t their business, that they couldn’t stop it if they tried—Isagi knew they were pieces of shit. But they had a reason at least to hate him. These people—watching Igaguri target someone not even conscious to object—they were cowards and pieces of shit.

Isagi had wished someone would come in and save him when it had just begun. He couldn’t be one of those people now who let it happen right in front of him. He couldn’t watch someone’s dream end without them even fighting for it. Because this… was what he wished someone had done for him.

Right as he pulled his leg back to shoot, Isagi slid to a halt in front of the sleeping form and glared at Igaguri, stopping the shot with ease and stepping on it lightly to confirm his possession.

“You’re pathetic ,” he spat at Igaguri, rolling the ball consideringly under his foot. “Going after someone on the ground. Do you have no shame? If your dream ended while you weren’t even awake to fight for it, you’d be devastated.”

With Igaguri successfully scared off (and possibly secretly elated that he was off the hook), Isagi turned around and crouched down. “Hey, wake up.” He gently pushed the boy’s shoulder, aware of the other eyes on him. “We’re in the middle of a game. Don’t lose.”

He stayed just long enough to see the boy sit up and rub his eye with the heel of his hand. With a small smile, he turned and raced straight towards Kira.

If the 11 of them were supposed to work as a team, he didn’t want or think he could work with Kira. The guy was unsettling and strangely charismatic. He couldn’t explain what it was, but something about him gave Isagi the creeps, so it was for personal reasons that he wanted to go after Kira.

Kira jumped in astonishment. “Wha- Isagi-kun!” Taken aback, Kira almost didn’t dodge in time, but he was the top of Team Z for a reason. Even off guard, Kira was able to run away when Isagi rushed forward and shot the ball at him.

With a quick glance at the clock, Isagi saw that there were only 31 seconds left. Ah, well, if it ended here, would it be that bad? He had already thought of quitting before, and Ego-san had dissuaded him with his Blue Lock offer, but what was it that he really wanted?

Was he… ready to give up on football?

“Oh! I like you!” Someone rushed by him while he was lost in his thoughts. The ball was taken right from under his feet. Isagi blinked in surprise as the boy from earlier sped by him, sending him a wild grin as he kicked the ball toward Kira. “You're right! If you’re gonna go for anyone, it’s gotta be the strongest here!”

Ah… it seems he misunderstood his reasoning.

In a show of crazy flexibility, Bachira, the screen showed, tried to kick Kira in the face. Isagi kind of wished it landed but that was between himself and his mind.

Bachira’s eyes landed on Isagi.

Isagi stared back.

Something inside Isagi burned.

Bachira’s eyes were wild and wide, calling out to him with a soft grin. Trust me? Isagi could almost hear him.

Bachira… a player with such differing sides, one innocent, one a monster. It was so familiar, so unique, that he knew Bachira must be someone similar to him.

Isagi’s eyes gained a similar edge as they bored into Bachira’s. The boy grinned wider in response as Isagi quickly slipped behind Kira, a familiar instinct he has had ample time to perfect telling him exactly where the most opportune place in this room was. It was risky and foolish… but there was something about Bachira that pushed him to shoot when the ball came falling towards him. A sense of messed-up camaraderie made him comfortable enough to trust Bachira. And technically he owed Bachira for stealing the ball off of him, putting himself on the line. It was only fair that he helped him now when Bachira was at risk of going home. He didn’t want him to go home, not when Isagi finally had someone who could possibly understand him.

Ego-san, I’ll try it your way. Isagi reared his leg back, just as Kira turned, a horrified, betrayed look on his face. Bachira, I’ll trust in you. His foot connected with the ball with a resounding thud, as Kira tried futilely to turn away from the ball. Shidou-san… I’m…

The football slammed into Kira’s face, making his handsome face squish up into something hideous. As he collapsed onto the ground from the pain of Isagi’s strong kick, Isagi stared down at him. He had just ended someone’s football career. He had just ended someone’s dream. He had taken control and trusted someone to help him defeat another, and they had won .

He had never felt so satisfied to be the one making someone’s face shrivel up and their eyes glare. Shidou-san.

I’m not ready to give up on football.

Noise filtered into his ears slowly. Kira’s shrill voice echoed in the room as he complained about the unfairness of the game. But Isagi was just looking at Bachira. He was grinning innocently yet with a smug satisfaction. He shared with Isagi a secretive prideful smile and stuck out his tongue playfully.

“-he’s not even a striker!” Kira roared at the screen. Ego-san’s face already looked disgusted, but it was only growing more displeased as the moments passed listening to this sore loser. Kira whirled to face him with an ugly snarl. “Why are you allowed to stay while a real striker like me is eliminated?!”

“Every person here is a striker chosen personally by me-” By me actually. “-if you think that there is a problem with my choices, you can take it up directly with me.”

Kira scowled. “Everyone knows he’s a fucking midfielder—his passes are leagues better than his shots. Fuck- he’s such a bitch! If he actually passed to people, he might’ve been the best midfielder in Japan! Anyone wasting their talent like that doesn’t deserve to be here! I worked my ass off to get to where I-”

“Lock off, Kira Ryosuke. If you have time to complain about others, then you aren’t working hard enough. Both Bachira Meguru and Isagi Yoichi performed better than you in that last moment. You show no drive; you could’ve fought back in those last three seconds. Are you saying you want me to send him home when you were clearly the one who lost? Lock off.”

“That’s bullshit!” Kira now resembled a bull, his face so twisted that it was a completely different person than the polite Kira the media knew. “He’s better suited to be a midfielder, and you didn’t even deny it! Three seconds isn’t enough to do anything!”

“Lock off.” Ego-san’s stern face showed no sign of changing its mind, a disgusted downturn of his lips was all there was to show his real feelings.

Kira gritted his teeth in anger. He glared at Isagi. “You bitch. Know your fucking place. You have no right to be a striker.”

And with that, Kira was gone. Isagi had heard words like that countless, countless times. He was too used to it to be affected by something like that.

Bachira skipped up to him, humming happily. “I knew you’d kick it! I won by trusting in you, striker!” He smiled widely, winking at Isagi with a playful laugh leaving him.

Isagi’s lips turned up despite himself. “Striker? You don’t think I’m a midfielder?”

Ever since that video that blew up of one of his assists, the internet had started praising him as a midfielder. When they realized he was not, in fact, a midfielder, everyone started harassing him to become one. It didn’t really bother him, but Ego-san was adamant that he’d be the best striker, not the best midfielder, as long as he cultivated his abilities.

“Nuh uh! You have a monster inside you, so you have to be a striker!” Bachira looked completely serious saying something like that, even though his face was cheerful and innocently happy.

“… An interesting way to put it.”

“You mean, crazy,” someone laughed, butting rudely into their conversation. Isagi glared at them, both for interrupting and for the insult. They held their hands up in surrender, quickly looking away.

Ego-san chimed in with his speech yet again, breaking up the small conversations in the room. As he spoke, Isagi drifted. His mind couldn’t help but think about what had just happened. He hadn’t done that by himself. He had trusted Bachira, and Bachira delivered. Ego-san had been trying to tell him, too, that he should make an effort to change if he came to Blue Lock. Perhaps this was the change he wanted to see in Isagi.

Maybe… just maybe… he didn’t have to do everything by himself.

——————

“Isagi-kun,” his coach chided, calling him off the field during a break. He was lazily thumbing his whistle, distractedly scrolling on his phone. “I’m told you’ve been picking fights lately. You gotta stop doing that, it’s hurting the team.”

Yoichi knew what he was talking about but out of fear of what would leave his mouth or out of the inability to express his sheer fury, he stayed quiet, glaring half-assedly at the half-assed coach. After a few silent minutes of one-sided glaring and other-sided scrolling, the coach sighed and put down his phone.

“You want to go to Ichinan High School, right?” Want was more of a loose term, Yoichi thought, as it was the closest to his home and this junior high was practically a feeder school for the high school. It was more of a ‘he had no choice because it was the most convenient option’ sort of ‘want’. If he could choose, he would’ve gone to a more football-successful school and scored goals alongside players that were better than average and could actually play the game. At Yoichi’s reluctant nod, he continued, “Their motto is ‘One for All’, and our team follows that same idea. You gotta work with the team, Isagi-kun. I won’t tolerate troublemakers on my team. You might be a great player, but if you can’t learn to keep your mouth shut, I’ll bench you.”

Yoichi knew. He knew that what came out of his mouth was oftentimes unacceptable and rude. His teammates had made it abundantly clear, but he couldn’t help it. Somehow his mouth just ran without any input from his morals or mind. But he hadn’t spent all of his childhood and most of his hours on this earth practicing football just to be benched in junior high. He gritted his teeth and bowed to the coach. “… I understand. It won’t happen again, Coach.”

Righting himself, he walked away before his coach could berate him more or see his eyes rolling behind his hair. His teammates didn’t even try to hide their laughter, belatedly putting their hands in front of their mocking mouths to whisper loudly to each other. The confident ones walked up to him, slapping him on the shoulder like they were friends when everyone knew otherwise.

“Did Coach tell you off? Must’ve been talking about how much of a know-it-all you are,” one snickered, looking back to his friends to make sure they were listening. He slung an arm around Yoichi’s shoulders, likely looking to keep insulting him while pretending to be friendly. “Such an asshole, Isagi-kun.”

Yoichi swatted his arm off of him. He didn’t have the patience or capacity to fake politeness. “Like you’re not an asshole, Matsuo. I saw you harassing that girl from Class 3 the other day.” It had been a nice day, so he had yet again taken his lunch outside because he had no friends and came across the scene. He had left.

Matsuo, momentarily stunned, allowed his arm to drop back to his side, staring at Yoichi. Then laughter bubbled up through his chest, and he pointed accusingly at Yoichi. “So you’re a fucking voyeur, too! Freak.”

Scowling, he left Matsuo to his antics, finding himself facing crossed arms. Looking up, he saw Aoi’s sneer and decided he really didn’t have the strength for this today. “Look, Aoi. Let me just-”

“Don't you see no one wants you here?” He glared down at Yoichi, his arms coming uncrossed to push harshly into Yoichi’s chest. “Why do you try at all? You’ll never get far anyway. What sort of player can you be if you make your own team not want to support you?” He was right, and yet Yoichi couldn’t admit his faults. He hadn’t deserved this… had he? “Grow up. You’re nothing without us.”

All Yoichi could see was the cruel smile on Aoi’s face and all he could hear was his cold jeers.

“Better start sucking up,” one of his other teammates, Hayashida, hollered, laughing with Matsuo behind him.

His mind defected from the situation, thinking of his lanky coach. Ego-san would tell him… it would be ok as long as he could selfishly score goals, but was he right?

“… I’m the best player here. It doesn’t matter if you guys don’t help me,” Yoichi listlessly replied, avoiding looking at any part of Aoi, especially his blue eyes that always seemed to bore into him. He couldn’t bear it. He turned his head to the side, where the rest of his teammates were pretending not to watch.

“I can do it all by myself.”

——————

2014 World Cup Brazil v. Germany Semi-Finals Match Review

FootballAnalyst 35.1K likes

10.3K subscribers

50K views 4 years ago

Hi, everyone! Back with another analysis video. I can’t believe another World Cup is over, and the SCORE??! There’s a lot to cover here since there are 8 goals, so the video’s longer than normal–bear with me! …more

2,057 Comments

@EgosRamen  4 years ago

Once again, your title is shit.

↳ @mikage130  4 years ago

You are entitled to your shitty opinions. 凸(¬‿¬)凸

↳ @itoshibrothers<3  4 years ago

It is a lukewarm title. It is more lukewarm to continue to watch videos you dislike.

↳ @mikage130  4 years ago

… are you a foreign Japanese learner? ‘Lukewarm’ is a bit odd here…

↳ @itoshibrothers<3  4 years ago

I’m native. It is used how I meant it.

↳ @mikage130  4 years ago

…

@germanteamrules3  4 years ago

AND they did majority of that in 10 minutes talk about crazy

@soccah4life  4 years ago

how humiliating for Brazil seriously… Analyst-chan, another great breakdown, as always! Keep it up–Japan supports you! ＼( ^▽^ )／

@speedgenius7  4 years ago

LMAO why are all the Brazil players so weak–I’d be able to get there and stop a few shots. Liked the roast about how half the defenders weren’t even moving. Analyst-chan randomly getting all mad halfway through the video always slaps LOL

↳ @mikage130  4 years ago

The code switching LOL bro literally cussed out pros

↳ @speedgenius7  4 years ago

ICONIC.

@monsterbee  4 years ago

WOAH JUST FOUND THIS CHANNEL LIKE TEN MIN AGO BUT I ALREADY LOVE YOU <33333 ANALYST-CHAN THANK YOU! (づ｡◕‿‿◕｡)づ

@orangebleachdude62  4 years ago

This analysis was actually really good, I feel like I can learn something from this, even though Analyst-chan was talking about pros. Thank you very much for your dedication.

@randonickname69  4 years ago

Oh… that’s not… why is he yelling so much I thought this was an analysis video??? T-T

Bro even the analysis is so wonky like why is he talking so damn much?? I’m staring at a black screen half the time

↳ @mikage130  4 years ago

Just click off if you don’t like it?? Pls like he’s known for this bffr he’s gotten better (¬_¬”)

@kingofthefield1  4 years ago

Real players know that you have to score all 7 goals yourself before you can call yourself a king. The field exists to serve me.

↳ @mikage130  4 years ago

Ah man, this guy again, literally a cringe king T-T

↳ @kingofthefield1  4 years ago

Donkeys should stay quiet.

↳ @mikage130  4 years ago

Ծ_Ծ

Chapter Text

The score is 1-1. Matsukaze was their opponent this year, and if they won, they’d go to Nationals. It’d only been a few months since their match against Rin, yet Isagi still hadn’t received any more passes from his team. Seemed like it was a one-time thing. His team still hated his guts and insulted and mocked him, but at least the physical violence had stopped, aside from an aggressive push or collar grab here and there.

Kira Ryosuke, their best player, was awfully disappointing for someone crowned with the title of Japan’s National Treasure. He was also exceptionally snide for someone supposedly so polite in interviews. He should let the guy’s countless fangirls know about his real horrible personality.

He didn’t necessarily want to dwell on the match—it was ridiculously boring, as nothing happened for a whole hour. Near the end of the game, Isagi had the chance to pull the score ahead, as the ball fell accidentally near him. However, right when he was near the goal, three defenders covered him, accompanied by the shrill sound of Kira’s voice, shouting, “Block him! Block him! He’s not going to pass!”

He hated being read like that. Who was he supposed to pass to? His enemies? They ended up grappling for the ball for a few minutes, which was pretty impressive on his part since he was against three defenders by himself . But finally, one of them managed to kick it outside their little circle. By luck, it managed to land near Aoi, who wasted no time in scrambling to the ball along with Kira. He shouldn’t trust his teammates with anything, though, because while Aoi got to the ball first, he didn’t have the skill to get by Kira alone.

Aoi lost the ball to Kira, giving him the opportunity to turn it around and score with a grin, his two biggest threats lagging behind him, heavily blocked.

After the match and his interview, Kira gave him a pseudo-polite smile. “Good game, Isagi-kun.” He straightened his uniform and looked over to Isagi’s teammates, who were all crying about missing another shot at Nationals. Their third years would leave now, as well. “Ah, it’s too bad, Isagi-kun. If you’d passed to Aoi-kun, maybe he’d have scored before I got there. Next time.”

Walking home with his bike in his hands, he pondered the question that had long been on his mind. Why was he doing this? Why did he keep playing football when he had no love for it? There was no longer any shred of emotion when he scored, no longer any happiness at all stepping onto the field, only a sense of fear and dread. He didn’t even feel anything right now, when they had just lost . Was there something wrong with him?

He dragged himself to every practice, hated every moment he was there, and cursed every sore muscle. The bike ride to practice was filled with his pounding heart for what he knew was coming and a dry throat from anxiety. He was mocked every practice, insulted every time he shot at the goal, and ridiculed for not passing to his team when they acted the same way towards him. He was tired of it. He was tired of his team, but more importantly, he was tired of football.

He couldn’t even remember how exhilarated he used to feel whenever he scored. He couldn’t remember if he ever felt happy playing football, even though instinctively, he knew there were times he loved it. But what was the point in carrying on with football if he had no passion for it? What was the point of going on just for the sake of continuing something he’d spent his entire life on if he didn’t even enjoy it?

Quitting just seemed natural.

He’d have to talk to Ego-san about it. Maybe he could help him go to college for sports medicine or sports analysis. College was expensive, but at least then, he’d have not wasted his entire life studying football every second of his day.

“I’m home,” he called out, taking off his shoes in the same repetitive motion as always. “We lost.”

“Aw, that’s alright, sweetie. I made katsudon for you.” His mother’s voice sounded from the kitchen, and he smiled at her calming tone. “Oh, also, Jinpachi-san is here to see you!”

Isagi felt himself pale and started sweating immediately at the mention of Ego-san. He wondered if it was too late to pretend he never came through the front door.

Ego-san rounded the corner and gave him a once-over, while Teieri-san waved at him from the kitchen, a sympathetic look on her face. “You lost… to Matsukaze?” He rubbed his forehead. “I’m not going to ask. Anyway, I’m personally delivering this to you.”

Ego-san handed him a letter from the JFU. Isagi skeptically glanced at his coach’s face, which gave absolutely nothing away because his face was fixed in that same creepy smile that he always had on whenever he was excited to torture Isagi. He felt sweat drip down his back as he gulped subtly and opened the letter.

“... Is this for Blue Lock?” Isagi asked as he read the contents.

Ego-san grinned. “Of course. And by the way, don’t think this means you’re off the hook just because you’ll be training. I still want you to do reports and help Anri with her work.” Isagi and Ego-san both knew that Teieri-san’s ‘work’ was just the work that Ego-san didn’t want to do and pushed onto her.

“How is that fair in any way whatsoever?” Isagi mumbled, pocketing the letter. Of course, he would do it, but he still was nervous, having yet to tell Ego-san about his… issues. “Um, Ego-san. I don’t-”

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you’re going to say. You’re having issues with your ego.” Ego-san waved him off dismissively to which Isagi blanched. This crazy man really did know everything.

Isagi cleared his throat, trying to get back on track and actually explain himself to Ego-san properly. “Well… yes. I don’t feel anything for football anymore… I think it would be best if you gave my spot to someone else- I mean, I could still do your reports, but I don’t think it’s fair to-”

“Bullshit,” Ego-san interrupted.

“Watch your language in this household, Jinpachi-san,” his mother scolded from the kitchen, causing the two of them to flinch.

Ego-san fixed his glasses, and Isagi fiddled with his bag, one trying to recover from the embarrassment of having his mom butt in on a conversation and the other trying to hold himself back from destroying a relationship with his apprentice’s parents.

“Right, sorry,” Ego-san continued. “Listen, Isagi. You might not think you have your… passion anymore. But that’s…” There was a pause in which Ego-san was looking for a word that was not a curse word. “... idiotic. Your ego is not gone, it’s just suppressed.”

“Well then, what-”

“Join Blue Lock.”

Ego-san extended his hands to the side dramatically. Isagi sighed and settled in for his pitch.

“There’ll be hundreds of skilled strikers all lined up for you to challenge. In this sport-crazed environment, it’s only a matter of time before you play in a match that will unlock your ego and ignite your passion for football once again.” Ego-san grinned wide, looming over Isagi, not unlike the day he first met the crazy man in the doorway of his house. “If you join Blue Lock, I guarantee that will happen, and you will find meaning in football. You will enjoy it again and evolve past your limits. If you want that–to find a purpose in life again–join Blue Lock. It’ll get you there.”

Ego-san was a man who loved to promise things. And despite promises being fickle, he almost always delivered. He was intelligent and good at predicting these sorts of things, and yet, Isagi couldn’t help but wonder if he was giving him too much credit. What if he was wrong?

But… he owed it to Ego-san to try. And frankly, he owed Ego-san a lot, as he’d done so much for him. He practically trusted the man with his life. So he would put his future at stake and into Ego-san’s sadistic hands, and let him run wild. He trusted him enough to try.

“Alright,” Isagi acquiesced. “I’ll go. But if all that doesn’t happen, you have to promise me that you’ll help me move on. You’ll help me get a job or study or something. Please.” He didn’t want to end up spending the rest of his life working a shitty job and disappointing his loving parents. They were such good people, but he couldn’t bear to end up poor and make them work hard to support him into adulthood, as well.

Ego-san scoffed. “You think I’d spend all these years of my life on you just to throw you away? If you fail, I’ll make you the best fucking analyst the world has ever seen, and your channel will be a household name.”

“Language, Jinpachi-san! I can always take away your meal portion and give it to my husband.”

Ego-san froze. “Deepest apologies, Iyo-san.”

He really loved those homemade pork cutlets, Isagi thought, watching his coach practically sprint to the dining room. He definitely would have just mailed Isagi the letter if his mother hadn’t offered to host dinner.

Well… at least he would have a future either way. He softly smiled as he walked into the kitchen. Maybe he’d even find his way to loving football once again. He looked at his cleats, stuffed haphazardly into his bag, dirty with mud and grass, and worn from hours of practice. He felt nothing thinking of them.

He doubted it.

But maybe one day that would change.

——————

Ego-san told them to complete a series of stamina tests that would determine where they stood on the team based on physical stats. It was pointless since he had already determined their rankings and seemed reluctant to change them despite having eliminated 25 people, but it did give Isagi the opportunity to see where his new, nosy teammates stood.

Running was arguably one of the most important tests, at least, to Isagi. His playstyle demanded a lot of stamina and speed, especially since he was supposed to bypass defenders with tricky skills and dribbling mostly by himself. Even when he had worked together with Ichinan in that one game, he had to run practically the entire game from one end to the other again and again. As a higher level player, he had to drop back to help out with defense when Penasonic was on the attack, and then press forward when they got the ball, sprinting to a good position. Even without help, he still had to do all that, just by himself. Stealing the ball, running with it to the other side, running back to help with defense, and stealing it again—it was exhausting, but Ego-san had great foresight and trained him ruthlessly on endurance. He was certain he could run for 5 matches straight if needed.

So, he was eager to see who lived up to his expectations and was disappointed to find that no one could match his standards. Raichi was a surprising case, as he didn’t expect him to have such good endurance with that foul mouth of his insulting Isagi at every turn. Perhaps those two things weren’t remotely related, but Isagi still felt indignant just looking at his sharp teeth, hoping they would accidentally bite down on his tongue and cut it off, if only to stop those scathing remarks about his nonexistent teamwork. Bachira wasn’t bad either, after training endurance for a few days, and the guy kept sending him winks and playful smirks when Isagi happened to look at him by accident. Isagi thinks he sees Bachira’s tongue more often than not , which was highly concerning because how many times a day did Bachira have to stick his tongue out at him?

Igaguri, despite his pitiful state, was able to maintain a high speed for almost 40 minutes before dropping to the floor in a sweaty heap. Isagi knew they all had to be some kind of fit to make it. He barely remembered making a character sheet for Igaguri, but he wasn’t too hard to forget when he shut his mouth, so he supposed it was ok.

Isagi himself had steadily increased his pace and time for the past three days, finally managing to make it to almost 2 and a half hours at on and off 12.5 mph. He ignored Raichi’s open-mouthed gaping and Igaguri’s disbelieving complaints as he drank water at the hour mark, then got back on the machine. Running was therapeutic and calming, especially if he had to deal with 10 other hormonal, mocking teenagers all hours of the day. Maybe he was better suited to be teammates with eccentric types because none of them seemed to outright hate him yet, despite their obvious dislike of and lack of trust in him.

Kunigami, predictably, excelled in the weight-lifting training, and Kuon had an illegally high jump. That might also be because Isagi was so damn short, but he wished he could kick the bastard in the knees when he asked Isagi if he was having a bad day. What a snide, unlikeable person.

Mealtimes were at least bearable, as he didn’t have to interact with people he didn’t want to pretend to like. Bachira, of course, stuck by him, claiming they were now partners and best friends since Isagi accepted his pass and became his partner in crime. Isagi was, in return, highly partial to Bachira but still unfamiliar with the notion of being friends with someone similar to him and had ‘acting childish’ as their coping mechanism. But it was fun talking with Bachira as the two of them split their side dishes, stir-fried liver and grilled mackerel, because Ego-san enjoyed fucking with him. (He hated mackerel with a passion, and the bastard knew it ever since Isagi had complained about it to his mother during one of the dinners Ego-san and Teieri-san had been invited over when he was 13. It wasn’t his fault he overshared when he was a teenager, sue him. But that asshole really had the audacity to remember that fact from years ago and torture him with it. Evidently, he was forced to share with Bachira and talk with him more that first day in order to not starve from barely touching his mackerel. Luckily Bachira was such a kind, all-knowing person because he understood what Isagi was trying to get at even with his pathetic explanation and offered to split their dishes. He was also a saint because he ended up eating basically Isagi’s entire side dish while Isagi politely nibbled on Bachira’s. By the end of the three training days, they had basically progressed to swapping dishes because Isagi hadn’t touched the mackerel once during all those meals.

Unfortunately, an unforeseen side effect emerged from letting Bachira slowly pick up on the fact that he couldn’t stand having mackerel anywhere near his food.

“Isagi~ you hate mackerel? That’s so fishy . Nyahaha! I can’t believe I didn’t sea this coming,” Bachira would laugh, entirely too amused at his own joke. “I can’t believe the great Isagi Yoichi flounders in the face of mackerel.”

“If I wasn’t counting on you for food, I’d dropkick you in the middle of this cafeteria.”

“Hehe! Don’t worry, Isagi! I’ll see myself trout .”

“...”

“Hey~ Isagi~! Don’t leave~!” But Bachira was laughing so hard that it was hard to hear any sincerity whatsoever.)

Anyway, mealtime was somewhat peaceful compared to training. Even the sleeping arrangements were dreadful. So many of them snored, and Isagi was a light sleeper. He hated anything but complete silence at night, which is why he usually wore earplugs. But Ego-san was not sympathetic to his plight so Blue Lock did not provide such utilities. Which is why, he had taken to dragging his futons to the corner of the room away from all their prone bodies and used his singular pillow to muffle the sounds by childishly shoving the fluffy fabric over his ears.

On the morning of the second day when he had first tried that, Bachira’s futon had somehow found its way next to his, and Bachira wasn’t even in it, invading his space like an eager child. Isagi had been exasperated but did not deign to say anything since Bachira wasn’t even aware, simply proceeding to gently wake him up (just like that first time during the tag game) and telling him to get ready for breakfast while the boy clung onto his legs.

That night, he hadn’t even bothered to say anything, so when Bachira climbed into his futon when Isagi was angrily trying to sleep despite the loud as fuck room, Isagi just let him edge too close to his futon.

It was only due to sheer social exhaustion that he’d been able to get a good 4 hours of sleep each night before something inevitably woke him up. Tonight was no different, and he was staring boredly at the ceiling he’d grown to be uncomfortably familiar with these past few nights. Ultimately, this growing boredom and lack of rest culminated into something, since he found himself sitting up in frustration because he couldn’t get his eyes to close and himself to succumb to sleep.

Stumbling wearily out of Team Z’s room, he started making his way to the training field, hoping that maybe practicing a few drills or shooting some goals would wear him out enough to pass out or something. Or maybe he could just take a nap in the training field. Even though the lights were obnoxiously bright, at least there weren’t 10 annoyingly loud snorers there.

Instinct had him whipping around and trapping a ball hurtling at him before his mind even registered moving. Bachira grinned happily at him, barely looking tired at all. “Solo training at this time of night, Isagi~?”

Isagi sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Couldn’t sleep. Sorry if I woke you, Bachira-kun.”

Bachira laughed, skipping to his side and picking up the ball beside Isagi with his feet. “I wasn’t sleeping well either.” Total lie , Isagi thought. After all, Bachira was one of those noisy ones who mumbled in his REM sleep, so Isagi knew he hadn’t been awake right before Isagi left. “Wanna train with me? One on one?” He leaned closer at that, smiling sweetly.

Isagi actually liked Bachira, a perk he did not provide to the rest of the team (not that they’d appreciate being liked by him like Bachira did, anyway), so obviously, he had no reason to refuse. He smiled earnestly, beginning to walk in the direction of the training room. “Alright, come on.”

Bachira cheered, jumping in place before skipping to catch up with him, the ball kicked a few feet ahead of them. They hadn’t practiced football with each other before, and Isagi had to admit he was excited to learn more about the striker, especially since they were as close as they were. Bachira had the same eyes as him.

They set up a square of cones to determine parameters and then stretched before starting. Isagi had been wondering something for a while and he pondered how to ask when Bachira suddenly looked up from his stretching, catching him staring, red-handed. Isagi averted his eyes while Bachira failed to properly stifle his laughter. Actually, he didn’t even bother trying to hide it, that little shit.

Isagi stood. “Bachira-kun… when you said I had a monster inside me and that you knew I would kick the ball during the tag game… What did you mean? Why did you… trust that?”

Bachira also stood, considering for a moment. Then he dashed forward, dribbling the ball and getting close enough to Isagi to unsettle him. “Because… I also have a monster inside me.”

He pulled off a fancy move that Isagi allowed in order to observe how he played. “It comes out when I play football and tells me what I should do.”

Bachira threw an arm across his chest, and it was pathetically weak compared to Shidou’s, but Bachira was wiry and nimble, keeping the ball far enough that it would be difficult for Isagi to steal it, even if he was trying his absolute best. He was more keen on listening, though, intrigued by this view on football. “I didn’t feel it at first, you know.”

“Hm?”

“Your monster.” Bachira attempted to slide by him, but Isagi refused to hand him the win and easily disarmed him, breaking by him. Bachira gave chase, a wild grin stretching across his face. “When you woke me up, of course, I knew you were a great guy, but I’d never sensed much from your famous plays anyway.”

Bachira managed to get in front of him and lean close to his face, momentarily making Isagi violently flinch backward. With an apologetic pause, Bachira allowed Isagi to regain his mental stability before continuing. “But after I stole the ball from you and watched you, I saw something new that I’d never seen in your previous matches. Your eyes were telling me to pass. You wanted something.” Bachira performed fast scissors and partially got by him. He smirked up at him. “Was it fun, Isagi? Feeling something like that?”

Isagi didn’t gape at him, but it was getting there. Bachira could… read him so easily. Of course, he had wanted Kira gone, but more than that, he wanted to be motivated to continue playing football. It had worked and was only strengthened by Bachira’s presence, but for now, he still wasn’t completely certain. Having one person who understood him wasn’t the same as having a team that trusted him. And that was impossible.

“... It was new. I felt you wanted to trust in me, too. So I figured I had to return the favor,” Isagi admitted, not willing to delve into his deeper reasons. He stole the ball from Bachira’s feet right when he ventured too close to the out-of-bounds cones.

“Pfft-” Bachira laughed freely. Isagi wasted no time in racing toward the other side with the ball, having now studied a lot of Bachira’s style. “So that’s how you think of things like trust? I see…”

Isagi passed the cones, which determined his win, but he didn’t feel victorious. Bachira was staring at him contemplatively. “Well… At that moment, I sensed the monster inside you. So I’m glad I came to Blue Lock since I could meet you, Isagi.”

Bachira looked even happier when Isagi had stolen the ball and won than he did when he was winning. “I think we were meant to help each other out.” He bounced the ball he had taken nonchalantly from Isagi’s still feet. “Wanna go again?”

Isagi nodded. “Help each other? How am I supposed to help you?”

Bachira let him move first, and Isagi slowed his movements minutely to give Bachira a proper training session rather than a total defeat. “Let’s deal with you first, nya ha!” He grinned at Isagi, not even looking at their feet despite their one-on-one. “Your monster is… suppressed, and you have some serious trust issues.”

Isagi was mildly offended, but nothing hurt more than the truth, he supposed. He also guessed, from the expectant look on Bachira’s face, that it was his turn to spill. Bachira revealed his portion, so it was only fair. “My monster…” This could be interpreted as his ego, right? Ego-san had once explained to him that his ego made others resent him, but he should hold out. Maybe Bachira was who he was holding out for. If he had entrusted him with something like this, he thought that perhaps Bachira wouldn’t think he was odd. “... I guess you could say it tells me to correct others and help them level up.” Bachira’s face darkened slightly in understanding. “But teams are difficult. And people are hard to trust.” He added the last bit in response to Bachira’s observation of his trust issues.

Isagi broke past Bachira’s defenses with startling ease. Bachira seemed to be lost in thought, thinking hard about what Isagi was saying. Isagi continued speaking even though the round was over. “No matter how much you try to understand other people, you aren’t able to know them. Or change them. Even if you desperately wish that they would stop or reform their actions, each time, you have to adapt.” He distantly heard heavy breathing and his own panicked voice cursing over the old memory of blood pounding in his ears as his face paled. With that new team development in junior high, he had had to adapt to become someone who worked solo on a team of 11 players. He wasn’t able to change their techniques or their actions off-field no matter how hard he tried. So he adapted to both. It was deplorable, and he hissed at the reminder of his past self. “I didn’t understand my teammates, though I’ve fought to figure out their behavior. I adapted to protect myself. And that’s why there was no trust between us.”

Isagi watched Bachira as he thought about this. “As for Team Z… I suppose my monster is the problem. No matter what team I am forced into, it’ll create resentment and disrupt any trust there might be between me and the others.” It just wasn’t possible for him to have a team that trusted him and didn’t absolutely hate him. They would hear his words, his ego, his ambition and automatically scowl at him, displeased with his perceived arrogance. He was the problem. “I’m not able to change that. It’s not possible for me.”

“You don’t need to change your monster,” Bachira interjected. He looked as if he had reached an epiphany. Isagi looked on with a desperate sort of hope. No one gave him the mercy of spelling things out for him. He wanted just this once for Bachira to be clear for him. “Your monster is perfect. It’s worthy of praise, not hatred.” Bachira stepped closer, a soft smile placating Isagi. “What you need to change is in here.” Bachira carefully reached a hand out and pressed a finger to Isagi’s forehead.

Isagi blinked. “My mind?”

“Your state of mind , Isagi,” Bachira corrected. “It is not your monster. What I was meant to help you with is trusting.”

Isagi, skeptical, narrowed his eyes. His ‘monster’ was what made everyone hate him. Shouldn’t it be that that he should change, rather than his ways of trusting? How could anyone trust him when he acted like this? And how could he trust anyone when they hated him for his actions?

Bachira, seemingly reading his mind, frowned. “I don’t know what sort of team you were on before, Isagi, but those people aren’t here .” He punctuated this with a pointed look at the field they were practicing in. Isagi’s breath hitched unconsciously, a soft budding realization building in him. “We aren’t them, and we haven’t done anything that they have done.” Bachira smiled, retreating from his personal space, leaving Isagi stunned and unmoving. “Don’t write us off as the same just because we share their titles of ‘teammates’.”

“I…” Isagi hadn’t the slightest clue what to say to that. Bachira must be some sort of angel, answering all his doubts with just a few simple words. Why hadn’t he thought of all that? Why hadn’t anyone melted his doubts like that before?

“ They might not have trusted you, but Team Z neither trusts nor does not trust in you yet.” Bachira rocked on his heels, shyly including, “In fact, the reason they might slightly not trust you right now is not because of anything you’ve outwardly done… It’s because they sense that you don’t trust them either.”

“But… What about the whole midfielder thing? Doesn’t that…” add onto the lack of trust? Don’t they all hate me for trying to be a striker? Don’t they not trust me because of all those articles?

Bachira sheepishly grinned. “Well, your reputation doesn’t really help. But I promise you.” Bachira leaned in again, holding out his pinky. Without a second thought, Isagi looped his pinky with Bachira’s, even having not heard the promise. Bachira smiled in surprise. “Trust us, and I’ll show you something you’ve never seen before. I’ll show you that you were wrong about us.”

Isagi’s mouth had unconsciously fallen open and to his astonishment, there were tears building in the corners of his eyes. He blinked rapidly, but he knew Bachira had probably seen. He didn’t care.

“Bachira… I’ll put my trust in you.” Bachira pointedly smiled at him, a cheerfully victorious glint in his eyes at his sentence even though he’d been losing their game. “In… all of Team Z.”

Bachira smiled and pointed to the ball, easily moving on. “Another go?”

Isagi stretched his palm out frantically. “Wait, what about how I can help you?” He felt bad that Bachira had helped him see so much and see past himself, but he hadn’t done anything for him.

Bachira smiled secretively, a finger pressed to his lips mischievously. “I have a feeling we’ll solve mine through actions, not words. And… It partly depends on you solving yours first. I can wait until we play as a team.”

Isagi didn’t know what exactly he was supposed to help Bachira with, but he was content to let the topic drop as it had been an emotionally exhausting night, and now, Bachira was trying to make it physically exhausting as well, sprinting forward with the ball at his feet.

Feeling how moved he was and excited , he knew he owed a lot to Bachira. He smiled earnestly and decided to drop the facade, playing against Bachira to the fullest. He owed it to the striker to not pretend. Bachira seemed elated when he did, laughing in exhilaration, even when he kept losing. He looked at Isagi with awe, as if he had saved Bachira’s life. He knew that look intimately well. He often looked at Shidou with that same gaze. He didn’t know why he deserved that look, but somehow, it satisfied him to know that he was somehow helping Bachira with his problems, even if the boy wouldn’t let him know what they were.

“Ding dong, ding dong,” the speakers sounded. “We’ve finished compiling the data from the past three days’ stamina tests. Please return to your rooms. We will present the new rankings.”

Ah Ego-san with his biased rankings, of course. Ego-san… probably wanted this, too. He wanted Isagi to trust others enough to be able to pass and play with them.

Bachira pouted once the speakers stopped, complaining that their time together had been cut short. “Isagi~ Let’s do this again!” He smiled widely, careful to not overwhelm Isagi, but he did lean on his shoulder excitedly. “Less talking next time! I wanna see your full capabilities!”

Isagi agreed with an easy smile, letting Bachira invade his space even though it might take him a bit longer to get used to it. “Sure. I’m looking forward to playing with you, Bachira-kun.”

“Call me Meguru! And what’s with the ‘kun’—You dropped it earlier!” Bachira pouted goodnaturedly, laughing at Isagi’s scrunched-up face, annoyed at being so careless. But he did think they were closer now, so… it wouldn’t hurt. But then again, he probably just had a soft spot for the smiley, childish striker who adopted him as a friend like they had known each other for years. It had been like that with Shidou, too. He could tell from that experience that Bachira would be good friends with Isagi.

He sighed, resigned. “... Bachira.”

“Nyaha! Can I call you Yoichi? Ooh, maybe Yoi-chan? Or maybe Yo-chan?” First one was off-limits for obvious reasons, Yoi-chan sounded odd, and Yo-chan was reserved for Shidou (the striker’s words, not his).

“Let’s stick with Isagi for now.”

“Ok then! Let’s go back, Isagi-chan!”

“...”

——————

In Team Z’s room, after Ego-san explained the first selection, Isagi relaxed with Bachira, much more comfortable with him after confiding in him.

All of a sudden, the speakers in the room blared again, but Isagi swore it wasn’t time to do anything but rest. “Ding dong, ding dong. Isagi Yoichi to Ego Jinpachi’s office.”

Isagi sighed. Could he have done this any more conspicuously?

The occupants of the room turned to him and ‘ooh’ed much like a junior high school classroom would, jeering and mocking him about his ‘detention’. Which was obnoxious, but he couldn’t expect better from immature teens.

Raichi sneered. “You in trouble, Isagi? What’d you do ta piss ‘im off, eh?”

Another, who he could just never seem to remember the name of, piped up. “Think he’s getting locked off cuz he’s not actually supposed to be a striker?”

The room spared a light laugh at that, though now that he was looking for it, he noticed that some seemed uncomfortable with the comment, or at the very least, bothered. He ignored the unnamed one and sent a quick shrug to Raichi. “Not sure.”

But he was completely aware of why he was being called down. As Ego-san had warned him, he still wanted Isagi to work for him while in Blue Lock, which was ridiculous. Isagi was training and busy literally all hours of the day. The only time he’d have to do things Ego-san wanted him to do would be at night. Well, it’s not like it mattered to him since he was getting so little sleep anyway.

He arrived at Ego-san’s office a few minutes later, having gotten lost because every hallway looked exactly the same and the maps didn’t have a helpful ‘You Are Here’ sticker or anything.

Ego-san was staring at these concerningly invasive screens when he walked in without bothering to knock. Isagi stared. “... Are you watching us all the time?”

Ego-san turned the chair around, his glasses reflecting the light of the screen. “Precisely. Mostly the practice fields, but I need to make sure no one’s killing each other while they’re in the rooms.” That was a… surprisingly mature reason. “But I also want to make sure the little egoists are properly culminating their egos in all aspects of life here.” Ah, and that’s what he was waiting for.

Isagi slumped down on a chair in the office set out for him. Teieri-san walked in and waved at him. “Yoichi! How have your past few days been?” She fussed over him, examining the bags under his eyes. Obviously, she was not as much of a creep as Ego-san to watch them every second of every day. “Have you been sleeping poorly? Is there anything I can get you?”

Isagi glared pointedly at Ego-san. “I would love a pair of earplugs, Teieri-san. But since they wouldn’t be branded, they’re not allowed.”

Teieri-san huffed, staring sternly at Ego-san, who was doing a great job of resembling a statue ignoring their presence. “Ego-san, I’m bringing Yoichi a pair of earplugs. This poor boy needs more sleep. Look at him, he’s exhausted!”

Ego-san’s face crumpled slightly. “Fine, fine. I’ll allow it. Anyway, Isagi, now that I’ve introduced the first selection, I can also give you your task.”

Teieri-san gasped incredulously. “Task? When will he have time to do that?” At Ego-san’s shifty eyes, she narrowed her eyes, hands crossed angrily. “He is not going to sacrifice sleep for this extra work you’re putting on him.”

Ego-san’s eyebrow twitched. “Fucking fine, woman. Just get him the earplugs. I’ll figure something out.” Teieri-san gave him one last warning glare before leaving. “Damn, she gets on my nerves sometimes,” Ego-san complained, but Isagi swore he was sighing more due to fondness than frustration. He wisely did not comment.

Ego-san turned to him finally. He pushed over a cell phone. Isagi blinked when he realized it wasn’t his . “... This isn’t mine, Ego-san. What do you want me to do with it?”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me, brat,” Ego-san snarked, rolling his eyes. Isagi wasn’t even trying to be sarcastic, he was genuinely baffled. “It’s solely for you to contact me about your tasks. I’ve disabled the other functions. If you want your phone back, you’ll have to score goals.”

Isagi held back from sighing heavily. “Of course. What’s the task?”

“You are going to make a detailed report on each of the interesting players in the stratums.” Ego-san zoomed in on one screen, showing an obnoxious close-up of Shidou. Then he did the same with Rin. And another striker he didn’t recognize but knew from making short reports before. “By detailed, I mean detailed . I want to know their progress, changes to their style, everything. You shouldn’t have a problem with it, you do this all the time. And I’m still paying you, so make it good.”

Isagi leaned forward to observe Rin’s solo practice. He was actually still awake and practicing at this hour? Most of the others were already in their rooms… Well, except for Shidou and Rin, apparently. Shidou was more goofing off with silly, should-be-impossible shots than actually practicing, though.

“What do you mean by interesting players? How should I know who you want and don’t want reports on?” Isagi didn’t want to accidentally incur Ego-san’s wrath because the man was a miserable, finicky person.

“Don’t bother making reports on the ones who won’t make it past the first selection,” Ego-san offhandedly said, turning back to his desk where there sat a steaming hot plastic instant ramen bowl, waiting for the noodles to soften. Isagi grimaced at the unhealthy food.

“... Are you asking me to discriminate? I can’t tell the future, you know.” This was true. But it was also true that Isagi could make very educated guesses that would probably also be as biased as Ego-san’s about who would move on. However, his stratum might be a challenge, as he had no idea how it would progress with Bachira so intent on helping him fit into the team.

“You can figure it out by just looking at them. Don’t tell me you’re so incompetent to not see who is good and who is not.”

What a biased man. He clearly had favorites.

(Isagi thought this while he was currently sitting in said man’s office, doing work for him and having trained under him for years. Perhaps he should think twice before calling the man out on his favoritism when he was the main beneficiary of said favoritism.)

“... Just making sure, Ego-san.”

They sat quietly for a few long moments as the only noise breaking the peaceful calm was Ego-san’s obnoxious slurping. He had put a ridiculous amount of chili sauce and mayo in for someone so lanky. Teieri-san had yet to come back, which reminded Isagi…

“So? When should I be doing this task?’ Isagi did not want to sacrifice any sleep if possible, now that he was getting earplugs, but he would finish the task before Ego-san blew a fuse either way. Sleep could be pushed off if he desperately needed to do so.

Ego-san sighed and continued eating his noodles while speaking. It was kind of disgusting, but Isagi had known Ego-san too long to be affected by his weirdness. “Well, you have free time from 10 to 11:30, but knowing you, you’re probably preparing to sleep by then.” Isagi valued his sleep schedule. Was that a crime? No. “You have long lunches and dinners.”

“Bachira takes up that time.” What was left unsaid that both very clearly understood was that Bachira would cling to him and whine if he left early. He would also try to follow him and then find out about this whole arrangement. Isagi assumed that Ego-san wanted to keep their relationship a secret.

“Yes… that’s… an issue… How about individual training time before dinner?” Ego-san slurped the soup loudly.

Distracted by the display, Isagi responded belatedly. “Do you think an hour a day will suffice?”

“If you’re efficient, yes. But, if not, then do something about that clingy heathen or do it during free time. I don’t know.”

He had that air of finality about him that screamed, ‘it’s your problem, not mine!’ so Isagi let it drop. He’d find time. And if he sacrificed his individual training, he’d just have to make sure to work twice as hard in the team training time slots. Not that he minded the change in his schedule, of course. Training one’s mind was equally as important as training the body when one played a mentally and physically draining sport like football.

Ego-san used to let him rant. But that was before. Now that he was more reserved, they tended to sit in comfortable silence like this more often than not. It wasn’t that he didn’t have anything to say to his coach, it was just that Ego-san never gave straight answers and his attempts at conversation were abysmal. This is what happens when you spend half your life eating ramen and the other half faking your work and being obsessed with football.

Jokes aside, he was incredibly thankful for Ego-san. He raised his skills, practically half raised Isagi himself (though he’d never admit that to either him or his parents), and made him exactly what he had wanted to be all those years ago, when he opened the door for a stranger. He was strong and better than he had ever imagined at football, and it was no one’s fault but his own that he screwed all that up. Ego-san must be disappointed.

He had never gotten around to calling Ego-san sensei. When he was younger, all his coaches were just ‘Coach’ or ‘san’, so he assumed it to be the same for a mentor. But Ego-san ended up teaching him a lot. Even more than just football. He taught him how to be an intern, how to properly write up analyst reports, how to format spreadsheets, how to make his coffee perfectly to his liking, how to edit his videos so they didn’t look like shit—Ego-san was, in all respects, a sensei. Perhaps he was giving too much credit to the man. After all, he paid him for most of the labor and only did so because he thought Isagi would end up being a useful tool no matter what path he chose: football or analyzing. Yet, he couldn’t deny he cared for the man and knew that Ego-san also cared.

Which is why…

“Ego-sensei, you should probably stop eating that trashy instant ramen. You can go to my house more often if you’re not up for cooking. I’m sure my mother would make an extra portion since you’re so incompetent.”

Ego-san’s eyes twitched. But if he noticed the difference in honorifics, he showed no sign of it. “You little shit. I’m enjoying this unhealthy junk because I couldn’t have it when I played. You’ll understand when you retire.” He stubbornly jabbed his chopsticks into the plastic bowl again. “Although, I might have to contact Iyo. Her meals are delicious.”

Isagi agreed. His mother really was the best.

Teieri-san walked in with his earplugs just then. She was also like a guardian figure for him ever since he walked into Ego-san’s JFU office that first time. He smiled at her as she pressed the earplugs into his hands and fussed over his eyebags, telling him to rest up and not worry too much about his task from Ego-san.

“Don’t skip sleep, ok? It’s very important,” she finished, letting him back out of the room with a soft wave.

Isagi darted out of there with the same skittishness that came from meeting all your extended relatives in a single night while they smothered you with love and rudely intimate questions like they weren’t complete strangers to you. Teieri-san could be overbearing, but he liked that about her. She didn’t let people walk over her, even at the JFU.

When he got back to Team Z’s room, he noticed the stark difference in the atmosphere of the room immediately. Bachira, never one to be affected by tension, hummed happily in their little corner, fluffing their pillows and shuffling under his blanket. The others in the room got ready for bed in complete silence with the occasional whisper here and there at his appearance. He furrowed his brows and walked in, noticing how Kunigami had also sort of separated from the main group, pulling his futon from the middle and more to the wall. Chigiri had done so from the very first day, citing that he hated sharing a space with rowdy teenage males. Isagi empathized.

Walking over to Bachira, Isagi frowned at the uncharacteristic silence from Team Z, who were all awake. They were glaring at Bachira, which was new because usually they were paying attention to Isagi. Seeing Bachira’s self-satisfied grin, he thought that maybe he was better off not knowing what had occurred when he was gone.

And maybe he didn’t need those earplugs, after all.

——————

The whistle signaled the end of the first half of their official match. It was Yoichi’s second year on the team, and it was their second match of the season. Yoichi had been trying to not piss off his teammates in some way or another for the past year, but he had always been someone who wore his heart on his sleeve. He couldn’t pretend to like someone he hated, and he couldn’t hide his anger at incompetency. His feelings, clear to see by his downwards-facing lips and furrowed eyebrows, pushed them away from him, taunts and insults thrown over the chasm between them.

The team rushed into the locker room. They were down 2-0, and every shot Aoi had taken missed the net wildly. Aoi seethed, that hunger to score enveloping the whole team, making them all nervous and anxious to give their striker a goal-scoring pass. No one had passed Yoichi the ball, however, and the coach had put him in defense . Defense. Him. Not that he couldn’t do it, but he wanted to score goals. He’d practically only touched the ball twice when defenders boldly tried to invade their side through his area. They’d learned to avoid him, though, and now, they were scoring goals left and right off of Asamo’s horrible defense.

Yoichi seethed quietly, following his fuming teammates into the locker room, a step behind.

The conversation in the locker room made it clear to Yoichi that no one in his team had a brain. They talked in circles about how to stop the other team, and they were perfectly happy to use his skills and keep him in the back row. He snapped.

“Hashimoto.” His voice cut through the chatter and immediately everyone’s eyes were on him, cruelly narrowing their eyes at his impudence. Hashimoto, their captain and midfielder, had the ability to push him up to the front line. “Pass to me.” He didn’t trust himself to say anything more.

Hashimoto hummed, rubbing his chin in thought. “How about you beg for a pass?” He drawled contemptuously, a disdainful grin spreading across his chapped, pale lips. “Maybe then I’ll give you the ball.”

Yoichi scoffed, but he knew it had been a long shot. “Then I’ll just take it from you instead.”

Suddenly, it felt like there were too many people in the locker room. Or at least, there were too many enemies and not enough allies or any at all. No one would speak up for him here. He mentally kicked himself.

“Tone down your fucking attitude or I’ll make sure you won’t touch the ball for the rest of the game,” Hashimoto darkly promised.

He towered over Yoichi’s pre-pubescent body, attempting to instill a sense of fear in the underclassman. A captain, Yoichi reasoned, should be able to keep control of all the players. Despite the sound logic and the fact that he understood Hashimoto’s reasoning, what came out of his mouth was: “I don’t need you guys to pass to me–I’ll never need the help of second-rate players. See if you can stop me, Idiot-senpai.”

The midfielder’s face twisted so fast Yoichi thought he might actually get his nose broken right there. He took long, calming breaths but his face was still scrunched and angry. Aoi pushed his way to them before Yoichi could focus on protecting his face. Hands grabbed ruthlessly at his jersey and rammed him brutally into the lockers. A faint curse slipped through Yoichi’s lips, as he scrambled to grab the hands on him. His back stung from the impact of the metal, the lock stuck out past the door pressing much harder into his lower back than the rest of the metal. He looked up, gritting his teeth, and met eyes with Aoi’s shadowed blue ones.

“You’re so fucking annoying,” Aoi snarled, pulling him off the lockers and pushing him right back into them. This time, Yoichi really did groan. It hurt , this asshole. The locker room stayed suspended in silence, no one daring to move or speak. Tension hung heavy in the air as Aoi’s anger and frustration from the game suffocated them and Yoichi’s fear filled his heart. Were they going to do nothing? Were they not going to help him?

His lips wobbled uneasily. “Stop- It hurts, Aoi-chan, let go,” he pleaded, as quietly and sincerely as he could. “I wasn’t even talking to you.”

With his pathetic admission, he hoped that someone would pull them off of each other. No one stepped forward. His mouth fell open slowly in disbelief. He pulled desperately at the hands on his jersey, dangerously close to choking him with the amount of fabric bunched up in Aoi’s hands.

Breaths were coming to him in short bursts, his blood raced, and his heart hammered. He’d never felt so alone or afraid. He panicked as Aoi leaned in to snarl in his face. “You might as well be. We’re second rate players? Fucking asshole, you think I’m second rate?”

Something took over him, calming his trembling tongue and whipping it into a sharp weapon. His eyes narrowed and cleared slightly, allowing him the empty pleasure of watching Aoi’s disgusted blue eyes as he spat back, “I’m just speaking the truth.” He scratched at Aoi’s wrist with renewed anger and strength. “Your aim is so shit that any goal you make is a miracle.”

The scowl on his face widened. The next thing Yoichi knew, a hand snaked up from the collar of his shirt and shot up to grab forcefully at his jaw, the palm of his hand covering a good portion of his neck. Yoichi could feel his palm pressing harshly into the bump in his throat and his fingers digging into the skin of the hinge of his jaw. Yoichi stilled, fear taking over his irrational mind, clawing its way up his thoughts and settling in the driver’s seat.

“Keep fucking talking, Yoichi,” he whispered sinisterly, promising retaliation. His expression took up Yoichi’s entire vision.

(Unbidden, his mind conjured up the memory of Aoi’s gentle smile, so unlike the bitter scowl he always wore around him now. How could it have changed so much? Aoi had once smiled so softly, eyes shining with care and familiarity as he gifted Isagi a small blue hair clip. “Yoichi!” He had shouted excitedly from across the playground. Their mothers giggled as Aoi bounded up to him, brandishing his gift proudly. “I saw it in a store! Isn’t it nice? It’s your color!”

Back then, Yoichi had smiled indulgently because he knew it wasn’t his color; it was the bright, ocean-like color of Aoi’s eyes. Yoichi had liked it because he would always have a physical reminder of his first and only friend. Someone who had thought about him while shopping. It had felt nice, Yoichi remembered, to be so seen. And when Aoi gently clasped some of his hair in the feminine flower hair clip, Yoichi had felt so silly, wearing something meant for girls. But Aoi had tucked the hair clip past his ear and fastened it to his head, staring at it in awe. Yoichi had supposed back then that he wouldn’t mind wearing it when they met up if Aoi continued to stare at him with stars in his eyes like that. “I like it, Aoi-chan. Thank you!”

“Yay!” The child-like innocence and pure happiness stained Yoichi’s memory, plaguing it as that same hand that pushed his hair back with such care now wrapped around his throat and squeezed. “Wear it every day, Yoichi, ok?”

Yoichi hadn’t worn it since the day he stopped calling Aoi, Aoi-chan. But some strange part of him refused to throw it away, the memory of his only friend making him overly nostalgic. It sat, rotting and unused, in the pouch of his backpack meant for his water bottle. He had hoped that one day it might fall out due to its open nature and his rough handling just so that he could finally be rid of it. With the excuse that he had lost it, unable to do the deed himself. It remained practically glued to the bottom of the pouch.)

The raspy breathing in the locker room he belatedly realized was coming from himself. Dazedly, he gasped, knowing he was losing air and panic was taking over his movements. How could he do this to me? His mind unhelpfully lamented. He lashed out, trying to push Aoi away and get his hand off his throat. “F- fucker-” he rasped, swiping his fist out to where he thought Aoi’s face was, a last-ditch attempt to save himself from both death and humiliation.

And then, the pressure was thrown off him in an instant. Hashimoto-senpai stood in front of him, but he didn’t have time to truly see anything before he was doubling over, gulping in frightened breaths like he just almost drowned. It was more the shock than anything else, but all the air he was breathing was having a hard time filling his lungs. His throat hurt, dull imprints of where Aoi’s fingers had dug into him remained. His eyes stung, but he refused to cry, head bowed to the ground in shame. His throat pounded. And his hair tingled.

“-lost your fucking mind?!” Hashimoto-senpai’s voice boomed through the locker room. Yoichi’s ears were slowly acclimating to the pounding blood in his ears, coming back to reality with the sound of Hashimoto-senpai’s screaming. “You just assaulted your teammate! Are you fucking kidding me? No matter how much of an asshole Isagi is, you can’t fucking do that. I won’t tolerate that kind of shit on my team. You do something like that again, and I’ll fucking kick you off the team. You understand?”

Yoichi distantly heard Aoi reply with a dismissive, “Yeah, got it, senpai,” but all he could think about was the fact that no one had done anything but watch. He wasn’t hurt badly, and he doubted Aoi would’ve seriously hurt him, but the thought that no one was willing to do anything was terrifying. He could see Aoi glaring at him from a few paces away, as he crouched down, protectively hovering his hand over his throat. He wondered if that would leave a mark that he’d have to cover before his parents found out.

