#raichi

—

The gym had never felt so loud, and at the same time so completely empty.

You could still hear the echo of it—that awful, sickening *crack* in your knee right before you hit the hardwood.

One moment you were soaring, meeting the ball at the apex of your jump, ready to send it streaming down your line of vision. The next, gravity fucking you up.

The doctor’s office a day later had been suffocating. The old man that smelled too much like cigarettes used big, clinical words like *anterior cruciate ligament* and *reconstruction*, but all you heard was the subtext: *You’re an idiot, and you’re done playing. For a long, long time. Maybe forever.*

Now, you sat on your bed, staring blankly at the trophies and the volleyball resting in the corner of your room. It looked like a museum attraction. A relic of a past life, it might as well be collecting dust now.

The rest of the world was moving on. Your teammates were still practicing, their sneakers squeaking on the court, their laughter echoing through the gym after school. But you? You were trapped in a body that felt like a broken cage.

A deep, heavy grayness had settled over your chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to care, and even harder to do anything but stare at the wall.

You could feel that familiar stinging sensation coming up into your nose and migrating to your eyes.

Suddenly, your bedroom window rattled making you flinch. It was an aggressive, rhythmic thumping, followed by a loud, muffled shout.

"Hey! Open up before I kick the glass in!"

You didn't even have to look to know who it was. Ryusei Shidou.

To literally anyone else, Shidou was a local natural disaster. He was the terrifying demon on the soccer team who spoke in very inappropriate metaphors, picked fights for the thrill of it, and drove the teachers (and you) to the brink of insanity. People avoided him like the actual plague. They thought he was a freak, a loose cannon, and way too much to handle.

But, as corny as it sounded, they didn’t know him like you did. They don’t know about the scrawny, hyperactive kid who had climbed up a tree to rescue your stuck volleyball ten years ago, only to fall out of it backward, landing flat on his face, laughing hysterically with the ball clutched to his chest. You ended up having to nurse his scratches. You’ve basically been inseparable ever since.

With a heavy sigh, you dragged yourself across the bed, your bulky knee brace clicking awkwardly with every movement. You unlocked the window and pushed it open.

Shidou practically exploded into your room, smelling of sweat and the crisp evening air. He was still wearing his school uniform, though the shirt was completely unbuttoned, exposing his tanned chest, and his tie was nowhere to be found.

"Man, you took forever!" he complained, tossing a plastic convenience store bag onto your desk. He swung his legs over the sill and dropped into your room so fluidly it made you a little envious.

Darn his freakish flexibility.

Then, his eyes dropped to your leg.

The manic energy in his face didn't vanish, but you could tell he was going to say something. He never was the one to follow the suggestion of ‘think before you talk’. The sharp, jagged edges of his usual expression softened into something else.

"How's the leg feeling, champ?" he asked, throwing himself onto the floor right at your feet, leaning his back against your bed.

"It's fine," you lied softly, wincing as you crawled back under your blankets. "Just... hurts."

"Liar," Shidou snorted, leaning his head back against your mattress so he could look up at you upside down. His vibrant, violet eyes locked onto yours. "You look like a deflated balloon. Where’s that look you get when you’re about to spike a ball into some poor loser’s face? I don't like you like this. It’s lame and it’s so not like my queen."

"Then leave," you muttered, pulling the blanket up to your chin, turning your face away from him. "Go back to football. Go score a goal or fight someone."

You half expected him to snap back, to get annoyed and storm out. Your Shidou didn't do 'sad.' He didn't do 'quiet.'

Instead, the room went still. The only sound was the distant hum of the streets outside your house.

Then, you felt the mattress dip. He crawled up onto the bed, moving as gentle as Shidou could, and slid under the covers right next to you.

"Get out, Ryusei," you whispered, your voice cracking. "I'm not in the mood."

"No way," he said, his voice dropping an octave, losing its usual mocking edge. He reached out, his large, calloused hand grabbing your shoulder and firmly, but gently, rolling you over so you were forced to look at him. "You think you can just shut down and not talk to me? We’ve been a team since we were brats. You think I'm gonna let you drown in your own head?"

Seeing the rare concern in his eyes might’ve been the breaking point. The dam you had built up over the past week—the brave face you wore for your parents, the polite 'I'm doing okay!' texts you sent your teammates—shattered completely.

A sob tore from your throat, violent and ugly.

