TABASCO ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁

After a few seconds, the shaky but familiar view of your room comes up on the screen and you’re wobbling your phone around on the other side as he tries to hide the way he wants to smirk. “Okay, wait.” You say, no doubt raking around your desk for something to prop your camera up on. Doesn’t take you long, a couple of seconds before your side finally stills and Chigiri’s staring at you when you smile at him and take a few steps back.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, nervous sounding as you smooth down the skirt of your dress. It’s pretty, makes him wonder why you’re making such a big deal out of it but he takes the time to admire it anyway. It fits your body nice, hugs at your breasts, hits just above mid-thigh too, showing off your legs.

Chigiri laughs at the expression you’re making, face all pinched up like you’re expecting a rejection. “You’re being fussy, obviously it looks good.”

“You have to be nice since you’re my friend though.” Your hands move restlessly at the skirt again, tugging at the fabric, readjusting it over your breasts. “Do you really think it’s okay?”

“I’m being honest, that’s why you called me, right?”

“Hmph.” You respond fast, as if unconvinced. You turn your back to him to face yourself in the mirror and his eyes latch on to the way your hands run all over your body. It makes his throat feel dry before he tilts his head again, clearing it.

“You look pretty, did you expect me to tease you or something?” Chigiri’s smirking again, thinks it’s cute how weird you get about things. Maybe he doesn’t get it, but you’ve been best friends for long enough where he likes to think you trust his opinion anyway.

“No, it’s just…” He watches you sigh from the screen of his phone, biting on the inside of your cheek as his eyes dart across the other dresses littered around your room. Your other options probably, you had a bad habit of making such a mess when you were getting ready. “Maybe there’s just something I can add…” You add absentmindedly, raking around for an accessory.

Chigiri readjusts himself on the couch, his free hand settles on his stomach and he tilts the camera to a more flattering angle. “You’re thinking about this too much, you look good in anything.”

“Yeah but—“ You begin, but then you stop, focusing more on picking up random belts and bags you’ve got lying around and holding them up to your dress.

Chigiri doesn’t think you notice, but he does. The way your body twists too much to the left and the skirt of your dress lifts up a little more than he thinks you’re aware of. The movement brings the inside of your upper thighs into view, followed by what he can only assume is the crotch of your panties and he finds himself getting in a little closer to the phone screen, squinting at the pixels as he becomes a little reckless.

He makes a soft sound, like a groan. “Your ass is almost out you know.” He doesn’t mean to frown when he says it but his face just does that.

“Huh? Oh! Yeah it’s kinda short,” You say, seemingly unbothered by the fact your guy best friend has just probably saw your underwear. “You don’t think I can get away with it?”

There’s a moment of deliberate silence and Chigiri finds himself taking a sharp inhale, he doesn’t exhale, he doesn’t say anything, just stares at you. He feels weird, doesn’t like the idea of guys around the bar seeing you like that but he’s not frowning anymore, the calmness of his expression is almost scary.

“Hyoma?” You shift from one leg to the other, your voice brings him back.

“Hm? What is it?” He says, his jaw tight, voice carefully neutral. His finger absentmindedly strokes back and forth along the lower part of his stomach.

“You didn’t answer me. Is it too short?”

Chigiri shrugs at the question, his hair shifting on his shoulder. “I didn’t look hard enough. Do it again and bend over it a bit more so I can check, yeah?”

He doesn’t know when his hand trailed down so low, fingers resting around the shape of his semi-hard cock in his sweats and he gives it a squeeze, massaging at the shaft. He makes a strained expression, not wanting to make a sound, but he notices you staring on the other side of his screen so he breaks the atmosphere with a laugh.

“What’s that face for? You’re not gonna be standing still all night, right? You dance too much for that.” Chigiri teases, and almost immediately the tension in your body dissipates.

“You know me so well.” Smiling again, you begin to chatter idly in the background, not realising that you’ve got your best friend palming at his cock. “Be honest if you can see it though, maybe I should wear better underwear if it’s that bad?”

“Nah, those ones are fine.” Chigiri responds, as if trained to. His voice turns quieter when his fingers begin to slowly make their way down the waistband of his sweats. “Colours nice.” He adds. Lacy and pink. He gives himself a squeeze, covering up the pleasured little mewl he wants to let out with a clear of his throat, and his thumb flicks over the beads of precum that’s have already gathered at the tip of his cock.

He hopes you don’t see how tense he is, don’t pick up on the way his camera is shifting in time with the slow strokes of his palm or the way his face has gotten more pink. He knows he’s being a creep, but it’s better him than some random guy at the bar.

Chigiri tries not to groan when he watches you turn around again in the camera, bending over like you’re pretending to pick something up from the floor and he gives his shaft a squeeze as he takes in the mound of your clothed cunt beneath the hem of your dress.

He’s just checking. As a best friend should. Right?

Nagi Seishiro — caught by his bff

nagi was fucking you like he'd die if he stopped. it wasnt his fault really. it'd been six whole months since he last saw you. you've been traveling thanks to being a model and well...he missed you.

he had you lifted completely off the ground, your back pressed tight against his chest as he stood behind you. his strong arms hooked under your knees, spreading your legs wide open in a full nelson hold. every needy thrust drove his long, thick cock deep into your dripping pussy, the wet sounds echoing obscenely in the room.

"fuck...missed you so much," he groaned into your ear, voice rough and desperate—nothing like his usual lazy drawl. his hips snapped up harder, burying himself to the hilt with every stroke. "been thinking about this pussy nonstop...couldn't wait anymore."

you moaned loudly, head falling back against his shoulder as he manhandled you effortlessly. the position left you completely exposed—tits bouncing, cunt stretched wide around his cock, his balls slapping against you with every deep thrust. his grip on your legs was iron tight, lifting you up and down on his length like you weighed nothing.

"nagi—! ahh, too deep—!" you cried out, pleasure bordering on overwhelming.

"mmm..can't help it," he panted, lips brushing your neck as he fucked you harder. "need you...need to feel you cum on me." his voice cracked with raw need, hips losing their rhythm as he chased the feeling of your tight heat.

one of his hands shifted slightly so he could rub fast circles over your swollen clit while still bouncing you on his cock. the combination was lethal.

"i-i..i'm cumming, nagi!" you screamed, body seizing up as your orgasm slammed into you. your cunt clenched violently around his thrusting cock, gushing wetly as waves of pleasure tore through you. your legs shook in his grip, juices dripping down his balls.

"you're squeezing me so tight," nagi whined, voice needy and broken. he kept fucking you through your orgasm, desperate and relentless, his own release building fast.

the door suddenly burst open.

"nagi? i got the new—oh my god."

reo stood frozen in the doorway, eyes wide in pure shock. the scene hit him like a truck: nagi holding you up in a full nelson, your legs spread obscenely wide, cunt stretched around nagi's thick cock, your cum still dripping down his balls, everything completely bare and on full display.

nagi's hips stuttered. the sudden mortifying realization that reo was seeing everything — your dripping cunt, the way his cock was buried inside you, the way you were still twitching from your orgasm—sent him spiraling.

"reo—?!" nagi gasped, voice strained.

he couldn't hold back. with a needy groan, he slammed up into you one last time and came hard. thick, hot ropes of cum flooded your pussy as his cock pulsed violently inside you. his arms trembled slightly as he kept holding your legs up, forcing you to take every last drop while reo watched in stunned silence.

you whimpered at the overwhelming feeling of being filled while completely exposed.

reo's face turned bright red, all the way to his ears. his mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally managed to speak.

"i didn't...fuck, im so sorry!" he slapped a hand over his eyes, clearly flustered beyond belief, but not before you both saw how red his cheeks were. "i should've knocked—i didn't know she came back!"

reo peeked through his fingers for half a second, saw the way nagi cum was leaking out around his cock and immediately covered his eyes again.

"you know what..im leaving! i'mm leaving right now! sorry!" he turned on his heel, nearly tripping over himself as he rushed out and slammed the door shut behind him.

the room fell silent for a moment except for both of you panting.

nagi slowly lowered your legs, but didn't pull out yet. he wrapped his arms around your waist instead, hugging you from behind as he buried his face in your neck, still catching his breath.