(His face kept morphing into one years younger, tainting that memory with the hatred-filled smile of their present. At least leave my memories alone , he cried out silently. I can’t take it. )

He might’ve been previously antagonizing Hashimoto-senpai, but he thanked his stars that the captain was there, otherwise he didn’t know what would’ve happened. A newfound respect and admiration for the midfielder settled in his veins as the guy pulled him up off the floor after making sure he was breathing well.

“… Thank you, Hashimoto-senpai,” Yoichi mumbled, looking shamefully at his feet. The midfielder gave him a look filled with pity or something similar, and Yoichi hated it. He’d never had anyone look at him like that. “I’m fine,” he said more decisively because he didn’t know what else to say to stop that look.

Hashimoto-senpai gave him a complicated look. After a few moments of silence, he recovered, schooling his face into something more neutral. “If you move up the field during our possession on their side… I’ll pass to you.” At Yoichi’s hopeful wide-eyed smile, Hashimoto-senpai sighed. “Just once, ok? I still think you’re an asshole.”

“Yes! Thanks!”

The game ended 2-1, but just as Hashimoto-senpai had promised, he passed the ball to Yoichi just once. Even after seeing his effortless goal, the team refused to give him another, despite the deafening cheers of the audience. And some part of him broke into a million pieces.

Chapter Text

2017 Germany Match Review

FootballAnalyst 1.2M likes

2.4M subscribers

1.9M views 1 year ago

Hi, everyone! My Noel Noa bias showing again… Don’t roast me in the comments. Anyway, getting into the analysis, it’s …more

721K Comments

@EgosRamen  1 year ago

Could you be a little less obvious about your obsession? Noel Noa takes up about half of the video.

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↳ @itoshibrother</3  1 year ago

Noel Noa is worthy of the screen time unlike other lukewarm strikers.

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↳ @speedgenius7  1 year ago

woah, what happened to your handle bruh

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↳ @itoshibrother</3  1 year ago

It’s not your business

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↳ @mikage130  1 year ago

damn.

@themagician8  1 year ago

Another streamer hyping up Noel Noa smh. @footballanalyst11 you’ll see something better if you review Bastard’s youth team

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↳ @footballanalyst11  1 year ago

Noel Noa >>> always

↳ @bestgamer23  1 year ago

@themagician8 haha embarrassing (＾▽＾)

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↳ @impossibleemperor  1 year ago

@themagician8 embarrassing.

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↳ @themagician8  1 year ago

(¬_¬”)

@sae10  1 year ago

Incredible analysis. Subscribed.

↳ @itoshibrother</3  1 year ago

🖕

@monsterbee  1 year ago

YOUR FAV #1 FAN IS HERE !!!! ANOTHER AMAZINGG VIDEO, ANALYST-CHAN (っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ NEVER STOP THE NOEL NOA FANBOYING WE LOVE

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↳ @footballanalyst11  1 year ago

@monsterbee THANK YOU ≧◡≦ ♥

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↳ @monsterbee  1 year ago

OH MY F SHGJDSHGJKLGDS

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↳ @speedgenius7  1 year ago

@footballanalyst11 wtf why do you have favorites T-T i’ve been here since FOREVER

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↳ @monsterbee  1 year ago

(*^▽^*)

↳ @mikage130  1 year ago

@speedgenius7 i feel your pain T-T

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@futbolrules18  1 year ago

ppl recommended this channel to me but i didn’t listen T-T

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@orangebleachdude62  1 year ago

Another outstanding video! You’ve gotten much better at speaking in English. You’re helping me learn, too. Thank you very much for your dedication!

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↳ @footballanalyst11  1 year ago

@orangebleachdude62 Glad I could help! Thank you for your patronage!

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↳ @speedgenius7  1 year ago

when will it be me T-T

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@jingliuhsr888  1 year ago

didi still transforms into a demon every video ☠️ justice for the insulted dead 🙏

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@itoshibrother</3  1 year ago

Your English is still lukewarm.

↳ @footballanalyst11  1 year ago

@itoshibrother</3 Is ‘lukewarm’ the first word you learned in English, did you just learn it or..???

↳ @speedgenius7  1 year ago

@footballanalyst11 LMAO bro was too embarrassed to respond 😂

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——————

The JFU building was an unassuming building in the middle of Tokyo, towering over pedestrians like the rest of the developed buildings in the area. After making the trip, Yoichi was expecting something a bit more… jaw-dropping or something. A child in awe of football wanted the headquarters of the sport in Japan to be absolutely mind-boggling, but it looked just like any other office building. Nonetheless, it was an exciting experience to be without his parents, riding on a bus with Ego-san to the place where he’d be ‘working’ for the foreseeable future.

If they weren’t talking about something football-related, it was actually quite… Well, ‘nice’ wasn’t the word Yoichi wanted to use, but it was pleasant to sit quietly with the man. It was almost as if Ego-san didn’t know what to talk about if it wasn’t about football, but Yoichi didn’t mind sitting comfortably in silence, as his small talk skills were only slightly better than Ego-san’s, which is to say, they both sucked at it. But, then again, Yoichi was still someone uncomfortable with a lot of silence, so occasionally, he would fill the role of the speaker and tell the man about his school work (“boring”), his channel (“you’re still hopeless at editing”), and his new football skills (“much more entertaining than hearing about your homework”). Sometimes he wondered if Ego-san was a good adult to spend time with, as he seemed like the example of what not to do in life.

Nonetheless, he found himself in Ego-san’s office, sitting in an uncomfortable, small, rickety old chair, haphazardly stuck in the corner of the room with an even smaller desk. He met a nice lady named Teieri-san, who was Ego-san’s secretary. He secretly liked her better than Ego-san–every time he came, she would give him a handful of white rabbit candies to enjoy while he did whatever Ego-san thought up for that day. He liked listening to her dreams of how she wanted Japan to win the World Cup. As a 12 year old, he was thrilled to tell her that, of course, her dream would come true, as long as he was on the team! Now, he reassured her that her project, that she liked to think Ego-san and her were keeping a secret from him, would create Japanese players capable of carrying out her dream. When she noticed the change (because, of course, she did, she knew him better than Ego-san), she said nothing, but at the end of the day, she gave him another handful of candies and told him not to worry.

He liked the scenery of the office. The workers bustled around hurriedly and barely spared him a glance, even though he was probably a decade too young to be working there. There were fake plants all around because no one had time to upkeep real plants, and there were pretty paintings on the walls that had nothing to do with football but were pleasing nonetheless. Out of Ego-san’s office window, he could see almost the entirety of Tokyo. Stories below, people walked in their suits or streetwear to their next locations, and cars zoomed by through the crowded streets.

Yoichi, who had grown accustomed to rushing, liked being here. Rushing was a part of his daily life. Rushing to school, rushing to practice, rushing out of practice as fast as possible, rushing home, rushing to analyze the next match, rushing to post it, rushing in matches, rushing with football skills, rushing to the goal, rushing to score—it was an irrefutable part of life that Yoichi rushed with everything he did. It was nice to take a moment to himself, in this building that ignored him and made him invisible, to just breathe and think.

Because he had to stay the entire time that Ego-san ‘worked’ so that the man could escort him home, he sat in his small, uncomfortable seat with nothing to do for hours after he finished Ego-san’s requests. His requests were varied and often tedious, but Yoichi was nothing if not good at football analysis. He suspected that most of his tasks were actually Ego-san’s real work for the JFU, but he had no proof, and he probably did it better than the man anyway (only because Ego-san cared very little for the JFU’s work—this he knew because he kept watching videos instead of doing work).

Sometime during the beginning of his first year of high school, Ego-san had begun to ask him to research under 18 male strikers in Japan and collect a detailed, short report of the best 500. He honestly didn’t know how ‘detailed’ and ‘short’ could possibly work together in the same sentence, but he tried his best to cut his points down to bullet points so Ego-san wouldn’t lose his mind pouring over documents. He formatted it with a name at the top of each section with a brief bullet list of best and worst skills and a link to a video of a self-made compilation of their plays.

A few notable strikers stuck out to him as he worked over the course of the year.

Obviously, there was Rin-kun, who he’d played against at the end of his first year of high school. The kid was talented, no doubt, and would thrive in Ego-san’s ‘selfishness rules all’ environment.

He’d read newspapers and found an eccentric striker who was made out to be a delinquent by the media. But Yoichi knew better than to trust what the newspapers said. Halfway through the year, Isagi went back to Shidou-san’s page and added better notes, as he was biased and had better information after their one-on-one.

There was a duo from a rich school who seemed to have only just begun playing. He rolled his eyes as he added them to the list. He’d always preferred strikers who worked hard for their skills instead of relying on something as flimsy as talent. Nonetheless, the purple-haired one had a lot of potential, and he might’ve spent a bit too long watching his matches, pulling his hair out when he saw how much he wasted his talents.

Originally, he was reluctant to add Chigiri Hyoma to the list, as the guy hadn’t played in a while due to his injury, but Ego-san insisted he add him because ‘he’ll be fine’. Yoichi hadn’t questioned it, knowing it was all part of Ego-san’s evil master plan. Personally, Yoichi thought Chigiri would be an amazing striker if he could get over his fear. But was it really wise to force someone reasonably and understandably scared of injuring his leg again into the heat of the field? I mean, they were talking about injuries . Health was very important, and injuries sucked. He trusted Ego-san (barely) and added Chigiri’s report to the list.

And… despite all his hatred, he could admit that Aoi ranked in the top 500 strikers in Japan. Truthfully, Isagi knew he was better than him, but he still ranked. He could only hope that Ego-san would weed him out, especially since he knew of that .

At the end of his first year of high school, tired, spiritless, and barely hanging onto the love he had for football, he gave Ego-san the online packet, and the man almost fired Isagi for forgetting to include himself. After hastily making a page for himself, he rectified his mistake, and Ego-san explained his plan to weed out the list himself until he had the top 300 male strikers in Japan.

Isagi knew it was for his project, but he didn’t linger on the thought, returning to editing his next video, a slight frown resting on his lips as he blankly clicked on his computer. He could tell Ego-san didn’t like the shift in his personality ever since the incident, but he couldn’t bother to fix it for the man. And there was a shred of kindness left in the sadistic man, as he suppressed the urge to insult or berate Isagi as often as before. Surprisingly, he wasn’t even getting a lecture on his ‘lost ego’, as Ego-san might say.

Ego-san’s new project… even if he backed out (because by the look on the man’s face, he would surely push him to be a part of it), it would undoubtedly be interesting. He pointed out to Ego-san a few key strikers he was partial to. Even if he couldn’t be there personally, Isagi was looking forward to seeing their evolution.

——————

As Team Z stood in their shared room, they took part in a rock paper scissors game to choose positions. Isagi joined because obviously, he wanted to be a forward, but he wasn’t sure how receptive these people would be to that. It was still oddly quiet in the room, as the previous night and whatever Bachira had done were probably still weighing heavily in their minds.

When he won, it was a surprise. He stared down at his hand in astonishment. Kuon kindly gestured for him to choose a position. It was obvious, but the faces on some of his teammates were concerning. “I… want to be the forward.”

He could see them biting their tongues, glancing at Bachira, who was bouncing around him happily, congratulating him. Ah.

Scanning the room, Isagi could see that there were already a bunch of unhappy faces. He wasn’t too optimistic about the outcome of this game, but if they were able to come together after this, then they would have a shot at surviving together.

A pair of blazing pink eyes bored into him. Looking over his shoulder in his peripheral vision, he made eye contact with them. The striker had been extremely quiet for the duration of their stay and had made practically no effort to fit in or speak with them. His hair made many think he was a girl, but for Isagi, it was a defining factor of Chigiri Hyoma. Having already researched him for Ego-san a year back, he knew all about him. Why such a person would be looking at him, he didn’t know. Isagi made sure to stare for a few seconds before turning his head back to Bachira, who was excitedly celebrating his ‘attacking midfielder’ position.

Kuon took the lead in the locker room team strategy meeting. Isagi still saw no merit in his skills.

“Okay, everyone. We’ll use this set-up for the first game,” he affirmed, slapping his palm on the small whiteboard. “We don’t have time to make a detailed strategy, so we’ll just try to center around Isagi-kun for this game.”

Bachira jumped up while wrestling on his uniform jersey. “Got it!” He looked entirely too happy for someone who had their arms stuck in their jersey. Isagi shamefully walked over and helped him pull the jersey down, ignoring the judging silence in the room.

Igaguri broke the silence, having no fear as always. “Can we really win with Isagi as the forward?” He crossed his arms. “I’ve heard you’re shit at scoring.”

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees as Bachira coldly laughed, recovering from his embarrassing moment (He hadn’t been affected by the embarrassment in the first place.) to narrow his eyes at Igaguri with a chilling smile.

Isagi held him back with a nervous smile, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. Bachira glared but complied, huffing loudly.

Unfortunately, Chigiri had no such restrictions because he stared nonchalantly at his hair twirled around his finger, glaring up through his lashes threateningly. “You sure you wanna talk shit about things you don’t know? What can you even bring to the team?”

Igaguri stilled and backed down.

The atmosphere remained tense as they finished changing. Isagi frowned. Of course, it ended up like this and they hadn’t even started playing yet. Just his luck.

“It’s almost time,” Kuon declared, clearing his throat pointedly. The team filed out of the locker room. It was starting to be suffocating. It felt just like Ichinan.

It may be because of that fact that he unconsciously slipped into his stubborn, independent Ichinan mindset.

Only one member of Team Z was a threat, and that was Barou Shouei, the king of the Akita prefecture. Isagi vaguely remembers from his research that his skills were his overwhelming shooting and his ability to make people bend to him. It was something Isagi could never do, not just because he didn’t have that physique, but also because Barou was unapologetically dominating. The two of them were both obnoxious assholes, but as long as Barou used the others in his play, they would feel included and wanted on his team, even while he was the star. Isagi was never good at making others pass to him or have full confidence that he’d earn them the victory.

But that was about it. He was good at shooting and standing out, but not much else could be said about him right now. Isagi looked forward to his evolution, but he wouldn’t be able to stand it if they lost to this team of nobodies and their overconfident, arrogant king.

Already, he could hear some of the no-name players whispering amongst themselves and pointing at him. “Hey, it’s Isagi Yoichi. Pfft- what’s he doing on Team Z? Ego must hate him.”

“I pity his team. Do you think they put him in midfield or what?”

Isagi ignored them, but it was extremely hard to do when he walked to his position, and they started laughing quietly. Isagi wanted to destroy their self-esteem and show them that they were nothing in comparison to him. He clamped down on that feeling as always.

As soon as they got into position, his eyes focused, gluing themselves onto the goal.

“Isagi-chan,” Bachira called. Isagi startled, whipping his head around to face Bachira. Bachira’s eyes softened slightly. “Don’t worry, and just have fun! You can’t win at football if you’re not having fun.”

Isagi averted his eyes. “I’ll try.”

Bachira passed it to him, worry evident in the firm line of his mouth. Isagi faced forward and ran. Immediately, three defenders from Team X charged forward to stop him, shouting annoying nonsense. “He won’t pass!” “Stop him!”

Isagi darted around them, weaving his body around and inside their bunched-up bodies and kicking the ball in a zigzag between their legs. Dropping his chest slightly closer to the ground, he dodged their flying arms intent on stopping his advances, and cleared them.

Bachira ran forward across from him, dodging defenders and grinning while looking at Isagi. Isagi barely noticed, absorbed in his regular mindset, mind trained on the goal and eyes rapidly darting over the field. Barou was closing in on him, other defenders carelessly running forward to stop him, and the goalie fiddling nervously with his gloves because he’d never worn them before.

Isagi didn’t even let Barou finish his first cringey sentence before he was sprinting forward, staring intensely into the striker’s cold eyes. This close and leaning forward, Isagi knew he had Barou’s whole attention, the striker scowling and reaching a leg out to kick the ball from his possession. But the ball was already gone. And Isagi’s body was already gliding past him to follow the ball.

“A self-pass?!” One of the defenders exclaimed in frustration. “Intercept it!”

Isagi didn’t care for their futile attempts, making quick work of them and finally, he was face to face with the goal. It was familiar.

He pulled his foot back and scored without any resistance from Team X besides their star cursing and shoving Isagi’s chest back. But Isagi had had ample experience with strong guys pushing him around, so his shot remained on course and sailed effortlessly into the goal, the goalie barely responding.

Barou growled, alternating between staring down at Isagi and looking at the net in anger (Yes, actually growled, Isagi’s face scrunched up subconsciously). “Don’t get all cocky because of one goal, loser. I’m still the best on this field.”

“Big talk from someone who hasn’t done anything yet.”

He quickly walked away before Barou could start running his mouth.

After his goal, he snapped out of it and felt immediately guilty that he hadn’t listened to Bachira’s advice and slipped back into his old habits. He wasn’t honoring his promise to Bachira… He shook his head to clear his mind and resolved to trust him for the rest of the game. No more solo stunts.

A weight landed on his back as he was walking back, sending him into a hysterical fit. Bachira, unperturbed by his reaction, celebrated in his ear. “Goal! That was so cool seeing it in person!” Isagi relaxed when he realized it was Bachira, his pounding heart slowing. He smiled at Bachira, noticing the stark difference between Bachira’s reaction and the rest of Team Z. Their cheers died out as they stared at the ground or at him warily, while some smiled hesitantly at the scoreboard. He sighed. “Isagi-chan, lemme help next time! I wanna score a goal with you~”

Isagi patted Bachira’s forearm that was wrapped around his neck. Bachira was, of course, reminding him of their promise. “Sorry, Bachira. I didn’t do as I promised.” Bachira tilted his head, but Isagi continued. “I’ll start now.”

Bachira skipped next to him. “Oh~ that.” He smiled at Isagi, snapping like he had figured something out. “Leave it to me next time!” He also poked his finger at Isagi’s forehead. “And stop thinking so much. Just play.”

Well, Isagi certainly was used to being the one to overthink and micromanage the entire field, but if Bachira thought this would help him, he wasn’t opposed to letting that go. It was exhausting. He’d let Bachira orchestrate it since he asked, and Isagi would follow his lead.

He nodded seriously, a genuine expression filling his features and eyes burning with determination. “Guide me, Bachira.”

Slightly stunned, Bachira’s jaw dropped. Then he quickly turned away, and Isagi swore he could see steam coming out of his ears. He curiously tilted his head. “Bachira?”

He mumbled something incoherent and scurried back to his position. Isagi, baffled, followed him.

Barou kind of resembled a bull like this. He was so mad that his aura was practically oozing out of him. Maybe he provoked him too much. Isagi didn’t particularly care for such an aesthetic, but he could admire the dedication and passion.

Team X started with the ball, but unfortunately for them, the starting player was rather pathetic and prideful. He looked for opportunities for himself rather than passing to Barou, who was their best and only chance. Isagi ran forward, intent on stealing the ball, but he was stunned by the next events.

Team X players all rushed at their teammate, yelling and shouting at each other while grappling for possession of the ball. Isagi stopped short. He’d never faced something like this. Even if his football career was really fucked up and consisted of him stealing the ball from his own teammates, he’d never faced a team that borderline dogpiled on each other to get the ball. While he stared in amazement at the scene, Team Z players like Raichi, Kunigami, and Naruhaya also joined in the fray. He’d expected this from Raichi and Naruhaya but Kunigami? Really?

Isagi stepped to the side of the field, content with watching this ridiculous battle until someone broke free with the ball. He was right in the middle to maximize his chances of stopping someone no matter which side they targeted. He wasn’t above stealing from his own teammates while they ran towards the goal, especially after seeing this pathetic display.

Unfortunately, he was so thrown off by this that he failed to notice Barou sneaking past and barrelling through the pile with the ball at his feet. Isagi cursed and sprinted after him, a few feet behind. But the teenage emo disaster was unsurprisingly good at breaking through defenders by himself, using heel-flicks and nutmegs to pass them. Oddly, Barou seemed to slow down as he reached his scoring range. Isagi used it to his advantage and continued sprinting while Barou’s speed decreased.

Isagi was almost right on his heels when Barou slapped an arm across his chest and mercilessly pulled his leg back. Isagi stuck his leg in front of the ball, reaching it out as far as he could go, but Barou was much larger and his limbs stretched farther. He readjusted the ball further from Isagi’s reach, making Iemon fall from the feint, and shot a clean goal.

Isagi cursed inwardly. These fucking strikers and their petty revenge. What sort of idiot waited until he was in front of the goal with them to shoot?

Barou expectantly glared down at him, a self-assured aura taking over him. Isagi refused to be so petty and turned away before he could give Barou the satisfaction of reacting to his targeted taunts.

While he walked back, he could hear Barou giving a speech. He wanted to do the ear equivalent of gouging his eyes out. “Listen up, you shitty losers. To me, the ball isn’t my friend or anything like that. It’s just a round servant that makes me look good. On the field, I’m the king.” Seriously, who was creating these lines? He sounded like one of those cartoon villains that never got an ounce of attention past mocking derision because they sounded like a chuunibyou cringe-fest.

Team X revitalized, cheering on their ‘King Barou’, bleh. Isagi cringed at the name, but… He closed his eyes and imagined blank faces rallying around him and screaming his name as he scored a goal with their help. When he opened them again, he was faced with his fighting teammates and the fact that he could never have something like that. He would never get that… His teams always hated him. He turned away.

More concerningly, though, Team Z was losing it. Isagi observed as they broke down, blaming each other for not defending well, or, poor Iemon, for not blocking the crazy shot and for falling for a feint. If he had any sympathy for anyone on Team Z, it would be Iemon; it truly wasn’t his fault. He’d literally been a goalie for 3 minutes.

Isagi was shocked out of his thoughts by a foreign finger aggressively poking his chest. He physically stopped himself from flinching. Raichi scowled down at him. “Listen up. I don’t trust you. You’re an uncooperative asshole and a piece of shit.” Isagi blankly listened; it was the same shit he always heard and a hand on the collar of his uniform was too familiar to be frightening. Bachira stalked up to them but stopped as Raichi continued. “But, you might be our chance at winning.” He released Isagi. “Prove that you’re not just some stingy asshole, and I’ll support you.”

Isagi didn’t expect that from Raichi. Maybe he wasn’t giving the guy enough credit… but his football skills were still shit. “... I was working on it already. You don’t have to tell me…” He brushed off his jersey, turning away. “...” He looked back over his shoulder reluctantly. “Just…” But in the end, he couldn’t say any more than that and walked away.

Bachira started with the ball again, stretching happily with a grin. He didn’t understand how Bachira could always be so cheerful in any situation; it was almost infectious. Bachira’s intense, swirling eyes landed on him. Isagi stilled, feeling a chill run through his bones.

“Isagi-chan,” Bachira cooed, seeing his friend walk toward him. “Let’s do it now.”

Isagi felt a shiver wrack through his spine. He breathed out, his breath coming out shakily in that way it did when he was excited. He couldn’t believe he was feeling something, even if it was a small sliver of a feeling. That familiar sting of determination. He nodded at Bachira, feeling himself take up an identical expression. “I’ll follow you, Bachira.” I trust you.

Bachira smiled. “Run. We’ll meet in front of the goal. And then… You should know what to do.”

“Yeah,” Isagi responded, forcing his brain to stop running a mile a minute. All he had to focus on was…

Bachira ran forward, dribbling past defenders with such ease that Isagi’s mind unconsciously likened him to liquid flowing between the defenders like honey. He taunted them sweetly, making them believe they could stop him, then destroyed their hopes by sticking them in his trap and clearing them. Isagi was so enamored with that style that he thought of nothing else while he ran, taking on defenders of his own.

He could hear footsteps from the others on his team following them. He knew what he needed to do, but that made it no less difficult. Putting someone else besides himself in control of the game… he was afraid of relinquishing that power, but he was also afraid they’d mess it up, and he wouldn’t be able to salvage their mistake. It’d happened before, and it was absolutely humiliating.

Bachira sent him the ball with an encouraging look. Isagi adjusted to correctly receive the ball and came face-to-face with Barou.

“Isagi Yoichi,” he drawled angrily. “ I’m the king here. You mean nothing in front of me. Try to get past me, loser.”

So now that he had a goal in this game, he could talk so shamelessly? Isagi made a face.

It seemed Barou’s pride overflowed and started to affect his rational side because there was no way he thought he was on equal footing with Isagi . He might’ve been the king in Akita, but he was nothing compared to Isagi. Isagi pursed his lips to keep from scowling and cursing him out. “Barou-kun, check yourself. Misplaced self-confidence will only get you so far.”

Isagi felt that same determination from before swell up in his heart. He had come to Blue Lock to trust in Ego-san’s plan. He had come to try his best for his coach. But that wasn’t the correct motivation. Ego-san had said it himself: they needed an ego here to survive. That lame motivation would be crushed in a place like this. Isagi came to Blue Lock to…

He came here to find his passion again. He came here to change his miserable life and smile freely while playing football. He wanted happiness to flood through him uncontrollably after he scored a goal, and he wanted to be supported.

Teammates. He’d never felt connected to a team. But to gain trust and to enjoy football again, he needed to trust in the others back. They’d help him feel that sensation. Once he stopped fighting his team… maybe then they’d all be happy. And he could be happy, too.

Ah, I’m such a fool. Of course, it would be different here. They’re not those idiots at Ichinan. I’m such an idiot.

Isagi analyzed the field without looking too far away from Barou.

Kungami… I’ll trust you.

If he missed… Isagi didn’t know how he’d feel. Could he truly trust in Team Z if they couldn’t score, even with his help?

In a swift movement, Isagi passed the ball directly to Kunigami. Don’t let me down.

It landed right at Kunigami’s feet, still and without any spin so that Kunigami could hit it as hard as he could and make the goal. Kunigami huffed in awe. “Hah, nice pass, Isagi.”

Please… Score.

Kunigami smashed it into the goal, stunning everyone on the field with his overwhelming presence. Cheers went up around the field from Team Z, ecstatic at winning another goal. “Nice pass!” could be heard all over the field, as players patted him on the back.

Isagi breathed out a sigh of relief. Good. He could trust those who made the best of his passes. As for passing…

Isagi knew that his passes were good, but those all came from relentlessly training to make good goals. So, now was he supposed to question whether he was a midfielder or a striker? Ego-san certainly seemed confident that he’d be a striker. Oh well, if his passes helped, he didn’t care. But, he was kind of astounded at the response from his team. They were… genuinely happy?

Bachira slapped him on the back of the head. “I told you! Don’t think so much!” He giggled. “So? How was trusting us?”

Isagi watched the team cheer around Kunigami, some sending him smiles, too. The hesitance was still there, but they seemed normal. Kunigami gave him a thumbs up and a small grin. He smiled back, letting Kunigami return to his fans. It seemed like a celebration he’d watched thousands of times from the other side of the field. He was finally a part of that. He smiled. “I guess it wasn’t too bad.” Isagi turned to Bachira with a genuine smile. “Thank you, Bachira.”

Bachira covered his cheeks in embarrassment. He mumbled something like ‘you’re too earnest’ then regained his expression. He pointed up at Isagi with resolve. “No, Isagi-chan. Thank you .”

Before he could question that, a hand fisted in his jersey and shook him violently. Isagi instinctively kicked out, a knee hitting Raichi in the ribs. He grunted, curling inward. “Fuck! The fuck was that for?!”

Isagi realized where he was. “Oh… sorry. I was surprised.”

Raichi gave him an odd look. Then his face twisted into a snarl. “What the fuck are you doing?! Why’d you pass to Kunigami?! I was way more open than he was!!” The whole while he was shaking Isagi back and forth. Isagi felt a familiar instinct telling him to punch Raichi. Luckily the guy had no resemblance to any of his old teammates, what with his sharp shark teeth, so Isagi was spared from the red card, and, Raichi, from the broken nose.

Nonetheless, he was pissed. Wasn’t this team supposed to be different? What was with violent assholes being everywhere in football?

If he was supposed to start anew here, he sure as hell wouldn’t take any shit from a guy who had fucking shark teeth and a disgusting haircut. Not to mention his less-than-stellar personality. It would be a miracle if his mother even loved him.

Isagi gripped Raichi’s wrist and twisted until Raichi subtly winced. He stared up at him disdainfully. “Get your fucking hands off me.” Even though Raichi was trying to pull his hand back, Isagi continued gripping it in place with his fingers until Raichi understood his ire. Isagi released his grip suddenly, leaving Raichi to stumble back. The boy glared as he rubbed his wrist but stayed silent as Isagi’s attention was still on him. “I passed to Kunigami because he had a better chance of scoring a goal. From your angle, you’d still have to contend with Barou if he moved to the left. Kunigami has a strong kick from that position and the defender was behind him.” Isagi straightened his jersey. “It was a logical decision. Don’t get all worked up over being inferior.”

The reaction was immediate. Raichi, who had almost accepted his explanation, shot up and snarled. “Fuck you! I’m inferior?! I’ll fucking show you!”

By now, the entire field was watching them. Isagi was uncomfortable with the situation. “Sure. Do that, and I’ll pass to you.” And then he walked away with Bachira jumping at his side, unable to deal with the eyes.

Isagi belatedly noticed his hands were trembling. He willed them to stop futilely.

The first half ended.

In the locker room, they praised his assist and magnificent pass. Isagi smiled and nodded, still happy that a team was finally recognizing his efforts. They were almost normal.

Predictably, Barou was pissed when they came out to start the second half. But Isagi couldn’t give any less shits about that guy. He wanted to explore the new possibilities that opened up with his willingness to pass to Team Z. Change was always exciting. And he approached this with the meticulousness of a scientist testing a new hypothesis.

He wanted to see who was good and all their skills. He wanted to know all the pieces on his chess board. How he could best use them, how they would help him, how they would achieve victory with those pieces. He craved knowledge.

After a lot of running around as Barou’s team played it more defensively than before, despite the angry look on Barou’s face, Isagi was horribly bored. Why did Barou even agree to this boring type of football? He seemed like the type to charge in no matter what. But, then again, every time Barou got the ball, he did charge forward and was subsequently thwarted by Isagi, who was keeping a close eye on his movements.

At a free kick, Bachira bounded up to him.

“Isagi-chan~ Let’s do it again!” Bachira exclaimed, bouncing in place. Isagi watched as Barou came up to kick. He nodded.

“Bachira, I think I’ve figured it out,” he said, looking straight ahead. Bachira looked at him curiously. Isagi turned to stare into his friend’s eyes. “I can handle one more thing. What do you need help with?”

Contrary to his expectations, though, Bachira only smirked. His eyes remained fixed in that insane swirl, fired up from the game. “You’re already helping me, monster. Just keep playing with that determination from before.”

Isagi grinned.

Barou was doomed to lose the moment Isagi decided he’d be fine passing to Team Z. Isagi pressured Barou immediately, unwilling to let the king pass him and get to the goal. Barou grew frustrated the more time they spent dancing around the ball with no progress. Inevitably, he grew so angry that his field of vision narrowed down to the ball at his feet. Isagi, who had been waiting for that, darted forward, stole the ball, and raced to the goal.

Team X had an odd defense strategy, sending many defenders at him, obviously assuming that he’d break through solo again and pass at the last moment. They were underestimating him; he hated it.

He passed it back to the odd striker who ate with his fingers, Gagamaru. Gagamaru was unsurprisingly wild and surprisingly nimble. He was quick and lanky, which was pretty good for avoiding defenders. Gagamaru, however, could only go so far with his currently limited skill set, so he ultimately became faced with a dangerous situation with one too many defenders. He made an ‘O’ with his mouth and passed it forward to Isagi, who had been running ever since he passed.

Now close to the goal, he assessed his options. Kunigami was heavily marked as he reached his shooting range, as Team X seemed to instinctively know that he was a huge threat if he wasn’t blocked. Their inexperienced goalie would never be able to stop something like that. Bachira was a bit too far back, getting closer but not nearly close enough to shoot. If he were a bit quicker, he would’ve been the ideal route this time. But he also had a persistent shadow, who was set on not letting him score. Gagamaru was closing in on the goal, but the defenders from before had followed him, so it was risky. Raichi also had someone on him, but he was in an ideal scoring position. The only problem was Barou, who was practically breathing down Isagi’s neck. Raichi was in front of them, though, so it should be fine, and he could hold off Barou by himself with ease.

Twisting his body so Barou would think he was passing, Isagi carefully scooped up the ball. Barou, following his movement, slid his leg out to trip up his right foot, which he thought was passing. But Isagi’s foot was already a foot above ground. He bounced it on the top of his foot then rotated his hip to kick the ball hard. It shot through the air until it reached Raichi and fell right at his feet. It followed an odd path, not curving until the last second.

Raichi grinned wide with his ugly sharp teeth on display. No one wants to see that shit, Raichi. Did you grind your teeth down on a stone grinder or something? Isagi would thoroughly curse him out if he didn’t score.

Unfortunately, Raichi had enough skill to kick the ball into the goal without much trouble, so Isagi wouldn’t have the opportunity to lash out. Team Z cheered loudly, as it was near the end of the second half. There was no doubt that they’d win, but Isagi still hadn’t done something he had wanted to do.

Raichi stomped up to him. Isagi stared him down, just daring him to start something. He’d gladly take up the fight.

“… Nice pass.”

Isagi blinked. “Oh… thanks.” He blinked again then realized that the normal thing to do in this situation was to reciprocate. “Right, nice goal.”

Raichi huffed and nodded, not looking exactly… happy with him but not hostile either. Isagi took that as a win.

He still needed one more thing from this match.

Isagi carefully rested a hand on Bachira’s head. “Bachira, let’s score one together. I want to play with you.” I want to thank you, Bachira. You’ve helped me reach the first step.

Bachira immediately lit up, his whole body alight with the thrill. “Yes! I want to play with you, too~! Nya ha!” He lunged at Isagi, capturing his arm in his hold. “Show me your ego.”

Well, that he couldn’t guarantee. But he really owed a lot to Bachira. “I’ll try.”

Isagi found it terribly easy to steal the ball from Barou now that he’d done it so many times in the past hour and a half. He was answered with another growl, a threatening “Isagi Yoichi…” being sourly spit out at him, but Isagi ignored it.

With that, he passed it forward to Bachira, who was waiting for the soaring pass that landed without any spin, right at his feet. He dribbled forward, as Isagi sprinted through the center of the field beside him. Bachira passed it back when he was faced with three defenders. Isagi was closer now but still had to deal with a ton of players and Barou, who was loudly stomping behind him.

Bachira slid in front of him and right next to the goal. The defenders behind him were left in the dust, scrambling to keep up with the monster on the field. Isagi found him through the crowd of people surrounding him and traced his path. Between those two… that person is moving there… those feet there… Alright, got it.

Isagi kicked the ball at the perfect moment, as two defenders were running in opposite directions, which cleared a path to Bachira, and the one defender in his way had too wide of a stance. Right between his feet, Isagi passed the ball so that it zipped right to Bachira.

Bachira grinned with a maniacal glint in his eyes. “Nice pass, Isagi-chan!” And the ball went in without another moment of hesitation just as VAR declared the game finished.

The field drowned in the cheers of Team Z. Barou clicked his tongue, having no proud words to say after losing so badly to Isagi. He simply growled out a “I’ll fucking crush you next time, Isagi Yoichi” which would be much scarier if they were five and had knives. As it stood though, Barou was about as scary as a chewed up candy wrapper.

He walked away, leaving Isagi to the mercy of his energetic teammates. They jumped all over him and patted him heartily on the back.

Wow, Isagi thought in amazement. This is what it feels like to have a team? It’s… unexpectedly bothersome.

Kuon shook them out of the post-victory haze. “Team Z! To the locker room!”

They continued cheering as they playfully dragged him to the locker room, praising his assists and crowning him the MVP. Of course, there were still some players who kept in mind the news about him, but Isagi couldn’t care less. He hadn’t felt like a part of a football team in a long time. He almost felt like crying.

In the locker room, Kuon half-heartedly calmed them down to explain that they needed to keep it up and score at least 7 points in the round robin tournament to move on. Riding on their high, most in the locker room agreed that they could do it.

Isagi silently disagreed. They were all dumb if they’d already forgotten the point of that game and the point Ego-san was trying to make. He considered staying silent, but he was a part of the team now, so he supposed he should help them out.

He cleared his throat. “Um…”

The locker room continued being obnoxiously loud. He shrunk back. Maybe not. This was so troublesome.

Bachira shouted, “Quiet! Isagi has something to say!” and Isagi looked at him gratefully before double-taking. Bachira! Put some clothes on!

The room also seemed to come to the same thought as Isagi as all of them silently judged Bachira. “Dude… get your clothes,” Naruhaya said.

Isagi decided to stop whatever was happening. “Anyway… You all are forgetting to think about that game. No matter how well we played, we need to think about what that crazy man was saying.” He almost broke a smile, happy that he could now commiserate with people under the harsh regime of Ego-san. “‘Rebuilding football from zero’... ‘zero’ must mean that free-for-all that happened at the beginning of the game. If that’s zero, then what shattered that was Barou’s goal. He changed the zero into a ‘one’ by using his talent to steal a goal. His team focused their plays around that one. Theoretically now, that team can transform into a ‘ten’ or even ‘a hundred’.”

Bachira rocked on his heels. “So… our ‘one’ is you, Isagi-chan!”

“Yea! You were totally the MVP, Isagi! You got all those assists,” Naruhaya chirped.

“It was like when the villainess finally shows her vulnerability to the male lead and helps him overthrow the evil rule of their enemies,” Imamura lamented longingly.

Everyone side-eyed him and collectively decided to ignore it.

“That’s true,” Kunigami affirmed, referring to Naruhaya’s comment because Imamura did not exist. “So Isagi is definitely our ‘one’.”

Isagi jolted. “Wait, that’s not what I was-”

“No, no, that totally makes sense,” Chigiri cut in. Everyone turned to the quiet striker. “Your skill trumped everyone on the field and made us play to the best of our abilities.”

“No… I meant, like Kunigami’s goal… Or something…”

Chigiri smirked behind his water bottle, which did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he was reveling in Isagi’s pain. “In that case, you turned his one into a ten, right? And Raichi’s and Bachira’s goals too.”

Isagi could no longer reply properly, a pink flush taking over his face. He turned away, ignoring Bachira’s cooing.

Kuon, at least, had the grace to hide his laughter when he took up the reins. “I don’t think about that stuff so deeply… interesting. So Ego made that rule that whoever scored the most gets to stay in order to bring out our egos and make us want to score goals for ourselves?”

Isagi just barely managed to push out a small “... precisely” before he quickly changed and hid his face in his towel.

Ego-san came up on the screen and hummed approvingly. “Getting warmer. The second match in stratum 5 just finished up. Team V crushed Team Y 8-0.” Isagi perked up in excitement. He’d have to check out Team V’s players when he started Ego-san’s project. “Here are the current rankings.”

Team Z was in second place after Team V. It was still an accomplishment to even be above the cut-off line from the beginning.

“8-0!??” Igaguri shrieked in horror, grabbing his bald head.

“Seriously!?”

Isagi didn’t listen as Ego-san delved into his speech. Something about individual weapons. Well, it was sorta hard for him to really pinpoint something. Maybe direct shots? Ball control? One-on-one matchups? Maybe not that last one.

Was it really ok for Ego-san to talk about individual weapons when Isagi was sure he wanted Isagi to start playing together with his team? He might be a special case, though, Isagi thought. So he wanted Isagi to learn teamwork before focusing on his individual skills? Isagi could do that.

Bachira came up next to him when they were finally back in their room. “Congrats, monster! Welcome to Team Z.”

Isagi smiled.

——————

After the match, they decided to have a team meeting about these so-called weapons that Ego-san talked about. Kuon had them sit in a circle on their futons. The whole situation was reminiscent of a 7-year-old summer camp friendship circle and made Isagi vaguely skittish. And then they started going around the circle sharing their weapons, and Isagi definitely felt some summer camp nerves building.

Bachira’s predictably was dribbling. Isagi had seen it firsthand; his creativity was extremely high, and in addition to his talent, Bachira had the potential to be really scary. Kunigami’s was his left leg’s power, which was also accurate.

But when it got to him, he choked.

“Next, Isagi-kun?”

Isagi grabbed his chin, thinking intensely. “Uh…” Could he really say direct shots? That was so lame… And basic. “Er- let’s go with… ball control?”

Bachira poked his cheek. “Are you sure it’s not ‘crazy overthinker’?”

Igaguri chimed in. “Yeah, what about ‘passing’?”

“Isn’t that a part of ball control…?” Isagi frowned. “I don’t know, it just doesn't feel right, sorry.”

Kuon smiled slightly. “Don’t worry. If you think of something, let us know.” He scribbled something on his notebook and hummed. “In the meantime, yes… I think this plan will work.”

He turned the notebook around, showing them a rough drawing of their positions. 11.25 was underlined at the top with an arrow from that pointing to 22.5. Isagi searched for his name, finding it in the midfield position.

“Operation Me, Next 8!” Well, that’s lame.

Kuon explained that they’d pair off the 8 participating strikers with another that was compatible with them. He proposed pairing higher ranked strikers with lower ranked ones to maximize their chances for the entire duration of the match. Each pair would have 22.5 minutes to use their weapons to try to score with Isagi supporting them. Isagi could see the merit in this plan, but why wasn’t he included in the ‘8’?

Kuon, probably sensing his curious stare, cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Oh, right, Isagi-kun, would you be fine with this? Your skill set is the most applicable, and I just think if you passed to us, it would increase our chances at victory…”

Isagi hummed. It was true; he could link up with any of them and make them shine, especially knowing their weapons, but was this wise for him?

Ego-san and Bachira told him to trust others, so maybe working for the greater good of the team was correct. For himself, though, he needed to get used to passing again. Just because he’d done it before didn’t mean that it came easily. He needed to get used to trusting others again. Everyone else already had that ability preprogrammed in them; he had to work hard to catch up, and if midfielding was the step to getting there, he would do it. It was simply a necessary part of his evolution to get back the part of himself that he lost. Something about it felt wrong, but he didn’t see a problem with trying it out.

“I guess that’s fine… As long as I can still score if I have an opportunity.”

Kuon nodded. “Yes, that’s fair. We’re all strikers, after all.” He started writing names out on the board. “So Isagi-kun will act as the pivot in between two strikers. But don’t forget that it’s the 3 of you, so if Isagi-kun is free, let him score, as well.”

Satisfied with the outcome, Isagi sat back.

Bachira was not satisfied. “So you’re telling Isagi-chan to just accept being a midfielder? What about having his chance to shine as a striker? He’ll be forced to work twice as hard to score with this formation.”

Kuon frowned. “But with this, he’ll have the ball the most and be able to score the most. If he works toward that.”

Bachira puffed out his cheeks, unable to refute it, but Isagi could understand the sentiment. Something about it wasn’t right. It felt wrong or… offensive somehow. He couldn’t really explain the feeling. But what Kuon said was technically right. He’ll just have to make the most of it and try to become the player scoring the most, even while in midfield.

“It’s really more of the principle of it, Kuon,” Chigiri said, the first time he’d spoken since he refused to say his weapon. “You’re singling out one person and making them play a position they don’t usually play. It’s taunting his pride as a striker. But I see where you’re coming from since it would help you win.” Isagi noted subconsciously the use of ‘you’ instead of ‘us’ in regards to winning.

Kuon sighed. “Isagi-kun said he was fine with it. We’ll rework it if he hates it or if it doesn’t work.”

“Yes, Kuon-kun, that’s fine,” Isagi reiterated, looking pointedly at Bachira and Chigiri. Maybe he needed to talk to Chigiri; he’d been standing up for him more often lately, but they hadn’t even spoken once.

“Alright, then we’ll pair Kunigami with Igarashi, Bachira with Naruhaya, Kuon with Raichi, and Gagamaru with Imamura,” Kuon recited. Isagi was suddenly glad he didn’t have to get paired up with someone specifically. What were the chances that he’d be paired with Igaguri?

Unfortunately, he did have to practice with each and every one of them. Sadly, this also furthered his personal goal, so he couldn’t even skip practicing with them.

——————

Isagi sat in front of the large monitor, staring at the face he hated most in this world. He stared in half-shock and half-disgust for a moment.

After he processed that , he leaped across the room to grab the phone Ego-san gave him.

To Ego Jinpachi:

WTF. couldn’t have given me a warning or anything??

From Ego Jinpachi:

Oh, sorry. Forgot. You don’t have to analyze him.

To Ego Jinpachi:

-_-

thx

Also how come you’re lying about the rankings.

From Ego Jinpachi:

You don’t think it’s funny?

Motivation.

Don’t tell anyone or I’ll actually fire you.

To Ego Jinpachi:

wasn’t planning on it

Isagi didn’t love the fact that Aoi was here, but he wasn’t so arrogant as to ask Ego-san to accommodate Isagi’s anxiety. It was too much of a hassle for the man, and Isagi was surely overreacting.

Right.

He should analyze some other people in his stratum and see how they’re progressing. Mainly so that he can start scoping out people to play with later. A side benefit was that he’d be analyzing future opponents, but no one needed to know.

He tapped a few keys and pulled up Team V. What kind of team was able to completely crush another? Maybe the other team was horrendous. But he was proven wrong when he looked at the lineup and saw a familiar face.

“Oh, Mikage,” he exclaimed, quickly clicking on his profile. Rank 250. The other two main scorers were Nagi Seishiro and Tsurugi Zantetsu. But the only semi-interesting thing about either of them was Nagi’s insane trapping ability. His talent and potential were off the charts, but Isagi could put him aside for now. He hated lazy strikers. The only reason Nagi was able to shine in this game was because of his backing.

Mikage, however, was the orchestrator of the game. He gave Nagi great passes that let him utilize his lackluster trapping and perfectly coordinated the team. Supposedly, he was able to appreciate a player like that because they were similar in that sense.

But there wasn’t really that much to say in terms of progress , per se. Ego-san emphasized changes in their styles, but a singular game didn’t give him enough information for that. Maybe he started too early…

He set to work that night filling out the basics on each player, this time listing skills in more detail and adding his own analysis and comments. When he finished a satisfying amount, he realized it was way past the normal time he ate. Isagi’s head collapsed onto the table, and he groaned. Fuck, he still had to chew Ego-san out for giving him mackerel as a side dish.

——————

Isagi already had one point from scoring that first goal, he thought to himself while staring at the board of potential rewards. He didn’t want to waste his points on steak when having 3 points would win him his phone. Which would be ideal… but the steak . He’d been living off of liver for fuck’s sake. But it wouldn’t even last a minute while having his phone would be simply amazing…

He’d just have to suffer in silence and suck it up. Isagi had used his individual training time to work on Ego-san’s homework and he had lost track of time, so he couldn’t meet up with Bachira. Which meant, he was stuck with a bunch of mackerel that he wouldn’t eat. He debated not even scanning his badge to get it, but in the end, it did come with a decent sauce for his bland white rice, so it would have to do.

Chewing slowly and listlessly, he leaned on his hand and thought. Earlier, they’d been speaking about weapons and strategies, and Isagi had fumbled on the question. His weapon… There were a lot of things he was good at, but he didn’t know if he specialized in anything specifically. His pride compelled him to say his direct shots, but he realistically thought his ball control and analysis were better. And direct shot… it sounded so boring and bland. Everyone had a kick that sent the ball into the goal, so was he saying his weapon was a basic shot?

Fuck, he wished Ego-san had explained his crazy football psychology to him when he was like 13 so he wouldn’t have needed to go through this much trouble figuring it out when he really needed to get his shit together. He banged his head against the table repeatedly.

“Um… Isagi? Are you ok?” Ah, it seemed the loud noises of his head hitting the table masked the arrival of another person. Isagi looked up, rubbing his forehead. “Should I take you to the infirmary?”

“Oh Kunigami-kun,” Isagi sighed. “No, I’m fine, sorry. You’re eating late, too?” Isagi gestured lazily to the chair next to him.

Kunigami took the invitation as it was and sat down. “No, I ate a bit before. I was waiting for you. Say, you’re eating very late, Isagi. That, and the thing from earlier. Should I worry for your health?”

Isagi felt blood rushing to his cheeks, and he stuffed some rice in his mouth. Talk about embarrassing. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

Kunigami gave him a look that said ‘really?’

Isagi averted his eyes.

“Well, anyway, I came to say thank you,” Kunigami said.

“For the pass?” Isagi chewed thoughtfully. Kunigami was truly a skilled shooter. From such a long distance and so on target… not as impressive as being able to actually aim , but he could appreciate the hard work he put into being able to replicate the same shot from that range. “It was nothing… Did you come all this way just to say that?”

Not really. It actually meant a lot to Isagi. A weighted play like that wouldn’t leave his memory for a long time. It marked the first time he trusted someone on his team to score independently. It was complicated, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to explain to Kunigami his whole fucked up mindset, so he lied.

Kunigami seemed to realize that it did mean more than he let on, but he held his tongue. “I live my life fair and square, especially with soccer. So I wanted to thank you…”

Huh, an upright guy. How nice.

“I see,” Isagi replied rather blandly. He pushed around the vegetables in the miso soup.

Kunigami frowned. “How long have you been here? The food doesn’t look hot anymore.”

Isagi glanced at the clock. It had been approximately 45 minutes since he got here. “Half an hour.” He forcefully shoved another spoonful of mackerel sauce rice in his mouth and tried not to think about how it touched the mackerel. Otherwise, he would definitely throw up and embarrass himself in front of Kunigami again . He swallowed with a grimace. “Maybe I’ll just eat tomorrow.” At Kunigami’s disbelief, he flinched. “Since… it’s not hot…”

Kunigami sighed. He walked up to the scanner and pushed a few buttons. In a minute, the sizzling sound of meat filled the cafeteria and the smell permeated Isagi’s nostrils. How mean of him to rub that in his face. He was really trying not to waste his points.

“Isagi, wanna share this?” Kunigami held out the sizzling plate. Isagi’s mouth watered.

“Er- wait, are you-” Isagi cleared his throat, taking his wandering eyes off of the meat. “I mean, that’s your reward for the goal. I really shouldn’t…”

“That goal was half yours,” Kunigami insisted, slicing the meat into bite-sized pieces. “So this meat is half yours.”

Before Isagi could protest, he slid the meat onto his rice. Isagi drooled unconsciously. It’d been so long since he had a good piece of meat.

Isagi happily dug in. Even though Kunigami did this to have him eat a proper meal, he was grateful for the meat. The striker watched him eat with a small smile and ate his own noticeably smaller portion. Isagi frowned but knew arguing about that was a losing battle. They both melted into their seats at the mouth-watering taste. It was so good. Maybe since he hadn’t eaten things he liked since… a week ago.

“Kunigami-kun,” Isagi ventured once he had finished half his meat. “Why do you play football?”

Trusting his team… it must start with something like this, right? A question to give him insight into his players and be able to use them better, knowing their ideals and values. Even just the act of having a conversation brought them together.

Kunigami blinked, his chopsticks halfway to Isagi’s mackerel dish that Isagi had pushed to his side in hopes that Kunigami would eat it because Isagi sure as hell wouldn’t. Isagi gestured for him to take the fish, pushing it closer to his hands. He slowly chewed on his meat. “Why do you ask?”

“… You could say that recently I’m trying something new.” Isagi nibbled on a piece of rice. “I think making sense of the team as a whole and the individual players will help me.”

Kunigami smiled. “Are you talking about midfielding? Or playing as a part of the team?”

“Yes. I’m working on it… it’s harder than I thought.”

“That’s easy, then,” Kunigami said. “I play soccer so I can become a superhero. As a kid, I looked up to soccer players instead of robots or pirate kings. They ran around the field and stole goals to win. It gave me courage and excitement. And it was real . That’s the kind of person I want to be.” Kunigami looked resigned and serious, as if many people had already stomped all over his ideals and called him an idiot for having such a lame motivation. Isagi thought it was rather sweet. An innocent goal, untainted by anything. It was so unlike his whole existence that Isagi couldn’t help but feel that it was amazing. “For the sake of my dream, I’ll fight the world fair and square.”

With a little grin, Isagi ate another piece of meat. “Kunigami-kun, you’re really cool.”

Kunigami looked to the side, a pink flush on his cheeks. “… You’re quite generous today.”

Isagi titled his head. Rather, wasn’t it Kunigami being generous with his food today? “Me?”

Kungami flushed. “Nevermind… What about you? Why do you play soccer?”

Isagi stilled. He didn’t know why he wasn’t expecting the question to be turned on him. But it was only fair to answer since Kunigami trusted him with his reason.

“… I’m searching for a reason to play again, I suppose. Enjoyment, passion, my ego, whatever you want to call it—I want to find that. I thought I shouldn’t give up so easily on football since I’ve spent my entire life and countless hours on it. But in comparison to yours, my reason is pretty pathetic, isn’t it?” He laughed humorously. “Clinging to something just because it’s been there forever? I suppose I’m closer than ever right now, though. Finally having a team that supports me as I do with them… I’ve decided to trust in you all. And that will lead me to finding my reason to play.”

Kunigami hummed in understanding. “I’ll do my best to help you, then. Since you put your trust in me in that pass.” Isagi looked over to be faced with a serious expression. Just as Isagi hadn’t laughed at his dream, Kunigami took his seriously. “I hope I can help you find what you’re looking for in Blue Lock.”

Isagi ducked his head. “Thanks, Kunigami-kun.”

“You don’t have to call me that. Just Kunigami is fine.”

It felt weird; they only just met. Rather, it was all the players at Blue Lock who were weird and refused to use honorifics. But they had just spilled their deep reasons for playing, so he supposed it was fine.

“Right, thanks, Kunigami.”

After a beat of silence, Kunigami spoke again. “When you passed to me, I know you explained it to Raichi, but how could you possibly have known I would be able to shoot from so far away?”

“Oh, that’s easy. The routes to a goal were much more plentiful if I passed to you!”

“… What?”

Isagi smacked his head. Right, he was not used to explaining to others what went on in his mind about his own football plays. It made sense to him, but it was weirder explaining something about himself to others. “I see… possible goal paths in my mind. Like- oh like a string! From me to you to the goal, or from me to Raichi to Bachira to the goal, whatever- and the string can follow distinct paths. Like if I used a parabolic kick rather than a straight line to pass to you or vice versa. I can calculate the success rate of each possibility quickly and sense the best way to score.”

He’d never had to explain that, but it was such an integral, common part of his skill set that he’d almost forgotten that that was a weapon in and of itself. Kunigami also thought so.

“… Why didn’t you say that when Kuon asked for our weapons? That seems like an OP skill.”

Right. He was an idiot.

“I forgot I could do that.”

“…”

“Well, you know! Doing something so much until it becomes instinctive! You would also forget!” Isagi stood up defensively, desperately trying to save face. Lest Kunigami actually think he was an idiot.

Kunigami laughed, happily chewing on his food. “Only a genius like you would forget something like that.” He pointedly looked at the remaining meat on Isagi’s plate. “Eat the rest. Then we can go back.”

Isagi dropped into his seat with a slightly embarrassed expression. “Thanks, Kunigami. You’re…” He looked away and shoved another piece of meat into his mouth in hopes that it would either muffle his voice or choke him to his death. “You’re a great guy.”

There was a suspicious choking sound from behind him as Kunigami caught his breath. When Isagi gained enough courage (and his face wasn’t red), he looked back. Kunigami was also looking away, his ears tinged with red.

Isagi smiled teasingly, knowing Kunigami couldn’t see it. “Can’t take praise, Kunigami?”

“Shut up. I’m going to sleep right after this,” Kunigami lamented, looking miserable as Isagi snickered. “Anyway, next game! We’re going to crush it!”

Isagi allowed him to change the subject, stifling his light laughter. “I’ll support you, Kunigami. Lend me your trust.”

Kunigami smiled wide. “Of course! I promised to help you, so I will!”

When they returned to Team Z’s room, Kunigami smiled and went to his futon, while Bachira hurriedly pulled him into their corner. “I missed you at dinner! You were with Kunigami?” He whined.

“Yes, we shared a steak,” Isagi answered, shuffling to their futons. “He’s a really good guy.”

Bachira’s cheeks puffed out, and he subtly stared at Kunigami. “Did he eat your mackerel, too?” If Isagi had listened closer he would’ve heard Bachira quietly curse, “Leech.”

“Yeah, I got it for the sauce, but I didn’t want to waste it,” Isagi admitted. Bachira sighed.

“You’re such an upstanding citizen, Isagi-chan. Not wasting food, suppressing your ego for the team, feeding others .” With the last piece, he glared at Kunigami while Isagi wasn’t looking.

“Um… thanks?”

Bachira huffed and pulled him into the futon. “Well, it’s alright as long as you keep playing with me.”

Isagi pulled the blanket over himself and rolled to face Bachira, smiling secretly. “Of course, I’ll keep playing with you. You’re the most interesting person here.”

Bachira proudly grinned. “That's correct! Keep your eyes on me, Isagi-chan!”

——————

Despite the fact that Yoichi loved football and had loved it for years and years, he found himself unable to look forward to his junior high practices. And recently, a new development had left him reeling with fright at the fact that he was starting to drag his feet going to even Ego-san’s practices.

Saitama Prefecture Rising Star Proven to be Uncooperative with Teammates

Striker Isagi Yoichi Benched or Moved to Defense—the Work of a Stubborn Kid?