"It's over, Ryusei," you wept, hiding your face in your hands as the tears finally poured out. "The doctor said... he said even after all the rehab, I might not be able to jump like I used to. I won't be the same. Volleyball was the only thing I was good at. It’s all I wanted to do. Now I’m just... I’m nothing. I’m stuck here while everyone else gets to play."

The thought of never feeling that perfect contact of the ball against your palms, of never hearing the roar of the crowd, it made you feel fucked up.

Shidou didn't say *'it'll be fine.'* He didn't offer empty platitudes because he knew, better than anyone, what sports meant. To Shidou, playing football was like breathing; it was his 'explosion.' He knew that losing your sport wasn't just an injury—it was like losing a limb, hell, all of your limbs, a piece of your soul.

Instead of talking, he reached out and hauled you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms completely around you. He pulled you flush against him, burying his face in your hair. He held you so tightly it almost hurt, an anchor in the middle of your emotional turmoil.

"Don’t go crazy on me now, and don’t be a dumbass. You're not nothing, got that?" he said into your hair, his voice vibrating against you. "Don't you ever say that stupid shit again, or I'll actually kick your ass.”

You turned around and wept into his open shirt, your tears wetting his collarbone, your fingers gripping the fabric of his uniform like a lifeline. Shidou held you, one of his hands coming up to cup the back of your head, his long fingers gently untangling the knots in your hair. He rocked you slightly, a rhythmic, soothing motion that contrasted wildly with his usual nature.

"Let it out," he murmured, his breath warm against your ear. "Explode if you gotta. Do it until you can't breathe. But don't think you're gonna be like this forever. You're just... on an intermission! And I'm staying right here until the curtains go up again, yeah?"

—

For the next few weeks, the dark cloud didn't magically disappear, but Shidou made sure it couldn't completely swallow you.

He became a constant, looming fixture in your life, even more than before. Which was impressive.

The rest of the school watched in slight bewilderment as the Ryusei Shidou—the guy who got suspended for getting into a fist fight with an opposing player and left them with a broken nose, and a split lip—patiently carrying your school bag every single day, walking at a snail's pace down the hallways to match your slow, limping gait.

If anyone happens to stare too long at your brace or whisper, Shidou would eye them down and flash a fanged grin, his eyes wild, making them scramble away.

"Ryusei, you're scaring the freshmen," you mumbled one afternoon as you sat on the bench by the school courtyard, watching him rifle through the bag he had brought.

"How’re they gonna learn how it goes ‘round here?" he replied cheerfully, pulling out a container of homemade pudding. He’d practically threatened his own mom to teach him how to make it because you had mentioned offhand that you missed sweet things.

He sat down next to you, scooped up a big spoonful, and shoved it right in front of your face. "Open up. Say *ahh~*."

"I can feed myself, I'm injured, not paralyzed. Jeez." you flushed, your cheeks burning as a few students walked past.

"Shut up and eat it, or I'll force-feed you," he grinned, his fangs peeking out.

You rolled your eyes but complied, taking the bite. It was surprisingly delicious—sweet, and smooth. "Woah, this is really good. You actually didn't poison it. Y’know if football doesn’t work out you could just do this."

"Right?!" Shidou beamed, his entire face lighting up with that childlike, manic joy that always made your heart do a stupid little flip. "I'm a genius~"

But the best part about Shidou wasn't just the sweets or the protection. It was the fact that he refused to let you give up on your body.

Every evening, he would come over to your house. He would pull your desk chair over, sit you down, and carefully help you through your physical therapy exercises. When your muscles burned and you wanted to cry from the frustration of not being able to do a simple straight-leg raise, Shidou would be right there on the floor with you.

"Five more! Come on!" he’d yell, acting like a crazed personal trainer. "Show that knee who's boss, I know you got more in you. You were moving so quick earlier tryna hit me for those chips."

"You idiot, they were mine! Fuck… this hurts…" you whined slightly, tears pricking your eyes.

"I know babe. Pain is just proof that your body’s fighting to explode again!" He grabbed your ankle, his touch suddenly very gentle, helping guide your leg through the final repetitions. "Good. Perfect. Look at that. You got it down."

When you finished, exhausted and trembling, he would lift you up effortlessly and carry you back to bed. He'd wrap your knee in an ice pack, prop it up on pillows, and then crawl right next to you, pulling you into his side. Then he’d continue to talk your ears off about any mundane thing that happened to him.