"...that was embarrassing," he muttered, though his cock gave a lazy twitch inside you. "but you felt really good when he walked in. did you like being watched?"

you let out a breathless laugh. "you're such a pervert."

he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. "only for you."

Rin Itoshi — caught by his bro

rin had you completely folded underneath him in a ruthless mating press, knees pressed tight to your shoulders as he fucked you with deep, punishing strokes.

his hips snapped forward with brutal precision, driving every thick inch of his cock into your soaked pussy until his heavy balls slapped loudly against your ass. the wet, obscene squelching of your cunt filled the room with every thrust, your juices dripping down your ass and soaking the sheets beneath you.

his arm was locked around the back of your neck in a tight headlock, forcing you to stare up at his intense, flushed face while he railed you. sweat glistened on his forehead, his eyes burning with possessive hunger as he watched every flicker of pleasure and desperation cross your face.

"fuck—you're squeezing me so tight," he growled, voice low and mean, punctuating his words with a particularly vicious grind of his hips that made his cockhead bully against your cervix. "this sloppy cunt is mine. say it."

"it's all yours—rin..nghhh! 'm yours!" you moaned, voice breaking as he hammered that perfect spot inside you over and over. your walls fluttered and clenched greedily around his girth, trying to pull him even deeper.

he smirked darkly, tightening the headlock just enough to make your breath hitch.

"louder. i want everyone to know who you belong to." he pulled back almost all the way, letting just the fat tip stretch your entrance, then slammed back in with a savage thrust that made your tits bounce and your eyes roll back.

you cried out, nails digging into his back as he set a punishing rhythm—long, dragging strokes that made you feel every vein and ridge of his cock, followed by short, rapid punches that left you gasping. "rin—! please—fuck, it's too deep—!"

"too deep?" he laughed, low and cruel, leaning down to bite at your exposed neck. "you were begging for this earlier. now take it like the greedy little slut you are." one of his hands slid down to grip your ass hard, spreading you wider so he could watch his cock disappear inside your puffy, dripping folds.

the lewd sight made him groan, his pace growing even more erratic and forceful.

your body was burning, every nerve singing as he fucked you senseless. the pressure built higher and higher, your thighs trembling violently against his shoulders. you could feel another orgasm coiling tight in your core, even stronger than the last.

"rin—! im gonna cum..! please don't stop—!" you sobbed, tears already pricking at the corners of your eyes.

"then cum," he snarled, crushing his mouth to yours in a messy, dominating kiss before pulling back. "cum on my cock like you were made for it. milk me, baby."

your orgasm hit you like a freight train. your walls clamped down hard around his thick cock as you cried out, gushing wetly all over him while your whole body shook violently in his grasp. tears of pleasure slipped down your cheeks as you came hard, pussy spasming and squirting around him in messy pulses.

right in the middle of your climax, your eyes flew open and locked onto the figure standing in the doorway.

"sae..?" you gasped in horror.

rin froze mid thrust, buried balls deep inside your spasming cunt. his head snapped toward the door, eyes widening in genuine surprise for a split second.

sae stood there with his arms crossed, watching the scene with a cold, slightly disgusted expression.

for a moment, the room was dead silent except for your heavy breathing and the wet sounds of your pussy still fluttering around rin's cock.

then sae spoke, voice flat and unimpressed.

"you both disgust me. at least have some shame."

he turned and left, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

"what the hell..?" rin stayed frozen for another second, still deep inside you, processing what just happened. then his lips curled into a dangerous, mean smirk. he looked back down at your flushed, embarrassed face and tightened the headlock again.

"anyway, where were we?" he asked, voice low and venomous.

without waiting for an answer, he slammed back into you with a brutal thrust, picking up right where he left off, even harder than before.

"cumming on my cock while my brother watched? you're such a fucking whore,” he snarled, pounding you mercilessly into the mattress. "don't worry...ill make sure you remember who you really belong to."

Isagi Yoichi — caught by bachira

isagi's head was thrown back against the couch, mouth open in a silent moan as you knelt between his spread legs. his chest heaved with every shaky breath, the usually confident striker completely undone by the wet heat of your mouth.

this was his first blowjob and it was overwhelming him completely. your lips stretched around his thick cock, sliding slowly up and down while your tongue pressed flat against the underside. your hand stroked the base in perfect rhythm with your mouth, twisting gently on the way up.

his thighs trembled violently on either side of you, fingers digging so hard into the couch cushions that his knuckles turned white.

"ahh—fuck… baby, that feels so good," he panted, voice hoarse and cracking. "i-i can't—nghh!"

you hummed around his length, the vibration making his cock twitch hard against your tongue. you took him deeper, relaxing your throat until the head bumped the back of it. isagi’s hips jerked up instinctively, a broken whimper escaping his throat as saliva dripped down his shaft and over your fingers.

you pulled back slowly, letting your tongue swirl around the sensitive head, teasing the slit where precum was steadily leaking. his cock was flushed dark and glistening, veins pulsing visibly under the wet sheen. you looked up at him through your lashes, loving how wrecked he already looked—flushed cheeks, messy hair, half-lidded eyes glazed with pleasure.

"slow down a little… 'm gonna—" he gasped, trying to warn you, but his words dissolved into another needy moan as you sucked harder, hollowing your cheeks.

you pulled off with a wet pop, a thick string of saliva connecting your swollen lips to his throbbing tip. "you're doing so well, isagi," you purred, voice low and sweet. your hand kept lazily pumping him, thumb brushing over the slick head.

"just relax and let me take care of you, hm? i want to make your first time feel amazing."

isagi nodded frantically, biting his lip as you dove back down. you took him even deeper this time, nose brushing against his trimmed pubic hair as you swallowed around him. his hand flew to your hair, not pushing, just gripping desperately like he needed something to hold onto while you worked him.

"oh shit—yes, just like that," he groaned, the words tumbling out broken and desperate. you bobbed faster, sucking noisily, letting messy slurping sounds fill the room. one of your hands slid up to gently roll his balls, massaging them as your mouth worshipped every inch of his cock.

isagi's moans grew louder, more shameless. his abs clenched visibly with every deep suck, thighs shaking harder as he fought the urge to thrust into your throat.

"you're so fucking good at this… i'm—i’m really close," he warned, voice cracking. his cock throbbed heavily on your tongue, the veins pulsing faster as his orgasm built.

you whined around him in encouragement, doubling your efforts. you took him as deep as you could, throat contracting around him while your hand stroked the rest in tight, twisting motions. isagi's breathing turned ragged, his head tipping back again as broken whimpers and curses spilled from his lips.

his thighs started shaking harder, muscles jumping under your palms. his grip in your hair tightened, hips stuttering as he teetered right on the edge.

"baby—fuck, i'm gonna cum—"

right as isagi’s moans turned into broken, high-pitched whimpers and his cock started pulsing wildly on your tongue, the door to the shared room swung open.

"heya isagi! wanna go—WHOA!"

bachira stood in the doorway, eyes wide as saucers. he took in the full scene: you on your knees with isagi's cock buried in your mouth, isagi's flushed face and messy hair, his pants around his ankles.

isagi's eyes snapped open in panic. "bachira?"

bachira's cheeks instantly turned bright red. his usual energy vanished, replaced by pure flustered embarrassment. he slapped both hands over his mouth.

"oh i didn't see anything... i did...but uhm, sorry!!"

he spun around so fast he nearly tripped over his own feet and bolted out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

the room fell silent for a second.

isagi was still rock hard in your mouth, throbbing desperately. his face was burning crimson with embarrassment, but the sudden shock and adrenaline seemed to push him right to the edge.

"oh god..fuck," his voice broke off into a desperate moan as his hips jerked.

you started again, cutting him off. you sucked him deeper and isagi came instantly with a loud, broken groan. thick spurts of cum flooded your mouth as he trembled and panted through his orgasm, overwhelmed from both the pleasure and the mortifying interruption.

you swallowed everything, gently pulling off with a soft pop and wiping the corner of your mouth with a blush. isagi slumped back on the couch, chest heaving, looking completely dazed.