Local newspapers had praised him before he assimilated to his junior high, commending his skills and dedication. Now that he’d proven himself to be a player that wouldn’t rely on a team that hated him, he was automatically some sort of stubborn, uncompromising asshole? It didn’t make sense to him, and he hated being labeled like that, but…

He kicked the ball, the sphere arching beautifully as if it defied the air and the laws of gravity as it descended quickly and sailed into the net. Looking at his teammates, who gave him such a wide berth that bystanders would assume he wasn’t a part of their practice, he realized that maybe a small part of those trashy papers were correct. He was unwilling to work with them, and it was the truth that he’d been benched and moved to defense more times than he’d like over the course of this year.

Hashimoto-senpai had moved to a school in Tokyo, and with him left the pretense of politeness and fairness of the team. The coach, who had never liked him and never cared to hide it even when Hashimoto-senpai disapproved, had started to openly mock him and actively prevent him from playing as much as he could. Yoichi had already gotten a lot of shit from Ego-san about not playing in games as much even though he was their best player. And so, Yoichi had to throw his pride away millions of times to beg the coach to let him play, and with his disadvantage in the so-called negotiations, the coach simply agreed and put him on defense.

As for the team…

He glanced at the three other third years on the team, who were currently scaring the underclassmen into submission, some looked halfway to the point of crying. Sensing his stare, Aoi narrowed his eyes.

They did this a lot now, glaring at each other. It hadn’t been so bad last year, when all Aoi had done was insult him and occasionally push him. There had still been a line between them, drawn by the inexplicable way they both agreed to never talk about the choking incident and while hostility and light violence were on the table, that same unfiltered, angered violence was off limits. Now, there were no such unspoken agreements, as they continued their openly confrontational relationship in addition to Aoi’s newfound obsession with cruelty.

Yoichi had never been a pushover, but he was starting to see why someone would give up at this relentless violence. The bruises under his shirt burned to the touch and every time he turned, a fire tore under his skin and begged him to stop. But the only balm to his pain was the knowledge that somewhere under Aoi’s mask of confidence and dominance was a set of smaller bruises from Yoichi’s own hands, hits he was able to get in before the other two were able to pull him back and hold him down.

Yoichi swept his gaze over the first years, who looked minutes away from hurling, and made eye contact with a particularly scrawny one. He stared back in half concern and half determination at Yoichi’s blank stare. His spirit was too innocent for this team, Yoichi decided. Aoi barked something at the wide-eyed first year, and he snapped back into focus, bending down at the waist to bow to his senior. Aoi was always too overzealous in this way. Too obsessed with football that it consumed his very being and destroyed his life. If they didn’t have such a horrible relationship, Yoichi might have respected his hard work and determination when it came to football. But now, he just had a dreadful feeling every time he looked at Aoi’s gleeful grin when he played. Something nagging at him silently, as if he was missing something. Aoi barked another set of orders to the first years, and they all scrambled to follow it.

Yoichi sighed and looked away, as he always did.

After practice, the same old song and dance played out.

Aoi shoved him against the lockers and thrust a newspaper in his face. He didn’t even need to look, he’d read it and a thousand similar headlines that morning, his mother’s tender, careful hand running soothingly through the hair that Aoi had ruthlessly pulled the day before.

It was all ringing in his ears, he didn’t care for yelling back today. Aoi jeered and laughed in his face, but strangely, all he could hear was his own voice, telling him Aoi was right—the newspapers were right—they were all right about him.

Ah, this must be what it feels like to give up, Yoichi thought. The newspaper appearing in his vision was blurred with the effects of his daze, and he could only trace his eyes over the locker room in front of him with bored hopelessness.

It worried him. To be so disillusioned with the football world and to not feel the thrill of playing every time he picked his bag up for practice. It alarmed him that his long term companion drifted away from his fingers, and all he was left with was the empty hole in his chest, longing for the black and white ball but at the same time desperate to never see it again. He still loved the rush from his goals and from being on the field and commanding it. But that feeling was now so rare that the addiction to it was fading. Only his analysis gave him a fraction of that feeling. Ego-san started to notice his diminished fervor, as well, sending him dirty looks and even dirtier remarks when Yoichi lagged behind. He usually appreciated it, but now, it scared him that he couldn’t muster up the enthusiasm to keep pretending. He was scared. He was so, so scared. And that terrified him.

“Aoi-senpai!”

A terrified, little voice squeaked the bane of his existence’s name. Yoichi watched with astonishment and fear as the first year from before stepped in front of him. He trembled, arms spread wide to defend Yoichi, his senior. Yoichi had never felt like more of a failure.

“This isn’t right!” He proclaimed as everyone else in the locker room pretended not to see what was going on. Second years silently pushed first years’ heads away when they tried to look. Innocent and naive. “You shouldn’t treat teammates like that- I…” He stood up straighter, despite the fact that his tremors increased in size and speed and he looked seconds away from passing out from fear. Yoichi stood stock still, shocked that someone would ever do this for him but resigned because this uneasiness within the team, borne of the third years' blatant dislike for him, would disappear as soon as they had their first game and Yoichi would inevitably snap and tell them off. Then everyone, even this naive, little first year in front of him, would hate him. And yet again, his team would look the other way as he accumulated injuries like precious treasures. “I won’t let you!”

Aoi, Matsuo, and Hayashida cared little for first years, even when they were second years. They loved the Japanese hierarchy and even more so, they loved implementing it. Yoichi knew better than anyone that cruelty against one person did not mean the cruelty was bound to certain instances and him. But he moved a second too late.

Aoi scowled at the first year. In the comfort and hidden walls of the locker room, anything could happen, which is why Yoichi usually liked getting there first and bolting as soon as he was done. This new player didn’t know the extent to which his seniors were crazy. In only a split second, Aoi’s hand was on the side of the first year’s face, and with one harsh push, the kid was sent crashing into the floor, his head making a sickening sound as it connected with the concrete floor.

The kid slowly pushed himself up, wincing and rubbing his head. He held his cheek like he’d been slapped, his eyes wide with childlike horror that someone could ever hurt another human being. It was somehow familiar. In that first year, he imagined himself clutching his neck, the same look of disbelief creeping onto his face and settling in his heart. As he looked down at the kid, all he could feel was the phantom pain from a year ago, fingers on his jaw, and just, indignant anger.

Yoichi felt the familiar rage well up inside him, and he wondered how he had survived without it for this long. Words and noises filtered numbly through his ears as the ringing in his hand thinned out, and he gained a single-minded clarity, zeroing in on Aoi’s cruel, blazing blue eyes. The light in them had never looked so dark.

The next thing he knew, his knuckles were stinging and Aoi’s face had forcefully been punched to the side. It took him a moment to connect his hand to the hand punching Aoi’s face.

Silence.

No one dared to move or utter a single sound as Aoi slowly returned his head to its normal position and righted his posture, staring menacingly down at Yoichi, who was still reeling from the mental aftereffects of having actually punched someone in the face. Even the first year on the ground didn’t dare to get up. Blood trickled down Aoi’s lips from where he had accidentally bitten himself while Yoichi’s fist met his face.

Yoichi was terrified. He was scared of showing up every day to practice with this monster who couldn’t hold back, who didn’t want to hold back. He was scared of getting more bruises on his body and feeling the pain of receiving them. He was scared of being hurt but scared of not fighting back. He was scared that should he give in, it would get worse. And he was scared of it getting worse. But this feeling, he realized, had always come with another side. He’d always felt anger. Anger because he was dealing with this, anger because he couldn’t properly fight back, anger because he was thinking of giving up, anger because football was what got him into this mess, anger because he couldn’t feel happy playing anymore, anger because football wasn’t helping him stay positive, anger because he wasn’t enjoying what he’d always loved, and anger because he was scared.

He’d always been more adept at displaying anger than fear anyway.

Aoi wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, thoughtfully staring at the blood droplets. Without another word, Yoichi lunged at him.

“Do you think this is funny, huh?” He managed to get one punch to Aoi’s face before Hayashida pulled him off. He elbowed Hayashida in the ribs until he was forced to let go of him to nurse his soon-to-be bruise. “Hurting underclassmen and people that disagree with you? You think you’re some kind of god now?” He was on Aoi again, pushing away Matsuo who tried to stop him, attempting another punch, but Aoi’s hands forcefully stopped him. Aoi threw him off and shot up, pulling him by his jersey up and punching him across the face. While Yoichi’s face exploded in pain and his eyes watered, his mind did not waver. He pushed Aoi away and wiped his nose with his hand, feeling blood pouring out of it like a faucet.

“What gives you the fucking right?” Yoichi banged his hand against his locker, making a loud metallic sound echo in the locker room and staining the disgusting green metal with his blood. Because this was all he could do. Bang his hands and rip his hair out in frustration and scream and cry and yell insults because this would never stop and this anger in him would just keep growing, and that was the origin of the knot of fear inside him. Soon enough, they’d overpower him in sheer numbers, just like always. “Just because I’m an ‘asshole’, you get to do this? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

A full on brawl started in the locker room, but as with all the times that Yoichi fought back, he was in dire need of reinforcements. Eventually, the fact that it was 3 v. 1 hit him (literally), and he was yet again forced into that safe void in his mind. 

At some point, his whole body exploded into pain and fell out of it as his mind jumped the line between consciousness and darkness. He wasn’t sure how long it’d been since practice ended or even what the rest of his teammates were doing, but he was sure most of them had left by now.

It’s pathetic, it’s pathetic, this is pathetic, you’re pathetic. His mind kept chanting those words again and again. But even if he could manage another punch, it would be so much weaker than when he’d first attacked and wouldn’t help him a bit. At least, he could see the beginnings of a purple bruise blooming across Aoi’s cheek.

Ah, he thought, as pain spread through his chest. This must be the worst yet.

“Isagi-senpai!”

Yoichi passed out, but after, he learned that the puny first year had recorded the incident from behind the lockers. He was much smarter than Yoichi. He almost admired his courage.

But he also learned that the first year had been admitted to the hospital for sustaining a head injury, his phone smashed to pieces, but thankfully, other than that, he was practically unharmed, if a little shaken up. The injury could have been passed off as a sports injury, but the destroyed phone was what ultimately resulted in the football team being investigated. The school did an obligatory, surface-level investigation, but the football team was the best team in the school, winning matches and trophies left and right. The coach wrote it off as an accident in the locker room–that maybe the first year’s bag was thrown too hard into the floor. They were left off with a slap on the wrist and practically zero repercussions. The first year didn’t come back to practice, and later, from an apologetic letter in his locker, Yoichi found out that he moved schools.

——————

As Yoichi was nursing his bruises and trying to hide these injuries from both his parents and Ego-san, he decided to give himself a brief break. He’d worked so hard recently, and he was secretly injured, so he needed relaxation. The best he could do for himself in terms of relaxation was watching stupid cat videos because he didn’t know how else to just rest and not think. So he immersed himself in the foolish, cute mannerisms of kittens. That was, until he received a message from Discord that someone added him.

Many people did this now that he had a proper Discord server for his channel, so usually, he wouldn’t bat an eye. But he recognized this display name. Saede.eye. He didn’t really know what exactly it meant or what, even, it was supposed to be, but the user had been quite active on the server. They’d been one of the most active users, so it was natural that Yoichi recognized their name. They were up there with beemonster and orangebleach. Both of whom he recognized from their YouTube usernames.

Recently, he’d accepted those two as friends. They were elated and spammed him with messages and memes about football in their group chat. But slowly, they were all becoming friends, and he enjoyed talking with them. So he saw no harm in accepting this one either.

Immediately, he was sent a paragraph of text. Yoichi groaned goodnaturedly and set about using his brain for the first time today and read it.

Saede.eye 18:07

Hey. I have a proposition. I want you to do a personal analysis for me. You don’t have to do a video. I just want to see your opinions on what I can improve and such. I’ll send you some videos or you can just look them up. Mainly, I just want criticism and ideas on how to improve. If you’re interested, let me know. I’ll pay you an agreed upon price.

Yoichi had never had anyone ask him for something like this. Ego-san had made him do several reports, but it was different if the player was asking you personally to analyze them. It was exciting!

… He definitely needed to do something other than sit all day if this was what he considered the highlight of his day. Is this what relaxation was supposed to be?

To be honest, though, if the user hadn’t laid out that they would pay him, Yoichi would have totally forgotten. It was a hobby… he didn’t know people would willingly pay for his advice. Oh well. He would’ve done it for free. Sucks for them.

Should he use exclamation marks? Is it desperate? How should he bring up pricing? Yoichi slapped his cheek to wake himself up, heart pounding nervously. Is he supposed to ask for their name? Was that implied? He didn’t know what the hell he was doing. He needed some divine intervention.

FootballAnalyst 18:09

I would be happy to do that for you! If you don’t mind… I need a name to search up. Or you don’t have to give me your name, you could just send videos! And, honestly, I don’t know anything about how pricing usually works for this kind of thing, so you can suggest something, and it’ll probably be fine!

That was terrible, Yoichi bemoaned, regretting hitting the send button. He buried his face into his pillow in embarrassment and hoped the pillows would swallow him up and never let him live again. Thank fuck no one knew who the Football Analyst was.

Saede.eye 18:09

You suck at this.

You should at least search up regular prices before admitting that to a customer.

FootballAnalyst 18:10

But what if you don’t think it lives up to how much you paid?

I don’t want to overcharge you…

Saede.eye 18:10

That would be impossible.

FootballAnalyst 18:10

Ah… ok

Saede.eye 18:11

Itoshi Sae.

name ^

FootballAnalyst 18:12

…

Yoichi promptly lost his shit. Did he just embarrass himself in front of a famous Japanese football player? Maybe he’d have to push up the nightly crying session to right now. Wait, didn’t Itoshi Sae go overseas? Maybe it was ok if he kept on living in Japan, as long as Itoshi Sae never returned. If they were located in the same country, Yoichi might feel compelled to drown himself so that he didn’t have to remember this moment.

How the fuck was he supposed to respond to that anyway?

FootballAnalyst 18:13

??? the Itoshi Sae??? wtf

Clearly, not like that. Isagi slapped himself.

Saede.eye 18:13

Yes.

Don’t worry about overcharging me.

Yeah, obviously, Yoichi scoffed. He could probably ask for half the guy’s entire salary, and he’d still be filthy rich. Not that he would ever charge that much for a few pieces of advice, but it was really tempting. At least with money, he’d be sad and wealthy instead of sad and financially mid.

FootballAnalyst 18:14

there’s probably not much I can give you…

Because he’s freaking amazing. Yoichi almost had a heart attack at the reminder. The Itoshi Sae. Fuck, he wanted to scream. He was talking to the Itoshi Sae.

Saede.eye 18:14

Like I said, I just want to hear your thoughts.

Don’t worry too much.

I’ll pay you no matter what.

Your channel deserves it.

The Itoshi Sae was complimenting his channel—no, him ! If he had been doing something other than lying in bed all day, he would’ve passed out. Wait. Does that mean sae10 on YouTube is Itoshi Sae?

FootballAnalyst 18:16

Then, sure!

tysm

Do you want this by a certain date or…?

Saede.eye 18:16

Take your time.

Well. Yeah, this was definitely the highlight of his day. No, his week . No, his life.

Yoichi put down his phone and screamed into his pillow.

Despite being sore all over, he shot up out of bed and spent the next few hours researching Itoshi Sae. His vow of relaxation meant nothing now because a famous football player personally asked him to analyze his play. He was still in shock, still half in denial, and very much jittery because he managed to get through a virtual conversation with Itoshi Sae. At approximately 4 in the morning (No, he hadn’t slept. Fuck relaxation.), he finally finished Itoshi Sae’s request!

In a lapse of judgment that came from being awake in the middle of the… morning (?), he immediately sent the analysis without a single thought in his brain. And then crashed because, you know, he’d been staring at the computer for a solid nine hours straight, and the entire time, his mind was on overdrive thinking about football and Itoshi’s skills.

It seemed like Itoshi was struggling somewhat in Spain, not that he had any room to judge, but in Japan, Itoshi Sae was famous because he was the best in Japan. International was a different story, as many players from other countries were just generally better than Japanese players. But Itoshi had improved since he left Japan, it seemed, if he compared a match from right before he left to one in Spain.

It had only been about 7 months since he got to Spain, so maybe he was at a point where he wasn’t sure what to do to catch up to the others. Yoichi wondered how he was fitting in in Spain. It was exciting and nerve-wracking to think about how his life would’ve been if he had been given an offer and had to move halfway across the world to play football with better players in a language he didn’t know. But Itoshi seemed like a strong, determined player, so he was sure that he was doing fine.

When he woke up, he was greeted by threatening, concerned messages.

Saede.eye 4:07

Why are you awake at this hour.

You’re supposed to be sleeping.

It’s 3 in Japan

Did you do this in 9 hours??

You could’ve took your time like I said I’m not in a rush

Idiot, don’t overlook your health

It’s important to sleep during the night. There are health benefits to doing so and backlashes for not doing so.

https://med.stanford.edu/news/all-news/2024/05/night-owl-behavior-could-hurt-mental-health--sleep-study-finds.html

^ read

Saede.eye 4:31

…

it’s very impressive

ty

You’ll have to elaborate on the fast pass bit later…

Tell me tomorrow how much you want for this.

Saede.eye 4:35

gn

Chapter Text

Ego-san sat on his foldable chair on the JFU’s field, eating his spicy ramen noodles with mayo, and Yoichi just couldn’t say he liked the man at all. How dare he eat such tantalizing foods in front of him as he was working his ass off under his guidance? It was a cruel form of punishment, Yoichi whined, completing his tenth suicide run of the day. He was probably so proficient in running that he could sprint full speed for the entire 90 minutes of a match and be fine.

He collapsed face first on the field next to his sadistic coach’s chair, huffing rapidly, regretting it only a moment later when the pleasant smell of instant ramen invaded his nostrils. “Fuuuuuuck,” he complained, rolling over to look at the deliciously unhealthy noodles.

“Your mother would probably beat me if she heard that I allow you to swear,” Ego-san offhandedly commented, slurping his noodles loudly. Cruel, so cruel.

Yoichi groaned, propping himself up on his elbows. “Whatever, what’s next?”

Ego-san swallowed his mouthful, sucking on his teeth thoughtfully and swishing his chopsticks around in the bowl. He added more of the spice from the packet and grinned. Yoichi paled.

“You should work on skills that you haven’t practiced as fully as others. You’ve gotten only so far in the areas you failed at before, like dribbling, running, stamina, aiming, shooting, speed, positioning, off-the-ball movements, defense, stealing the ball, passing-“

“Oh for fucks- I get it! I’ll work on dribbling or something. Jeez, you’re always so mean.”

Yoichi picked himself up and kicked the ball up with the top of his foot until it landed on his knee. He continued juggling it like that for a while then focused on some tricks to get past defenders. Ego-san continued to slurp his noodles and brag silently about his unrestricted eating habits. Yoichi was so jealous.

“Oh, right,” Ego-san interjected monotonously. “You should learn English.” At Yoichi’s questioning head tilt, Ego-san sighed exasperatedly. “To spread your channel to broader audiences. And you’ll be able to communicate with foreign players.”

Ego-san licked his chopsticks then his lips, done with his meal. He pushed his glasses up as he processed his words. “Actually, it’s not a suggestion–you have to learn English. It’s crucial to your survival as a foreign player.”

Yoichi agreed. Matches online and most commentary were all in English. Ever since he started his channel, he had been watching more and more of those analysis videos, so he had been picking up a bit of English passively, anyway. All his favorite players and all the famous ones spoke English, so he had tried to learn a bit as well.

“Yea, I know a bit right now, but I’m not too good at it,” Yoichi admitted. He saw and shared Ego-san’s vision: if he could post his videos in English, he’d reach many more people than his small following of native Japanese speakers. “I’ll work on it.”

“Oh? You already know some? Then let’s practice.”

“Wait- I didn’t mean that I was good enough for that! Ego-san!”

Ego-san had already left to go get English worksheets, textbooks, and listening material. They started training while studying English on that day. Ego-san, like the horrible person he was, refused to let Yoichi leave until he could say 15 new words and string them into sentences each day, and he conducted the entire practice in English. Soon enough, Yoichi was dreaming and babbling nonsense to his parents in English. He passed out thinking about English once, and that was when he, once again, would’ve liked to establish his hatred of Ego Jinpachi.

——————

r/FootballAnalyst11   •   1 year ago

Who IS this guy??

He’s been gaining fame in the States, so I was curious. Obviously, he’s Japanese, who tf is he?

BeeFly840   •   1 year ago

I think we should respect that Analyst-chan want to stay to anonymous. >_<

↳ ReadingRules69   •   1 year ago

The grammar here kills me a little inside

↳ BeeFly840   •   1 year ago

I’m using translator. Sorry!

TheWonderousCow   •   1 year ago

I was thinking he might be a high school player actually. In his earlier videos, he sounds quite young, and even now, but there’s not a lot to go off of based on voice…

↳ MangoBubbles   •   1 year ago

No, I think you’re right. In his earlier days when he had fewer international subscribers, he used to analyze Japanese high school teams and their Nationals. While he could just be a high school soccer enjoyer, I highly doubt it.

↳ SerpentDancer21   •   1 year ago

Y’all remember when he used to gush over Sae Itoshi before he went overseas lmao

↳ Zazatea38   •   1 year ago

What if he’s not actually a player though.

↳ MangoBubbles   •   1 year ago

He’s definitely a player. You can hear it in his words, he’s always like ‘even i could do better’ or something. But also I looked more into this (read: I stalked his earlier videos) and if you pinpoint on a map all the high school teams he’s analyzed, you obviously have a few outliers, but there’s an obvious sphere of influence. I suspect he’s a player in one of the teams near the middle of the circle or even a team not listed, which means he hadn’t analyzed his own team. That being said, I think the most likely prefectures are Gunma, Tokyo (cuz a lot of stuff goes on in Tokyo, obviously), Saitama, Tochigi, and northwest Chiba. Of the 23 teams in those prefectures, he’s analyzed 18, which is a considerably high number. The teams he hasn’t analyzed are pretty random, EXCEPT for Ichinan of the Saitama prefecture. He’s analyzed every other team in the prefecture in strange detail, but with Ichinan, it’s total radio silence—not even a single word about them! And you’d think he’d actually analyze that team because according to local news, an infamously popular striker joined the team this year. You could say it’s due to him moving on to greater heights and all, but just two months ago, he analyzed a high school team in Tochigi. Anyway, my point is, he’s likely an Ichinan high school player, and if not, he’s one of the players in the 5 unanalyzed teams I pointed out on the attached map.

↳ Rich_USA9   •   1 year ago

Uh… great work… how long did you spend on this…

↳ MangoBubbles   •   1 year ago

Quite a while. I’m not a stalker I swear

↳ BeeFly840   •   1 year ago

Please don’t look further in Analyst-chan. It’s inconsiderate. He’s minor. (乛-乛)

RibbonFans33   •   1 year ago

I’m scared of MangoBubbles.

↳ Rich_USA9   •   1 year ago

Agreed. ( ´•︵•` )

——————

Isagi wasn’t exactly impressed with Team Y’s lineup, but he could appreciate facing Kumamoto Prefecture’s top scorer, Okawa Hibiki. Not that that was an exceptionally impressive feat, but at least, it was interesting. It was over for Team Y if they didn’t win, but considering the fact that Isagi had no confidence in Okawa’s abilities, they were probably goners. Someone that he’d noticed while watching their first match was someone less known, Niko Ikki. He was the heart of Team Y, lining up passes for Okawa to score and signaling when to attack for the rest of the team. Isagi didn’t think Niko was even comparable to him in terms of abilities, but he also didn’t have confidence in Team Z’s chosen offensive strategy.

He’d linked up with each thrown-together partnership, and the only ones he could praise were Kunigami’s and Bachira’s team. And even that was only because of Kunigami and Bachira. Igaguri and Naruhaya were three-quarters of the way to useless and couldn’t kick a ball into the net if they stood still and Isagi threw it at them at the perfect angle. Gagamaru was decent, as well, but having Imamura as a partner made the whole experience duller. Isagi hadn’t even bothered remembering Imamura’s talent because he was so useless. That’s not to even mention Igaguri’s flailing and excuses. Isagi had to very patiently explain that if Igaguri couldn’t shoot properly, it wasn’t Isagi’s problem and that he shouldn’t make excuses for his lack of talent. It’s like he was trying to make Isagi punch him. Isagi couldn’t help it.

It was just his luck that finally earning a team was flipped on him in the worst way possible. It was infuriating down to the point that Isagi just wanted to boil his own skin and melt into a pile of bones. He wasn’t homicidal, but fuck , if this didn’t have him this close to wanting to kill his teammates (preferably Igaguri).

So, here they were standing on the field, waiting for their next match to start. And Isagi was visibly trying not to lash out because it had been a trying few days of training for this match. Linking up with others was unsurprisingly a huge inconvenience. But being a midfielder was his job this time. It would help him in the long run in terms of trusting teams, too. How long was he supposed to be a midfielder? Fuck, all this was making him so mad.

“Bachira,” Isagi finally managed to snap. Said striker turned to him in barely concealed alarm.

“... You okay, Isagi-chan?”

“I need you to stop me if I go to punch someone,” Isagi said, completely serious as he stared straight ahead, trying to ignore Igaguri and Naruhaya’s loud, obnoxious pregame hype session. At the rate they were going at, he would definitely end up with a red card before the second half.

Luckily, Bachira was a very good friend. He laughed, looking at the juxtaposition between Isagi’s deceptively calm face and the two idiots loudly screaming at the rest of Team Z. The rest of the team continued stretching, rolling their eyes at the two and responding listlessly when they tried to pump them up.

“Ok~ Your fish is my command!” The little shit said with a mischievous smile.

Isagi’s eye twitched. “Are you still on about that mackerel thing? You’re lucky I don’t want to punch you.”

But after all, Bachira was the best balm to his anger. He calmed down and swept his gaze over Team Y. Hopefully, this game wouldn’t be annoying.

…

Clearly, he jinxed it. He wanted to take that back.

Kunigami and Igaguri went up first, and Isagi wanted to say that it went just as they practiced it, but even their practice was shit. This, somehow, was even shittier. Igaguri had absolutely nothing to contribute. In fact , he was responsible for almost all of the times Team Y stole the ball from their possession. On top of that, Kunigami’s shots were getting blocked by Team Y’s double block. Even worse, Isagi couldn’t do much about either because every time he did anything other than pass, there were two defenders on him and another closing in from the back.

Isagi was about to blow a fuse.

Kunigami wasn’t even trying to change the way he shot to trick up the blockers, and Igaguri wasn’t trying, period. Or if he was, he was doing a damn horrible job at it. Isagi begged fate that Kunigami might instantly learn how to adapt, but wishes like that were akin to blind optimism.

In addition to all that, Isagi was getting bored of passing solely to those two. He was eagerly awaiting the minutes until Bachira’s turn came because at least then he’d have some fun passing instead of going insane. He’s sure midfielding would be more fun if his team could actually perform well.

Kunigami backed up to try to shoot one more time before his time ran out. “Isagi!” Each time they called for a pass, it felt like someone shooting a ‘you are a midfielder’ bullet right into his chest.

Isagi sighed and wound up another failing play, passing to Kunigami, who immediately shot in the same exact way he’d been doing for the last 20 minutes. Isagi really wanted to strangle him.

He clicked his tongue as Niko got the ball and sent it in a high arc to Okawa, who had been waiting for the signal. Isagi was already running to stop him, but Okawa was admittedly pretty fast. Isagi couldn’t quite reach him, and he couldn’t count on Iemon to block the shot, so it was inevitable when the ball swooshed into the net.

Alright. Just gotta get that point back. It’s ok. Isagi chanted in his head like a mantra to prevent himself from yelling at himself or his teammates. Fucking hell, he was so mad.

At least, it was finally Bachira’s turn. Isagi happily passed him the ball when Bachira playfully stuck out his tongue at Team Y. Naruhaya lagged behind as Bachira and Isagi pushed up the field.

Two defenders faced Bachira’s assault, shouting at each other to not let him through. Bachira grinned. “Is just two enough? Comin’ through!”

Niko crept up behind him, but Isagi had already predicted that, coming forward to block his advances. Bachira smiled and pushed through the defenders. Isagi cursed, seeing that there was no one good enough to follow Bachira going to the goal. Naruhaya could barely keep up—what was he expecting? That he’d suddenly be good enough to aid Bachira to the goal?

Team Y had a great counter to Bachira’s weapon, but in defeating that counter, Team Z would lose their ability to score, as well. Isagi cursed his predicament and Ego-san, who gave him these pitiful excuses for teammates instead of actually talented strikers.

Isagi rushed to Bachira, but he’d already passed to Naruhaya in a desperate attempt to continue forward. Naruhaya, predictably, overshot it, passing it to a place where Bachira was not able to reach. Isagi cursed out loud this time.

It was incredibly lucky that Gagamaru happened to be a few feet away because his weapon was a ‘spring-like’ body. He dived forward with a confidence that only came from face-planting a few too many times and hit the ball toward the net. Team Y’s goalie was able to get a few fingers on it, and the ball was sent careening out of bounds behind the penalty area.

Bachira skipped up. “Ooh, ooh! I’ll take the corner kick!” They were going to have him do that anyway since he was ranked the highest, but Isagi wisely stayed quiet.

They all packed in like sardines in front of the net, all shouting and sweaty; Isagi hated this part of the game. Team Y members shouted at each other whenever he tried to move.

“Watch Isagi!”

“Make sure Isagi doesn’t break!”

And when Isagi tried to leave to block Niko because the kid was definitely going to get the rebound, several defenders swarmed around him. He assumed that Niko told them to do that because there was no way these players thought of that on their own. It was kind of cowardly of Niko to hide behind his team.

He scowled at the defenders and continued pushing through. They bodily shoved him back, using excessive force to make him comply. There were so many arms flying around and their bodies prevented him from moving. He moved forward and was pushed back. There was barely enough room to wiggle his shoulders, packed in between the large bodies like this. In a sudden rush of strength, he desperately tried to retaliate and force his way out, more motivated by building fear than anything else. A large hand emerged from the crowd and grabbed his wrist where VAR couldn’t see near his waist. No matter how much he tugged, pulling more and more violently until it felt more like a life and death situation than football, they refused to let him go, absorbed by the game.

He shuddered involuntarily, a shaky exhale exited his lungs. He wanted to remove himself from the situation immediately . He uncomfortably tried to back out, but suddenly, they were closing in on all sides, reaching for his other extremities, and he couldn’t leave and-

His breathing quickened as an elbow connected with his side. Pain rippled through his side, but he ignored it, trying to see past their bodies. He couldn’t even distinguish between the colors of the jerseys anymore—everyone surrounding him was an enemy. They were all surrounding him and hurting him and threatening him. He jolted whenever a sliver of sweaty skin touched his arm. They were all so tall, looming over him like that. He couldn’t see what was going on. He backed away, instinctively wrapping his arms around his middle to protect himself. Everything went fuzzy and buzzing filled his ears, drowning out the shouting and commotion. He cursed. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Why did this have to happen now?

He pinched the underside of his forearm where his vein just began to sink under the skin and breathed through his nose frantically. He wasn’t there. He was in the middle of a game, playing against Team Y. Bachira was doing a corner kick, and he was trying to block Niko from getting the ball. Deep breaths. Focus on the pain. It was real and now . He wasn’t there.

He vaguely heard the sound of a whistle, signaling a goal, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. He crouched, squatting close to the ground and ducking his head to block his head from the lights and clear his mind. Deep breaths.

“Isagi-chan?”

He exhaled slowly, counting to 10 then inhaled at the same pace. His heart slowly returned to its normal pace, and blood stopped pounding in his ears. His head throbbed with an incoming headache. Making to stand up again, he wobbled and caught himself on his right hand. Another shaky exhale.

A hand settled on his upper arm. He flinched and slapped it away. His eyes blearily looked up to assess the situation and found Bachira’s concerned yellow eyes. His mouth formed a thin line as he carefully reached his hand out again. “Let me help you up, Isagi, ok?”

Isagi exhaled. Bachira. It was Bachira. He accepted the hand, allowing Bachira to pull him up. His trembling limbs adjusted to the change with resistance.

Isagi, even like this, could feel everyone’s eyes on him. Fucking pathetic. “... Sorry. What happened?” But his voice wavered slightly on each word, betraying his state.

Bachira narrowed his eyes on him. “Team Y countered. Niko passed to Okawa and scored another point. We’re down 2 points.”

Isagi breathed out, gaining some confidence back. It was stupid, really, how affected he got. “Right, ok. It’s still your 20 minutes, right?”

“... Yes… Are you sure you’re ok, Isagi?” Bachira asked, his hands hovering unsurely around Isagi’s space. Isagi appreciated it, but he was exhausted in every way possible after that meltdown and was even more horrified by the thought that it had happened in the first place. He was so weak.

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” He didn’t feel sturdy enough to stand let alone run around like a madman, but it was worse to stand around and attract even more attention by being sedentary.

He swayed subtly as he ran back to his position, and even Igaguri gave him a look. He glared at all of them who dared to bring more attention than necessary to his moment of weakness.

At the restart, Isagi faced Niko, whose lips pressed uncertainly together, as if unsure what to say. Isagi hated people treating him like that. He hissed, “You’re staring. It’s rude.”

Niko frowned, anger slipping back onto his face. This was better, after all. He could deal with anger. “It’s hard not to stare when you literally double over in the middle of the fucking match.”

“Mind your own fucking business.” Isagi was feeling particularly mean following that absurd breakdown. “Didn’t know you could even see that with your shitty ass haircut.”

Niko gritted his teeth. “I’m not gonna take shit from a striker who got benched to midfield. Fucking loser.”

Isagi scowled and sped around Niko’s body to receive a pass and move it forward. He passed it to Bachira, who was countered with three defenders. Usually, Bachira would pass it back to Isagi, but they got unlucky, as one of the defenders took advantage of his blind spot and kicked the ball out of Bachira’s reach. Team Y rushed to switch to the defensive once they gained possession of the ball. They were planning on running out the clock or waiting until Niko was free to pass.

Unfortunately for them, Isagi now had a personal grudge against their playmaker and was hellbent on letting Niko taste desperation. He wouldn’t even be able to graze the edge of the ball with his shoe let alone pass it to Okawa while Isagi was guarding him. Isagi had much more talent than shitty bangs over here, so what he wanted, he would get.

Every time Niko supposedly broke free and was sent a pass, Isagi darted in and stole it before he could even blink. Isagi took great pleasure from seeing the young playmaker scowl each time.

“You can’t stop me,” Niko declared after one such time. “My eyes are the same as yours, and our minds work the same. You may be able to prevent me from touching the ball, but you can’t stop my ideas.”

Isagi, irrationally angry and out of his logical mind, snapped. “If you can’t fucking touch the ball, then I don’t wanna hear that nonsensical shit about your brain. Your physique and skills are subpar and you think you have the right to say that. To me ? Relying on a fucking human gorilla to score. It’s disgusting .”

He whipped around and stalked away, feeling his heart pumping rapidly and static filling his brain. It was familiar and comforting, the anger. But some part of him shook because this was exactly what pushed him away from his team in the first place. Another part of him didn’t give a single fuck at that moment, consumed by all-encompassing pain and anger.

The whistle for halftime blew, and their weapons had done nothing . Isagi fumed. He was on edge from before and angry. So much anger. It was coming back in full force since he had suppressed it for so long.

When they got into the locker room, Raichi was screaming furiously about not having touched the ball the entire game or something, but there was so much static in Isagi’s head that he didn’t care.

“Is this plan really going to work?” Chigiri asked seriously. “They’re blocking our best weapons, so we’ll just end up losing with the shittier ones.”

“Hah?!” Raichi yelled. “You won’t even say your weapon, and you’re callin’ my sexy soccer shitty?!”

“I’m just wondering if we should rerun the first half’s weapons. They’re having more trouble with Bachira’s and Kunigami’s. Maybe they should partner up with Isagi so that we have a better chance.”

Raichi lost it. “What the fuck! You want some of us to not use our weapons?! I haven’t played properly this whole game!”

“I haven’t even had a good chance!” Igaguri chimed in.

“Shut up,” Isagi interrupted, the chilly tone sending shivers down their spines. Everyone turned to him cautiously. “The fact that you haven’t ‘had a chance’ is all due to your own inability to score. You’ve had countless chances to show me you could fucking do something for the team, but you’ve wasted each one. Your shitty talent does not warrant my sympathy or passes. Try harder if you want to play football on my field.” Having properly expressed his dissatisfaction with Igaguri's whole… everything, he turned to the rest of the locker room. “From now on, I’ll only pass to people who are necessary for victory. Don’t bother expecting my attention if you can’t fight on your own and score.”

Raichi stalked up to him, shoving a finger in his chest. Isagi stared coldly at him. “Are you fucking sayin’ I’m useless?”

“You are not necessary for victory,” Isagi replied uncaringly, swatting Raichi’s hand away and watching his face drop into a snarl so fast it was comical. “The only impressive thing about you is your astonishing lack of vocabulary. That and your uncreative insults.”

Raichi lunged forward, probably fully intent on punching Isagi right in the face. Isagi frequently flirted with danger so this barely phased him. Even less when his heart contracted and demanded violence in its overly angered state.

Kuon slid in behind Raichi, pulling him back by the scruff of his collar like a dog. Something that Isagi would be overjoyed to point out, except for the fact that he didn’t really hate Raichi that much.

Kuon put his other hand up calmly to halt Isagi. “Let’s try not to purposefully provoke others, Isagi-kun. About your suggestion, it’s too risky to change our strategy now. It’s confusing Team Y to have to deal with different weapons-”

“-Then if we go with your plan, I will stand by my previous statement.”

Kuon frowned. Isagi raised a brow. “It was not actually Raichi I was trying to aim my statement at. I approve of his weapon and he is decent enough in front of the net to receive passes.” Raichi shifted on his feet reluctantly, minutely placated. “I was talking about you-” Kuon’s frown dropped even further. “-and-”

Bachira stepped in, putting an arm across Isagi’s chest and laughing lightly. “Ooook, I’m gonna stop this here, Isagi-chan. No punching others, and no others punching you, right?”

Isagi huffed but backed down. “Fine, but I’m still doing what I said.”

Bachira nodded excitedly. “You’ll pass to me, right, Isagi-chan~?”

“You are necessary for victory,” Isagi simply replied. “The most necessary.”

Bachira jumped and giggled smugly. “Yea~!”

Ultimately, though, Team Y had a great defensive strategy and kept making them run around aimlessly for the ball. Even Isagi was having a hard time trying to retrieve the ball. He hated games like this; they were so cowardly and prioritized the win rather than the act of playing football. If he wanted to run for an hour straight without touching the ball, he would’ve done track.

But he relished in still being able to block Niko from any passes. Team Y had learned to not send any passes their way because Isagi would pick it up, so Niko was totally cut off from his team. Isagi took great pleasure in this.

It was the last few minutes of the game, and Isagi had given up on winning. He’d lost enough games to accept this, but he didn’t expect Niko to start yapping.

“It’s time for Team Y’s final move… I decided to use this because I wanted to see the look on your face when we won 3 to nothing. You called me talentless, but who’s the one winning?” Isagi breathed heavily. No punching competitors. No punching competitors. Red card. Think of the red card. “For the final minute, all of Team Y goes on the offensive in a one-minute total counterattack.”

Niko skirted around him and just as he said, all of Team Y rushed to Team Z’s net with Okawa dribbling the ball. Isagi rolled his shoulders back and sighed. There was no fucking way he was going to lose 3-0 to that kid now that he said that .

He ran. Not to Niko, but to the space right in front of Okawa and between him and Niko. Niko wasn’t a true striker if he passed in front of the goal. But at least the entirety of Japan didn’t label him as a midfielder.

Niko gasped when he intercepted the pass, his bangs floating up for a second and letting Isagi see the wide-eyed boy underneath. Isagi bared his teeth and smiled. This is what he needed to hear right now. To evolve and become someone worthy of arousing Isagi’s passion. “Passing when you are perfectly capable of scoring yourself is an insult to your skills.”

It’s time to be reborn, Isagi thought, racing past a stunned Niko and a cursing Okawa. Useless people would be struck off his radar. Isagi would only pass to people who would aid him in scoring a goal or help the team win.

Kunigami was free. Isagi turned away and saw Raichi relatively open as well. He sent the ball in a nice arc to Raichi, who liked his passes like that: flashy and landing in front of him.

He sprinted as fast as he could all the way to the other end of the field as Raichi sent the ball to Bachira. He jumped up to trap it with his feet. “Woo! I’ve been waiting~!”

Team Y’s defenders scrambled from the other end of the field, but it was hard when they put their whole team on the offense. Bachira stuck his tongue out and passed the ball in front of the net, low, smooth, and fast. “The rest is up to you now!”

Gagamaru dived for it desperately, but it sailed past him while Igaguri screamed that he missed. Isagi kept running to be able to catch up to the ball’s pace.

“Finish it, monster!”

Isagi laser-focused on the ball, eyes swirling slightly and heart racing as his brain took in every ounce of information from this moment. The vibrant colors, the black and white of the ball, the net. Everything was in slow motion and so vivid it hurt. There were so many goal-scoring lines that filled his vision, blinding him with their intensity. Curves, straight lines, direct shots, arches, he could kick any sort of shot, and he’d find a way for it to go in. It’d been a long time since he acknowledged this skill in real time and saw everything in perfect clarity like this.

His heart pounded excitedly. Suddenly, he had no doubt. No lingering headlines from the news telling him who he should be and no crude words from teammates, new or old.

I… I’m a striker…!

Before he even knew it, the ball hit the back of the net, and the whistle blew for the end of the match.

Isagi covered his mouth with his hand, shocked. He felt something just then. A tiny twinge of excitement. He laughed incredulously. Fuck, he owed Ego-san an apology for everything he’d said in his head about the man. Blue Lock was working . He was slowly starting to feel for football again.

Even though they lost, Bachira bounced up to him and cheered. “Isagi-chan!! What a goal! You raced from one side to the other like ‘zoom’!” He made a fast hand motion, stumbling in all his excitement to convey his thoughts to Isagi. “So cool!”

Isagi smiled softly and slowly dropped his hand on Bachira’s head. The energetic boy stilled, looking up at him in awe. “Your pass was amazing, Bachira. And your dribbling was impressive, as always… Thank you.” As expected, playing with someone at a higher level like Bachira was the key to unlocking his passion. He didn’t know how to express his gratitude in flimsy words. Really, thank you.

Bachira stared up at his soft, smiling expression, his face slowly growing red. His eyes darted around Isagi’s open face before stopping on his eyes. His mouth opened slightly as his eyes widened. He whined, hands coming up to cover his cheeks, “Ah- I-” Bachira turned away and squeaked, “No problem!”

Isagi’s head tilted questioningly as Bachira practically spirited away, leaving Isagi standing alone and his hand floating in midair. Did I say something wrong?

He turned around to see Niko impatiently waiting behind him. Isagi raised an eyebrow.

“What you said…”

“I meant it. You’re wasting your skills like this,” Isagi stated before Niko could take up more of his time. “Do you need a top scorer to kick the ball into the net when you have the brains to figure out your own path?” He glanced back to see the rest of Team Z go to the locker rooms, leaving behind the celebrating Team Y. “You can’t be a striker if you willingly pass in front of the goal.”

Niko’s mouth dropped open slowly throughout his explanation. Through his wispy bangs, Isagi could see him staring up at him with an expression akin to awe. He cringed and tried to quickly walk away.

“Isagi-senpai!” Niko exclaimed, tugging on his arm. Isagi recoiled at the name, pulling his hand away immediately. He didn’t like being reminded of the only other person who called him that before they were sent to the hospital. Isagi sighed. When he looked back, there were soft tears in the kid’s eyes, and he was practically aglow with newfound determination. “Thank you! I’m going to survive and face you at the top. Along with all the other strong strikers.”

The message to him was clear. Niko was calling him a strong striker. Isagi smiled. Kids and not knowing how to properly apologize these days. “Sorry for saying all that earlier. I didn’t mean it.” Actually, he did, but white lies won’t hurt anyone.

Niko beamed, a hand coming up to swipe at his tears. Isagi thought he was too soft just like the other one. There were too many similarities. Maybe that’s why he felt the overwhelming need to apologize. If he could do right for this one… maybe it’d make up for ruining that kid’s life.

Before he could say anything else, Isagi left. He had started to become nervous with his own reactions—the faces of that first year and Niko were starting to overlap. It seemed he had more regrets about his sad life than he thought.

——————

That night, Isagi couldn’t sleep. It was a normal occurrence after any big emotional breakdown like that, but usually, he could force himself to stay still and mime sleep. Eventually, if he was still enough, his body would shut down voluntarily. This time, he was stuck in a room with 10 other strikers, all snoring loud enough to warrant earplugs. And Bachira kept snuggling closer in his sleep, waking Isagi up every time he was close to sleep.

It was after maybe an hour of staring at the ceiling and silently stewing in muted anger at his pathetic, embarrassing, weak display that game, Isagi finally decided to get up. He stood and grabbed the phone Ego-san had given him and walked to the monitoring room. Maybe he’d be able to finish up a few more bullet points on some of his reports.

There were some messages from a few hours ago.

From Ego Jinpachi:

Brat are you ok?

I thought you said you attended therapy and everything was good now

Should I sign you up for therapy

You can go while you’re in Blue Lock

.

Your mother wanted me to tell you that you shouldn’t push yourself too hard

To Ego Jinpachi:

im fine

it was a minor thing

i DID attend therapy and it worked you dont need to do anything

From Ego Jinpachi:

Why are you awake

Don’t work on the reports this late

Try to go to sleep

Isagi pocketed the phone when he reached the monitoring room and opened the door. To his surprise, Chigiri was already there.

Well. He had wanted to speak with him anyway.

His long hair curled delicately around his neck as his head turned over his shoulder to watch Isagi enter the room. His hands idly ran through his hair, brushing out the tangles and smoothing out the silky texture. Isagi silently sat next to him, ignoring the suspicious glances he was receiving.

They sat quietly watching the videos Chigiri had put on, which embarrassingly enough were of Isagi’s goal. Why did Ego-san insist on having such intense close-ups? It was humiliating.

They watched together as the Isagi on the field stole the ball from the space between Niko and Okawa. Chigiri hugged his legs and rested his chin on his knee.

“You’re quite good at analyzing …” Chigiri ventured, turning so his head faced him, cheek squished against his knee. “… aren’t you?”

Isagi was momentarily taken aback by the emphasis on that word, and he glanced at Chigiri in his peripheral vision. The striker smirked at earning his attention, his eyes lidded in exhaustion and glinting with amusement. His lips twitched ever so slightly at Isagi’s shocked eyes, and the sadistic fondness in that smile spoke volumes of the direction of their conversation. Isagi suddenly felt spiteful.

“Well, you’re pretty quick .”

Chigiri froze very subtly. Isagi swiveled his head so that he could face Chigiri’s semi-alarmed expression with an amused one. The two of them stared intensely into the other’s eyes as they contemplated how to proceed. Isagi would be fine if only Chigiri knew, but the fact of the matter was that he didn’t know the striker. He wasn’t aware of his personality traits and whether Chigiri would feel innately compelled to share his secret with the world.

But from what he had observed over the past few days, he was inclined to believe that Chigiri was a rather loyal and upstanding person. Isagi wanted to believe that he could trust him, but how much could he trust someone he just met?

Chigiri huffed in amusement and looked away. A small smile spread across his face as he continued to watch the match recap. “I guess I should’ve expected that from you, Analyst-chan.”

Isagi physically recoiled, unable to help it as he was faced with that nickname in real life for the first time in a while. It was a name given to him by his followers, but he had always thought it was strange. “Don’t call me that. Please.”

His face must have said it all because Chigiri sucked in his lips as he tried not to laugh.

Isagi narrowed his eyes and continued speaking, seeing as Chigiri could not. “I never did a video on your high school, but you came up in research.”

Chigiri sat back, stretching out one leg and keeping the other close, hand smoothing over the standard pajamas carefully. “So you know the whole story?”

“I know that your leg should be perfectly fine by now,” Isagi replied gently. He didn’t want any conflicts between them so late at night, but seeing Chigiri’s wistful and content expression twist to discomfort and frustration, he might’ve been too optimistic.

“... I can’t play like I used to, Isagi.” He cradled his knee, a longing, solemn frown pulling his lips down. “The doctor said that if I injure it in the same spot again, my athletic career is over.”

Isagi quietly sat next to him. He looked deep in his memories, back to when he was a genius striker in junior high. Isagi had read all about it and drafted a video. And then the accident happened. The video was still sitting unedited in his storage. He never thought he’d meet the person behind the story, but life was strange like that, and here they were.

“I’m scared of getting hurt again. I’m scared of losing my dreams,” Chigiri whispered as if saying it any louder would make it too real. “I came to Blue Lock to find a reason to give up on my dream.”

Isagi felt like he was punched in the gut. All the air was sucked out of his chest by the force of his words. Internally, he had felt like this when he accepted Ego-san’s proposal. If he couldn’t find his passion again… he had planned to give up. Blue Lock had been his all-or-nothing decision. But… he told himself that he would only give up once he had tried his very best. He couldn’t let Chigiri give up without even trying, held back by fear.

It was selfish and reckless. Injuries were not small issues, especially if he ended up tearing that same spot again and not being able to walk the same. Isagi knew that intimately. But when Chigiri had those eyes—those wistful, longing eyes that begged for the thrill of sprinting across the field again—he would be failing the striker if he let him give up here.

Chigiri shyly glanced at him after they had sat in silence for a few moments, waiting for his reply. Isagi sighed. “It’s… rational to fear getting hurt. It’s human.” He looked down at his left hand, at his oddly shaped finger. “There’s no shame in being afraid, but… I can’t accept your reasoning.”

Chirigi scowled. “What?”

“You want to play football,” Isagi simply stated. “You want to use your speed again and dominate the field like you used to. You don’t actually mean what you said. You don’t want to give up.”

Chigiri stood up in anger.

“You don’t know anything about me. Stop acting like you do,” he spat, turning around to storm out the door.

Isagi did not watch him leave. He sat facing the screen and watched the tiny Chigiri on-screen hesitate to run after Okawa. “Say what you want, Chigiri-kun. But you haven’t even tried. If it tears again, your career is over. If you leave now, your career is over. The outcome is the same—you are a coward for not at least giving it your best shot.”

Chigiri’s footsteps paused at the door. Isagi glanced over his shoulder, meeting his indignant glare. Isagi sat tall and confidently because he knew. He knew how Chigiri was feeling, and he wanted to help him, just like others had helped him.

“I don’t need you to tell me that I’m not ‘trying my best’. Hypocrite.”

And with that, the door slid shut behind Chigiri, and Isagi was left alone in the monitoring room with a lot to think about.

———————

Isagi sat with his back to the wall, drinking water from his Blue Lock endorsed bottle and watching his fumbling teammates stumble through drills. Igaguri kept losing the ball to Raichi, and Raichi was torturously average at everything. Chigiri stared listlessly at the ground, slowly jogging to reach the attacking Imamura. The strangely romance-obsessed boy shouldn’t pose any threat to a defender with a record like Chigiri, but Imamura swiftly sidestepped him and kicked the ball. The shot predictably veered away from the net. Kunigami lingered on the edges of the field, practicing the same exact shot he hadn’t made since the first game. Bachira dribbled up and down the field, practicing solo while observing the match between the others. Chigiri stood still, not even making the effort to run and follow the ball as it traveled around the other side of the field. Kuon shouted commands as he ran alongside the others.

Despite trying to ignore him, Isagi found his eyes trailing back to the empty part of the field to follow Chigiri’s motionless form.

He forced his head back to the other side, watching as Kunigami slammed another ball into the net with the same speed, curve, and spin as the last 70 times. Isagi shifted his weight to his feet and stood, wondering if he should go over and give him a hint.

“Howdy, you lumps of talent,” the screen boomed. Isagi limply flopped sideways, leaning his weight onto the wall, and groaned.

That man was eating his junk food again, so uncaring that there were some players here that had natto as a side dish and hadn’t seen an unhealthily delicious meal for days. Isagi particularly felt spiteful, curling his fists bitingly into the water bottle, as he reminded himself of the disgusting stench of mackerel and its demonic appearance.

“The sixth match just ended. Here are the results and new rankings.”

Unsurprisingly, Team V continued to lead at the top of the leaderboard with 6 points, while Team Z only had 3 points from their first match. Isagi hummed thoughtfully. They’d have to perform well in the next match for this to work out.

“Now, let’s add the spice.”

Everyone looked down at their arm as it started to beep and buzz with intensity as Ego-san spoke about rankings being changed based on scoring ‘valuable’ goals.

“So Team Z’s top player is… you, Isagi Yoichi.”

Isagi spared a cursory glance at his arm to see the 265 proudly displaying itself to the room. Considering everyone’s lackluster reactions, they thought the same as him: it wasn’t a surprise.

Ego-san ranted about their weapons and making them stand out, but Isagi remained leaning against the wall, staring at a far-off point coincidentally close to Chigiri. He already used his weapon regularly and bent it to his will to score goals, but making it stand out? The hardest part had been figuring out what his weapon was, and now, he would have to make do with consciously using it instead of passively.

Isagi slumped, allowing his body to slide to the ground, head stretched back against the wall. There was too much to think about. He was always thinking excessively about something when it came to football—either his methodology or his technique—and he was mentally exhausted . It didn’t help that he was staying up later and getting less sleep recently.

Staying awake in the monitoring room until two in the morning probably wasn’t a good idea, especially with the amount of demanding activity they had to do in a day. Bachira recently picked up on it and wandered into the monitor room sometime around 1:30 and poked and prodded him until he paid attention to him. When Isagi would refuse to leave until he finished ‘one more thing’ (because Bachira had no idea what he was doing and why), Bachira would curl up in the chair next to him and sleepily nuzzle into Isagi’s arm, taking his bicep hostage, until he was ready to go back to the room and sleep.

If their next match was in 24 hours and it mattered more than the last one, maybe he should take his own advice and try a little bit harder to unite the team and help the struggling individuals shine. Showing up to the match exhausted physically and mentally would only be a recipe for disaster.

After Ego-san’s speech, he quickly left to rest up.

———————

Kuon was late.

Usually, Isagi didn’t pay attention to this sort of thing, as team meetings had never been kind to him if they even involved him at all, but since he was trying and all that, he made a point to observe. And Kuon was uncharacteristically late.

He was their makeshift leader, only because he took up that role eagerly and no one else particularly cared, but they had seen him that way anyway. So it was strange that Iemon was running the Team W video session instead of Kuon.

As for Isagi’s impression of the boy… he was fine. His football skills were subpar and the only redeeming physical quality was his jumping power, but even that paled in comparison to other young athletes. There was an example of that in another stratum—a dramatic young man with long black hair and excellent jumping height. His personality was rather off-putting though. Isagi couldn’t exactly put his finger on it, but Kuon was just too nice or positive or optimistic—any of those positive words. There seemed to be nothing wrong with him. But he was just too happy to be real. Or maybe Isagi just didn’t like him for some inane reason.

Whatever the cause of his dislike, he gathered that the rest of the team was wondering the same as he was. Raichi was brave enough to interrupt Iemon and ask on behalf of Isagi and any other curious players.

“Who put you in charge? Isn’t this Kuon’s job?”

“He still hasn’t come back from the bath…”

Some light chatter bounced around the room about Kuon taking abnormally long baths before the man himself arrived. He was flushed and drank water immediately, laying out their new strategy.

“For this next match, we’ll use the strategy we talked about earlier. We’ll have the same partners and position changes, but we are adding one more time slot for Isagi to show his weapon as a forward with Bachira’s support. That will give us each 18 minutes.”

Kuon pulled his fingers into a fist and shouted, “And the name will be Operation: 4x2 + 1 All Stars!”

Isagi coughed into his hand, managing to hold back the undignified chortle that fought to exit his mouth. How lame. He spent all that time thinking about it for that?

Bachira tugged on his arm playfully. “Neh, Isagi-chan~ let’s score some amazing goals together!”

Isagi’s shoulders relaxed minutely as he returned Bachira’s soft smile. “I’ll do my best, Bachira.”

Isagi spared a glance to Chigiri, who was isolating himself in the corner of the room. As if sensing his gaze, Chigiri looked back at him. For a few tense seconds, they stared at each other. Chigiri’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and he looked away as his fists clenched around the fabric of his pants.

Isagi turned away. Somehow, he’d save him. And maybe himself in the process.

——————

“Yo-chan!”

Isagi turned to the voice, his phone loosely held in his hand. From across the field, Shidou waved enthusiastically, holding a well-used ball under his arm. Isagi pocketed his phone and walked over.

“Shidou-san,” he replied in greeting, a warm smile gracing his lips.

“Look, I got all dressed up for our date!” He pointed excitedly at his clean, sharp-looking cleats. Isagi didn’t really know what to say to that. He had put on this gear for the first time in months, and they looked as ratty as they actually were. Luckily, Shidou continued, “You feelin’ good?”

“I’m all better, thanks,” Isagi replied despite the fact that he hadn’t properly set foot on a field in a while. Almost nervous at the prospect of playing football again, he distracted himself by playing with the stray strands of his scarf.

Shidou grinned. “Those assholes at Ichinan treating you ok? I can go beat ‘em up for you.” Again , Isagi added mentally for him.

They walked together to the middle of the field in the midst of a gaggle of young children and some middle school students. The field, worn and brown from disarray, gave him an odd sense of nostalgia combined with a soft warmth from his childhood.

