Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The screech of shoes against the polished floor, the heavy breathing of tired boys, and the smell of sweat hanging in the air. This was Blue Lock, a training facility designed to create the world's greatest striker. But today, something felt different in the atmosphere of Bastard Münchën's training area.

Yoichi Isagi wiped sweat from his brow as he completed the last of Noel Noa's obstacle courses. His lungs burned, muscles ached, but a smile spread across his face. This was exactly what he needed - the challenge, the push to become better, to evolve further.

"Not bad," Noa commented as Isagi crossed the finish line, his stopwatch clicking. The legendary striker stood with perfect posture, his presence commanding respect even when he wasn't trying. "But you can do better. Your movements are still inefficient."

Isagi nodded, taking in every word. Noa wasn't just any striker; he was THE striker, the pinnacle that all of them were chasing. Every critique from him was invaluable.

As Kunigami, Kurona, and Gagamaru finished their runs through the course, Isagi glanced around the training area. The German players—Kaiser, Ness, and the others—were already done, standing off to the side, conversing in German. They moved with such natural confidence, like they belonged here. It made Isagi's determination burn hotter.

"Alright, that's enough for now," Noa announced, his voice carrying across the area without him having to raise it. "Everyone gather around."

The Blue Lock players moved quickly, forming a semicircle in front of Noa. The German players followed more casually, exchanging glances among themselves that seemed to convey some shared knowledge unknown to the Japanese strikers.

"Before we proceed further with training, there's another asset to our team that you need to meet," Noa said, his expression unchanging.

Igaguri perked up. "Another player?"

"No," Noa replied, turning his head toward the entrance. "A manager."

The double doors at the entrance swung open, revealing a slender figure that immediately caught everyone's attention. Not because of any dramatic entrance, but because of what they hadn't seen in months—a girl.

She walked with measured steps, neither hurried nor hesitant. With hair that framed a face that could have been carved from marble for all the emotion it showed. Her eyes sharp that glowed with intensity. She wore a formal outfit: a beige cream-lined suit skirt paired with a white button-up shirt, its sleeves rolled up halfway. Over this, she wore a matching beige cream waistcoat and a red tie neatly tucked in. Black tights and dark brown heels completed her professional appearance.

Her expression revealed nothing; it was a neutral mask that gave away no emotion.

Whispers broke out among the Blue Lock players. A girl? Here? After months of seeing only each other and occasionally Ego or Anri?

"This is (Name) (Last name)," Noa introduced without ceremony. "She will be serving as the manager for Bastard Münchën during the Neo Egoist League."

Igaguri's jaw practically hit the floor. "A manager? Our age?"

Even the usually composed Kunigami looked surprised, while Gagamaru merely raised an eyebrow.

(Name) stood beside Noa, her expression never changing as she surveyed the gathered players. If the attention bothered her, she didn't show it.

"I don't understand," Kaiser spoke up in with his German accented japanese, his brow furrowed in confusion. "We weren't informed about a manager."

Before Noa could respond, the screen panels stirred alive, and Ego Jinpachi’s face appeared, a twisted grin on his face.

"I see you've met one of our managers," Ego said, his eyes gleaming with amusement at the confused faces. "Allow me to explain."

The room fell silent as all attention shifted to the mastermind behind Blue Lock.

"Just as we're cultivating the next generation of world-class strikers, Anri and I recognized the need for the next generation of managers," Ego explained. "Football isn't just about players on the field. The support system around them—coaches, medical staff, and managers—can multiply a player's chances of success."

He gestured to (Name), who still hadn't moved or changed her expression.

"We've selected five individuals with exceptional potential to serve as managers for each team in the Neo Egoist League. They will handle statistics, analysis, player development, and—most importantly for your futures—they will be your advocates during the Offers Events."

"Offers Events?" Kurona questioned.

"three formal events where representatives from football clubs around the world will gather to bid on Blue Lock players," Ego explained with a predatory smile. "Think of them as auctions where you are the products. Your performance in matches determines your value, but a good manager can multiply that value significantly through presentation, negotiation, and strategic partnerships."

The implications weren't lost on anyone. Their futures, their dreams of playing professionally, could be influenced by these managers.

"So you're saying," Isagi began, his mind racing with possibilities, "that having a good relationship with our manager could impact which clubs make offers for us?"

"Precisely," Ego confirmed. "Your skill on the field is the foundation, but never underestimate the power of proper representation. These managers will be fighting for you—if they deem you worthy of their effort."

With that ominous addition hanging in the air, Ego looked to Noel Noa. "Noa, I'll leave you to continue with training. (Name), remember what we discussed."

She gave a slight nod, the first movement she'd made since entering.

As the screen flickered to black, all eyes returned to the girl standing beside Noa.

"I expect you all to treat (Name) with the same respect you show me," Noa stated firmly. "She's not here to be your friend or your servant. She's here to evaluate, analyze, and maximize the potential of this team. Whether you benefit from her presence is up to you."

With that, Noa dismissed them for a short break before afternoon training. "(Name) will show you to the Bastard Münchën bay. Follow her and get settled."

As Noa walked away, an awkward silence fell over the group. The German players seemed surprised but quickly recovered, beginning to speak among themselves.

Igaguri, never one to let silence last long, bounced over to (Name) with his typical enthusiasm. "So, (Name)-chan! How did you end up here in Blue Lock? Are there other girl managers? What kind of—"

His rapid-fire questions were cut short when (Name) turned her gaze to him, her expression unchanging but her eyes holding such intensity that Igaguri physically took a step back.

"Follow me," she said, her voice surprisingly neutral despite the glare. "And it's (Last name), not '(Name)-chan'."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and headed for the exit, leaving the boys to scramble after her.

The walk to the Bastard Münchën bay was mostly silent, save for the occasional whisper between players. (Name) led them through corridors that seemed identical, navigating with confidence that suggested she'd already memorized the layout.

"So, uh, (Last name)-san," Isagi ventured, unable to contain his curiosity any longer. "Have you always been interested in football?"

(Name) didn't break stride or look back as she replied, "Numbers. I'm interested in numbers. Football is just where I apply them."

"Numbers?" Kurona echoed, confusion evident in his voice.

"Every movement, every play, every decision on the field can be quantified," (Name) elaborated without emotion. "Probability of success, statistical advantages, optimization of resources. Football is mathematics in motion."

Kaiser, who had been walking near the back, snorted audibly. "Football is art, not a spreadsheet."

(Name) didn't respond to the provocation, continuing her brisk pace until they reached a set of double doors marked with the Bastard Münchën emblem.

"This is the common area," she announced, pushing open the doors to reveal a spacious room with modern furnishings, a kitchen area, and multiple screens on the walls. "Your individual quarters are through those doors. Find the one with your name. Training resumes in one hour."

Without another word, she turned and walked away, leaving the players to settle in.

"Well, she's... intense," Gagamaru commented, stretching his arms above his head.

Igaguri huffed. "She's scary! Did you see how she glared at me?"

"You were being annoying," yukimiya pointed out bluntly.

As the players dispersed to find their rooms, Isagi couldn't help but wonder about this new development. A manager their age who could potentially influence which clubs made offers for them? It added yet another layer of complexity to the already high-stakes environment of Blue Lock.

He found his room—simple but comfortable, with a bed, desk, and attached bathroom—and quickly unpacked his few belongings. His mind, however, remained preoccupied with thoughts of their new manager and what this meant for his journey to become the world's best striker.

After settling in, Isagi decided to explore the bay a bit more before training resumed. He wandered back to the common area, which was now empty as everyone had retreated to their rooms. Curious about what else the facility offered, he tried a few more doors off the main area.

One opened to reveal what appeared to be a viewing room—a large space with screens covering almost every inch of the walls. And there, sitting in the center of the room on her knees, was (Name).

She didn't notice him at first, too absorbed in what she was doing. Her eyes flicked rapidly between screens showing past matches, while her fingers moved across a tablet in her lap. But what caught Isagi's attention was the stream of numbers and formulas she was muttering under her breath, too fast for him to catch more than fragments.

"...acceleration rate approximately 8.2 meters per second squared... factoring in wind resistance... probability of successful interception 78.3%... if reaction time improved by 0.4 seconds, success rate increases to 94.6%..."

He recognized footage of himself on one of the screens—his match against Rin Itoshi during the Second Selection. The sight of (Name) analyzing his play so intently made him pause at the doorway, uncertain whether to interrupt or slip away unnoticed.

Before he could decide, another voice spoke from behind him.

"Spying on our new babysitter, Isagi? How juvenile."

Isagi turned to find Kaiser standing there, Ness slightly behind him. The German striker's tone was mocking, but his eyes betrayed genuine curiosity as he peered past Isagi into the viewing room.

(Name) finally noticed their presence, turning her head slightly without changing her kneeling position. "Did you need something?"

"Just exploring," Isagi replied honestly. "Sorry for intruding."

"No intrusion," she said, returning her attention to the screens. "This is a common area."

Kaiser stepped fully into the room, his confidence filling the space as it always did. "What exactly are you doing, Schätzchen?" The term of endearment sounded both charming and condescending coming from him.

"Analysis," (Name) replied, unmoved by Kaiser's demeanor. "The system hasn't updated with complete statistical profiles yet, so I'm making preliminary assessments based on visual data."

Kaiser laughed, the sound rich but disbelieving. "You're trying to calculate player statistics by eye? That's impossible."

"For most people, yes," (Name) agreed without a hint of boasting. It was a simple statement of fact in her view.

Ness raised an eyebrow, intrigued rather than dismissive. "What kind of metrics are you estimating?"

Instead of answering Ness, She turned her attention to Kaiser, her sharp eyes fixing on him with unnerving intensity. "You've been watching Isagi's footage. You see him as your primary competition here."

It wasn't a question. Kaiser's smile faltered slightly.

"Based on the last three matches I've reviewed," (Name) continued, "Isagi Yoichi's top speed is approximately 32 kilometers per hour. His shot power averages 116 kilometers per hour with a standard deviation of 4.2. His spatial awareness rating would be approximately 92 out of 100, and his 'direct shooting' skill efficiency is around 84%, though it increases to 93% when combined with his 'spatial awareness' ability."

The room fell silent as the girl rattled off these numbers without looking at any notes or hesitating.

"Those are very specific claims," Kaiser said, his tone more serious now. "And completely unverifiable."

As if on cue, Ness's tablet chimed. He glanced down at it and his eyes widened slightly. "The player profiles just updated," he said, turning the tablet toward Kaiser.

Isagi couldn't see the screen from where he stood, but he watched Kaiser's expression change from skepticism to surprise as he looked from the tablet to (Name), who still sat with her back to the screen showing Isagi's updated statistics.

"Well?" she asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer.

Kaiser didn't respond immediately, instead handing the tablet back to Ness with a thoughtful expression.

"How did you do that?" Isagi asked, genuinely amazed.

(Name) finally stood, smoothing down her tracksuit. "I told you. Numbers. That's what I do." She walked toward the door, stopping briefly beside Kaiser. "Your statistics are next on my list, Kaiser-kun. I'm particularly interested in how your 'Kaiser Impact' translates numerically compared to Isagi's 'Direct Shoot'."

With that, she left the three strikers standing in the viewing room, the screens still cycling through match footage around them.

"Well," Ness said after a moment, looking at the tablet again, "her numbers were accurate to within a 1% margin of error. That's... uncanny."

Kaiser was still staring at the doorway where (Name) had disappeared, an unreadable expression on his face. Then, slowly, a smile spread across his lips—not his usual arrogant smirk, but something more calculating.

"The Blue Lock Abacus," he murmured, the nickname forming naturally. "Now that's an asset worth acquiring."

Isagi felt a chill run down his spine at Kaiser's words. He recognized that look—it was the same expression Kaiser wore when he identified something that could be useful to him, something he wanted to possess.

"She's not a piece of equipment," Isagi found himself saying, surprising even himself with the defensive tone.

Kaiser's smile widened. "Everything and everyone is a tool in the right hands, Isagi. And I intend to have the best tools at my disposal when I take my rightful place as the world's greatest striker."
With that, Kaiser turned and left, Ness following after giving Isagi a slightly apologetic shrug.

Alone in the viewing room, Isagi looked up at the screen still showing his match footage. (Name) had quantified aspects of his play that he himself couldn't have articulated so precisely. Was that her talent? To see the game not just as movement and instinct, but as pure data?

And more importantly, what would it mean for all of them to have someone with that ability evaluating their every move on the field?

One thing was certain: the addition of (Name) (Last Name) to Bastard Münchën had just made the already complex environment of Blue Lock even more intricate. And as Kaiser had clearly recognized, having her support could be a significant advantage.

Isagi felt a new determination rising within him. Whatever game Kaiser was planning with their new manager, Isagi wouldn't let him monopolize such a valuable resource. Not when his dream of becoming the world's best striker was on the line.

The afternoon training session was even more intense than the morning's. Noa pushed them through drills designed to test not just their physical abilities but their decision-making under pressure. Throughout it all, (Name) stood silently off to the side, tablet in hand, eyes missing nothing.

"Again!" Noa called after a particularly sloppy passing sequence. "Kunigami, your timing is off. Isagi, you're hesitating. Kaiser, stop showing off and focus on the drill as instructed."

As they reset for another attempt, Isagi noticed (Name) typing rapidly on her tablet. What was she recording? Every mistake? Every success? Was she already calculating their value, deciding which players were worth her effort
when those "Offers Events" came around?

The thought made him push harder, focus more intently. He couldn't afford to be overlooked, not by Noa and now not by this enigmatic manager who could apparently quantify a player's worth down to decimal points.

After two grueling hours, Noa finally called an end to the session. "Cool down properly. We start again at 0600 tomorrow," he instructed before turning to leave with (Name) following close behind.

Isagi watched them go, noting how they seemed to converse briefly, Noa nodding at whatever (Name) was showing him on her tablet.

"So what do you guys think about having a manager?" Igaguri asked as they began their cool-down stretches. "A cute one at that, even if she is super scary."

"It doesn't change anything," Hiori stated flatly. "We're still here to become the best."

"But didn't you hear what Ego said?" Igaguri pressed. "She could help determine which clubs make offers for us! That's huge!"

"If you're good enough, clubs will want you regardless," Kaiser interjected, joining their conversation unexpectedly. "A manager is just window dressing."

Isagi looked at Kaiser skeptically. That wasn't how he had talked about (Name) in the viewing room earlier.

"Besides," Kaiser continued with a smirk, "I doubt she'll waste her time on players who don't have the potential to attract top clubs in the first place."

The implication was clear: Kaiser didn't see most of them as worthy competition.

"She's just another tool for us to use in our evolution," Isagi found himself saying, partly to counter Kaiser and partly because he believed it. "Like everything else in Blue Lock."

Kaiser's eyes narrowed slightly at Isagi's words, recognizing them as a challenge.

"Well put, Isagi," he conceded with false politeness. "May the best man win her favor then."

As Kaiser walked away to join the other German players, Gagamaru snorted. "Is he seriously treating her like some prize to be won?"

"That's not what he meant," Isagi said quietly, watching Kaiser's retreating back. "He sees her as a weapon to be wielded, not a prize. And he wants to make sure that weapon is pointed at his enemies, not at him."

Raichi nodded in understanding. "So it's not about winning her over..."

"It's about ensuring she sees your value clearly enough to fight for you when those clubs come calling," Isagi finished.

The realization settled over the Japanese strikers. In this environment, even something that should have been supportive—a team manager—had become another aspect of their competition.

Dinner in the Bastard Münchën bay was a relatively quiet affair. The kitchen was well-stocked, and players prepared their own meals according to the nutritional guidelines provided. (Name) was nowhere to be seen during this time, which allowed for more relaxed conversation among the players.

"Do you think the other teams have managers too?" Kurona wondered aloud as they ate.

"Ego said there were five of them, one for each team," Kunigami reminded him. "So yes."

"I wonder what they're like," Igaguri mused. "Do you think they're all girls? Or maybe some guys too?"

"Does it matter?" Gagamaru asked, looking bored by the conversation.

"Of course it matters!" Igaguri insisted. "Haven't you been paying attention? These managers could determine our futures!"

Before the discussion could continue, the door to the common area opened and (Name) entered. She wasn't alone; Noel Noa walked beside her, the two deep in conversation.

"—adjust the morning drills to focus more on reaction time for the Japanese players," Noa was saying. "Your assessment of their weaknesses aligns with mine."

She nodded, making notes on her ever-present tablet. "The data suggests a 17% improvement potential if we implement specialized drills for two weeks before reassessment."

All conversation among the players had stopped as they watched this interaction. Noa and (Name), seemingly oblivious to the attention, continued to the kitchen area where She prepared a simple plate of food for herself while continuing their discussion.

"Kaiser's ego is affecting team dynamics," she stated in her matter-of-fact tone. "Statistical probability of optimal team performance decreases by approximately 23% when factoring in his tendency to prioritize personal showcasing over tactical efficiency."

Several players choked on their food at the bluntness of her assessment. Noa, however, merely nodded.

"I've observed the same," he agreed. "But his skill is undeniable. The challenge is channeling it effectively."

"I'll develop some scenarios to test possible solutions," (Name) replied, taking her plate and heading toward the door that presumably led to her quarters. "Goodnight, Noa-san."

After she left, Noa turned to the silent players, his expression unreadable. "I suggest you all get some rest. Tomorrow will be challenging."

With that cryptic statement, he too departed, leaving the players to exchange bewildered glances.

"Did she just... criticize Kaiser to Noa's face?" Igaguri whispered, looking scandalized and impressed simultaneously.

"And Noa agreed with her," Kurona added, equally surprised.

Isagi remained silent, thinking over what he'd just witnessed. (Name) hadn't been exaggerating about her role. She truly was analyzing everything, calculating their strengths and weaknesses, and directly influencing how they would be trained.

And more concerning—or exciting, depending on how you looked at it—Noa was clearly taking her input seriously.

Because if she really could influence which clubs made offers for players, then having The calculator like girl on your side could make all the difference in achieving the dream they were all fighting for.

The question was: who would she ultimately choose to support in the battle? Kaiser or him..And what would they have to do to earn that support?

With these thoughts swirling in his mind, Isagi finally returned to his room, more awake than ever despite the late hour. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to prove himself not just to Noa, but to their enigmatic new manager as well.

The game had changed, the stakes raised yet again. And Isagi was determined to adapt, to evolve once more. Because that's what he did best.

Chapter Text

The stadium lights blazed overhead as (Name) (Last name) settled into her seat beside Coach Noel Noa. Her beige cream-lined suit skirt perfectly pressed, white button-up with sleeves rolled to the elbow, and matching waistcoat gave her a professional appearance that belied her age. The red tie tucked neatly into her waistcoat completed the ensemble—professional, calculated, and intentional. Just like her.

She adjusted her position slightly, black tights and dark brown heels completing her formal attire. Her eyes narrowed as she surveyed the pitch where Bastard Münchën would soon face off against Barcha.

Most of the Japanese Bastard Münchën players who weren't participating in this match—Isagi, Kurona, Yukimiya, Hiori, and Raichi—were seated nearby, their energy a palpable mix of anticipation and analysis. But it was the seats ahead that caught (Name)'s attention.

There, next to world star Lavinho, sat another manager she'd met briefly during Ego's orientation meeting—Akane Makino. The girl with the fluffy red pixie cut and those striking yellow-gold eyes. (Name) wasn't here to make connections or form bonds, but professionalism demanded acknowledgment. She gave Akane a curt nod, which the other manager returned with a warm smile.

"First match, huh?" Akane called over, her voice carrying a casual friendliness that seemed foreign in the competitive Blue Lock environment. "Excited to see what your boys can do!"

She offered a noncommittal "Mm" in response. Small talk wasn't her forte, nor was it her purpose. Her eyes were already tracking the players warming up, her mind whirring with calculations and probabilities. Numbers floated before her eyes as she mentally cataloged reaction times, angles of approach, and movement patterns.

The referee's whistle cut through the air, signaling the start of the match. (Name)'s attention zeroed in on Kaiser immediately.
His performance was... exceptional. The numbers behind his movements were nothing short of brilliant—acceleration rates, deceleration timings, the precise angle calculations required for the Kaiser Impact. Her mind raced to

keep up, tracking variables and mapping trajectories at a speed that would have overwhelmed most analysts equipped with state-of-the-art technology.

94.3% chance of securing possession if he cuts left... 87.6% probability of successful pass completion at that angle... The force behind that kick would register approximately at...

She barely registered the slight narrowing of Noa's eyes as he observed the match. When he signaled for Isagi to sub in, her attention immediately split, calculating a new set of variables and probabilities.

Isagi's gameplay was different from Kaiser's—less about raw power and precision, more about spatial awareness and optimization. Instead of brute force calculations, (Name) found herself mapping networks of possibility, chains of causality that spread outward like a neural network.

If player A moves here, and B reacts by moving there, then C will likely... which means Isagi should position himself... Yes, exactly there.

The match concluded with a victory for Bastard Münchën, though the outcome had never been in question for (Name). The statistics had favored them from the beginning, even if the margins were slimmer than most would be comfortable with.

As the teams dispersed from the field, (Name) shared another nod with Akane, who beamed back at her. The Barcha manager appeared to be taking the loss in stride, already moving to provide water bottles and towels to her exhausted players.

Right. Manager duties.

She swiftly gathered supplies and approached the Bastard Münchën players with professional efficiency, offering water bottles and towels without unnecessary chatter. Her movements were precise and economical—no wasted motion or energy.

"(Last name)-san."

A tap on her shoulder drew her attention. Akane stood there, one hand extended with a water bottle for (Name) herself—a thoughtful gesture that momentarily threw her off balance.

"Got a minute?" Akane asked, subtly gesturing away from where Noa was speaking with some of the players.

Curiosity piqued, She followed the redhead a short distance away, out of earshot from the coach.

"I'm hosting a little get-to-know-each-other, get-together tonight," Akane said, her voice lowered conspiratorially. "Just us managers. Thought you might want to join."

(Name)'s expression remained neutral, though one eyebrow arched slightly. "So a get-together?"