"...i think we sacred him.." he mumbled, covering his red face with both hands.

you climbed onto his lap and kissed his cheek with a grin.

"at least you finally got your first blowjob."

isagi peeked at you through his fingers, still flushed. "yeah..it was amazing."

Hyoma Chigiri — caught by his sis

chigiri had your thighs spread wide on his bed, his long red hair tickling the insides of your legs as he ate you out like a man starved.

his tongue moved with elegant precision. slow, teasing licks followed by firm, hungry strokes that had you gripping the sheets tightly.

"hyo..that feels so good," you moaned, one hand tangled in his silky hair.

he hummed against your cunt, the vibration making your hips twitch. his hands held your thighs open as he licked deeper, sucking gently on your clit before flicking his tongue over it rapidly. he was a natural—attentive, passionate, and devastatingly good with his mouth.

"you taste so sweet," he murmured, voice slightly husky. he looked up at you with those sharp, beautiful eyes, lips glistening with your arousal. "i could do this for hours.."

he leaned back in, sucking your clit into his mouth while sliding two long fingers inside you, curling them perfectly against your g-spot. your back arched off the bed, moans growing louder and needier.

"hyoo! hah—im so close, please,"

he doubled down, tongue working faster, fingers pumping steadily. your thighs started trembling around his head as the pleasure coiled tighter and tighter.

just as your orgasm was about to crash over you, the door to his bedroom opened.

"hyoma? have you seen my..." chigiri's sister paused mid sentence, eyes widening.

she was holding a towel around her wet hair, clearly fresh out of the shower. "i wanted to borrow your conditioner, but..oh."

you let out a mortified squeak and tried to close your legs, but chigiri's grip kept them open for another second before he finally lifted his head.

his sister's face turned bright red. "i-i didn't know you had someone over, my bad!"

chigiri wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, surprisingly calm despite the situation, though a faint blush dusted his cheeks.

"it's fine..just leave, please?"

his sister nodded quickly, clearly flustered. "right! sorry again! carry on or whatever.."

she rushed out and closed the door behind her.

you covered your face with both hands, dying from embarrassment. "oh my god..your sister just saw you eating me out i wanna die."

chigiri let out a soft chuckle and gently pulled your hands away from your face. his eyes were still dark with lust.

"she'll survive,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh. "let's continue?"

he lowered his head again, tongue sliding back through your folds as if nothing happened. " no dying yet, i still haven't made you cum and 'm not stopping until i do three times."

"hah—hyo!"

Megruru Bachira — caught by rin

bachira had you bent over the desk in his room, pounding into you from behind.

he was in one of his feral moods—fucking you hard and fast, hands gripping your hips tightly. his cock stretched you open perfectly with every deep stroke.

"so tight and warm," he says breathlessly, leaning over your back. "i love how you squeeze me when i go deep like this.."

"meg..ahh! slow down a little!" you moaned, gripping the edge of the desk as he railed you. the desk creaked loudly under the force of his thrusts.

"aw baby, but you feel so good!" he pouts playfully, before suddenly changed angles and started hitting that spot inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. "i wanna to hear more of those cute sounds..yeah, good girl."

his pace turned relentless, hips snapping against your ass as he fucked you. one of his hands snaked around to rub your clit, making your legs shake.

"gonna cum meg, 'm gonna cum!" you cried out.

"hah—shit, cum for me baby," he groans, thrusting harder.

your orgasm hit hard. you cried out, cun clenching around his cock as pleasure ripped through you. bachira groaned at the feeling, still pounding into you without slowing down, chasing his own high with that signature wild energy.

then the door slammed open.

"what the hell is this noise—?" rin stopped dead in the doorway, eyes widening in pure disgust.

bachira's hips stuttered for a second as he looked over at rin, still buried deep inside your twitching cunt. a big, mischievous grin spread across his flushed face.

"oh rin! wanna join?" he said cheerfully, giving one lazy thrust into you just to make you whimper.

rin's face twisted in horror and annoyance. "ew. you're disgusting. both of you. i can hear you from down the hall."

you buried your face in your arms on the desk, mortified, still full of bachira's cock and dripping from your orgasm.

bachira only grins, clearly unbothered. "we were? aw..my bad,"

"shut up," rin snapped, cheeks slightly red. "lock the damn door next time, idiot."

he turned around sharply and walked out, slamming the door behind him.

the second the door closed, bachira looked down at you. "hm..make more noise for me okay? let them all here."

"ah! meg wait—"

by the time the world started paying attention, blue lock was no longer just a radical experiment. it was a revolution.

gone were the days of locked doors, anonymous rankings, and caged desperation. what had started as a brutal isolationist boot camp for strikers had evolved into something far more dangerous.

the neo egoist league was proof of that.

split across the world, blue lock’s players are now trained and compete under the banners of international football giants. each offered its own philosophy, its own brutal expectations. matches weren’t just exhibitions anymore. they were auditions for real-world contracts. global eyes were watching. 

but while the players chased their future on the field, another system had quietly risen behind the scenes. the player development team.

ego’s idea, of course. “optimisation,” he called it. a unit embedded within the neo egoist framework. not to coach, but to refine. analysts. mental performance experts. physical therapists. tactical strategists. data engineers. each one hand-picked, and bound to a single mission: make the best, even better.

you were one of them.

you weren’t a coach. you weren’t here to yell from the sidelines, or stroke egos in press conferences. your job was quieter. you were assigned to observe, document, and distill player behaviour, both on and off the pitch. everything that couldn’t be captured in a box score or a highlight reel.

half of your work took place in shadows, training footage reviews, performance debriefs, reports filed directly to ego and his remote advisory team. players knew who you were, of course. but they didn’t always understand what you did. and you preferred it that way.

france’s training camp didn’t believe in rest.

that was the first thing you learned upon arrival from japan along with the other staff and players. every session ran like war games, precision drills, full-contact scrimmages, silent cooldowns that felt more punishing than the practices themselves. the french philosophy didn’t waste time on motivation speeches or ego massages. if you were here, it meant you were good enough. if you didn’t perform, you wouldn’t be here long.

you hadn’t spoken to everyone yet. not directly. some players stayed elusive. others dismissed you as background noise, or worse, another cog in ego’s machine. you didn’t take it personally.

but there were a few you watched more closely than the rest.

one in particular.

his name wasn’t on your lips, not yet. but you were already writing him down in margins. already tracking patterns that didn’t show up in goals or kilometres run. you couldn’t explain it, not to your team, and certainly not to yourself.

and yet, none of it seemed to faze him.

itoshi rin moved like someone immune to exhaustion. always the first to finish sprints, the last to speak in team meetings. he followed instructions with robotic sharpness, but unmistakably dominant. you watched him pick apart defensive lines like a machine learning algorithm in real time.

but the strangest thing about rin wasn’t how good he was.

it was how little he cared about anyone noticing.

after today’s double session, the sun dipped low over the alpine skyline. the players peeled off the pitch in clusters: some dragging their feet, others with towels over their heads, one or two already bantering about post-dinner fifa matches.

you and your team of development staff stood at the edge of the training field with fresh water bottles, protein recovery mixes, and data collection tablets. you weren't required to hand the bottles over yourself, but sometimes it was easier than chasing players down for sensor returns or feedback points.

plus, it gave you those small, unscheduled moments. the ones in between, where you weren’t hunched over a screen looking at random numbers that start to fly off into space.

you handed a bottle to shidou first, he winked at you as always, took a long sip, then jogged off without a word. then chigiri, who barely glanced your way but muttered a hoarse, “thanks.” you logged his hydration stat mentally. one more bottle.

you turned, and he was already walking past. rin.

“hey,” you said, voice calm. “itoshi.” he didn’t stop walking. just flicked his gaze in your direction, then looked forward again. you held the bottle out anyway, stepping slightly into his path. “recovery mix. you’ll need the sodium.”

that got him to pause. barely. his eyes dropped to the bottle, then up to your face. something passed between you, like he was deciding whether acknowledging you was worth the effort.

then, in one smooth movement, he took the bottle from your hand.

not a thank you. not even a nod.