Isagi breathed out, feeling the cold air fogging around his mouth. “That’s not necessary. Coach said I could take as long as I want to recover before going back. I’m just attending classes for now.”

Shidou gave him a long look that Isagi didn’t know how to decipher. “Is this the first time you’re playing since you got out? Sure you’re ok?”

Isagi huffed, setting down his bag near the goal and stripping himself of all the large winter gear. “I’m fine .” His voice was cutting and snappy, having heard the same question over and over again for the past few days.

Shidou held his hands up in surrender. He liked that about Shidou, too—how he knew Isagi’s boundaries and rarely touched them. It was refreshing.

“Alright, let’s play!” Shidou looked pumped to finally play with Isagi. He stretched his legs quickly, practically vibrating from impatience. Having researched him, Isagi was sure that Shidou had grown bored of the lack of good players on his team. Isagi joined him in his quick stretching, otherwise, he was sure he might pull something, having not practiced in so long. “First to 10?”

Isagi nodded, dropping into position. After putting the ball in the middle, they both lunged for it, feet kicking out measuredly. Having taken a break from football, Isagi lacked the extra bit of speed needed to reach the ball before Shidou, who trained every day for hours for fun .

Well, it’s not like Isagi had come unprepared either—he’d spent the past day researching Shidou Ryuusei and all his public matches available to the public. As they were high school students, there wasn’t much, but he could find a fair amount of material to analyze. Sooner or later, he’d post a video about Shidou’s team, but for now…

Shidou accelerated and leaped past him. Isagi knew this: Shidou was fast and wild, and there were certain aspects of his playstyle that even Isagi had trouble analyzing due to their sheer unpredictability. Shidou was a kind of striker similar in manner to himself—someone who preferred to score goals on their own. In a one-on-one, positioning, dribbling, speed, and individuality all held more importance than in a regular match as there was no one to pick up your slack. No one would aid him in getting past Shidou, but he didn’t need that anyway.

Spinning deftly on his heel, Isagi wasted no time in speeding towards Shidou. A full-on sprint wasn’t ideal for a recovering patient, but he managed to get next to Shidou, despite his appallingly erratic movements. Shidou dribbled in such a confusing way that Isagi still couldn’t grasp it properly, even as it was displayed right in front of him. In fact, it was much harder to grasp than when he had watched it on a screen.

Isagi believed this would be a fair matchup, considering his previous skill in one-on-ones and given his background, but Shidou was unapologetically strong. With a hand across Isagi’s torso, it was comically easy to bar him from getting too close. Isagi had too much experience with being bodily shoved around, though, so his legs refused to stop moving and his leg kicked out to regain possession of the ball. Shidou passed it to his other foot, keeping it farther away from Isagi. By this point, they were closer to the penalty area, and Isagi knew Shidou’s skill in shooting from any absolutely crazy location there with his superior goal observation and awareness.

Before he knew it, the ball swooshed into the net accompanied by a cheerful shout from the guy next to him that sounded suspiciously like it included the word ‘explosion’. Strange, Isagi thought. Shidou turned to smirk victoriously at him. Isagi straightened up, feeling his legs’ exhaustion from being used so suddenly since his break.

Isagi stared blankly at the net, turned back to Shidou, and reluctantly gritted out, “... Good goal.”

“You don’t have to lie to me, Yo-chan,” Shidou chortled, retrieving the ball and standing in position. Isagi narrowed his eyes at him, his brain already working on breaking down Shidou’s abilities and creating countermeasures to win. “But there’ll be plenty more where that came from.”

Isagi felt his eyebrow twitch, and the dragging feeling in his muscles lessened. “Start.”

The two of them raced for the ball again, and this time, Isagi was more proactive in getting a foot on it first. He spun, ensuring Shidou’s feet would be coming from somewhere he could easily thwart. Utilizing a few tricks to get by Shidou’s instinctive intellect, Isagi ran towards the goal and didn’t hesitate when he was in a position to shoot, kicking it directly into the net.

Shidou laughed boisterously, waiting until Isagi came back with the ball. “Were you holdin’ back on me? Seems they weren’t wrong about your skills, huh?”

Isagi didn’t want to call that a complete victory, though. The only reason he had that opportunity was because he used his positioning to combat Shidou’s ability to forcefully and physically stop him. He would much rather have this one-on-one come down to their skills in dribbling and possession rather than strength. It was obvious who’d win if he kept letting Shidou run wild with his unchecked strength.

Isagi placed the ball on the field and walked back to his position, thinking nonstop about Shidou’s abilities. “Again.”

By the time the score was 9-7 in favor of Shidou, Isagi felt uncomfortably sticky with sweat, and every time the wind picked up to remind him of the cold temperature, chills racked through his body. He panted, cursing the fact that Shidou looked all too happy without sweat dripping down his face. Maybe he really should’ve tried working out before accepting Shidou’s eager challenge as soon as he heard Isagi was free.

“Ah~, the genius of Ichinan losing to me? C’mon, show me something worth my time,” Shidou taunted, a mean, little smirk stretching his mouth wide. “Are you nothing without a team, after all, Yo-chan?”

Isagi froze, heart stuttering dangerously as noises stopped all around him and blood pounded threateningly in his ears. His eyes shot up to Shidou, mouth set in a thin line as his eyes narrowed into a glare. He couldn’t even hear himself reply over the blood rushing through his ears, everything in his being telling him to destroy the person who dared insinuate something like that. “That’s low, Shidou-san.”

Shidou placed the ball down, meeting his lethal glare with a primal grin, the both of them sensing how the atmosphere changed. Unbeknownst to them, the kids from earlier scurried away at the deadly aura emanating from their side of the field.

Isagi pounced on the ball as soon as they started, a snarl slipping onto his face as Shidou immediately pressed him with his overwhelming strength and skill. Isagi allowed that wild desire in his heart to take over as his eyes absorbed all the information they could about his situation. He felt as if his feet were unchained by human limits as he ruthlessly faked which leg and side he would use. Isagi then kicked the ball through Shidou’s legs, as the man had lunged confidently to the left at a particularly convincing fake from Isagi. Gliding over the field and past Shidou’s momentarily amazed form, he ran like his life depended on it to the goal.

But Shidou always managed to exceed his expectations and predictions. He seemed to be able to speed up even more , and by the time Isagi was close to shooting range, Shidou had caught up, laughing dazedly. He threw an arm across Isagi’s chest, his legs darting over to steal the ball. Isagi felt as if it were happening in slow motion.

He slid the ball in an arc, going around Shidou’s back, using Shidou’s weight and momentum against him. With the object he half-braced against gone, Shidou stumbled to the left while Isagi emerged from behind Shidou, running to the right. Isagi sprinted with the ball diagonally to a distant part of the penalty area, determined to stay at least one step ahead of Shidou.

Without a single moment of hesitation, he pulled his right foot back to shoot. But in an instinctive attempt to prohibit him from scoring, Shidou jumped so his body was in the way of his shot. His eyes were blown wide with excitement, and Isagi could tell he was feeling premature adrenaline from stopping Isagi’s shot.

Isagi’s gaze sharpened to a condescending glare, his mouth upturned minutely into a small smirk. “Being too hasty is unattractive, Shidou-san.”

His right leg slowed ever so precisely to scoop the ball up from the ground and into the air near his left leg. With a swift jump to switch the leg he was balancing on, Isagi shot the ball directly into the goal with his left leg, as Shidou’s body fell inevitably to the ground and shot up to try to stop Isagi’s shot, just a moment too late.

The familiar exhilaration from scoring lasted but a second, being replaced with an unfamiliar, overbearing feeling. The wild haze left his mind, leaving him staring at Shidou’s astonished open-mouthed smile with a numb sort of emptiness. But his heart was pounding erratically, his blood thrummed excitedly beneath his skin, and his breath slowed from its previously quickened state. He could feel the remnants of his effort for victory, so why couldn’t he feel a thing ?

Shidou ran over to him, a glint of something shining in his eyes as his whole face seemed to beam with elated anticipation, teeth all on display and gaze hungrily settling on the ball in the net. “Supergoal! 10/10, very sexy.”

“I know how to beat you now, Shidou-san. Come, restart,” Isagi commanded, pointing insistently at the middle of the field. He listlessly picked up the ball and traced its black and white pentagons, mourning the euphoric sensation he used to feel when he scored goals. Slowly, he could feel his connection to it slipping through his fingers, leaving him unfeeling and stoic as he stared at the net.

Shidou poked his cheek questioningly. “Not happy with that? It was quite an explosion.” Isagi didn’t deign him with an answer, dropping the ball onto the field and staring at Shidou expectantly. He shrugged, hands held up in surrender, and returned to his position. “You’re finally showing me something arousing. What a beautiful skill.”

Shidou managed to get to the ball first. Isagi clicked his tongue, racing forward to steal the ball, feeling inexplicably infuriated by Shidou’s self-assured smirk. “However…”

Shidou easily barreled by him, leveraging his heavier weight and powerful muscles. Isagi scrambled to catch up, but Shidou was already so far ahead, darting towards the ball like a bullet. “... your rationale is textbook, Yo-chan.”

He dived towards the ball, barely missing Isagi’s interception, and sent the ball careening into the net at high speed. Isagi doesn’t think he’s ever seen Shidou do that in any of his games, so to be faced with this unexpected side of Shidou… was baffling.

Isagi sighed, allowing himself to fall to the field and succumb to the exhaustion, lungs burning with the effort and cold bite of the winter air. He could feel phantom pains in his torso, and his chest was surprisingly tight. He couldn’t be bothered to stretch or cool down to banish the feeling, so he slumped into the grass.

Shidou joined him later with the ball in his hands and looked down at him contemplatively. Isagi couldn’t muster the energy to be mad at Shidou’s previous taunts, but he was curious. “... What did you mean by textbook?”

Shidou grinned in equal parts confidence and something akin to relief. “It’s no fun if I tell you, is it?”

“So helpful.” Isagi groaned, hearing Shidou plop down next to him.

“Hey now, I can’t give you all the answers.” Shidou laughed, rolling the ball back and forth with his foot. “Your analyzing skills are pretty good, though, aren’t they?”

Isagi knew that. He just didn’t know how that connected with having a textbook mindset. Isagi hummed in agreement. “Am I missing something?” At Shidou’s tilted head, Isagi sighed. “With my analyzing, I mean. Am I missing something? Is that why it’s textbook?”

Shidou laughed again. Isagi didn’t think he’d ever been around someone who laughed so much. It infected him with a lighthearted satisfaction. “Are you just gonna keep questioning me ‘bout this?”

“Does it have to do with your last goal? A hidden talent or something?” Isagi propped himself up on his elbows to properly look at Shidou, annoyed with the avoidance of his questions. His hair stuck stubbornly to his forehead, a sweaty, sticky feeling only calmed by the cool wind. He brushed his hand through his hair, ignoring the dull ache of his finger.

“Chill, chill. Since you’re so persistent, I’ll give you a hint.” Shidou pointed at the net as if to refer to his last goal. “I’ve never done that before. It was your last goal that gave me the inspiration to evolve in some way to compete with you. Ah~ it was a feeling I’ve never felt before.” Shidou had an odd look on his face. Isagi looked on in disapproval. “Your ambition leading to my explosion—very un-textbook and super sexy, don’t cha think?”

Somehow, Isagi was able to filter out half his words and get to the meaning. He sat there thinking for a minute. An un-textbook play like Isagi’s crazy, self-confident haze making Shidou level up and score an even more unpredictable goal. One that he’d never attempted, or even thought of, before. If that was un-textbook, then his analysis was stuck in a phase that was ‘textbook’. Perhaps, Shidou means that he was thinking in a very textbook way and leaving out un-textbook things, like Shidou’s explosive progress. What did that mean? ‘Textbook’ was starting to sound like a fake word now.

He lacked something to figure it out. “You’re confusing me, Shidou-san.”

“Eh, maybe you need more experience. You’ll figure it out later.” Shidou stood, extending a hand to him. “It’s windy. I should get you goin’ before you get a cold.”

Isagi agreed, setting Shidou’s riddle of advice aside to pick at another day.

After that day, they met up to play several times as Isagi recovered and got pressured back into his high school football team by Shidou (“You’ll fall behind if you’re not practicing, Yo-chan~!”). Even though he felt like he sort of understood what Shidou was trying to tell him, he was never truly able to figure it out. Despite that, his skill spoke for itself, as he was able to keep par with Shidou and win about half the time.

The two of them were incredibly different, Isagi learned. He had thought before that they were similar, but he was wrong. They might both prefer to score individual goals, but Shidou was selfish in the way that he could focus on only himself and thrive. Isagi was individualistic in the way that it was necessary for him to score on his own in his high school environment, but his mind focused on everything all at once—other players, their abilities, where they were, how they would move next, etc. While Shidou had the luxury of ignoring all that and still being obnoxiously good at football, Isagi had no such indulgence, his mind always alert to every detail around him.

And another thing was… Shidou had an overwhelming passion for the sport. It showed in his cheers, his inspired, exciting goals, and his ideology of football. No matter how strange his explanation of football was, Isagi could admire that burning fire, hunting for his legacy. He sought fame but more importantly his own pleasure, and that was something Isagi deeply admired, for he couldn’t remember the last time he truly had that same blinding, roaring fun in a match. While Shidou had all this passion, Isagi had a profuse lack of it.

He wasn’t afraid to stick to Shidou and continue playing with him. The two of them played well together and against each other, inspiring new developments and thoughts. But he was scared to admit that one of the reasons he kept coming back was to taste that distant, obscure delicacy of blazing passion. One that he could never imagine possessing himself.

——————

“Ego-san, what do you think having a textbook rationale means?”

Isagi laid on his back on the field during one of his rare water breaks mercifully bestowed on him by Ego-san. This had been bothering him since Shidou brought it up, but he hadn’t been able to work it out by himself. Who better to ask than the coach who possibly knew him the best out of everyone in the world?

Ego-san glanced at him, while Isagi furrowed his brows, trying to find the answer in the blue sky. Ego-san chortled knowingly. “Who said that? That Itoshi striker?”

Isagi had a feeling that if Rin ever gave him advice like that, it would be much more cryptic and definitely disguised as an insult. “No, Shidou-san.”

“That’s unexpectedly insightful of him,” Ego-san commented half-approvingly. Isagi gave him a pointed look. “I think you’ll grow out of it.”

“You know what he means?” Isagi sat up, bewildered. Ego-san, as always, was an enigmatic asshole. A smart one, though. Somehow, he knew everything. “And you won’t tell me?”

Ego-san completely avoided his question, scrolling through his tablet. “You know, I think Shidou isn’t an ideal person for someone like you to hang around with. He’s a bad influence. Although, admittedly, he did get that part right.”

Isagi might not be able to figure out Shidou’s advice, but he wasn’t a complete idiot. He knew that Ego-san was trying to discourage him from spending time with Shidou because the guy was excessively violent and couldn’t hold back his crude sex jokes. Both of which were supposedly triggering. But because Shidou was a genuinely caring, chill guy, Isagi never felt threatened or uncomfortable with him.

“Can’t you just be helpful and give me a hint?”

Ego-san hummed thoughtfully and turned the device around to face Isagi. It was a stats page of a random striker he had analyzed for Ego-san’s Blue Lock project. The handsome, boyishly charming face of Mikage Reo smiled back at him, framed by oddly cut purple bangs and a passionate, resolved glint in his eyes. Isagi secretly spent a lot more time than normal analyzing Mikage simply because he was astounded by how quickly he grew in only a few months. The pentagon of skills stretched out across the shape, showing him his own personal analysis of the striker. He glanced up at Ego-san with an unimpressed look.

Ego-san sighed heavily as if Isagi were an idiot. “What is the thing that stands out most to you about Mikage Reo?”

Isagi studied the screen, hesitating. There was probably a trick answer in here somewhere. “... His adaptability?”

“Wrong.” Ego-san whisked the device away and tapped on it a few times. Turning it back around, he had brought up a previous version of Isagi’s analysis. He had gone back to update it because Mikage had changed ever since he got that new striker on his team. The old version had slightly lower stats. “The difference here is clear.”

“He grew since that white-haired striker joined the team? How does this connect with me at all?”

Ego-san pinched the bridge of his nose. “There is no shortcut to learning. That is your only hint. Go figure it out.” He almost felt bad—his coach looked so done with him. That also meant that he would get a significantly harder task today if Ego-san continued to be in a bad mood.

Isagi didn’t really get how Ego-san’s hint connected to Shidou’s at all. Maybe Ego-san interpreted it wrong, after all.

Chapter Text

2015 Women’s World Cup Final: USA v. Japan

FootballAnalyst 60.3K likes

31.9K subscribers

95.9K views 3 years ago

Hi, everyone! People have been saying that I discriminate because I only do men’s games, so here you go. And this time I could find footage in both Japanese and English! That made it so much easier because I’m learning …more

894K Comments

@EgosRamen   3 years ago

You should probably stick to men.

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↳ @mikage130   3 years ago

WRONG CHOICE OF WORDS

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↳ @speedgenius7   3 years ago

😳😂

@anrichan5   3 years ago

Nice job! Good work for including the women! I’m proud of your progress in English!

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↳ @footballanalyst11   3 years ago

@anrichan5 Thank you!

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@bootsandsuits   3 years ago

im aware that you’re like 10 or smt but im so happy that there’s finally a women’s analysis video where they don’t talk about our chests the whole time! thank you for actually respecting our skills!

↳ @footballanalyst11   3 years ago

glad i could deliver 🫡

@linkclickbias88   3 years ago

OMG women’s match??! do Japan vs. England next pls!!

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@sharklover88   3 years ago

Losing 5 to 2 is embarrassing, embarrassing >.<

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↳ @weiwuxianpeak   3 years ago

@sharklover88 like you could do any better haha

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@monsterbee   3 years ago

AHHH I LOVE YOU THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!! YOUR ANALYSIS IS AMAZING KEEP UP THE GOOD WORKKKKKK <33333

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↳ @footballanalyst11   3 years ago

@monsterbee 🙏

@orangebleachdude62   3 years ago

Your insight on number 12’s goal was incredible! Looking forward to more videos, and as always, thank you for your dedication!

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↳ @footballanalyst11   3 years ago

@orangebleachdude62 Thank you! Her goal was very interesting to break down 🙏

@milkmilkcow   3 years ago

:0

bro i thought you were sexist

@bestgamer23   3 years ago

woah just subscribed do you play?? what position?

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↳ @footballanalyst11   3 years ago

@bestgamer23 I play forward :D

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——————

Team W was somewhat of a mess.

Isagi couldn’t help but feel weirded out by the twins’ performance. Their little bit was genuinely weird, and that’s not even to mention their creepy attitude toward Chigiri. Isagi vaguely remembered that Chigiri had teammates like that, but they looked so easily breakable that he didn’t know why Chigiri hadn’t just put them in their places.

Even stranger, though, was the first goal of the game. Isagi had passed to Raichi, who was promptly overwhelmed and forced to pass to Kuon. Now, in terms of football prowess, Isagi didn’t place Kuon highly at all. Jumping power was important and all, but he sort of sucked at everything else overall. So in Isagi’s mental book, it was impossible for Kuon to have made that goal. It wasn’t in Kuon’s realm of possibilities.

The shot itself hadn’t even been that fast, but the goalie had barely responded. Even new goalies should be able to jump this way or that for that ball. But he supposed Team W could just have a supremely incapable goalie.

It was the second goal that set him off. Kuon made another impossible goal, and this time, Isagi quickly glanced back and took in Team W’s nonchalant faces and poorly constructed upset expressions. Even the twins looked rather unsurprised, despite their frowns.

Isagi felt a familiar pounding in the back of his neck and the crown of his head. It was like a goddamn band was slowly wrapping itself around his head and squeezing. Isagi gritted his teeth. One goal, and he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt- but two goals?

Isagi had known from the beginning, when that specific rule about the top scorer had been announced that someone might try to sabotage the team to be the sole winner, but he hadn’t thought that would be a problem. They had a fairly good team, and Isagi sure as hell refused to lose now that he crystallized his own passing methodology. With Bachira and Kunigami, they should have no trouble winning all their games. Obviously, the last game was a fluke because he was stuck in the demoralizing mindset that he had to pass to everyone equally. But now, they should have no problems winning with the fixed positioning they came up with. So Kuon was decidedly an idiot if he thought that this betrayal thing he came up with would work. There was absolutely no way that they’d lose this game against those two buffoons, and it was even worse that Kuon thought he could trick Isagi and not piss him off. Isagi was one petty asshole.

Isagi stalked up to Kuon and waited until his celebrations were over, crossing his arms and staring him down. Kuon faltered slightly and glanced at him.

“Isagi-kun…?”

Isagi rolled his eyes internally. The guy could at least act like a massive shithead if he was going to betray them like one. He stared Kuon down as if the other boy wasn’t taller than him.

“What did you do?”

“Sorry?”

“Did you make a deal? That you’d be able to score some goals and then in return, you’d let Team W score some as well? Then you’d be the only person to move on.”

Isagi didn’t think about anything else other than exposing Kuon, so he missed the growing frustration on his teammates’ faces. And the clenched fists and furrowed brows.

“Don’t say that about Kuon-kun! Just because he’s doing better than you doesn’t mean you can be an asshole to him!” Naruhaya shouted, hands on his hips indignantly.

“Yeah!” Igaguri agreed. “Are you mad cuz he’s taking the spotlight? Don’t be a dick, Isagi.”

“Huh? What’d you say?”

Bachira cheerfully skipped around Igaguri a few meters away, his smile cold and wide. Igaguri flinched.

Isagi bristled, disbelief settling in him at their sheer stupidity. “You’ll blindly believe him, even when the evidence is right there? You’re idiots.”

“There’s no evidence!” Imamura cried out. “Kuon wouldn’t have done something like that! Are you that pissed that he’s doing better than you?”

“You’re being an asshole, Isagi,” Raichi grunted, turning slightly away as if unsure.

Isagi decided to ignore him in favor of turning on the other three in anger. “You’re saying you think Kuon is capable of scoring two goals without the goalie or any defender even touching the ball?”

That seemed to ignite something in Raichi, who had been mercifully ignored because the boy threateningly stepped up.

Raichi growled. “You think just because you’re ranked higher than him you can fucking judge him ?” Us, Isagi mentally corrected.

Isagi responded to the threat by narrowing his eyes and meeting his glare. “I am better than you so I know that he’s betraying us.”

Iemon pushed in between them, finally reaching them from his place near the net. “Wait, Raichi-kun, Isagi-kun. I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah, right.”

Kunigami joined in, putting a calming hand on Isagi’s shoulder and lightly pulling him back. All Isagi wanted to do was slap him off, but he refrained for the sake of their tentative relationship. “Let’s hear what Kuon has to say first, alright?”

Isagi scoffed and glared at the still figure standing off to the side. “So?”

Kuon looked down at the ground then at some unidentified point on the other side of the field where Team W was standing. He turned back to look at Team Z with a concerned expression. “I’m… sorry if I offended you somehow, Isagi-kun!” He pleaded pathetically, bowing low and prompting sympathetic eyes from Isagi’s entire dumb team. “I haven’t done anything of the sort! I can stop trying to score if you want…”

Isagi blanched. The audacity…

“Woah! Isagi, you can’t tell Kuon to stop scoring!” Naruhaya shouted, affronted on behalf of their makeshift leader. Who was also a massive dirtbag and was betraying all of them. What a farce ‘teamwork’ was turning out to be.

That bastard made himself out to be the victim and blatantly lied to his face. To Team Z. Shit like this was why Isagi hated teams. The moment he threatens the established hierarchy, everyone who pretended to be friendly with him switches sides and hates him. Did Kuon really deserve their unfiltered concern and attention?

Bachira bounded up next to him, breaking his train of thought. “Who says he can’t?” Bachira laughed maniacally, creepily staring at the rest of Team Z. Isagi himself shuddered a bit. “He’s the best here… so he can call the shots, right? Top dog and all that.”

Isagi coughed to dispel the fear rising in the group as they probably recalled something that had happened many nights ago when Isagi wasn’t in the room. He still wondered what Bachira had done to gain such fear (and maybe respect, hopefully) from the team. “What Bachira is trying to say is that I can see more of the field than you. So you should take my word more seriously than his.”

“How is that any different than ‘blindly trusting’ Kuon?” Raichi questioned, noticeably less aggressive. “I don’t believe you, but as long as we’re winning, I don’t give a fuck. If he ends up giving points away to Team W then we can handle him later.” Raichi crossed his arms and smirked. “Unless you don’t think you can stop Team W from scoring, you bastard?”

Isagi scowled and turned away, sending one last glare towards Kuon. “Fine. Have it your way. But don’t cry to me if your precious leader loses the game for us.”

Isagi stalked away, Bachira conspiratorially whispering at his side. “Wasn’t Kuon-kun acting so strange though? He didn’t even say anything—Well other than defending himself! And he couldn’t have made those shots—you’re right!”

Isagi showed him a small smile. “Right? And when he made those shots, Team W wasn’t even surprised. They just let it be.”

Bachira nodded fiercely. “Then… we’ll just have to stop Kuon-kun’s evil plans!” He clapped his hands together excitedly.

Isagi nodded in return, heading back to his position. Chigiri hovered on the sidelines next to them—it seemed he had been listening in. Isagi didn’t care what he eavesdropped on, as there were suddenly too many things going on in this match. Of course, he wanted to help Chigiri, but if he also had to focus on separating Kuon from the group and improving himself, he knew he would inevitably choose himself over Chigiri. And Kuon was a pressing issue that needed to be dealt with almost by himself because his team was composed of idiots, and he was always reminded of that fact when it mattered most.

“Bachira… Can you help me with something?”

———————

Kuon wound himself up for another goal, positioning himself in just the right place for Naruhaya to pass to him, tricked by the defenders’ looser marking around his space. Kuon slyly eyed the Team W player next to him, who subtly flinched and gave him more room, despite his reluctance. It went against their instincts and training as competitive soccer players—he understood that—but they should really be conscious. Especially since this was a win-win situation for all of them if it succeeded.

But that asshole Isagi was onto him. He laid out his plan like it was nothing to figure out within minutes of seeing it—just a puzzle to solve. And not one of those 2000 piece ones, a simple 250 one. Maybe even less. The point was- Isagi Yoichi was a thorn in his side. It was lucky that Team Z largely refused to believe him as Kuon had planted himself as their leader. But he was in trouble, if he had to go by the heated glare the midfielder was sending him.

That buzzing striker that always hung around Isagi, Bachira, also hated him. He saw it in the way Bachira tended to glare at him first before the others whenever he was scolding them for talking about Isagi. He saw it in the way Bachira stared at him contemplatively. The kid was a strangely perceptive one—instinctive and trusting of his gut. Well, anyone could tell that about Bachira from his personality, but since Kuon knew he was betraying them, he could see another part of that. Bachira had avoided him from the beginning.

If it had been just those two, he could have dealt with it. They were an odd duo that almost felt isolated from the main team, so he could’ve played into that. But Raichi seemed half-swayed by Isagi’s conclusions, and the team would follow his loud screeching if he condemned Kuon. Even Kunigami looked unsure, even if he was deciding to stay neutral for now. Hell, that wasn’t even mentioning the cold stare he could feel piercing his back from their local permanent defender.

Well, Chigiri wouldn’t be a huge problem since he isolated himself from the group as well. No one would listen to him, standoffish and snobbish as he was.

Naruhaya predictably kicked the ball to Kuon, spurred by sympathy and his childish stubbornness to oppose Isagi, who angrily huffed at how Naruhaya had ignored his imploring gaze. Kuon leaped up to receive the pass, slightly lower than he had wanted, but it would do fine, as no one was around him.

Thwack.

He blinked as the impact of the ball on a chest was heard, but he didn’t feel a thing. Looking down in confusion, he only met unnaturally green grass and empty feet. Twisting around, he heard Bachira giggling giddily, already juggling the stolen ball to his foot to shoot. Kuon gritted his teeth before schooling his features, reminding himself that he had to appear the victim. But a shot of fear ran through him. Bachira just blocked him from scoring. Definitely Isagi’s doing, but… If he didn’t score another goal by halftime…

The heavy weight of the twins’ glares reached his back, but he pretended to not see them, turning to his teammates in faux confusion. He tilted his head at Bachira, who had stolen his shot, in the eyes of Team Z, but the striker was already gone from the scoring position. He skipped over to Isagi and high-fived him cheerfully, ignoring the fact that he himself was the one gently grabbing Isagi’s wrist so that he could properly slap their hands together.

Isagi’s almost smug expression faced Kuon, as they made eye contact. The midfielder smirked slightly. Knowing eyes trailed back to the still fuming twins.

Kuon swallowed thickly, throat dry and tongue heavy as Isagi turned back to his grinning partner. A deep well of anger simmered in his stomach seeing Isagi ignore him and mock him like this. Where did he get off acting like such a bitch to everyone?

Kuon had tried so hard to get everyone to work together and to do this without being overbearing. He made Isagi the center of the team, had him work to the best of his abilities, and let everyone have their own special time to shine. Why did Isagi continue to be so… uncooperative? Refusing to pass to him and lower-ranked players, instigating fights among the team, sowing discomfort and anger in the group…

Kuon could reluctantly admit that Isagi was a phenomenal player. But he drew the line at his personality. The guy was a total mess.

The game restarted, and with the simmering anger and desperation in him, he once again silently implored Naruhaya to pass to him. It would all be over for him if he wasn’t able to get a goal. It’s not that he didn’t think his team could win this game of their own volition. They could scrape by, even with Isagi’s stubborn countenance. But Kuon didn’t want to scrape by because of the whims of an asshole who didn’t care about any of them. Should they win, it was likely he’d hear a lot more of Isagi Yoichi and his horrible words. One could say that Kuon was doing this, not simply for his own benefit—though that was a pretty big reason admittedly—but so that Isagi Yoichi would never get his way in this world. Team Z was pretty useless overall, and he’d be the one to survive. Teamwork hadn’t succeeded. The team was horrible at that from the beginning, but Isagi hammered in the final nail with his awful tantrums.

A few minutes passed by without much progress, and with each passing minute, he could feel the gazes on his back growing heavier and angrier. Fuck, this was bad. The clock was steadily creeping to the halfway mark, and he hadn’t fulfilled his part of the deal yet.

Kuon panted, feeling his blood throb in his forehead as he bent over. Sweat dripped down his brow and dropped onto the field. He’d been running forever, but every time he was close to touching the ball, either Bachira or Isagi would seamlessly swoop in and snatch it. The others complained and shouted about teamwork and being fair to Kuon, but ultimately, they did nothing to stop Isagi’s reign of terror on the field, accepting his passes should they fit his high criteria and be in a good position.

Teams, Kuon seethed, were the most difficult thing in the world. He tried so hard to cater to everyone and motivate them in a way that wasn’t overbearing , but even that didn’t earn their undying loyalty? Should he have sacrificed all his training to help them instead?

The blood rushing in his ears was so loud, screaming at him to do something and survive. Raichi received the ball from Kunigami. Sensing his chance, he pushed out the defeating pulse of his aching heart and ran to the goal, the marking loose. Raichi’s gaze caught on him with only a slight glint of hesitance. Kuon gritted his teeth. Isagi and his stupid penetrating influence on even Raichi.

Raichi passed to him, noticing his positioning.

Kuon would win without this team weighing him down. And then he’d find players that would actually be willing to play seriously as a team and win wholeheartedly. He was just doing what was best for him to survive and be the best in the world. Was there any harm in doing so? This was Blue Lock, after all.

Only the best and most egotistical strikers win.

He faked going to the right, tripping Bachira up, who had grown used to his uninspired dodging. His foot connected with the ball and pushed it into the net, ignoring Bachira’s hand slamming across his chest.

A cold relief swept through him at the resulting whistle. It was over. The beginning of the end would now start. With his part dealt with, now all he had to do was mess up just enough to let the other team score. With a determined stare, he clenched his fist and pumped it in victory, cheering with the rest of Team Z, even while the rest of them were unaware that they were celebrating for completely different reasons.

Kuon chanced a quick look at Isagi. Was he watching? Was he realizing that Kuon , this irrelevant, untalented striker, was going to be the one to end his soccer career? Was he despairing at the fact that he could do nothing to stop Kuon from ruining this team?

Kuon Wataru would be Isagi Yoichi’s downfall.

He smirked as he looked at the midfielder’s face, anger apparent and loud across his features. He’d always been so expressive, and Kuon could perfectly read him now, being the emotionally perceptive person Kuon was. Isagi hated when things didn’t go according to his plan. He had wanted Kuon to be barred from scoring. But how naive. He couldn’t do a thing with only his small body and his crazy lackey. His rule was weak and not far-reaching. Kuon’s, however, would last until the end of this selection. They trusted him over Isagi. They would.

Even if he despised teamwork, Kuon could say with confidence that he was better at it as a whole than Isagi. If Isagi Yoichi hated teams now, Kuon would give him a real reason to complain. He knew what made people tick and how to lead them in a way that included everyone. Isagi Yoichi lacked that social awareness.

And that’s why Team Z would never listen to him.

And that’s why Team Z would lose.

Funny how the very person they all were wary of could be their only salvation if they only dared to give him a chance to save them.

Well, Kuon gave no fucks if Team Z wanted to isolate Isagi and ruin themselves. It would all play out his way in the end.

Isagi huffed and spun around, leaving Kuon to stare triumphantly at the back of his head. Isagi walked over to his area and glared at a spot near the net, so deep in thought that he didn’t even realize when Bachira walked up and stretched next to him.

Kuon looked away. It didn’t matter what they schemed now. He was Team Z’s top scorer. Isagi only had 2, and everyone else who had scored a goal had just one. Isagi was oddly avoiding Kunigami, so he wouldn’t be a threat. He just had to prevent Isagi from scoring or passing to Bachira, and he’d be set.

For the rest of the half, he dedicated himself to receiving passes and making subtle mistakes. But it was really damn hard to pretend like that and avoid Isagi. The brat was thwarting all his attempts to mess up. Each time he underpassed, Isagi was there . He picked it up with anger burning bright in his eyes, glaring heatedly at Kuon and passing it back forward. Each time he missed a headbutt, Isagi was there . He trapped the stray ball and sent it to Bachira, seething from Kuon’s obvious attempts. Each time Kuon absentmindedly distracted himself from the game while in possession of the ball, Isagi was there. He stole the ball right back from Team W when they lunged between his legs for the ball.

Team W was getting mad. The aura around the players was dark, anger and frustration festering into a single-minded goal. Their eyes all converged on Isagi Yoichi.

With dark content, Kuon smiled behind his hand. Incurring the wrath of an entire team wasn’t smart, even for Isagi Yoichi. He wanted to see how this played out.

Team W nodded amongst themselves, sending Isagi looks and glancing at each other. If Isagi noticed the glares, he didn’t react.

Kuon caught on quickly to their schemes. Players crowded Isagi, close enough to trigger anyone’s alarm bells about their personal space being breached. But Isagi seemed especially prone to startling when people crept into his space. Kuon had thought it weird when he moved his futon away from theirs, but it had all started to make sense when he had that breakdown last game. Isagi Yoichi hated feeling trapped.

He wanted Team W to make Isagi feel hopelessly confined. Kuon never claimed to have an immaculate soul.

Team W elbowed Isagi whenever he got the ball, pushing him around like he was nothing. They slid into his feet, trying for fouls (and injuries), but Isagi, that sly bastard, jumped over their legs or spun around their harsh jabs.

But Isagi was slowly losing it.

Kuon could tell based on his pathetic snarl. His teeth dug into his bottom lip, brows so close together it could pass as a unibrow, and eyes darting around fueled by adrenaline. He’d mess up soon, Kuon knew. Anger was the best emotion for spurring loss of control.

Kuon could only watch with unbridled glee when it finally happened.

Isagi inevitably messed up, unable to dodge all their attempts to trip him, feet caught behind a Team W player’s upper thigh, as he slid in to shove the ball away from him. Isagi flailed, gasping quietly as he fell forward, arms protectively hovering around his head.

Not even a goal could compare to the satisfaction that rippled through Kuon at the pained intake of breath that fell almost inaudibly from Isagi’s mouth as he collided with the player’s bony body. Isagi’s ribs, it seemed, slammed into the player’s shoulder, while the player in question put up their arms in alarm, trying to steady Isagi before he fell into their face.

Isagi seemed badly winded, as he didn’t immediately get up and scream at the player. He remained slumped over the player’s body, heaving and breathing in sharply, hand going down to pat uncertainly over his ribs. His pained expression all of a sudden froze in shock, making Kuon pause.

The midfielder glanced down at his thighs, which the Team W player had grabbed to steady him, and his gaze widened minutely, something in his expression turning to panic.

A sharp inhale was all the warning they got.

Isagi scrambled unforgivingly on top of the Team W player and gritted his teeth, an uncharacteristically vulnerable taint to his features as he raised his fist and pulled it back threateningly, totally intent on punching the player. “You fucking-!”

“Isagi Yoichi, yellow card,” the robotic voice sounded, but even that didn’t stop Isagi.

Luckily, Bachira and Kunigami had been walking over, at the sight of their friend downed on the grass, and ran to grab his arm.

“Hey, Isagi-chan!” Bachira hurriedly yelled, pulling Isagi’s arm back as the player underneath him screamed in fear. “No punching, remember~?”

“You don’t understand!” Isagi screamed, eyes trained on the squirming form beneath him in pure hatred. He relentlessly tried to pull his arm away from Bachira’s surprisingly strong grip.

Kunigami was the more reasonable one, picking up Isagi and dragging him away while dodging Isagi’s wild attempts to escape.

“You’ve already got a yellow card, Isagi. Don’t get a red card. We need you to win.”

The manic look in Isagi’s eyes didn’t disappear, but he took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself down. He said nothing as he sent one last glare to the player and whipped around to stalk away.

Kuon secretly grinned when he saw Isagi’s wince as he walked. He couldn’t properly stand up straight, bent at the waist to accommodate the pain in his ribs. The adrenaline from whatever the fuck made him go crazy a few minutes ago was slowly wearing off. A grimace crept onto his lips, hidden from the rest of the team but clear for Kuon to see at this angle.

Team Z would now fall to his treacherous grasp without Isagi to save them and thwart his plans.

He grinned, watching Isagi glance at his ribs once more. Yes. Now he’d be able to win. Him and him alone.

They ran aimlessly on the field for a minute longer before halftime was called. Isagi’s walk to the locker room was a long one. Kuon had taken great pleasure in watching Isagi fail to run fast during the last minute. He couldn’t even stand without that frown on his face, let alone sprint to block Kuon.

When Isagi finally entered the locker room, their eyes met immediately. Kuon gave him a confused smile, but Isagi wasn’t having it. He stomped up to Kuon as best he could and grabbed the collar of his shirt to put them on the same level.

“If you ever do some dumb shit like this again, not receiving the ball will be the least of your worries,” Isagi spat, pain still etched into his features. “You fuckers and resorting to violence. I’ll kill you.”

“Bringing this shit up again? Kuon’s done nothing but score!”

Chigiri coughed. “You blind? Isagi’s been picking up Kuon’s fucking mess this whole time.” But the defender looked away when Isagi glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“That’s not true! What’s your problem, dude? Cut it out,” Naruhaya complained.

Kuon acted along with their expectations, a polite, placating smile gracing his lips, but internally, he felt a rush of cold nerves run through him. Raichi was suspiciously quiet, facing away from the group as he drank his water. Kunigami, too, didn’t come to his aid despite the conflicted look on his face.

Was Team Z… starting to believe Isagi?

Over him? Kuon? Their leader?

What sort of witchery was Isagi pulling for them to want to follow him instead of Kuon?

Kuon ignored the fiery heat emanating from Isagi’s fist in his uniform as he stared down at the unremarkable appearance of Isagi Yoichi. He wanted to destroy this person’s life. Kuon hated him. For looking down on him, for making it so hard to unite the team, for saying he wasn’t necessary for victory—well, if he wasn’t necessary for winning, then he might as well be the reason Team Z lost.

“Ok, Mr. Angry! We might be in the locker room, but you still shouldn’t provoke or punch anyone~!”

Bachira gently chopped the hand that was holding Kuon’s uniform and then Isagi’s head, prompting the midfielder to playfully frown. “But, Bachira…”

“Nope~!” He dragged Isagi away by the back of his uniform to a bench and forced him to sit down. “Take off your shirt!”

“What!?” Isagi squawked, jumping away from Bachira, as he playfully pulled at the hem of Isagi’s shirt.

“Come on! You were hurt, right?”

“Oh. Well, I suppose so.”

Isagi scratched his cheek, avoiding eye contact with Bachira. Kuon brushed off his uniform. Isagi was quite good at hiding pain, wasn’t he?

“Just let me see~!”

“Bachira!”

Kuon turned away. It was 4-0 now. Time for Team W’s comeback and Team Z’s defeat.

In the midst of his teammate’s comforting support, Kuon stared at his locker and imagined how those careless faces would look when the score shifted and Team W won. How they would look when Kuon Wataru was the one to move on and not their precious genius Isagi Yoichi.

He didn’t even belong here in the first place. If anything, Kuon was the one to take out the trash.

Team Z continued to pass to him, invigorated by their high score and Isagi’s slower pace. With one key player limited, they relied on a more trustworthy one. Isagi scowled and gritted his teeth.

But he could do nothing to stop Kuon if he couldn’t reach him on time.

Kuon undershot the pass to Igaguri.

“Huh! What!?”

Igaguri sprinted to the ball, hearing Kuon’s hasty, insincere apology, but he didn’t reach it. The younger brother grabbed it and weaved through the defenders, monologuing eerily while the two of them cut through their defense like butter.

Isagi rushed as fast as he physically could right in front of the goal, his foot just inches away from altering the course of the shot.

It wasn’t good enough. The ball curved right into the net, Iemon’s hand unable to reach it.

Kuon pretended to be as upset as the rest of the team, but this would just be the beginning. They still had a three point lead. For Team Z, they thought that sentence in relief. For Kuon, he sighed as he knew there were so many more goals to make. Thankfully, Isagi still seemed to be moving too slowly to keep up, even though he was determinedly trying to make up for his pain by predicting their movements. There was only so much he could do while injured, though.

They managed to score another goal in the same way before Isagi blew up.

He grabbed Kuon by the shirt again and shook him violently. “For fuck’s sake, I don’t care if those fools don’t see it. You’re pissing me off. Isn’t it time you stopped pretending, leader ?”

Faced with those overwhelmingly deep eyes, Kuon almost felt a bit out of his depth. The midfielder had both built-up anger and the kind that curled and rested in one’s heart for years. It was dark and eternal and dangerous . Kuon subconsciously flinched back.

Perhaps sensing his hesitance, the twins grabbed his shoulders harshly.

“Oh, so perceptive! You’re correct. Kuon-chan gave us all your secrets and techniques—everything!” The message was clear. He couldn’t back out now. He needed to help them get the rest of their points back and hold up the deal.

“What?!” Naruhaya screeched. “It’s not true! Say they’re lying, Kuon.”

“Isagi was right,” Kunigami admitted to himself quietly.

“Told you,” Chigiri scoffed, twirling a strand of hair around his finger. “You all are blind if you needed Team W to spell it out for you.”

Raichi seemed to have expected it, seething but not surprised. “Fucking traitor. Do you have any shame!?”

“Now it’s 12 v 10,” Kuon heard himself say distantly. His mind was still consumed by that all-encompassing anger that resided in Isagi. What was that? Strange. And volatile . “Well, maybe 12 v 9,” he snickered, trying to gain more confidence and forget about the hellscape in Isagi’s cool-colored eyes. “Your key player is injured, Team Z. How can you possibly win?”

Predictably, they managed another point due to Isagi’s inability to catch up to them. Without having to pretend that he was on Team Z, it was much easier to work with Team W, anyway. Their newfound teamwork helped them score that goal and another one, breaking through the loose defense around Chigiri.

The feminine striker would not do a thing to stop them, fragile and listless as he was. This area of the field was the weakest when Chigiri guarded it.

“We’ll end your soccer career here, genius.”

Kuon watched the twins easily pass Chigiri and score. It was really too easy to break Team Z. Take away their center, and they crumble. Simple as that.

Chigiri gritted his teeth as he turned, watching them score. There was a complicated expression on his face, and he kept glancing back at Isagi. Kuon barely focused his attention on that, overjoyed that everything was going his way.

Isagi seethed and ran past Chigiri to block Kuon at the restart. “If you’re going to be so fucking useless, get off the field. You’re getting in the way.”

Kuon watched in real-time as Chigiri’s face twisted. “The fuck did you just say? Useless? Some nerve.”

Kuon could care less. They only needed one more point to win. Team W would win and Kuon could safely move on. One more point.

In the corner of his eye, he recognized Chigiri’s still form, staring at the ground. But he ran past the scene, unwilling to get caught up on irrelevant players.

The next thing he knew, Isagi got his foot on the ball, pain evident and stretching across his face, but stubborn determination lighting up his entire being. The others called for him to pass, but he kept possession and ignored any and all voices. Kuon smirked. He was going to lose the ball at this rate.

But despite everything, Isagi minutely straightened, eyes shifting around intelligently, and Kuon followed his gaze but couldn’t see what the genius was seeing in that brain of his. Isagi pulled his leg back and shot the ball to an empty space of field right in front of Kuon.

He grinned. He’d be able to end this right here. One well-timed pass to the older brother, and then Isagi and Team Z would have no hope to recover.

Except, someone pushed right by him, sprinting so fast, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The only thing that clued him into the runner’s identity was the flowing red locks behind his head.

… Chigiri? “What?! How can he run like that?!” Kuon screamed, feeling cold fear climb back into his heart. Chigiri looked like he was… going to score.

No. No! NO!

He couldn’t score. If Chigiri scored, Team Z would win, and Team W would lose . While he would still have his position as the top scorer, who knew what Team W would do to him if the deal wasn’t fulfilled?

He ran after Chigiri, but it was just impossible. His inferior genetics wouldn’t let him catch up. He desperately craned his neck to see if there was any other Team W player available to stop the striker. But even the goalie failed to block the shot. Even Kuon was amazed by Chigiri’s goal, to be completely honest. It was incredible—his speed, how he had managed to make that shot, everything.

But, fuck, the whistle just blew, and Team Z had won.

5-4. They won. Fuck.

Kuon watched from the sidelines as his team cheered and celebrated without him, glaring whenever he caught their eyes. He dealt with the kicking from Team W.

He really hadn’t known Chigiri could do that! And he had tried his best to help them! But supposedly it was his fault that they lost? He gave them 4 points! And worked his ass off to make sure the whole thing ran just like he wanted. He was only one person. How could they pin their loss on him ?

“Hey.”

The twins turned to the voice. Kuon looked up in shock. Why…?

“Stop it. He might be a piece of shit, but you can’t just…” Isagi trailed off, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “... beat someone up when they’re down.”

The younger twin spun on Isagi, grabbing him by his shirt and pulling him up. Isagi flinched, trying to step away, mouth twisted into an unsure frown.

“Want us to kill you too, huh?!”

Isagi scowled.

A hand came down on the younger twin’s wrist.

Kuon and Isagi looked up at Kunigami, who had stepped in, glaring imploringly at the twins. “Don’t touch my teammate.”

The twins reluctantly stepped away, glaring at Kuon all the while.

Kuon refused to be here any longer. All these people were crazy. And violent.

He ran away.

———————

Ichinan was just as bad as his junior high. The coach was infuriatingly similar to his old one but seemed to have a grand vendetta against Yoichi for not playing by the school motto. Almost every practice was a lecture about how he shouldn’t be selfish or stubborn. This coach, at least, had the sense to put him in the starting lineup, though, since the rest of their players were horribly mediocre.

Their sixth official match was scheduled for today, as it was fairly late into the season. Yoichi had managed to scrape by in the team by trying to keep his head down and away from the upperclassmen, who made it clear that they would not tolerate any bullshit that they’d been hearing about him from the news. He also, despite their opinions, wanted a peaceful high school life, but it just never seemed to happen when he filled up on adrenaline and ran across the field for a goal.

His body ached and groaned with every movement, already injured from previous practices and things, but they couldn’t afford to lose this game. If they wanted to make it to Nationals, they’d have to win this game and many after this. Instinctively, he wanted to go to Nationals, but the more he thought about it, the more the question of ‘why’ impeded his motivation. He decided to ignore it.

They’d gone over the starting positions the day before, and while Yoichi had been mildly upset, Aoi had seethed, knowing that Yoichi would more often be in a position to score. Hence why there were worse-than-normal bruises marring his skin. The coach could easily have him and Aoi be double center forwards, as they were the two best strikers on the team, but the bias was strong in Ichinan, and they went with Aoi as the sole striker. Yoichi was put on the right wing. Well, at least he wasn’t on defense, he thought.

Their opponent for this match was ranked highly, but if his teammates performed better than normal, they’d have a chance at winning. Yoichi knew it was a long shot, but he couldn’t help but hope.

In the locker room, Aoi slid up next to him and jabbed at his ribs. He laughed as Yoichi doubled over, instinctively trying to protect his bruised skin. “Still? Don’t hold us back, Yoichi.”

The nerve, Yoichi thought. “Talking like that when your shots to goal ratio is shit?” Yoichi only had a moment to feel victorious at the offended scowl on Aoi’s face.

“Talking like that when you have significantly less possession time than me?” Aoi taunted, laughing when Yoichi narrowed his eyes.

Yoichi flipped him off. Aoi stopped laughing.

Well, he just successfully pissed Aoi off. Time to run away. If anything, his hurried flee from the locker room only made Aoi angrier, but he’d deal with that after they won this game.

They were at their home stadium, and their opponents had just arrived, filing out onto the field. Yoichi took it upon himself to begin stretching and warming up. Not many people came to watch these games, but journalists, scouts, and parents filled in some seats, speaking excitedly about their predictions. They weren’t favored to win.

The warm up period flew by in a whirlwind of stretching and thoughts, and before Yoichi knew it, they were in position and the whistle signaled the start of the game.

It started off as it always did. Ichinan passed it around in their half, completely ignoring the right side of the field as they tried to set up a pass for Aoi from the left side. The other team pressed them. They’d lose the ball without even getting it to the other side of the field at this rate.

They lost the ball to the other team, who immediately passed it forward to their offensive midfielder. Yoichi, having seen this coming from a mile away, was there primarily to block him but also to gain his chance to run down the field without his teammates holding him back. Spinning around the midfielder, he stole the ball and sprinted to the other side, tricking out defenders and bypassing his own teammates, who frustratedly called for passes that he knew would never return to him.

In games like this, where all the players were just slightly above average but leagues below him, he found it boring to use the full scope of his abilities. They were just so… predictable. Their tactics were dry, their ability to steal the ball back, laughable. Because of that, he underestimated their nasty habit of teaming. Four defenders closed in on him, surrounding him and making it hard for him to pass, not that he would, or shoot.

But being Ego-san’s secret prodigy didn’t come with nothing because he saw stark openings between them. Regular players may be intimidated by the numbers, but Yoichi ran forward, barreling past the opposition. However, he forgot to include in his calculations his bruised ribs.

One of the defenders stuck a hand out and pushed him, right where the bruises were. Normally, this wouldn’t be a yellow card or a problem at all, but Yoichi realized too late his glaring weakness as a pained gasp left his mouth, and he stumbled. It was only a moment later that he righted himself, but it was too late—the defenders had picked up the ball and sent it back to their teammates, waiting at the goal.

Yoichi stood there for a few breaths, wheezing through his teeth. It wasn’t even that hard of a push, but his body was just too tender. He bit his bottom lip and angled his face down to hide his shameful face from the world. Turning back to their side, he heard the whistle signifying a goal and clicked his tongue. If only he wasn’t injured.

Aoi stalked up to him and grabbed him by his jersey. The cold air against his stomach contrasted greatly with the heat of Aoi’s glare. “Are you fucking with us right now? You should’ve passed.”

Yoichi took a deep, calming breath. He’d been doing so well to not blow up these past few games. “Those four were blocking my routes to pass. And no one was in a good position.” He felt somewhat resigned.

Aoi’s eyes burned with anger as he dropped Yoichi’s jersey. “Don’t pull that shit again.”

…

Yoichi did, in fact, pull that shit again.

His team was hopeless. They were playing like shit, and if they wanted to go to Nationals, Yoichi believed that they’d have to swallow their fucking pride and pass to him. The other team had already scored twice, and they were heavily marking him each time he managed to steal the ball away from them, having already deduced that neither he would pass to his teammates nor them to Yoichi. It was driving him nuts since they had also figured out that he was somehow injured and kept pressing themselves onto his bruised ribs until he unconsciously gave up the ball. If Yoichi could, he would turn off his pain receptors because it was blowing his mind how many times they managed to get the ball off of him by simply pressing into his severely bruised skin.

His teammates weren’t even trying to help. They halfheartedly chased the ball around when the other team invaded their half, and their setup to pass to Aoi was uninspired at best. Whenever Yoichi, who had come the closest to scoring out of everyone on the team, ran to their half, his teammates wouldn’t even try to back him up or get the defenders off of him. It was when the other team scored their third goal that Yoichi couldn’t take it anymore.

“What the fuck is wrong with all of you?” He spoke, a promise of death on his tongue, as their side of the field was silent in devastation. “Get off your high horses and fucking do your jobs. You’re not even trying. If you shitheads think you have a chance of beating them without me, you’re all delusional.”

Aoi scoffed. “You haven’t scored a single goal yet, don’t act so proud.” He marched up to him and pointed a finger at Yoichi’s chest. “If you think you’re so good, why don’t you score, huh? You’re all bark, no bite.”

Yoichi slapped his finger away, rage clouding his vision. “Why don’t you try to get past 4 defenders by yourself with fucking bruised ribs?” Yoichi laughed with a bit of a deranged, hysterical look in his eyes. “Oh right, only one of us has bruised ribs… I can fix that for you.”

Luckily, Hayashida pulled him back before he could do something he might regret once he was seeing it from a third-person view on the front cover of a newspaper, but, man, would it have felt great to punch Aoi in the ribs in front of all these people and tell them all what a bully he was. Although, that might’ve backfired on him, on second thought.

Aoi’s eyes twitched in annoyance. “You’re gonna fucking regret that.” And he walked away.

By the end of the game, Yoichi was only able to get 2 goals back by himself because his team persisted in refusing to support him. And the other team got 1 more goal off of one of his attempts. In total devastation, Ichinan watched as the other team screamed and cheered and celebrated their victory.

Yoichi couldn’t say he regretted yelling at his team like that, but he was… scared. Right before he scored one of his goals, Aoi, who was practically free of defenders as opposed to Yoichi’s three to four, kept calling for him to pass already, damnit. But, being who he was, Yoichi refused to pass to someone beneath him. Right before his other goal, a teammate had passed to Aoi, but being so immersed in the game, Yoichi simply positioned himself in the best area, having predicted how his teammates, his enemies, and Aoi would move, and stole the glory by receiving Aoi’s off-course shot and redirecting it into the goal.

He could see the chilly rage on Aoi’s face. It was unnerving how he hadn’t even said anything yet, but Yoichi could see, clear as crystals, how mad he was. It was a feeling deep in his bones that told him to run—that told him with a profound sense of foreboding that danger was afoot. He had never felt such intense primal instincts, but he didn’t want to stick around to see if they were right.

Grabbing his bag without even changing, he dashed for the locker room door, all pride and reputation forgotten because the hammering in his veins knew better than to worry about such trivial things.

Right when his hand touched the handle, a bag flew at his head that he only just saw in his peripheral vision. Yoichi barely managed to turn his head to the side before it crashed into the back of his head. Following the momentum of the bag, his forehead ricocheted into the wall, tripling his pain and causing him to cry out. With a loud thump, the heavy bag dropped to the ground, as Yoichi fell beside it, gingerly touching his forehead that had rammed into the wall.

Fuck, what was in that bag? Yoichi mentally complained, but the pain in his forehead distracted him from his thoughts. Yoichi turned around, not wanting to have his back turned to them, wincing when the motion aggravated his sensitive head. Aoi said something that Yoichi didn’t care to hear, but then he was dragged to his feet.

“Are you fucking deaf?” He cooly asked, fury simmering just under his words. “Change.” He threw Yoichi’s bag at him as if that would somehow motivate him to change faster.

Yoichi absentmindedly grasped his throbbing head and turned to his bag. He swiped his hand under his bangs and examined his hand that came back stained in thick, clots of red. Yoichi snapped his mouth shut, afraid he might hurl at the sight as his eyes zeroed in on the red, red smears of blood. He stumbled onto the bench, grabbing his bag in a desperate attempt to stabilize himself, his other hand pressed furiously into his forehead to stop the bleeding.

“Fuck…” He fearfully glanced at Aoi, who was calmly changing, one eye trained on Yoichi to make sure he didn’t run. “You really… this is serious, you asshole. I’m leaving.”

He only got so far. Aoi pushed him back when he reached for the door, making his head throb from the unexpected backward motion. “No. You’re going to change. Now.”

Seeing as he probably couldn’t leave in this state when they were blocking him, Yoichi reached in a blind sort of anger for his clothes and began the most agonizing process of his life. His body was already hurt from bruises but combining that with the pain from his head and the blood sluggishly crawling down the skin of his face…

After a few long, silent minutes, he managed to get his regular clothes on, even though none of them had taken a shower. Due to the blood on his forehead, his shirt had a few droplet stains that he knew he would have a hard time explaining if his mother saw.