"A sleepover," Akane clarified, grinning. "At the Barcha bay. All the other girls will be there, and I didn't want to leave anyone out just because they've got a stone face." She winked to soften the potential offense.

(Name) wasn't sure whether to be offended or flattered by the characterization. Before she could formulate a response, Akane gave her another bright smile.

"If you decide to come, you're more than welcome. Around 10 PM." With that, she turned and jogged back to her team, leaving her slightly bewildered in her wake.

Back at the Bastard Münchën facility, the team gathered in their common area to review footage from the match. (Name) sat slightly apart from the group, tablet in hand as she jotted down observations and statistics.

"(Last name)-san, what did you think of the match?" Hiori asked, breaking her concentration.

(Name) looked up to find several of the Japanese players watching her expectantly. She hadn't anticipated being included in their post-match analysis, but professionalism demanded engagement.

"Statistically sound performance," she replied, her voice even. "Though there were several moments where efficiency could have been improved by approximately 17.8%."

"That's... specific," Yukimiya commented with a slightly bemused smile.

"Numbers don't lie," She responded.

To her surprise, the conversation flowed relatively easily after that. Hiori and Yukimiya were rational and down-to-earth in their assessments. Gagamaru's dopey observations occasionally yielded unexpected insights. Even Kurona's habit of repeating words had a certain rhythm to it that (Name) found she didn't mind.

And then there was Isagi—intense, focused, constantly seeking optimization. There was something about his approach that resonated with her own methodology, even if they arrived at solutions via different routes.

When the team finally dispersed for the evening, (Name) returned to her quarters, Akane's invitation still lingering in her thoughts.

Illogical. Unprofessional. Potentially compromising.

And yet...

Potential intelligence gathering. Insight into rival methodologies. Social capital accumulation.

She checked the time: 9:30 PM. Against her better judgment, she changed out of her formal attire into her sleepwear—a cream oversized t-shirt with a pastel cartoon cheese in the center, brown Rilakkuma pajama bottoms
(complete with the bear's face on the rear), and fuzzy Rilakkuma slippers, the bear's cute face adorning each foot.

The contrast between her daytime persona and nighttime attire was stark, but (Name) had long ago separated work efficiency from personal comfort. If she was going to engage in this illogical social exercise, she might as well be comfortable.

Slipping out of her room, she navigated the facility with precision, having memorized the entire layout during her first day. The route to Barcha's bay was clear in her mind—fourteen right turns, seven left, three sets of stairs, approximately 1,247 steps.

When she arrived, she discovered she wasn't the first. Akane was already there, arranging futons on the floor, while a girl with white hair tied in a ponytail and soft pink-red eyes sat nearby, fiddling nervously with the hem of her nightshirt.

"(Name)! You came!" Akane exclaimed, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure.

"Evidently," She replied, stepping into the room.

The white-haired girl looked up, offering a shy smile. "Um, hello. I'm Natsumi Hatoshima. Manshine City's manager."

Something about Natsumi's quiet demeanor put her at ease. Unlike Akane's exuberant energy, Natsumi's presence was calm and unobtrusive. “(Name) (Last name). Bastard Münchën."
The three settled into surprisingly comfortable conversation. Natsumi, despite her shyness, was thoughtful and articulate when discussing strategy and player development. She found herself genuinely engaged, especially when the conversation turned to statistical analysis of player performance.

"I've been trying to develop a more comprehensive tracking system," Natsumi admitted. "But sometimes the numbers don't capture the... feeling of a play, you know?"
(Name) was about to argue the objective superiority of statistical analysis when the door burst open.

A girl with long, straight, shiny gray hair strode in, flashing a smile that seemed calculated to dazzle. Her deep blue eyes swept the room before landing on the three managers already present.

"Hello, darlings! Sorry I'm late—beauty takes time, even for a natural like me!"

(Name) felt her mood sour immediately. Tsukiko Yugi, PXG's manager. The self-proclaimed "princess" of Blue Lock's management program.

"Tsukiko-chan!" Akane greeted warmly. "Come join us. We were just chatting about tracking systems."

"Boring!" Tsukiko declared, flopping dramatically onto one of the futons. "We should be talking about the players! Who's caught your eye? Anyone giving you special attention?" She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Before anyone could respond to this blatant attempt to steer the conversation toward gossip, the door flew open again.

A light blue haired girl with bright honey orange eyes literally bounced into the room, pigtails bobbing as she launched herself directly at Akane with the enthusiasm of an overexcited puppy.

"Akane-senpai!" she squealed, wrapping her arms around the older girl. "I made it!"

"Shh, Haru-chan," Akane cautioned, though she returned the hug with a fond smile. "We need to keep it down, remember? Lavinho's being cool about this, but we can't disturb the players."

"Sorry, sorry!" The girl—Haru Kamishiro, Ubers' manager, (Name) presumed—stage-whispered, making an exaggerated zipping motion across her lips before noticing her. Her eyes widened. "Oh! You're the scary math girl! With the glare!" She demonstrated by narrowing her eyes and pulling her face into what she clearly thought was an intimidating expression.

(Name) sighed internally. This was a mistake.

"Now that we're all here," Haru announced, reaching into a bag she'd brought, "we need proper sleepover activities!" With a flourish, she produced a small karaoke machine. "Ta-da!"

"Where did you even get that?" Natsumi asked, looking both impressed and alarmed.

"Secret!" Haru replied with a wink. "Now, who's going first?"

Before anyone could protest, Haru had already set up the machine and grabbed the microphone. "I'll start!"

She launched into what (Name) recognized as the Yo-kai Watch opening theme with surprising enthusiasm. However, halfway through, she seemed to forget the lyrics entirely, transitioning seamlessly into a dance routine that showcased unexpected skill. Her movements were fluid and precise, a stark contrast to her usual bouncy demeanor.

When she finished, the other managers applauded—even Name offered a nod of acknowledgment.

"Natsumi-chan, your turn!" Haru declared, thrusting the microphone toward the white-haired manager, who immediately turned pink.

"I—I couldn't possibly—"

"We can do a duet," Akane offered kindly. "What's your favorite song?"

"Um... I really like Vocaloid songs," Natsumi admitted quietly. "'Butterfly on Your Right Shoulder' is my favorite."

"Perfect! I know that one," Akane said, selecting the track.

The two began singing, Natsumi's voice barely audible at first, but growing stronger as Akane's confident vocals supported her. By the chorus, (Name) was genuinely impressed—Akane's voice was spectacular, rich and emotive, while Natsumi's softer tones provided a pleasing harmony.

When they finished, Tsukiko and Haru erupted in enthusiastic applause and praise, particularly for Akane, whose talent was undeniable.

"Your turn, Math Girl!" Haru declared, offering the microphone to (Name).

She hesitated, calculating the social consequences of refusal versus participation. After a moment's deliberation, she accepted the microphone.

"Mayonaka no door,'" she said, selecting the song from the menu.

The others looked surprised at her choice, but as the driving beat filled the room, (Name) closed her eyes and let herself fall into the rhythm. She wasn't Akane-level talented, but years of converting musical notes to numerical
patterns had given her a solid understanding of pitch and timing.

When she finished, she was met with stunned silence for a moment before Akane broke into applause.

"That was actually really good!" Tsukiko exclaimed, sounding almost disappointed that she couldn't criticize.

(Name) allowed herself a small internal smile of satisfaction.

"Me next!" Tsukiko grabbed the microphone dramatically. "I'll show you how it's really done!"

She selected "Russian Roulette," explaining that she was a huge Red Velvet fan and had chosen the Japanese version. As soon as she began singing, however, it became painfully clear that Tsukiko's confidence far outstripped her ability. Her voice was painfully off-key, wavering uncertainly between notes.

Akane, ever the diplomat, quickly jumped in, encouraging everyone to join in for the chorus. The combined voices mercifully drowned out Tsukiko's solo attempts, and by the song's end, they were all laughing—even (Name) found herself smirking slightly at the absurdity of it all.

As the night wore on, the energy gradually settled. They arranged themselves on the futons Akane had prepared, conversation drifting to quieter topics—dreams for after Blue Lock, favorite foods, childhood memories. She contributed minimally but found herself listening with unexpected interest.

One by one, they drifted off to sleep—Haru first, curled up like a puppy at the foot of Akane's futon; then Natsumi, her white hair splayed across her pillow; Tsukiko next, insisting on applying a face mask before dozing off; and finally Akane, who gave (Name) a sleepy smile before succumbing to slumber.

(Name) was the last awake, her mind calculating probabilities and processing the new data she'd gathered about her rivals. Yet as sleep finally claimed her, her last thoughts weren't of statistics or strategic advantages, but of the surprising warmth that had settled in her chest.

(Name)'s eyes snapped open at precisely 6:58 AM, her internal clock as reliable as ever.

Except something was wrong.

The light filtering through the windows was too bright. The room wasn't her assigned quarters. And there were other people—

The sleepover.

Memory rushed back as she bolted upright, startling Natsumi who had apparently just woken up as well.

"What time is it?" She demanded.

Natsumi checked her phone and paled. "8:47."

"8:47?!" Tsukiko shrieked, suddenly wide awake. "Morning training started at 8:00!"

Chaos erupted as all five managers scrambled to their feet, grabbing whatever belongings they could and rushing toward the door. Akane apologized profusely—she'd forgotten to set an alarm, assuming her internal clock would wake her as usual.

They spilled into the hallway in their pajamas, nearly colliding with Bachira and Otoya, who stared at the spectacle with undisguised amusement.

"Slumber party?" Bachira asked, grinning wickedly.

"Not a word," Akane warned, but there was no real threat in her tone.

The managers parted ways in the main corridor, each racing toward their respective team's facilities. Haru and Tsukiko sprinted full-tilt, while Natsumi moved with surprising speed despite her usual reserved demeanor. Akane jogged in place, hesitating.

"Will you be okay?" she asked (Name). "Noa seems pretty strict."

(Name) evaluated her options quickly. "Go. I'll manage."

With a nod, Akane took off, leaving her alone in the corridor. She considered running, calculating the time it would take to reach her quarters, change, and report for duty. The numbers were unfavorable.

Efficiency over appearance.

Decision made, she straightened her posture and walked with deliberate calm toward the Bastard Münchën common room, her Rilakkuma slippers squeaking slightly against the polished floor.

When she entered, conversation died instantly. Every head turned to stare at the sight of their normally stoic, professional manager in oversized pajamas adorned with cartoon cheese and bear faces.

Isagi's eyes widened comically, his gaze dropping briefly to her thighs before he quickly looked away, a flush rising to his cheeks. Kurona appeared to be choking on his water. Hiori and Yukimiya exchanged glances that contained entire conversations. And Kaiser... Kaiser's lips curved into a smirk that made her want to calculate the precise force needed to wipe it off his face.

Noel Noa, standing at the front of the room beside a tactical display, raised a single eyebrow.

"(Last Name)-san. This is unexpected."

(Name) met his gaze steadily. "There was a spider in my bathroom. A large one. I was forced to use alternative facilities."

The excuse sounded pathetic even to her own ears, but she maintained her composure, face carefully blank despite the heat rising to her cheeks.

Noa regarded her for a long moment before nodding once. "I see. Please ensure you're properly attired for the strategy session at 10:00."
"Of course."

She turned to leave, feeling Kaiser's eyes burning into her back. The Rilakkuma on her pajama bottoms seemed to mock her with its cute face as she walked away with as much dignity as she could muster.

Probability of maintaining professional credibility after this incident: approximately 47.3%.

The door closed behind her, and she allowed herself a single, quiet groan before heading to her quarters to change into her formal attire.

Next time—if there was a next time—she would set multiple alarms.

Chapter Text

(Name) (Last Name) was many things. A mathematical genius, a stone-faced strategist, and apparently, the world's most reluctant babysitter.

Morning had come swiftly after a night of analyzing game footage. (Name) sat in the common room with her tablet, dressed in her signature beige cream lined suit skirt, white button-up with sleeves rolled halfway, and the matching beige waistcoat. Her red tie was neatly tucked in as always, a splash of color against the muted tones of her outfit. The black tights and darker brown heels completed her professional look—a stark contrast to her teammates' casual training wear.

She was in the middle of calculating the probability of Kaiser's shot angles when Isagi stumbled into the common room. His hair was more disheveled than usual, face flushed pink, and he wore a slightly disoriented expression.

(Name) barely glanced up, fingers tapping rapidly on her tablet.

"Mornin'," Isagi slurred slightly, dropping heavily onto the couch beside her. "You're up early."

"I'm always up early," she replied flatly, not looking away from her calculations.

groaned, leaning back. "Man, I don't feel so good. That protein shake was disgusting."

This caught her attention. She looked up, narrowing her eyes. "What protein shake?"

"The one I made this morning. I tried to mix it with one of your sodas from the fridge to make it taste better," he explained, rubbing his temples. "But it made it worse. Still drank it all though. Can't waste protein."

(Name) froze. She didn't have sodas in the fridge. She had...

Horror dawned on her face as realization hit. "Isagi. Which can did you use?"

"The silver one in the back. Behind the milk."

The blood drained from her face. Those weren't sodas. Those were her beers—the ones she'd carefully hidden and disguised with innocent-looking stickers to avoid detection. Yes, a small slightly illegal habit she had picked up.

"Isagi," she said slowly, "that wasn't soda."

"Huh?" He looked at her with half-lidded eyes. "What do you mean?"

Before she could answer, Kaiser walked in, already dressed in his training gear. He took one look at Isagi's flushed face and her mortified expression and raised an eyebrow.

"What's wrong with him?" Kaiser asked, gesturing to Isagi.

(Name)'s voice dropped to a whisper. "He drank my… beer. He thought it was soda and mixed it in his protein shake."

Kaiser's eyes widened briefly before a slow, amused smile spread across his face. "You're kidding."

"I wish I were."

"What are you two whispering about?" Isagi asked loudly, his voice carrying more than necessary.

Kaiser burst into laughter. "You seriously drank beer at 7 AM without realizing it?"

"Beer?" Isagi's eyes widened comically. "What? No way! I don't—I've never—" He turned to (Name) in shock. "That was beer? YOUR beer?"

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Yes, Isagi. That was beer."

"But... but you're underage!" he exclaimed, pointing at her accusingly, though the effect was somewhat undermined by the slight wobble in his finger.

"So are you," she countered flatly.

"I didn't know!" Isagi's voice rose higher. "Oh god, I've never had alcohol before. Am I drunk? Is this what being drunk feels like? My head feels weird, and everything's kinda... wavy." He waved his hands in front of his face, fascinated by the motion.

Kaiser couldn't contain his laughter. "This is priceless. The great Isagi Yoichi, Blue Lock's puzzle-solver, can't even tell the difference between soda and beer."

"Shut up, Kaiser," Isagi snapped with surprising venom, then immediately softened as he turned to (Name). "What do we do? I can't train like this. Noa will kill me. Will I get kicked out of Blue Lock for this?"

(Name)'s analytical mind was already calculating their options. Training started in two hours. Alcohol metabolism averaged about one standard drink per hour. Given Isagi's body weight, height, and the fact that he'd consumed one beer on what was likely an empty stomach except for protein powder...

"We need to sober you up," she concluded. "Water, food, maybe some coffee."

Kaiser sat down across from them, clearly enjoying the show. "Or we could just let Noa see him like this. Might be entertaining."

(Name) shot him a glare. "That's not helpful."

"I wasn't trying to be helpful," Kaiser replied with a smirk.

Isagi suddenly leaned against (Name)’s shoulder, causing her to stiffen. "You smell nice," he mumbled. "Like... numbers."

"Numbers don't have a smell, Isagi," she said, awkwardly trying to shift away.

"Yours do," he insisted, then pointed at Kaiser. "His smell like arrogance."

Kaiser's smirk widened. "At least I'm not the one drunk at 7 in the morning."

"I'm not drunk!" Isagi protested, then hiccupped. "Okay, maybe a little. But it's her fault!" He jabbed a finger in (Name)'s direction, poking her cheek.

"How is it my fault that you took my beer without asking?"

"You shouldn't have beer in the first place!" he countered. "What kind of teen manager keeps alcohol in the team fridge?"

"The kind that likes beer," she answered flatly.

Kaiser watched them with amusement. "So what's the plan, Manager? How do we hide our drunk striker from the rest of the team?"

She sighed. This was not how she'd planned to spend her morning. She had statistics to analyze, formations to study, and player data to compile. Not babysitting a tipsy Isagi.

"First, we need to get him to drink water. Lots of it," she said, standing up. "Kaiser, go get some from the kitchen."

To her surprise, Kaiser actually moved to follow her instruction. Perhaps the entertainment value was worth the effort.

"And grab some bread too," she called after him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied sarcastically, but did as asked.

(Name) turned back to Isagi, who was now lying across the couch, staring at the ceiling.

"Isagi, sit up. You need to stay awake."

"The ceiling is really interesting," he mumbled. "Has it always had those little dots?"

(Name) sighed. "Yes. Now sit up."

She helped pull him into a sitting position just as Kaiser returned with a large water bottle and some bread. She handed both to Isagi.

"Drink the entire bottle, then eat the bread. It will help absorb the alcohol."

Isagi took the water bottle and drank obediently, though some spilled down his chin. "You're smart, (Name). So smart. Like, scary smart." He leaned closer to her, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Sometimes I think you're smarter than Ego."

"Don't say things you'll regret when you're sober," she warned, pushing the bread into his hands.

"I won't regret it," he insisted. "It's true. Your brain is amazing. I like watching you think."

Kaiser snorted. "This is getting interesting."

She shot him a warning look. "Don't you have somewhere to be?"

"Not really," he replied, settling more comfortably into his chair. "This is far more entertaining than morning stretches."

Isagi pointed at Kaiser again. "You. You're not as good as you think you are."

Kaiser raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Nope," Isagi shook his head emphatically. "You're good, but you're not... you're not complete. You need other people. Like Ness. Like..." he gestured vaguely, "like me. And you know it."

(Name) was surprised by the coherence of Isagi's observation, despite his inebriated state.

Kaiser's amused expression faltered slightly. "You should eat your bread, Isagi."

"And YOU," Isagi turned back to (Name), ignoring Kaiser's deflection, "you act all cold and calculating, but you care about all of us. I've seen you watching. Making sure we're all okay."

(Name) maintained her neutral expression, though she felt a twinge of discomfort at being read so easily. "Eat your bread, Isagi."

He took a bite obediently, then immediately continued talking with his mouth full. "S'true though. You're like a... like a silent storm. All calm on the surface but underneath—" he made an explosion gesture with his hands, "—all these thoughts and feelings."

She couldn't help but feel exposed. Did alcohol remove his mental inhibitions, or was he always this perceptive?

"We need to get him moving," she said to Kaiser, changing the subject. "Walking will help metabolize the alcohol faster."

Kaiser stood up. "Fine. But if he throws up, you're dealing with it."

Together, they each took one of Isagi's arms and pulled him to his feet. He swayed slightly but remained upright.

"Where are we going?" he asked, eyes lighting up. "Are we playing football? I want to play."

"No," (Name) said firmly. "We're just walking."

"But I could totally play right now," Isagi insisted. "I feel great. My brain is working so fast. I bet I could score against Kaiser right now."

Kaiser scoffed. "You can barely stand straight."

"That's just what I want you to think," Isagi replied, tapping his temple knowingly. "Strategy."

They guided him out of the common room and into the hallway, hoping they wouldn't encounter anyone else. The last thing they needed was for Noa or another coach to see Isagi in this state.

As they walked through the corridors of the Bastard Münchën bay, Isagi continued to talk, his inhibitions completely dissolved by the alcohol.

"You know what's crazy?" he said, voice echoing slightly in the empty hallway. "We're all here fighting to be the best striker in the world, but none of us really know what that means. Like, what happens after? Do we just... keep playing until we're old? Do we get married? Have kids? Do strikers make good fathers?"

(Name) was taken aback by the sudden philosophical turn. "I don't think now is the time for existential questions, Isagi."

"But when is the time?" he pressed. "We're always training or playing or sleeping. There's never time to just... think about the future beyond football."

Kaiser, surprisingly, nodded. "He's got a point."

"See?" Isagi gestured triumphantly at Kaiser, nearly losing his balance in the process. "Even Emperor agrees with me!"

They continued walking, making sure to take routes less likely to be populated at this early hour. Isagi's steps became steadier as they went, which (Name) took as a good sign.

"(Name)," Isagi said suddenly, voice serious. "Can I ask you something?"

She hesitated, wary of what might come next. "...Yes?"

"Why did you become our manager? Really?"

The question caught her off guard. She'd been asked this before, of course, but had always given the standard answer about career advancement and interest in football statistics.

"I told you—"

"No," Isagi interrupted. "The real reason. You could be doing anything with that brain of yours. Why here? Why us?"

Kaiser looked at her curiously, also interested in her answer.

She maintained her neutral expression, but inside, her thoughts raced. Why had she really taken this position? Was it just for the challenge? The prestige? Or was there something more?

"I..." she began, then paused. "I wanted to be part of something transformative. Blue Lock is changing football forever. I wanted to see it happen up close."

It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either.

Isagi studied her face intently, then broke into a wide smile. "See? I knew it wasn't just about the numbers for you."

Before she could respond, they heard voices approaching from around the corner. (Name)'s heart rate spiked. They couldn't let anyone see Isagi like this.

Without thinking, she grabbed both Isagi and Kaiser and pulled them into the nearest room—a supply closet. The space was tight, forcing the three of them uncomfortably close together.

"Was this really necessary?" Kaiser whispered, his face uncomfortably close to hers.

"Yes," she hissed back. "Now be quiet."

They listened as the voices passed by—it sounded like Yukimiya and Kurona, heading to an early breakfast. Once the voices faded, (Name) reached for the door handle, only to find Isagi staring at her with unusual intensity.

"You have a shine in your eyes," he said softly. "Right in the middle. It's like a tiny flame."

(Name) froze, suddenly aware of how close they were. She could feel Isagi's breath on her face, smell the faint scent of beer mixed with protein powder.

"Isagi—" she began, but he cut her off.

"It's beautiful," he murmured. "Like you can see things nobody else can."