“don’t need reminders.”

he walked off, the sun casting a long, cold shadow behind him.

you stood there a beat too long, pulse flickering from curiosity. he wasn’t angry, or even rude. just dismissive, as if any attempt at connection was a waste of time. as if you didn’t exist in the same world as him.

and yet you watched the way his fingers had brushed yours when he took the bottle. barely contact. but something about the moment stuck, the awareness of something closed off. guarded. heavy with weight you hadn’t been allowed to see yet.

that night, while updating your internal notes on player feedback and training response rates, you added a small, unofficial entry at the bottom of rin’s profile. doesn’t speak unless necessary. high tension during decompression phase. avoids eye contact.

and an additional note: brushed past - but didn’t avoid.

you didn’t know what made you write that last part.

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over the past couple of days of the usual routine, you’ve noticed two very important things.

one: these players are talented beyond reason. and two: they’re absolutely exhausting.

not in a bad way. just… intense. all of them. all the time. even the quiet ones vibrate like coiled wire beneath their skin, ready to snap into motion at the first sign of ego or opportunity. 

which is why, when you’re assigned to hand-deliver post-match performance reports at the end of the day, you keep your head down and your hands steady. 

you go down the line like usual, placing each manila folder on the bench beside its intended recipient. some players ignore you. a few smile, flirt, or joke, yet you remain polite and professional.

and then there’s itoshi rin. great. 

that exchange a few days ago was the first time you’ve actually talked to him, you think. he doesn’t speak to you, doesn’t look at you, doesn’t nod when you pass him water or a report or eye contact. 

today is certainly no different.

you place the folder beside him on the bench. “itoshi-san,” you say quietly.

he doesn’t look up, but you swear you see his fingers tighten slightly around the edge of his towel.

you move on.

it’s not until you’re halfway down the hall, exiting the training facility, that you glance up at the mirrored glass near the entrance, and catch something that makes you pause.

rin. still seated. but his eyes are on the door you just walked through.

and when he notices your reflection looking back…

he looks away.

but after that first and second interaction, where he barely acknowledged you and walked off with the recovery mix like it had insulted his pride, you couldn’t help but watch a little closer.

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day two: he didn’t stop walking again, but his gaze lingered longer, half a second more, maybe. when you offered the bottle, he took it without looking at you, but the motion was less sharp, less dismissive. you couldn’t explain why, but it felt more like a habit than a rejection.

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day three: you didn’t have to call his name this time. he was already veering slightly in your direction after cooldown, hand out before you said a word. still no thanks. still no eye contact. but his fingers brushed yours again when he took the bottle, and this time you felt the faintest pause there, like he noticed the contact, too.

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day four:

he stopped. briefly. accepted the bottle, looked at it for a moment, then at you. his expression didn’t change, but something about the pause between gesture and movement held weight.

he didn't say anything. but you felt it. he was thinking about it now. 

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and then, on day five-

the team had just finished a particularly ruthless scrimmage against france’s reserve lineup, and sweat dripped from every inch of the players’ bodies. some were limping. some were complaining under their breath. 

you stood in the usual spot, bottle in hand, watching rin jog off the pitch.

he didn’t look at you at first. just walked the same path he always did, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead, jaw set with its usual tension. you stepped forward as he approached, offering the bottle like always.

he reached for it. and then paused. his fingers curled around it gently this time. 

and his eyes met yours. “…thanks.”

you blinked. actually blinked. did he just-

“oh wow.” that came out louder than you intended.

he paused. just… stood there for a second, turning his head slightly. “…what?”

you tilted your head, arching a brow. “i just didn’t think you knew how to say ‘thanks’,” 

his eyes narrowed, like it’s a reflex. the itoshi version of side-eye.

“i’m not a caveman,” he muttered.

you smiled. “could’ve fooled me.”

he stared at you for a beat longer, like he was trying to decide whether to walk away or fire back. you could see the moment he chose neither. instead, he just shook his head slightly and walked off, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “annoying.”

but he took the bottle with him.

you tugged your staff badge into your jacket as the players began dispersing. the chill in the air had picked up as the sun dipped, but it wasn’t enough to cut through the heat radiating off the field.

you fell into step beside someone familiar.

aya, your fellow development analyst, and if you were being honest, your only real friend in this whole tightly wound machine.

she had her tablet tucked under one arm, eyes already scanning over the numbers from the afternoon session. you didn’t even need to say anything before she muttered, “tokimitsu’s deceleration rates are garbage today.”

“i thought i was supposed to be the quiet one,” you teased.

“sorry,” she grinned. “my brain’s melting from watching chigiri run full speed for thirty minutes straight.”

you both laughed, your footsteps echoing in the corridor that led back toward the staff hall. the fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, the scent of grass and sweat trailing in the air like a second skin.

“still,” you said after a beat, rubbing at your neck, “they’re good. really good.”

aya glanced at you. “the players?”

“yeah. it’s wild seeing them up close like this. the way they move. think. it’s all instinct, but also precision. ego might be a maniac, but he wasn’t wrong. these guys aren’t just athletes, they’re weapons.”

aya smirked. “weirdly poetic for someone who got body-checked by zantetsu’s warmup ball.”

“that was one time.”

“and it left a dent.”

you elbowed her gently as you both reached the hallway junction that split the dorms and staff quarters. the scent of dinner from the kitchen wing wafted faintly toward you. rice, grilled chicken, steamed vegetables.

you groaned.

aya looked over, concerned. “what?”

“i could really use a coke right now,” you muttered like it was a sin.

she burst out laughing. “you and me both. but nope, ego’s orders. staff matches the players' diet. something about solidarity and clean input.”

“i hate that i know exactly how many grams of chicken i’m allowed to eat in a day,” you said dramatically. “if i ever hear the phrase ‘macronutrient alignment’ again, i’m going to scream into my electrolyte packet.”

aya laughed again. “come on, it’s only two months. you can survive. we’re getting paid stupid well, remember?”

“that’s true,” you admitted. “but still. one coke. one ice-cold, bubbling, sugar-drenched-”

“-drink,” came a voice behind you.

you froze. so did aya.

you turned. there he was, walking about five steps behind you.

rin.

you hadn’t even realised he was there. hoodie half-zipped, damp hair still clinging to his forehead, earbuds in, though apparently not on, if he’d heard everything. his expression was cold as ever. maybe a little annoyed. maybe not. you honestly couldn’t tell.

he stopped just long enough to level a glance at you. “…you’re dramatic.”

you blinked. “…you were listening?”

he didn’t answer that, just shifted his gaze forward again and walked past, brushing by the two of you without another word.

aya looked at you wide-eyed the moment he was out of earshot. “oh my god,” she whispered. “he spoke.”

“he called me dramatic,” you said flatly.

“okay, but he spoke. like, a full sentence.”

you watched rin’s retreating figure turn the corner, silent for a long moment. then you looked down at your half-crumpled schedule sheet in your hand. “…do you think if i buy a coke, he’d tell ego on me?”

aya snorted. “probably. but he’d say it in the most condescending way possible.”

you grinned, shaking your head. somehow, you got the feeling he absolutely would. but for someone who didn’t talk to anyone, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of victory.

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after that hallway moment, nothing really changed.

rin still didn’t talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary. he still ignored jokes, eye contact, and 90% of social norms. he trained like the world owed him something, and he acted like the only person he trusted to give it to him was himself.

but you started noticing little things. like how, somehow, he always passed by your spot near the field during cooldown, even when it wasn’t the most direct path back to the locker room.

or how you caught him glancing in your direction during team meetings.

or how, during one particularly chaotic morning, when your tablet slipped out of your hands and hit the ground with a very unprofessional clatter, someone stooped to pick it up and handed it back to you without a word.

you didn’t even see his face. just his hand. that same smooth, calloused grip you see when he holds a water bottle. when you looked up, he was already gone.