Leaning against his locker and carelessly playing with a strap on his bag, Aoi silently persuaded Yoichi to move faster. Matsuo and Hayashida also finished before him, which was expected, given his battered body.

His heart hammered in his chest, the instinctive gut feeling remaining in him, yet the open wound and the reminder of his previous bruises must have activated some sort of adrenaline store, as Yoichi dared to face the three head-on, a challenge brewing in his gaze even as blood trailed down over his eyelid. His heart set an unreal pace as it pounded noisily in his chest.

Here’s where his memory fails him a bit. Perhaps due to the human brain’s desire to shield him from having to relive the agonizing event again and again, the walk to the alley in his memory was patchy, though Yoichi knew it must’ve been quite a walk, as it was a bit before sunset by the time they reached their destination. Yoichi remembers pieces and guessed at others: leaving the locker room with them, walking strangely melded in between their bodies as they hid his swaying form from prying, worried eyes, asking panickedly where they were going, shrugging their hands off of him, and insulting them right back as they insulted him. They pushed him around and slyly informed him that they were dealing with him, which was really code for an impending physical fight because the three were psychopaths and Yoichi refused to be a pushover who just took it without complaints.

However, as wonderful as his brain was to blur this experience for him, it failed to censor perhaps the most important part. Before and after were a bit fuzzy, but he remembers in horrifying clarity what happened as they entered the alleyway, many, many blocks away from their school.

His bag unceremoniously thumped to the floor, slipping some of its contents, as Aoi shoved him forward. Yoichi just barely caught himself on his hands, though they scraped ruthlessly against the concrete and rocks delved into his cuts, tearing into his skin and prompting blood to spill from his palms onto the cold alley floor. It was deceptively normal, besides the fact that they had walked so far to do it. Maybe that is why he acted so naively.

He pushed himself up, feeling the pulsating in his palms and forehead spark his buried anger from countless days just like this. “Assholes, you’ve gone too far this time,” he spat, brushing pebbles out of his cuts. Steely determination fixed itself in him as he readied himself, prepared to face all three of them and win. “I’ll report you.”

Matsuo and Hayashida mockingly laughed at him, trading insulting comments about Yoichi between them. Did he really think the school would believe him over the three of them? He didn’t have the balls to report them… Yoichi curled his fingers into a fist.

“Shut up.” Aoi looked like a stranger like this—dark, shadowed eyes filled with a tragic evil curling around his pupils, white lips pressed tightly together in anger brimming just beneath the surface, and a sharp aura waiting to pounce and destroy. Yoichi, a relatively sheltered child, had never seen bloodlust in such a raw form before, especially never directed straight at him, black pupils and dull blue eyes trained lethally on his abused body. “You think I’ve gone too far? You’ve seen nothing.” A cold shiver ran down his spine.

He remembered wanting to run. He remembered berating himself for following them all this way when he could’ve run away from Aoi’s overwhelming darkness ages ago.

But Yoichi also remembered a long-ignored pain awakening from its slumber. He hadn’t run before when he could have, he supposed, because he wanted the satisfaction of burrowing his fist into their faces repeatedly until all they could do was beg for him to stop, like he had once done to a room full of deaf ears and blind eyes. Yoichi wanted blood to trickle down his knuckles from the force he exerted on their broken noses and scratched eyes. He wanted them to feel the pain he had felt from all the times they overpowered him with their unfair advantage of numbers. His eyes focused on them like a predator deciding to hunt their prey until all he could see were their cruel, punchable faces.

He didn’t spare another second and lunged at them. Aoi sidestepped his punch, but Yoichi couldn’t allow himself to be distracted for even a moment by one because another would be right behind them. Yoichi ducked under a flying arm and aimed a well-timed punch into Matsuo’s ribs, who growled at him as he doubled over. He felt like he needed to constantly be in motion—stopping at one successful punch would earn him two in retaliation. He spun around, swinging his fist in a wide arc to punch Hayashida in the face. Using that same momentum, he twisted on his foot and roundhouse kicked Aoi in the chest. Aoi countered with a harsh jab to his ribs, making Yoichi bend to protect that side. He couldn’t let it end there. It continued being fair for only a while longer as Yoichi felt he could see everything, predicted their next moves, and thwarted them for his own motives. Yoichi swept his foot out and tripped Matsuo.

But he was severely disadvantaged. He was heavily injured, dazed from the blood loss from his head, and his hands stung from his nails digging into his cuts. It was inevitable that he’d mess up badly. Pants fell from his lips, and his muscles, already sore from the match, burned and protested with every new movement. Adrenaline could only take him so far when it had felt like it’d been hours since they started. His mind subconsciously surrendered.

Yoichi threw a half-hearted punch at Hayashida, who dodged. With his balance off-kilter, Yoichi had nothing to help him as Aoi grabbed the side of his head and bashed it into the brick wall of the alley.

Yoichi crumpled to the ground. He had to get up, he thought desperately. He had to get up. He needed to get up. With that thought, a random surge of strength flooded him, and he ground his teeth together as he stood through the pain. Blood rushed through his head and pain exploded where he’d hit the wall, but he didn’t have time to worry about that.

He lifted his eyes from the ground and immediately regretted it as his vision swam worryingly. He didn’t think at all, kicking his leg out in the direction of Aoi’s chest. Instead of a solid chest at his foot, he received an excruciating pain on his cheek. His head yet again found itself bouncing against the brick wall as his hand came up to feel blood dripping from his nose and covering the bottom half of his face and clothes in deep red. Tears wouldn't stop welling in his eyes, making his vision increasingly blurry, even more so than before. Ah, it might actually be broken this time, he thought as he felt the bridge of his nose, unnaturally crooked and tender to the touch. The taste of iron filled his senses as his mouth unwillingly took it in when he tried to breathe. If he weren’t so out of it, he’d be disgusted. Dirt and grime from the alley crawled into his wounds, sullying his skin and clothes.

Aoi yanked his collar, pulling him closer by his shirt. Matsuo and Hayashida flanked him on both sides, laughing at Yoichi covered in blood, as he desperately tried to focus his eyes on their blurry faces. Fuck, it was so hard. Matsuo hit him in the ribs again, relishing in the way Yoichi winced, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of responding more than that, and curled into himself as much as he could with Aoi holding him in place.

“You’re so pathetic, Isagi. Can’t even take a few hits?” Matsuo mocked, pressing his nails into the bruises on Yoichi’s stomach. Yoichi, drained and left reeling uncomfortably from their loud, loud voices, choked on a pained gasp, blindly pushing Matsuo’s hands away.

“Fuck.” Yoichi’s strained voice surprised him with how weak it sounded. “Stop.”

Aoi threw him to the ground, single-handedly halting the dark teasing from his two friends. The overwhelming presence of death returned, and Yoichi, this time, could do nothing but watch with fear as it closed in on him. He felt so small suddenly in front of this unstoppable force coming to destroy him. His body felt cold—from the blood loss, from the fear, from the cold night air—he didn’t know. But he was so, so cold. He shivered, tears refusing to leave his eyes.

“You’re really a thorn in my side, Yoichi,” he began, hands in his pockets as if this was of little consequence to him. His right sneaker prodded at his bruised side idly, ignoring the way Yoichi’s hands grabbed his ankle and twisted the skin there in an attempt to get him away. Every movement and touch sent him into silent hysterics. It was so painful that he hoped that they might actually kill him and relieve him of this torture. In response, Aoi shook his hands off and indifferently kicked him in the side, causing Yoichi to cough and wheeze, a choked-off gasp conveying his pain to them. He wasn’t sure if the blood on the ground was from the coughing or the countless other injuries on his face, and at this point, he wasn’t sure it mattered. He felt like he would die either way. “It’s one thing to not pass to me when I tell you to, but stealing my goal?”

Yoichi felt his breath leaving him strangely, but it didn’t stop him from biting back. The pain made it hard to stay conscious, let alone respond bravely. “It- hah, it wouldn’t have gone in.” Turns out breathing and talking were too much for his ruined body, as it only started another round of coughing.

Aoi took advantage of the fact that Yoichi’s hand rested listlessly on the ground as he tried to ground himself while coughing. He stomped his foot on Yoichi’s unmoving hand, and for the first time, Yoichi screamed. The shrill, tortured sound pierced the peaceful night, drowning out the constant drone of car motors and the soft talking of pedestrians on the street. No one had cared enough to save him. Heads peeked into the alley curiously but made no move to stop the scene. The pain from getting his fingers stomped on was unlike anything he’d ever felt in his life—his delicate bones creaking and bending oddly under Aoi’s weight. Aoi lifted his foot but before Yoichi could even think of pulling his hand away, the foot was back on him, grinding down with renewed vigor. He loomed over Yoichi, putting his full weight onto the foot over Yoichi’s hand and leaning into his space to sneer in his face. “I don’t fucking care, Yoichi. You made me look like a fool.”

Pain was everywhere, shooting up through his veins. Yoichi couldn’t fucking escape the horrible throbbing in his hand or the pounding of his head, the blocked airway of his nose. He felt like he was drowning in blood—he’d never been closer to death. Was he going to die here?

“It’s not even just about football anymore, you know,” Aoi confessed, his foot retreating from Yoichi’s hand. His vision was so blurry that he couldn’t even assess the state of it. Aoi knelt down until they were about eye level and pulled Yoichi’s hair so that his unfocused eyes were somewhat looking into his wicked bright blue ones, alight with glee from the pathetic state of his past childhood friend rival. “It’s not even that you think you’re so much better than everyone.” The tight grip on his hair was also painful. Yoichi wouldn’t have batted an eye at such treatment if he had been healthy but combined with all the other pain, it was unbearable. Aoi’s other hand seized his throat, and a cold chill overtook Yoichi. “I just fucking hate you.” Yoichi finally understood what his instincts had been trying to tell him, and the chilly feel of pure fear gripped him within its claws. His head swayed dangerously close to passing out. He’s dying. He didn’t want to die. A tear slipped out from his eyes at the heart-seizing terrifying thought.

Hits rained down upon him from all sides, he could barely protect himself, attempting to protect his face with his bloody arms. If he couldn’t feel every part of his body in excruciating detail, he might’ve been ashamed at the way he sobbed and screamed and begged and cursed pathetically and uncontrollably. But this, too, pleased them. They laughed at his tears and teased him for being weak. Aoi continued to insult him mercilessly as they hit him. “You’re worthless… We’re doing the world a favor… Fucking useless bitch…”

The sound of their fists meeting his body sickened him.

It continued and continued until Yoichi finally reached the point where he was in and out of consciousness and dissociated when he was conscious. It was paradise—to not be able to feel, even though he knew they were still hitting him and jeering and spouting harmful words.

Detachedly, he knew that they were there, but it was easier to let go. It was easier to block it all out and pretend the pain wasn’t there. It felt like he was watching the scene dazedly from a few feet away, unable to move or stop them.

Even now, when he looks back on what happened after that, it played out a bit patchy, but he instinctively knew. A few words from Matsuo about how he looked better covered in blood and crying. Something he didn’t dare repeat even in his mind about his crying face. The raw horror that coursed through him at Aoi’s confirmation and the demand for something in his bag.

[“Man, he looks better like this, doesn’t he?”

“He kinda looks like a ◼◼◼◼◼, all crying and ◼◼◼◼◼◼◼ like that. Like he’s getting ◼◼◼◼◼◼.”

“It’s kind of ◼◼◼◼, ha! Maybe he is good for something.”

Aoi hummed in agreement, donning a derisive smirk. “That, huh?” A hand gripped his chin and turned it to the side as eyes raked over him assessingly. “Fitting for a whiny bitch like him.”

He desperately wished his mind would take pity on him and forget that exchange.]

He barely remembered the wet, bloody slide of his shorts as they were pulled down. Yoichi remembered screaming deafeningly in hopes that someone would come help. He remembered the shape of an empty soda bottle as they tauntingly held it in front of his eyes. He remembers lashing out, scratching, punching, anything to stop them, but hands pushed him down and slammed his wrists into the wall. Their grips were bruising and mocking, daring him to try to break free. He wished he couldn’t remember the vile way they spoke or the agonizing way the bottle breached him and was shoved brutally into him.

Stop, stop, stop! Isagi screamed, but they just laughed and told him he liked it, like saying it would make it true. Aoi coldly plunged it deeper and told him to take it like a good…

It hurt. But it hurt worse when it didn’t. They rejoiced in forcing him to make those sounds, betting money on who could get the best reaction out of him.

Aoi got up to take something from Isagi’s bag, leaving one of the others to torture him. Even over his pleading, their laughter shot directly to his battered, naive heart.

Tears streamed uncontrollably down his face, mixing with the blood, dirt, and sweat. His loud cries filled the alley. He felt disgusting. He didn’t want to survive this. Who would ever want to survive this?

It felt like it went on for hours. Hours of him crying until there was nothing left, staring, horrified, into the eyes of beasts. He wouldn’t soon forget those eyes.

But while the pain didn’t immediately stop, there were suddenly no hands holding him down, none to half-heartedly cover his mouth and pin his arms down so he didn’t fight back while they violated him.

Isagi blearily looked up, seeing tanned skin, blonde hair, and a blurry streak of pink somewhere. It was sort of familiar, but he couldn’t place it and didn’t care to at the moment. His first reaction was fear. Someone else had come to join. But the figure had wasted no time in picking up Isagi’s fight, smashing his fist into their faces and swinging his legs in wide, powerful arcs.

It was over in seconds. Isagi would’ve been more embarrassed about how little time it took a stranger to defeat them if he wasn’t so preoccupied with pain and trying to pull his clothes back into place.

The stranger spat on their unconscious forms and was about to walk away.

The man hesitated.

He turned his head back to evaluate Isagi’s state, his hands shoved into his pockets and a… not unkind expression on his face. For an agonizing second, Isagi believed his savior would leave him in this alley with no easy way to get away. He was used to doing everything himself, anyway—he could do everything himself—so he tried to push off the ground, but each movement prompted a small groan of pain and a wince, and in addition to that, he still looked like a mess, his shorts still down. Tears dripped down his face, and he did the best he could with his filthy arms to wipe them away. He’d process all this later. Probably in a not healthy way.

He didn’t get far at all before the guy rushed over. “Yo, you look horrible.” Isagi sent him a deadpan look, trying to brush the drying blood from his face with the wetness of his tears. “Ey, don’t look at me like that, I’m helping!”

Isagi couldn’t muster up the strength to tell him that he was literally just about to walk away, just like everyone else. He stared blankly at the blurry face in front of him.

Hands reached out and subconsciously, he flinched away.

“Fuck, this is why I don’t do this shit,” the guy complained to himself. “I need to touch you to help you, kid.” He put his hands out in front of him as if he were calming a wild animal. Isagi knew that—he did—but his body reacted before he could think. He nodded stiffly, despite the wave of pain it caused in his head.

The hands that had just brutally beaten down three people by themselves gently pulled the bottle out and threw it away, swiftly pulled his clothes together, and looped under his back and knees. Isagi groaned, his voice coming out rough and scratchy and pitifully weak from all his previous screaming and crying. “What are you doing?”

“Taking you to a hospital, obviously,” the guy responded. Very thoughtfully, he also picked up Isagi’s bag, though how he knew which was Isagi’s was beyond him.

Isagi was too exhausted to properly respond, his head dropping onto the man’s chest and his eyes closing. The adrenaline had worn off a long time ago, but now, it seems, the pain was hitting him tenfold. There was an unending pressure in his head and every inch of his body throbbed and complained. He felt disgusting.

The man broke the silence. “You’re… Isagi Yoichi, right? That… genius football player?” Isagi could tell the guy was doing his best to keep him awake and distract him from his thoughts, and he commended him for his efforts, but damn, he really wanted to sleep.

“And you are Shidou Ryuusei?” Isagi slurred questioningly, head coming up to stare at his face. Now that he had time to think, he recognized this face. At Shidou’s mildly surprised look, Isagi relaxed back into his arms stoically. “I read about you in the news.”

Shidou guffawed but hurriedly contained his laughter when his boisterous laughter shook Isagi’s hurting body, causing him to flinch. His attitude was doing wonders to place Isagi back in reality, though. It was just the perfect taste of normality. “Don’t go believing what those fuckers say about me, Yoichi-chan.”

Isagi cringed, his face screwing up. “I’d rather you not call me that.” It reminded him too much of Aoi and his mocking tone as he used his given name far past his welcome. Isagi had felt disrespected every time his given name fell from that cruel, tainted mouth. But it was just another thing he had done to fuck with Isagi.

Shidou laughed, but it wasn’t mean like he was used to. “Sure thing, Yo-chan.”

Isagi was too tired for this. He collapsed into Shidou, finally letting the tenseness in his body melt away after being on high for so long. After a while of silence and slow walking (to not disturb Isagi’s injuries), Isagi sighed, feeling the nonstop, uncontrollable stream of tears continuing to spill down his cheeks. He hid his face in Shidou’s shoulder. “You aren’t like what they’ve said.”

The sun’s last rays disappeared from the sky, leaving them in the soft glow of dusk. Office workers and school children bustled by them, but just as he expected from the people around here, no one stopped to see if they were fine. Even his screaming from before hadn’t alarmed them. Shidou also seemed used to their indifference. He smirked. “‘Course. Told you so. I’m much better at fighting than what they say.”

Isagi huffed in amusement, trying not to agitate his wounds by laughing. “I meant…” He observed the way Shidou’s hands curled soothingly over his skin, avoiding his injuries and holding him with just the right amount of pressure to keep him grounded. He thought about how Shidou, out of everyone on this street who were all deemed normal, Shidou—the one deemed crazy and a delinquent good-for-nothing by the media, only good for his football skills—was the only one to step into the alley and attempt to help him. He was still reeling from the whole encounter, but it didn’t feel real yet, despite the lingering panic. Isagi promised himself that he’d properly thank Shidou later. But for now… “You’re kind, Shidou-san.”

Shidou gave him a genuine look of surprise, his small smirk dropping into a neutral line. He looked away, towards the road ahead of them. Isagi, even with his addled brain, thought he looked very wistful in that moment as he peeked at Shidou from his place melted onto his shoulder. “... You’ve got it wrong.”

“Well, you saved me, didn’t you?” Isagi mumbled, too tired to raise his voice. He desperately needed painkillers.

They approached a hospital, lights all so bright that Isagi buried his face in Shidou’s clothing. Shidou carefully walked to the door. “That too, I did for myself.” At Isagi’s disbelieving scoff, Shidou continued. “In return for this, I wanted a match with you.”

“Wanted? Or want?” Isagi quietly asked from his position right below Shidou’s chin. He could feel Shidou shake subtly from their points of contact.

Shidou chuckled. “An enthusiastic ‘want’,” he replied sharply, his tone of voice dropping as football was mentioned. Isagi understood the sentiment. “When you’re better, I’ll challenge you to a 1 on 1. It seems sorta pathetic of me to ask now when you’re all injured.”

As Shidou opened the door, they were swarmed with medical professionals and nurses, drawn to them by the smell of blood and the sight of his open wounds. Right before they whisked him away, Isagi mustered the energy to look for Shidou and make eye contact with him. He looked… unusually serious and concerned, but it must have been his blurry vision. “Shidou-san, I accept.”

And then he was taken away, and Shidou was gone.

Chapter Text

Reo watched Nagi push the carefully-cut piece of steak back and forth on the plate and frowned. Weren’t they here because Nagi was hungry? And now they were stuck listening to this lunatic go on about sabotaging his team for their next match against Team Z. Reo couldn’t ever imagine betraying his own team like that, but to each their own, he supposed.

The brown-haired guy yapping in front of them—he already forgot his name, fortunately—kept sighing at random intervals, a crease forming between his brows and his mouth twisting viscously. It was such a contrast with his merchant-like smile that it was a bit strange. Reo dealt with two-faced people all the time, being the heir to the Mikage Corporation, so he could tell something was off about him, even if he was trying his best to convince their trio that this deal would be totally beneficial to them. As someone raised on business, he hadn’t even once considered actually accepting this doofus’ offer but trained politeness (and a healthy dose of misplaced hope that Nagi would finish the meat) held him in his seat.

“-Team V’s advancement to the next round is already confirmed! If I give you info about Team Z, you can stop them from scoring at all! Don’t you want a 5-nil victory? Or 8-nil?” The guy laughed as if what he was saying was remotely funny in any way whatsoever. Reo’s lip twitched down before he could stop it. What an idiot. They didn’t need to cheat to win. “If that happens, I promise I’ll give you an advantage in the next round. I can hold back the other teams or assist you guys with goals!”

The guy waved his arms around enthusiastically, while Reo silently glanced sideways in disapproval. Nagi still wasn’t eating that piece of meat. He hadn’t even eaten much since they got to the cafeteria. Was he not hungry anymore? That wasn’t good; he should be eating more as a star athlete.

“To stop Team Z from scoring, I just request that you guys target a… certain player and block him from the ball. Actually-” The guy regained his odd, angry expression, and Reo looked up to face his malicious grimace, a tingle of dread shooting up his spine. “-it would be better if you could just take him out.”

Reo blanched, almost falling backward from his precarious sitting position. What? Take him out? Of the game? Was that supposed to be something so casually said between players of different teams? The sabotage, he could almost justify because it made sense somewhat . But implying that the other team should foul his teammate hard enough to potentially injure him and take him out of the game? He couldn’t possibly understand that.

Reo held up his hand to stop the guy from talking but swiftly remembered that he wasn’t back at home and just waved dismissively until he quieted. “I’m sorry- you want us to- what ? Take someone… out? Explain that to us.”

Employing a strategy his parents taught him to deal with assholes or people trying to avoid telling the spiteful truth, Reo stared the guy down, every inch of inherited power gathering in his gaze. Having them explain what they meant usually forced them to feel ashamed or embarrassed about their intentions.

Predictably, the guy flinched, realizing Reo wasn’t going to take his vindictive shit, let alone give him an easy negotiation. “... Well, I just mean that if you stop this player from scoring, you’ll increase your chances in the next stage! And you’ll get my help, too! So… wanna team up?”

Reo noticed the avoidance of his question and narrowed his eyes. But before he could call him out on it, Zantetsu responded. “I’ll pass.”

Nagi, too. “Sounds like a hassle.”

Reo sighed and followed along. “Sounds boring.”

Reo watched the blood drain out of the guy’s face as he was outright and immediately rejected with no discussion whatsoever. He had no respect for players like this. They made fun of him for a bit more before Nagi declared that chewing was too much work and he wanted to go back and sleep. Reo sighed, but he was used to this behavior.

Coaxing Nagi out of the chair was a hassle for Reo himself , so he barely noticed when someone else walked into the cafeteria. Granted, he entered stealthily and was quite short for the average player around here, so Reo’s eyes almost grazed over him. But… there was something surrounding him that pulled his attention to the player immediately, drawing him into the silently brazen eyes of Isagi Yoichi.

Reo bit back a surprised gasp. He’d read countless articles on Isagi Yoichi, but he’d never thought he’d be able to see him this close. He was a local star in Japan! (Well, Reo was quite famous himself, but he didn’t really like to brag about that. Or even mention it. All his fame stemmed from his parents’ reputation anyway. He’d much rather be famous for his own deeds. Hence all his effort in life to fill up a paper with his own achievements. None of which were ever greatly acknowledged by anyone but his parents.) Reo, though aware of the online discourse about the player, thought it didn’t really make sense and frankly, it was stupid. If Isagi Yoichi wanted to be a striker, he would be a striker, end of story. Why were random people online trying to push their midfielder agenda onto a poor high school-age boy? It was just silly of them to want to dictate his life or even think that they had a chance at influencing him. Nonetheless, Reo didn’t mind if Isagi Yoichi played either role since he was so good that he shone in both positions. He always stood out in any position, though, to be fair. Even in defense, he was so intimidating that other teams actively avoided his side of the field, which was extremely impressive and limited the opposing team to half the field.

Reo also believed that Isagi was so good at being a midfielder because he was a good striker. Or vice versa. Scoring goals and passing both required precision and accuracy. To be able to pinpoint a pass to a teammate’s foot, or send them a pass in the best possible way for their style, or put spin or no spin on the ball—all these were things that translated to striking. Pinpoint passing was basically precise shooting, and stylistic passes were different paths to the goal (curved, straight, spin, etc.). Reo wished he could gather all of Isagi Yoichi’s haters in one place and explain that to them because all of them seemed to be brainless idiots. Respectfully.

Isagi Yoichi moved with efficiency even when off the field, Reo noticed, pointedly stalking past their table with a haughty glare directed at the guy standing across from them in shock. (But, weirdly, there was something off about the way he was walking… Reo couldn’t place it.) This guy must be on Isagi Yoichi’s team, then, Reo thought, glancing back at the player across from them, Nagi’s hair brushing his cheek as he looked. (He had been staring way too long at Isagi Yoichi. Embarrassing…)

But to his surprise, Isagi Yoichi turned away after glaring heatedly and walked up to the scanner for his meal (and he hated saying this, but he was expecting more due to the gossip he’d heard about Isagi Yoichi). Isagi Yoichi was known for being aggressive and instigating many arguments among his teammates. He wasn’t afraid of confronting others and even was physical sometimes. So him leaving this teammate of his alone? Reo frowned in confusion. That’s what I get for trusting the news…

A brown and blonde haired boy followed behind him uncertainly, eyes flicking back to their teammate at regular intervals in clear confusion. Clearly, he had also been expecting more. The boy shrugged playfully, face lifting, and jogged up to scan his armband, joining Isagi Yoichi at another table close by.

Now that he was looking, Reo spotted the rest of the team in the doorway, staring at the whole scene with varying amounts of surprise and hesitance. One with blonde hair and a livid expression stepped out first, stomping right up to Kuon and grabbing him by the shirt.

“You’re doing this shit again , Kuon?” The angry player shook him back and forth and yelled loudly.

Reo uncomfortably shifted back. He was just so… loud. Rowdy people like this were never a part of his life before. Joining the soccer team had been a huge adjustment in the first place, but now, in Blue Lock, everyone cared so much more about it, and subsequently, had much… louder reactions to everything. It was unnerving and always threw him off, leaving him just a bit shaken and afraid. He hated feeling like that.

Team Z had problems. But unfortunately, despite his feelings, they were the most interesting team. What with their star player, a traitor, a loud anger issues person, and all these other people? They must never have boring practices.

Kuon, the traitor guy apparently, scowled, trying to bat loud guy’s hands away to no avail. “Such a pest. I’m just doing what I can to survive.”

Someone else stepped forward, mouth twisted in a fine line, long red hair curling around their face. Reo did a double take. Wow, he was really pretty. And he really looked like a girl. Reo averted his eyes because somehow that felt like a forbidden thought.

The pretty guy crossed his arms and stared at Kuon harshly. “And sabotaging Isagi in the process. Not to mention the rest of us.”

Reo almost choked. Did that mean the player Kuon wanted them to take out of the game was Isagi Yoichi ? Was he crazy ?! Despite himself, he couldn’t help but cough and shout incredulously, “ Him ? You wanted us to take him out?! Are you out of your mind?!”

Kuon shrunk, shoulders hunching at being called out by the other team. Well, if he didn’t want to be embarrassed like that, he shouldn’t have said something so outrageous in the first place, Reo reasoned. Kuon bit his lip and scoffed. “... He’s not that good. I’m not crazy.”

Yet despite his words, Kuon managed to release the angry player’s grip on his shirt and ran out the cafeteria doors without another word, pushing past the rest of his team. Reo thought he rather resembled a fleeing coward, but that's none of his business.

Nagi nudged his hair with his nose lazily, gaining his attention easily. “What is it, Nagi?”

“Who is that?”

Reo hummed questioningly, adjusting his hold on Nagi and slowly walking to the door. He kept his voice low so as to not alert Isagi to their gossiping. Isagi might just beat the shit out of him. “Isagi Yoichi? A famous player in our age group.”

Nagi’s head flopped back down onto his shoulder, sending tingles up his neck at the ticklish feeling of his soft hair brushing against his skin. Nagi sighed tiredly. “Is he that good? We’re at the top, though.”

Reo nervously laughed, feeling eyes on the back of his head. That was not good; they had to leave now. Team Z was also giving them rather hostile looks, so he hurried to push by them. He was just about to reply to Nagi that they were not, in fact, better than the Isagi Yoichi, but the player himself beat him to it.

“If you are thinking that this next game will be an easy win for you,” Isagi firmly began, having stood up from his dinner to stare them down. “Then you are horribly overestimating your abilities.”

Isagi stood next to the table, hand angrily gripping the side of it as he spoke. His dark, glowing blue eyes never once dared to leave them, sending sparks of strange fear down Reo’s neck. It was the type of normal trash talk he always heard before a match, but somehow from Isagi Yoichi’s mouth, it sounded different—with more intent, with a fierce promise. His whole aura promised his complete domination and their humiliating defeat.

Reo didn’t bother waiting another moment, bowed slightly and politely to the habitants of the room, and left quickly before Nagi could say anything stupid for the both of them, the irony of the escape not being lost on him.

———————

“Nice goal, genius.”

Chigiri tore his gaze away from the net and back down to his knee. He could just see it now. It wasn’t chained down like it was before—rather, he wasn’t chained down. He was still Chigiri Hyoma… yet, he wasn’t. He was a new version: and this Chigiri wasn’t afraid of putting everything on the line to play soccer.

He brushed his hand delicately over his knee, smiling softly. The voice of Isagi Yoichi drifted melodically into his ears. ‘Nice goal’ he says… how long he had waited for praise from Isagi Yoichi. From his YouTube persona or from him in person, after having got to know him. How long he had awaited the moment the striker would genuinely compliment his skills.

He supposed he did owe it to Isagi. The guy helped him realize his fear and rationalize his decision to keep running. And Isagi was overwhelmingly right. Being afraid was normal, but losing himself was never an option. So quitting was never an option. Isagi trusted him at that critical moment, too. While injured—still injured, his brain supplied—and frantic, Isagi found him .

It was the most beautiful, skilled, perfect-for-him pass he had ever received. It was thrilling.

“It’s all your fault, Isagi.” Chigiri smiled, finally looking up. “I risked it all because of you.” It truly was a view from where he sat, the light from the ceiling framing Isagi’s silhouette. He looked freshly exhausted and winded, neatly disheveled, and positively a hot mess. Chigiri couldn’t say he wasn’t into that. And, well, meeting your celebrity crush of a few years doesn’t always translate into a great friend ship. “Aren’t you happy you get to be responsible for my future medical bills?”

Isagi scoffed in amusement, extending his hand but still wildly favoring one side, hunched slightly over. “I’m not going to be paying any medical bills. You’ll probably be fine as long as you keep taking care of it like you have been.”

“So you’re telling me to not be lazy, is that it?”

“Precisely, Chigiri-kun,” Isagi replied, pulling him up. The slightest smile blinded Chigiri and threw him off-balance.

He didn’t know what compelled him to say it, but Chigiri nonetheless couldn’t control his mouth at the most important moments. “I’ll keep running, Isagi. Until this leg falls apart… Until this fire burns out.” Because that’s what you showed me. What I really wanted, you reminded me. To keep playing soccer as long as I can.

“I’m going to be the best in the world,” Chigiri declared, leaning into Isagi’s space with a teasing smile. Even though Isagi was only a bit shorter than him, he felt so tall and proud looming over him like this. Even Isagi’s unamused stare couldn’t discourage him.

“Big words for a striker who can’t even beat me.” Isagi effortlessly stepped back and sidestepped Chigiri, leaving Chigiri to smile like an idiot at nothing. “Evolve before saying such things, Chigiri-kun.”

Chigiri dazedly watched him walk away. Fuck, he should really stop thinking that was hot.

Chigiri snapped back into focus when Iemon showed Niko’s goal. That little pipsqueak really grew, hadn’t he? An egoistic goal like that… he wasn’t capable of that before Isagi.

Chigiri glanced at the striker in question and almost fell off his chair when he saw the slight fond smile on his face. For his own mental health, he decided to ignore that he had ever seen that.

He zoned out again until their new opponents popped up on the screen. They had met them earlier when they had pissed Isagi off along with Kuon, but besides being suicidal and stupid, they were pretty good, weren’t they?

“Chigiri,” Isagi said, prompting the room to silence. Everyone waited to hear what he’d say since it was one of the first times he was speaking up in their strategy meetings. Chigiri perked up. Usually, when Isagi would say something, it was something to help the team or Bachira, so to have Isagi single him out first… Chigiri sent a victorious smirk at Bachira. He stuck his tongue out in retaliation, but Chigiri had won nonetheless.

“You should work on stopping Zantetsu. You two are similar… but not the same.”

Chigiri huffed good-naturedly, pouting at Isagi. “You’re not gonna tell me what I need to do?”

“Do you want me to?” Isagi gave him a look that told him that if he said yes, he might be putting his position as one of Isagi’s trusted teammates in peril. “I thought you might want to figure it out yourself. Instead of me just giving you the answer.”

Chigiri sighed, slumping down into his chair. Isagi was so frustrating but… “Fuck, I hate that you’re right.”

Isagi side-eyed him in a way that might’ve been saying, ‘Isn’t that why you watch my videos?’

Fuck this. Why did this guy always have to point out the most logical things and make Chigiri feel stupid?

“And Raichi.” Isagi quickly moved on. “You should be on defense. Block Mikage-kun.”

“Hah?!” Raichi exploded. “You want me on defense?! Are you crazy—there’s no way I can play my sexy soccer like that! Fuck you!”

Isagi frowned angrily. “Can’t you fucking think about anyone but yourself for a moment? There’s no one else.” Isagi gave him a particularly mean stare if Chigiri did say so himself. “Do it, or lose the game. I don’t give a fuck.”

Raichi averted his eyes with a scoff, still looking majorly angry. “Fucking fine. I’ll kill you if we lose.”

Isagi nodded and turned back to Iemon expectantly. Iemon laughed nervously and hesitantly continued to present, talking about how they needed to win this game and a bunch of other stuff that Chigiri didn’t bother listening to. Kuon would probably fuck up all their plans anyway.

Speaking of Kuon… he segregated himself into the corner while the rest of the team ignored him except seemingly Raichi, who kept glaring at him—especially after being put on defense by Isagi—like he wanted to punch him. Understandable, really.

But unlike most people, Raichi was the type of person to act on his impulses instead of ignoring them. He abruptly stood up and stalked over to Kuon, gaining the attention of everyone in the room as it suddenly became quiet.

“You jerk. You’re probably planning to give away our strategy again, right?! Huh?!” Raichi launched at him. Kuon flinched as Raichi’s arm wrapped around his neck, strangling him lightly. “Let’s all take a swing at him!”

Before anyone knew what was happening, Isagi appeared right next to Raichi, pulling at his arm incessantly. “Are you a barbarian? You can’t just dislike someone? You have to punch them too?”

Raichi shrugged him off angrily. But Isagi was relentless, standing his ground and walking in conjunction with Raichi to make sure he made eye contact with him as he spoke. “Violence should never be your first instinct.”

“Fuck, you tryin’ to be a good samaritan now or something? Fucking hypocrite—you’re really starting to piss me off,” Raichi spat, bodily pushing Isagi away.

Isagi steadied himself with dignity and brushed himself off. “Well, good thing I don’t care.”

Raichi scowled and stomped out of the room, leaving the rest of them to awkwardly stare at Isagi and Kuon. Isagi didn’t even look at him, calmly going back to sit in his seat.

Chigiri, like everyone else, took that as his cue to leave, as the meeting was definitely over after that fiasco. Isagi remained in the room, and Chigiri took notice of Kunigami also lingering behind in the room. While he was curious, Chigiri wasn’t ready to die by Isagi’s hand so he scurried out and tried to forget about it.

———————

Kunigami lingered in the corner of the room hesitantly. Isagi was completely ignoring him. Even like this, when they were the only two in the room, the striker acted like he didn’t exist, changing the videos playing on screen nonchalantly. Kunigami wanted to say that Isagi maybe didn’t know he was there, but by the slightly tense line of his back, he could tell Isagi felt his presence.

Seriously, this guy.

Kunigami carefully approached him and stood next to Isagi’s seated form, a good distance away. As he tilted his head down to look at Isagi, he found that Isagi was already looking at him from the corner of his eye. When they made eye contact, he averted his eyes back to the screen. Kunigami sighed. Did they really regress so far from that dinner?

Kunigami cleared his throat and relented, facing the screen to relieve Isagi of his gaze. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Isagi leaned on his hand, eyes tracing the footage of the players of Team V. He was silent for a long while, leaving the two of them to watch the video in silence, neither of them really analyzing due to the tension in the room.

“... Have I?”

“You also haven’t been passing to me frequently,” Kunigami pointed out, insistent.

Isagi rolled his neck, seeming unbothered or contemplative. Kunigami couldn’t read him. The remote control in his hands was twirled around carelessly. “I didn’t realize.”

Kunigami frowned, stepping closer and staring at the side of Isagi’s head. He came here for answers. Isagi wasn’t someone who did things without reason. There was something that he was missing. He didn’t come here for Isagi to lie to his face, even if it was to save his feelings.

“Even now… You’re avoiding the truth,” Kunigami chided. He stood in front of Isagi, making the player sigh heavily and look up. “Tell me why.”

Isagi rubbed the bridge of his nose and reluctantly turned the volume of the videos down. “... Does it matter that I’ve been avoiding you? Do you care?”

Kunigami crossed his arms. Was Isagi really implying he didn’t care? This guy…

“Of course, I care. My teammate is avoiding me, and I don’t even know why. I thought-” Kunigami suddenly realized what he wanted to say, and he flushed. Well… might as well. “I thought you decided to trust us.”

Isagi’s eyes widened minutely, but he quickly looked away. An unsure expression crossed his face as he contemplated what to say.

Kunigami pushed forward. He couldn’t lose this chance. It was Isagi , after all—if he failed now, he’d probably never get a chance ever again. “I promised to help you.” Isagi glanced at him then back to the ground, but Kunigami swore he could see Isagi slowly giving in. “How can I help you if you don’t trust me with the truth?”

“... Kunigami,” Isagi started, voice uncertain. “It’s not… anything to do with you personally.” Isagi nervously tugged at the skin of his arm. “I wanted you to figure it out yourself.”

“What? Figure out why you’re avoiding me?” Kunigami blinked in bewilderment.

Isagi hurriedly waved his hands. “No, no. I meant…”

He gestured to the screen and tapped the remote. Kunigami moved off to the side and waited until they were both looking at Kunigami on the screen. He watched himself shoot attempted goal after attempted goal, many with no success. With each tape, Isagi grew visibly more displeased and sighed.

Kunigami didn’t understand. Was Isagi upset that he wasn’t scoring more often? It wasn’t necessarily his fault that the other teams had figured out ways to stop him. And more than anybody, Kunigami himself was the most upset about this development. It wasn’t like he wanted the other teams to be able to stop him so easily.

It didn’t seem like Isagi would say something like that. Rather, they weren’t looking at how the other team was stopping Kunigami’s shots—they were looking at what Kunigami was doing. Kunigami watched again and again and tried to understand. His form? His technique? Was it about the strength of the kick?

He glanced at Isagi, but the striker just glared at him and gestured at the screen, incensed by the supposedly frustrating display on the monitor.

Kunigami glued his eyes to the screen. He was doing it exactly the way he practiced. It was his perfect scoring route—he didn’t know what he was supposed to be seeing.

Isagi quickly grew frustrated—both at Kunigami’s inability to understand what he was trying to show him and at Kunigami’s past shots—and stood up abruptly. “I apologize for avoiding you. It wasn’t right for me to translate your incompetent display on field to off the field.” He huffed and shoved the remote into Kunigami’s limp hands. “But seriously do something about-” Isagi wildly gestured to the screen in disgust. “- that or else I fear I might strangle you.”

Isagi began to walk out of the room without another word, but Kunigami, who had been stunned by his words, shocked himself back to life. “Wait!”

Isagi stopped and half-turned around, face still disgruntled.

“I’ll make you trust me again,” Kunigami declared. “And I’ll keep my promise. You can depend on me.”

Isagi blinked as he considered Kunigami’s words and his profile at that moment. Then he smiled slightly, turning away to hide it, but Kunigami had seen it. He smiled widely at Isagi’s back in return.

“Counting on you, hero.”

Isagi opened the door and left.

———————

Fuck Ego and his stupid Blue Lock.

Isagi saw it like it was: Ego specifically created that rule about the top scorer so that a scenario like this would be possible. Kuon was able to leech off his success, then he went and betrayed him? All so that he could move on alone… It was foolish. Isagi had no doubt that he’d be able to win this next match, but…

He just didn’t want to do this anymore. It was too similar, too familiar.

As he listened to his… ‘teammates’ snoring, all he could think about was how each and every one could break his trust in them. Even from the beginning, none of them trusted him, and the feeling was mutual. He had always had to take care of himself. And now, they wanted him to be a midfielder, they wanted him to support the team, they wanted him to support them individually, help them grow and evolve—he was tired. They even placed so much of the team burden on him yet failed to trust him when it really came down to it. And he loathed to admit it, but Kuon had won at that moment, showing Isagi that he wasn’t trusted by Team Z.

It seems like teams are fucked up everywhere, huh?

Would it be like this everywhere? No matter where he went, would they resent him? Did they care what he wanted? He would never be able to play the football he wanted…

The football he wanted to play…

He didn’t even know what that was. He just wanted to stop feeling so numb about it.

Isagi sat up.

It wasn’t productive to sit here overthinking if he couldn’t fall asleep. He should go for a walk, not like that ever helped him clear his head, but he could hope.

Isagi silently left the room and slowly strolled to the monitor room. Fuck, I don’t want to do this anymore. Sharing a room is just the worst. Teams are so mentally draining.

Isagi shook his head as if that would help him ward away the thoughts. Pushing open the door, he was expecting to be greeted with a dark, empty room, but the screen shone brightly in his face, showing footage of Team V’s last match.

Isagi’s eyes darted around the room until they landed on a figure seated in the middle of the room, hunched over the remote and glaring at him over his shoulder. His fists were clenched tensely around his sleeping clothes. Isagi shrugged and sauntered to his side.

“Scared for the game tomorrow?” Isagi asked, taking a seat next to Raichi. A small smug smile tugged at the corner of his lips when Raichi immediately scowled; he tried to keep it under wraps, but the instinct was too great, only resulting in Raichi scowling more at his amusement.

“Fuck no!” Raichi bared his teeth, but he was noticeably less energetic this late at night. That was just fine with Isagi; he didn’t want to deal with physical altercations at this time.

Isagi leaned on his hand. “Just watching videos and staying up late for fun then. Sure.”

Raichi grunted and went back to watching the footage, rewinding to the parts he had missed. Isagi rolled his eyes. It was too obvious.

The only sound in the room was the noises from the video and Raichi’s incessant tapping. His whole body refused to stay still, fidgeting every once and a while with his shirt, drumming his fingers, and tapping his feet. Isagi was honestly getting kind of annoyed with his jittery movements.

It was only when Raichi started chewing on his fingernails that Isagi lost it.

“What is wrong with you?” Isagi whirled on him, pulling his hand from his mouth forcefully. Raichi snarled at him. “Is it so hard to sit still?”

“Shut up!” Raichi threateningly leaned into his space. Isagi tightened his grip on his wrist in warning, earning a frustrated sigh and Raichi’s compliance. He sat back, violently pulling his wrist back in anger. Isagi almost jerked forward with the force. “You’re so fucking annoying!”

“Me? I’m annoying?” Isagi glowered, pointing at Raichi’s fingers. “You’re the one who’s been tapping and fidgeting and fucking annoying me this entire time!” Raichi glared at him and was about to interrupt him, but Isagi just continued to speak over him. “Are you that fucking scared about the match tomorrow?”

“No!-”

“Are you being a bitch about me putting you on defense, is that it?” Isagi pushed his finger into Raichi’s chest with a harsh stare.

“Fuck no-”

Raichi looked about ready to deck him in the face, but Isagi had taken one too many punches to feel scared of a coward like Raichi. “Nervous that you don’t even know what the fuck you’re doing? Are you scared we’ll lose and you’ll go back to being a nob-”

“Yes!” Raichi pushed him away and off of him. Isagi landed heavily on the floor, barely catching himself before his head collided with the floor. Raichi looked livid . “Is that what you wanted to hear?!” Raichi rubbed his hand over his face and groaned loudly. “Yes! Fuck!” He slumped down onto the floor and covered his face with his hands, rubbing them restlessly over his cheeks.

Isagi pushed himself up, wincing at the slight lingering pain in his side. Well… that hadn’t been what he was expecting. What was he expecting anyway? He didn’t know. But this was as great a distraction as any. “Why?”

Raichi stayed silent, scraping his nails into the soft skin of his face. Isagi let his question linger in the air tentatively while they both continued to watch the video innocuously playing in the background, unaware of the tension. Isagi didn’t initially believe Raichi to be scared per se, but an admission was an admission, so here he was, having to deal with that shit.

Isagi looked down at his hands. It wasn’t like Raichi was a bad player, and the guy never seemed to fear anything except being silent.

“Raichi.” Isagi’s eyes bored into the side of his head until Raichi scoffed and relented, holding tense eye contact with him. Raichi looked one second away from hauling him up by his hair and throwing him into the wall. “You are the only person I could’ve picked for Mikage-kun. You’ll survive.”

Contrary to Isagi’s expectations, Raichi’s scowl deepened, but he didn’t say anything. He looked away and stared directly at the screen as if Isagi didn’t exist.

Even though Raichi hated him, he was still following his orders, so it’s not like this little tantrum even mattered. Nonetheless, Isagi shrugged and kept going. “I wouldn’t have picked you if I thought you couldn’t do it. All your other stats are subpar, but you’re lucky your blocking capabilities are pretty good.”

Raichi banged his fist into his forehead and groaned. “Oh fuck me. You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re unoriginal. I think I’ve gotten that insult like 50 times already,” Isagi snarked. “But I know football. And you’ll be the key player tomorrow. We’ll win because of you.”

Raichi had looked back at him at some point during his tirade, and Isagi made his best attempt at a comforting expression. He was not successful based on the deadpan look on Raichi’s face and his own face’s inability to smile at someone he disliked.

Isagi sighed in defeat. “Just… trust me.” Fuck, he hated using that word now— trust . But despite all his faults, Raichi seemed to be a decently upstanding guy, unlike Kuon. Even though he tended to talk with his fists more than his words.

Raichi spent a long while glaring at him in silence, eyes roaming his clearly unsympathetic face, before relenting. “Fucking fine.” He flopped down on the floor again, anger leaving him. “If we lose, you’re the first I’ll go after.”

Isagi shrugged in agreement. “Sure. As long as you don’t fuck up the defense.” He stood up and retreated from the room, allowing Raichi to go back to his frantic studying. “Don’t stay up too late.”

“Fuck off."

———————

When Isagi awoke to burning muscles and sharp pain in his… Well, everywhere. Unimaginable pain raked through his nerves and bounced around in his head as he blearily pushed himself upright into a sitting position. The lights were dimmed considerately, but the vague traces of bright, white hospital lights still flared in his pupils. Looking around the room, Isagi saw fresh flowers, a cold meal, and a glass of water next to his phone. His backpack that had thankfully survived the ordeal (which caused Isagi to wince as he unwillingly remembered bits and pieces of what had happened) leaned against the sad metal leg of the bed he slept on. Some of his belongings had thankfully not survived the ordeal. Well, one. But he didn’t think he could look at it without throwing up anymore.

In two seats farther away from his bed, his parents slouched, heads exhaustedly leaning against each other as they slept uncomfortably, faces laden with worry. The clock in the room said it was 1 in the morning. Isagi leaned back against the deflated pillows and decided not to wake them.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind mercifully empty. All that consumed him was the pain, dull and sharp all at once, randomly attacking his senses. He thought of nothing at all, as the shadows on the ceiling leisurely danced around a limp shadowy form, darkened by shame. His eyes lidded, aimlessly watching the scene without a sound.

The sound of mocking laughter and jeers filled his ears as he drifted off back to sleep.

——————

The doctors told him that he was lucky to have gotten away with no permanent debilitating injuries. Everything would heal functionally in time, they said, even as the sharp probing of their fingers sent waves of pain through his ribs. His concussion, the most serious injury, was pretty severe, but if he strictly adhered to their instructions, he’d be just fine. His nose, which had been broken, had been promptly set and now just laid under bandages until it was fully fixed. The endless bruises on his skin blended together until it looked like his skin had always been purple instead of a healthy peach. Even the cut that had spilled so much blood from his head would leave almost no trace besides an easily hidden scar at his hairline. His hand had been concerning, but luckily, it seemed nothing had snapped, except for his index finger, so he had a finger brace, and it would heal in a few months. But they did warn him that aesthetically, his finger would never look the same, misshapen and bent a bit strangely. It wasn’t a cause for concern, they said, because it would be fully functional despite the fact that it wouldn’t ever bend the same way. Isagi could only thank any higher powers that it was his finger, not a toe. He could still play football with a disfigured finger.

However, they hesitated when they got to the final conclusion. And Isagi knew why, small flashes of the scene replaying in his mind again and again until all he felt was the overwhelming urge to gag. With a reluctant look at his parents, he nodded at the doctor to continue.

The first thing the doctor said was that they provided group therapy in the hospital if he wanted to attend. Isagi said he’d consider it, knowing his parents have yet to hear the cause of the trauma. The doctor sighed at his reserved expression.

It seems he had no severe injuries from the bottle, but they had ripped some skin down there in their haste. The staff reassured him that it would heal quickly, but they were monitoring him to make sure nothing was infected. The doctors had said all this in clearer, more clinical ways, and Isagi was too full of shame to look his parents in the eye.

Nonetheless, they sobbed and hugged him and told him that they wouldn’t ever let something like this happen again. Then, they predictably demanded him to tell them who did it.

Isagi could have said their names. It would have been so easy. He would never have to see them ever again, and they would be served justice for their deeds. But…

He blinked at his hands and avoided their eyes, muttering, “Sorry, mom, dad… I don’t… I don’t remember.” The doctors said it was normal to lose some memories with his concussion, especially if they were traumatic.

Isagi leaned into his parents’ warm, comforting bodies, still with the dull shock that settled into his bones as it finally sunk in… what had happened—what he had truly gone through. As if processing it for the first time since writhing half-naked and completely vulnerable in the alley, tears started to drip unconsciously from his eyes and his breathing quickened impossibly. He felt so small and insignificant, grasping at the thin hospital sheets and sobbing over a memory that would never change. A quiet gasp ripped through his body as he broke down in his parents’ embrace as they joined him in his silent sobbing.

Chapter Text

Isagi reached his arms above his head, stretching from side to side as Team Z walked to the field entrance. They were quite chatty for a team that had to work their asses off in just a few minutes just to have a shot at winning. Either way, Isagi was sure he—they, he begrudgingly corrected—wouldn’t lose to two newbies, no matter how talented, and an idiot. It would be embarrassing to lose to a duo who had only been playing for 6 months.

“Hey Isagi…”

Isagi looked up, facing Bachira’s solemn face, an expression strange on his face for it was usually so lively. He inclined his head, indicating his attention.

Bachira leaned into his space so far that Isagi subconsciously felt uncomfortable. His eyes were intense and wide, like the wild eyes he’d get just before becoming his ‘monster’. Their noses were so close that Isagi felt as if a single breath might disturb the moment. He spent a minute staring into honey eyes in confusion, lost but attentive, tracing the lines and dips in his facial features. His gaze settled on Bachira’s imploring, lidded eyes, framed by his flared lashes and sharp, piercing creases.

Bachira seemed to be satisfied in some way or another for he smiled slightly and backed up. “If we lose… I guess we won’t see each other anymore, right?”

Isagi’s lips pressed together. It was almost an unpleasant thought. Not being able to play football with Bachira anymore. Or was it just not being able to see Bachira anymore?

“If we lose… I suppose that would be true.”

“I’d hate that,” Bachira admitted softly, his eyes boring insistently into Isagi. There was something unsaid between them that had Isagi’s spine shivering violently. “Then… I’ll go all out for you.”

Isagi nodded resolutely, mustering up the most reassuring, confident look he could give. “We’ll win, Bachira.” He faced forward and saw the rest of the team stretching on the field, waiting for them whilst pretending to give them privacy. “We’ll win…” He hesitated only a moment before extending his fist out and shyly glancing at Bachira in the corner of his eye. “... together.”

Bachira beamed, a smile spreading across his face in such an addicting manner that it made Isagi reciprocate with a smaller smile. “Together.”

Mikage Reo was staring at him when they walked out, purple eyes scanning assessing his form and seeming to analyze every part of him, dissecting him from the outside. His lips pressed into a fine line, but he didn’t even react when Isagi looked at him, too obsessed with the sights. Isagi didn’t know what he did to gain the heir’s attention, but it wasn’t like he was unused to things like this. Teal eyes burned into his retinas, and he shuddered. Best not to remember such things.

Their plan was rather simple for this game, despite all the strategizing. Team V was quite predictable, a result of their top two players being extremely new to the game. When in a pinch, Mikage would always pass to Nagi, and Nagi himself was a lazy player. As long as he stayed that way, they’d have minimal issues prohibiting him from scoring. Zantetsu was another story, but that was for Chigiri to figure out, hopefully by at least the halfway mark. Raichi was their main utilization to man-mark Mikage and prevent him from sending key passes to the other two, so Raichi’s performance mattered a lot more in this game than it did in others. Isagi was hoping he’d be able to get it down by halftime too. As for Kunigami… he ideally had wanted that to be a prime scoring route, but at the rate Kunigami was going, he wouldn’t be a huge help unless he had a major realization and evolution. Not to mention they were down a player because of Kuon. Isagi didn’t even want to think about that or else he’d work himself into a fit.

As long as they stuck to their plan for now, they wouldn’t lose too many points until their team finally understood their dire situation and forced themselves to level up. Until that time…

Mikage started with the ball, running forward and immediately being met with Raichi and Bachira pressing him. He clicked his tongue and quickly passed to Zantetsu. They had predicted this set-up, though, so Naruhaya and Gagamaru were blocking his scoring route. Zantetsu passed to Nagi, but the pass was intercepted by Igaguri, who headbutted it to Bachira.

Isagi sprinted forward, sidestepping a bunch of no-name defenders that he could probably crush in his sleep. Until that time , he’d have to pick up his team’s slack. Fuck teams; they were too much work.

Bachira did as Isagi expected, bypassing defender after defender with his spectacular dribbling, alight with the thrill of the game, eyes wild and free. Isagi smiled, hearing the impact of Bachira’s foot with the ball, sending it soaring over everyone’s heads and careening to Isagi’s back. Bachira was truly magnificent. If only…

Isagi turned around and faced the ball, back to the net as his teammates screamed at him to score. He could feel the excitement in the pass, as it connected with his foot. It was always a little more thrilling when he played with Bachira. Without even trying to trap it as that monster on the other team might, Isagi twirled on his foot and glanced over his shoulder, locking onto his target with deathly sharp accuracy, using his momentum to spin himself around and blast the ball right in between the legs of the goalie, who jumped to the side, unsure where Isagi would aim his unpredictable kick. His teammates screamed at him in shock.

Bachira skipped up to him and cheered. “Isagi-chan!” He swung his arms over Isagi’s shoulders and swayed back and forth, dangerously close to toppling the two of them over. “That was amazing!”

“Thanks, Bachira,” Isagi replied fondly. How could anyone ever hate Bachira, he questioned randomly. He was just too pure.

Distantly, he heard Mikage exclaim, “That was so cool!” When Isagi looked over, the guy seemed to flush slightly and clear his throat. “Nagi, we should try that!” He continued in a noticeably less squeal-like voice.

Nagi groaned, scuffing the field with the tip of his cleat. “Do I have to? How many goals do I have to score again?”

Isagi scowled. This is exactly the type of player that didn’t deserve their talents. Such a lazy specimen shouldn’t be good at football; it was astronomically unfair to the thousands who actually practiced and couldn’t reach his level. He didn’t even care about his potential and squandered it without another thought. Such was the way of the natural world, though—that there were others better inherently, genetically, in all those ways that were unjust. But those types were fine, as they were natural. Ones like Nagi, who knew their potential, thought everything about football was easy (when it wasn’t. Maybe with the way he was playing, it was. He should really grow up and play actually good players before dissing players leagues below him.), and still didn’t give a fuck about football pissed him off. People with this much talent should gain enough enthusiasm for the sport to match it. What was the point of all that talent if they didn’t even care?

“5 goals, Nagi,” Mikage replied warily, glancing at Isagi. “But even then…”

Nagi gave his partner an odd look. “Ah… such a pain.” Despite his complaints, Nagi retreated to his lazy positioning, agreeing rather easily.

Seeing this farce in person made Isagi exponentially angrier. What a waste of talent.

Isagi kicked the ball to Raichi at the start, assessing Mikage’s off-the-ball movements. As Raichi’s eyes seemed to narrow in on the ball, Mikage stared at Raichi’s line of sight and used his distraction to sidestep him and get his foot on the ball. At the intervention, Raichi squawks in anger and Isagi sighs in frustration.

Mikage barely managed to get the ball over to Zantetsu, who made a weak attempt at a cool, intelligent line and passed the ball back to Mikage. Isagi looked over, seeing that Raichi was thrown off balance by Mikage, who was sticking his leg out like that to kick the ball and struggled to get back in front of him. As always, it was always better for him to do everything himself.

“Don’t be so obvious if you’re going to plagiarize,” Isagi taunted, glancing mockingly at Mikage. The two of them were so predictable.