Kaiser cleared his throat loudly. "If this moment between you two is over, I'd like to get out of this closet."

She quickly pushed the door open, grateful for the interruption. She stepped out first, checking that the hallway was clear before motioning for the others to follow.

Isagi emerged, blinking in the brighter light of the corridor. "I feel better," he announced. "Still weird, but better."

(Name) assessed him critically. His face was still flushed, but his eyes seemed clearer, and his movements were more coordinated. The walk and water seemed to be helping.

"Let's get you back to your room," she decided. "You should shower and change before training. The cold water will help."

They made their way to the dormitory section of the bay, encountering nobody else along the way. When they reached Isagi's door, Kaiser finally spoke up.

"Well, this has been entertaining, but I've had my fill of babysitting for the day. Try not to drink any more 'soda' before training, Isagi." With a mock salute, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with Isagi.

Isagi leaned against his doorframe, looking at her with that same intense gaze. "Thanks for helping me."

"It's my job," she replied automatically.

He shook his head. "No, it's not. Your job is to analyze our plays and manage the team. Not to hide my mistakes and help me sober up."

She didn't know how to respond to that. He was right, of course.

"Go shower," she said instead. "I'll bring you some coffee before training."

Isagi nodded, then hesitated. "About what I said earlier..."

"You were drunk," she cut him off. "It's fine."

"No, I mean..." he ran a hand through his messy hair. "I meant it. What I said about you being important to the team. To me."

(Name) felt her face heat slightly. "Isagi—"

"You don't have to say anything," he assured her quickly. "I just wanted you to know that it wasn't just the beer talking. Well, maybe the delivery was, but not the sentiment."

With that, he gave her a small smile and disappeared into his room, leaving her standing in the hallway, oddly unsettled.

She had come to Blue Lock to apply her mathematical genius to football, to challenge herself in a new environment. She hadn't expected to actually care about these players, to worry about their well-being, to want to protect them.

Yet here she was, helping Isagi hide his accidental drunkenness, listening to his philosophical musings, and feeling strangely seen by his observations about her.
It was uncomfortable, being read so easily. She had spent years cultivating her stone-faced exterior, hiding her thoughts and emotions behind a wall of numbers and probabilities. But somehow, buzzed Isagi had cut right through all of that.

Shaking her head, she turned and headed toward the kitchen. She had promised him coffee, after all.

Two hours later, (Name) stood on the sideline of the training field, watching the team run through their drills. Her tablet was in hand, as always, but she found her attention repeatedly drawn to Isagi.

He seemed mostly recovered—his movements were precise, his passes accurate. If his face was still slightly flushed, it could easily be attributed to exertion. No one seemed to notice anything amiss.

Except for Kaiser, who occasionally shot knowing smirks in Isagi and her direction.

Noel Noa approached her, clipboard in hand. "(Last name), what do you think of Isagi's performance today?"

She glanced at her tablet, where she'd been tracking his stats. "His reaction time is down by 0.3 seconds, and his decision-making has a higher variability than usual. 23% more inconsistent than his baseline." The numbers didn't lie, even if the cause remained their secret.

Noa nodded thoughtfully. "I noticed the same. Any theories why?"

(Name) kept her face carefully neutral. "Possibly inadequate sleep or nutrition. I'll speak with him about it after training."

"Do that," Noa agreed. "We can't afford any drop in performance with the matches coming up."

As Noa walked away, (Name) caught Isagi looking at her. He raised an eyebrow questioningly, and she gave a small nod to indicate all was well. He responded with a relieved smile before turning his attention back to the drill.

This small, silent exchange didn't go unnoticed by Kaiser, who narrowed his eyes slightly before executing a perfect shot into the top corner of the goal.

(Name) made a note on her tablet, but her thoughts were elsewhere. How had she gone from treating these players as mere statistical data points to engaging in silent communications and covering for their mistakes? When had they become more than variables in her equations?

The rest of training passed without incident. As the players headed to the showers, Isagi hung back, waiting until the others had passed before approaching her.

"How bad was it?" he asked, voice low.

"Your performance metrics were down, but within acceptable parameters for daily fluctuation," she replied, slipping easily into her analytical mode. "Noa noticed, but I attributed it to sleep or nutrition. He's not suspicious."

Isagi let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you. For everything this morning."

She nodded curtly. "Just don't make a habit of drinking my beer."

A smile tugged at his lips. "Don't worry, once was more than enough." He paused, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "About this morning... did I say anything weird? My memory's a bit fuzzy."

(Name) considered telling him about his philosophical questions, his observations about her and Kaiser, his comment about her eyes. But seeing the worried look on his face, she decided against it.

"Nothing important," she lied. "Just nonsense, mostly."

Relief washed over his features. "Oh, good. I was worried I might have embarrassed myself."

"Just the usual amount," she replied dryly.

He laughed, the sound surprisingly pleasant. "Fair enough. I'll see you later, then?"

She nodded, and he jogged off to catch up with the others.

As she watched him go, (Name) couldn't help but feel a strange mix of relief and disappointment. Part of her was glad he didn't remember his unfiltered observations—it made things less complicated. But another part, a part she didn't fully understand, almost wished he did remember.

She shook her head, dismissing the thought. She was here to do a job, to apply her mathematical genius to football and help Bastard Münchën succeed. Nothing more.

But as she walked back to the facility, Isagi's words echoed in her mind: "You're like a silent storm. All calm on the surface but underneath—all these thoughts and feelings."

Perhaps he saw more than she realized, even when sober.

Later that evening, (Name) sat alone in the viewing room, rewatching footage from the day's training session. She was calculating trajectory patterns for Kaiser's shots when the door opened behind her.

Expecting it to be Noa or perhaps Isagi, she was surprised to see Kaiser himself enter the room.

"Working late?" he asked, dropping into the seat beside her.

She nodded, returning her attention to her tablet. "Just analyzing shot patterns."

"Mine, I see," he noted, glancing at her screen. "Am I that fascinating?"

"Your shots have a 96.4% accuracy rate within a 15-degree cone," she replied matter-of-factly. "It's statistically significant."

Kaiser leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You know, I've been wondering something since this morning."

"What?"

"Why did you help him? You could have just let him face the consequences of drinking your beer."

(Name) kept her eyes on her tablet. "It would have reflected poorly on the team if one of our key players was disciplined for showing up drunk to training."

"Mm," Kaiser hummed, unconvinced. "Is that all?"

She finally looked up at him. "What are you implying?"

"Just that our stone-faced manager might not be as detached as she pretends to be." He smirked. "Especially when it comes to certain players."

"I treat all players equally," she stated firmly.

"Of course you do," he agreed, though his tone suggested otherwise. "Just like you stored my shot data with the same attention to detail as everyone else's?"

(Name) blinked. "I analyze all players' data thoroughly."

Kaiser leaned forward, tapping her tablet screen. "Then why is my file three times larger than anyone else's? Including Isagi's?"

She hadn't realized that discrepancy was visible in the file structure. "Your shots have more variables to analyze."

"Right," he drawled, clearly not believing her. "Well, whatever your reasons, I appreciate the attention to detail." He stood up, stretching. "By the way, you might want to find a better hiding spot for your beer. Under the vegetable drawer in the communal fridge isn't exactly Fort Knox."

(Name)'s eyes widened slightly. "You knew about that?"

"I've known since the first week," he admitted with a shrug. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me. Just like Isagi's little drunk adventure."

"Why keep it secret if you've known all along?"

Kaiser paused at the door, looking back at her with an expression she couldn't quite decipher. "Maybe I'm not as detached as I pretend to be either."

With that cryptic statement, he left, leaving her alone with her thoughts and her numbers.

She stared at the door long after it closed, mind racing. First Isagi seeing through her carefully constructed exterior, and now Kaiser implying he'd been keeping her secret out of... what? Kindness? Solidarity? It didn't align with the image she had of him as the self-centered "Emperor."

Sighing, she returned to her analysis, trying to focus on the patterns and probabilities that had always been her comfort zone. But for once, the numbers didn't hold her attention the way they usually did.

Instead, her mind kept replaying the events of the morning—Isagi's unfiltered observations, the way he'd looked at her in that supply closet, the feeling of being truly seen for perhaps the first time since arriving at Blue Lock.

(Name) (Last name), the stone-faced manager of Bastard Münchën, did not form attachments. She analyzed, calculated, and predicted. That was her role, her strength.

So why couldn't she stop thinking about Isagi's words? About the way his eyes had lit up when he described her as a "silent storm"?

And why, despite her best efforts to maintain professional distance, did she find herself caring about these players as more than just statistical entities?

She didn't have the answers. Not yet. But as she closed her tablet and prepared to return to her room, one thing was clear: Blue Lock was changing her, just as she'd hoped to witness it changing football.

She just hadn't expected to be part of the transformation herself.

The next morning, (Name) arrived at breakfast to find most of the team already eating. Her eyes immediately found Isagi, who was pushing food around his plate without much enthusiasm. When he saw her, his face turned slightly pink, and he quickly looked away.

Curious, she filled her plate and sat down across from him. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

Yukimiya, sitting next to him, raised an eyebrow. "He's been acting weird all morning. Won't say why."

"I'm not acting weird," Isagi protested weakly.

(Name) studied him, noting the slight bags under his eyes and the way he seemed to wince at louder noises. Hangover symptoms, most likely. But there was something else too—a discomfort that seemed directed specifically at her.

"Isagi, can I speak with you after breakfast?" she asked. "About yesterday's training data."

He nodded, still avoiding her gaze.

When breakfast ended, they found a quiet corner in the common room. Isagi stood awkwardly, hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the floor.

"What's wrong?" she asked directly. "Are you still feeling ill?"

"No, it's not that," he sighed, finally looking up at her. "I... remember what I said yesterday. All of it."

She blinked, surprised. "Oh."

"Yeah," he ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I'm really sorry. I was out of line, saying those things about you and Kaiser, and especially that stuff about your eyes. It was inappropriate, and I'm embarrassed."

So that was it. He wasn't physically ill—he was mortified.

"It's fine," she assured him. "You were under the influence of alcohol. People say all kinds of things they don't mean."

"That's just it," he said quietly. "I did mean it. Not the way I said it, maybe, but..." he trailed off, clearly uncomfortable.

(Name) wasn't sure how to respond. She had always kept people at a distance, hiding behind her analytical façade. She didn't know how to handle genuine personal connections, especially when they caught her off guard like this.

"Isagi," she began, then paused, searching for the right words. "Your observations were... insightful. Uncomfortably so, perhaps, but not unwelcome."

He looked at her with surprise. "Really?"

She nodded, choosing her next words carefully. "I'm not used to people seeing beyond the surface. It was... disconcerting, but not necessarily bad."

A small smile formed on his lips. "So you're not mad?"

"No," she confirmed. "Though I would prefer if you refrained from commenting on my eyes in front of Kaiser in the future."

Isagi's face reddened again. "Definitely. That was... yeah, I won't do that again."

An awkward silence fell between them.

"Well," she finally said, "since that's cleared up, you should focus on hydrating today. Your body is likely still recovering, and we have tactical training this afternoon."

Isagi nodded, seemingly relieved to return to more familiar territory. "Right. Thanks, (Name). For understanding, and for helping me yesterday."

"That's what teammates do," she found herself saying, then immediately wondered where that sentiment had come from. She wasn't a player; she was their manager.

Yet somehow, the word felt right. They were a team, in more ways than one.

As Isagi walked away, (Name) remained in place, contemplating this shift in her perspective. She had come to Blue Lock to apply her mathematical genius to football, to be part of something transformative.

What she hadn't expected was to be transformed herself.

But as she watched Isagi join Kunigami and Yukimiya across the room, she couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, that transformation wasn't such a bad thing after all.

For a girl who had always lived in a world of absolutes and certainties, the unknown territory of genuine connection was terrifying. But as she'd told Isagi when he asked why she'd come to Blue Lock—she wanted to be part of something transformative.

Perhaps this was just another form of transformation, one she hadn't calculated for, but might be worth exploring nonetheless.

With that thought in mind, she returned to her tablet and her numbers, finding comfort in their familiar precision while a small part of her remained aware of Isagi's presence across the room—a new variable in her carefully ordered world, unpredictable yet somehow not unwelcome.

Chapter Text

(Name)'s eyes narrowed as she stared at the data charts spread across her tablet. The first offer event was tonight, and she needed to prioritize which players to showcase. Based on the statistics she'd compiled, Isagi, Kaiser, and Kunigami were her top picks, but certain duos also showed promise—Hiori and Isagi's spatial awareness complemented each other, while Isagi and Kurona had also developed an unexpected synergy worth highlighting.

She sighed, leaning back in her chair. The technical part was simple; it was the actual negotiating that concerned her. Having to simplify complex performance metrics for representatives who wouldn't understand even basic statistical models felt like a waste. It was like explaining quantum physics to kindergarteners.

A notification lit up her screen—a message from Natsumi. (Name) allowed herself a small smile. At least one positive thing had come from that ridiculous sleepover. Natsumi was... tolerable. Unlike that insufferable Tsukiko.

"Are you ready for tonight? Need any help with preparations?" the message read.

She typed back: "Speech is prepared. Presentation compiled. Still figuring out the... aesthetics." She cringed at the last word. The "glam" aspect of the event was her weakest point.

"Akane and I can help! We'll be at your bay in an hour."

Before (Name) could protest, Natsumi had gone offline. She sighed again, this time more deeply. Maybe it wasn't the worst idea. For all her mathematical brilliance, fashion had never been her strong suit.

"Red is definitely your color," Natsumi said decisively, holding up a crimson strap dress against (Name). "It compliments your eyes."

(Name) frowned at the mirror skeptical. “Really now?."

"For sure!," Akane piped up, already digging through her makeup kit. "It's your signature feature! We should highlight it."

The dress wasn't as revealing as what Akane and Natsumi had chosen for themselves, which (Name) appreciated. It was elegant but practical—a floor-length crimson piece with thin straps and a modest neckline.

"Fine," she conceded. "The dress works."

Akane grinned. "Now for makeup! Who would've thought a tomboy like me would end up being your makeup artist, huh?"

She raised an eyebrow but allowed Akane to work, the light brushes against her face surprisingly soothing. Her mind drifted to the speech she had prepared, mentally rehearsing the statistical arguments that would showcase her players' worth.

"There," Akane said after about twenty minutes. "Not too much, just enough to enhance."

(Name) examined her reflection. The makeup was subtle—light foundation, a touch of blush, and something that made her eyes look more intense.

"Now we just need to figure out your hair," Natsumi mused, looking at (Name)'s locks.

"What's wrong with it as is?" She asked.

Both girls exchanged a look that clearly said "everything."

After Akane and Natsumi left, (Name) decided to practice her presentation with the Bastard Münchën team as her audience. They gathered in the common room, and she stood before them, tablet in hand.

"As you can see from these statistics," She said, her voice clear and firm as she displayed a graph of Kaiser's performance metrics, "the probability of goal conversion increases by 27.8% when—"

"You're too rigid," Isagi pointed out after she'd run through her presentation for the third time. "You sound like you're reading a technical manual."

(Name) shot him a withering glare. "I am not rigid," she replied, her face perfectly expressionless as always. "I'm precise."

"Maybe try smiling?" Yukimiya suggested gently. "Just once?"

The blank stare he received in return was answer enough.

"What about your hair?" Hiori asked, changing the subject. "Are you doing anything special with it?"

(Name) reached up to touch her hair, which currently hung loose around her shoulders. "I... don't really know what to do with it, actually."

Before she could stop him, Kurona had stepped forward. "Let me try a braid like mine!" Without waiting for permission, he moved behind her chair.

"What are you—" she began, but it was too late. Seething with embarrassment, she sat rigidly as his fingers worked through her hair. She couldn't remember the last time someone had touched her so casually.

"Done!" Kurona announced proudly a few minutes later.

(Name) stared at her reflection. Her hair was now styled into two small loose braids that fell down the front of her chest. It was... cute. Too cute for someone like her. The style would probably suit Kamishiro-San better, or even Natsumi. But for a glam event? It seemed too casual.

"I think it's nice," Hiori said, though his voice betrayed his uncertainty.

Gagamaru cleared his throat. "Can I try something?" he asked, his voice uncharacteristically shy. "I have an idea for a top bun."

Before (Name) could even form a response, the goalkeeper was already undoing Kurona's work and gathering her hair upward. She glared at her reflection as her appearance transformed from cutesy to... what was this? A gyaru-style messy top bun? It was unexpectedly rebellious for someone like her, yet perhaps excusable for a glam event if she refined it a bit.

The other Bastard Münchën players nodded appreciatively.

"Not bad, Gagamaru," Raichi admitted. "You've got skills."

The door to the common room slid open, and (Name) felt her heart sink as Kaiser walked in, Ness trailing behind him like a loyal shadow. Kaiser's eyes lit up with amusement at the sight of (Name) being subjected to an impromptu makeover.

"What an interesting team-building exercise," he remarked, his voice dripping with condescension. "Though I must say, I have a better hairstyle that would put all your pathetic attempts to shame."

Ness glared at (Name), clearly irritated that she was receiving Kaiser's attention. She matched his glare with a harsher one of her own.

Then, to her horror, Kaiser stepped forward. "Allow me," he said, his tone somewhere between commanding and mocking. His hands moved with surprising gentleness, undoing Gagamaru's work and reshaping her hair into a lower bun similar to the one Kaiser himself sported during evening training sessions.

"The Kaiser bun!" Ness exclaimed, his voice torn between admiration for Kaiser and resentment toward (Name).

She studied her reflection critically. It wasn't terrible, actually. The style was elegant yet practical, with a few strands framing her face to soften the severe look.

"Let's put it to a vote," Isagi suggested, seemingly enjoying (Name)'s discomfort far too much. "Braids, top bun, Kaiser bun, or just leave it down?"

To her mortification, the entire team participated enthusiastically in the impromptu poll.

"Hair down," was the unanimous verdict after much debate.

She felt her cheeks burning with a rare blush. "This is ridiculous," she muttered, standing abruptly. "I'm not a doll for you all to play with."

"But a doll would show more emotion," Kaiser pointed out with a smirk.

That was the final straw. (Name) snatched up her statistics folders and stormed out, her face flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. Behind her, she could hear the boys laughing, and Kaiser's voice rising above the rest: "I think we've found our ice queen's melting point!"

She quickened her pace, trying to ignore the unfamiliar feeling of her heart racing. She had presentations to perfect, and she wouldn't let these distractions derail her focus.

The time of the event finally arrived, and even (Name) had to admit that Blue Lock had outdone themselves. Both she and Natsumi looked in awe at the venue, unable to believe it was just a few blocks away from the Blue Lock facility. (Name) suspected that the funds came from Blue Lock TV ripping off so many viewers with their subscription prices, but she wasn't complaining.

A cluster of press reporters waited outside, cameras flashing, but they were kept at bay by security. The event was exclusive to football clubs, staff, and managers only. The coaches were attending in their best attire as well, which meant (Name) was accompanied by Noel Noa. If she thought about it too deeply, it was rather surreal to be walking into a professional event alongside one of football's greatest legends.

Currently, she and Natsumi had slipped away from their coaches. If the four of them had to remain near each other, they knew Chris Prince would inevitably start a petty argument with Noel Noa—an argument he was destined to lose spectacularly.

The main layout of the event resembled a lecture hall, though more upscale. A large stage dominated the front of the room, with an enormous screen behind it for presentations. Round tables were arranged throughout the space, draped in crisp white tablecloths and adorned with subtle blue and gold centerpieces—Blue Lock colors, of course.

Waitstaff circulated with trays of drinks, mostly catering to the older FC representatives in attendance. (Name), however, didn't hesitate to reach for a flute of champagne as a server passed by.

"(Name)," Natsumi whispered, her pink eyes wide with concern. "You have to present soon. Maybe don't get too... you know."

She sulked visibly but nodded in agreement. "Fine. One glass only."

They made their way to a round table near the front of the stage, designated for the managers. Another table beside theirs seated all the coaches, who were engaged in what appeared to be tense conversation. Noel Noa sat perfectly composed, barely acknowledging Chris Prince's animated gestures.

The lights dimmed, signaling the start of the presentations. First up was Haru, whose bubbly personality immediately energized the room. She entertained and humored the crowd with her happy-go-lucky nature, showcasing impressive clips of players like Barou and Lorenzo. When Oliver Aiku appeared on screen, (Name) noticed Akane shifting uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers tightening around her water glass.

Next came Natsumi presenting for Manshine City. Despite her usual shyness, she delivered a composed and informative presentation, occasionally glancing toward Chris Prince for reassurance. Akane followed with Barcha, her natural charisma shining through as she highlighted the strengths of Bachira and Otoya.

Then it was Tsukiko's turn. The Paris X Generation manager took the stage with a dazzling smile, her grey hair catching the light beautifully. As (Name) had feared, Tsukiko relied more on charm than substance, yet infuriatingly, it seemed to be working. The representatives from various FCs leaned forward in their seats, captivated by her sparkle rather than any actual player statistics.

"And that's why Paris X Generation offers the most exciting prospects in this season's lineup," Tsukiko concluded with a playful wink. "Thank you for your attention!"

The applause was enthusiastic, and (Name) felt a surge of irritation. This wasn't a popularity contest; it was supposed to be about the players' abilities. She drained the last of her champagne as Ego took the stage to introduce her.

"And finally, representing Bastard Münchën, please welcome (Name) (Last name)."

(Name) made her way to the stage, her crimson dress catching the light. She had ultimately opted for a French braid that led into a low bun, a compromise between elegance and practicality. Taking her position at the podium, she surveyed the audience with her usual impassive expression.

"Good evening," she began, her voice clear and unwavering. "While charm is very pretty, I'm sure you're here to see some actual numbers rather than just a smile."

A murmur rippled through the crowd, and from the corner of her eye, (Name) could see Tsukiko stiffen in her seat.

She proceeded with her presentation, highlighting the performance rates of her main players: Kaiser, Ness, Isagi, Kunigami, and Yukimiya. Her approach was methodical, backed by data and concrete examples from matches.