“okay,” aya said a few days later, walking beside you again after evening drills. “i know you keep pretending you’re not into him, but this is starting to look like a slow-burn anime and i refuse to sit through 20 more episodes of stolen glances.”

you snorted. “i’m not into him.”

“you’re into watching him almost become a human being because of you.”

you rolled your eyes, pulling your staff tablet closer to your chest. “he’s just… interesting. you know? like watching a glacier move. you’re not sure if you imagined it, but you know something shifted.”

aya gave you a smug look. “sure. just make sure you don’t end up crushed under it.”

you turned the corner toward the staff room, brushing your hair out of your eyes, just in time to nearly run face-first into someone. you gasped, stumbling back.

“oof-!”

strong hands caught your arms to steady you. a beat later, a grin slid into your vision.

“oh?” came a deep, amused voice. “didn’t know blue lock was adding tackling drills to the staff program.”

you looked up. platinum blond hair, pink eyes, that unmistakable sharp grin.

shidou ryusei.

“i- wasn’t looking,” you said quickly, stepping back as he let go of your arms. “sorry.”

“no complaints,” he said with a smirk, brushing a hand through his damp hair. “i like a surprise. especially when it’s cute.”

your brain short-circuited slightly. aya let out a choking noise behind you. you ignored it. “try not to run people over next time,” you said, voice cool, already recovering.

shidou grinned wider. “i’ll run slower next time if it means you’ll fall into me again.”

you almost laughed. almost. but then, from the corner of your eye, you could see rin walking past. he didn’t look at you, not even at shidou. didn’t pause, or say anything, or acknowledge the encounter at all.

but the second he passed between you and shidou, something in the air changed. it dropped a few degrees. you felt it. not just you, even shidou felt it. his grin twitched in interest.

“oh?” he said softly, almost to himself. you turned slightly, watching rin’s retreating figure disappear down the hallway without a word.

aya leaned closer, eyes wide. “that was…”

“…frosty,” you finished under your breath.

shidou let out a low whistle. “well, well,” he mused, sliding his hands into his pockets. “didn’t peg him for the jealous type.”

you blinked. “jealous?”

he cocked his head. “you didn’t feel that? he nearly froze the floor under our feet. classic ‘i’m-not-mad-i-just-hate-everything’ energy.”

“i think he just hates you,” you said flatly.

shidou laughed. “yeah, but now he might hate me even more. because of you.”

you opened your mouth. closed it again. you didn’t know what to say. you hadn’t done anything. except talk. breathe. exist near shidou.

but still, that moment, that coldness rin left behind, it hadn’t been nothing. and the strangest part? it didn’t feel like the kind of silence rin gave the rest of the world. it felt personal.

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that night, you didn’t expect to see rin.

the incident with shidou had already slipped into the background of your evening, something weird and mildly amusing that you and aya gossiped about over dinner while pretending to enjoy flavourless grilled chicken and steamed broccoli. 

the halls were quiet now. most players were either resting or reviewing footage. you stayed late in the staff tech room, filing final sensor data and notes from that day’s session. you were just about to shut down the monitor when the door creaked open behind you.

you didn’t turn right away.

“forgot something?” you called out casually, assuming it was aya coming back for her tablet.

“no.”

you froze. not her voice. his.

you turned around slowly. rin stood in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his blue lock hoodie, hair still slightly damp from his post-training shower.

“…itoshi?” you asked, surprised. “everything okay?”

he stepped inside, letting the door click shut behind him. “i need to ask something,” he said simply. you raised a brow. “i want access to the stat logs from last week’s match against spain,” he said. “my movement heat map was off, and i want to confirm if it was fatigue or spacing.”

you blinked. that was… fair. totally reasonable. but rin never asked for staff support unless ego ordered it. he did everything solo. the idea of him voluntarily seeking you out for data? odd.

“okay…” you nodded slowly, turning back to the console. “i can send you a private file link.”

“send it to me directly,” he said.

you paused, glancing at him. “you want it now?”

he didn’t answer. just stood there, still as ever, his jaw tense. 

you tapped through a few menus. the air in the room felt thick… heavier than it should’ve been for a conversation about movement stats. you slid the file onto a flash drive and handed it to him.

as he reached out to take it, you asked, “you always this curious about your heat map, or did shidou just piss you off that much today?”

his fingers brushed yours as he took the drive. his eyes lifted slowly to meet yours. “…what does he want from you?”

you blinked. “shidou?” rin didn’t answer. “you tell me. you walked by before i could even blink.” 

his jaw clenched, so subtly you almost missed it. 

you crossed your arms. “are you mad about something?”

he looked away for the first time. “…he gets involved in things that don’t concern him,” rin muttered. “that’s what he does. then things get messy.”

you stared at him. and then it clicked.

this wasn’t about shidou talking to you. this was about rin not doing it first.

you softened. just a little. “well,” you said lightly, “i guess if it does concern you, you’ll have to make that clear.”

he looked at you one more time. said nothing. then turned and walked out. but this time, you knew he’d heard you. and more importantly, he understood.

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the workload had ramped up by a ton.

with the first two weeks being done in the neo egoist league cycle, ego was demanding more detailed reports: individual assessments, tactical breakdowns, psychological markers. one fatass file per player. 

you barely had time to eat lunch anymore, let alone loiter around the field with a water bottle and casual banter.

you’d been assigned chigiri this week. which meant hours tracking movement data, compiling sprint velocity patterns, and reviewing clips of his game tape until you could practically recite every pivot of his left foot in your sleep.

you didn’t see rin much. correction: you didn’t interact with rin much.

you saw him. across the pitch, during cool-downs, passing by you in the hall, eyes still tense from training. that same faint flicker of tension in his jaw every time he glanced your way and realized you weren’t there to talk to him.

and shidou? shidou noticed that too.

you’d made the mistake of being nice to him once. and that had been enough for him to decide that you were now his favourite chew toy. 

which is how you found yourself, post-training, walking off the field with your tablet in one hand and a half-full bottle of water in the other, only for shidou to appear like a lion with too much free time.

“well, well, if it isn’t my favorite stat queen,” he said, draping an arm casually over your shoulders like this was some kind of romantic drama and not a workplace governed by strict personal conduct policies.

you stiffened instantly. “shidou-”

“you know, you should really spend less time with chigiri,” he continued, smirking down at you. “that guy’s fast, but i don’t think he can appreciate you the way i-”

“aappreciate data sets?” you cut in.

his grin widened, unfazed. “sure. data sets. curves. graphs. whatever you want me to appreciate.”

you shoved his arm off. “if you’re trying to flirt, it’s not working.”

he laughed. “who said i was trying?”

but then, his eyes flicked to something behind you. you followed his gaze.

rin.

he was maybe ten metres away, towel slung around his neck, still in his sleeveless training top. frozen mid-step. watching. 

shidou turned back to you, voice a little lower now. “you see that look?” 

you didn’t respond. 

shidou leaned in, closer than necessary. “you really want to find out what it takes to make him snap?”

you stepped away, frowning. “you’re seriously messed up.” but your voice was quiet. because part of you felt it too.

that look. the tension. the way rin wasn’t just glaring at shidou, he was calculating.

shidou smirked again, this time more to himself. “later, sweetheart,” he said, ruffling your hair just to be a menace before walking off.

you turned, expecting rin to have moved on. but he hadn’t. still there. still staring. not at shidou now. at you. you opened your mouth, maybe to say something-

but rin turned, walking away without a word. you didn’t know what you would’ve said anyway. but you knew this much: something inside him was tightening. and eventually, something was going to break.

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the next day, you didn’t even step foot on the main field, due to having to spend the entire day working one-on-one with chigiri, helping him fine-tune his new golden zone, that optimal shooting radius he’d been refining since entering the neo egoist league. a zone built not just on speed, but precision. and most recently, one with a terrifying new shot at its core: the 44 panther snipe.

ridiculous name. his idea. you let it slide because, honestly? it fit.

you stood just behind the line of cones he’d set up, tablet in hand, wearing a headset mic linked to a drone camera overhead. the french team’s assistant coach monitored from a distance, giving the two of you space while you focused on tracking footwork data, deceleration points, and shot timing down to the millisecond.

you’d seen chigiri run a thousand times on screen and on the field. but something about today was different.

there was no hesitation in the way he moved, no second-guessing, no doubt. just fluid acceleration, a cut sharp enough to slice air, and that signature flick of the ankle that had slowly become his trademark.

you watched the ball rocket into the top right corner of the goal. you glanced at the impact velocity on your screen.