He ran straight toward Nagi, having, not anticipated, but literally heard the two of them say they wanted to replicate what he had just done with Bachira.

And as expected, the lazy genius was stationary, waiting for the ball to come to him. Isagi clicked his tongue and envisioned the sight in front of Mikage’s eyes.

As if he was no longer in Isagi Yoichi’s body, various threads shot out from the foot in front of his vision. They curled around the field in endless, colorful possibilities, giving Isagi a slight jolt of surprise. Almost all of them, if not all, curved toward the listless figure of Nagi Seishiro, who Isagi categorized as the greater monster between the two of them. But with the sight in front of his eyes, he faltered. Was it really Nagi who they had to fear?

One particular curve seemed the most plausible for Mikage, considering his angry press, the time limit, and his current abilities. Isagi shook off his shock and changed course. Factoring in how Nagi would receive a pass like that… He should be here.

Isagi skidded to a stop a meter in front of Nagi. He wasn’t tall enough to battle with Nagi in midair, and he certainly couldn’t stop Mikage from halfway across the field. It still wasn’t the best option, but if he considered the fact that Nagi excelled in trapping, he could reasonably assume Nagi wouldn’t directly shoot the ball into the net. He’d have to let it drop to his feet before taking aim and shooting. Isagi watched as Nagi jumped explosively into the air and towered over him. Isagi held his ground, knowing he was dangerously close to getting smacked in the face. Nagi masterfully killed all the spin on the ball and let his body fall back down to the ground—what Isagi was waiting for. He ran forward but realized with immediate dread that he was a bit too far away for what he had planned. And Nagi was not looking in front of him at all, simply focused on the net.

Before he knew what had happened, Isagi was instinctively turning his head to the side, arm coming up to shield what he couldn’t afford breaking. His arm didn’t make it in time. A few warning shouts rang out across the field as the ball collided with the very edge of Isagi’s forearm a foot out from his midline and ricocheted right into his head. In a strange twist of fate, the ball careened straight back at Nagi, who only hesitated along with the rest of the players for two seconds before half-heartedly reenacting his previous kick and scoring a goal.

Now all that, Isagi only registered because of adrenaline and the sound of the whistle. He was, otherwise, too preoccupied with making sure that brute didn’t kick his fucking ear off or give him a concussion because fuck , it hurt like shit. There was a suspicious metallic taste in his mouth that told him he either bit his tongue while getting blasted in the face by a football or Nagi knocked a tooth out. Either way, it hurt and he became reacclimated with the nostalgic taste of blood. He cursed like a madman addicted to drugs and dropped into a pathetic squat, cradling his head as it pounded miserably. Many pairs of cleats heavily smacked the grass as his teammates and some of the other team surrounded him (he refused to look at anything but their shoes because this facility was too damn bright), worriedly asking him if he was ok, one apologizing for their lame boyfriend, some asking if there even was an infirmary in Blue Lock. All this in much too loud voices.

He was almost certain if he survived this, Ego-san would get him checked for a concussion. But that was impossible. He wasn’t even hit that hard, right? He was just overreacting. So it was impossible. Then again, maybe he was a little delirious from the pain. It’d been a bit since he felt this much pain, and it was just as unpleasant as every other time, he couldn’t lie. Not only did the entire right side of his head hurt like it’d been melted off, his mouth or cheek or something was too iron-y. But he didn’t exactly want to spit out all this blood on the field and make everyone step around his mess. Or scare the fuck out of all of them. So he did what anyone would do. He gagged as all the iron slid slowly down his throat. He really hated the taste of blood.

VAR blew the whistle and droned in a robotic voice. “Handball! Yellow card to Isagi Yoichi!”

Immediately, there was an uproar on the field, surprisingly from both sides.

“What?! He got hit in the face! He was protecting his face!”

“They still got the goal anyway too!”

“Are we sure… this is ok?”

“Man, I would usually celebrate the other team getting a yellow card but… this is kinda brutal, isn’t it?”

“Isagi!” Isagi felt his face being carefully lifted by gentle fingers, and he squinted instinctively as he faced Bachira. “Where does it hurt?! Are you bleeding?” Bachira slowly tilted his face back and forth, assessing his state and narrowing his eyes whenever Isagi winced or closed his eyes to relieve the intensity of the lights. “Oh fuck. Isagi, how many fingers am I holding up?”

Isagi attempted to give him a blank look. He was fine . He just wished he had been able to block Nagi’s shot since he had to go through all this shit. Nonetheless, he slowly dragged his tired eyes to Bachira’s fingers and blinked. And blinked. That was… four, right? He blinked and dragged his eyes up to Bachira’s concerned eyes. “... Four?”

It just so happened that speaking for the first time revealed the extra blood in his mouth that he had refused to swallow out of pure fear that he might actually throw up. The thick liquid dribbled out of his mouth, and he alarmedly swiped the back of his hand across his face to hide the evidence. Not that it helped at all since only a moment later, he coughed, causing a waterfall of blood to cascade out of his mouth.

Bachira blinked back at him and then promptly flipped out. No one else was in a much better state. Raichi was shouting at no one in particular about the unfair call and giving him looks every so often. Chigiri and Kunigami were frantically discussing how long it would take to carry him to get medical aid. Nagi shifted his weight from foot to foot in front of him—the most worried and active he’s ever seen the guy if he’s being honest—and even Mikage was shouting for a break in the game or for him to go to the infirmary. Even Kuon was looking on from the side of the field, biting his nails. It seemed like everyone liked the sight of blood just as much as Isagi did.

Really, Isagi didn’t get the big deal. He was fine . It was just a little blood, and it would stop bleeding after a bit, so there was nothing to worry about. His head, however… wouldn’t stop fucking pounding and screaming at him, and the lights were too bright, and everyone was too loud, and this was all a huge pain in the ass, and it was all due to his own stupidity. How many times has something clichè like this happened anyway? Hadn’t something like this happened a few games ago? Eh, he couldn’t remember and didn’t care enough to think about it through this massive pain.

He sluggishly slapped away the hands reaching out for him and wiped his mouth again, smearing blood all over his face. He rubbed his ear to get some feeling other than pain through that area and winced. “... I’m fine. Get a towel or something and we can continue.”

Mikage gaped at him, entirely unprofessionally. “What are you talking about?! You’re in no state to continue playing!” However, the rich kid hurriedly handed him a handkerchief; Isagi didn’t even want to know why he carried that in his uniform… somewhere.

He wiped his bloody mouth and licked cautiously at his teeth to make sure they were all still there. It seems his inner cheek tore—maybe he bit through it. But he did nothing more than wipe his mouth. He sheepishly looked from the bloody handkerchief to Mikage and back again. “... I’ll return it later.”

Mikage shook his head. “... Eh… no need.” He carefully eyed Isagi’s form, still crumpled on the ground. “You really shouldn’t be playing. You probably have a concussion.”

“I don’t,” Isagi stubbornly refused. He crossed his arms and struggled to get his arms underneath him to push himself up. In the end, it was Kunigami who grabbed him by the upper arms and pulled him into some semblance of a standing position. “Besides… Team Z is already down… a player…” Isagi looked off to the side but didn’t see Kuon. He was somewhere off-field, though, so it didn’t matter. “... I have to play.”

Mikage looked unsure, but Isagi’s attention had already moved on to Bachira, who was fluttering around him nervously, checking his head and carefully holding him upright alongside Kunigami. If Isagi wasn’t still in so much pain, he would’ve been amused and a bit touched by how anxious Bachira was over nothing.

He swatted Kunigami and Bachira’s hands away and wobbled trying to stand, regaining his strength after only a minute or so as everyone watched with bated breath. “... Don’t just look at me. Let’s play.”

“Isagi-chan… Are you sure? You don’t look good enough to stand…” Bachira’s hands hovered around his shoulders, just in case he needed to catch Isagi if he fell while trying to take his first steps.

“I’m fine ,” Isagi snapped irritably. He tested his weight on each foot and nodded, demonstrating to the gathered crowd his perfect capability to walk around. It was really only that initial wobble, but he was just fine to walk, which meant he was fine to run too.

Chigiri scoffed from his position watching them off to the side. “Tell me that when you didn't just say two fingers were four and I’ll believe you.”

“Whatever,” Isagi retorted, walking back to his position with little difficulty. “Start.”

Everyone shared hesitant looks with each other, but at Isagi’s resulting annoyed glare, they all hurried to their positions too. Bachira gave him a concerned smile. “Hey, Isagi-chan, if you don’t feel good during the match, tell me, ok?”

Isagi, even though he was an asshole, did appreciate the sentiment, really. So he resolved to be nice this once, just to Bachira. He returned the smile, though it was more of a grimace. “... Sure, Bachira.”

Now, despite all the bravado, Isagi was… desperately trying not to just give up and get on the ground. All this noise, these lights, all this running—it really wasn’t making him feel very good. But he was not leaving his fate to these 8 idiots (that was, minus Bachira) to win the game for them, especially not against Mikage and Nagi.

The ball had started with him, so he dazedly kicked it over to Kunigami, breathing deeply to center himself. Ignore the pain. He scanned the field again, with a more concentrated eye, and saw Kunigami a few meters outside his scoring range. He immediately felt a swift breeze of irritation waft through him accompanied by a sharp pain in his forehead; was this guy seriously that dumb to try to score the same exact way he had been doing all the previous games? When Isagi had specifically told him that it wasn’t working?

Kunigami pulled his leg back, but, obviously, the other team had studied his identical shots in the previous games, and Mikage intercepted it, stealing the ball from right in front of Kunigami’s feet.

“You’re still out of shooting range, right, muscle boy?” Mikage gave him a cocky smile that still somehow managed to seem polite or withdrawn. “I’ve done my research.”

“Huh? Wait!”

Mikage had used Kunigami’s immovable position and his narrow gaze to sneak up from behind, sidestepping Raichi, who was idiotically, idly standing in front of him. Why was his team so damn dumb?

Isagi pushed himself, ignoring the pain in his head that resulted from every single stride he took, pounding in tune with his steps as if his brain was bouncing in his brain with every up and down movement. It was just a little bit disconcerting that he could feel this movement in horrifying detail.

He analyzed Mikage’s movements, watching his eyes cross over to Nagi for a short second, but that was all he needed. Using Kunigami as a cover, as he was running heavily next to Mikage, Isagi leaped in, blood rushing to his head, and pivoted on his grounded foot, rapidly swinging the ball in a half-circle and away from Mikage. He only wobbled very slightly after completing the motion.

“Hakuho High vs. Rakuwa High, 2 months ago. You pulled this same trick,” Isagi deadpanned, enjoying the alarmed look Mikage sent him. “And you also looked to Nagi that time, too…” Kunigami had immediately pivoted on his foot when he saw Isagi had recovered the ball and was now barreling through to his shooting range. Isagi decided that Kunigami wasn’t actually dumb all the time. He passed it forward, pressed by Mikage behind him. “I’ve done my research, Mikage-kun.”

Mikage gave him a complicated look as Kunigami was subsequently blocked by two Team V defenders. If Isagi was reading it correctly, which he was sure he was not because his head felt like someone had just shot him, it was a mix of fear, surprise, and childlike joy. He wasn’t sure how those emotions blended so well on his face, but whatever.

Anyway, Isagi turned away, seeing as Mikage seemed too dumbstruck to answer him, and ran to Zantetsu, who was really one of the most predictable people on the field. Isagi got directly in his path to Mikage and pressured Zantetsu. The idiot had the gall to look serious. “Are we at an in-pass?”

“An impasse, you moronic waffle.”

However, his body wasn’t up to his peak capabilities, so when Mikage dashed to the side to create a new path for Zantetsu, Isagi was a bit too late to block the course, and Mikage immediately sent the ball to Nagi.

It was the same trajectory and path as before. Clearly, they were still trying to copy Bachira and Isagi’s first goal together, and it was pissing Isagi off. Mikage’s insistence on imitation rather than creativity. He was both shackling himself to limitations and his pet. Not that Isagi cared about Nagi like Mikage did, but the wasted potential was killing him. He wasn’t nosy enough to intervene, though.

There wasn’t much Isagi could do about it as he watched Nagi trap the ball and bounce it high into the air. Igaguri looked like he was about to charge in to steal the ball, but before he could do anything, they were all stunned by the sight of Nagi jumping completely off the ground, his head coming level with his feet as he literally flipped himself to kick the ball upside-down. Isagi thought that the whole thing was rather unnecessary. Igaguri was too bad of a player to waste a crazy technique like that on. Not that it was a technique if Nagi couldn’t replicate it, but semantics.

2-1, the scoreboard announced with a light-sounding whistle. Isagi sighed. What a show-off.

“What was that?!” Naruhaya screamed. “We had them cornered with the defense we practiced earlier? Why…”

“If they can do something like that… how are we supposed to stop them?” Imamura nervously chewed on his fingernails. Gross, who knows where those things have been…

“That was just a fluke!! They only scored one point! We can do this! Press the attack, guys!!” Igaguri shouted, trying, ineffectively, to rally the team. 

“You brainless monk,” Isagi spat, still annoyed with how much his head was throbbing from the assault on all facets of his mind—the intensive play, the lights, the sounds, everything. “That was not a fluke. We have to step it up if we want to win.”

Chigiri stepped up, having been quiet for far too long. Isagi thought he was acting rather reserved today. “Isagi’s right. Especially with him at… well, half-strength, we need to step it up or we’re done.” Chigiri stared seriously at the third-ranked on Team V, seeming to be deep in thought, worry lines creeping around the edges of his face.

Just then, Isagi heard a hand slap on someone’s back, and he turned around to see Raichi baring his teeth at an equally frustrated Kunigami. “Hey, Kunigami! Why’d you let them steal the ball?!” Raichi berated, his spit going all over the other player. Isagi winced in sympathy. “You should’ve scored! How can we win if our frontline isn’t delivering?!” Raichi spared Isagi an almost apologetic glance as if to say he was not included in his insults due to his injury. Isagi scowled. “Take this seriously!!”

Kunigami’s mouth twisted into an indignant frown. He spun around and whacked Raichi’s hand off of him. “Shut up! I am!!” He pointed bewilderedly at Mikage. “And I could tell you to do your job and guard Reo properly!”

Raichi, like the predictable brainless musclehead he was, stepped forward threateningly like he would actually throw a punch if Kunigami continued to insult him. What a bunch of dogs, Isagi thought. All bark, no bite. “Hah!? You’re blaming me?! You can’t even fucking score by yourself—relying on that asshole -” Rude. “-and you’re coming for me? Go fuck yourself! Do something useful!”

Isagi decided that everyone else on Team Z was too much of a gossip, content to stand by and watch this shit go down if he was to go by the look on Chigiri’s face. It was, of course, a wide, secretive smile, hidden behind his hand, looking entirely too entertained (especially since they were losing ) by the fact that they were going at each others’ throats. Even Bachira was grinning at the spectacle, laughing silently at each insult. Well, he probably should have expected that from Bachira.

Isagi slid in between them and pushed them both apart swiftly, watching their glares turn onto him. He sighed. “You two are both yapping muscleheads. Stop making me look like a fool and focus on what you can do. Pathetic arguments like these aren’t worth my time. Stop acting like children and play football like you’re fucking supposed to.” The two of them, with their specialized skill sets, could be doing so much better than whatever debacle they had been showing him in the past ten minutes.

[For a quick, strange second, it seemed like Mikage flinched across the field, doing a double take and staring at him with his jaw practically on the floor. Isagi decided to ignore whatever that was and focus back on his idiotic teammates.]

Raichi sent one last well-timed glare to Kunigami when Isagi wasn’t looking and stalked off, clicking his tongue and grumbling about how demanding Isagi was. Isagi watched as Kunigami hesitantly backed down before he returned to his position to start off the next round.

“Besides…” Isagi started, loud enough for the entire team to hear. He steadied himself by closing his eyes and stepping on the ball, rolling it around beneath his cleat. “If you two fail, we still have Chigiri.”

Chigiri received his pass with a determined expression, warily watching Zantetsu from the corner of his eye as he sprinted with the ball. But Isagi could already tell that he would lose at that distance.

Zantetsu recovered the ball for Team V and passed it up to Mikage. And Isagi, who had been running since the kickoff, just barely missed getting his foot on the ball due to sheer inability to force his body to move so fast. Mikage wasted no time in sending it back to Zantetsu, seeing as half of Team Z was covering Nagi, worried that there would be a recreation of his previous astonishing goal. Isagi clicked his tongue in annoyance, seeing Raichi right next to him, trying to block Mikage with him but miserably failing. Isagi shifted to cover Mikage’s right side, but it wasn’t enough to bar him from passing to Zantetsu, leaving Team V in a regrettably favorable position. Zantetsu was right in his best scoring territory.

With the sound of the ball swooshing into the net, everyone on Team Z quieted. The whistle signifying their two-point gap was almost like a mark for destruction. It would’ve been attainable… they all thought. If Isagi were still at full strength. If Mikage wasn’t so hard to cut off. If Nagi weren’t such a monster. But the team glanced around at each other in silence, disquieted, forlorn expressions mirrored in each others’ downcast faces. And they all looked at Isagi Yoichi, who had his hands on his knees, panting and closing his eyes like the world around him pained him, and it felt like there was no one in the crowd that truly believed they could overcome this. They didn’t believe they could win this game.

Meguru slammed his foot down on the ball, feeling a grin crawl up from his soul onto his face. His monster was calling~ and wasn’t it so fun playing with players so far above you? Meguru couldn’t imagine feeling discouraged at this point in the game. There were monsters and geniuses everywhere on the field—and his favorite monster was still fighting, clawing his way back into the game even though Meguru could still see blood dribbling in the corners of his mouth and falling onto his uniform jersey.

He’d need to get that checked out, but for now, all it did was make him excited . How could Isagi-chan say soccer wasn’t making him shiver with delight when he fought so hard to stay on the field? He could’ve left them to deal with those monsters on Team V alone. He could’ve stopped trying so hard, stopped running as fast as he could, stopped intervening in team affairs—but he didn’t . Meguru couldn’t deny it. This game, this atmosphere, the players—this was one of the most fun games he’d ever played in.

But Team Z didn’t seem to think the same, their heads bowed or looking at the scoreboard in despair. Meguru didn’t care for those nobodies who didn’t believe in a little bit of the impossible. Those super special shots were just way too amazing to lose all hope here. In the face of greatness, if he faltered, he would never reach the best heights. He would never get to play with the best monsters if he gave up in these unfavorable circumstances. A great striker… would never blame his surroundings. A great striker would shine no matter how many teammates he had and no matter how the odds were stacked against him. A great striker… like Isagi-chan!

“Alright!” He cheered, stretching his shoulders in preparation. Meguru tilted his head to the side, glancing at Isagi from the corner of his eye and up through his eyelashes. “Isn’t this getting fun, Isagi-chan?”

Isagi gave him a deadpan, pained look accentuated by the sweat of pure will and effort sliding down his forehead. “... Not particularly.”

Meguru gave him a pass, just this once.

Meguru addressed the rest of the team while looking forward to the monsters on the other team that were giving Team Z quite the troublesome match. “We can’t stop them with a perfect defense… Their goals were just super special.” A grin pulled his lips up across his cheeks until he could feel nothing but adrenaline and anticipation in his veins. “That makes it simple! We just have to become super special too!”

Meguru suddenly kicked off the ball to Isagi and ran forward, trusting the striker to understand his wishes. He wasn’t disappointed (he would never be disappointed by Isagi-chan!), as the ball came soaring back to him, despite worried protests from the other players on Team Z. Shouting things about how he shouldn’t start on his own or that nothing he could do would turn it around… it was all so negative. If they couldn’t even use their own weapons to go past their limits, did they deserve to call themselves strikers?

“The monster inside me is saying ‘When things look dire, don’t get scared, get excited!’” Meguru shouted, running directly toward the waiting Mikage Reo, who seemed just as excited to face him as he was.

Meguru could feel his heart pound with excitement. This is what a higher-level match felt like! He felt challenged—it was unlike anything he’d experienced before. Not being able to pull through with what he’d practiced but certain— certain —that he’d be able to overcome those imaginary boundaries, he trusted his monster to guide him. His legs spun underneath him, impossibly fast, as he performed high-speed scissors to confuse Reo.

Reo wasn’t one to be taken down so easily, reading his first and second feint. Meguru’s eyes blazed, feeling as though all of Reo’s movements had been cataloged vaguely into some part of his psyche so that his legs instinctually responded in kind by bypassing him with a feint spin roulette.

He felt like he was on fire . His body was moving so fast; his brain could hardly keep up. Ideas were coming as fast as they could be produced and were being executed at a level far higher than he had ever done. He couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Isagi-chan felt like when he played soccer. He wondered if Isagi was looking at him now, marveling at this new side of Meguru, this inspired, unstoppable side.

Every time he pulled off one of his ridiculous ideas, he whistled in surprise. Did you see it, Isagi-chan? Are you watching my evolution? A mid-air elastico, and now there were only three more defenders until he could turn around and look at Isagi’s face when he scored.

Soccer was about having fun, challenging yourself, and living in the moment instead of fearing the future that hasn’t even arrived yet. If defeat, or even victory, was not assured yet, why was there a need to feel hopeless during the match? It was pathetic to not fight until the last moment—to not have fun until he physically couldn’t anymore. And because of that, he’d do whatever he wanted on field and smile to his heart's content and win .

Meguru heard the ball connect with the net, but he couldn’t even bother to watch the entirety of his shot, turning around to seek out Isagi’s eyes as soon as the ball left his foot. Isagi-chan was looking back at him with the sweetest little smile, despite his crinkled, tense skin from being in pain. Meguru felt his heart warm and his pride soar; Isagi was looking at him and believed in him . Didn’t that make him the best out of everyone else on Team Z?

Meguru laughed loudly, pride spreading a grin across his face. He held his finger up pointedly at his teammates, relishing in the way their faces had turned completely. He was now being faced with cheers and excitement rather than despair and hopelessness, and really, wasn’t that what soccer was all about?

He grinned, turning his attention back to Isagi and making direct eye contact with him from across the field. “See? Aren’t things getting fun?”

Isagi laughed as much as he could without… well, actually laughing. He was too emotionally constipated for that, and Meguru supposed his head probably hurt a lot too. “Yes, Bachira. With you here, we have a chance of winning.”

While that wasn’t exactly what he’d asked of Isagi, Meguru supposed he should take what he was given and settle for that. It’s not like he’d get Isagi to lie to him and tell him this was fun if he didn’t think it was. Meguru turned back to the rest of Team Z, who were celebrating the win and hyping themselves up for another goal. It wouldn’t be that easy, but the determination to continue was more important right now.

Reo started off with the ball, immediately being pressed by the tenacious Raichi. Raichi had been doing well this game, Meguru thought, with defending, yet Reo still managed to get by him every time. Reo was an exceptional link between Zantetsu and Nagi, and it was apparent that he’d spent a lot of hard work and time on his basic techniques, even if they were relatively novice.

Chigiri, too, was persistent in trying to stop Zantetsu. And even Kunigami was valiantly fighting with his caged weapon. Meguru could tell that Team Z was due for a team-wide evolution. And he would be here to witness the skills of all these amazing players!

Chigiri managed to just barely catch up to Zantetsu’s explosive acceleration, proving why he was Team Z’s speed princess, and diverted the pass off course. Nagi still seemed like he was about to take a crazy shot, spinning around in mid-air to shoot. But even Igaguri was feeling pumped up, stopping the shot with his face in a crazy reenactment of what Isagi-chan had done before. But Nagi seemed to be more wary now of the power behind his shots and so Igaguri didn’t collapse into the ground like a dead man. Instead, he screamed victoriously, “I did it! I blocked the shot!”

Meguru rushed back to get the loose ball, trapping it with a quick jump and coming face-to-face again with Reo. “That was just a fluke earlier,” he taunted, a smile that told Meguru he was just teasing on his face. “Don’t think you can pull one over on me again.”

“Yeah, but this time I’m not the only one who’s fighting. Team Z is waking up!”

Meguru gave a no-look pass to Kunigami. Isagi might be displeased with his dormancy right now, but Meguru believed in Team Z’s hero. Somehow, he believed that by seeing his own goal, Kunigami might’ve been inspired to create his own evolution out of his limited weapon.

Kunigami hesitated, immediately being confronted by the defenders who had been wary of him since the beginning. Meguru knew he was thinking hard about how he could make that shot, even while being blocked from his range. That sort of thought process was exactly what he needed. Not being able to execute his original weapon, he’d resort to pushing past his limits, and he would show them something thrilling .

Isagi, who was running right next to Kunigami, stopped, knowing he wouldn’t pass, and spoke directly to Kunigami in a borderline pleading tone. “Don’t lose your nerve, Kunigami. Fight- You’re gonna be a superhero, aren’t you?!”

Hmm. Meguru didn’t know what kinds of deep things they usually talked about together, but he supposed Isagi must know what made Kunigami tick the best out of all of them because just a moment after, Kunigami’s face hardened in determination. He ignored the fact that he was outside his range and slammed his foot into the ball, almost 40 meters away from the net. Meguru was almost fooled like the goalkeeper; he didn’t think the ball would randomly curve and drop into the goal like that. It was something previously impossible for Kunigami. A no-spin shot with a random trajectory?!

Meguru jumped and cheered in total elation. What the heck?! His teammates were so cool! He found Isagi in the commotion of screaming players and saw him looking at Kunigami in concealed wonder. Ah, so this was what he had been waiting for, right? An evolution past that same trajectory-same technique shot that Kunigami had mastered to perfection.

Meguru couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy, though, that someone else was receiving that wide, surprised look from Isagi-chan.

3-3

Kunigami glanced at Isagi after celebrating his goal, expectantly waiting for some type of acknowledgment or sign that he had lived up to Isagi’s vision. Isagi gave him a nod and a small smile. “Good goal. Welcome back, hero.”

At that, Kunigami lit up, and Meguru huffed when he realized that Kunigami might actually look happier at Isagi’s compliment than his own goal. He wasn’t one to talk, though, being a fellow enthusiast for Isagi’s praise. Meguru playfully stuck his tongue out at the hero and slung Isagi’s arm around his shoulder at the signal of the end of the first half.

“C’mon, Isagi-chan,” he whispered gently, all too aware of how much pain his best friend had been in for almost half an hour. “Let’s go sit down, ok?”

Perhaps it was a testament to how out of it Isagi actually was, but he didn’t even protest when Meguru insisted that he sit on the bench while he fetched him water. A small groan slipped past his lips when Meguru tilted his head up to inspect his eyes. They were dazed as the adrenaline had probably worn off a while ago, and he kept squinting whenever Meguru moved his head toward the artificial locker room lights.

“Bachira,” he half-whined. “I’m fine, really. Just tired…”

Meguru chewed on his bottom lip. Isagi really shouldn’t be playing in this condition. Isagi wasn’t even profusely protesting verbally anymore—he was just groaning and pushing Meguru’s hands away. They both knew that he was not fine, even if he was just tired from the first half. The rest of Team Z seemed to realize his predicament as well, as they nervously shuffled around the two of them, staying quiet because Isagi glared at them with pain in his eyes whenever someone was too loud.

Meguru didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he was concerned for his friend’s health. As a human being, he thought it was best for Isagi to sit out and stop playing, lest he worsen his condition. But as a soccer player… he knew they would lose without Isagi. He was the core of the team, and they were already down a player. Even though individual players were evolving, they still needed Isagi to connect all their weapons and add another layer of complexity to the game. Without him, Reo would almost easily be able to read their weapons and stop them. They were just barely hanging on with him. Without him, they could say goodbye to Blue Lock, and then Meguru would probably never see Isagi again. Who would want to travel all across Japan just to meet him again?

Meguru suddenly felt a jolt of desperation in his chest. They absolutely could not lose here. He brushed Isagi’s bangs away from his forehead and did his best to shield him from the lights while wiping away the dried blood and sweat. He stared at Isagi’s unfocusing eyes and his own hardened, swirling with madness. They would win.

The door swung open just as Team Z was starting to feel extremely lost with the situation. An old man walked into the locker room dressed in a white coat and wielding medical equipment. Immediately, a wave of relief swept through the teenagers. Even if Isagi insisted on playing, at least, he’d be seen by a doctor.

The doctor kindly smiled and stepped into the room. “Sorry for the intrusion, kids. I was told there was someone with a possible concussion and mild injuries here?”

Chigiri stepped up, pointing to the clearly concussed boy leaning against the lockers and sitting precariously on the bench. “Him. If you couldn’t tell…”

The two of them shared a disappointed look as if they clearly understood each other’s suffering. Chigiri then stepped aside along with the rest of Team Z, and the doctor started to examine Isagi. “Well…” He flashed a light in Isagi’s eyes, as was protocol, but all of them could already tell Isagi was dazed and concussed without it. “You definitely have a concussion. It’s not severe, but if you continue pushing yourself, it might be a different story. Everything else seems fine—your cheek injury should heal with time. After this match, it’s the regular story with concussions, kid. No screen time, no phones, rest a lot, and no training.”

At Isagi’s resulting protests, the doctor tutted. “No, no! It’s already bad enough that that psycho is letting you continue. In my professional opinion, you should be immediately ejected from the game, but apparently, my doctorate doesn’t matter here.” Meguru really tried not to laugh. It seemed like someone was upset with Ego. Predictably… The man didn’t have many allies… “Really, soccer players and ignorance of their own health.”

The doctor shook his head and stood up. “Even if I say don’t push yourself, you still will. But try not to mess up your head even more, kid.”

Isagi nodded slowly, eyes blearily drooping to subconsciously shield himself from the light. “I’ll try…” Clearly, Meguru thought, Isagi respected medical personnel enough to lie to them about how he’d handle his health. If he wasn’t so worried, he might’ve been amused. “Thanks.”

The doctor left, giving them about 5 more minutes to relax before the next half started.

Isagi pushed himself off the bench, eyes squinted and trained on Raichi. Meguru hysterically tried to push him back down onto the bench. “Isagi-chan, just rest for now…”

“Sorry, Bachira,” Isagi panted. “I need to…” He cleared his throat and stared at Raichi, whose attention was already on him.

“Raichi,” Isagi called. Raichi seemed more subdued, not wanting to get into a fight with an injured person apparently. Meguru almost giggled. If he thought that the concussion would make Isagi any less ferocious, he was wrong. “Your guarding is subpar. Fix it.”

“Hah?!” Raichi immediately scowled, his sharp fangs on display, though no one batted an eye at the reaction. It was far too predictable, having known Raichi for so long. “Subpar?! I’ve been working my ass off to block Reo, and you’re not even grateful! I can’t play my sexy soccer the way I want to, and now you’re going to insult the job you gave me?!”

Isagi narrowed his eyes. “I can’t be grateful if your defense is shit. Mikage is still getting by you, and most of the time, you don’t even hinder him at all.”

Raichi stalked up to him, and Meguru immediately felt his hackles rise. If he thought he was going to shake Isagi up while he was injured… Well, let’s say Meguru did not have any inhibitions about wrestling his teammates.

“You think it’s fuckin’ easy? How ‘bout we see your amazing defense then?!”

Raichi, however, did not anticipate how grumpy and angry the concussion made Isagi because the next moment his surprised face was centimeters away from Isagi’s, and he had been slammed viciously into the lockers. “You’re a huge pain in the ass. You can’t even take simple criticism. Are you so insecure that you can’t even listen to anyone’s advice?”

Raichi’s surprised face regained its harshness, spitting ruthlessly in Isagi’s face as he spoke. “I just can’t stand you !! Would it kill ya to be nice when you give advice?! All I’m fucking hearing are insults!”

Isagi pondered for a moment, blinking heavily and with much effort. He seemed to go through a whole bunch of emotions and thoughts before settling on understanding. “I guess… you have a point.” He released Raichi’s uniform and wiped his face with his jersey. “You should position yourself with Reo’s right side. He’s a beginner, so he always relies on his dominant side. If you are just in front of him or barring him from the left, he can easily slip away. Right now, you’re leaving him in your blind spot. You have good stamina, so you should be able to do it.”

Raichi scoffed, brushing off his jersey. He gave Isagi a once-over. Begrudgingly, he sighed in frustration, his next words coming out reluctantly. “... Thanks.”

Meguru hummed. Well, Isagi-chan obviously wasn’t unreasonable. And that advice was pretty sound once he calmed down. Maybe the concussion was affecting his emotions and causing quick mood swings. Meguru decided to deal with that later and focus on the game now.

He helped Isagi back to the field, even when Isagi refused, citing that he would look weak to the other team. Meguru refrained from pointing out that he had already fallen to the ground in front of all of them, so nothing would be worse than that.

Isagi started the second half by passing to Meguru. Meguru smiled but knew there were other hungry egoists on the field, waiting for their own evolutions. He passed the ball into a long arch over Gagamaru’s head. Even though he wasn’t in an ideal position to touch the ball, somehow the flexible striker managed to jump up and scorpion kick the ball to the goal. Meguru really thought it would go in until he saw Zantetsu zooming in front of the net and headbutting it out of its trajectory. 

Someone on Team V got the loose ball and sent it over to Reo, who seemed much more frustrated this half. Team V gave him worried glances as he struggled to get past his persistent stalker from Team Z. If Reo wasn’t able to pass it to Nagi or Zantetsu, they really were in trouble. Reo was the pivot point for their team.

Nagi glanced over to Reo. Reo would be able to handle it, wouldn’t he? Reo was pretty good at ball control and passing, so he could definitely handle that NPC. But what interested him right now was…

He ran up to that genius Reo pointed out on Team Z. Was he really that famous? Nagi hadn’t heard of him before, so how good could he possibly have been?

“Hey,” he said. Isagi Yoichi… it was, right? Nagi didn’t really remember names, but Reo seemed interested. More than normal… This name seemed important. Isagi looked at him in surprise, glancing in the direction he had come from in confusion. Ah, well, he was a moving person, after all… “I was curious. Because Reo said you were good.” Nagi tilted his head, observing where he had hit the guy in the head. He did feel bad, really, but it wasn’t like he was too first-rate without that injury either. “But you really aren’t that impressive, are you?”

Isagi scowled at him, but Nagi didn’t see why. He was just pointing out the truth. Isagi hadn’t done anything too flashy this entire game other than that first goal. But Nagi and Reo were barely trying in those first few minutes. Anyone could kick the ball into the net like that, and Nagi could probably do that without any practice. So was there even anything special about this guy?

“Sorry ‘bout the head thing, but even that first goal wasn’t that good either. Did you bribe the news to feature you or something?”

“For a pathetic dog, you sure have a lot of confidence,” Isagi monotonously replied. He didn’t even spare Nagi a glance, walking away from him with a small wince.

Nagi wasn’t too perceptive about other people, preferring to immerse himself in games, but if he tried, he could tell small things like… how Isagi’s fists curled into his shorts and his brows slightly furrowed in anger. Ah, so he pissed him off. Nagi didn’t understand. Did he say something wrong?

Isagi stole the ball from Reo, aided by the stalker guy’s blocking. The guy shouted gleefully, insulting Reo and preventing him from passing to him. Nagi only felt a bit miffed. They would still move on to the next selection no matter what, so he didn’t see why he had to try hard in this game.

Isagi passed to that huge orange-haired guy immediately after stealing the ball, frown lightening to a small smirk. “Alright, hero. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Isagi ran up the side of the field, imploringly looking back at the orange guy. He was way too far out of his range to try that shot again, so it was kind of predictable that he returned it to Isagi. The orange guy ran past his defenders, slipping between them as they were distracted by Team Z’s genius getting possession again. Nagi hummed in surprise. Isagi Yoichi had a more palpable aura now. It slithered out of him dangerously, promising to dominate the field. Orange guy was about 35 meters out from the goal when Isagi received the ball.

Nagi contemplated the situation. Isagi was diagonal from the orange guy and behind him on the left, separated by at least 15 meters, and his pathway to the orange guy was blocked by at least 4 defenders, some others coming from his front, too. That dribbling guy moved closer so that Isagi would have an option to pass back if he needed to.

Nagi paused. His attention fixated on Isagi as it was, he could see Isagi’s expression neutralize as his eyes seemed to spasm from how fast he observed every part of the field in his vision. Then he pulled his foot back and sent the ball in a low, curving parabola, bypassing all the defenders as they were spread out in the field. Nagi didn’t think it would make its way back to the orange guy and looked around for another potential receiver. The ball was too far forward and seemed to be too far to the left of the orange guy’s body. However, the ball curved, following an impossible parabola back to the guy’s foot.

Nagi’s eyes widened, along with everyone else’s, at this display except for the orange-haired guy, who wasted no time in hitting the ball with his no-spin technique, this time from closer to the goal. It wobbled in the air and curved, fortunately for them, just out of the net and into the pole.

But Nagi wasn’t focused on the ball anymore, as he stared back at Team Z’s genius, Isagi Yoichi. Was this the sort of thing Reo was talking about? Wasn’t that too much of an impossible shot? He wasn’t even sure if Reo could do something like that…

Nagi vaguely registered this bald guy trash-talking him as Reo recovered possession of the ball, but he was distracted by both that genius and Reo. Reo’s stalker was really provoking him. He could see the thin lines in Reo’s face become more apparent and his teeth start to grind together.

It ended exactly how it usually ended whenever someone insulted their relationship: Reo spun around to whack the guy but ended up accidentally elbowing him in the throat. Reo looked immediately regretful, but at the sound of VAR giving him a yellow card, he regained his frustration. Nagi hummed. As for Isagi, the genius was sliding back into the shadows, letting his teammates regain control of the field and hash out their weapons. That might have also been because of his exhaustion and head injury, but Nagi wasn’t sure, since he could pull something so amazing like that pass off even while injured.

That redheaded princess received the ball off of the stalker’s pass. Nagi thought this guy was just an inferior version of Zantetsu. Zantetsu was much faster, which is why they paired the two of them up. Nagi glanced at Isagi, who was watching the exchange expectantly. Isagi should have known. He shouldn’t have paired the princess up with Zantetsu; he was setting him up for failure.

But against all his previous thoughts, the princess did a self-pass and managed to outrun Zantetsu, of all people. Nagi was mildly impressed by the feat, especially when he also managed a goal afterward.

Team Z might actually be pretty good. Isagi Yoichi, the genius, and all his other teammates had some talent. But it was Isagi Yoichi at the center of it all. He hadn’t noticed before when he wasn’t looking. But Isagi was the one to orchestrate all their goals, all their movements—their whole strategy revolved around him. Isagi Yoichi…

Reo was having trouble with that stalker again. Even though they had possession, it felt like Team Z was in total control. Even Nagi could sense it—how Reo was cornered, unable to pass to Zantetsu because the redhead proved that he could be kept under wraps, and unable to pass to him because Reo needed to get past Raichi to do so. Nagi believed in Reo. Enough that he could say he thought Reo could break free on his own.

But that desperate look on Reo’s face made him freeze. He could feel it, too. How Reo was entertaining the thought of them losing since the score now somehow wasn’t in their favor and everything was against them. The tense atmosphere of the high-level game spurred him on. Nagi’s body was moving before he even knew it.

“Reo,” he called, watching his eyes zero in on him in shock. “Pass to me.”

Relief flooded through Reo’s eyes as Nagi sprinted into an open part of the field, easy for him to pass to. Nagi had never done this before, preferring that Reo send him easy passes. That had been their agreement after all, since Nagi loathed physical activity that required energy or effort. He didn’t understand why he was doing this; it was such unnecessary work. But something about the hopeful look on Reo’s face was like a balm for the hassle.

Curiosity bloomed in his heart. He wanted to know why all these geniuses loved soccer so much. Why did they fight so hard for a sport? Could that be something that he could experience one day too?

He passed it to Zantetsu, who managed to trick Chigiri enough to pass it back to him. Right in front of the goal like he asked. He lifted the ball from mid-air and sent it in a crazy angle to the side of the net, evening the score to 4-4.

He looked back at Reo, who seemed elated and confused. Then he looked at Isagi Yoichi, who was looking at him as if he were an insect that suddenly turned into a butterfly. There was only a small hint of approval before Isagi turned away to instruct his best teammates. Nagi felt his heart pound. “Soccer… is interesting, huh?” Isagi Yoichi… was interesting.

Interesting. He no longer felt bored.

Jingo, however, was not feeling some dumb shade of interest or whatever; he was just overwhelmingly angry. Chigiri had just reassigned Kunigami to defense to cover Nagi, and everyone else was looking depressingly hopeless about how easily Nagi had just won back that point. It was pissing him off. Why the hell were they switching to defense at this point in the game? It was tied! They needed to win to move on, and that wouldn’t happen if everyone was willing to switch their offensive players to defense.

“Are you stupid?!” He shouted at Chigiri, adrenaline fueling all his actions. “We need to attack! Attack, attack, attack!!” Sweat was dripping like a waterfall down his face, but all he could think about was how all his sacrifices for this dumb ass team would go down the drain along with his soccer career if they lost.

Jingo almost jumped out of his skin when Isagi calmly walked up next to him, his face still furrowed from the pain of his previous head injury, and nodded. “We’ll handle midfield. Right, Raichi? We don’t need Kunigami to handle Nagi.”

Isagi looked up at him with that same challenging little smirk that he always wore whenever he was purposefully trying to rile Jingo up. It was infuriating. Did this asshole treat anyone else like this? No! Just him. The bias!

“So attack!” He blatantly ignored Isagi. “If we don’t take the lead in the next 15 minutes, we’re screwed!! Our attacks are working!! We scored 4 points off them because I’ve been playing defense, which I hate !! I’ll kill you if all this fucking work was for nothing!! Attack until you die!! You’re strikers, right?!!”

Jingo became satisfied with the newfound determination on all their faces. Isagi, even, was looking across the field at Nagi in a new light, seriously evaluating what he could do to stop that genius. He didn’t feel bad at all, pressuring Isagi to block Nagi almost single-handedly. After all, that’s what that asshole did to him by putting him on Reo, wasn’t it?

Bachira passed to Chigiri, while Jingo continued his persistent marking of Reo. This guy was just too delusional and painfully obvious; he always looked at Nagi first before anyone else. Jingo could make a fortune on how many times he’d stopped this guy just because he glanced at Nagi.

Chigiri passed to himself again, but from this far away, Jingo could see how the lazy genius was running to the open area where he could intercept the ball. He almost lost it, if not for the shadow following Nagi across the field, hidden in his blindspot and stealthily concealing his presence.

Isagi slid to a stop in front of Nagi, a smug grimace on his face. “It’s here, isn’t it?” He turned over his shoulder to grin at Nagi. “The most opportune place to steal the ball… in your infantile analysis. I won’t let you level up so easily, prodigy.”

Nagi blinked in surprise. “Are you Team Z’s final boss?”

Isagi gave him a weird look that Jingo fully understood. Lazy guy needed to go outside or something.

Isagi passed the ball back to Chigiri, allowing the speedster to continue running at top speed without worries. “Good boy, Isagi. I’ll give you a pat on the head later.” Oh man, Jingo could just tell Chigiri was having too much fun teasing Isagi.

Team V managed to block Chigiri’s shot with just a finger, then Gagamaru’s, as well. Jingo was starting to get antsy, screaming along with the rest of the team in frustration when the ball was blocked. But then, finally, Kunigami was in the right place, right at his scoring range, and the ball miraculously landed in front of him.

Jingo screamed victoriously, the guttural feeling of his voice grating on his vocal cords. “All right!!”

5-4

There were five minutes left. They just had to keep the score like this. Or they could even score another point! Any way it went, they had to stop Nagi from scoring.

“Nice goal, Kunigami. Now,” Isagi started, his breaths coming out in short, little wheezes. Jingo gritted his teeth. This shithead had to hold it together for just five more minutes and then he could collapse on the field for all he cared. “If you want, you can fall back to help with Nagi.”

Kunigami nodded enthusiastically, lightly patting him on the back. “Thanks, I’ll help out.”

“Since Isagi looks like he’s about to keel over, that’s probably a good idea,” Chigiri unhelpfully pointed out, his smile way too smug when Isagi shot him a lethal glare.

Jingo continued playing, but those minutes felt like they lasted an eternity. It was back and forth, back and forth, with Isagi dashing all around to steal the ball back whenever they lost it, Kunigami barreling over Nagi whenever Reo tried to pass to him, and Chigiri keeping Zantetsu in check.

Their delicate balance toppled over when Zantetsu managed to pass through Chigiri’s defense, sending the ball in a long pass to their genius, running almost alone on the other side of the field. But that damn asshole was almost as tenacious as him because Isagi was running right there alongside him, silently pressuring Nagi.

Isagi was starting to look half-dead on his feet, but he still managed to produce a strategy that would counter Nagi, cutting across in front of him and leaving a large gap.

But in that one moment, Jingo saw something that he never thought he’d see. In just one second, two things—no three—happened all at once. Nagi, instead of using his feet, trapped the ball with his back, sending it bouncing over Isagi’s form and going around him. Isagi, exhaustion finally catching up to him, stumbled over air and was distracted enough that Nagi passed him unhindered. (Jingo wanted to scream. Right now?! At this important moment, you decided to trip?!) And vaguely, from the corner of his eye, Jingo could see Kuon sprint from the corner to Nagi’s direction.

Jingo couldn’t believe it. This traitor was going to fuck this up for them? After everything he’d already done? After making Jingo look like a fool for believing him over the truth? He had been blindsided by this jerk, and now he wanted to interfere where he was no longer welcome?! Jingo wanted to strangle him.

But what Kuon did shocked him instead, making a “hah?!” unconsciously fall from his mouth. Kuon tackled Nagi, right when Jingo was sure the prodigy was going to score. Kuon Wataru. Red card for malicious interference with a scoring opportunity!

Jingo watched as Isagi finally caught up, standing over Kuon with a confused, almost disgusted face. Kuon stared back up at him with hatred curling all over his glare and resentment lingering in the downturn of his mouth. Jingo scowled. If he thought this would make any of them forgive him, he was dead wrong.

“What are you doing?” Isagi asked monotonously, blankly assessing how Kuon looked seconds away from murdering him in cold blood on the field in front of all of them. “Didn’t you hate us? Didn’t you want to eject me from the game?” Isagi walked until he was looming over the kneeling form of Kuon, a laughable imitation of repentance. “Weren’t you the selfish asshole who wanted to survive no matter what?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Kuon spat. He glared up at Isagi, who mercilessly stared down at him, heated eyes boring into Kuon’s head. He tried to get up, but Isagi ignored his attempts and grabbed his hair, keeping him on the ground.

“What, then? Have you realized how weak you are?” He dragged Kuon’s head up until they were glaring directly into each other’s eyes. “Surrendering to the strong now that you see their new heights? You’re pathetic, Kuon. Don’t try to switch up on us—we all know you’re a manic bitch.”

Then he dropped Kuon and walked away without another word. Jingo honestly wanted to say ‘deserved’. That might be one of the only things that Isagi’s done that Jingo actually agrees with. And it was kind of cool, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone but himself.

Reo hurriedly rushed over to Nagi. “Nagi! Are you ok?!” He glared at Kuon, who was gathering up his strength to walk off the field after being so brutally insulted, but Reo seemed to think better of jumping him. He fussed over Nagi and let Team Z shout at Kuon.

Jingo hated Kuon, of course. But he couldn’t deny that they needed that save right there. There were only 3 minutes of overtime left, and if Nagi had scored… he wasn’t sure if they could recover from that. They had to win and completely crush Team V.

It seemed Team V had the same sentiment, as they looked murderous from the other side of the field, gunning for a win. Jingo couldn’t wait to serve them their first defeat on a silver platter.

Reo walked up for the foul kick, and Jingo lined up with Kunigami, Gagamaru, and Igaguri. They had to stop them from scoring here or Kuon’s pathetic display would’ve been for nothing.

Jingo focused on Reo’s feet as he kicked. Was it to Nagi? But no, he’d been observing Reo far too long to be fooled by that; he was going to shoot—he was desperate for a win and was losing currently. He screamed out to the others just a tad late. “He’s going to shoot!!”

Thankfully, Iemon had the same idea because he jumped and blocked Reo’s shot in the best save Jingo had seen since coming to Blue Lock (due to the fact that all their goalies were strikers). Jingo was already moving, seeing Iemon jump for the ball. They would probably get the loose ball and try to score again. But Team Z better thank their stars because their sexy soccer player, Raichi Jingo, was there to stop them.

Zantetsu groaned when Jingo’s leg blocked his shot. Jingo grinned. “This is my sexy soccer, idiot!”

He didn’t have too long to feel victorious because Nagi recovered the ball. “Fuck!”

Jingo dived forward to join the blockade made by Iemon and Igaguri. They wouldn’t let Nagi score here, his foot pulled back to slam the ball into the net. But Nagi stared at them, then slowed his foot, lobbing it over their heads.

Jingo felt fear claw at his heart. Was it over now?

Gagamaru appeared out of nowhere and kicked the ball out of the net. And Isagi, that damn genius bastard, was in the perfect spot to get the ball.

Isagi looked up, the ball at his feet, and breathed shallowly. “It’s time for our last goal.”

Isagi came face to face with Reo, as Jingo shot up with a hysterical laugh. That bastard was always keeping them on the edge, wasn’t he?

“I’ll crush you!” Reo screamed, desperation in his voice. “Even though…!”

Isagi raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment, passing to Bachira as Reo slid in to steal it from him. Isagi sprinted past the fallen Reo and received the pass back from Bachira. Jingo gritted his teeth. Team V was resorting to fouls now; they didn’t care as long as they could stop them.

Isagi used Chigiri’s speed to break through, then redirected the ball to the center, having bunched up the defenders around Chigiri. Isagi passed to Kunigami, and he was just about to shoot when Zantetsu messed it up. But Jingo had been running across the field ever since he got up. He’d be the savior of Team Z, even if he wasn’t scoring goals. He’d save their asses so that they could all win and move on together. That’s… That’s the new principle of his sexy soccer!!

“I told you to score!! I’ll kill you! Go do it!!” He slammed his foot into the ball, just barely reaching it before it would’ve gone out of bounds. He’d kill Isagi if they didn’t end up scoring after all the effort he just put into saving that goddamn ball.

Bachira caught up to the ball. Jingo knew that realistically there were three options that Bachira had: pass to Kunigami, Chigiri, or Isagi. But he didn’t give a fuck about the logistics of Bachira’s soccer. If it was that crazy guy, he’d pass to…

Isagi came around the side, 20 meters from the goal, tracing Bachira’s pass with his eyes. Those two were almost as predictable as Reo and Nagi.

Nagi was right up his ass, though, spouting some bullshit about being on the same wavelength. Jingo didn’t give a fuck. “Isagi, you shithead!! You better score!!”

“You’re the most dangerous person on this field,” Nagi flatly commented. Isagi scowled back at him, his speed dwindling enough that Nagi was starting to catch up to him. Fuck, fuck! Don’t slow down, idiot! I don’t care if it kills you! “You can’t beat me.”

Isagi swayed dangerously but a grin crept up his face. “Don’t get cocky, baby prodigy. Let me show you how real strikers win .”

Isagi rotated his body so fast that Jingo actually worried for his head. His foot connected with the ball, without even waiting for it to touch the ground or for himself to properly aim. His eyes blazed with concentration as he shot the ball directly into the net, not even giving the goalie a moment to process it.

The field went silent as Isagi Yoichi finally showed them a tinge of egoistical behavior, having orchestrated the entire play for himself to score. He lowered his foot to the ground just as Team Z began to scream and cheer in victory.

6-4

They had won by two points over what was considered to be the best team in the stratum. Jingo slapped Isagi on the back along with everyone else, too taken by the victory to think of much else but pure joy.

Kunigami separated from the crew after a few minutes of celebration, looking toward Kuon with kind eyes. Jingo hated it; did this guy have no hatred in his body?!

“Hey, Kuon! What are you doing? Get over here.”

Before Kuon could even respond and say some trash about forgiveness, Jingo grabbed Kunigami’s collar. “Hey, don’t go forgiving him so easily. He betrayed us and tried to make a deal to fuck up Isagi.” It wasn’t even worth it to say that they owed some part of the victory to Kuon because that would give him a big head over nothing. He didn’t forgive him.

Isagi, for his part, was doing a great job pretending Kuon and the rest of them didn’t exist, while Bachira and Chigiri dragged him over to the locker room. The whole time the idiot was saying he was fine when he looked like he was about to pass out. Well… if Isagi wasn’t coherent enough to go batshit on him…

Jingo socked Kuon across the face. “I’m gonna hate you forever… but at least this will make it easier to look at your face in the next selection, you piece of shit!!”

Woo, that felt good, Jingo thought, watching Kuon topple over and hold his cheek. Team Z left him there to wallow in his sorrow.

Jingo smirked. And Isagi would never have to know.

———————

Isagi had to be rushed to the infirmary, where the old, tutting doctor was waiting for him. He would probably spend the next week, the doctor said, recovering before he would be allowed to go back to training and Team Z’s room. Because of that, Team Z decided to hold off on their team celebration dinner and postpone it until Isagi could join them.

Ego explained to them that there would be a training period in between the first and second selections while the bastards at the top were training with high-end equipment. So Team Z rested assured that Isagi would be able to join them after a week or so and finish the last few days of training with them. Around then is when they’d have their celebration feast.

Nonetheless, the training was brutal, and everyone wished that they would miraculously die. They’d all become horribly familiar with each other’s throw-up and the pungent smell of sweat combined with puke. They were all sort of jealous of Isagi for missing this, but then again…

The image of Isagi scowling at them and blithely telling them that ‘if they couldn’t even do this , then what on earth were they talking about being the best strikers for?’ popped into their brains. The image of Isagi snarling and telling them to work harder and run faster because they were so shit it was painful. The image of Isagi glaring at them if they stopped for just a second to go throw up. And then insulting them for being so weak and pathetic that they needed to throw up in the first place.

Maybe not having Isagi there was better…

———————

Ego-san stopped by an hour after, having heard that he was awake. Isagi was silently staring at his hands—at the brace around his left index finger—and belatedly looked up once Ego-san stood next to his bed.

The man had an unfamiliar look on his face, something between concern and anger, both of which were uncommon looks for him. If Isagi were in a better mind space, he might’ve been scared at the uncharacteristic show of emotion.

“Brat,” Ego-san started, raking over his numerous injuries with a grimace.

Isagi knew it looked bad. It was bad. He couldn’t bear to look at his coach. For the first time, he didn’t think about not being able to play football, he thought that he might never want to play again. Pain had been fine… as long as he could continue playing football, whether for ‘enjoyment’ or pressure from obligation, he didn’t know. But now… he was sure…

He didn’t want to look Ego-san in the eyes. Somehow, he knew the man would figure it out from his pitiful eyes.

Isagi cleared his throat softly but still managed to trip over his words. The lump in his throat wouldn’t let him speak. “I’m sorry, Ego-san. I can’t play football for a while.” His throat was scratchy, dry—it hurt to speak.

Ego-san had sought him out all those years ago to train him to be the best. He couldn’t help but feel that he let the man down… not just because of these injuries but because his thoughts were slowly leaving football behind. He was almost thankful for this hospitalization so that Ego-san would finally have an excuse to drop him as an athlete and employee.

(Every time he thought about bright green grass and the white and black of his football, he could only feel wispy caresses of fingers wrapping around his legs and dark tendrils of death wrapping around his neck. It was so stupid. It was pathetic. He hated himself for feeling this way—weak. He couldn’t change a thing. So why should he feel so cold?)

But Ego-san, instead of agreeing with his statement, furrowed his brows, mouth pulling downwards. “You are more idiotic than I thought if you think that’s what I care about right now. Granted, it did cross my mind, but what I wish to know now are the names of those who did this to you.”

Isagi blinked in confusion and averted his eyes. “I don’t remember.”

“Bullshit.” Isagi’s head shot up in surprise. The audacity of this man. Even if he was right. “You’re protecting them.” He said it like it was a statement rather than an educated guess. “Why?”

Isagi drummed his functioning fingers against a part of his thigh not covered with bruises, biting his lip contemplatively and ignoring how even his own fingers on his thigh made him want to claw his eyes out of his head . If Isagi knew him at all, Ego-san wouldn’t back down until he got an answer. “The media… already has many bad things to say. I’m not protecting them—I’m protecting myself. I don’t need anyone knowing about this… much less about…” He trailed off, gesturing to his bottom half, and at the reminder, Ego-san’s face scrunched up in disgust and anger. “I… I don’t want anyone to pity me or think I’m pathetic. I want my reputation to be solely about football, even if that is also tainted by their opinions of me as a person. I can’t change what they’ve already written about me… but I can choose to never let them know past me as a player.”

Ego-san seemed to consider his words. Then he leaned against the rickety hospital bed and sighed, giving Isagi enough room to feel comfortable. Even then, Isagi couldn’t look his coach in the eyes as he subconsciously leaned away. “Then, I suppose I’ll have to think of another way to get back at them.” Ego-san looked at him imploringly, and Isagi stared back blankly. “Their names, Isagi.”

Isagi saw no reason to withhold from his coach, who now understood his wishes. He trusted him to not let anything leave this room, just as he’d trusted him with his future. “... Matsuo Takeshi, Hayashida Katashi, and… Buratsuta Aoi.”

At his own mouth forming their names, his body shuddered involuntarily, phantom hands coming back to squeeze his wrists and dig into his thighs, roughly handling them. He forcefully cleared his head.

Ego-san nodded solemnly. “Should’ve known. All Buratsutas I know are the worst.”