Unlike Tsukiko, she let the numbers speak for themselves, occasionally interjecting with analytical insights that demonstrated her deep understanding of the game.

"As you can see from these statistics," she continued, "Isagi Yoichi has shown remarkable growth in spatial awareness and decision-making. His synergy with teammates Hiori and Kurona has produced some of the most effective offensive plays in the NEO Egoist League."

She clicked to the next slide, which displayed a detailed breakdown of successful passes and goals. "When paired with Kaiser, their goal conversion rate increases by 27%, making them one of the most efficient striking duos in—"

"Excuse me," a high-pitched voice interrupted from the audience.

The crowd turned, and (Name) looked up to see Tsukiko standing, an artificial smile plastered on her face that didn't reach her eyes.

"I'm sorry to interrupt," Tsukiko said, though her tone suggested she wasn't sorry at all. "But I think we're all getting a little... bored? This isn't an economics lecture. It's supposed to be a presentation about your best players, not a statistical analysis that would put an actuary to sleep."

A few uncomfortable chuckles arose from the audience. (Name)'s expression remained unchanged, but inside, she felt a flicker of anger.

"I appreciate your concern for the audience's engagement," (Name) replied coolly. "But I believe these representatives are here to make informed business decisions, not to be entertained by superficial charm. If you prefer style over substance, perhaps you should consider a career in entertainment instead of sports management."

The audience let out a collective "ooh," and Tsukiko's fake smile faltered.

"At least I don't treat my players like pieces of meat to be sold to the highest bidder," Tsukiko shot back, her voice rising slightly. "They're human beings with dreams and talents, not just numbers on a spreadsheet. But I wouldn't expect someone as cold and calculating as you to understand that."

(Name)'s grip tightened on the podium. "Interesting perspective from someone who just spent fifteen minutes showcasing her players as if they were contestants in a beauty pageant rather than professional athletes."

"At least I care about them!" Tsukiko retorted, her composure cracking. "Everyone knows you only see them as tools to further your own career. You don't even care about football; you just like solving puzzles!"

The audience was now fully invested in the unfolding drama, heads swiveling between the two managers like spectators at a tennis match.

"You know nothing about me," She said, her voice dangerously quiet. "And for your information, I respect my players enough to present their actual abilities rather than relying on flashy editing and background music to mask mediocrity."

Tsukiko's face flushed red. "How dare you? My players are exceptional, and unlike yours, they're not miserable working under a manager who treats them like robots!"

"At least my robots win matches," (Name) replied with a cold smile. "What's Paris X Generation's record again? Oh right, I predict second place. Maybe if you spent less time on your hair and more time on actual strategy, your team might actually achieve something noteworthy."

That was the breaking point. Tsukiko's carefully maintained facade shattered completely.

"You think you're so much better than everyone else with your calculations and predictions!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the now-silent hall. "But you're just a sad, lonely girl who can't connect with actual human beings! No wonder you prefer numbers—they can't reject you like people do!"

The words struck a nerve. Something in (Name) snapped. The perpetual calm that she maintained, the cool analytical exterior—it all crumbled in an instant.

With deliberate slowness, she set the microphone down on the podium. Then, to the shock of everyone present, she stepped off the stage and walked toward Tsukiko's table, her heels clicking ominously against the polished floor.

"Take it back," (Name) said, her voice low and threateningly even.

Tsukiko stood her ground, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of uncertainty. "Make me."

For a moment, time seemed suspended. Then she lunged forward, tackling Tsukiko with such force that they both crashed to the ground. Gasps and shouts erupted from around the room as the two managers grappled with each other, a tangle of expensive dresses and flailing limbs.

(Name) landed the first real blow, her closed fist connecting with Tsukiko's jaw. Tsukiko retaliated by grabbing a fistful of her carefully styled hair and pulling hard, causing several pins to scatter across the floor.

"You psychotic calculator!" Tsukiko shrieked as she tried to push (Name) off her.

"Fake, glittery fraud!" (Name) shot back, landing another hit.

They rolled across the floor, knocking over a chair in the process. Tsukiko managed to claw at (Name)’s face, leaving a thin red scratch across her cheek. In response, (Name) grabbed the front of Tsukiko's dress, tearing the delicate fabric slightly.

The entire scene was chaos—FC representatives standing to get a better view, coaches rushing toward the fray, and camera flashes illuminating the brawl like some bizarre paparazzi moment.
It took the combined efforts of Noel Noa and Loki to finally separate the two. Noa grabbed (Name) around the waist, physically lifting her away from Tsukiko, while Loki restrained the grey-haired manager with evident difficulty.

"That's enough!" Noa's authoritative voice cut through the commotion.

(Name) was breathing heavily, her immaculate hairstyle now in disarray and a trickle of blood running from the corner of her mouth where Tsukiko had managed to land a lucky hit. Tsukiko looked no better, maybe worse, with a bruise already forming on her cheek and her designer dress torn at the shoulder.

"She started it!" Tsukiko protested, sounding more like a petulant child than a professional manager.

"I don't care who started it," Noa replied icily. "I'm finishing it." He maintained his firm grip on (Name), who was still glaring daggers at Tsukiko.

Ego had taken the stage again, looking more amused than anything else. "Well," he announced into the microphone, "I think we can all agree this has been an... eventful evening. We'll take a short intermission before continuing with the bidding portion of our program."

Noa didn't wait for further instructions. He began dragging (Name) toward the exit, his grip unrelenting despite her attempts to wriggle free. They left the venue to a chorus of whispers and the unmistakable sounds of phone cameras capturing the aftermath.

The entire walk back to the Bastard Münchën bay, Noa maintained his hold on the scruff of (Name)'s dress as if she were a misbehaving kitten. She had long given up struggling and now walked beside him with her arms crossed, her face a mask of indignation.

When they arrived, they were met with the surprised faces of the entire Bastard Münchën team, who had gathered in the common room seemingly to surprise (Name) with a small celebration for her first official presentation.

Instead, they were greeted by the sight of their manager looking like she'd just survived a hurricane—dress torn, hair wild, face scratched, and being firmly escorted by their coach.

Noa released (Name), pointing silently to the sofa. She complied without argument, sinking onto the cushions and avoiding eye contact with everyone in the room.

"I'm going to my office," Noa announced, his tone making it clear he needed time to cool off before dealing with the situation further. "Nobody leaves this room until I return." With that, he departed, the door sliding shut behind him with a definitive click.

An awkward silence descended on the room. Kaiser leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying (Name) with unreadable eyes. Isagi kept glancing between her and the door as if trying to piece together what had happened.

The others exchanged bewildered looks, clearly unsure how to react to seeing their normally composed manager in such a state.

After what felt like an eternity, Hiori reached for the remote control. "Maybe we should see what actually happened?" he suggested cautiously. "The event was being broadcast on Blue Lock TV, right?"

No one objected, so he turned on the large screen and navigated to the Blue Lock channel, which was indeed showing a slightly delayed broadcast of the event.

"Fast forward to (Name)'s part," Kurona urged, leaning forward in his seat.

Hiori complied, and soon they were watching (Name)'s presentation from the beginning. The entire room fell deathly silent as they witnessed the increasingly heated exchange between her and Tsukiko, culminating in the physical altercation that had left both managers disheveled and disgraced.

When the clip ended with Noa dragging her away, there was a moment of profound silence. Then, as one, every head in the room turned toward (Name), who was staring fixedly at a point on the wall, her face flushed with what could only be described as mortification now that she had witnessed her own loss of control.

Raichi was the first to break the silence. "Holy shit," he breathed, eyes wide. "You... you really got her good."

"That right hook was technically perfect," Gagamaru added, sounding genuinely impressed. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I didn't," She muttered, touching her split lip gingerly.

"She had it coming," Yukimiya said with a shrug. "Those comments were way out of line."

Isagi approached (Name), offering her a cold water bottle to press against her developing bruises. "Still," he said, his voice carrying a note of gentle reproach, "physical violence isn't exactly the best way to resolve professional disagreements."

"I know," she admitted, accepting the water bottle with a small nod of thanks.

"Though it was quite entertaining," Kaiser chimed in, a smirk playing at his lips. "Who knew our human calculator had such passion hiding beneath all those numbers?" He pushed away from the wall and approached her, kneeling to examine her face with mock concern. "The scratches are superficial, but you'll have some impressive bruising tomorrow. Consider it a badge of honor—our very own Blue Lock battle scars."

She glared at him, but there was less heat behind it than usual. "This isn't funny, Kaiser."

"On the contrary," he replied, his smirk widening. "This is the most entertaining thing I've seen since joining Blue Lock. Our ice queen finally melted—no, erupted like a volcano." He reached out as if to touch her injured cheek but thought better of it when she flinched away. "The question is, what happens now? Ego doesn't exactly run a conventional program, but even he might draw the line at managers brawling during official events."

The implications of his words sank in, and (Name) felt a cold dread spreading through her. Would she be removed from the program? All her hard work, all her calculations and preparations—would it all amount to nothing because of one moment of lost control?

"They won't kick you out," Isagi said firmly, as if reading her thoughts. "Your analytical skills are too valuable to the program."

"Besides," Igaguri added unexpectedly, "if violent outbursts were grounds for expulsion, half of us wouldn't be here." He gave her a rare, genuine smile.

"At worst, they'll make you apologize publicly," Hiori reasoned. "It's actually good publicity for Blue Lock. This clip will be trending online within the hour if it isn't already."

"Great," she muttered sarcastically. "Just what I wanted. Internet fame for being a human calculator who can't control her temper."

"A hot human calculator who can't control her temper," Kaiser corrected with a grin. "Don't forget the dress. The red really brought out the murder in your eyes."

Despite herself, (Name) felt the corners of her mouth twitching upward. The absurdity of the situation was beginning to sink in, and with it came an unexpected sense of relief. She had spent so long maintaining her perfect, emotionless facade that the release, however inappropriate, felt strangely liberating.

"You're all ridiculous," she said, but there was no bite to her words.

"Says the person who tackled another manager in front of representatives from every major football club in the world," Raichi countered, but he was grinning too.

Maybe things would turn out alright for her..

Chapter Text

The throbbing pain on Tsukiko's left cheek was nothing compared to the sting of humiliation burning through her entire body. She sat rigidly in one of the stiff chairs outside Ego's office, refusing to even glance at the stoic girl seated three chairs away. the devil herself—(Name) (L/n), looking far less damaged than she felt. The silence between them was thick enough to cut with a knife, disrupted only by the occasional shifting of Noel Noa and Loki standing behind their respective managers.

Tsukiko gingerly touched the small scratch near her eye, wincing at the tenderness. That psycho (L/n) had actually attacked her—on live broadcast, no less! Her perfectly styled gray hair was now a disheveled mess, and her elegant powder-blue dress had a small tear at the hem from when she'd fought back. She'd managed to land a few hits herself, but the memory of (Last name)'s glowing eyes filled with unbridled rage still sent shivers down her spine.

"How long is he going to make us wait?" Tsukiko muttered, more to herself than anyone else. She'd expected to be called in immediately, not left to stew in her own embarrassment.

Loki sighed from where he stood. "Probably watching the video on repeat. It's trending, you know."

Tsukiko's head snapped up. "What?!"

"Blue Lock TV is having a field day," the french striker confirmed, his usually playful demeanor subdued. Even though he was only a year older than her, right now his disappointment made him seem much more mature. "Why did you provoke her like that?"

"I provoked her?" Tsukiko hissed incredulously. "She's the one who—"

The door to Ego's office swung open, cutting her off. His expressionless face somehow seemed more menacing than if he'd been openly angry.

"Inside. All of you."

Tsukiko walked with her head held high despite the stinging scratches on her cheek and the dull ache in her shoulder where that demon had slammed her into the floor. Behind her, Loki followed with an uncharacteristically stern expression that made her stomach twist with guilt.

She refused to look at (Name), who walked several paces ahead with Noel Noa's imposing figure at her back.

When they reached Ego's office, the door swung open before either of them could knock. Ego Jinpachi sat behind his desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin, his usual maniacal smile nowhere to be seen. Instead, his expression was cold, calculating, and undeniably disappointed.

"Sit," he commanded, gesturing to the two chairs placed in front of his desk.

Tsukiko slid gracefully into one chair while (Name) dropped unceremoniously into the other, arms crossed tightly over her chest. The crimson dress she wore—which Tsukiko had to admit begrudgingly was stunning—was torn at the hem, and her meticulously styled French braid bun had come half-undone. Tsukiko could only imagine how she herself looked, her perfectly styled gray hair now a disheveled mess around her shoulders.

"I've spent the last hour fielding calls from outraged FC representatives," Ego began, his voice dangerously calm. "The very people we were trying to impress tonight. Do you understand what your little... performance has done?"

Tsukiko opened her mouth to defend herself, but Ego silenced her with a raised hand.

"I don't care who started it," he continued. "Both of you embarrassed not only yourselves but the entire NEL program. The manager program that Anri personally vouched for."

At the mention of Anri, both girls seemed to deflate slightly. Loki shifted uncomfortably behind Tsukiko while Noa remained impassive as ever.

Ego leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "However, the publicity has been... unexpected. Blue Lock TV viewership spiked after your fight. People are talking about the NEL manager program more than ever before."

Tsukiko blinked in surprise. This wasn't the dressing-down she had anticipated.

"That doesn't mean what you did was acceptable," Ego clarified, as if reading her thoughts. "But I'm not going to fire either of you."

(Name) scoffed quietly, earning a sharp glance from Noa.

"(L/n)," Ego said, turning his attention to the sullen mathematician, "you'll be attending mandatory anger management sessions with one of our sports psychologists. Three times a week."

The girl’s eyes seemed to glow with indignation, but she nodded stiffly.

"And Yugi," Ego continued, shifting his gaze to Tsukiko, "you'll be working with our PR team to craft a joint public apology. Something that maintains your... charm, while acknowledging the inappropriateness of tonight's events."

Tsukiko nodded, already mentally composing an apology that would have viewers sympathizing with her rather than condemning her.

"Additionally," Ego added, "both of you will maintain a professional distance from each other. No interaction outside of official events, and even then, minimal contact."

"That won't be a problem," (Name) muttered, still refusing to look in Tsukiko's direction.

"Ego-san," Tsukiko ventured, her voice sweet despite the circumstances, "what about tomorrow's training sessions? Our teams are scheduled to use adjacent facilities."

"Reschedule," Ego replied simply. "Figure it out with your coaches." He stood up, signaling that the meeting was over. "I expect both of you to reflect on your actions and remember your purpose here. You're not just managers—you're representatives of Blue Lock and the future of football management."

With that, they were dismissed. Tsukiko followed Loki back toward the PXG bay, the uncomfortable silence between them making her anxiety spiral. Once they were far enough from (Name) and Noa, Loki finally spoke.

"That was quite the show, princess," he said, his voice lacking its usual playful lilt. "Though I must say, I expected better from you."

Tsukiko felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. "She provoked me," she defended weakly.

"And you took the bait," Loki responded. "A princess should know better than to roll around on the floor like a common street fighter, non?"

Loki placed a hand on her shoulder. Unlike his usual playful touch, this one felt heavy with disappointment.

"I need to make a call," Tsukiko muttered, pulling away from him. "I'll see you back at the bay."

She didn't wait for his response, hurrying down the corridor until she found a quiet corner. With trembling fingers, she pulled out her phone and dialed.

Her father picked up on the third ring.

"Tsukiko?" His voice held a note of concern that immediately made her throat tighten. "I was just about to call you. Are you alright?"

"Dad, I..." Her voice cracked, the facade finally breaking. "You've seen it, haven't you?"

A pause. "Yes, sweetheart. It's all over the sports networks."

Of course it was. Yuuto Yugi, legendary striker and sports commentator, would have seen his daughter's humiliation broadcast live.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, tears finally spilling down her cheeks. "I've embarrassed you."

"Hey, hey," his voice softened. "You haven't embarrassed me. These things happen in high-pressure environments."

"Getting into a fistfight on national television 'happens'?" she asked bitterly.

"Well... perhaps not exactly like that," he conceded with a small chuckle. "But rivalries in football can get heated. I once headbutted an opponent during the World Cup quarterfinals, you know."

Despite everything, Tsukiko found herself smiling weakly. "That's different. You're a player. I'm supposed to be representing my team professionally."

"And you will continue to do so. This is just a setback, Tsukiko. What matters is how you recover from it."

She wiped her tears, taking a deep breath. "Ego wants us to do a public apology together. And then some kind of joint training session."

"That's actually quite smart of him," her father mused. "Turns negative attention into a marketing opportunity."

"But Dad, I can't stand her! She's so... so calculating and cold and thinks she's better than everyone else!"

"Sometimes the people who challenge us the most are the ones we learn the most from," he said sagely. "Remember what I always taught you about facing tough opponents?"

Tsukiko sighed. "Study them, learn from them, then surpass them."

"Exactly. This girl—"

"(Name) (L/n)."

"(Name)," he continued, "has skills you don't. And you have skills she doesn't. Maybe there's something to gain here."

Tsukiko doubted that very much, but she didn't argue. "I should go. I need to face my team."

"They'll understand, sweetheart. Everyone makes mistakes."

"Thanks, Dad. I love you."

"Love you too. Keep shining."

As she hung up, Tsukiko took a moment to compose herself. Her father's encouragement had helped, but the knot of dread in her stomach remained. Facing her team after such a public failure wasn't going to be easy.

With a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and made her way back to the Paris X Generation bay.

The common room fell silent the moment Tsukiko entered. Seven pairs of eyes turned to stare at her, expressions ranging from amusement to concern to outright disappointment.

"Well," Charles broke the silence, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips, "that was quite the show, ma chérie."

Tsukiko winced at the nickname. "Please don't."

"Are you okay?" Nanase asked, genuine concern in his voice. At least someone cared about her wellbeing.

"I'm fine. Just a few scratches." She tried to maintain her dignity, smoothing down her hair self-consciously.

Rin, as expected, looked utterly unimpressed. "That was pathetic."

The bluntness of his statement felt like a slap. "Excuse me?"

"If you're going to fight, at least win," he said coldly. "You let her get the upper hand immediately."

Karasu sighed from where he sat. "That's not the point, Rin. She shouldn't have been fighting at all."

"Exactly!" Tokimitsu chimed in nervously. "Violence isn't the answer, especially not at a professional event!"

Tsukiko felt her cheeks burning again. "I didn't start it! She attacked me!"

"After you provoked her," Loki pointed out, leaning against the doorframe. She hadn't even realized he'd followed her. "I heard what you said to her."

"Whose side are you on?" Tsukiko demanded, frustration building again.

Shidou, who had been unusually quiet, suddenly let out a bark of laughter. "You know what? I thought it was awesome!" He jumped up from the couch, mimicking boxing moves. "Little Miss Perfect Manager has some fire after all!"

"Shidou," Loki warned, but Shidou just grinned wider.

"What? It was entertaining! Better than those boring statistics she was droning on about."

"That's enough," Loki said firmly. "Tsukiko has had a rough night, and Ego has already handed down punishment."

That caught their attention.

"What kind of punishment?" Charles asked, looking intrigued.

Tsukiko sank onto the nearest chair, exhaustion finally catching up with her. "We have to issue a public apology together. And then participate in some joint training session between our teams."
"With Bastard Münchën?" Karasu clarified, frowning slightly.

"Yes." She couldn't keep the misery from her voice.

"That could be interesting," Rin mused, a calculating look in his eyes. "Isagi versus Me. Kaiser versus Shidou."

"It's not about the matchups," Loki explained. "It's about showing unity after the... incident."

"I also have to attend 'professionalism workshops,'" Tsukiko added bitterly. "Apparently I'm too much of an idol and not enough of a manager."

The room fell silent again, no one quite sure how to respond to that.

"Well," Charles finally said, rising from his seat with unusual grace, "I believe what you need right now is rest, ma chérie. And perhaps..." he gestured at her disheveled appearance, "a bit of self-care. Come, I'll help you with your hair."

The unexpected kindness made her eyes sting with fresh tears. Charles, for all his flamboyance, had a good heart.

"Thank you," she whispered.

As Charles led her toward her room, she heard Shidou call out behind her, "Next time, aim for the nose! It bleeds more dramatically!"

"SHIDOU!" several voices scolded in unison.

Despite everything, Tsukiko found herself smiling weakly. Her team might be a mess, but they were her mess.

The next morning brought a text message from an unknown number:

This is (L/n). Anri gave me your contact information. We need to arrange a meeting to discuss the apology statement. Let me know when you're available.

No greeting, no pleasantries, just straight to business. Typical.

Tsukiko stared at the message for a long time before replying:

I'm free this afternoon at 3. Meeting room B7.

The response came almost immediately:

Confirmed.

Tsukiko tossed her phone onto her bed with a groan. This was going to be the longest day of her life.

By the time 3 PM rolled around, Tsukiko had changed outfits three times before settling on a simple but elegant navy blouse and pencil skirt—professional, but still stylish. She'd spent extra time on her makeup, covering the faint bruise on her cheek, and styled her hair perfectly. If she had to face (Name) again, she was going to at least look her best.

She arrived at meeting room B7 five minutes early, determined to have the upper hand by being there first. To her annoyance, (Name) was already seated at the table, a stack of papers organized neatly in front of her.

The other girl looked immaculate in her cream-colored suit, not a hair out of place. There was a small bandage on her knuckle—the only evidence that she'd been in a fight at all.

"Yugi," (Name) acknowledged without looking up from her papers.

"(L/n)," Tsukiko returned coolly, taking a seat across from her. "I see you've already started."

"Efficiency matters." (Name) finally looked up, her expression unreadable behind those blank eyes. "I've drafted a few potential statements. Feel free to review them."

She slid a folder across the table. Tsukiko opened it to find three neatly typed statements, each more robotic and impersonal than the last.

"These are terrible," she said bluntly.

(Name) raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with them?"

"They're cold. Impersonal. There's no emotion, no genuine remorse." Tsukiko shook her head. "No one will believe we're actually sorry if we sound like corporate robots."

"The point is to be professional."