“35.4 metres per second,” you said into your headset mic, eyebrows lifting. “you’re either getting stronger or angrier.”

across the field, chigiri gave a breathless laugh as he jogged back toward the starting cone. “i’m getting faster. that’s the point, right?”

you looked down at the data trail of his approach speed. “you’re just about at the maximum speed your body can safely go without burning out your knee again.”

chigiri slowed to a walk, wiping sweat from his temple with the back of his glove. “that’s the thing. it doesn’t feel like i’m pushing it anymore.”

you turned your screen toward him so he could see the curve of his entry angle into the golden zone. “if you hold this trajectory and keep snapping at this velocity,” you said, pointing, “your panther snipe will hit eight out of ten times, provided you’re not blocked.”

“then i’ll just go around them,” he replied, grinning. “that’s what the hair is for. intimidation.”

you snorted. “it’s giving flamingo. not panther.”

“rude.”

“true.”

he laughed again, this time genuinely, completely in his element. you’d seen plenty of players burn themselves out trying to chase ego’s impossible standards, but chigiri had carved out something that was his. 

“remember when i couldn’t even take a shot without overthinking it?” he said, nudging his toe into the turf. “now i don’t even hear myself when i move.”

you looked at him, thoughtful. “that’s flow state. you’re hitting it naturally now. that’s rare.” 

he smiled, eyes glinting with pride. 

you added quietly, “i’m glad you let me help with this.”

chigiri turned to you with a shrug. “you’re the only one who actually tells me what’s wrong. everyone else just says i’m fast and walks away.”

you gave a small smile. “fast isn’t enough anymore.”

“exactly.” 

a pause settled in, not awkward, just present. the way it does when someone understands you a little more than they did yesterday. 

“anyway,” he said, taking a breath and stepping back into position, “i want to lock this in before the weekend. if i can snipe from here during the spain match, i won’t even need to push full sprint every time.”

you adjusted the angle of your tracking drone and checked the recording status.

“alright then,” you said. “you should have your break now. fifteen minutes, i’ll be back soon.” that’s all you gave chigiri, a water break, a protein bar, and strict instructions to not try shooting from the sideline ‘just for fun’ while you were gone.

you jogged back to the building to find aya standing in the hallway outside the staff room, tablet in hand, swiping through her notes like she was memorizing them with sheer willpower.

“need the latest set?” you asked, already pulling your own tablet from under your arm.

she looked up with a breath of relief. “god, yes. mine glitched. again. i swear ego’s testing us more than them.”

you grinned and passed her the file. “chigiri’s foot strike data and deceleration pattern are on page three. he’s getting cleaner with his zone timing.”

aya blinked. “wait, is that the panther thing?”

“panther snipe,” you corrected, tone dry. “yes.”

she snorted. “he really named it that?”

“don’t start.”

as you both walked, she stayed glued to her screen, scrolling through the stats. “this is actually solid,” she mumbled. “the coach is gonna love this.”

“i’ll be back in a sec,” you said, veering toward the bathroom. “don’t let chigiri convince you to time his sprints.”

“no promises.”

you were only in there for a few minutes, just long enough to splash cold water on your face, stretch your shoulders, take a whiz, and take a breath that didn’t smell like synthetic turf and sweat.

but when you came back out, you stopped. aya was still in the hallway. but she wasn’t alone.

rin stood in front of her, shoulders tense, arms crossed loosely. he said something, low and serious, and aya answered, tilting her head slightly in polite confusion. 

rin, on the other hand? 

his eyes flicked up the second he noticed you. there was a split second, maybe less, where something shifted in his face. not full panic. but close. 

his posture straightened. you met his eyes for half a second.

then you turned to aya, calm and even. “thanks,” you said, reaching out to gently tap her tablet. “got what i need. see you later.”

“wait-” she started, glancing between the two of you.

but you were already walking. 

rin didn’t call after you. you didn’t look back. because today, you had data to finish. and a striker to sharpen. and no time to waste wondering why a guy who barely spoke had suddenly started looking at you like you were supposed to say something first.

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after a long day on the turf, your post-training shower felt like the only thing anchoring you to sanity. you scrubbed off layers of sweat, synthetic grass, and ego-fueled tension, pulled on clean clothes, and let your hair air-dry as you made your way back to the staff lounge.

aya was there already, legs tucked up on the couch, tablet on her lap, stylus tapping idly as she reviewed her notes from earlier.

you dropped down beside her with a sigh, head falling back against the cushion. “i feel like i got hit by a truck,” you muttered.

aya didn’t look up. “you didn’t. you just watched one sprint up and down a field for three hours and yelled at it when it missed the cone.”

“…he needed to hit the cone.”

“panther boy’s gonna cry if you push him any harder.”

you cracked a smile and nudged her leg with your knee. a beat passed before you turned slightly to look at her. 

“so…” she glanced at you out of the corner of her eye. “…why did rin look like he was about to mug you earlier?”

aya blinked, then snorted. “oh, that? he just asked how long the individual training sessions are running.”

you raised an eyebrow. “that’s it?”

“mmhm.” she looked back down at her tablet.

you narrowed your eyes. “aya.”

“mhmm?” she turned slowly toward you, face far too innocent, except for the unmistakable smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth. her eyes glinted with pure mischief. “he so wasn’t asking for himself-”

without warning, you smacked a hand over her face. she burst into muffled laughter against your palm. you groaned. “stop. whatever you’re about to say, stop.”

aya peeled your hand away, still giggling. “i didn’t say anything!”

“you were thinking it.”

“you think i can’t see the way he looks at you? like you invented gravity?”

you flopped sideways against the couch, burying your face in a cushion. “i hate you.”

“love you too.”

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the sun had barely started burning overhead when you slipped into the side corridor that led from the staff lounge to the hydration station. chigiri’s water bottles were tucked under your arm, and your clipboard was jammed with notes from yesterday’s sprint data.

just as you turned the corner, there were footsteps. 

you glanced up, only to find rin walking toward you from the opposite end of the hallway, his pace slowing the second he saw you. of course.

you adjusted your grip on the bottle and kept walking. but rin didn’t keep going. he stopped directly in your path.

you raised your eyebrows. “need something?”

his jaw flexed. there was a pause, just long enough for you to think he might walk away. “are you mad at me?”

you blinked. “what?” 

he didn’t move, didn’t look away. his stare was sharp, cutting through the quiet of the hall. 

you tilted your head. “why would i be mad?”

he hesitated, just a beat. “yesterday. in the hallway.”

you let out a small breath and gave a half-shrug. “for what? you did nothing wrong.”

he frowned, like he wasn’t sure if you were being sarcastic or honest.

you continue. “we’ve had fewer conversations than i have fingers on my right hand. most of our interactions involve you staring at me menacingly from across the pitch like you’re trying to laser-beam me through the skull. so… no. nothing to be mad about.”

something flickered across his face, something subtle, like he wasn’t used to being read so plainly. like he didn’t know whether to defend himself or back off.

you adjusted the bottle in your hands, casually. “unless you want me to be mad.”

he exhaled through his nose, barely a laugh. “no.”

“then we’re good.”

you moved to step around him. but he didn’t move. not right away. “…i don’t stare at you.”

you turned to look at him over your shoulder. “sure you don’t.”

you didn’t move. neither did he. the silence between you stretched thin. like you were both waiting to see who’d flinch first. you gave him a once-over, your tone still cool. “you’re kind of bad at this, huh?”

his eyes narrowed slightly. “at what?”

“talking.”

“…i don’t need to talk.”

you raised an eyebrow. “right. you just lurk. say two words every other day. and stare.”