Isagi realized this might be the first time he’d seen Ego-san so serious, without a wide grin on his face at any point in the conversation. The heavy feeling of gloom settled on his shoulders again as he watched Ego-san write down their names and suddenly he felt a lot like crying or sleeping again, possibly both, even though he had just done both an hour ago.

Ego-san stood. “I’ll deal with it. Rest…” Ego-san contemplated something, a stern sheen over his eyes. He stared intensely at Isagi. “Should anything like this, even the smallest thing, happen like this again, you come straight to me, understand?”

Isagi nodded distantly, trusting in Ego-san’s ability to royally mess people up. He leaned his head back against his mildly uncomfortable pillows and tried to relax like his coach told him to.

“Oh,” Ego-san said. “Right, there’s a certain striker here to see you.”

“Right,” Isagi sighed absently. He had almost forgotten about Shidou-san in all his distress. Ego-san looked like he had already deduced how Isagi knew Shidou, so Isagi didn’t bother to elaborate. “Thank you, Ego-san.”

Vaguely uncomfortable at the distant, dull way Isagi thanked him, Ego-san strolled out of the room and was immediately replaced with Shidou.

Now that Isagi’s situation had set in, he didn’t have any motivation to be in a talkative mood, but he gave a small smile to Shidou anyway. He owed him a lot.

Shidou grinned and plopped down in the chair next to the bed, ever one to lighten the mood with his careless, free attitude. “Yo.”

“Hi, Shidou-san.” Isagi breathed out in relief. Somehow, having Shidou next to him, acting normally, was better than any worry or concerned gaze sent to him by everyone else in his life. His parents cried, and he didn’t blame them for that. But even the doctors and Ego-san were looking at him with that look that adults had. He hated it. It made him feel like a pitiful, useless child. He supposed that maybe he was. He couldn’t do anything to stop them. He had been useless when it mattered most.

Shidou grunted, letting the air quiet to silence. Isagi didn’t quite know what to make of him. From what he’d seen, he was respectful, kind, and reliable. But, in opposition to everything he’d seen firsthand, everyone seemed to think he was a delinquent, crazy, and unhinged. Even Ego-san seemed to be slightly wary of his visitor. Well, that man was wary of all things he couldn’t directly control or manipulate.

Isagi was content to observe him, sitting sprawled over the chair, an arm thrown over the back of the backrest and legs as wide as they could go. There were some bruises on his cheek, perhaps Isagi had missed them while he was half delirious from pain. His hands were similarly bruised, but it seemed whatever fight he was in must have ended up much worse for the other party. It had only been a day, had he already gotten into another fight, or were these lingering injuries from saving Isagi?

Isagi let his gaze rest on Shidou’s bruised eye. Shidou was also lazily watching him. Something must have shown on his face because Shidou smirked.

“I went back, y’know. And I gave ‘em the thorough beatin’ they deserve.” His words were slightly slurred. Shidou pointed to his cheek. “‘Fore they all started whining like babies, they did get me pretty good ‘ere, even cut inside my cheek.” He licked at his wound for show, while Isagi looked on in disapproval. “But, you’ll be glad to know they’ll probably be in the hospital longer than you.”

Isagi didn’t particularly believe in fighting violence with more violence. Or in physical violence in general. Of course, when provoked, it was necessary, and insults were clearly allowed, but he didn’t understand why being physical was anyone’s first response. He believed things should be solved through words first. But with how many times his words got him in trouble, maybe he should rethink this point of view.

However, for the first time, he thought violence might be sweet.

Smiling softly at Shidou, Isagi bowed as much as he could while seated. “While I don’t approve of that, I believe I should thank you for fighting on my behalf.”

“Eh, they deserved it.” Shidou waved him off, prompting Isagi to straighten again, wincing as his injuries stretched. Shidou’s eyes gave in to the pressure and looked over Isagi’s bandages, expression minutely hardening. “Disgustin’ pigs. I shoulda cut their dicks off.”

Isagi hummed noncommittally. He didn’t really know how to respond to that. Instead, he pulled his phone off the bedside table, unlocked it, and handed it to Shidou.

Shidou gave him a questioning look, not reaching out to grab the phone even when Isagi shook it meaningfully. “What, you givin’ me permission to look through your browser history or something?”

Isagi stared at him like he couldn’t decide whether to huff or slap him upside the head. “Your number, Shidou-san.”

Shidou smirked recklessly, leaning closer to receive the phone, dragging his fingers over Isagi’s innocuously while Isagi narrowed his eyes. “Already, Yo-chan? At least let me take you on a date first.”

Aren’t you supposed to exchange numbers before a date though? Isagi internally questioned, but he kept his thoughts to himself. “You wanted to have a one-on-one. It’s for that.”

“Ah, so I am taking you on a date, then.” Shidou grinned, handing the phone back over.

Isagi tilted his head slightly. “How so?” Was this part of how Shidou saw football? Despite himself, he wanted to know more about this eccentric, enigmatic striker.

Shidou leaned on his hand. His eyes seemed to change to one more full of lust, and he stared as if he were looking through Isagi to something beyond. “Conversations like that should happen on the field, Yo-chan. Anything you want to know about a player, you can find out through soccer.”

Isagi watched as Shidou stood. “Let’s meet again on the field, Isagi Yoichi.” And with one backward wave, he left.

What an interesting player. Football is a conversation between players? Isagi wasn’t sure if he aligned himself with Shidou’s vision of football. He’d never had any sort of conversation with his teammates, especially not with the ball. He didn’t particularly want to play again, but… He had promised Shidou, after all. He’d leave the rest to Shidou and trust that the man would make it worth his while.

He’d make an exception for the striker who saved him.

———————

About a day later, Isagi woke up to a sealed letter from Ego-san. It detailed exactly how Ego-san covered up the mess and how Isagi should retell the incident, should anyone ask. Enclosed inside was a newspaper and a written link to more articles on the subject.

It seemed that none of their names had been released to the public. In fact, Isagi realized his part in this incident had been completely erased. The media reported that three Ichinan high students had wandered too far and got caught in a fight with a local delinquent. Though Shidou hadn’t been named, it was clear that the authors had their suspicions, and even people in the comments online knew it was Shidou—he was that infamous. But high school fights were common, and even though they ended up in the hospital, no one had any evidence against Shidou. Additionally, the ‘anonymous’ high schoolers had relinquished the chance to press charges, so Shidou was in the clear. Isagi suspected that the charges were nonexistent because of Ego-san and his… questionable methods.

As for his side, the medical personnel were obviously going to stay quiet about it, as well as his parents. The official story was that he was taking a break from football because he got a concussion, and no one really cared enough to double-check their story, as he was just a first-year high school football player. He would be back after everything had healed, and he would stick to the story that nothing had happened besides a concussion. Ego-san had told him to come straight to him should anything like this happen again, and if it did, fuck his reputation, they were going right to the police. Isagi knew it was for the best, but getting the police involved felt like signing away his personal life to the scrutiny and judgment of millions of random strangers online.

Ego-san persuaded him (more like forced and threatened him) to go to therapy, so for the rest of his stay in the hospital, he attended daily therapy sessions, and by the end, he didn’t even feel much looking back on the incident except… he felt pathetic. But it had done wonders for his mental state, so he really only had Ego-san to thank.

As for Ichinan, they had suspended the three reluctantly, even though they would be in the hospital for the majority of the duration of their suspension. Because their football team was one of the best teams in the school, they were reluctant to reveal names, as well, which is why Ego-san was able to manipulate them into suspending them. Ego-san visited his coach and apparently threatened him, too. Isagi blanched, but Ego-san granted him the opportunity to be on the field more often. The coach would be less biased now, hopefully, and put his best player in a beneficial position. That much probably couldn’t be said for his teammates, as they still disliked him, but it was better than nothing. The school also promised to expel them should the bullying occur again. Despite their reluctance to inhibit the football team, they took bullying pretty seriously, with how much of a problem it was becoming across Japan, and would immediately take more action should it happen again, ignoring the fact that the aggressors were important athletes. It felt nice for Ichinan to have his back, but they dealt with all bullying the same way: suspend, then expel. Only two chances.

Nonetheless, despite their lackluster agreement, Isagi was more protected by the school than before, and those three would face real-life consequences if they attacked him again. He was almost proud of Ego-san for being so mature.

He had never felt as thankful as he did then to have this crazy man looking after him as his coach.

Chapter Text

Isagi last remembered feeling debilitating pain in his head and then proceeding to collapse right in front of the infirmary probably due to exhaustion and the adrenaline wearing off. He wasn’t an idiot, but he sure did feel like one when he woke up not even 2 hours later, groaning and sighing in pain.

It wasn’t even as bad as it was during the game when he had been resolutely ignoring all his stupid pain receptors, but now, with nothing to distract him, all he could focus on was the numb pain in his head. Thank fuck for painkillers. It was too quiet in this room and thankfully dim, but it was still dreadfully boring. So Isagi did what he did best—overthink.

That last goal… he had definitely achieved something, hadn’t he? He’d felt alive for the first time since before junior high. He had been free to use his teammates as he wished, predict their movements, and use their best scoring routes against them until he found the best place for himself to score. Wasn’t that… what Ego-san wanted out of them? That sort of ego to be able to work with and against the team?

He’d really managed to untangle some of his chains, hadn’t he?

Isagi smiled to himself, feeling a soft peace fall over him. Blue Lock was working , and he was learning and starting to feel like himself again. Wasn’t that proof enough for him to keep going? To selfishly push through and reach the end for himself? He wanted to see how far Ego-san and his Blue Lock could take him.

“Isagi-senpai.”

Isagi glanced toward the door. Niko shyly waved at him, head turning back and forth to see if there was anyone else in the room. Unfortunately, it was just Isagi; the grumpy old doctor was nowhere to be seen.

Niko stepped into the room at Isagi’s welcoming hum. “Niko-kun. Are you injured?”

The boy gave him an odd look as if he had said something wrong. Isagi wouldn’t have been surprised; he seemed to have said a lot of wrong things over the span of his life. “Well, no… I’m here to see you.”

“Oh.” Isagi cleared his throat. Of course. He was dumb. But he hadn’t expected the young striker to come to see him. It was such a hassle to come all the way here just to see him. Wait, why did he even know Isagi was here in the first place? Did he already watch the match footage? That was quick. “Why?”

Niko shifted on his feet, then gathered himself up and walked up to Isagi’s bedside. Isagi felt vaguely unsettled by the lack of distance between them. They hadn’t really spoken too much besides that brief interaction after their match. But then again…

“I came here to tell you something, Isagi-senpai,” Niko started, crossing his arms. “Ever since I saw your goal, and you… gave me that advice…!” Niko looked up in determination, head almost tilted back enough for Isagi to see his glassy sea-colored eyes. It was kind of cute of the kid, not that Isagi ever would acknowledge that thought. “I’ve stopped holding back and passing to others, and I started scoring my own goals!” Niko gripped the bed’s handrail, fingers turning white with the pressure, clearly thinking about his own newfound prowess. He had courage and perseverance, that was for sure, Isagi thought. “It’s thanks to you that I’m still in Blue Lock, Isagi-senpai.”

Oh, right. Isagi had almost forgotten about that. All the losers on the bottom three teams must have already left the facility, and Niko must be one of the top scorers that survived from his team. He felt a small surge of pride swell up to his chest, but he immediately buried it. This kid would have figured it out sooner or later—he wasn’t Isagi’s anything.

“But…” Niko continued, grinning up at Isagi cockily. Isagi tilted his head. He had certainly grown something since the last time Isagi had seen him. “Next time I’ll crush you myself!!”

Isagi couldn’t fight back the fond smile that crept onto his face and frankly, he didn’t want to. It was just so pure and naive. What a simple sentiment. He used to be like that, too—the plain thought of crushing and destroying others was a thrill, and it was so easy to say. Isagi wanted to keep it this way; Niko’s dreams—no, no one’s dreams should ever be tainted.

“Alright, then, Niko-kun.” Isagi grinned back at him. “Challenge me yourself. Continue improving until that time.”

Niko’s eyes literally glittered, his smile beaming up at Isagi so brightly that he felt his head injury might’ve come back in full force. “I’ll win next time, Isagi-senpai! Just wait and see!”

Isagi forced back a wince of pain from the volume and smiled. See? Now wasn’t this the best form of football there was? Free and hopeful?

“Try your best,” he encouraged lightly, too late to resist the urge to pat Niko on the head. The mane of hair on his head was actually good for something, even though it covered his entire field of sight. The kid perked up from the touch on his head and practically nuzzled into it until Isagi pulled away, scared he might get a heart attack and go too soft if this continued longer than a few seconds. He had a reputation as an asshole to upkeep anyway.

Niko gave him one last wide smile (fuck, it blinded his eyes) and left the room.

Isagi dramatically held a hand over his eyes and breathed out to calm the dull pain throbbing in his head. That kid really must have stars in his eyes or something; he was much too bright.

Not even that long later, Bachira waltzed into the room. Fuck, did he not deserve a break? He just wanted to sleep. Was this karma for wasting so much mackerel?

“Isagi-chan!”

Bachira bounced up to his bedside and practically jumped onto the part of the mattress unoccupied by Isagi’s flailing limbs. “Bachira!”

Luckily, Bachira simply stayed in place, perched mischievously on the end of the bed, taking up half of the space meant for Isagi’s legs. “You’re sure getting popular, aren’t you?” Bachira teased while Isagi pouted at him, shifting his legs farther to the side pointedly. “How many rivals does that make now?”

Isagi sighed, not even wanting to count how many people have declared petty wars on him. “Were you listening?”

“Yep!” Bachira exclaimed shamelessly, kicking his feet childishly. “But Isagi-chan…” He leaned forward with an exaggerated pout, making Isagi tilt his head curiously. “Why does he get a pat on the head, and I don’t?”

He pointedly leaned even more forward, bowing his head for Isagi to see the top of his head, as if that would make him any more likely to touch him. Isagi’s hand refused to move, his mouth dropping open slightly and face embarrassingly heating up. What sort of clichè storyline was he just shoved into? Incredulously, Isagi flexed his fingers, but his arm didn’t move.

When Isagi hesitated, Bachira pouted, looking up through his eyelashes with surprisingly flaming yellow eyes, a small, playful smile tugging at his lips. “Don’t I deserve a reward for that last pass?”

“...” Isagi felt his heartbeat spike as he maintained eye contact with Bachira while his traitorous hand reached out to plop right onto Bachira’s head. What was he even doing right now…? “... Thanks for the pass… Bachira.”

Isagi swore he could feel his face burning. What even was his life? He closed his eyes and looked away, hand retreating almost immediately after making contact with Bachira’s soft hair. Distantly, he heard a muffled squeal, and, confused and concerned, he turned back to assess if Bachira was still alive.

What he was instead met with was Bachira’s gleeful smile and fingers attacking his cheeks. But he found he didn’t exactly mind as much as he should’ve. “Ah! Isagi-chan’s so cute!” Bachira poked his cheek playfully and pulled back, satisfied. Isagi didn’t think his cheeks had ever been this red. It was humiliating. “Do it again for real next time!”

Next time?! Isagi barely survived this time…

“Anyway,” Bachira thoughtfully settled back into his carved-out slice of the bed. “Did ya figure something out in that game? You seemed more…” Bachira smiled proudly as if remembering the scene. In these moments, Isagi wondered how he looked from Bachira’s perspective. Bachira acted as if Isagi was the only thing he played for. “... Egotistical.”

Isagi hummed, looking off to the side thoughtfully. He’d really been a part of the team for once. He’d subtly pulled the strings of his teammates, maneuvering them to the plays he thought best, and cutting off scoring routes that hadn’t been beneficial to Isagi and Isagi alone. “You’re right,” Isagi whispered. “I think I learned to be a little selfish.”

Bachira laughed lightly at him, amusement in the way his mouth kept twitching randomly when Isagi looked at him in confusion. Isagi decided to ignore it.

“And…” Isagi averted his eyes, wondering how best to phrase his words. “I think… Well. I did learn to… to rely on you…” There was an awkward silence where Isagi felt as though he should’ve been speaking. His eyes widened suddenly. “And the team!” Fuck. He had meant to say he learned to rely on ‘you guys’! But Bachira really hadn’t been helping his nerves with how intensely he had been staring at the side of Isagi’s face with each word he managed to push out.

“Nyehehe, you can rely on me all you want~!” Bachira joked, laughing with a painfully wide smile.

Isagi covered his cheeks, fed up with how much his blood felt comfortable running to his face in these embarrassing moments. His throat was so dry he couldn’t even bring himself to say anything to defend himself.

“That’s a great look, Isagi-chan~! Super egotistical!”

Isagi sputtered. “Don’t be sarcastic!”

“Hehe~! Sorry!”

“Bachira!!”

Bachira was, in fact, not sorry. Isagi could tell because of the infuriatingly wide smile on his face as he dodged Isagi’s light swipes aimed at his head.

———————

“You all really didn’t have to wait for me to do this.”

Isagi unwillingly sat in the center of all the commotion in Team Z’s shared room, staring at the countless, mouth-watering plates of food laid out in front of them. Despite their promises to try to be as quiet as possible, for Isagi’s sake, as he was in the time after the main healing period that he might still be sensitive, Team Z was overwhelmingly boisterous. At least they had dimmed the lights. Isagi sat, in the seat he was forced into, with an exasperated expression.

“Don’t be such a fake-ass polite bitch if you’re eating the food!!” Raichi screamed, his own chopsticks shoved half into his throat from the way he was shoveling food into his mouth like a starved man. The way food flew out of his mouth as he spat made Isagi cringe with disgust. He shifted back.

“You would do better with some more politeness, if you asked me, Raichi.” Isagi closed his eyes, sighing as he stealthily and silently transferred another piece of meat onto Kunigami’s plate.

The poor guy wasn’t getting enough food; he was way too nice, thinking of everyone else before himself and making sure everyone else got their fill before him. Such an eldest brother archetype. But Isagi feared that with these ravenous beasts he called a team, Kunigami would regret thinking of them first when all the food was gone, and he hadn’t touched his plate. As it was, Isagi had to slap Naruhaya’s fingers whenever they tried to worm their way past his defenses to Kunigami’s unattended plate.

“Hah?!” More food splattered across the table. Isagi was so close to jumping across the table and slamming his mouth shut. But he had to remain calm and not get into any physical altercation that would potentially hinder his healing process.

“Just eat with your mouth closed, idiot,” Chigiri scoffed, wiping some of the spat-out food away from his portion of the table with disgust in the way his lips curled downwards. “Your saliva is getting all over the food.”

Bachira laughed, completely ignoring the commotion and turning toward Isagi next to him with the fork for his meat in his hand. “Isagi-chan~!”

Isagi sweatdropped. He knew Bachira too well by now, unfortunately. “Wait- Bachira…”

“The monster says, ‘Go for the goal’!” Bachira lunged at him, jabbing the meat into his mouth playfully. Isagi accepted it without too much of a fight; it was Bachira, after all. “Goal!”

Chigiri was definitely giving them a look now, not that Isagi cared too much—the meat was delicious. He hummed in delight, silently thanking Bachira and sitting back up with a small smile. Meat really was the remedy to all pain.

“Oh wait,” Chigiri blurted out, perking up like he had remembered something. He whipped around until he was staring intently at the two of them. “Didn’t you compliment Bachira for giving you a pass? Where’s the praise for my goal?”

Isagi blanched. “Wh- How did you know that?”

“Bachira told me,” Chigiri said nonchalantly, still looking far too entranced by the idea of Isagi complimenting him.

“Bachira!”

There were far too many gossipers on this team…

“Nyaha~ It’s ok, Isagi-chan! You don’t have to hide it!”

“Hide what ?!”

“Isagi…” Chigiri put down his chopsticks, so evidently, this conversation was serious for him. He leaned forward desperately as if Isagi would pay more attention to him with the forced proximity. “Didn’t I do good with my goal?! Even Kunigami got something after his goal!”

“... Sure…” Isagi guiltily looked away. “Bachira, that s0lo goal was amazing.”

Isagi avoided eye contact with Chigiri, subconsciously slapping Kunigami on the upper arm to remind him to eat. The aforementioned limb twitched in shock and the body connected to it frowned but complied.

“Bachira again?! What about me, Isagi?!”

“Oh, Raichi, too,” Isagi offhandedly said, randomly reminded of the player’s key moments. “You had some… good saves. It was pretty well done. Your performance.” Fuck, it was so awkward to compliment him and not insult him for whatever thing he presumably fucked up. Unfortunately, he had done pretty well in that last game.

Raichi paused in his endless shoveling of food into his mouth and gave him a long look… Then he promptly broke out into a flurry of frantic movements, cheeks weirdly red. Gagamaru had to slap him on the back when he inevitably choked on some piece of food in his throat. Isagi decided to ignore the chaos on the other side of the table when Chigiri squawked, offended.

“Even Raichi ?! Isagi, do you hate me?!”

Isagi picked up a piece of fried chicken, eyes trained on the sauce dripping off of it, pink slowly making its way onto his face. “... You said some embarrassing things on field.” The memory of Mikage side-eyeing him after he was called a ‘good boy’ on field replayed in his mind. He cringed. (Not like Mikage had any room to judge, what with how he was with Nagi in public .)

“I did not!”

“... You did,” Isagi stated with a tone that signaled to the rest of the table that the conversation was over. Chigiri whined, pouting, but didn’t push it.

Nonetheless, Isagi did sort of feel bad, so he picked up two pieces of gyoza and placed them hesitantly on Chigiri’s plate as an apology, ignoring the way Chigiri brightened up and happily ate them.

———————

The next few days of training went just as anyone had expected. Bachira and Chigiri babied Isagi while Isagi hissed at them to stop coddling him and actually train, damn it. Kunigami practically lived in the weight room, sometimes accompanied by a restless Isagi who was trying to hide from his relentless babysitters. Isagi glared at anyone (Igaguri) who tried to make lame excuses to sit out from practice. Kuon excluded himself from the group. (If Isagi had seen the lingering bruise on his face, he hadn’t said anything.) Raichi pushed himself so hard that he was even more snappy than usual. And everyone was exhausted.

Isagi found himself strangely restless. He’d lay awake at night, tapping his fingers anxiously when he couldn’t actually fall asleep. After a week of no activity, he was more than ready to do things and after such a long time away from his analyzing, he was experiencing major withdrawal symptoms. He hadn’t posted a video in such a long time—he was actually worried that people on the Internet would think he was dead. He hadn’t known that joining Blue Lock would be a glorified technology cleanse, so he hadn’t considered giving anyone a warning. And that included his Discord friends… he hoped they weren’t planning his funeral. The craziest of them was surprisingly Itoshi Sae (Isagi hoped the man wasn’t boarding a flight to come investigate his disappearance…). Although… technically, he had enough points to get his phone back. He’d ask for it after the start of the next selection.

Isagi had also been overly stressed about Ego-san’s assignment that he hadn’t had any time to work on since he got that stupid concussion, so the last few days, he’d barely gotten any sleep trying to finish the reports on all the major cast. Ego-san told him to take it easy, but Isagi didn’t know the meaning of rest. Especially when that had been all he was doing for the past week. He was ready to do things.

He might have overdone it, he thought, waking up to Ego-san telling them to get ready to meet the other stratums. His limbs were heavy with sleep and his body almost refused to move. His head pounded with that pain that only came from staying up way too late and getting less than an hour of sleep. He felt his eyelids trying to close even when he struggled to push himself into a seated position. Not to be dramatic, but he felt dead. The lingering concussion must be contributing to his lethargic state.

It also didn’t help that Bachira, notorious for sleeping through important announcements, was ignoring Ego-san’s speech and was clinging to him like he wanted Isagi to fall back asleep. It was tempting… Very tempting…

Fuck, he couldn’t do it.

Isagi let his body flop back onto the futon. He could get ready in less than a minute if he had to. He just wanted 5 more minutes of sleep.

“Isagi- Oh come on!” Chigiri’s voice filtered into Isagi’s ears, but he shuffled under his blanket a little more, mumbling nonsense. “Kunigami, you wake them up!”

“What? Me?”

“Isagi’s gonna smack me if I do it. He likes you enough to not be mad at you!”

“Oh, ok. I’ll do it.”

Isagi felt his shoulder get lightly pushed.

“Noooooo,” he complained, pulling the blanket over his head.

“Isagi, we have to go,” Kunigami pleaded, pulling the blanket down from over his head. “Bachira, too. Wake up.”

“Kya~! But Isagi-chan’s too cute like this!”

“You were awake the whole time?!”

“Only since a minute ago, Chigirin!”

Isagi groaned. “You’re all too loud.”

“Oh, that’s good, then you’ll wake up,” Kunigami reasoned. “You still have to change. We have to go in 3 minutes.”

…

“Bachira, why don’t you wake him up?”

“Fine, fine! Isagi-chan~!” Bachira plopped down into the futon and blew into his ear.

Isagi jolted, heart beating erratically all of a sudden from the sharp, fast stream of air into his ear. “Fuck! Don’t do that!” He slapped his hand over his ear protectively.

“He’s up!” Bachira sang victoriously, jumping around Isagi’s stretching form and sticking out his tongue at the other two.

Isagi huffed, relenting to the horrible world of the living, dragging himself up unsteadily. He felt like he had just been dropped from several stories above the ground and into a pit of pointy forks. He grumbled in lieu of saying anything substantial to the people who dutifully woke him up and forced himself to go change into his stupid tight Blue Lock bodysuit.

“Damn, what happened to you?” Raichi asked, but it was more like an insult if Isagi was being honest. He was giving Isagi a disgusted once-over like Isagi was particularly ugly or something. Isagi scowled. As if Raichi wasn’t similarly unpleasant to look at for too long. “You look terrible.”

Isagi glared, snatching his bodysuit from his locker and slamming the door.

Kunigami sighed, seeing that Isagi refused to answer. “Isagi didn’t come back until 6 AM…”

“Yeah, betcha you’d look terrible if you did that, Raichi! Well… you look terrible all the time anyway!”

“Naruhaya, I’ll punt you across the fucking room!”

“Wait- Raichi!”

Kunigami lunged for Raichi, holding him back from under his armpits as he screeched and kicked at Naruhaya, who gleefully stuck his tongue out, only making Raichi angrier. “You little fuckin’ shit-”

Chigiri and Bachira, those drama-loving suckers, goaded Raichi on, booing Kunigami for stopping the altercation. Even Kuon seemed vaguely intrigued by the silly fight.

Isagi blinked at the scene. He was too fucking exhausted to deal with this right now. He vigorously rubbed his eyes, walked to the door, and left without any concern for the chaos taking place in the room behind him.

He got about three steps away from the room before hearing an indignant yell from inside. “Wha- Isagi!!”

He shrugged and kept walking, making sure to hold onto the handrail going down the stairs lest he fall flat on his face. He was starting to feel more awake with each thunderous thump behind him, signaling the frantic arrival of his foolish teammates.

“Isagi!” Chigiri shouted, finally catching up to him. He was first and alone, what with his speed. Isagi glanced back to see a dog pile of bodies scrambling all over each other and screaming at each other and generally being chaotic. Isagi pretended he saw nothing. “You left without saying anything!”

“It’s better to avoid things like that,” Isagi commented, pointing vaguely to the stampede behind them, growing closer if the increasing volume of screams was anything to go by. Chigiri hesitated then nodded knowingly.

“I see… Are you ready to meet the others?”

Isagi tilted his head. Oh, right. No one knew about Ego-san’s logical ruse yet; they all still thought there were better players waiting in the basement. That was crazy, though, because, not to be a self-inflated arrogant ass, but why would he be in the lowest stratum if it were true? That was true for even people like that genius on Team V.

Isagi slowly rolled his shoulders, trying to stimulate at least some part of his body to alertness. He didn’t want to look this way in front of Shidou. He’d probably pick a fight with someone on his team for some inane reason like they were keeping Isagi from sleeping.

“Well, I suppose so.” Isagi ignored the way his body flinched when a screeching body was flung in between the two of them, shooting so far past them that it was comical. “...”

The two of them resolutely decided to walk past Naruhaya, who seemed only a bit winded, on the ground.

“Anyway, there are some people I’m looking forward to seeing,” Isagi continued, trying to stop his traitorous brain from immediately conjuring up Shidou’s face. Belatedly, he realized that he would also see Itoshi Rin. Fuck.

“Isagi…? You good? You just went a bit pale.”

“Totally good…”

He was fully awake now.

“Naruhaya! I’ll-!”

“Shut up!” Isagi shouted, whipping around to the dysfunctional team. The various troublemakers froze in their… interesting positions, some half-poised to throw a punch and others all over one another in ways that Isagi could only guess at how they ended up like that. “Would it kill you to try to look like a strong team heading in there?!”

“Yeah, don’t embarrass us, guys,” Naruhaya chimed in, standing next to Isagi with his arms crossed like he hadn’t just instigated the entire situation. Isagi gave him a heavy side-eye. “If you keep going at each other, Isagi will be mad.”

Isagi rolled his eyes.

Nonetheless, the team got into a more confident position, stretching excitedly and stating their desire to beat the hot-shots at the top.

Isagi, despite the fact that he absolutely knew there was no top stratum, indulged in their declarations and nodded along with them when they shouted, “We’re gonna win and crush ‘em all!”

The first thing he noticed when he stepped into the room was that there were already a lot of people there. Maybe a bit pathetically, he had hoped that they would get there first so that Isagi could gradually acclimate to being in the same room with hundreds of other people, but they were literally the last team to get there. A shiver went down his spine, but it was different this time, he reassured himself.

And yet, it wasn’t. There were so many eyes, so many judging stares, and so many harsh words. They all hated him—he knew it. His breath staggered as his eyes darted around the room, trying to land on a familiar head of hair. But there were way too many tall people here- Oh! Tall people.

He stepped nervously behind Kunigami’s large build to hide himself, joined by Bachira, who seemed to sense his discomfort. Bachira stood near him like he had invented the meaning of moral support just for that moment. Isagi’s eyes softened, immediately feeling less trapped in this hostile environment.

Ego-san went on and on about his trickery (and he even mentioned Noel Noa!) while the gathered strikers yelled at him. Isagi just kept scanning the crowd, trying to see if he could spot those strikers that he’d studied that had stood out to him. Right, there was that one with pink braided hair, the one with light blue hair-

…

Why did they all have such colorful hair colors?

Was there some sort of correlation between hair color and football skills? If so… should he consider dying his hair…?

Ego-san shut off his camera dramatically, leaving them to process the fact that it would be an individual battle from here on out. Even Isagi hadn’t been expecting that specifically… Well, he had predicted that Ego-san would test them individually, but football was… basically built on teams, so he wasn’t sure how far they’d get individually. Perhaps they’d have to team up later on in the selection.

He watched as people milled around nervously, waiting for something to happen as they all murmured uncertainly to each other. What a bunch of pathetic sheep, Isagi thought. But then again, he didn’t want to go first either. Having all those eyes converge on him? Again ? No way. He wanted to go last so that no one would see him. Or maybe going in the middle was the most inconspicuous?

A striker emerged from the crowd, confidently stalking up to the ball cart and dropping a ball at his feet. Isagi glanced at the figure then whipped his head back around. Nope, nope, nope. He pulled Bachira in front of him, too, but it was too late. Rin made direct eye contact with him, even as Isagi tried his best to squat and duck as subtly as possible behind Bachira.

Rin glared at him then turned around to execute two of the most flawless kicks he’d ever seen. Seriously, this kid…

Following the pinpoint shot and the ricocheting of the two balls off each other, he heard the awed whispering from all around the room. Isagi supposed that they were correct in displaying their awe. It was amazing. Unfortunately, his questionable personality and morals ruined the whole aesthetic.

Rin gave him one last harsh, pointed look before snapping at the poor automatic door to open already. When he entered, the screen showed his name, and predictably, there were surprised murmurs about Itoshi Sae ’s achievements. Rin would probably blow a fuse if he heard any of that.

He sighed and came out from behind Bachira, who gave him an odd look but shrugged. “You know that guy, Isagi-chan?”

“Nope. Not at all,” Isagi said. You know… like a liar.

Based on the knowing look on Bachira’s face, he clearly didn’t believe him. Isagi simply smiled nervously and looked around the room so he didn’t have to look at Bachira’s strangely piercing eyes.

As if fate hated him, he made eye contact with bright blue eyes. He was standing with his team, off to the side of the room, leaning on the wall and staring at him like they were mortal enemies, and he wanted nothing more than to rip his head off. Isagi shivered; the feeling was mutual. As long as he didn’t have to go anywhere near that son of a bitch, though, he’d be fine.

They were in a stalemate, the two of them stuck glaring at each other as time seemed to slow. Isagi’s heart stopped. Then Aoi started to mouth something to him. Capital NO . He did not want anything to do with that. He immediately forced himself to spin around and show the asshole his back. That was not worth his time.

Just as he was getting his heart under control, a heavy weight landed on his shoulders. He only knew a few people who had the courage to do that, so he reasonably guessed who it was before he even looked up. “Shidou-san…!”

Isagi paused, coughing in embarrassment. His tone was noticeably lighter. He sounded too excited, didn’t he…?

Shidou laughed at him, pulling him closer by his shoulders. “Missed me that much, huh?”

Isagi pouted, taking the time to give him a once-over. He seemed healthy and not exhausted like the rest of them. Well, he knew Shidou had a pretty high level of endurance beforehand, too. “My company was lackluster in comparison.”

“So mean, Isagi-chan~!” Bachira suddenly jumped into him, hugging his arm on the side of his body that Shidou wasn’t pressed up against. Bachira looked up at Shidou with a challenging grin. “Who’s this?”

Isagi wasn’t really sure what was happening. The two of them were glaring at each other like hissy, territorial cats. Isagi could only imagine sparks were flying between their gazes like in anime. “... Right.” This was such an odd situation. “Bachira, this is Shidou Ryuusei. He’s my…” Well, what was he supposed to say? Savior from his bullies? This really was so weird.

“-I’m his friend from before Blue Lock,” Shidou interrupted, pointedly bragging to Bachira. His voice was almost like a prideful purr as he tightened his grip around Isagi’s shoulders. His smirk was sharp and dangerous, eyes narrowed at the player occupying Isagi’s other side.

Bachira giggled, but there was a sharp tinge underneath the innocent laugh. His eyes sharpened like they did when he was in the zone to score a goal, and his eyes almost seemed to glow. “I’m Bachira Meguru. I’m Isagi’s partner .”

“We’re more than partners~” Shidou shot back, leaning over Isagi’s frame to tower over Bachira’s curled form. “At least I’ve known him for longer than a month .”

Bachira smirked deviously, nuzzling his face into Isagi’s arm. “Really? I doubt you’ve ever slept with Isagi-chan.”

Isagi, for his part, was entirely unamused. The two of them said such misleading things.

Shidou’s eye twitched, and his arm loosened from Isagi’s shoulders, and that was a telltale sign that he was going to start a fight. Isagi sighed exasperatedly, pushing away from them. He didn’t fancy being a tug-of-war rope.

“Oh? Are we squaring up? Come on, then, you fake-baked salon freak-”

“I’ll have you know this tan is all-natural, blunt bangs!”

“Chigiri, when are you thinking of going in?” Isagi asked, approaching Chigiri, who was looking increasingly distressed the more he neared him. Isagi shrugged. Maybe this was how crazy football geniuses started friendships. As long as no one actually got hurt.

Chigiri cleared his throat. “You don’t think… you should sort that out?”

“It’ll be fine. They’re bonding. See?”

Isagi turned around, and now, the two of them were at each other’s throats. “...”

He turned back around. “Chigiri, I take back anything bad I ever said about you. You are such a godsend.”

“I’m glad you see it too,” Chigiri teased, grinning. He flicked a strand of his hair over his shoulder playfully. It was unfair how pretty this man could be.

Isagi chuckled and stood next to Chigiri contemplatively. “You seem like the type to want to go in early. Am I right?”

Chigiri nodded, twirling a piece of hair around his fingers when Kunigami decided to join their little conversation circle. “I’d like to go earlier. There might be some sort of advantage to finishing first.”

Kunigami nodded, crossing his arms. “Yeah. I don’t want to end up going last and then potentially miss out on something.”

Isagi hummed, rubbing his finger over his lip in thought. “I was thinking of going last, but I guess that makes sense. I’ll try to go in the middle. But…” His eyes scoured over the crowd. There were still so many people here. Would his name be displayed on the screen for long? He chewed on the tip of his finger.

“Come on babe, loosen up~!” Shidou teased, coming back over with Bachira in tow, the two of them looking miraculously put together despite the fact that Isagi saw them literally pulling each other’s hair only a few minutes ago. “You’re gonna work yourself into a fit at this rate.”

“I’ll manage,” Isagi sighed, allowing Shidou to drape himself back around his shoulders and smirk victoriously at Bachira, who pouted petulantly at the display.

“We’ll go in first, bumblebee,” Shidou drawled proudly, practically dragging Isagi by his shoulders to the gate. Bachira puffed out his cheeks angrily, shouting at Isagi to wait for him on the other side.

Isagi hissed and flailed in alarm as they neared the gate. “Shidou-san! I didn’t want to go in so early!”

Shidou smirked down at him. “Scared~?” The hand around his shoulder suddenly felt more weighted, the calming force of protection blanketing over him. “You’ll be fine. More than fine~ I’m here, aren’t I?”

Isagi calmed petulantly, letting Shidou guide him to the gate in silence. He turned his head to face Shidou, lips minutely curling up as he shook his head fondly. “Such a sweet talker.”

Previously, strikers had been entering one at a time, but the two of them walked through together. Isagi could practically hear Ego-san’s sigh, but he preferred it this way—he wouldn’t have to face all those eyes himself.

The gate almost reluctantly opened for the two of them, displaying their names and caricatures as they entered into a narrow hallway that led to many different doors. Presumably, they would have to go to different ones that weren’t currently occupied.

Shidou turned to him suddenly, arm slipping from around his shoulder. Isagi found that he minded that, only just a little bit, as the heat slowly dampened to a dull tingling where they had touched. As the heat seeped away, Shidou brushed a rough-padded finger underneath Isagi’s eye, sending a new wave of tingling across Isagi’s skin.

“Stayin’ up late, are ya?” Despite the teasing, Shidou knew him best. And so he knew that admonishing him about his horrendous sleep habits would not do a damn thing to make him sleep earlier. Nonetheless, he still tried. “If ya don’t get enough sleep, I’ll easily beat you, Yo-chan~”

Isagi couldn’t stop the small smile from breaking out across his face. “You wish.” He pushed Shidou away playfully. “Alright, let’s go. Good luck.”

“See ya on the other side, Yo-chan!’

Isagi walked through one of the doors and found himself in a small, empty football field. A cannon shot a ball at his feet almost immediately, and Isagi effortlessly trapped it, already seeming to gather a sense of what he needed to do here. A hologram materialized in front of him as a goalie, and before Isagi could waste another second, he shot at the projected net, precisely aiming in the top right corner. As it bounced off the wall, another projection came up above the net, showing the remaining time he had left and ‘clear after 99 goals’.

Isagi rolled his shoulders, forcing the slight headache from exhaustion back into the depths of his mind. He had a stage to completely demolish.

———————

Isagi stepped out of the room from a different door and entered a similar room to the one that all the stratums met in before the 100-shot challenge. There were already some people milling around or silently keeping to themselves at the walls.

At the top of each wall were directions to form three-man teams to move on. Ah… Isagi saw the issue here. Some people were too antisocial and arrogant to team up with. ( The call is coming from inside the house , Isagi heard a voice that suspiciously sounded like Shidou say.)

But Isagi already had Shidou in mind, and Bachira would surely come, too, so he wasn’t going to waste any energy attempting to gather enough courage to talk to random strangers. He leaned against the wall to wait.

This would be the first time Shidou and him were officially teaming up. Passing to each other alone in the middle of a winter-coated football field didn’t exactly count, and they didn’t have any opponents then either. A thrill ran through his body at the thought of playing together with Shidou.

Adding Bachira to the mix would also be interesting. The two oddly meshed well in terms of personality, even though they initially were (debatably still are ) hostile. But going beyond that, their football skills might even be a good match. All three of them. With each of them having the ability to score and both Isagi and Bachira adept at midfielding, they covered practically all of the important things. Isagi was confident in their ability to work together.

The doors opened again, and this time, it was no surprise that Shidou entered, only a minute or so after him. Shidou picked him out of the crowd immediately and beelined over to him with a proud smile.

“Finished already?” He whistled, causing people around them to give them annoyed looks. Isagi didn’t care. “Waited for me for long?”

Isagi shook his head. “I only just got here too.” He pointed at the sign above their heads, watching as Shidou read it, a smile slowly spreading across his face.

“Us and who?”

Isagi huffed out a laugh. Shidou just assumed they’d be teaming up. Not that Isagi was ever considering not teaming up with Shidou, but still. “I was thinking Bachira.”

Shidou crossed his arms, frowning childishly. “Seems like you met some interesting people on that team.”

Isagi smiled. He felt an urge to smooth over the lines on Shidou’s face, but at the last moment, redirected his hands to Shidou’s suit. He brushed off imaginary dust and smoothed the wrinkles from the 100-shot challenge. “... And you don’t like him, is that it?”

“Who said I was just talking ‘bout him?”

“The fact that you fought with him the entire time we were with Team Z.” Shidou laughed, relenting. “So…? Do you dislike him?”

Shidou hummed childishly. “He’s not terrible.”

“Oh?” Isagi felt his smile turn sharp as he challengingly stared up into Shidou’s eyes. “Did he get your approval then? It works out—I wanted to play alongside him some more. He’s good.”

Shidou narrowed his eyes at him, smirking dangerously and leaning into his space. “Are you provoking me?” And yet, he didn’t seem the least bit provoked by what he had said at all, almost enjoying their exchange too much.

“How am I provoking you? We’ll still be on the same team no matter what,” Isagi said, tone genuine.

Shidou smirked smugly, leaning back and puffing out his chest. “Damn straight. I still have first dibs.”

Isagi laughed and pulled his hands away from Shidou. They stood in silence, watching the other strikers walking around before Isagi spoke again.

“You’ve been busy, I’ve heard,” Isagi commented offhandedly, crossing his arms. “Ego-san mentioned you were the top scorer for the first selection.”

“Hell yeah!” Shidou planted his forearm on the wall above Isagi’s head, beaming with pride. “He mention anything else?” At Isagi’s amused headshaking, Shidou continued. “I’ve missed having competent teammates, Yo-chan~”

Shidou towered over him, looking at him pointedly. Isagi felt the need to point out: “We’ve never actually been on a team together, Shidou-san.”

With Shidou this close, the world collapsed to just the space between them, and for once, Isagi wasn’t thinking about all the eyes probably on them and the opinions of others. Shidou’s large frame blocked out everything unsavory, and his arresting smirk made Isagi forget everything that bothered him. Isagi had to physically crane his neck backward to look up at him. Oddly, that made something foreign flip in his stomach as he continued evaluating the player in front of him.

“We’re changing that now, aren't we, babe?”

Fuck, someone needed to call back that grumpy old man; he swore his heart must be malfunctioning with how fucking fast it was beating. Maybe he should even check out his stomach; he felt nauseous from how many times he’d felt something flip inside him.

Isagi covered his face with one hand and slightly pushed Shidou away with the other. “You ass, you’re doing this on purpose.”

Shidou smirked wider if that was even possible, becoming even more smug. “Doing what ?”

But before Isagi could formulate a response (His heart was beating way too fast, and his mouth was dry—what was wrong with him?! There was no way he’d ever be able to properly respond to something like that in this state…), Shidou’s attention suddenly diverted, looking at someone across the room whose eyes were intensely trained on their interaction.

Isagi followed his line of sight and flinched. This guy was really making himself a menace to Isagi everywhere, wasn’t he? He inched closer to Shidou subtly as Aoi seemed to narrow in on them now that they were paying attention to him.

Shidou licked his teeth in sadistic excitement, cracking his neck. “I oughta go over there and knock his teeth out.”

Isagi shifted, vaguely uncomfortable with the blatantly violent intent but slightly flattered nonetheless. He placed a hand on Shidou’s chest, lightly pushing him back when Shidou tried to advance. “No. Please don’t get kicked out for something like this. There’s no need to fight in the first place—he’s not doing anything.”

Shidou didn’t acquiesce, giving him a ‘really’ look. Isagi sent back a harsh glare, putting more pressure on the hand on Shidou’s chest. Before it could get more serious, two players were approaching them with a soft cough to break the tension.

Isagi blinked and glanced over, seeing Mikage and his genius from Team V. He blinked again. He really hoped that they weren’t there for what he thought they were.

Nagi lazily extended a hand for show, casually asking, “Hey, Isagi Yoichi. Wanna team up with us?”

Isagi could understand why they were attracted to playing with someone like him. He’d pretty well round out their team, but what they were assuming was that he’d leave Shidou to join them. There was no way in hell he was ever passing up a chance to team up with Shidou for some newbie losers.

He briefly glanced at Mikage, seeing his mouth set in determination as he stared almost dreamily at him. He didn’t know what he did to catch Mikage ’s attention, but it seemed the newbie duo were both on the same page. Mikage even opened his mouth to confirm. “You were amazing in our match together, Isagi-san.”

Isagi opened his mouth to respond, but Shidou was already glaring at them, eyes blazing.

Shidou pushed himself off the wall, fully facing the newcomers, cracking his fingers against his palm threateningly. “You have some balls to ask him that right in front of his partner .”

“Ah, is it like that?” Nagi questioned lazily, blinking at him before looking at Isagi as if he wanted confirmation. Confirmation of what exactly, Isagi didn’t know.

He sweatdropped. “Huh, what-”

“Come on, Nagi, you heard the guy,” Mikage anxiously whispered. “He already has a team.”

Nagi stood still for a moment. He ignored Shidou’s lethal glare and stared straight at Isagi. He raised a finger to point at Isagi. “Then… I’ll join your team.”

Mikage looked absolutely heartbroken, face crumbling as Nagi arrogantly decided for all of them. Isagi kind of felt bad for him. To have this douchebag as a best friend must have been rough. But before Mikage could even protest, Isagi was butting in. “Absolutely not.”

“Huh, why?”

Fuck that guy, even his surprised question didn’t sound that surprised, only monotone and lazy. How could one person be so motionless and unmotivated?

Shidou stood off to the side, probably sensing his incoming insult attack.

“Why? I don’t want to be a fucking dogsitter, that’s why,” Isagi snapped. “Mikage-kun must be blessed with patience to be able to deal with a high-maintenance, lazy, selfish asshole like you. I would’ve even considered Mikage-kun if he asked, but there’s no way in hell I’m dealing with your shit.”

Shidou clapped dramatically. “Whew~ That’s real sexy, Yo-chan.”

Nagi stepped forward insistently, blatantly ignoring his previous words and invading his personal space. “I want to make an effort. You won’t have to look after me. Just help me improve with soccer.”

He leaned in way too close, his face practically inches from Isagi’s as his eyes lit up with the familiar fire of determination he’d seen in many other football players. Isagi staggered back, surprised at the proximity, trying to hide how uncomfortable he was.

Shidou’s smirk dropped, and he lunged forward, slamming Nagi’s chest back forcefully and scowling. “Hey, back the fuck up. I’ll bash your head in.”

“Shidou-san, don’t say that-”

“Nagi!” Mikage nervously pulled him back in a flash. “Don’t provoke him! He’s the guy who…”

Isagi was still in the process of using his full body weight to push Shidou back from attacking Nagi, who looked about half-ready to fight back, when the door opened again, and Bachira skipped through.

It took the striker all of two seconds to figure out what was going on as he sped over.

“Isagi-chan~!” Bachira hugged him from the side, mindful of Shidou’s still poised-to-strike figure. “You waited!”

“Of course,” Isagi replied, relieved. He sent an encouraging look to Mikage and patted Shidou on the chest reassuringly. “I wanted to play with you. Let’s get going.”

Bachira took the hint, wrapping his arm around Shidou’s bicep and dragging him through the gate ahead of them, pretending he didn’t hear Shidou’s indignant yelling. Right before Bachira and Shidou disappeared, Bachira stuck his tongue out over his shoulder at Nagi and laughed gleefully.

Isagi sighed and turned back to the duo who were now surrounded by an awkward air after the reveal that Nagi was willing to leave Mikage for him. What a mess.

“Mikage-kun.”

Mikage looked up at that, eyes still broken and thoughts spiraling. Isagi pressed his lips together. So had it been more than just football to him, then? Nagi should really get it together and apologize for the sake of their relationship.

“As a competitor, I advise you to think about your own improvement, not just Nagi’s. It’s important to learn in different environments with different people.” At Mikage’s hopeful expression, Isagi continued but averted his eyes. It was difficult to look at those awe-filled eyes for too long. “You have potential. I hate watching you stifle it because of the presence of overwhelming talent.”

And with that, he ignored Nagi’s imploring gaze and walked through the gate after his two energetic strikers.

———————

“No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Fuck no.”

“You lukewarm coward,” Rin spat back, unamused by Isagi’s insistent refusal. He grabbed Isagi’s wrist, yanking him toward Rin’s ferocious glare without any regard for Isagi’s useless flailing and hissing. “Fight me properly.”

“Hah?” Shidou stomped over, slapping his hand over Rin’s wrist in annoyance. “You itchin’ for a fight?”

His smirk only widened threateningly when Rin glanced at him briefly then completely ignored him to glare at the side of Isagi’s head again. “How long are you going to avoid me? And you call yourself a striker?”

“Yo, don’t ignore me, ‘No.1’,” Shidou growled, hand tightening around Rin’s wrist, leaning in dangerously, smirk dropping with the continued nonchalance. In the background, Bachira started cracking his knuckles and neck, grinning with (almost) insanity and stretching his arms out in front of him.

Isagi managed to yank his arm away from Rin with a harsh tug, bringing the striker’s attention back to him briefly. Isagi rubbed his wrist and ignored him. Rin glared at Shidou, who was still borderline crushing his wrist with his terrible grip. “Get lost, antenna head. I’m not talking to you.”

Shidou barked out a sharp laugh, and without any hesitation, there was a foot flying at Rin’s face. Rin, having honed his skills to max, dodged in record time, leaning back just enough for Shidou’s foot to whiz by his face. A manic laugh filled the air as Shidou jumped up, spinning around with menacing speed to send his foot flying at Rin’s face again.

[Distantly, there were quite a few loud screams from Tokimitsu, and Aryu kept posing to erase the unstylish effects of the fighting, trying to drown out the sounds of aggression with his style. No one was surprised that it wasn’t working, and the two of them remained sidelined because no one cared about them… In the face of the amusing show that was Shidou and Rin fighting, of course…]

Isagi’s breath caught in his throat. “Shidou-san!” He ran forward, ducking under a stray limb and wrapping his arm around Shidou’s torso, simultaneously shouting, “Stop-!” His eyes frantically scanned the room, landing on Bachira’s joyfully jumping form. “Bachira, some help?!”

He realized how fast his blood was pumping and how wide his eyes were blown open only after Bachira helped him drag Shidou away from a scowling Rin. “What are you? A rabid dog?”

“Like you have any room to talk, you fuckin’ brocon!”

Isagi watched in real time as a vein on Rin’s temple popped out in annoyance. Bachira, despite being the one to hold onto Shidou’s other arm, cheered like it was a particularly entertaining television show. “Yeah! The monster says ‘Fight!’ Fight!” Bachira’s smile was way too innocent and wide for the fact that they had almost just witnessed a crime that he was instigating.

He needed new friends.

“Alright, that’s enough, you lumps of talent.”

Thank fuck for Ego-san, Isagi thought, releasing Shidou as he huffed, still glaring at Rin like he would jump at him at any moment. Isagi stayed close by just in case.

Rin brushed off the front of his Blue Lock suit, returning the glare with such an intensity that Isagi thought they might ignore Ego-san for one dreadful moment.

“Either play each other or move on. Any further violence will result in forcible expulsion,” Ego-san droned, appearing entirely unamused with the situation. Isagi pursed his lips.

Ego-san disappeared off the screen without another word, and Isagi was left to deal with his rowdy teammates himself. He sighed, turning back to the two of them, who still seemed oddly fired up.

“I’ll leave it up to you guys,” Isagi said flatly. It wasn’t like it mattered if they fought Rin or not. Despite Rin’s horrible personality, he was damn good at football, not that he’d ever say that out loud.

Shidou smirked, eyes trained on Rin, who was still warily glaring back as if he expected another random assault to occur. “If I can’t beat his ass off the field, I might as well destroy him in soccer with my explosions.”

Isagi expected as much. He turned to Bachira, tilting his head slightly in question.

Bachira grinned, jumping up and wrapping his arms around Isagi’s neck, ignoring Shidou’s affronted scowl. “Rin-chan’s a real egoist! If we get him, we’ll have a crazy team!”

Isagi sighed, nodding. Seems like they were in agreement. For the first time since they had entered this room, Isagi looked Rin directly in the eyes, finding that the striker was already staring at him. “Alright, Rin-kun. Let’s battle.”

Rin gave him a slight nod, expression almost relieved. It only lasted for less than a second then his features sharpened, eyes narrowing. “I promised to steal you away. I don’t break promises.”

Isagi cringed and walked to the fingerprint sensors, trying to recover his mental state from that horrendous blow. If they lost, Rin would actually have the opportunity to steal him. He really hoped it didn’t come to that or else he’d have to come up with some bullshit to save himself from Rin’s clutches.

Pressing his finger down onto the sensor, he saw that his two teammates were glaring at Rin for his previous statement, while Rin’s teammates were carefully making their way over to the wall to confirm their participation in the match. Rin shot him a pointed look and jabbed his finger into the sensor. “I expect you to play at your best this time.”

He really didn’t have any excuses this time, did he? Shidou and Bachira supported him, and he supported them in turn. He could unleash his best plays in this game if he really wanted to. The problem was… If he ended up doing that, regardless of what the outcome was, Rin would probably still be obsessed with him and try to team up with him at every turn. (And he knew that they’d have more interactions because objectively speaking, Rin was probably one of the best here. If there were more team-based challenges, Rin would constantly pester him if he didn’t put a stop to it now.) The best way to prevent such a result would be to show Rin that he was nothing special and that he should stop bothering him. With Shidou and Bachira here… he might just even be able to show Rin that there were better players than Isagi out there for him to obsess over. (Maybe he’d have to cross Shidou off that list—it was unlikely that Rin would ever admire him with how they had fought earlier.)

Isagi, nonetheless, lied, hiding his creeping thoughts and averting his eyes. “Of course. I always take football seriously, Rin-kun.”

Rin blinked at him then whipped his head around to hide, failing to stifle the subtle smile breaking across his face.

———————

While Shidou and Bachira were excited to go against the so-called top 3, Isagi was so close to just leaving the two of them to deal with their opponents. Rin, of course, was a true challenge, and he’d definitely be hard to beat, but Isagi also knew about the other two from Ego-san’s report. He didn’t think they were awful, obviously, but they definitely did not deserve their 2 and 3 spots.

His own armband shone with the number 11, which was ironic, he supposed, but it definitely wasn’t a true measure of his accomplishments at Blue Lock so far. If they were going off of goals, Shidou would be number one. Even according to their current football prowess, he had no doubt that Shidou would take first place, instead of the sad 12 sitting on his arm. Bachira, in turn, had the number 15 on his armband.

It truly was exactly what Ego-san had told them it was: a ranking based on who came out first. That also depended on who entered first, so Isagi didn’t want to take the current ranking system too seriously. In terms of this match, the teams were probably evenly matched.

Isagi even thought that they might stand a pretty good chance against Rin’s team with a lineup like theirs. So he had devised a plan. Isagi would mark Rin, Shidou would mark Aryu, and Bachira would mark Tokimitsu. Isagi knew he could outplay Rin in one-on-ones, and there was no way he was putting Shidou with Rin—they’d kill each other. That wasn’t even mentioning their similar play styles—Isagi was confident that he could thwart Rin’s predictive view of the field with his own skills and superior vision. Shidou would be adept at confusing Aryu with his unpredictable wildness, therefore being able to bypass Aryu’s long limbs. Bachira was placed with Tokimitsu by default, but Isagi was sure that Bachira could get around Tokimitsu’s superstrength with his dribbling if he tried hard enough.

And they all could rely on each other when their one-on-ones failed anyway. It was a nice feeling—to be able to have people support him on the field.

Isagi took his place on the field right across from Rin. A glare marred his good genetics, but Isagi could appreciate that he seemed to be taking this extra seriously—when Isagi had watched him from Ego-san’s creepy screens, Rin hadn’t looked entertained by anything, keeping a bored, flat face on every game. He hadn’t even broken a sweat the whole first selection, Isagi swore. It was so unfair. Meanwhile, Isagi was over here collapsing into a heap on the pitch, getting injuries, and overall working his ass off to satisfy his team and make himself a better team player.

Bachira skipped up to him, patting him on the back. “You feeling better?”

“Not as tired, that’s for sure,” Isagi replied, stretching.

“How’s your head?” Bachira asked, gently poking his temple with a pout. “I don’t want you to come out of this worse than before.”

Isagi smiled at Bachira softly. “It’s fine. Barely even there anymore.” That was true. Mostly. He was just more tired and lethargic than usual. But nothing serious enough to keep him from playing football.

“What happened to your head?” Shidou asked, preemptively angry at whatever had caused Isagi’s injury.

Isagi shrugged. “A ball hit my head.”

“Oh! You should’ve seen it!” Bachira exclaimed, bouncing up to Shidou and hiding his mouth behind his hand even though Isagi could very clearly still hear them, even without his good hearing. “That Nagi guy full-on smacked him in the head! Literally everyone got quiet, but the genius still went and scored!”