"The point is to be convincing," Tsukiko countered. "Look, I know you don't like me, and trust me, the feeling is mutual. But if we want to get through this with our careers intact, we need to at least seem like we're sincerely apologetic."

(Name)'s expression didn't change, but she leaned back slightly in her chair. "What do you suggest then?"

Tsukiko pulled out her own notebook. "I've written something too. It's more... heartfelt."

She passed the notebook over, watching as (Name)'s eyes scanned the handwritten text. Her lip curled slightly.

"This is overly emotional and unprofessional," (Name) said, pushing the notebook back.

"It's genuine!"

"It's theatrical."

They glared at each other across the table, the tension from yesterday threatening to resurface.

Tsukiko took a deep breath. "Fine. Let's compromise. We'll take the structure from your drafts but incorporate some of the personal touches from mine."

To her surprise, (Name) nodded after a moment. "Logical. We can create a more balanced statement that way."

For the next hour, they worked in relative peace, combining elements from both their drafts. It was strange, Tsukiko thought, to see (Name)'s analytical mind at work up close. She was frustratingly precise, questioning every word

choice and considering the potential interpretation of each phrase. But she wasn't entirely unreasonable—she accepted several of Tsukiko's suggestions for more personalized language.

"I think this works," (Name) finally said, reviewing their final draft. "It maintains professionalism while incorporating the emotional sincerity you emphasized."

Tsukiko read through it again. "Yes, I think so too. We'll need to rehearse it together before the press conference."

(Name) nodded, already gathering her papers. "Tomorrow at 2 PM? Same room."

"Fine."

As she stood to leave, Tsukiko found herself asking, "Why did you do it? Attack me like that?"

(Name) paused, her back to Tsukiko. For a moment, she thought the other girl might ignore the question entirely.

"You questioned my dedication to my team," (Name) finally said, her voice unusually quiet. "Suggested I see them as nothing but numbers. Statistics to be sold."

"Well, don't you?" Tsukiko challenged.

(Name) turned slightly, just enough that Tsukiko could see her profile. "Numbers tell stories, Yugi. They reveal truths about people that words and charm can obscure. I respect my players too much to reduce them to flashy presentations and empty promises."

Before Tsukiko could respond, (Name) was gone, leaving her alone with their joint statement and a strange, unsettled feeling in her chest.

Working with that devil would be torture, but perhaps it was also an opportunity—a chance to observe her weaknesses up close.

After all, every equation had variables. Every calculation had potential for error.

And she intended to become (L/n)'s biggest mathematical mistake.

Chapter Text

The events of the previous night still played in Natsumi's mind like a broken record. The image of (Name)—prim, logical, analytical (Name)—leaping off the stage in her crimson dress to attack Tsukiko was something Natsumi couldn't have predicted in a million calculations. She sighed, tucking a strand of her white coloured hair behind her ear as she walked through the Manshine City common room.

"You okay there?" Chris Prince's voice boomed from across the room, startling her.

"Y-yes, of course," Natsumi replied, adjusting her formal attire—a simple powder pink blazer over a white blouse and matching skirt. Her eyes darted to the screen where footage from last night's debacle was playing on repeat.
Blue Lock TV was milking the drama for all it was worth.

"I've never seen someone so small pack such a punch," Chirigiri commented from the couch, eyes glued to the screen.

"She really got her good," Reo added, wincing at the replay of (Name)'s fist connecting with Tsukiko's jaw.

Natsumi bit her lower lip. While she would never openly approve of violence, a small, secret part of her couldn't help but feel that Tsukiko had it coming. The PXG manager's comments had been deliberately provocative—calling (Name) boring, suggesting she treated her players like meat. Even Natsumi, with all her patience, had felt a spark of irritation in that moment.

"I hope (Name)-san is okay," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

"(L/N)? She's fine," Chris Prince waved dismissively. "Noa's handling it. That girl's lucky to have a coach like him—they're practically cut from the same stoic cloth."

Natsumi paused at those words. It was true—(Name) and Noel Noa shared the same analytical coldness, the same precision in their approach. Akane's vibrant energy matched Lavinho's flair. Tsukiko's charm mirrored Loki's charisma. Even Haru and Snuffy shared an inexhaustible enthusiasm.

But her and Chris Prince? What did they have in common?

The thought weighed on her mind as she excused herself, needing some air to clear her head. She found herself in the bathroom to refresh herself yet with a constant question buzzing in her head.

How can I be a good manager if I can't even connect with my coach? The question gnawed at her. Chris Prince was theatrical, boisterous, and confident to a fault. Natsumi was... well, she was none of those things.

"(Name)..." she whispered to herself. She'd tried texting her friend last night, but had only received a brief response: "In mandatory anger management. Talk later."

A knock at the bathroom door startled her.

"Natsumi-chan? Are you in there?" came Chris Prince's booming voice. "Team meeting in five minutes!"

"Y-yes! Coming right away!" she called back, gathering her tablet and hurrying to open the door.

Chris Prince stood there, his muscular frame nearly filling the doorway, a dazzling smile on his face. "There you are! I was worried you'd gotten lost again!"

Natsumi blushed. Just last week, she'd somehow ended up in the Ubers' training facility when she was supposed to be heading to the cafeteria. Haru Kamishiro had found her nearly in tears and guided her back.

"I'm fine, Coach Prince," she mumbled, looking at her feet.

Chris placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. "Excellent! Now, we need to discuss our strategy for the upcoming match against PXG. With their manager currently dealing with... public relations issues..." He chuckled, clearly amused by the euphemism for Tsukiko's bruised face and reputation. "We might have an advantage!"

Natsumi nodded, following him down the corridor toward the Manshine City common room. As they walked, her mind drifted back to the problem that had been plaguing her for days.

How could she be an effective manager when she had so little in common with her coach? Akane and Lavinho shared the same exuberant energy. Haru and Snuffy both had that chaotic, fun-loving spirit. (Name) and Noel Noa were practically twins in their stoic, analytical approach. Even Tsukiko and Loki shared that attention-grabbing charm.

But her and Chris Prince? He was loud where she was quiet. Boisterous where she was reserved. Dramatic where she preferred subtlety. How could she ever connect with her team if she couldn't even connect with their coach?

"...and I was thinking we should highlight Nagi's aerial control capabilities," Chris was saying as they entered the common room.

Natsumi blinked, realizing she'd missed half of what he was saying. The room fell silent as they entered. Reo, Nagi, and Chigiri were seated on the couches, looking at her expectantly.

"S-sorry," she stammered. "Could you repeat that, Coach Prince?"

Chris laughed heartily. "Daydreaming, Natsumi-chan? I was just telling the boys about your brilliant strategy for the PXG match."

Natsumi felt heat creep into her cheeks. Strategy? She hadn't prepared any strategy yet. "I, um..."

"Our manager is just being modest!" Chris announced, clapping her on the back so forcefully she almost stumbled forward. "She's been analyzing PXG's weaknesses all week!"

The three players continued staring at her. Chigiri with mild interest, Reo with expectation, and Nagi with his usual bored expression.

"Actually," she began quietly, "I was thinking we should f-focus on exploiting the space behind Karasu's forward runs." She had no idea where those words had come from, but they seemed to satisfy everyone.

"Brilliant as always!" Chris beamed. "Now, I need to speak with Coach Noa about some administrative matters. Continue the discussion—I'll be back shortly!"
With that, he swept out of the room, leaving Natsumi standing awkwardly before her team.

"So," Reo said after a moment, "about those spaces behind Karasu?"

Natsumi took a deep breath. This was part of her job. She needed to step up, even if she felt like an impostor.

"Y-yes. I've been watching their matches, and while Karasu is exceptional at creating offensive pressure, PXG often leaves vulnerabilities when he commits forward." She tapped on her tablet, pulling up some match footage she'd been studying. "See here? If we can counter quickly through Chigiri's speed..."

To her surprise, the three players leaned in, genuinely interested. By the time she finished explaining her observations, even Nagi seemed somewhat engaged.

"Not bad," he drawled, which from him was high praise.

"Thanks," Chigiri added with a small smile. "This is actually really helpful."
Natsumi felt a tiny spark of confidence. Maybe she wasn't so terrible at this after all.

"Any thoughts on our training regimen?" Reo asked. "Chris keeps pushing us to build more muscle mass, but I'm not sure that's what I need to improve my game."

"I... I think different bodies respond to different types of training," Natsumi ventured. "Maybe we could develop personalized routines based on your individual playing styles."

The conversation continued for nearly half an hour, with Natsumi gradually relaxing as the players opened up to her. When Chris finally returned, she was in the middle of demonstrating a specific stretching technique she'd learned in her high school days.

"Wonderful to see such team bonding!" Chris exclaimed. "But now it's time for the boys to hit the gym. Natsumi-chan, you can join me for some administrative work."

As the players filed out, each giving her small nods of acknowledgment, Natsumi felt a flutter of pride. She'd managed a productive session without Chris's overwhelming presence.

But the nagging worry returned as soon as they left. How long could she keep this up? The disconnect between her and Chris Prince still remained.

"You seem troubled," Chris remarked as they walked toward the administrative offices. "Is something wrong?"

Natsumi hesitated. "I... I was just thinking about the other managers and coaches."

"Oh?" Chris raised an eyebrow. "What about them?"

"They all seem to... match. (Name) and Coach Noa are both analytical. Akane and Coach Lavinho are both energetic. But you and I..."

Chris stopped walking, turning to face her with an unexpectedly serious expression. "You think we don't match?"

Natsumi's eyes widened. "N-no, that's not what I—I just meant that we're very different and I worry that I'm not the right fit for Manshine City because of it."

To her surprise, Chris laughed, but it wasn't his usual booming laugh. It was softer, more genuine.

"Natsumi-chan, do you know why I requested you specifically as our manager when Ego announced the program?"

She shook her head, genuinely puzzled.

"Because you see things I don't," he said simply. "I'm all flash and showmanship. I get caught up in the spectacle of football. But you..." He tapped her tablet. "You notice the quiet moments, the spaces between the obvious. We don't need to be the same to be effective."

Natsumi blinked back unexpected tears. "R-really?"

"Absolutely! Though..." Chris's familiar grin returned. "I do think you're underestimating yourself in one area."

"What's that?"

"Physical strength!" He flexed dramatically. "You carry all those heavy statistical reports like they're nothing! I bet you're secretly as strong as an ox!"

Natsumi laughed nervously. She wasn't particularly athletic—at least, she didn't think she was. But Chris's words had eased some of her anxiety.

"Thank you, Coach Prince."

"Now, I need to review some footage. Why don't you take a break? Maybe visit that friend of yours—the one who starts bar fights." He winked.

"(Name)'s in anger management today," Natsumi replied. "But... maybe I'll just walk around a bit. Clear my head."

Chris nodded. "Excellent idea! Just don't wander into any other team's territory without an escort. Some of those boys are... unpredictable."
With that warning, they parted ways, and Natsumi found herself walking through the Blue Lock facility without any clear destination in mind.

Despite Chris's words of encouragement, her thoughts remained troubled. She pulled out her phone and tried texting (Name) again.

"Hope your session is going well. Chris just gave me a pep talk. I wish I could be more confident like you."

No immediate response, which wasn't surprising. (Name) was probably still in her mandatory session.

It wasn't until the familiar surroundings of Manshine City were long behind her that Natsumi realized she had wandered much farther than intended. The corridors here were unfamiliar, the lighting different.

"Oh no," she whispered, coming to a halt. She was lost. Completely, hopelessly lost.

If only she had (Name)'s ability to memorize the facility's layout! Panic began to bubble in her chest as she turned around, trying to retrace her steps. But the winding corridors of Blue Lock seemed to shift and change, each one looking the same as the last.

"Stay calm," she whispered to herself. "Just find someone to ask for directions."

As if on cue, a large shadow fell across the floor ahead of her. Natsumi looked up to see a massive figure approaching—a player so tall and broad-shouldered that he nearly touched both walls of the corridor. His movements were strangely jerky, and as he came closer, she could see his face twitching nervously.

"E-excuse me," she began, but the player suddenly stopped, his body tensing visibly.

"Y-you're not supposed to be here!" he stammered, his voice surprisingly high-pitched for someone so large. "This is PXG territory!"

Tokimitsu—Natsumi recognized him now from match footage she'd studied. Known for his immense physical potential but crippled by anxiety on the field.

"I'm sorry!" she squeaked. "I got lost and—"

"Intruder!" Tokimitsu shouted, his entire body now shaking. "There's an intruder in the PXG wing!"

Panic seized Natsumi. She turned and began to run, not caring which direction she went as long as it was away from the agitated giant. She rounded a corner and nearly collided with another figure—this one shorter but somehow infinitely more terrifying.

Cold, predator-like eyes stared at her from beneath green-black bangs. Rin Itoshi. The ace striker of PXG. The player whose gaze could freeze blood.

"S-sorry!" Natsumi gasped, backing away. "I didn't mean to—"

Rin didn't speak. He merely stared at her with those piercing eyes, his expression one of utter contempt.

Natsumi didn't wait for him to say anything. She turned and fled in another direction, her heart hammering in her chest. This was a nightmare. How had she ended up in PXG territory of all places? After the fight between (Name) and Tsukiko, this was the last team she should be caught spying on.

She found refuge at a corner, pressing her back against the wall as she tried to catch her breath. Her chest heaved with exertion and anxiety. Where was she?

The sensation of being watched crept up her spine. Slowly, she turned her head to find two faces observing her with matching maniacal grins.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" one of them purred, his wild blond hair tipped with pink and predatory smile making him look like a cat who'd cornered a mouse.

"A little lost lamb wandering into the wolf's den," the smaller one purred in his French-accented Japanese.

"Or maybe a little spy sent by Manshine?" The tanned one added, his grin widening.

"N-no!" Natsumi protested, backing away. "I just got lost, I swear!"

"Lost, she says," he laughed. "How convenient."

Natsumi turned to flee yet again, but in her panic, she didn't look where she was going. She ran headlong into something solid—not a wall, but a person. Strong hands caught her shoulders to steady her, and she found herself looking up into a pair of amused blue eyes.

The boy before her had spiky, dark purple-black hair and a confident smirk on his face. Karasu Tabito. PXG's playmaker. The very player she'd been discussing strategies against just hours ago.

"Well now," he said, his deep voice carrying a note of intrigue. "So you're the ghost in white that's been haunting our halls."

"Ghost?" Natsumi repeated weakly.

Karasu chuckled. "Tokimitsu's been claiming he saw a white-haired spirit wandering our corridors for the past 5 minutes. Seems he wasn't hallucinating after all."
Behind her, Shidou and Charles had approached, forming a loose circle around her with Karasu.

"I'm s-sorry," Natsumi stammered. "I was just walking and got lost. I'm not spying, I promise."

Karasu studied her for a moment, then his smirk softened slightly. "Manshine's manager, right? Hatoshima?"

She nodded, surprised he knew her name.

"Interesting timing, considering what happened with your friend and our manager," he remarked. "Up we go." He gestured down the hall. "I think Tsukiko might want to have a word with our unexpected visitor."

Natsumi's stomach dropped. This was exactly what she'd been hoping to avoid. But surrounded by PXG players, she had little choice but to follow Karasu as he led the way, Shidou and Charles trailing behind like gleeful guards.

Too mortified to argue, Natsumi followed the boy through several more corridors until they reached a spacious common room filled with familiar faces from the screen—the PXG players.

And there, sitting on a plush sofa with a cooling pack held to her cheek, was Tsukiko Yugi.

The PXG manager's eyes widened when she spotted Natsumi, then narrowed suspiciously. "What is she doing here?" Tsukiko asked, her voice colder than Natsumi had ever heard it.

"Found her wandering around," the blue-eyed boy—whom Natsumi now recognized as Karasu—explained with a shrug. "Thought you might want to handle the interrogation, princess."

Tsukiko set aside her cooling pack and stood, smoothing down her designer skirt. Despite the bruise blooming on her cheek, she still managed to look regal, her long silver hair gleaming under the lights.

"Come here," she commanded, her voice shifting to a higher, more melodic tone—the voice she used when she was putting on her charm. "Let's have a little chat, shall we?"

Natsumi approached cautiously, aware of the eyes of every PXG player on her. She felt like a lamb being led to slaughter.

"So," Tsukiko began once they were seated across from each other, "what brings Manshine City's little dove to our domain? Spying for your friend (L/N), perhaps?"

The accusation stung, but Natsumi knew she needed to be honest. "No, nothing like that. I was just... walking. Thinking. And I found myself here."

"Thinking about what?" Tsukiko pressed, leaning forward with interest.

Natsumi hesitated before deciding that honesty was her best option. "About how all the managers seem to mirror their coaches," she admitted softly. "(Name)-san and Noa-san are both analytical and precise. You and Loki-san share that charismatic charm. Akane-san and Lavinho-san are both energetic and fun-loving. Even Haru-chan and Snuffy-san have that same boundless enthusiasm."

Tsukiko's eyebrows rose with interest. "And?"

"And... I don't see what I have in common with Chris Prince," Natsumi finished, her voice barely above a whisper. "How can I be an effective manager if I can't even connect with my coach?"

To her surprise, Tsukiko's expression softened. The PXG manager leaned back, a thoughtful look replacing her suspicion. "So you came all this way, getting yourself lost in the process, because you were having an existential crisis?"

Put like that, it did sound a bit ridiculous. Natsumi nodded, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Unexpectedly, Tsukiko laughed—not the practiced, melodic laugh she used during presentations, but a genuine sound of amusement. "Oh, you're precious. Come on, let's go somewhere we can talk properly."

Before Natsumi could respond, Tsukiko had stood and was pulling her by the hand toward a different room. Behind them, she could hear Karasu scoff.

"So she’s actually just a mediocre crybaby," he muttered, seeming disappointed in her reasoning, the words carrying across the room.

The comment stung, but Natsumi had no time to dwell on it as Tsukiko led her into what appeared to be a small training analysis room, complete with monitors displaying match footage and physical training data. She closed the door behind them and motioned for Natsumi to take a seat.

"So," Tsukiko said, perching elegantly on the edge of a desk, "you're having an identity crisis as a manager."

"I wouldn't call it that," Natsumi replied softly. "I just... worry that I can't support my team properly if I'm so different from Coach Prince."

Tsukiko studied her for a moment, then smiled—not her usual calculated, charming smile, but something that seemed almost genuine.

"You know," she began, "when I first met Loki, I thought the same thing."

"You did?" Natsumi couldn't hide her surprise.

"Oh yes. He's all flash and speed on the outside—much like your Chris Prince—but there's a calculating mind beneath. I worried I could never match his level of... performance." Tsukiko twirled a strand of her gray hair thoughtfully. "But then I realized something."

"What's that?" Natsumi leaned forward slightly.

"Being different from your coach isn't a weakness—it's a strength." Tsukiko's eyes gleamed. "Think about it. If you were exactly like Chris Prince, what value would you add? You'd just be a second-rate version of him. But if you bring something completely different to the table..."

Natsumi nodded slowly, beginning to understand. It wasn't dissimilar to what Chris had told her earlier, which surprised her. She hadn't expected such insight from Tsukiko.

"Besides," Tsukiko continued, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone, "I've seen you during matches. You're not as meek as you pretend to be."

"What do you mean?"

"The way you analyze plays. The way you support your team. There's a quiet strength there." Tsukiko leaned closer. "I bet you and Chris Prince have more in common than you think. Maybe not in personality, but in... other ways."

Natsumi tilted her head, confused. "Other ways?"

"Maybe..." Tsukiko tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Maybe you're actually stronger than you look. Not just mentally, but physically. Like Chris Prince."

Natsumi almost laughed at that. "I'm not athletic at all."

"Are you sure?" Tsukiko raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever really tested yourself?"

Before Natsumi could respond, Tsukiko stood up and walked over to a rack of weights in the corner of the room. "Come here," she beckoned.

Bewildered, Natsumi followed. Tsukiko gestured to a barbell set up with what looked like a moderate amount of weight.

"Try picking this up," she suggested.

"What? No, I couldn't possibly—"

"Just try," Tsukiko insisted, a strange light in her eyes. "I have a feeling about you."

Natsumi looked at the weights dubiously. She'd never done any serious weightlifting before. But something about Tsukiko's challenge stirred a desire to prove herself—not to Tsukiko, but to her own doubting mind.

"Okay," she agreed hesitantly, moving to stand in front of the barbell.

"Good form is important," Tsukiko instructed, stepping back. "Bend at the knees, straight back, grip firmly."

Natsumi followed the instructions, bending down and grasping the barbell. She took a deep breath, expecting to struggle mightily just to budge it from the ground.

Instead, the barbell rose with startling ease, as if it were made of Styrofoam rather than metal.

"That's... too light," Tsukiko murmured, eyes widening slightly. "Try that one."

She pointed to another barbell, this one loaded with significantly more weight. Natsumi set down the first one and moved to the second, still expecting resistance. But again, the weight came up smoothly, feeling like nothing in her hands.

Tsukiko's expression shifted from surprise to calculating delight. "One more," she said, pointing to a third setup that looked intimidatingly heavy.

By now, a strange feeling was building in Natsumi's chest—a mix of confusion and exhilaration. She approached the third barbell, took proper position, and lifted.

Once again, the weight rose as if it were nothing more than a feather in her hands. She held it at waist level, staring at Tsukiko in bewilderment.

"How... how much is this?" she asked.

Before Tsukiko could answer, the door to the training room burst open. Karasu stood there, eyes widening at the sight of the petite, white-haired manager casually holding what appeared to be an extremely heavy barbell.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

Behind him, more PXG players crowded in the doorway—Rin, Shidou, Charles, Nanase, and a still-twitching Tokimitsu.

"She's... she's lifting the 190kg set," Nanase said quietly, disbelief evident in his voice.

"One hundred and ninety...?" Natsumi repeated faintly, looking down at the weights in her hands. That couldn't be right. That was more than twice her own body weight. Nobody could just pick that up without training, especially not someone her size.

Yet here she was, holding it steady with perfect form, not even breaking a sweat.
Slowly, she set the barbell down, the weights making a heavy clunk against the floor. The room had fallen completely silent, everyone staring at her with expressions ranging from shock to awe.