“i don’t lurk.”

you tilted your head. “you’re lurking right now.”

he looked like he was about to argue, but something in your face made him stop. he shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, jaw tightening, then loosening like he was working up to something.

“…i don’t know what i’m doing.” the words were quiet. 

you blinked. that wasn’t what you expected. 

…with you,” he added, barely audible.

that stopped you.

and maybe, maybe it stopped him too, because as soon as the words left his mouth, he seemed to regret them. his shoulders tensed again. like he wanted to take it back, or bury it under his usual scowl.

but you didn’t make it easy for him.

you held his gaze. “you could’ve just said that instead of burning a hole through my skull every day.”

he exhaled slowly. “i didn’t think you’d care.”

“i didn’t,” you said flatly. “until you started acting weird about it.”

that earned a brief flicker of something, maybe a smile, if you squinted. not a real one. just the ghost of amusement passing over his expression like a shadow.

he shifted his weight, glanced sideways. “are we… okay?”

the question landed awkwardly. like he wasn’t used to asking that kind of thing.

“we’re fine.” 

he nodded, once. 

you took a step past him, then paused. “i’m on chigiri duty until late afternoon,” you added, like it was just information. “if you plan to lurk again, at least bring your own water.”

that time, the corner of his mouth twitched. and you didn’t look back as you walked away.

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and true to his word, he was there. 

you were on the pitch again. same cones. same stopwatch. same striker pushing himself harder than the weather should allow.

chigiri blew past the center line in a blur of crimson and white, the explosive rhythm of his steps faster than the breath he barely had time to catch. you clicked the lap timer.

“0.22 seconds through the zone,” you called out, adjusting your grip on the clipboard. “cleaner. still dragging your plant foot slightly.”

chigiri bent over with a hand on his knee, panting. “swear to god i didn’t drag-”

“you did.”

he groaned and threw his head back. “you're impossible.”

you grinned. “you like it.”

he muttered something you chose to ignore and walked back to the cone line. you marked the interval on your sheet, then looked up-

-and there he was.

rin. a good twenty feet away. arms folded. half-shadowed by the metal structure that housed the benches. 

he looked away as soon as your eyes met, like he hadn’t been doing exactly what he’d been doing for the past few minutes. you sighed under your breath.

“someone’s lurking again,” you murmured, just loud enough for chigiri to hear.

he followed your gaze. “rin?”

“mmhmm.”

chigiri huffed. “man, he never used to watch my trainings.”

you handed him his water bottle. “maybe he’s trying to absorb your speed by osmosis.”

chigiri gave you a look. “or maybe he’s just trying to get close to someone else.”

you didn’t answer. because the way rin watched, like he was studying a language no one else could read, it wasn’t casual. and you were starting to realize it never had been.

you returned to the stopwatch, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumped every time you felt his eyes flick toward you.

you made it look easy. like magic. but he saw more than you wanted to admit.

and he wasn't the kind of person who wanted things handed to him. no, itoshi rin was the kind of person who wanted to earn them.

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the sun was high, the heat dense, and the players were running at full match tempo. you weren’t watching the scrimmage.

you were on the far end of the facility, cataloguing training metrics from the previous day. chigiri had been tasked with reviewing his own footage, which meant he was now half-asleep next to you, absently scrolling through clips of himself at 2x speed.

“your form’s better than last week,” you said, jotting a note down. “your head’s more centreed.”

he mumbled a tired, “thanks,” without looking.

that’s when you heard it. a sharp whistle, a shout. then nothing. dead silence for three seconds, just long enough for your stomach to twist.

you turned your head toward the field. the air felt off. players had stopped moving. coaches were jogging over. 

then you saw it.

rin, slumped on the grass. his weight tilted awkwardly to one side, one leg stretched out in front of him while the other stayed bent at the knee.

even from here, you could see his hands gripping his ankle. and you didn’t think. you were already up.

you weren’t allowed in the medical office once rin was inside. that privilege was for certified trainers and the team doctor, not support staff with clipboards and water bottles.

you hovered just outside the glass doors.

aya eventually came to find you. you didn’t even have to ask. “minor sprain is what i heard from the doctors,” she said, reading your face. “nothing fractured. just bad enough to sideline him for a few days.” 

you let out a breath, not relief, not exactly. 

“he’s pissed, apparently,” she added. “refuses treatment. said he doesn’t want to be handled like a child.”

you scoffed quietly. “that sounds about right.”

she studied you for a moment. “you gonna go in?”

you hesitated. then shook your head. “no point.”

aya raised an eyebrow. “you sure about that?”

you didn’t answer. because no, you weren’t sure at all. you leaned against the wall just outside the medical office, arms folded, foot tapping against the tile with no rhythm.

aya stood next to you, occasionally flicking through the match logs. but neither of you were paying attention to data anymore.

“he looked like he was gonna bite someone’s head off,” she muttered.

you exhaled through your nose. “that’s just his resting face.”

aya tilted her head. “okay, but it was worse this time.” you didn’t answer. the hallway lights buzzed quietly overhead, too bright for how drained you suddenly felt. aya glanced at you again. “you’re really worried.”

“i’m fine.”

“mmhmm,” she said, unimpressed. “and i’m secretly a ninja. come on. you’ve been fidgeting since he hit the ground.”

you sighed, rubbing a hand over your face. “i just… it’s rin. he won’t sit still. he’ll pretend it doesn’t hurt even if it does. and he hates being on the sidelines.”

aya smiled faintly. “you know him well.”

you didn’t say anything to that. not yet. then, the door opened. the team doctor stepped out, clipboard in hand. both you and aya straightened.

“is he okay?” you asked immediately.

the doctor gave a small nod. “nothing serious. a bad sprain, probably from the way he landed and twisted mid-air. he’ll need to rest for at least a week, and then do lighter individual training. by the time we fly back to japan, he should be near full recovery.”

you exhaled. some of the tightness in your chest eased, but not all of it. “can i see him?”

the doctor raised an eyebrow. “are you going to agitate the patient?”

you blinked. “it’s rin. he’s agitated by everyone. it won’t really make a difference,”

he gave a small sigh, somewhere between exasperated and amused. “ten minutes. he’s already in a mood.”

aya gave you a small shove toward the door. “go.”

you walked in before you could overthink it. you pushed the door open.

it was dimmer inside than you expected, just the late afternoon light bleeding through the high windows, casting gold on the walls. the air smelled like antiseptic and something warm and sterile, like clean linen.

rin was seated on the edge of the med cot, his right ankle propped up and lightly wrapped. his shirt clung to his back, damp with sweat from earlier, and his bangs hung over his eyes, the usual sharpness dulled.

he didn’t look up when you entered. you didn’t speak at first either. you just stood there for a beat, quietly watching the boy who’d made your entire month a slow unravelling.

“you’re not supposed to be up,” you finally said.

his eyes flicked to yours. “i’m not,” he replied. still that flat tone, but softer. 

you moved closer until you were standing in front of him. “they said it’s a sprain.”

“it is.”

“they also said you’re refusing treatment.” he didn’t answer. “why?”

“i don’t like being touched, or close to people,” he muttered, eyes lowering again. 

you blinked. not because it was surprising, but because it sounded more like a confession than an excuse.

“…but you’re letting me in here.”

he was quiet. then, “you’re different.”

that hit somewhere low in your chest.

you sat down beside him. he didn’t move away.

“everyone’s worried about you,” you said. 

he gave a small huff of breath. a laugh, maybe. the closest he got to one. 

you hesitated, then added, “i was worried, too.”

that silence again. heavy. and then-

“…are you mad at me?”

you blinked. “what?”

he finally turned toward you, fully. his voice was still low, but his eyes were different, like he was showing you something raw beneath the usual stone and steel. “i don’t know how to… talk. or do this. i thought staying away from you would make it easier.”

you stared at him. “easier for who?”

“for me.”

that landed.

he looked down at his wrapped ankle, jaw clenching. “every time you looked at someone else, every time you laughed with shidou or sat with chigiri, i wanted to make you stop. i just didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a child.”

you swallowed, heart thudding against your ribs. “so instead you glared at me from across the field and stormed off whenever i tried to talk to you?”