It almost made you feel like you could find some semblance of peace despite everything.

—

Months passed, and you could maybe feel the suffocating depression slowly begin to lift, replaced by stubborn determination. You couldn't jump yet, and you couldn't play in tournaments, but you were walking without a limp, and you could jog. You were getting your life back.

One Saturday evening, Shidou dragged you out to the deserted park near your house. The sun was setting, painting the sky in brilliant shades of purple, pink, and yellow.

He was holding a brand-new volleyball.

"What are we doing here, Ryusei?" you asked, leaning against a bench.

Shidou spun the ball on his finger, a small smile on his face—the kind of smile he only ever showed you. "You've been doing your boring rehab exercises for months. It's time for a real test.” He whined. “I’m not gonna make you do any jumping, or crazy running. But just... feel the ball okay."

He tossed the ball lightly from hand to hand, then stepped back, tossing it high into the air toward you.

Instinct took over and your feet planted firmly on the ground. You brought your forearms together, creating a platform. As the ball came down, you absorbed the impact, passing it smoothly back to him.

*Smack.*

The sound echoed through the quiet park. It was clean, and oh so missed.

Shidou caught the ball, his eyes wide and glittering with an intense light. "Yeah, you feel that?! You still got it~" He sung.

You stared at your hands. They were slightly red from the impact. A wild, bubbly feeling burst in your chest—the first real spark of joy you had felt about volleyball in what felt like an eternity. Proof that you were still you.

Shidou dropped the ball, letting it bounce away into the grass. In three large strides, he crossed the distance between you and grabbed your face in his hands. His thumbs gently wiped away the tear that slipped down your cheek. His face was inches from yours. "I told you didn’t I?" he whispered. You’ve never heard him this quiet. His forehead now came to rest gently against yours. "You're a miracle worker. Besides, you should know better than to doubt me, I’m your number one fan after all.”

You let out a watery laugh, wrapping your hands around his wrists, holding him close. "You're so dumb, Ryusei."

"And you love it," he grinned, his lips brushing against yours in a short but sweet kiss that tasted like the summer air. God you could punch him right about now. Knowing him he’ll probably like it so you refrain.

—

"...So, to answer your question," you said, bringing your focus back to the flashbulbs and the microphone. "Whenever I doubted myself, he was there to set me straight.” The reporter looked visibly moved, her hand over her heart. "Wow... that’s incredible. A truly incredible bond. I hear that Blue Lock is heating up right now, is he here today to watch you qualify for nationals?"

You smiled, looking right back up to the stands.

Up in the front row, Shidou was currently standing on top of his seat, completely ignoring the security guards yelling at him to get down. He had a massive, fanged grin stretched across his face, his eyes closed from his smile. You could see his jacket being tugged down by another boy with blond hair and grey ends, with an obscene cowlick that looked equally as excited, maybe even more.

Shidou cupped his hands around his mouth and screamed obscenities over the roar of the stadium. Something along the lines of, “THAT’S MY GIRL! YOU’RE THE SHIT! FUCK ‘EM UP!”

You could see the surrounding crowd shifted away from the pair in slight alarm, completely baffled by his explosive energy, but you just let out a loud, breathless laugh.

"Yeah," you told the reporter, your heart swelling to the point of bursting as you waved back up at him. "He's right there. He hasn't missed a single game. But that means I have to watch his match next time." You laughed.

—

Igarashi slammed his locker shut, looking around the room with a deep frown. “Does anyone know where that blond antenna freak went? Couldn’t find him this morning.”

Karasu, who was lazily tying his cleats on the bench, didn't even look up as he answered. “He went out, took Charles with him.”

"Ok… to where?" Igarashi asked, rubbing the back of his neck. It was weird enough that Shidou had managed to sneak out of the facility, but taking the French prodigy with him made it ten times more suspicious.

"Some volleyball game," Karasu shrugged, leaning back. "He was saying something about it being his girlfriend’s game."

Igarashi blinked once, then twice. “Wait what. Girlfriend? You're pulling my leg right?”

“Nah man,” Karasu snorted, a smirk playing on his lips. "He was serious. Said she was the number-one player in the country and he can’t miss it or his ‘cells would degenerate’ or whatever crazy crap he always says."

"Dude, someone call him!" Raichi yelled, veins piping up on his forehead.