"I... I don't understand," she whispered, looking at her hands as if they belonged to someone else.

Charles was the first to break the silence, a delighted laugh escaping him. "Magnifique! The little dove has the strength of an eagle!"

Shidou joined in the laughter, clapping slowly. "Well, well. Manshine's been hiding a monster in sheep's clothing."

Even Zantetsu cracked a small smile, nodding appreciatively at her. "That was impressive."

Only Rin remained stone-faced, though his eyes had narrowed slightly, reassessing her in a way that made Natsumi feel like she'd suddenly become visible to him when she'd been transparent before.

Karasu stepped forward, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Not mediocre after all," he murmured, more to himself than to her. Then, louder: "I think we owe you an apology, Hatoshima-san. Clearly, you're not just some manager spy."

Natsumi's mind was reeling. How had she never noticed this about herself? Had she always been this strong? She remembered carrying groceries for her elderly neighbors without trouble, moving furniture in her room alone, helping her father with heavy yard work. But she'd never connected those dots to realize she possessed unusual strength.

Tsukiko was watching her with a calculating expression, clearly reassessing her own initial judgment. Whatever she had expected to happen when she challenged Natsumi to lift weights, it hadn't been this.

Before anyone could say anything more, a commotion echoed from the corridor outside. Heavy footsteps approached at a run, and then a familiar booming voice called out:

"NATSUMI-CHAN! WHERE ARE YOU?"

Chris Prince burst into the room, breathing heavily as if he'd sprinted the entire way from Manshine City's wing. His eyes darted around wildly until they landed on Natsumi, standing bewildered beside the weights.

"There you are!" he exclaimed, rushing forward. "I've been looking everywhere for you! When you didn't come back after an hour, I got worried and—" He stopped abruptly, finally noticing their surroundings and the gathered PXG players. "What's going on here?"

Before Natsumi could explain, one of the monitors on the wall flickered to life, displaying security footage from just moments ago—Natsumi effortlessly lifting the 190kg barbell with perfect form.

Chris's jaw dropped. "Natsumi-chan... that's... that's PERFECT FORM!" he shouted, eyes sparkling with delight. "Look at that back alignment! The knee bend angle! The grip strength! I KNEW IT!"

He rushed to her side, examining her arms with professional interest. "You've been hiding this talent all along! Those delicate arms concealing such raw power! It's just like I said—we complement each other perfectly!"

Natsumi blinked up at him, still trying to process everything. "You... you're not surprised?"

"Surprised? I'm ECSTATIC!" Chris flexed dramatically. "My instincts were right! You DO have hidden strengths! This explains how you carry all those heavy statistical reports without complaint!"

The PXG players were watching this display with varying degrees of amusement and confusion. Karasu, in particular, seemed to be studying the interaction between manager and coach with keen interest.

"Well," Chris continued, placing a protective arm around Natsumi's shoulders, "I see my manager has thoroughly impressed you all. But we must be going now. Manshine City business to attend to!"

He began steering her toward the door, but paused to give Karasu a pointed look. "Keep your sly crow tactics away from my manager, Karasu. She doesn't need any distractions."

Karasu merely raised an eyebrow, that same slow smirk playing at his lips. "I look forward to seeing more of Hatoshima-san's... talents," he replied smoothly.

As Chris guided her out of the room, Natsumi glanced back to see Tsukiko watching her with an unreadable expression. Their eyes met briefly, and Natsumi thought she detected a flicker of genuine respect in the PXG manager's
gaze—quickly masked by her usual calculated charm.

The last thing she saw before they turned the corner was Karasu, still watching her with those intense blue eyes, his expression suggesting that their paths would cross again soon.

Back in the safety of Manshine City's wing, Chris finally released Natsumi from his protective grip. They stood in an empty corridor, Chris beaming down at her with pride.

"I knew there was something special about you from the beginning," he declared. "This is just further proof that you're exactly where you belong!"

Natsumi looked up at him, still processing the events of the past hour. "But... I never knew I could do that. How did you know?"

Chris's expression softened. "Sometimes we see strengths in others that they can't see in themselves. That's part of being a good coach—and a good manager."

For the first time since she'd arrived at Blue Lock, Natsumi felt a true connection with Chris Prince. Not because they were similar, but because they were different in complementary ways.

"Thank you," she said softly. "For coming to find me."

"Always!" Chris exclaimed, his usual exuberance returning. "Though perhaps we should keep your super-strength our little secret advantage for now." He winked conspiratorially.

Natsumi smiled, feeling a new confidence growing within her. As they walked back to the common room to meet with the team, she pulled out her phone to send a quick message to (Name):

"You won't believe what just happened. I think I found my strength after all. Can't wait to tell you everything when your anger management class is over."

As she put her phone away, Natsumi realized that she no longer felt like an impostor in her role. She had her own unique strengths to bring to Manshine City—both literally and figuratively.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, the image of Karasu's intrigued expression lingered, along with the strange flutter it had caused in her chest. But that was a complication for another day.

Chapter Text

(Name) (L/n) tugged gently at the hem of her beige cream-lined skirt, smoothing the fabric as she settled into her seat beside Coach Noel Noa. Her white button-up shirt was crisp, the sleeves rolled halfway up her forearms in a practical fashion, while her matching beige waistcoat sat snugly over it. The red tie tucked into her waistcoat added a splash of color to her otherwise neutral outfit, Black tights and dark brown heels completed her professional look – the uniform of Bastard Münchën's manager.

The pitch with an electric atmosphere that even (Name), typically unbothered by such things, couldn't ignore. The second match of the NEO Egoist League was about to begin: Bastard Münchën versus Manshine City. More importantly, this meant (Name) would be facing off against Natsumi Hatoshima, the only other manager she could tolerate – perhaps even consider a friend.

As if sensing her thoughts, Natsumi appeared in her peripheral vision, making her way to Manshine City's bench. The white-haired girl caught her eye and offered a small, shy wave. (Name) acknowledged her with a curt nod, her face betraying nothing of the slight warmth she felt at seeing a friendly face.

"Focused already?" Noa asked, his voice as calm and measured as ever.

(Name) nodded, her gaze already shifting to scan the field. "I've been reviewing their recent strategies. Chris Prince has been experimenting with different formations to accommodate Nagi's unique style."

Noa hummed in acknowledgment. "And your thoughts?"

"Their flexibility is both a strength and a weakness. They adapt well, but it creates inconsistencies in their defensive line." (Name)'s voice was precise, each word carefully measured. "Our lineup changes should exploit that."

Today's lineup was notably different from their previous match against Barcha. More Japanese players were taking the field: Gagamaru in goal, Yukimiya on the wing, Kunigami as forward, and Kurona in midfield. But the most interesting addition was Isagi, who would finally get extended playing time after his brief appearance in the previous match.

(Name)'s eyes narrowed slightly as she observed Isagi and Kaiser warming up side by side. Both occasionally glanced in her direction, clearly aware of her analytical gaze. The silent battle for her tactical support was as transparent as it was amusing. Both strikers wanted the manager on their side, recognizing her mathematical prowess as an asset.

The referee's whistle pierced the air, and the players took their positions. (Name) pulled out her tablet, fingers hovering over the screen. As the match kicked off, her mind shifted into its familiar analytical state, the world around her fading as numbers and probabilities filled her consciousness.

The match began with Manshine City taking possession. Immediately, (Name)'s brain went to work, calculating angles, speeds, and probabilities.

Nagi received the ball from Reo, his languid movements belying the precision with which he controlled it. (Name)'s eyes tracked him, her mind computing in real-time.

Movement speed: 7.3 meters per second. Current angle to goal: 37.6 degrees. Probability of shot attempt: 22%. Probability of pass to Reo: 65%. Probability of pass to Chigiri: 13%.

True to her calculations, Nagi opted for the pass to Reo, who immediately faced pressure from Kurona. (Name)'s attention shifted, the numbers recalibrating.

Kurona closing speed: 8.5 meters per second. Interception probability: 73%.

Kurona slid in, cleanly taking the ball from Reo and immediately looking up field. (Name) tapped her tablet, making a quick note. The movement was exactly as she had predicted – Kurona's speed giving him the edge in that particular matchup.

"Kurona, left wing open," (Name) spoke into her translator and mic, her voice carrying to the players' earpieces. She watched as Kurona's head turned slightly, acknowledging her input before sending a precise ball down the left flank to Yukimiya.

The midfielder caught the ball with a perfect first touch, immediately turning to face his defender. (Name)'s mind raced again:

Yukimiya dribble success rate against current defender: 81.3%. Optimal angle for cross: 62 degrees from current position. Kaiser positioning for header: sub-optimal, 5.2 meters from ideal position. Isagi positioning: optimal, moving into space with 89% chance of being unmarked in 3.2 seconds.

"Yukimiya, cut inside and look for Isagi," she instructed calmly, watching as the play unfolded exactly as she had calculated. Yukimiya beat his man, cut inside, and delivered a perfectly weighted pass to where Isagi was arriving.

Isagi received the ball in space, turned, and faced the goal. In that split second, (Name) saw his eyes dart around the field, taking in information much like she did, though through a different lens. Where she saw numbers and probabilities, he saw spatial awareness and developing opportunities.

Isagi shooting angle: 42.3 degrees. Goalkeeper positioning: 0.7 meters left of optimal position. Shot success probability: 38%. Pass to Kaiser probability of creating higher-value chance: 71%.

"Kaiser, second post," she said sharply into her mic, even as she saw Isagi making the same calculation. The blue-eyed striker didn't hesitate, sending a perfectly weighted pass across the box to where Kaiser was already moving.

The German striker met the ball with devastating precision, his foot connecting with a thunderous strike that sent the ball rocketing into the top corner of the net.

1-0 to Bastard Münchën.

The bench erupted around her, but (Name) remained still, allowing herself only the smallest twitch of satisfaction at the corner of her lips. Her eyes met Isagi's as he jogged back to position, his gaze acknowledging her role in the build-up. Across the field, Kaiser smirked in her direction before being mobbed by teammates.

On the opposing bench, she noticed Natsumi frantically consulting with Chris Prince, no doubt adjusting their tactical approach. (Name) returned her attention to her tablet, inputting new data from the goal sequence. This match was far from over.

As the first half progressed, (Name) found herself increasingly drawn to Isagi's performance. Unlike Kaiser, whose excellence was a constant, predictable factor, Isagi was evolving in real-time, his spatial awareness and decision-making improving with each touch of the ball.

Manshine City equalized in the twenty-third minute through Nagi, who executed a sublime first-time volley from Chigiri's cross. The goal came from a sequence that even (Name) had miscalculated – Nagi's unpredictability making him a statistical anomaly.

Adjustment factor needed for Nagi's reaction time: 0.3 seconds faster than current model. Vertical leap: 5.4 centimeters higher than previously recorded.
She made the notes quickly, updating her mental model as play resumed. The match had become a chess game between the two teams, with Manshine City now trying to exploit Bastard Münchën's right flank, where Ness was showing signs of fatigue.

"Kurona, shift right to support Ness," she instructed, simultaneously calculating new probabilities based on the adjusted formation. "Kunigami, drop deeper when we defend, cover the space between midfield and defense."

The players responded immediately, adjusting their positions according to her instructions. Noa glanced at her approvingly, saying nothing but acknowledging her tactical acumen with a slight nod.

In the thirty-fifth minute, an opportunity presented itself. (Name) spotted a pattern in Manshine's pressing that created a vulnerability.

Probability of successful long ball over Manshine's press: 63% if initiated by Gagamaru. Optimal target zone: Left channel, 30 meters from goal. Kunigami positioning to exploit space: 91% optimal.

"Gagamaru," she spoke clearly into the mic. "Long ball left channel when you receive the backpass."

The goalkeeper acknowledged with a subtle hand gesture as he prepared to receive a backpass from Kaiser. When the ball reached his feet, he didn't hesitate, launching a perfectly weighted long ball over Manshine's high defensive line.

Kunigami was already on the move, having anticipated the instruction. He burst past his marker, controlling the ball expertly before advancing on goal. Chris Prince was shouting frantically on the sideline, recognizing too late the trap they had fallen into.

With clinical precision, Kunigami fired the ball past the goalkeeper into the bottom corner. 2-1 to Bastard Münchën.

As the players celebrated, (Name) allowed herself to meet Natsumi's gaze across the technical area. The white-haired manager offered a rueful smile, acknowledging the cleverness of the tactical move. (Name) responded with the barest hint of a nod, her face quickly returning to its neutral expression as she refocused on the game.

The remainder of the first half saw Manshine press hard for an equalizer, but Bastard Münchën's defensive organization held firm. When the referee blew for halftime, (Name) was already compiling her notes for the team talk, identifying patterns and weaknesses to exploit in the second half.

"They'll adjust their press," (Name) stated matter-of-factly as the team gathered in the locker room. Her tablet displayed a diagram of Manshine's likely second-half setup. "Chris Prince isn't one to be caught by the same trick twice."

Noa nodded, taking over. "We need to maintain our shape, but be prepared to transition quickly between defense and attack." He turned to Kaiser and Isagi. "Your movement off the ball will be crucial. Create space for each other."

(Name) observed the subtle tension between the two strikers, noting how they avoided looking directly at each other despite the instruction to coordinate. She made a mental note to track their cooperation or lack thereof in the second half.

"Gagamaru," she addressed the goalkeeper directly. "Their expected goal pattern has shifted. Nagi will likely move wider, with Chigiri making more central runs." She displayed the heat map on her tablet, pointing to specific danger zones. "Anticipate crosses from these areas."

The goalkeeper nodded seriously, studying the diagram. The rest of the team listened attentively as (Name) continued breaking down Manshine's likely adjustments and how to counter them.

As the team prepared to return to the field, Noa pulled (Name) aside briefly. "Your analysis is spot on," he said quietly. "But watch Kaiser and Isagi. Their competition could either elevate or undermine us."

(Name) nodded. "I've calculated three scenarios based on their interaction patterns. I'll adjust our tactical approach depending on which one develops."

Noa's lips quirked in what might have been the ghost of a smile. "Always three steps ahead."

The second half began with Manshine immediately showing their adjusted approach. As (Name) had predicted, they had restructured their press and were now playing with greater width, stretching Bastard Münchën's defensive shape.

In the fifty-third minute, their strategy paid off. Chigiri exploited space behind Ness, his blistering pace allowing him to reach a through ball before Gagamaru could intercept. His cut-back found Reo at the edge of the box, who calmly slotted the ball into the corner. 2-2.

(Name)'s fingers flew across her tablet, recalculating probabilities and success rates based on the new development. She noticed Isagi and Kaiser exchanging words on the field – not argumentative, but intense. Something was brewing between them.

Isagi-Kaiser cooperation probability increasing: 12%, up from 27% at match start. Combined effectiveness rating if synchronized: potential 93.7% increase in goal threat.

"Kaiser, Isagi," she spoke into her mic, her voice cutting through their conversation. "Alternating deep runs. Create confusion in their defensive line."

Both players glanced toward the bench simultaneously, then nodded to each other. What followed over the next fifteen minutes was a masterclass in striker movement, as Kaiser and Isagi took turns dropping deep and making runs beyond the defense, never in the same pattern twice.

Manshine's defenders struggled to track the unpredictable movement, creating increasing space in dangerous areas. Natsumi and Chris Prince were frantically reorganizing, but their adjustments always seemed one step behind the evolving pattern.

In the seventy-second minute, the breakthrough came. Kaiser dropped deep to receive the ball, drawing two defenders with him. Isagi, reading the situation perfectly, made a diagonal run into the space created. Kaiser didn't even need to look up, delivering a perfectly weighted pass into Isagi's path.

(Name)'s eyes widened slightly as her calculations raced ahead of the play:

Isagi shooting position: 87.2% optimal. Goalkeeper positioning: 1.3 meters out of position. Shot success probability: 74.8%. Kaiser positioning for rebound: 94.6% optimal if shot is saved.

But Yukimiya didn't shoot. Instead, he executed a perfect first-time layoff to Isagi, who had ghosted in unmarked at the far post. The unexpected extra pass caught everyone by surprise – even (Name)'s calculations hadn't predicted it.

Isagi couldn't miss, tapping the ball into the empty net to make it 3-2.

(Name) blinked, recalculating instantly. The play had defied even her statistical model. Isagi had seen something beyond the numbers – a pattern only visible to his spatial awareness. She made a note to adjust her algorithm to account for this level of creative decision-making.

From the Manshine bench, she could see Natsumi looking concerned, consulting intensely with Chris Prince.

When the final whistle blew, securing a 3-2 victory for Bastard Münchën, (Name) allowed herself the smallest nod of satisfaction. Her calculations and tactical adjustments had played a crucial role in the win, even when players like
Isagi had occasionally defied her statistical models with their intuitive decision-making.

As the teams shook hands, (Name) caught Natsumi approaching from the Manshine bench. Unlike Tsukiko, who would likely have been seething with competitive fury, Natsumi's expression was one of gracious acknowledgment.

"Congratulations," Natsumi said softly, extending her hand. "Your tactical adjustments in the second half were brilliant."

(Name) accepted the handshake with a nod. "Your team's press reorganization was well-executed. The expected goal probability shifted significantly in your favor for twenty-three minutes."

Natsumi blinked, then smiled at the typically analytical response. "Only you would quantify it so precisely." She hesitated, then added, "I was thinking... perhaps we could catch up later? Just the two of us? We have quite a while before anything new happens."

(Name) considered this for a moment. The prospect of social interaction would normally have made her inwardly recoil, but Natsumi was different – less draining, more genuine than someone like Tsukiko.

"You could come to my room at the Bastard Münchën bay," she suggested, the offer surprising even herself. "It seemed like you had much to say on the phone."

Natsumi's eyes brightened. "I'd like that. Around eight?"

(Name) nodded, already mentally scheduling the meeting alongside her post-match analysis and reports.

The post-match duties kept (Name) occupied for several hours. She compiled detailed performance statistics for each player, noting areas of improvement and concern. Kaiser's movement off the ball had improved by 12.4% compared to the previous match. Isagi's decision-making in the final third showed a 17.8% increase in effectiveness. Kunigami's defensive contribution had exceeded expected parameters by a significant margin.

By the time she finished her reports and submitted them to Noa, it was approaching seven-thirty. She returned to her private room to prepare for Natsumi's visit, changing from her formal manager attire into her comfortable sleepwear – the oversized cream t-shirt with the cartoon cheese on the front, paired with her brown Rilakkuma pajama bottoms that featured the bear's face on the back. The matching Rilakkuma slippers completed what was perhaps the most significant contrast to her professional appearance imaginable.

She had just finished arranging her analysis notes when a soft knock came at her door. Opening it revealed Natsumi in sweet piano-patterned pajamas, her white hair loose around her shoulders instead of in its usual ponytail.

"I hope I'm not too early," Natsumi said, her voice as gentle as always.

(Name) shook her head, stepping aside to let her friend enter. "Your timing is statistically optimal. I just finished reorganizing."

Natsumi smiled at the typical (Name) response, then gasped softly as she noticed the collection of Rilakkuma plushies arranged neatly on (Name)'s bed. "I didn't know you liked Rilakkuma! They're adorable!"

A faint flush colored (Name)'s cheeks as she glanced at her collection. "They have structural integrity and are aesthetically balanced," she replied stiffly, which was her way of admitting she found them cute.

Natsumi giggled, sitting carefully on the edge of the bed beside the plushies. "It's nice to see this side of you. Everyone's intimidated by Manager (Name) with her scary calculations and glares."

"I don't glare," (Name) said, glaring slightly.

"Of course not," Natsumi agreed with a poorly hidden smile. Her attention then shifted to a large box on (Name)'s desk. "What's that?"

(Name) followed her gaze to the box of face masks she'd been meaning to use. "Facial treatment masks. I receive them as gifts 83.7% of the time on birthdays and holidays. I rarely have time to use them."

Natsumi's eyes lit up. "We should use some! It could be fun, and they're good for your skin after being in the sun during matches."

(Name) considered this, mentally calculating the benefits against the time expenditure. The equation balanced favorably enough. "Acceptable," she agreed, bringing the box over to the bed.

As they sorted through the various types of masks, Natsumi began sharing what had been on her mind – her worries about not being in sync with Chris Prince the way other managers seemed to be with their coaches, her concerns about properly supporting her players.

"Your concerns lack statistical foundation," (Name) stated matter-of-factly as she carefully applied a hydrating mask to her face. "The Manshine players show a 26.4% higher responsiveness to tactical instruction compared to the league average. Your connection with them is effective."

Natsumi seemed surprised, then touched by the analytical reassurance. "Thank you, (Name). That actually makes me feel better."

As they continued talking, (Name) found herself relaxing in a way she rarely did around others. There was something refreshingly simple about Natsumi's company – no hidden agendas, no overwhelming energy like Haru, no irritating competitive streak like Tsukiko.

Their conversation was interrupted by a noise in the corridor outside. (Name) narrowed her eyes, moving to her door and peering out. She spotted Kunigami walking past, his eyes noticeably puffy and dry – likely from the intense training regimen and the lingering effects of the Wildcard program.

Making a split-second decision that surprised even herself, (Name) whistled sharply. Kunigami froze, turning toward the sound with the alertness of a trained dog.

"Kunigami," she called, her voice authoritative despite her ridiculous appearance in Rilakkuma pajamas with a face mask half-applied. "Come here."

The striker approached cautiously, clearly confused by the summons and even more confused by her appearance.

"Sit," she instructed, pointing to the floor outside her door. To his credit, Kunigami complied without question, though his expression remained puzzled.

"What I'm about to do is in a manager's best interest regarding her players' welfare," (Name) explained clinically, reaching for another face mask from the box Natsumi held. "Your epidermis shows signs of severe dehydration. This will improve recovery time by approximately 8.3%."

Before Kunigami could respond, (Name) was expertly applying the mask to his face, her movements precise and efficient. The absurdity of the situation – the feared Manager (Name) in Rilakkuma pajamas applying a skincare mask to one of Blue Lock's most intimidating strikers – was apparently not lost on Natsumi, who was struggling to contain her giggles.