“i never stormed off.”

“you did, actually.”

he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself. “i didn’t know how to want someone the right way.”

your breath caught. for a second, everything felt suspended in air.

he glanced at you again, this time not looking away. “but i want you. i have for a while.” 

you stared at him, speechless. 

he added, voice just above a whisper, “and if i have to earn it… then i will. i’m not used to wanting anything but football, so it’s very… new,”

that undid you.

you felt the words before you could even respond, how long it had taken to get here, the weight of every stare and silence and near-touch that never happened.

and then you said, “okay.”

he blinked. “okay?”

you nodded. “but if we’re gonna do this… we’re going to do it the right way.”

his eyes narrowed slightly. “what does that mean?”

you turned toward him on the cot, folding one leg under yourself. “it means we talk.”

he blinked again, slower this time. “…talk.”

“yes,” you said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “you know, people use words to learn about each other.”

“i don’t do small talk.”

“i don’t care about small talk,” you said with a soft laugh. “i’m talking about the real kind. you’re itoshi rin. i know how fast you run, how sharp your angles are, and how you can read a pitch like a chessboard. but i don’t know what movie you fake hate but secretly love. or if you’ve ever had a pet. or what kind of music you put on when you’re angry and want to thug out.”

he stared at you, quietly stunned.

like no one had ever asked for anything else from him before. you continued, voice softer now. “i know your stats, rin. i want to know you.”

he swallowed, just once.

then, “i had a cat once.”

you blinked. “you… what?”

he looked down, faintest bit of pink at his ears. “when i was eight. stray. named him nagi.”

you snorted. “you named your cat after your future teammate?”

“it was before i met him.”

“that’s messed up.”

he gave a short, barely-there smile. “he ran away after two weeks. probably smart.”

you grinned, something in your chest lifting. “see? that wasn’t so hard.”

he looked at you again, really looked.

and for the first time since you’d known him, his gaze wasn’t heavy or guarded or too much. it was just... open. “okay,” he said. “we’ll talk.”

you nudged his uninjured leg gently with your knee. “good.”

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

it started with one hour a day.

no tactics, drills, or other names. no mentions of japan or france or blue lock or the looming weight of expectations hanging in the air like fog.

just you and rin, and time set aside to be nothing more than two people figuring each other out.

sometimes it was in the quiet corner of the staff lounge, you with a lukewarm protein shake, rin nursing a bag of ice on his ankle while pretending he wasn’t enjoying this. sometimes it was the edge of the field, long after sunset, under floodlights humming low in the silence.

and sometimes, it was just walking.

you found out rin hates tomatoes but eats them anyway because they’re ‘efficient’. that his favorite colour changes depending on his mood. that he listens to classical piano when he’s angry, and post-rock when he’s thinking.

you found out he likes rain. horror too, apparently.

he found out you bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh. that you once cried watching an animated movie and never admitted it until now. that you like airports but hate flying. that you used to play football, just for fun, but stopped when it stopped being fun.

he asked why.

you told him honestly, “i think i hated being bad at something in front of people.”

he looked at you for a long time after that and said, “i get that.”

you both sat with that silence, and for once, it didn’t feel heavy.

you laughed about stupid things. told each other half-baked dreams and guilty pleasures. he admitted he never understood memes until someone had to explain them to him for like, five minutes. you confessed you once walked into the wrong meeting room and sat through twenty minutes of a budget proposal because you were too afraid to leave.

he called you an idiot. but the fondness in his voice made your chest ache.

and slowly, day by day, the hour began to stretch.

sometimes two. sometimes three. you’d go to bed at 2am and wake up at 6am just for him. only for him. you didn't always notice when they started, or when they ended.

it just became natural, like gravity.

you weren’t even sure when you stopped calling it ‘just talking’.

and rin’s ankle mirrored the pace of your connection.

by the time the final week in france rolled in, he was cleared for light training. he moved carefully, but with purpose. 

and you knew, without him saying it, that this hour a day had become something sacred to him. something untouchable. something real.

something earned.

you were walking. side by side, his pace still cautious as his ankle tested freedom again.

neither of you had said much at first. just the quiet rhythm of footsteps and distant birdsong, like the world was giving you space to say something that mattered.

then, rin spoke. “after this training program… will i ever see you again?”

you didn’t answer right away. it wasn’t the kind of question you wanted to rush. and you knew, by the way he said it, that it wasn’t just about seeing you. it was about losing something before he ever really got to have it. 

you inhaled slowly. “professionally? no.”

he looked at you, eyes narrowing. “why?”

you gave a soft shrug. “we’re part of a separate company. the staff program was a short-term contract. i was hired for university experience, not as a full-time job. it’s for my application portfolio, sports psychology.”

he was quiet again.

you added, “once we’re back in japan, i submit my reports, get bank, and that’s it.”

rin stopped walking. you slowed, then turned back to him. he was staring at the gravel path like it personally offended him. “…so you can’t come back to blue lock?”

you smiled gently. “nope.”

he looked up at you then, his mouth pressed in a tight line. something unreadable passed through his eyes, frustration, maybe. or disappointment. or something harder to name.

and then, after a long pause, he said, “then… give me your number.”

you blinked.

you stared at him for a second, lips twitching at the corners. “no please?” you teased.

he didn’t flinch. “if i say please, will you stop making fun of me?”

“definitely not.”

he exhaled through his nose, almost a laugh. almost. “then no.”

you pulled your phone out anyway. unlocked it. handed it over. “don’t ghost me,” you warned.

he took the phone, typing with his thumb. “i won’t.”

“you say that now, but wait until you get swarmed by agents and endorsements and all those fangirls who definitely don’t eat boiled chicken for breakfast.”

“i don’t care about them.” he looked at you again. “i care about you.”

you blinked again. and this time… it hit you different. not just because of what he said.

but how.

like he’d already made peace with the fact that this connection, whatever it was, had taken root inside him. he handed your phone back without another word.

the contact name just read: rin. no emoji. no full name. just rin.

but somehow, that said everything.

ılıılıılıılıılıılı

the airport was loud in the way all airports are, buzzing voices, overhead announcements, the low rumble of luggage wheels against polished floors.

it was déjà vu in a strange way.

just like when you first arrived in france, same gates, same fluorescent lights, same staff-issued duffel slung over your shoulder. but everything else had changed. you had changed. and somewhere not far from you, itoshi rin had, too.

you found him standing near his gate, boarding pass in one hand, hood pulled loosely over his dark hair.

he didn’t look like a boy flying home. he looked like someone flying forward. 

you stopped beside him, nudging his arm lightly with your elbow. “this is it, huh?”

he looked over at you. not away. not through you. at you. “not really,” he said. 

you raised an eyebrow. 

“the next time i see you,” he said, “will be at the u-20 world cup. i’ll be on the field.”

you blinked, almost smiling. “you sound pretty confident.”

“i’m not hoping,” he said simply. “i’m promising.”

you crossed your arms, amused. “that’s a lot of pressure. what if i can’t afford tickets?”

he tilted his head slightly, the ghost of a smile tugging at his mouth. “i’ll pay for them.”

you laughed. “you don’t even know how much they cost.”

“i don’t care,” he said, turning to face you more fully now. “front row. centre. you’ll be there.”

you stared at him, heart catching for just a second. “…and after?” you asked softly. “when you win?”

he didn’t hesitate.

“i’ll take you out,” he said. “for real. a real date.”

you felt something warm bloom in your chest. “okay.”

his flight was called. a boarding line began to shuffle forward. you stepped back, giving him space to go, but before he turned, he paused.

and then, without asking, without looking around to see who was watching… 

he leaned in. pressed his forehead gently to yours. just for a breath. just long enough for it to mean something.

“i’ll see you soon,” he murmured.

you closed your eyes. “you better.”

and then he was gone, swallowed into the crowd and the call of boarding gates. you stood there a little longer, hand curled around the strap of your bag, heart impossibly full.

not an ending. just a pause.

because the truth was, he’d earned it. and so had you.