Shidou conspiratorially leaned in, indulging Bachira’s gossiping side. Those two were unexpectedly getting along better than Isagi thought. He had hoped for this, though, so he wasn’t going to complain too much. “Do I have to go beat that lazy guy up? How d’ya aim right into someone’s head?”

“I know right?!” Bachira shouted. “He didn’t even apologize until later! I was so close to throwing down! If Isagi-chan hadn’t been injured…” Bachira rubbed his hands together deviously.

Shidou cracked his knuckles against his palm, showing a weird sort of camaraderie. “I feel you, bumblebee. Next time I see that homewrecking bastard, it’s on sight.”

Rin scowled from across the field, waiting impatiently. “Are you lukewarm morons done?”

Isagi rolled the ball under his foot, signaling his preparedness for the start of the game. Shidou and Bachira, though pissy about being insulted, quickly took up their positions.

Isagi had to admit. They worked well together. So despite his previous ideas to completely throw the game, he was getting invested in his team’s combined efforts. Bachira and Isagi switched roles frequently, passing on the role of pivot point of the triangle to each other so often with seamless transitions. This allowed for all three of them to have their fair chance at scoring and being an egotistical striker. Isagi wasn’t, despite all his talent, used to playing on such a high-level team. The way he’d constantly switch from midfielder to forward was strange and unfamiliar to him; his stagnant mind crumbling under the pressure. He did, however, slightly enjoy being able to be more active in scoring. Team Z had been limiting in that sense.

They had scored the first goal as a product of their teamwork with Isagi as the pivot of the triangle first. Shidou had scored the first goal.

It was majestic. Isagi didn’t believe in love at first sight, but if there was ever any feeling like that, it would be what he felt when he saw Shidou score a flawless goal from his perfectly executed assist. And since it was Shidou, it was never just a normal kick—Shidou had scored with Aryu and Tokimitsu right in front of him, evading them with an inspiring upside-down kick, sending the ball right through Aryu’s long legs and past Blue Lock man’s holographic fingers.

His first assist to Shidou on an official team was, thankfully, pretty good. He had been thinking about what type of pass he would like to give Shidou for a long time, and ultimately, he came up short. But miraculously, during the game, he had suddenly been overcome with the perfect vision, and their visions collided. He sent Shidou the most difficult, untamable, unpredictable pass he’d ever attempted, knowing that if there was anything that would be able to receive a monstrosity like that, it would be Shidou.

It dipped and curved, traveling to a place that was almost the least beneficial place on the field for a goal, with Aryu and Tokimitsu both waiting to intercept it. It was something he would’ve never done for anyone else because no one other than Shidou would be crazy enough to shoot from there with a pass like that. But that was the solution Isagi Yoichi had come up with to match up with Shidou, and it had been glorious.

Shidou groaned loudly after the shot, arching backward and biting his lip. “It’s better than I imagined, Yo-chan~” His cheeks were flushed as his eyes slightly rolled back. “So sexy. You’re making me so fucking hard.”

Isagi, used to this type of lewdness from Shidou, simply sighed and let Shidou drape himself all over him. Isagi grunted under the weight, ducking his head good-naturedly. “If you want more, I have to be alive. Stop crushing me!!”

“Not my fault you’re fun-sized, Yo-chan~!”

Rin hadn’t even tried that round, observing them like a researcher would rats. It was sort of unnerving if he was being honest. Rin could’ve probably predicted that he’d pass to Shidou. Maybe he wouldn’t have completely predicted the wild collision of their visions, but he should’ve been there. He wasn’t even close to the area Shidou was in. That was—privately—concerning.

“So, that’s the level you’re at now, Isagi,” Rin commented blandly. Isagi blinked. He could at least show some enthusiasm, since he so desperately wanted to play against him. (And hadn’t their goal been pretty high-level? Isagi certainly thought it was praise-worthy.)

“Are you unimpressed?” That would work out for him. Isagi almost hoped he’d say he was not impressed so that Isagi could tell him to stop bothering him.

Rin placed the ball under his foot and paused. “It was acceptable—just barely passing the bar. However…”

He pulled his foot back, winding up for a powerful hit. Isagi cursed under his breath but made no move to run forward lest he get smacked in the face with a ball again by trying to stop a kick-off goal. He wasn’t close enough to the goal to stop it either.

The ball whooshed through the air, sailing condemningly into the net with a deadly finality.

“... You still haven’t figured out how the human psyche works.”

Isagi vaguely heard the whistle blow, but he was still focused on the ball bouncing innocently inside the net. Rin hadn’t been able to do that when they had faced each other a year ago. He blinked slowly, eyes wide, and hummed quietly in approval. Despite everything Rin had already shown him, he never failed to surprise Isagi. He really must not have been trying in his previous games while residing in Blue Lock, since Isagi hadn’t once seen him perform any moves like that.

Rin must have noticed his silence, a small smug twitch of his lips cluing Isagi into his pride. Shidou, however, definitely noticed his silence. He narrowed his eyes at Isagi and then turned his ire onto Rin.

“You fucking show-off,” Shidou accused, very unlike him, if Isagi did say so himself. Shidou was usually the first to compliment worthy opponents. Keyword: worthy . Perhaps Shidou’s immediate hatred of Rin ran so deep that he was physically unable to compliment him. “Who ya tryin’ to impress, huh?”

“That implies that you can’t pull that off, bug-eyed freak. Wallow in your own inability.”

“Inability?! I’ll show you fucking inability!”

Isagi tuned out their bickering, thinking about what Rin had just said. More often than not, Rin spoke in riddles around him. He really never understood what Rin was trying to get at—back in Ichinan, Rin had kept trying to tell him something, but it was all cryptic bullshit (after the game, Rin had shoved his way into their team’s locker room and accosted him for his phone number and regrettably, Isagi had relented in fear for his life). Even after the game, he kept sending odd riddles for him to decode:

[“With time, it will heal…” What did that even mean?

“If you come to Penasonic, it will be the end…” WHAT. Of his life?!

“If you decide to fight back, I will get rid of the evidence…” WHAT. WHAT. WHAT. (Isagi actually ghosted him after that one, much to Rin’s apparent surprise.)

(Yes. Rin texted with perfect capitalization and punctuation, to Isagi’s chagrin. He could never tell if Rin was joking, not that he ever would think Rin was capable of joking, but semantics…)]

But only sometimes, Rin would provide him with actually good advice hidden in riddles. There weren’t concretely memorable ones (because Isagi only had the patience to decipher one before he gave up on the rest). And that one had been something he was already working on, hence it was nothing that had been particularly helpful. Yet, somehow, this one seemed more important. He wasn’t thinking about the human psyche correctly? What did that mean?

He supposed this must be the same sort of thing Shidou was trying to tell him and Ego-san backed up. So his textbook-like rationale related somehow to his lack of understanding of the human psyche? And Ego-san somehow found an example in Mikage Reo? Was there anyone who could just fucking explain it to him?

Well, he could always think about it later when he had more time to sit around and think.

When he tuned back in, Shidou and Rin were still dangerously close to each other, grabbing each other’s uniforms and yelling in each other’s faces. Isagi sighed. Maybe it would be an issue, after all, if they won. He certainly didn’t want anyone other than Rin on his team, but Rin and Shidou were… like this.

Isagi picked up the ball with his foot and shifted it back to the middle of the field, pointedly glaring at the two arguing strikers. “We still have a game to play.”

Shidou released Rin with a harsh shove and walked back over to Isagi with a bounce in his step. “Yo-chan~ You’ll pass to me like that again, right? Let’s do it~”

Isagi gave him a secretive smile, aware of Rin’s eyes on them. Rin, Isagi knew, would never be fooled by such a simple scheme, but the human mind would unconsciously be swayed by Isagi’s words. “Sure. I’ll handle it.”

Shidou grinned, ruffling his hair and then retreating to his position. Isagi quickly swiped his hands through his hair to fix the strands.

Bachira jumped in place. “Hey~ Isagi-chan! Do one with me too!”

Isagi wasted no more time and kicked the ball to Bachira, keeping direct eye contact with Rin, whose face hinted at a challenge. Yet, still, his heart didn’t race with anticipation nor did it swell with passion. Rin, arguably the best striker in this facility, was across from him, facing him with complete seriousness, no judgment, and most importantly, no scorn for his reputation. And still, he felt nothing—here where football was the most intense in Blue Lock, he still couldn’t rouse his passion with Rin’s overbearing skill. If seeing something like Rin’s half-field kick wasn’t enough… what was?

Even Shidou’s goal, as awe-inspiring as it was, was just that—awe-inspiring. There was nothing in him that screamed for improvement or for him to match that showcase. Just horrible, empty silence.

They were halfway across the field now, and Isagi had possession of the ball again. Rin was in front of him, lips solemnly pressed together; Shidou was in the penalty box, evading Aryu’s defensive tactics; Bachira was sprinting towards the net, Tokimitsu, screaming anxiously, right on his heels. Bright, parabolic lines shot out from his feet, lighting up pathways to his teammates and techniques to avoid Rin’s reach.

One nearly blinded him with its potential, calling out to him with an urgency, an insistence. He shifted quickly, pivoting on his right foot to slam his left foot into the ball in a long arc to the penalty box. Rin’s finger had just barely missed brushing against the ball to send it off-course, but now he was running towards Bachira, a fraction of a second too late to stop him from kicking the ball straight into the net. Tokimitsu had been thwarted by the speed at which Bachira had redirected Isagi’s high-velocity kick right into the net without even trapping it.

That had been the solution Isagi had come up with to help Bachira past his defender, who was barred by his anxiety.

“How stylish!” Aryu struck a pose, and if Isagi was being honest, the pose was less stylish and more… odd. “It seems our opponents may measure up to the glam standard.”

Tokimitsu, on the other hand, bit his fingernails frantically. “Ah! They’re too good! If we lose here, then they’ll take Rin, and then if I lose again, I’m going home!! No one will want me!!” He grabbed at his face in terror, eyes swirling in despair.

Isagi rolled his eyes. The next point went equally as fast. Rin passed it to Aryu, who wasn’t properly prepared for Shidou’s wild techniques, so they received possession yet again. Isagi knew that Rin knew that he wanted to pass to Shidou, but unfortunately, he was feeling petty and he hated being read so easily.

Bachira and him yet again passed by each other, swapping roles so that Bachira was the pivot of the triangle. This brought more attention to Isagi, as they were wary of an incoming goal attempt from him. So as the ball came to him, he was hyper-aware of Rin practically breathing down his neck, a threatening presence no matter where he was on the field. In a split second, the ball had left his foot, and Bachira jumped up to trap it with his calves, almost entirely free to shoot.

Rin lunged in front of Bachira’s path, but in the end, Bachira’s shot was enough to score. Isagi glanced at Rin, seeing the striker stare at the ground in contemplation. After a tense few seconds of observing Rin, Isagi was about to turn away. Suddenly, Rin looked up. They locked eyes.

Isagi shivered as the feeling of being hunted crept up his spine and made him cold with primal adrenaline. That look in Rin’s eyes was obsession, dark and bloody, and so like everything Isagi loathed. Yet his heart burned for it. His lips twisted down as he turned away. It seemed like Rin was getting even more serious now, so they had to be prepared if they wanted to win.

Bachira bounded up to him excitedly. “Isagi-chan~! You’re so cool !” He planted his hands on Isagi’s shoulders and jumped like Isagi was his very own personable safety railing, simultaneously sticking out his tongue at Shidou when Isagi accepted his high five.

Shidou crossed his arms. “Don’t go gettin’ a big head over one goal, bee.”

“Aww~! Don’t be jealous ‘cuz Isagi-chan likes me better!”

“You little-”

Isagi cleared his throat, watching as Rin stomped on the ball like a conqueror staking his claim over the ruined lands he had just desecrated. If he tried, he could almost picture dark tendrils of death licking over Rin’s skin and venturing out into the field, encapsulating everything in its finality and terminating their hopes with its sheer intensity. If football was a battlefield like what Rin’s vision evoked, then Isagi had the sinking, foreshadowing feeling that they were about to lose.

And he was right. The next two points were a massacre. Rin pulled the strings of his teammates from behind the scenes, finally going as all-out as he wanted as Isagi rose to meet him, exasperated and annoyed. Rin was a pain to face, as he picked out everyone’s motivations and used them, reading the field like a picture book. Isagi was forced to analyze the field in a similar manner in order to keep up and not lose pathetically. But it wasn’t doing much, since after a long rally, Aryu’s long limbs finally got the best of Shidou. He… elegantly guided the ball into the net, striking a pose after his goal to emphasize his glam. (For Shidou’s part, he had initially been pissed at the abnormally long limbs besting him, caught up in the stakes of the game, but after Aryu’s goal, he had been the first to compliment the guy on his skills. This was another thing Isagi liked about Shidou, but recently… there had been something weighing on his mind… For another time, maybe.)

Tokimitsu scored the next point, momentarily surprising everyone with his physical prowess. Isagi hadn’t personally seen Tokimitsu’s speed or strength so plainly laid out like that, so to be bodily pushed out of the way like he was nothing more than a piece of paper… It was almost frightening in terms of skills and definitely frightening in terms of trauma. Isagi hadn’t honestly bought his weak and pathetic side, but he didn’t imagine such a dramatic shift when he finally scored and boasted that it had been easy to plow through the entire team.

However terrifying their individual skills were, Isagi noticed one thing. “Your teamwork is lacking, Rin-kun.”

“I don’t care about them. They’re unimportant stepping stones, used and discarded only for me to reach the top. I would win, no matter who I took as my teammates.” Yeesh, Isagi did not want a whole heavy speech again , but he supposed talking to Rin, there was always a 50/50 chance that he’d get a trauma-dump speech. But Rin gave him a weighted look after the end of his words as if expecting him to pick up on some obscure hint he was giving him. Unfortunately, Isagi wasn’t a mind reader. “If my teammates happen to complement my skills…”

“... Then?” Isagi prompted.

Rin looked at him like he was stupid and walked away. Isagi’s jaw fell open indignantly. The audacity.

It was when they scored another point (Shidou from Isagi’s assist), that Rin got pissed off. Admittedly, Isagi wasn’t exactly sure why, but it might have had something to do with Shidou’s celebration after his goal.

Shidou draped himself over Isagi’s back, slyly wrapping an arm around Isagi’s waist. “Ah~ Soccer is so much more exciting with you, Yo-chan. My explosions are so much more intense!”

“You horny freak,” Rin spat, standing in front of the ball, poised for the start. “Get off of him, and let’s start.”

Shidou grinned, resting his chin on top of Isagi’s head provocatively. “Jealous, Rinrin?”

“As if,” Rin scoffed, but his mouth was unnaturally pulled down, making his face form into a rare (incredibly subtle) pout. “You’re in a public space.”

Shidou scoffed but good-naturedly released Isagi and went to his spot, insulting Rin the entire time, causing the other’s shoulders to become so tense that Isagi feared he might pull something.

All the tension in Rin’s body snapped like a band, but Isagi had already cataloged the previous move into his picture of Rin, running toward the net and jumping to prevent the ball from entering from the top right corner. Executing the same half-field kick twice in a game wasn’t exactly a good look, he hoped Rin knew that. But he was willing to give Rin a break since he looked half a second away from wringing someone’s neck. Anger was a powerful motivator and also a main source of mistakes. Isagi knew that better than anyone. Which is why he was able to stop Rin’s half-hearted, frustrated shot.

Rin gawked at him (Well, the Rin equivalent of ‘gawking’ anyway, which was just wide eyes and a slightly open mouth. This was as expressive as the guy would get in front of others, it seemed.) while the ball bounced innocently outside of bounds.

“What is that thing you always say?” Isagi taunted with a smirk spreading across the bottom half of his face, the humor reflected in his dark eyes. “How lukewarm , Rin-kun. Don’t be so predictable.”

Rin glared at him, eyes immediately narrowing. “Predictable?” He scoffed to himself and grumbled under his breath, walking to take up the position for his corner kick.

Isagi was aware of Rin’s skill at corner kicks. More often than not, when there was a corner kick, Rin would always be the one on his team to take it, and he practiced these late at night, according to Ego-san’s creepy stalker cameras. So Isagi knew that it was of utmost importance that he pay attention. Rin could easily score here without Isagi even moving to stop it.

Realistically, Rin shouldn’t have that much accuracy if he was focusing on curving the ball so that it could enter the net. But Isagi couldn’t count on reality around Rin—his skills were less grounded in the reality that Isagi (and other plebeians) lived in and more levitated in an impossible scale of awareness, positioning, and accuracy, which is part of the reason that it was so hard for Isagi to understand and predict Rin. After their first match together, Isagi had grown to see Rin’s abilities more clearly, noticing for the first time how… unreal Rin was, like a monster—a machine—not a genius. His shots were almost guaranteed to score, and if Isagi let down his guard for a moment, he was likely to lose. Back then, he had played Rin like he was any other good player—keeping up with him and ignoring the fact that Rin was controlling the majority of the field.

Therefore, Isagi knew that Rin would score here. And somehow, a part of him relented to that future, knowing there was little they could do to stop it.

In less than a few seconds, the ball had left Rin’s foot in an incredible pathway, curving right into the top right corner of the net, just barely missing the poles by a few centimeters on each side.

It was breathtaking. And honestly, Isagi had no idea how anyone could ever catch up to someone like that.

He wasn’t surprised, but Isagi still felt awe spark in his chest, bubbling up to his throat where it forced his mouth to part slightly as he watched the ball drop to the ground.

Rin scoffed at his expression, kicking the ball out of the net since Isagi made no move to do so. Shidou and Bachira were arguing with Aryu and Tokimitsu behind them, so they were left alone for a moment. Rin gently passed the ball to him, and Isagi easily trapped it under his foot, the silence between them unbearable.

Just when Isagi was about to turn away, Rin crossed his arms. “Now you’re quiet?” At Isagi’s questioning head tilt, Rin sighed. “What happened to calling me predictable?”

Well, there wasn’t much Isagi wanted to say to Rin now anyway. Anything that came out of his mouth, he feared, would be an outright compliment. Nonetheless, with Rin’s imploring eyes boring into him, he couldn’t bring himself to ignore him. “... How many hours did you practice that? You’re deranged.”

“Was that supposed to be an insult?’ By the look on his face, it was the exact opposite: he actually looked quite smug. Fuck, Isagi really didn’t want Rin to think he was complimenting him.

“Do you want me to insult you?”

“Yes.”

“What.”

They both silently stared at each other. Rin didn’t even look ashamed at what had just come out of his mouth, and Isagi was left looking like the idiot of their interaction, blinking dumbly. Isagi decided to move on and not acknowledge Rin’s… degradation thing.

“... Your play is uninspiring and bland. Stop thinking about your brother all the fucking time. It’s annoying,” Isagi monotoned, backing away hesitantly.

Rin started walking back to the center of the field with him, prompting the end of whatever argument was happening. “Remember whose team is winning right now.”

Isagi rolled his eyes but said nothing. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Rin literally staring at the side of his head. He closed his eyes and sighed, turning to look at him. When their eyes met, Rin’s lips twitched. Isagi guessed that that was his attempt at a smile. Subconsciously, his body shuddered at the sight. “You seem to be doing better… for now…”

Isagi blanched as Rin hurriedly retreated to his side of the field. What was that supposed to mean? Was that a threat? Isagi felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple, and his fingers felt clammy and cold. What was ‘better’, anyway? Isagi stared at Rin in disbelief from across the field.

“Do I need to go kick his ass?” Shidou asked, perhaps a bit too excited. Bachira nodded along fiercely. Isagi sighed, pretending he didn’t hear or see any of their enthusiasm, and passed the ball off to start.

The next round was a flurry of stealing the ball from the other side and running back and forth across the field aimlessly as neither side managed to get a leg up on the other. By now, all the players had managed to get into their best state, fully immersed in the game. Isagi, even though he wasn’t as into it as the others, felt himself losing his mind to the analysis, eyes zooming across his field of vision and inputting information rapidly into his play.

It was only after a few more minutes of this stagnant play that everything changed.

Rin was running alongside him, Bachira currently had the ball and was trying to dribble around Tokimitsu, and Shidou was almost to the penalty box. When Isagi’s eyes traitorously drifted to Shidou, marking his position and subconsciously seeking him out to assist his goal, Rin scoffed, sucking his attention away from Shidou.

“You’re going to pass again?” Rin pulled off a complicated stepping technique, tripping Isagi up and allowing himself to end up in front of Isagi, blocking Bachira’s route to him. “Have you done anything but pass this entire game? Are you not a striker?”

High off of adrenaline and drenched in his own thoughts and pressure, Isagi felt something inside him bend dangerously. “Your goals were borne of evasion. You haven’t proven yourself to me as a striker either, coward.”

They held tense eye contact as Isagi tried to work out ways to bypass him. Isagi breathed out, forcing the anger into a malleable, palpable shape. His vision cleared slightly, and he assessed his options.

Bachira was having trouble moving up the field, too, and Shidou was waiting at the penalty box, dancing around Aryu’s long, defensive limbs. Isagi faked going to the right, then switched at the last minute to the left. Rin easily predicted that, sticking out his arm to stop him, but at this point, his balance was on his left foot, so Isagi, having manipulated the situation, simply stepped around him at the last second.

Behind him, he could hear Rin seethe, but his focus was already ahead. Bachira made it past Tokimitsu for a second, and they made immediate, brief eye contact. Bachira grinned manically, seeing his sprinting figure. His bright yellow eyes burned with interest. “Take it, monster!”

Wasting no time (Tokimitsu’s arm was across his chest and about to topple him over), Bachira slammed his foot into the ball, sending it careening toward Isagi in a stable arc. Isagi could hear Rin stomping behind him, intent on stopping him, and he could see Shidou’s face begging for a pass.

There was something budding in the back of his mind, aching to be heard. An answer at the tip of his tongue but unable to be reached. He was on the brink of something—maybe a solution. He knew nothing, thought nothing in that moment, letting his body take over for him. A person’s inner voice makes too much unintelligible noise—not because it is physically undecipherable, but because it is nonsense and misleading. Isagi let the noise filter out, forcing himself and his internal surroundings to be completely silent, an environment of peace and tranquility making its home in his skin.

Without any thoughts, he felt nothing but his blood pulsing in his ears as he pulled his leg back, a good 20 meters out from the net, and drove it into the net.

Sound slowly filtered into his ears, and thoughts returned to him. He’d… never done that before. Both the silence and that shot. He’d never been able to do something like that before. A part of him itched to go review the footage to analyze just how exactly he’d been able to pull something he’d never practiced before off—in a game, no less. Isagi was a very logical person: he preferred to have religiously practiced a move before trying it out in a game.

Ever since he came to Blue Lock, he hadn’t rigidly stuck to that preference; games seemed to bring out something different in everyone than in practice, and they mattered a lot more. But a shot like that? He had never attempted something like that. He stood still, staring at the goal, taken with his own ability.

“Whew~! What a supergoal, Yo-chan~!” Shidou clapped him on the back, sending him both metaphorically tumbling out of his thoughts and literally stumbling. “Ya get it now?”

“Er-” Isagi scratched his cheek. If Shidou was talking about his previous advice, unfortunately, he was still clueless. “Not really…”

“Eh, that’s fine,” Shidou reassured him, patting his shoulder. “I think you’re close.”

Isagi gave him a short nod, still endlessly confused, but he trusted that all would become clear to him soon. He was distracted by some movement by his side, his head turning automatically to the disturbance.

Bachira cracked his fingers with a grin, head tilting to the side to look at Isagi from the corner of his eye. “Ready to finish this, partner?”

Isagi stepped up, staring across the field at Rin with his chin raised up haughtily as if to prove that he was, indeed, a striker worthy of standing on the same stage as a machine like him. (Not that he wanted to play with Rin, but the point stands…) Rin might be a monster, but Isagi himself was a prodigy in his own right.

Isagi nodded hesitantly, still wondering if it was worth it to win. “Let’s go, Bachira.”

In the end, it was that hesitation that made them lose.

The two teams went back and forth for what felt like hours, stomping all over each other and their playmakers thwarting each other’s plans with fervor, but Isagi knew that their high-level plotting only lasted at most, three minutes. His mind ran a mile a minute, reading Rin’s plans with the difficulty of reading a college-level textbook—but it was the challenge that minutely excited him after all. His hesitation to go all out, though, and his lack of motivation to properly devise and execute similar high-rank plans placed him beneath Rin.

Rin was determined to win, his face drawn up with scrunched eyebrows and set lips, while Isagi only found determination in the fear that if he lost, he might have to watch out for his life on Rin’s team. But with the difference in motivation, the winner had been predetermined by effort.

Isagi panted, sweat dripping down his eyelids and making him feel all-around uncomfortable as he received another pass from Bachira. His eyes refused to reveal his choice, staying glued to the enemy in front of him. As his eyes almost seemed to drift to Bachira, his foot drove the ball forward, dropping it with wild spin right in front of his equally-as-wild striker.

Shidou laughed, his cackles echoing throughout the field, as his whole body bent to receive the pass and get around Aryu. For a brief moment, Isagi felt relief, seeing the ball being kicked in a path that would, if undisturbed, travel right into the net and seize their victory. But (un)fortunately, the ball was disturbed by a speeding Tokimitsu who had no right to be running that fast. Yet again, Isagi found himself underestimating the man’s abilities as the player got his muscular calf in the path of the ball, extinguishing the bright light of the line connecting the ball to the goal. With that light diminishing, so did the chances of their victory. Isagi felt his heart drop as the ball went careening out of the penalty area, and he hoped that, with luck, Bachira might be in a position to get it.

Luck was not on their side, he saw, turning around to Itoshi Rin standing right where the ball would come down. Isagi paled, pivoting to sprint toward him, but it was already too late. Rin turned on his heel and slammed his foot mercilessly into the ball, as if personally administering an execution to the ball, and by extension, to Isagi and his team. The whistle blew, signaling their defeat. The general that had delivered their death stood tall on the battlefield, a gleam in his eyes as he turned to stare down his nose at the fallen.

Isagi stood across the field, staring at the scene and panting. If he squinted, he could almost imagine a sword behind Rin, condemning them to their fate, the dark backdrop only adding to the fuel. But despite the hopelessness of the scene, he felt overwhelmingly at peace, awe filling his head and pulling his jaw slightly down.

Isagi had known before that Rin was good. But he had never felt that sentiment more than he did at that moment, the two of them locking eyes from a far distance, the victor and the defeated separated by mere points but by vast skills. As if they only existed in the universe, time slowed and sounds halted. His world shrunk to only Rin’s gleeful, glinting eyes and his boring expression that somehow Isagi could read as smug. His lips weren’t even upturned, but somehow Isagi knew. Teal bore into his gaze, and a shiver wracked his form—whether from the chill of the sweat cooling on his body or from Rin’s intense look, he didn’t know.

“Isagi,” Rin called, stalking forward like a warlord to claim his spoils. He extended a hand and glared to dare him to defy his order. “Join my team.”

Isagi hummed, masking his anxiety with disinterest. He looked away from Rin. “Does the rest of your team get a say?”

“It doesn’t matter. I want-”

“Aryu-san, didn’t you think Bachira was good?” Isagi interrupted, giving his full attention to the tall striker.

Aryu posed, hand in front of his face as he assessed the two of them. His tone was oddly lilting in the way that it always was when he talked. “Certainly. While both of you were marvelous, I can’t help but feel the connection between our players would thrive with a player such as Bachira.”

Tokimitsu only jumped in when Isagi’s sharp gaze landed on him for a moment too long. He yelped, fingers mushing together while he shrunk back. “I… think Bachira would be cooperative…” He flinched. “Not that you aren’t, Isagi! Sorry! I never say the right things—everyone will hate me!” He then went off into a spiral of self-defeating nonsense that none of them listened to.

“What he means to say,” Aryu continued. “Is that Bachira might conform to our team dynamic slightly better than you would, Isagi. But we mean no offense—your skills are very glam indeed!” With that, he struck another pose, and Isagi assumed that the serious talk from Aryu was over.

[In the background, Shidou guffawed before squawking, “Was I never even a choice or sum’?” No one acknowledged that question, despite the fact that it was 100% true.]

Rin scowled, a deep, discontent grunt slipping from him. “Who the fuck are you to disagree with me, you lukewarm nobodies.” His glare narrowed in on Isagi, who was stubbornly avoiding looking at him. “Isagi. Come. Now.”

Isagi shrugged nonchalantly. “Seems you’re outnumbered, Rin-kun.”

“Isagi-chan~!” Bachira whined, incensed at the fact that Isagi was practically pushing Bachira to the metaphorical sharks in his place as a sacrifice. “You’re so mean!”

Isagi really did feel bad, of course. But he was not going to subject himself to however long with Rin sleeping next to him, probably plotting to slice his head off in his sleep.

“Isagi.” Rin stepped forward, side-eyeing Shidou, who looked ready to take his arm off of his body if he dared to touch Isagi. “I won. I beat you . The loser should stop being difficult and just comply.”

Isagi crossed his arms. “Play fair, Rin. The rest of your team disagrees with you. Or is it that you can’t provide a good team atmosphere either?”

Rin’s expression soured immediately. He took a step back and sighed in frustration, running a hand through his hair while glaring at him. “Fine,” he spat, beckoning Bachira with his hand. “ Next time , you’ll join my team. And I’ll win all over again.”

Bachira clutched Isagi’s uniform, pouting. “Isagi! I still want to play with you!” A serious expression overtook him then, smile dropping to a determined line. Isagi subconsciously leaned in to hear the words coming out of his mouth. “I’ll be waiting for you in the fourth stage. I’ll improve and make you look at me first—before everyone else. Come and win me back, monster.” With that, Bachira began to walk off with a grumbling Rin, an ecstatic Aryu, and a nervous Tokimitsu, but he still half-turned back to smirk at Isagi. Unbeknownst to anyone on the field, Isagi felt a pang of sadness run through him at the sight of Bachira leaving him, and a desperation to reach him again settled in his mind. “But don’t think it’ll be easy.”

Shidou and Isagi stood alone in the center of the field, silent as they heard the door slide shut behind the three victors and their stolen treasure.

And then they were truly alone—the defeated, left to pick up their mess and continue the trek forward.

Chapter Text

Isagi frantically scrolled through random videos on his phone, trying to enjoy his limited screen time due to this annoying concussion. As it had been around a week and a half since he was admitted to the hospital, he was now alloted around 30 minutes on his phone, yet it didn’t seem like nearly enough, considering the rest of the day, he did practically nothing and wanted to pluck his own eyelashes out from boredom. They even offered to give him a 5+ year old coloring book for Frozen, but this demolished his pride so much that he resolved himself to staring at the ceiling for 15 hours a day.

The overabundance of time to think was mentally damaging, as well. Having an excess amount of time to reflect in his own head about what had happened was unsurprisingly detrimental to the whole healing process and set back his efforts in therapy in a way that could be described by that one saying “one step forward, two steps back” or however it went. Every time a memory suddenly jumped to the forefront of his mind, he felt like scratching his skin off until it bled and distracted him. Obviously, he did not do that because therapy was somewhat helping him with having healthy coping.

Unfortunately for Isagi, his coping method was completely ignoring the trauma and humor. His group therapist told them to do something calming or listen to music or some shit like that, but Isagi didn’t care. The therapist had also told him that he might have excessive anger issues (after he screamed at a fellow patient for 5 minutes after they had made a careless joke about sexual assault), but Isagi thought the guy had it coming, so his anger was justified. Also there was no way he had anger issues. If anything, this was an aftereffect of trauma. So, fuck that therapist. (He was conveniently moved to a different group session after that incident and never had to see that therapist again.)

Well, until he would be yet again faced with the bane of his existence and the source of all his insecurities and issues, he would just pretend nothing ever happened. Because, clearly, he was the one responsible for making himself look like a living mummy.

Obviously, this avoidance wasn’t working terribly well, and every night, he still silently screamed into his pillow with rapid, frantic breaths and ignored the wetness on his cheeks because it was demoralizing and pathetic. Luckily, the nurses weren’t around to see it because he did so in the dead of night when everyone was asleep. Hiding his pain wasn’t exactly new to him, anyway, but now, it was more of an emotional sort of thing rather than physical (even though he was experiencing both types of pain).

Maybe he should accept that coloring book.

——————

Saede.eye 16:42

I wanted to check on you

You haven’t posted in a while

Are you ok?

FootballAnalyst 16:49

im fine itoshi-san

thx for asking

Saede.eye 16:49

You’re such a bad liar.

Saede.eye 16:51

.

Are you ok?

FootballAnalyst 16:53

…

Sensing that Itoshi wasn’t going to back down because that’s just the type of person he was, Isagi caved and told Itoshi he had a concussion so he couldn’t be online to post videos. To which, Itoshi responded by virtually trying to kick him off his phone and telling him he shouldn’t be online until he was better.

But, Isagi was bored. So bored he might die if he didn’t do anything or talk to anyone, besides Shidou, who occasionally popped in to visit. But he had no other friends, so he compensated by talking to Itoshi, beemonster, and mikageh31r. The latter two were both more than happy to spam him with messages. Itoshi continued being stubborn, telling him to rest.

Being a patient sucked.

——————

“Nagi… I guess… this is the end of the line.”

Reo shot Nagi a reluctant look, his face a complex mix of regret and light resentment. His fists clenched at his sides, his teeth gritting together audibly as Nagi failed to properly respond. And yet, his aura was withdrawn, as if something was holding him back from barraging Nagi with questions and demands. His fists unclenched, and he turned around to follow Barou.

“Reo…”

Nagi’s hand twitched as if he wanted to reach out and grasp the back of Reo’s uniform. But his hand stayed glued to his side, betraying his desires.

Reo spared him another defeated glance, despite being the victor of the three of them. “You get your wish, Nagi.” His words were barely more than a whisper, voice in danger of cracking. “Enhance your skills, and let’s meet again on the other side.”

He ran after Barou. Nagi stepped forward as if to follow but stopped before his foot could even move a full step. A small frown pried his lips down. But he didn’t say anything to the silence of the field.

It was like watching a soap opera. Kunigami didn’t exactly know much about the two of them other than their… relationship. Reo seemed devastated, face downtrodden and solemn as he hesitantly embraced his friend. Nagi, on the other hand, seemed as unlively as ever, only a small twitch of his lips cluing in Kunigami to his sadness. But even then, Nagi seemed almost unbothered about their separation, maybe even a bit relieved if Kunigami was being honest.

But of course, it had been tense since he joined them in the first place, seeing them hovering together in the waiting room, close enough to show they were partnered up but far enough away from each other that it was clear the air was strained. Kunigami, against his survival instincts, approached and joined their team.

If he had full reign to choose his teammates, he would have chosen Chigiri and Isagi with no hesitation. But he hadn’t entered around the same time as Chigiri, so he was sure the guy had already formed a team and left. And he didn’t even have to think about Isagi (the striker would probably scoff at the suggestion, giving him no advice on how to improve and fit Isagi’s impossibly high standards). Not to mention that Bachira and that tall blond guy would swoop him up immediately. They had all entered close to each other; there was no doubt they had formed a team and were dominating all the other poor teams.

But here he was. Demoted to the 2-person stage with a guy who didn’t even want to practice their formation for the next match and kept moping about being stuck with someone who wouldn’t even help him improve. Kunigami would feel indignant about it, but Nagi was just one of those geniuses, so he supposed there was nothing he could do if the genius thought he was beneath him. Besides prove himself on the field, that is.

He really had hoped Barou would take him instead of Reo when they were standing there after the end of the match, waiting for the ‘king’s’ command. He had been third-wheeling the entire match and did not want to be stuck with either of them. No offense to them, but they were almost insufferable about each other. Even Nagi, in his own way. But Barou just insulted him, telling him he sucked (in much longer, biting sentences) and walked away with a wilted Reo.

So here he was, wandering around the complex trying to find a team to challenge. He had to choose carefully. Choosing a team they were certain to beat would land them right back here. Their teammate would be too weak. And if they lost in the three player stage, the winners would undoubtedly take Nagi for his flashy goals. But choose a team too skilled…

Kunigami wasn’t going to think about it. But he would like a strong teammate when they won their 2v2. He looked at people’s armbands as he walked around, frowning when he almost exclusively saw numbers greater than 70. Wasn’t there anyone else? He felt bad judging them based on this ranking system that had little to do with their skills, but it was what it was.

Suddenly, he came across a commotion near the entrance of the training rooms. He peeked at the crowd, seeing people gasping and holding their breath as they made a circle around two people.

One of them was on the floor, holding his bloodied nose frantically, his bald head making Kunigami’s mouth part in recognition. The other one had blood on his knuckles and a cruel smirk on his face as he loomed threateningly over Igaguri.

“Hm~? What was that you said again?” The guy’s armband read rank 12. Kunigami recognized him as the tall blond guy that was hanging off of Isagi before the 100-shot challenge. He leaned closer into Igaguri’s space with a widening, dangerous smirk, causing the monk to flinch back and screech. “Repeat it.”

Kunigami felt righteous anger well up in him from only having watched a few seconds of this interaction. How was it fun to beat people up? Even the people milling around seemed to have some injuries, presumably from the guy as well. He pushed past the milling crowd, seeing the guy readying himself to axe kick Igaguri and probably knock him unconscious. What a misuse of strength. He did not approve of anything of the sort.

“You psycho. What are you doing?” Kunigami scowled, his forearm throbbing with the pressure of the kick.

The guy whistled innocently. “Oh! Has a hero appeared~?” In the same breath, the guy flipped himself around to kick Kunigami with his other leg. Kunigami just barely had enough time to brace his arms in front of his face in a cross before the impact hit his arms. This guy’s kicks really had some force behind them. Kunigami could almost bet he was amazing at soccer. “Not bad, hero. Wanna play some soccer?”

“Like hell I’d play soccer with you. I’m just helping Igaguri.”

“Why? He your friend?” The guy laughed mockingly, the idea that Igaguri had friends apparently unbelievable to him. “Or are you just a knight in shining armour?”

“I hate violence. I’m here to play soccer.” Kunigami held his body in a stance poised for an attack, just in case the guy decided he had enough of talking and wanted to go back to kicking him. “If you wanna go, we’ll do it fair and square on the field. Your way is underhanded.”

“Ahh. Sounds like that outdated, idealistic sportsmanship to me. Is this the rationale of the weak?” He seemed to be talking to himself while staring up at the ceiling, hips oddly pushed forward as his back arched. Kunigami had little idea what he was going on about, so he stayed silent, a disapproving glare making its home on his face. “Let’s go, hero. No one loves a fair and square match as much as me.”

Kunigami was about to snap back with a scathing comment, but before anyone could do anything, a new figure stumbled into the scene. Kunigami choked back his surprise at seeing Isagi at the 2-person stage. Obviously, he knew that Isagi teamed up with this psycho originally, but shouldn’t he have moved on, even if they lost? Why was Isagi here instead of Bachira?

Isagi himself seemed to be completely unaware of his teammate’s actions while they were separated, his eyes trailing over the crowd of people with various injuries and bloody noses. Then his eyes settled on Igaguri, shaking like a leaf behind Kunigami, his nose leaking so much blood that it covered the entire bottom half of his face. It was then that Kunigami could see a slight bout of panic in his composed gaze. Isagi wasn’t the type of person to reveal all his emotions (other than anger, that was), but even to Kunigami, who didn’t know him the best, he could tell the striker was unsettled. Perhaps even scared.

The blond guy hadn’t noticed the arrival of his teammate yet, but at Kunigami’s silence and distracted eyes, he turned to Isagi with a wide smile. “Hey! Yo-chan~!”

Kunigami watched Isagi bite the inside of his cheek as he walked forward, avoiding eye contact with his teammate. The crowd whispered amongst themselves nervously, maybe fearing for his safety or something of the like, but with every step, Isagi looked more and more disconcerted.

It was barely audible when Isagi spoke. “Shidou-san… Did you…”

He seemed to think better of it and cut himself off, but Kunigami could see the conflict brewing in his mind. If he noticed the tension, Shidou didn’t show it, only slinging his arm around Isagi’s shoulders.

“I found us a match! Still up for the challenge, right hero?”

Kunigami observed the hard line of Isagi’s shoulders and nodded determinedly. He had to kick this Shidou character out for Isagi.

Isagi swallowed and locked eyes with him. “Kunigami. Who are you here with?”

Kunigami straightened up. “Nagi. I can go get him.”

Isagi subtly rolled his eyes and sighed at the name. He didn’t know why the genius elicited such a response, but after having spent half a day trying to coax him to practice, he could understand the sentiment. Isagi quickly swept his eyes around the crowd with varying bruises and sighed again. “We’ll wait for you at the scanners.”

———————

Extra:

Isagi watched Rin leave with Bachira, who seemed a bit dejected if anything. Shidou was a pressing presence at his side, though, so he didn’t have much time to regret throwing Bachira to the wolves.

“Let’s go,” Isagi finally decided, pulling the hem of Shidou’s uniform toward the door for the 2v2 stage. “I need to get my phone.”

“Hm? Have someone you need to text?” Shidou rested his hand on top of Isagi’s head, tone sour.

Isagi pouted. “It’s not like that.” Although, Sae was probably blowing up his phone. He would not be surprised if Sae managed to find out who he was simply due to worry.

Shidou was suspiciously quiet as Isagi went to pick up his phone from Anri. He stood there and watched as Isagi got fussed over by Anri, the woman even sneaking him a small white rabbit candy despite Ego’s blatant dislike of them. The one time he caught Isagi with them, he made him run laps until Isagi physically felt like vomiting. Well, Anri sure is my hero , Isagi thought as he quickly pocketed the candy.

After he bid farewell to the worried Anri, he checked his notifications, and, sure enough, there were hundreds of notifications from Sae (he had given him his number after Sae kept bombarding him after his hospital stay). All of them were along the lines of:

Are you alright? You haven’t posted in a bit.

Are you ghosting me?

…

Then after a few more accusatory messages, there was a slight break before Sae texted him again. This was one of the newest ones, sent only a few days ago.

I’m concerned. Just tell me you’re fine, and I’ll stop.

Then the tone changed again. Isagi felt a bead of sweat nervously run down his temple.

I’m coming to Japan. You better have a damn good excuse.

Fuck, this place sucks. All these damn reporters. I don’t know why you’re still here.

Then the most recent one, sent yesterday was:

… Are you in Blue Lock?

Well that was fast. He sent a quick text confirming that he was, in fact, alive, ignoring his last question about Blue Lock, and apologizing for not being able to respond. If Sae was smart, which he was, he would be able to figure it out himself, which he already did.

“Who’s Sae 🩵⚽- Is that Spain’s flag?” Shidou squinted at the screen incredulously, while Isagi jumped, having forgotten Shidou was still looming over his shoulder. (How did Shidou even manage to pronounce emojis? How did Isagi understand ??) Shidou pouted, eyes stubbornly trained on the blue heart emoji next to Sae’s contact name. “He’s just a friend, right?”

Isagi shut his phone off reflexively. “Just how long have you been reading my texts?!”

“Oh, don’t worry. Only the entire time,” Shidou nonchalantly answered, blinking innocently.

“What?!” Isagi choked on his own saliva and tripped over his feet.

He would’ve managed to catch himself. He really would have. But Shidou’s foot kicked the back of his knees, causing his legs to buckle and his body to fall backwards. An undignified yelp escaped from his chest, much to his embarrassment, and he flung his arms out to catch himself on Shidou’s uniform. Luckily, Shidou’s arm also saved him from getting another concussion as it braced against his upper back. His other arm reached around Isagi’s front and wrapped around Isagi’s lower back for extra stabilization. Shidou did not, however, right Isagi, only tilting him back farther as Shidou smiled charmingly.

“Aw~ Are you falling for me now, Yo-chan~?”

Shidou’s smug smirk took up his vision, and Isagi’s mouth felt vaguely dry. He tightened his grip on Shidou’s uniform, scoffing playfully to hide the fact that his heart wanted to jump itself right out of his ribcage. “So arrogant.”

He pulled himself into a standing position and pocketed his phone. Shidou looked so smug, poking his cheek. “But you were totally blushing just then right?”

“No!” Isagi jumped back and covered his cheeks, which—he felt mortified—were still warm. “Absolutely not!”

“Really?” Shidou looked unconvinced, but his smile was as amused as always. “I’ll try again later then… We have a room all to ourselves this time, yeah?”

“Shidou-san!”

———————

Kunigami knew this was going to be a difficult match ever since Isagi entered the room instead of Bachira. But just why were the two of them so good?

“Nagi! Focus!” Kunigami yelled as Nagi lazed around near the penalty box. Kunigami basically had to do everything himself since Nagi didn’t care to aid him in defending or dribbling 0r playmaking. He was performing at a level a step down from that of their match in the first selection.

Since Kunigami was practically doing everything, Isagi and Shidou were finding it all too easy to crush them. If he had thought Isagi was good on Team Z, now he was a literal god. It was like Shidou (or the freedom of having another high level player to build on) unlocked all his skills and enhanced his play. The two of them were dominating the rhythm of the game, and Kunigami couldn’t even pretend that he was in control. Nagi scored a goal off of Kunigami’s desperate pass when he was relentlessly pressed by Isagi, but Isagi seemed hellbent on not letting him score a single goal. And he was damn good at it. Every time he gained possession, it was usually less than thirty seconds before Isagi stole the ball from him. As for Shidou, he was so unworried about Nagi’s presence that he just aided Isagi in getting past Kunigami and scoring.

They seemed bored.

Kunigami panted, hands on his knees. Why was he not even a challenge to them? Nagi was even trying harder once Isagi scored their 3rd point, and yet, they were still horribly overwhelmed. But Nagi seemed to not even care about winning, repeatedly expressing his desire to be on Isagi’s team and learn from him.

Kunigami came to a stop at the midline of the field, sweat dripping incessantly off his face and onto the turf. He stood at the center of the field, overlooking the other three. Shidou and Nagi were arguing about something, and Isagi stood next to them with an unamused expression. Even at the center of this field, he felt like a spectator.

Isagi hadn’t acknowledged him past their brief interaction while arranging the match. He dutifully blocked all of Kunigami’s attempts at shooting from his zone, with a disappointed frown. Even though Kunigami had evolved in their last match and impressed Isagi—even that wasn’t enough?

But it was too risky to attempt that no-spin, far-out shot every time. Not to mention that it would be predictable and subsequently, his opponents would adapt to it and block him again, just as they were doing with his original shot. But if he didn’t use it, he was functionally useless.

Kunigami grabbed a fistful of his own hair and pulled, biting his lip in frustration. How could he become an invaluable player like Isagi? It wasn’t enough to have two weapons, albeit strong. How could he become someone irreplaceable? A striker so ideal that no one would dare pass him up for someone else, and everyone would stare in awe at his skills.

He wasn’t a strategic thinker, or a good thinker at all, if he were to be honest. He wasn’t like Bachira, who would be creative enough to overcome his hurdles and break through his limits to adapt. He wasn’t even like Chigiri, whose amazing weapon overwhelmed the field and broke through everyone’s expectations. He wasn’t someone like Isagi, who thought about everything and could somehow make a playstyle out of that.

He felt like he was watching the three of them from a bubble, his mind oddly separate from his body, though he could feel himself panting. Wasn’t there anything he could do?

His heart sank in defeat. Was… he going to lose here?

Nagi was going to be chosen. He had no doubt. As much as he hoped Isagi would choose him, there was no way their prior entanglement would ever make him a more likely option than Nagi. Isagi was logical in that way—he would solely pick based on soccer. Even the twinge of worry in his expression hinted at the fact that he knew, as much as Kunigami himself, that they would separate here.

Kunigami pulled himself up and looked at the fake grass beneath his feet. He still had so much he wanted to do, to prove. His clenched fist trembled with frustration. How could it end like this?

“Kunigami.”

Kunigami looked up belatedly. Isagi was calling out to him, walking over to where he listlessly stood. His fists clenched further. He didn’t want Isagi to see him like this and think even less of him. He’d already disappointed him so much after talking all that big talk about being a soccer superhero. Could he bear not meeting his expectations again?

But Isagi only gave him a soft look, not quite a smile but not quite disappointment yet. “Where’s your fire, hero?”

Shidou scoffed from behind Isagi, looking at Kunigami in a way that begged for him to start a fight. “Don’t tell me you’re giving up already, muscle boy.”

Kunigami’s eyebrows bunched together in anger. He wasn’t giving up . But wasn’t it obvious who would win in the end? Hopelessness drifted into all of his limbs. Subconsciously, his body had already given up. It was evident in the way that his shots lacked that bit of flair and fierceness that they usually had when he was fired up.

“I’m not giving up ,” Kunigami bit out at Shidou. At the very least, he couldn’t go down easy while this psychopath laughed at him. “I’m going to crush you.”

“Ha! That’s the spirit, hero ,” Shidou laughed mockingly. “How can I explode when you’re this boring?”

Kunigami gritted his teeth. Shidou really was messed up in the head. There was no way he was going to give up so quickly. Why was he even hesitating right now? It wasn’t over until the whistle of the last goal was blown. It wasn't over yet.

Kunigami kicked the ball off to Nagi, determined sparks flying in his gaze. It couldn't end here. He had so much more to do, and it would start here. He would become the very best, and it would start with this first step right here. So that nobody would ever look at him with blatant disregard or arrogant disappointment ever again.

Nagi groaned, lazily prancing up field for a few moments before chickening out and passing it back to him again, too far away from the goal to even think about shooting. But it wasn't too far for Kunigami, who was charging forward, eyes locked on to Isagi, who read his blazing gaze and knew he was going to shoot. But Kunigami hadn't wasted all that time being on the same team as Isagi.

Isagi thought that people were incapable of change. He was just someone like that. Kunigami wasn't the type of person to be basic—to fit into a mold that everyone wanted him to be crammed in. No… he was a hero, like Isagi affirmed. And heroes were unique, different, and they always won .

Kunigami stopped short, Isagi still a good few meters away from him, face drawn together in confusion. He was still outside his range… Kunigami wasn't going to make it. Not with Isagi on him like this, not with Isagi in a one-on-one ever . Even heroes didn't exclusively work alone.

Nagi had kept jogging since his pass, and he was waiting listlessly near the goal. Shidou laughed at Nagi’s still posture, his bulky body covering Nagi’s from the front. However, if there was anything that Kunigami had learned from being Nagi’s teammate, it was that he could pull off unbelievable things as long as he could get the first touch.

Kunigami pulled his leg back and slammed it as hard as he could into the ball, sending it rocketing to Nagi’s quick reacting feet. Kunigami raced forward, pushing past Isagi into his range, but he would expect nothing less from Isagi than to catch up to him. Isagi slapped an arm across his chest, his slightly faster running speed putting Kunigami in a dangerous situation.

Kunigami had to gamble. Nagi was in a precarious position, with Shidou, a similarly flexible player in the penalty area, about to get his foot on the ball first. Nagi would surely shoot if he got the chance, but if Shidou got it first, he would send it to Isagi, surely. And if the ball got sent to Isagi, Kunigami would just have to increase his speed at the last second and steal it from him. In theory, it was easy. In reality… stealing anything from Isagi would be a literal nightmare.

Part one of his gamble paid off, as Shidou’s toe connected with the ball, swinging it around on the arch of his foot. Part two…

Shidou cackled, seeming to make direct eye contact with Kunigami. He rolled the ball over his foot, keeping it out of Nagi’s reach, and simultaneously sprinted forward. Isagi didn't stop running the same way, despite the fact that they were now trying to score.

Kunigami faltered, eyeing Isagi from his peripheral vision. There was a small spark of fire in the black of his eyes, and for once, Kunigami was stunned by the growing intensity. It had been steadily growing since their first match as Team Z.

Shidou’s smirk widened as he sent a rapid pass to Isagi, pushing it on a tight route right in front of Kunigami’s feet. Isagi received it with ease, switching it to the foot away from Kunigami.

Isagi, taking his moment of reluctance in stride, slid the ball in a semicircle, turning with the momentum. His other arm, not across Kunigami’s front, slapped across his back as he started running for the goal.

Kunigami chased after him, but he was already so far ahead. In his chest, his heart stung. He knew Isagi was going to score. If not him, Shidou. Nagi was almost right behind him, taking long strides with his ridiculously long legs.

By the time the ball whooshed into the net, Kunigami had already come to terms with the fact that he would lose. Not that he would give up—not for a second. But… looking at the shadowed outline of the back of Isagi’s uniform, Kunigami felt for a very brief second a sense of despair. That he would never reach a high enough level to be able to stand against Isagi on the same field. Or even compete with him on a huge field with high-tech cameras trained on them as they celebrated their winning goal.

———————

They lost. Nagi managed to score one more goal, but Kunigami didn’t score a single one. With Shidou sealing their fate with his final goal, it was time for them to make their decision. Kunigami’s hair covered his sight of Isagi, but he knew Isagi would have that same disappointed expression he'd had since their third match. He was already starting to feel numb, mouth frozen into a solid line.

It was silent for a long few moments while he waited for Isagi to call Nagi’s name. But Isagi was quiet; the only sound between them was the sound of Shidou running up to them excitedly.

Kunigami looked up. He found Isagi’s eyes easily. His face was unexpectedly complicated, a worried suck-in of his lips, an unsure twitch of his eye. And yet there was a solemn, sure press to the line of his lips.

Kunigami blinked. Isagi had never been one for mercy. Not in the slightest. If there was something bothering him or some necessary comment to make, he'd be the first to speak.

Shidou laughed, slinging an arm around Isagi’s shoulders. “Woo~ What’s with the long face, hero? Fair and square, hm~?”

Kunigami didn't respond, busy with interpreting Isagi’s frown.

“Have you realized the fragility of the weak?” Shidou taunted, looming over Kunigami’s bent body. Kunigami wasn't going to rise to the bait, but, gosh, if he didn't want to wipe that prideful smirk off his stupid face. “Not gonna say anythin’?”

After a beat of silence, Shidou sighed with a breathy laugh. “We’ll take that lazy guy. Too bad, lost hero.”

Nagi spared absolutely no words for him. He just eagerly (as eagerly as someone like him could express) looked at Isagi and nodded. “Ahhh, we ended up on the same team after all that hassle.”

Isagi didn't look particularly excited at the prospect of being on the same team as Nagi, but he just sucked in his lips and turned his attention back to Kunigami.

“Kunigami… I…”

“You don't have to say anything, Isagi,” Kunigami whispered, standing up. He always believed in suffering in private rather than causing a scene in public. He will keep his head up while they walk out. Because if not for himself, for Isagi, who looked so conflicted (in his own way) that it was unbearable for Kunigami to look at.

“I’m fine,” Kunigami said, more to himself than to the rest of them, but his voice carried nonetheless. “You three should go to the next stage. But…” Kunigami straightened up, pulling his uniform collar out of frustration. “Don't go forgetting about me, Isagi. I’m still going to be the best in the world—a soccer-”

“Superhero,” Isagi finished. Kunigami was faced with the widest smile he'd ever seen on Isagi's face, despite the fact that on anyone else it would be little less than a slight smile.

“Right,” Kunigami confirmed, calm despite his desperation. “I’m coming for the top, so don't get complacent where you are, Isagi!”

Isagi nodded. “Don't give up, Kunigami.”

Kunigami stood alone in the middle of the field, watching the three of them leave. Isagi walked in the middle, Shidou draped over him like a dog, and Nagi pushed up against Isagi's other side like he was eager to become the next pet.

Kunigami started his walk to the losing side’s door as soon as he could no longer see their backs.

The walls were tightening around him, darkness enveloping his vision. It was silent besides from his ragged breathing. All of a sudden, he was acutely aware of his emotions overflowing. He gritted his teeth, shaking with unmet expectations, and punched the wall beside his head.

In front of him were two different paths. He blinked, sudden confusion overcoming his anger.

Wild card?

Kunigami stepped forward like a man possessed, decision made before he could even deliberate his options. He was not giving up.

——————

2018 World Cup: Spain v. Portugal

FootballAnalyst 2.1M likes

3.0M subscribers

2.4M views 1 month ago

Hi, everyone! Sorry for the long hiatus. I wasn’t allowed to use technology for a while. I just watched this match in the World Cup and was really impressed with Nacho, hence the analysis. More videos to come as an apology for the break …more

894K Comments

@EgosRamen   1 month ago

You’ve gotten rusty after the break. You didn’t touch on how Nacho seemed to exponentially grow during this match from the support of his teammates.

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↳ @speedgenius7   1 month ago

I seriously can’t tell if you’re a hater or not.

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↳ @mikage130   1 month ago

they’re kinda like a tsundere right? always one of the first to comment, subscribed, but always insulting him

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↳ @speedgenius7   1 month ago

what a weirdo

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@tinytumors   3 weeks ago

Actually, Noel Noa isn’t on either of these teams, so he shouldn’t be in the video! Hope that helps!

@themagician8   1 month ago

@footballanalyst11 day 185 of asking you to review Bastard München’s new players

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↳ @footballanalyst11   1 month ago

i haven’t made a video yet, but i watched a bit. did you want me to see Ness? he’s very impressive- especially his ankle flexibility and ability to pass is literally like magic! and the way he can so easily trick defenders …more

↳ @themagician8   1 month ago

( : ౦ ‸ ౦ : ) actually… i was thinking Michael Kaiser

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↳ @impossibleemperor   1 month ago

@footballanalyst11 I recommend looking at 2017 Bastard v. Dortmund game. You should post a video.