"No way, you do it," Karasu countered instantly, holding his hands up defensively. "Remember the last time we tried to take his phone when he was on that call..."

The memory flashed vividly in their minds: Shidou, sitting in the corner of the lounge, talking to someone on his phone. He was ignored by the rest of the room until Igaguri tried to prank him (it was a dare). The events that had followed, resulted in a cracked wall and a very traumatized monk.

"Shit, you're right," Igarashi muttered, shivering and quickly backing away from the idea.

Jingo Raichi, who you were quick to find based on his voice’s volume alone that could be even heard from the last of the benches on the field. Immediately spotting the golden-haired, you quickly jogged your way down, calling his name and preparing yourself for a brief introduction. All while he was loudly explaining something to one of his teammates, only noticing you minutes later, jumping a little from the sudden appearance of a girl. Surprise, perhaps embarrassment was displayed on his face since his new manager caught him in a not-so-flattering moment. Moving on from a memorable first impression, he introduced himself, giving you a very firm handshake along with small muttering. “Sorry ya had to see that.” Noticing that he’s actually quite nice, you happily started a conversation hoping to get to know him some more.

• Raichi, who treats you surprisingly well even though the first few days with him are kinda awkward. He, too shy after the first encounter would only manage to ask a few questions and intently listen to whatever you said without a complaint. His teammates would tease him for how silent he was around you instead of his usual self.

• After about a week or two though, he would slowly warm up to you, and from then on it’s a rollercoaster of emotions. You get to see how Raichi is a fierce, maybe too much of a fighter spirit, happily starting or getting into heated discussions and arguments, which honestly, sometimes makes your job just a tad bit harder.

• However, he’s aware of how he’s quite a handful to deal with, and that’s why he tries to restrain his louder self in front of you, hoping it works.

• You do notice this and appreciate the effort, but you reassure him it doesn’t bother you and just be his usual self.

“Maybe try to avoid picking fights with others.”-you say as he nods in agreement, grinning like a child.

• You two share a strong bond of friendship that blossoms through calming him down or hyping him up for matches, and laughing at other players for their stupidity. (you two are such bullies lmao)

• He is also a very sporty guy, with an impressive amount of stamina and strength that could last him all day, yet after the mandatory training hours, he’s out. Just chilling with you, or trying to figure out where you hid those protein shakes. (He does practice overtime on some days just not on a regular basis)

• Teases you a looot, but he’s extremely protective at the same time. If anyone even insults you or DARES to bully you, they’re dead. Don’t mess with his precious manager, cause only he can do that. Everyone is impressed at how you got yourself someone like him

• Raichi among the many traits he possesses like his sexy football, is also very loud. You should have brought earplugs cause 60% of the day usually consists of him shouting at another player for whatever reason it may be, making you the one to shout even louder to stop him. It’s a bit embarrassing when you guys get scolded to shut your mouth, but you love him nonetheless.

• When the U20 announcement came, you saw him excited, practicing harder than ever and even the loud remarks died down a little. So, when it was revealed he wouldn’t be in the starter lineup, you were ready to comfort him.

• However, as always, Raichi manages to surprise yet again. He was hurt of course—you could see it—yet during the match he would shout the loudest on the benches, cheering for the boys, and giving them the extra support and advice they needed.

“You’re not sad?”

“Nah, this just means I gotta work harder, ya dumbass”

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

• Raichi is HYPED and comes back stronger than ever, ready to improve himself and let the world know his name.

• Your manager position also becomes a more serious job, having to focus on his training schedules, double the amount of paperwork, and making sure he’s fine mentally.

• He’s literally the same before the U20 match, but the teasing seems to have lessened as well as him putting in more effort as a player. However, bullying Igaguri is still one of his favorite things to do during his free time.

• Raichi is also pretty hardworking during tutoring, with him only throwing in a joke every 20 minutes, all while his anger issues with grammatical rules seem to explode each time he studies with you.

• He, who frequently asks you for opinions, check-ups, and discussions making sure you’re involved in whatever he’s planning. Your friendship has also become stronger over the months, with a few stolen glances making their appearance here and there.

• You know he’s trying his best and you will always support him from the sidelines. Does he want that tho? Maybe not from the sidelines he thinks, cause you would look really pretty next to him. (not that you’re not pretty now, just to be clear—)

(guys he’s so underrated like 😔🖐️)