"Stay still for fifteen minutes," (Name) instructed, finishing the application. "The optimal absorption period."

Kunigami blinked up at her, looking both confused and oddly touched by the unexpected care. "Yes, Manager," he replied simply.

What happened next was an unplanned cascade effect. Isagi walked by, stopped at the bizarre sight of Kunigami sitting cross-legged outside (Name)'s room with a face mask, and inevitably asked questions. This led to Yukimiya joining, then Gagamaru, followed by Hiori and Kurona.

Before long, (Name) and Natsumi found themselves tending to a line of chattering football players sitting along the corridor, each receiving face masks, cucumber slices for their eyes, and even snacks that Gagamaru had retrieved from the common room.

"Braid mine next," Yukimiya was saying to Kurona, who had somehow revealed a hidden talent for hair styling and was currently working on Hiori's cyan hair. "I want to see if I can pull off your look."

"You don't have the face structure for it," Kurona replied bluntly, though his fingers moved with surprising gentleness through Hiori's hair. "But I'll try something that complements your facial symmetry better."

(Name) watched this unfold with a mixture of confusion and something approaching amusement. The normality of it – the boys acting like teenagers at a sleepover rather than elite athletes in a cutthroat competition – was oddly refreshing.

The peaceful atmosphere was interrupted by heavy footsteps approaching from the end of the corridor. Kaiser appeared, Ness trailing behind him as always. The German striker took in the scene with raised eyebrows, his expression shifting from surprise to calculation.

Instead of mocking the others as (Name) half-expected, Kaiser strode directly to where she was applying a mask to Hiori's face and promptly inserted himself into the line – right at the front.

"I require the manager's attention first," he announced imperiously, ignoring Hiori's protests. "My skincare regimen is more critical to the team's image."

Ness hovered anxiously nearby. "I can apply your mask, Kaiser. I've been studying Korean skincare techniques and—"

"No," Kaiser cut him off sharply, his eyes fixed on (Name). "The manager will do it."

(Name) stared at him, unimpressed by the display of entitlement. "There's a queue," she stated flatly. "Hiori was next."

Kaiser's smirk remained firmly in place. "I'm the team's star striker. Priorities must be maintained."

The ridiculousness of Kaiser demanding preferential treatment for a face mask nearly cracked (Name)'s stoic expression. Nearly. Instead, she reached into the box and deliberately selected the most absurd mask in the collection – a cartoon cat design that looked cute in the package but would undoubtedly look disturbing when stretched across a human face.

"This one suits you," she said with complete seriousness, unwrapping the cat mask while the other players watched with varying degrees of amusement and apprehension.

Kaiser, unaware of her subtle revenge, sat confidently as she applied the mask to his face. The result was immediately comical – the cartoon cat features distorted across his sharp features, making him look like a bizarre feline-human hybrid.

"You look good," (Name) stated, her voice perfectly neutral despite the ripple of poorly suppressed laughter from the other players.

Kaiser, sensing something was amiss, reached for his phone to check his reflection. His expression of horror upon seeing himself was almost enough to make (Name) smile. Almost.

"What is this?" he demanded, though the effect was somewhat diminished by the cat face moving with his words, creating an even more ridiculous sight.

"A hydrating treatment with collagen benefits," (Name) replied truthfully, turning back to Hiori. "It needs to stay on for twenty minutes for optimal results. Remove it sooner and you risk uneven absorption."

Trapped by his own vanity and the prospect of "uneven absorption," Kaiser sat stiffly among the others, desperately trying to maintain his dignity while looking like a cartoon cat. Ness, loyal as ever, tried to assure him he still looked intimidating, though his words lacked conviction.

As (Name) returned to attending to Hiori, she caught Natsumi's eye. The white-haired manager was covering her mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter. For just a moment, (Name) allowed the smallest quirk of her lips – not quite a smile, but as close as she typically came.

In that moment, surrounded by face-masked football players and her only friend, (Name) experienced a rare feeling of contentment. Her mathematical mind calculated this sensation as a positive one, worth cultivating despite its statistical rarity in her experience.

For tonight, at least, the numbers could wait.

Chapter Text

Haru Kamishiro practically vibrated with excitement. Today was the day! The second match of the NEO Egoist League and her beloved Ubers were going against Barcha! Which meant she would get to see Akane-neesan! And Bachira! And Otoya! But most importantly it was another chance to show everyone what the Ubers could do!

The young light blue-haired manager bounced on her heels as she stood in the Ubers common room, her twin pigtails swinging wildly with each movement. She'd been up since 5 AM, unable to contain her excitement, already dressed in her formal manager attire – a sleek dark navy suit with a warm honey accent tie that matched her bright eyes. The heels were a bit much for her energetic nature, but she insisted on wearing them to appear more mature.

"Coach Snuffy!" Haru called out, racing over to the older man who had just entered the room with a cup of coffee. Without warning, she launched herself at him for a hug, nearly making him spill his drink.

Snuffy chuckled, patting her head with his free hand. "Excited for the match, are we?"

"Super duper mega excited!" Haru exclaimed, her eyes practically sparkling. "We're gonna crush Barcha! Though I love Akane-neesan, but still, we're gonna win!"

"Let's hope so," Snuffy said, his smile warming the room. "Why don't you go wake up the boys? Match preparations start in an hour."

"Yes sir!" Haru saluted dramatically before skipping down the hallway toward the players' rooms.

First stop: Niko's room. Her fellow teenager was practically her best friend in Blue Lock, being close in age. She knocked three times in rapid succession before throwing the door open without waiting for a response.

"Rise and shine, Niko-kun!" she sang, jumping onto his bed.

Niko groaned, pulling his blanket over his head. "Five more minutes..."

"Nope! We've got our match against Barcha today!" she pulled at his covers. "Come on, come on, come on!"

Next was Lorenzo, who was already up doing his morning stretches. The Italian greeted her with his usual cheerfulness, matching her energy as they high-fived.

"Buongiorno, piccola manager!" Lorenzo grinned.

"Buongiorno, Uncle Lorenzo!" Haru replied, proud of the Italian words she'd been learning. "Andiamo a vincere oggi!" Let's win today!

Lorenzo clapped in delight at her pronunciation. "Perfetto!"

Sendou was next, and as usual, he was meticulously styling his hair. He barely acknowledged Haru's enthusiastic greeting with more than a nod, but she wasn't deterred.

"Morning, Mommy Sendou!" she chirped, using the nickname that never failed to irritate him.

"Stop calling me that," Sendou muttered, but there was less bite in his tone than usual. He'd slowly been getting used to the family dynamic that had been created.

Aiku was already in the common room when she returned, scrolling through his phone. His eyes lit up when he saw Haru.

"Little sis! Just the person I wanted to see," he said with a smirk. "Our TikTok from yesterday already has fifty thousand views."

"Really?!" Haru rushed over, practically climbing onto the sofa beside him to peer at his screen. "That's amazing! The Uber family is getting famous!"

Aiku chuckled, ruffling her hair affectionately. "Thanks to our creative director."

Haru beamed at the praise. Since creating the Ubers' social media accounts, she'd been dedicated to building their online presence. The family dynamic she'd playfully established – with Snuffy as grandpa, Lorenzo as the fun uncle, Aryu as the glam aunt, Aiku as daddy, Sendou reluctantly as mommy, Barou as the angsty teen, and herself and Niko as the kids – had resonated with fans. The videos were silly but showed a side of the players that humanized the otherwise intense Blue Lock experience.

Speaking of Barou...

"BAROU-NII!" Haru yelled, racing to his room and pounding on the door. "WAKE UP! BIG MATCH TODAY!"

A muffled growl came from inside before the door swung open, revealing a very irritated Barou. "Do you have to be so LOUD?"

"Yes!" Haru grinned, completely unfazed by his glare. Without warning, she jumped up, wrapping her arms around his neck in a koala hug. "Good morning! We're gonna win today!"

"Get off me!" Barou tried to pry her away, but Haru clung tighter.

"Not until you say 'good morning' back!"

"Fine! Good morning! Now get off!"

Satisfied, Haru dropped back to the floor with the grace of a gymnast. "See you at breakfast!"

By the time everyone was gathered for their pre-match meal, Haru had already set up her tablet with statistics and match footage from Barcha's previous game. As much as she might seem like just a bundle of energy, she took her manager duties seriously.

"Okay, everyone!" she announced, standing on her chair for extra height. Snuffy didn't even try to tell her to sit properly anymore. "I've analyzed Barcha's playing style from their match against Bastard Münchën. Their key players are Lavinho, Bachira, and Otoya."

She flipped through clips of each player, offering insights with surprising clarity for someone who seemed perpetually distracted.

"Bachira's unpredictability is their wildcard – his monster is totally out of control now! And Otoya's aerial ability has improved by approximately 23% since his early Blue Lock days," Haru rattled off, her eyes momentarily showing the sharp focus that had gotten her selected as a manager.

"And how do we counter them?" Snuffy prompted.

"Niko-kun!" Haru pointed dramatically. "Your vision can match Bachira's! And Aiku-paps can totally shut down Otoya's aerial plays!"

Aiku nodded with a grin. "Leave the sky to me."

"And Barou-nii will obviously score all the goals!" Haru added with a bright smile.

Barou scoffed but couldn't hide the slight upward quirk of his lips. "Obviously."

"What about me, piccola?" Lorenzo asked, feigning hurt at being left out.

"Uncle Lorenzo will dazzle them with his Italian charm and footwork!" Haru announced, jumping down from her chair to dance around Lorenzo, who laughed heartily.

"And Sendou-mommy will use his fancy techniques to confuse them!" she added, earning an eye roll from Sendou that barely concealed his amusement.

After breakfast, as the team prepared for their tactical meeting, Haru's phone buzzed with a message. It was from Charles of Paris X Gen, the only other player close to her age besides Niko.

"Good luck today! Show those unemployed Uncs what we can do! 😝 "

Haru grinned, quickly typing back:

"You know it! After this, we need to plan our youth alliance meeting! 🔥"

Their "youth alliance" was a recent development – Haru, tired of feeling underestimated because of her age, had reached out to Charles who shared similar frustrations. Niko had reluctantly joined their little rebellion after Haru's persistent badgering. Together, they were determined to prove that age was just a number in Blue Lock.

During the tactical meeting, Haru dutifully took notes while adding her enthusiastic commentary. When Snuffy asked for her input on certain plays, she provided thoughtful analysis that belied her bubbly exterior – a reminder to everyone that despite her youthful energy, she had earned her place as a manager.

As the team was wrapping up and preparing to head to the stadium, Niko approached Haru.

"You seem extra hyper today," he observed. "Even for you."

Haru bounced on her toes. "I've got a super amazing idea for a new TikTok after the match! We're all going to do the 'Baro Baro Kyun' dance!"

Niko's eyes widened in horror under his bangs. "You're going to get Barou to do a cute dance? He'll murder you."

"He won't!" Haru insisted confidently. "Uncle Lorenzo will help me convince him. Plus, think of the views! The fans will go crazy seeing Mr. Grumpy doing something adorable!"

Niko shook his head but couldn't help smiling at her unshakeable optimism. "Your funeral."

the Ubers and Barcha teams took to the field for warm-ups. From her position on the sidelines, Haru waved enthusiastically at Akane, who returned the gesture with a warm smile from the opposite bench.

"Akane-neesan!" Haru called out, hopping up and down. "May the best team win!"

Akane gave her a thumbs up. "Give it your all, Haru-chan!"

As the players completed their final preparations, Haru hurried to each of her team members, offering them their water bottles and last-minute encouragement.

"Niko-kun, remember to use your vision against Bachira!" she instructed, handing him his bottle.

"Aiku-dad, the sky is your domain!" she declared dramatically as she passed him his towel.

"Uncle Lorenzo, dazzle them with your Italian flair!"

"Aryu, confuse them with your elegance!"

And finally, approaching the intimidating figure of Barou, she held out his water bottle with both hands. "Barou-nii, show them what the king of the jungle can do!"

Surprisingly, Barou accepted both the bottle and the encouragement with just a small grunt rather than his usual sharp retort.

The referee blew the whistle, signaling the teams to take their positions. Haru scurried back to the bench, sitting beside Snuffy with her tablet ready to record match data.

The game began with an explosive start. Barcha, known for their flair and creativity, immediately went on the offensive. Lavinho and Bachira connected with a series of quick passes that cut through midfield, but Aiku was there to intercept before they could reach the dangerous area.

"Yes, Aiku-paps!" Haru leapt to her feet, punching the air. "That's how it's done!"

The Ubers countered quickly. Lorenzo received the ball, dancing past two defenders with the fluid grace that had earned him his place in Blue Lock.

"Go, Uncle Lorenzo!" Haru shouted, jumping up and down. "Show them those Italian moves!"

Lorenzo passed to Sendou, who executed a perfect feint that left his marker stumbling before delivering a precise cross into the box where Barou was waiting.

Haru held her breath as Barou rose above everyone else, connecting with a powerful header that rocketed toward the goal. The Barcha goalkeeper dove but couldn't reach it – GOAL!

"GOOOOOAL!" Haru screamed, attempting to race down the sideline, only for Snuffy to catch her by the collar of her shirt like a puppy. "BAROU-NII IS THE KING!"

The celebration was short-lived, however, as Barcha responded with renewed determination. Bachira, with his unpredictable "monster" style, weaved through three defenders before finding Otoya with a no-look pass. Otoya's finish was clinical, equalizing the score.

"It's okay! We'll get it back!" Haru called out encouragingly, noticing the slight drop in her team's energy.

The first half continued at a breathless pace, with both teams creating chances but unable to break the deadlock. Haru meticulously tracked key statistics and patterns, occasionally relaying insights to Snuffy who nodded approvingly at her observations.

At halftime, with the score tied 1-1, the teams retreated to their respective locker rooms. Haru distributed fresh towels and hydration drinks while Snuffy addressed tactical adjustments.

"Their right flank is vulnerable," Haru chimed in, showing a heat map on her tablet. "Niko-kun and Lorenzo-oji can exploit that space."

Snuffy nodded. "Good catch, Haru. Lorenzo, I want you drawing their defenders central, then release Niko into that space."

The second half began with the Ubers implementing their adjusted strategy. Lorenzo masterfully attracted defenders before slipping a through ball to Niko, who had burst into the open space on the right. Niko crossed to Barou,
who attempted another header, but the Barcha keeper made an incredible save.

"So close!" Haru groaned, clutching her clipboard to her chest.

The game grew more intense as minutes ticked by. Both teams created and squandered chances. Aiku dominated the air, shutting down Otoya's aerial threats, while Sendou's technical prowess helped maintain possession under pressure.

With fifteen minutes remaining, Bachira produced a moment of magic, dribbling past three Uber defenders before unleashing a shot that seemed destined for the top corner – only for it to strike the crossbar.

"We got lucky!" Haru gasped, her knuckles white from gripping her tablet.

The rebound fell to Niko, who spotted Lorenzo breaking forward. A perfect long pass later, Lorenzo was one-on-one with the keeper. Instead of shooting, he executed a cheeky backheel to Barou who had made an undetected run into the box. Barou smashed the ball into the net with unstoppable power.

"GOOOOOAL!" Haru screamed, launching herself off the bench and spinning around. "THE KING STRIKES AGAIN!"

Barcha pushed for an equalizer, but the Ubers' defense held firm. Aiku commanded the backline like a general, while Sendou and Lorenzo helped maintain possession to run down the clock.

When the final whistle blew – Ubers 3, Barcha 1 – Haru erupted into celebration. But instead of running to her team as expected, her attention was instantly captured by the Barcha players walking off the pitch.

"Bachira-kun! Otoya-kun!" she called, racing toward them with hearts practically visible in her eyes.

The Ubers players watched in disbelief as their manager – who had been cheering them on moments before – bypassed them completely to fangirl over their opponents.

"You were so amazing!" Haru gushed, skidding to a stop in front of Otoya, her eyes wide with admiration. "The way you jumped for that header in the first half was incredible!"

Otoya, known for his charm with women, seemed momentarily taken aback by the enthusiastic young manager but quickly recovered with a wink. "Thanks, little manager. Always nice to meet a fan."

"And Bachira-kun!" Haru spun toward the wild-haired player. "Your monster is so cool! The way you dribbled past everyone was like watching magic!"

Bachira tilted his head, a puzzled smile forming on his face. "Thanks! You're Akane's friend, right? The energetic one!"

"Yes!" Haru nodded vigorously. "I'm Haru Kamishiro, Ubers' manager! Can I get a picture with both of you? Please, please, please?"

Before either could respond, a large hand landed on Haru's shoulder. She looked up to see Barou glowering down at her.

"What are you doing?" he growled, his post-goal satisfaction evaporated.

"Getting content for our social media!" Haru replied brightly, undeterred by his clear annoyance.

"We just beat them," Barou pointed out through gritted teeth, "and you're fangirling?"

By now, the rest of the Ubers had approached, all wearing varying expressions of disbelief and betrayal.

"Piccola," Lorenzo said with exaggerated hurt, "you wound us! Running to the enemy after our glorious victory!"

"But—" Haru started, only to be interrupted by Aiku who swept her up and tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Excuse our manager," Aiku said to the bemused Barcha players. "She gets easily distracted by shiny things."

"Put me down!" Haru protested, though she was laughing. "I was just being diplomatic!"

"Diplomatic my foot," Sendou muttered. "You completely ignored us."

"I did not! I was coming to celebrate with you next!" Haru insisted as Aiku carried her back toward their bench where Snuffy waited with an amused expression.

"Traitor," Niko teased, poking her side as Aiku finally set her down.

"I'm not a traitor!" Haru pouted. "I'm just appreciative of good football! Plus, I still got us the win by giving you all my super special manager advice!"

Snuffy chuckled. "She has a point. Her halftime analysis was spot on."

Akane approached the group, her warm smile directed at Haru. "Congratulations on the win, Haru-chan. Your team played wonderfully."

Haru beamed, bouncing back to her usual cheerfulness instantly. "Akane-neesan! Your team was amazing too! Especially Bachira and Otoya – they're so cool!"

"Don't encourage her," Barou grumbled, but there was less heat in his tone now that they'd secured the victory.

"I think it's cute that she can appreciate talent regardless of the team," Akane said with a knowing smile. "That's actually a good quality in a manager – seeing beyond rivalry."

Haru stuck her tongue out at Barou. "See? Akane-neesan gets it!"

"Speaking of managing," Akane continued, "there's a managers' meeting tomorrow morning to discuss the upcoming offer event. Will you be there?"

"Absolutely!" Haru nodded enthusiastically. "I've already prepared profiles for all my players! Especially Barou-nii – I'm going to get him the BEST offers!"

Barou pretended not to hear this, but the slight straightening of his posture betrayed his interest.

Back at the Ubers bay, the celebration continued. Snuffy had allowed a small pizza party to mark their victory, and the common room buzzed with energy as the team relived key moments from the match.

"And now!" Haru announced, climbing onto the coffee table despite Snuffy's half-hearted protest. "It's time for our victory TikTok!"

A collective groan went up from the team, but they knew resistance was futile. When Haru got an idea in her head, especially regarding social media content, there was no stopping her.

"Everyone's participating!" she declared. "Even you, Barou-nii!"

"Absolutely not," Barou crossed his arms stubbornly.

"Come on, Barou!" Lorenzo cajoled. "It'll be fun! Plus, you scored both goals – you should be the star!"

"No way I'm doing some ridiculous dance."

Haru's eyes widened, her lower lip trembling slightly – the perfect picture of disappointment. "But... I already told all our followers you would... they're waiting..."

Barou remained unmoved, scowling at her manipulation attempt.

"Fine!" Haru huffed, changing tactics. "If you won't do it because it's fun, do it because it's strategic! Social media presence directly impacts player marketability at the offer events – it's statistical fact!"

This caught Barou's attention. "What do you mean?"

"Players with strong personal branding get 30% more offers at higher values!" Haru declared confidently. The statistic was completely made up, but she delivered it with such conviction that even Snuffy looked impressed.

Barou narrowed his eyes, clearly weighing his dignity against potential career advancement.

"Just this once," he finally growled. "And I'm not doing anything too ridiculous."

"Yay!" Haru clapped her hands together, quickly setting up her phone on a tripod before anyone could change their mind. "Okay, I'll teach everyone the moves. It's easy!"

What followed was fifteen minutes of Haru enthusiastically demonstrating the "Baro Baro Kyun" dance – a cute, bouncy routine that involved finger hearts and aegyo moves that looked absolutely absurd when performed by the imposing football players.

Lorenzo took to it with characteristic exuberance, exaggerating every move to comedic effect. Niko followed along reluctantly but accurately. Sendou and Aryu attempted to make the cute moves look somehow elegant. Aiku performed with surprising commitment, clearly understanding the marketing potential.

And Barou... Barou looked like he was being tortured, his movements stiff and his expression murderous as he half-heartedly followed along.

"More feeling, Barou-nii!" Haru instructed. "You need to smile when you do the heart!"

"I will literally murder you in your sleep," Barou muttered through a grimace that could technically be classified as a smile if one was being extremely generous.

"Perfect!" Haru declared, either not hearing or choosing to ignore the death threat. "Now everyone together! Three, two, one!"

The resulting video was a masterpiece of contrasts – from Lorenzo's enthusiastic overacting to Barou's barely-contained rage as they all finished with the signature "Kyun~!" pose and finger heart.

"This is going viral for sure!" Haru announced as she reviewed the footage. "The Uber family strikes again!"

"Delete that immediately," Barou demanded, making a grab for her phone, but Haru was too quick, dodging behind Aiku for protection.

"Too late! Already uploaded!" she sang, waving her phone triumphantly. "Oh look, comments already! 'Barou trying not to kill everyone is the highlight of my day.' See? They love it!"

As predicted, the video garnered immediate attention, racking up thousands of views within minutes. The Blue Lock fandom was clearly entertained by the sight of the fearsome Ubers doing cute choreography.

"Our next one should be—" Haru began, but was cut off by a pillow thrown with impressive accuracy by Barou.

"No next one! I'm done with this family nonsense!"

"You don't mean that, Barou-nii," Haru pouted, recovering quickly from the pillow attack. "You love being part of our family!"

"I do not," Barou insisted, though the others exchanged knowing looks. For all his protests, Barou had undeniably softened toward his team since Haru had started pushing the family dynamic.

"Group hug to celebrate our victory and viral TikTok!" Haru declared, launching herself at the nearest player – who happened to be Lorenzo – who caught her with a laugh.

"Pileup on Barou!" Lorenzo called mischievously, and before Barou could escape, he found himself at the bottom of a team pile with Haru somehow on top, her bright laughter infectious.

"I hate all of you," Barou grumbled from the bottom, but there was the faintest hint of affection beneath his complaint.

Later that evening, as the celebration wound down and team members drifted off to their rooms, Haru sat cross-legged on the common room floor, reviewing match footage on her tablet. For all her playfulness, she took her managerial duties seriously, especially with the offer event approaching.

Snuffy, passing through on his way to bed, paused to observe her concentrated expression.

"Good work today," he said softly. "Both during the match and after."

Haru looked up, tilting her head questioningly.

"The team might complain about your antics," Snuffy explained with a grandfatherly smile, "but that 'family' you've created? It's making them stronger. They're playing for each other now, not just themselves."

Haru's eyes widened slightly before her face broke into a genuine smile – not her usual boundless enthusiasm, but something softer and more mature.

"Thanks, Snuffy," she said sincerely.

After Snuffy had gone, Haru's phone buzzed with a message from Charles:

"Saw your TikTok. Legendary. We need to top this at our next youth alliance meeting. Niko actually smiled!"

Haru grinned, quickly typing back:

"Operation 'Make People Take Us Seriously Despite Our Age' continues! Youth alliance meeting tomorrow after the managers' meeting? I have IDEAS."

Charles responded immediately:

"I'll be there. Bring Niko. The adults won't know what hit them."

Haru set her phone down, a determined glint in her honey-orange eyes. She might be the youngest manager in Blue Lock, constantly bouncing around like an overexcited puppy, but she had plans. The Uber family was just the beginning – soon, everyone would see that age was just a number, and that sometimes the youngest ones had the most to offer.

With renewed energy, she returned to analyzing the match footage. Tomorrow would bring new challenges – the managers' meeting, planning with Charles and Niko, preparing for the offer event – but tonight, she could bask in
the glow of victory, both on the field and in creating bonds that went beyond football.

The Uber family was real, whether Barou wanted to admit it or not. And families, Haru knew with absolute certainty, were unstoppable.

Chapter Text

Akane Makino was used to playing pretend. Before becoming a manager, she'd pretended to be the delicate feminine girl her popular friends expected. Before that, she'd pretended that being a football prodigy wasn't her entire world. And now, she was pretending that back-to-back losses for Barcha weren't eating her alive from the inside out.

But pretending had its limits.

The early morning sun barely peeked through the curtains of her manager's quarters as she stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. Her fluffy red pixie cut framed her face, still slightly damp from the shower. She attempted her signature closed-teeth, tongue-poking-out smile – the one everyone at Blue Lock had come to associate with her carefree persona – but it faltered halfway.

"Just another day," she whispered to herself, letting the smile drop entirely. Her golden eyes looked tired. Not from lack of sleep, though there was that too, but from something deeper.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. Her mother.

We're on our way. About 10 minutes out. Are you sure about this, Akane?

Akane's stomach twisted into knots. This wasn't just against Blue Lock rules; it was potentially career-ending. But what choice did she have?

Yes. Please use the east entrance I told you about. The cameras there are on rotation. You'll have a 90-second window.

She sent the message, then immediately followed with another:

How is he?

The reply came quickly: Excited to see his mama. Hasn't stopped talking about it.

Despite everything, Akane's lips curled into a genuine smile. Not the performative one she wore like armor around Blue Lock, but something real. Something that belonged only to her and Ryo.

She dressed quickly in her formal Barcha manager attire – tailored blue blazer with gold accents, matching skirt, crisp white button-up. Professional, polished, put-together. Everything she needed people to believe she was, even as her life threatened to unravel.

Her grandmother had fallen ill three days ago. Pneumonia, the doctors said. Nothing life-threatening with proper care, but it meant she couldn't watch Ryo. And

Akane's mother, working double shifts to keep them all afloat, could only manage so much. The day care center had an outbreak of hand-foot-mouth disease and had closed temporarily.

Just one day, Akane told herself. One day of having Ryo here, hidden in her quarters, and then she'd figure something else out.

The plan was simple: meet her mother at the east entrance during the camera's blind spot, bring Ryo to her room, keep him entertained with the tablet loaded with his favorite shows and the toys she'd smuggled in yesterday, attend the morning briefing with Lavinho, and return to her room for the rest of the day. No matches were scheduled. No formal events. Just a routine day of training analysis and strategy meetings that she could mostly handle remotely from her quarters.

What could possibly go wrong?

Everything. Everything could go wrong.

Akane paced anxiously at the designated meeting spot, checking her watch every few seconds. The camera's blind spot would begin in exactly 47 seconds and last for 90 seconds after that. If her mother wasn't here by then—

The sound of footsteps made her head snap up. Her mother appeared around the corner, holding the hand of a small figure with fluffy red hair that was unmistakably Akane's own shade.

"Mama!" Ryo Makino's excited voice carried in the empty corridor, making Akane wince and quickly look around. But they were alone.

"Shh, baby," she whispered, rushing forward and scooping him up. At two years old, he was getting heavier, but she still lifted him with ease – a remnant of both her days as an athlete and the ridiculous strength that for some reason came naturally to her.

"Thank you," she said to her mother, who handed over a small backpack with Ryo's essentials. "How's Grandma?"

"Better today. The fever's down." Her mother checked her watch. "You should go. The cameras..."

"Right." Akane kissed her mother's cheek. "I'll call tonight."

With Ryo in her arms and the backpack slung over her shoulder, Akane moved quickly through the hallways of Blue Lock, taking the less-traveled maintenance corridors she'd carefully mapped out. Ryo, sensing the need for quiet, buried his face in her neck, his small arms wrapped tightly around her.

By some miracle, they made it to her quarters without encountering anyone. Once inside, Akane exhaled the breath she'd been holding since the east entrance.

"Here we are, Ryo-chan," she said, setting him down. "Do you remember what Mama said? Today is a special quiet day. Like hide and seek, okay?"

Ryo nodded solemnly, his mismatched eyes – one golden yellow like hers, one purple-black that was an exact replica of his father's – wide with understanding beyond his years. Then his serious expression dissolved into that familiar toothy grin that never failed to melt her heart.

"Football?" he asked hopefully, pointing at the small plush ball peeking out from his backpack.

Akane laughed softly. "Maybe later, my little striker. First, let's get you set up with some breakfast and your shows."

She arranged Ryo on her bed with his favorite stuffed animals, a sippy cup of juice, and some cut-up fruit. The tablet was propped up playing an animated show about animals playing football – his current obsession. For now, at least, he seemed content.

"Mama has to go to a meeting, but I'll be back very soon," she explained, kneeling to his eye level. "Remember our quiet game? Stay here and watch your show. If you need anything..." She hesitated. What could a two-year-old do in an emergency? "Just stay put, okay? I won't be long."

Ryo nodded, already engrossed in his show, absently petting the plush football beside him. Akane kissed the top of his head, breathing in his familiar scent – a mix of baby shampoo and something uniquely Ryo – before reluctantly leaving the room, making sure to lock it behind her.

"Akane-chan! There you are!" Lavinho's boisterous voice greeted her the moment she entered the strategy room. "I was beginning to think you'd overslept!"

"Sorry," she said, slipping into her easygoing persona like a well-worn jacket. Tongue-poking smile in place, she added, "Just needed to organize some things."

"Always the responsible one," Lavinho teased, slinging an arm around her shoulders. "Listen, I've been thinking about this new formation for our next match. The way those Ubers played against us – especially that Aiku guy – we need to adjust..."

At the mention of Oliver Aiku's name, Akane felt her smile freeze. It had been three days since their loss against Ubers, three days of actively avoiding thinking about the father of her child casually playing on the same field, unaware that his son had been just a few hundred meters away in the stands with Akane's mother.

The universe had a cruel sense of humor. Of all the players who could have been selected for Blue Lock, of all the teams he could have been assigned to, Oliver
Aiku had ended up as the star defender for Ubers. She'd first spotted him on Haru-chan's screen during the offers event, and it had taken every ounce of her self-control not to visibly react.

"—Akane? Are you listening?" Lavinho's voice snapped her back to the present.

"Absolutely," she lied smoothly. "The new formation. Go on."

Lavinho launched into an enthusiastic explanation of tactical adjustments, complete with animated hand gestures and occasional Spanish phrases she was beginning to understand. Under normal circumstances, Akane would have been fully engaged, offering insights and suggestions. Today, however, her mind kept drifting back to her quarters, to Ryo, to the ticking time bomb of her situation.

"So what do you think?" Lavinho finally asked, looking at her expectantly.

Akane blinked, scrambling to piece together what she'd partially absorbed. "The wide positioning will definitely give Bachira more space to maneuver," she said, grateful that she'd caught at least that much. "But I'm concerned about leaving our center that exposed, especially against teams with strong direct attackers."

Lavinho nodded thoughtfully, apparently satisfied with her response. "Good point. Maybe we can—"

"Actually," Akane interrupted, glancing at her watch, "can we pick this up in an hour? I need to finalize the analysis reports from our last match before noon."

"Of course, of course!" Lavinho waved her off. "Meet back here at eleven?"

"Perfect," Akane agreed, already backing toward the door. "And could you let the boys know their individual assessment reports will be sent digitally today? I want to focus on strategy development this afternoon."

With Lavinho's easy agreement, Akane made her escape, walking briskly – but not suspiciously so – back to her quarters. The hallways seemed endlessly long today, each corner potentially hiding a teammate or worse, another manager who might want to chat. Particularly Haru, whose boundless energy and admiration for Akane usually warmed her heart but today would be a complication she couldn't afford.

Finally reaching her door, Akane unlocked it quickly and slipped inside, immediately letting out a sigh of relief that turned into momentary panic when she scanned the room.

The bed was empty.

"Ryo?" she called softly, trying to keep the alarm from her voice. "Ryo-chan, where are you playing?"

A giggle from the bathroom doorway answered her. There stood her son, his little hands covered in something shimmery and his face sporting several colorful stickers.

"Mama, pretty!" he declared proudly, holding up his glitter-covered hands.

Akane's heart rate slowly returned to normal as she crossed the room. "What have you been up to, my little troublemaker?"

Upon closer inspection, she realized he'd found her emergency makeup bag – the one she kept tucked away for formal events – and had made liberal use of her highlighter and some decorative nail stickers. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Very pretty," she agreed, taking his hands and leading him to the sink. "But now we need to clean up, okay?"

While gently washing the glitter from his tiny fingers, Akane felt a surge of longing. These moments – simple, ordinary moments of motherhood – were what she missed most during her weeks at Blue Lock. The video calls weren't the same. She couldn't hold him, couldn't smell his hair or feel his little heartbeat against her chest. Couldn't clean glitter off his hands or hear his delighted giggles up close.

"All clean," she announced, drying his hands with a towel. "Now, are you hungry? Mama brought some special snacks."

Ryo nodded enthusiastically, his heterochromatic eyes bright with excitement. For a moment, looking at his purple-black right eye, Akane felt the familiar twist of complicated emotions. That eye was pure Aiku, down to the exact shade and placement. A constant reminder of the most confusing night of her life and its life-altering consequences.

But then Ryo smiled – his smile, not Aiku's – and the moment passed. He was her son. Hers. And she wouldn't change a thing about him, not even the eyes that sometimes made her heart ache.

The morning turned to afternoon with surprising smoothness. Akane managed to attend her brief meeting with Lavinho, send the required reports to her players, and still spend most of her time with Ryo. He was being remarkably well-behaved, content with his toys and tablet, occasionally napping or snuggling against her while she worked on her laptop.

It was nearly four o'clock when a knock on her door shattered the peaceful bubble they'd created.

"Akane-chan! It's me, Bachira! Lavinho sent me to get those tactical diagrams you were working on!"

Akane froze, eyes darting to Ryo who was sitting on the floor, coloring in a small book. She pressed a finger to her lips, and thankfully, Ryo mimicked the gesture, understanding the game of quiet.

"Just a minute!" she called, quickly scooping up Ryo and his coloring materials. Where to hide him? The bathroom? Too obvious if anyone needed to use it. Under the bed? He might get scared or make noise.

The closet. It would have to do.

"Ryo-chan," she whispered urgently, "we need to play hide and seek now, okay? You're going to hide in here, and you need to be super quiet until I come get you. Like a ninja."

Ryo's eyes widened at the word "ninja," and he nodded solemnly. Akane quickly arranged some blankets in the closet, placed Ryo on them with his coloring book, and handed him a small light-up toy to keep him occupied.

"Not a sound," she reminded him, and he zipped his lips with his little fingers in response. She closed the closet door just as another knock came.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Akane quickly checked the room for any signs of her son – a stray toy, the sippy cup – and shoved them under her bed before opening the door.

"Sorry about that," she said, her practiced smile in place. "I was in the middle of something."

Bachira bounced on his heels, his catlike grin as energetic as ever. "No problem! Lavinho said you had those new diagrams for the defense line?"

"Right," Akane said, stepping aside to let him in while silently praying that Ryo would stay quiet. "Let me pull them up."

She moved to her desk, acutely aware of Bachira's curious gaze roaming around her room. This was the first time any of her players had been in her personal quarters, and she suddenly realized how many subtle signs of motherhood might be present – from the children's book half-hidden under her pillow to the small container of animal crackers on her nightstand.

"Here they are," she said quickly, pulling up the diagrams on her tablet and handing it to Bachira. "Tell Lavinho I incorporated his suggestions about the wider positioning but added some contingencies for central defense."

Bachira nodded, studying the diagrams with surprising focus for someone usually so scattered. "These look good," he said. Then, glancing up with a mischievous smile, "Your room's neater than I expected. Mine's a disaster zone."

Akane laughed, the sound only slightly strained. "Organization is key to good management."

A soft thump came from the closet, and Akane's heart stopped. Bachira's head tilted toward the sound.

"What was—"

"Probably just my neighbor," Akane cut in smoothly. "The walls are thin. Anyway, those diagrams—"

"Actually," Bachira said, his expression suddenly curious, "is that a toy ball?" He pointed toward the edge of the bed where, to Akane's horror, Ryo's plush football had partly rolled into view.

Before she could come up with an explanation, the closet door creaked open, and a small red head peeked out.

"Mama," Ryo whispered loudly, clearly trying his best to be quiet but failing in the way only toddlers can. "Potty."

The room froze in absolute silence. Bachira's eyes widened to an almost comical degree as he stared at the tiny boy emerging from the closet. Ryo, realizing there was a stranger in the room, immediately retreated back behind the door, leaving only one mismatched eye visible as he peeked out.

"I can explain," Akane said weakly, though she had absolutely no idea how she was going to do that.

Bachira blinked several times, then a slow grin spread across his face. "You have a kid," he stated, sounding more intrigued than judgmental. "A secret kid! That's... actually kind of awesome."

Ryo, apparently deciding that Bachira's smile meant he was friendly, stepped fully out of the closet. "Potty," he repeated more urgently.

"Oh! Right," Akane said, momentarily distracted from the crisis by more immediate concerns. She rushed to Ryo, picking him up. "Bachira, I—"

"Go ahead," Bachira said, waving her toward the bathroom. "We can talk after."

The next few minutes were surreal. Akane helped Ryo in the bathroom while trying to process the fact that her carefully guarded secret was now known to at least one of her players. When they emerged, Bachira was sitting cross-legged on the floor, absently spinning Ryo's plush football on one finger.

"So," he said as Ryo shyly hid behind Akane's legs, "does Ego know about mini-Akane?"

Akane sighed, guiding Ryo to sit on the bed. "His name is Ryo. And no, nobody knows except you now. My grandmother who usually watches him is sick, and I had no other options today."

Bachira nodded thoughtfully, then grinned at Ryo. "Hi there, Ryo-kun! I'm Bachira. I like your football."

Ryo studied him for a moment, then pointed at his own chest. "Striker," he declared proudly.

Bachira laughed delightedly. "A striker! Just like me!"

"He loves football," Akane explained, feeling some of the tension leave her body at Bachira's easy acceptance. "Won't kick the ball though, just carries it everywhere."

"Smart kid," Bachira said with a wink. "Never let the ball go."

Ryo giggled, warming to Bachira's playful energy. Akane watched in amazement as her son, usually shy with strangers, began to engage with the Blue Lock striker, showing him his toys and babbling in his limited vocabulary about "football" and "goals."

"He's amazing," Bachira said after a while, genuine warmth in his voice. "How old?"

"Two," Akane replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Listen, Bachira, about this... I could lose my position here if—"

"I won't tell anyone," Bachira interrupted, surprising her with his seriousness. "Promise. Your secret's safe with me."

Akane studied his face, finding nothing but sincerity. "Thank you."

Bachira shrugged. "We all have our things. Besides," he added with a grin, "he's way too cool to get you in trouble over."

A weight lifted from Akane's shoulders. Perhaps this wasn't the complete disaster she'd feared. If she could just get through the rest of the day without anyone else discovering Ryo, maybe—

Another knock at the door shattered her renewed optimism.

"Akane-senpai!" Haru Kamishiro's unmistakably energetic voice called through the door. "Are you in there? I brought those measurements you asked for from Coach Snuffy!"

Bachira and Akane exchanged panicked looks.

"What do I do?" Akane whispered.

Bachira thought for a moment, then grinned. "Let me handle this. Take Ryo to the bathroom."

Trusting him despite her better judgment, Akane quickly gathered Ryo and retreated to the bathroom, closing the door most of the way but leaving a crack to listen.

She heard Bachira open the door and Haru's surprised exclamation.

"Bachira-kun! What are you doing in Akane-senpai's room?"

"Tactical meeting," Bachira explained easily. "Akane-san's in the bathroom right now. Something about the spicy food at lunch not agreeing with her. Might be a while."

"Oh no!" Haru's concerned voice raised in volume. "Is she okay? Should I get the medical staff? Maybe I should wait and—"

"Probably best to leave the measurements and give her some privacy," Bachira interrupted smoothly. "Stomach issues, you know. Could be hours. Very unpleasant sounds coming from in there. I was just leaving myself."

Akane had to stifle a laugh at Bachira's dramatic description, especially when Haru made a sympathetic but grossed-out noise.

"Poor Akane-senpai," Haru said. "Okay, here are the measurements. Tell her I hope she feels better soon! Oh, and remind her about karaoke night next week!"

"Will do," Bachira promised cheerfully.

Akane heard the door close, followed by Bachira's quiet "All clear" a moment later. She emerged from the bathroom with Ryo, who had thankfully stayed quiet during the exchange.

"That was brilliant," she admitted.

Bachira took a small bow. "I have my moments. But, Akane-san..." His expression grew more serious. "You can't keep him hidden here forever. What's your plan?"

The question deflated her momentary relief. "I don't know," she confessed. "My grandmother should be better by next week, and this was supposed to be just a one-day solution, but—"

"But what if something like this happens again?" Bachira finished for her.

Akane nodded, absently running her fingers through Ryo's soft red hair as he leaned against her, getting sleepy in the late afternoon.

"Maybe you should tell someone official," Bachira suggested. "Not Ego, necessarily, but maybe Coach Lavinho? He seems pretty understanding."

The thought had crossed her mind, but fear had always stopped her. Fear of judgment, of consequences, of having to explain not just that she had a child, but who the father was. Because sooner or later, anyone who saw Ryo's eyes would make the connection.

"I'll think about it," she said finally. "For now, I just need to get through today."

Bachira nodded, then glanced at his watch. "I should head back before Lavinho sends a search party. You sure you're okay?"

"We'll be fine," Akane assured him, mustering a genuine smile. "And Bachira? Thank you."

After he left, Akane settled on her bed with Ryo, who was fighting sleep despite his heavy eyelids. The afternoon was wearing on, and soon she'd need to coordinate Ryo's extraction with her mother. Just a few more hours, and this risky day would be behind them.

"Story?" Ryo mumbled against her shoulder.

"Of course, baby," Akane said softly, reaching for his favorite book about animals playing sports. As she read to him, his eyelids grew heavier until he finally succumbed to sleep, his small body warm against hers.

Akane continued to hold him, not wanting to disturb his nap but also selfishly wanting to prolong this rare moment of peaceful togetherness. Outside these walls, she was Manager Makino – professional, capable, always smiling. But here, with Ryo's soft breathing against her neck, she was just Mama. And despite all the complications, all the fears and uncertainties, being Ryo's mama was the one role she never had to pretend to love.

Her phone vibrated with a message from her mother.

Can pick up at 6:30. Same spot?

Akane typed a quick confirmation, then checked the time. Just over an hour to go. Ryo would probably sleep until then, making the final stretch easier. She closed her eyes, allowing herself a moment of rest.

The disaster came not from Bachira or Haru, but from the one scenario Akane hadn't prepared for: Ryo waking up disoriented and wandering off while she was in the bathroom.

One minute he was sleeping soundly on her bed, and the next – after she took a quick two-minute bathroom break – he was gone, the door to her quarters slightly ajar.

Pure panic flooded Akane's system as she bolted into the hallway, looking frantically in both directions. How far could a two-year-old get in two minutes? Pretty far, if he was anything like his mother.

She raced down the corridor, calling his name in an urgent whisper, checking every open doorway and alcove. The Blue Lock facility was massive, labyrinthine, and potentially dangerous for a toddler. Images of Ryo falling down stairs or wandering into a training session with flying footballs flashed through her mind.

Turning a corner, Akane nearly collided with Otoya, who steadied her with a concerned look.

"Whoa there, Manager! What's the rush?"

"Have you seen a little boy?" she blurted out before she could stop herself. "Red hair, about this tall?"

Otoya's eyebrows shot up in confusion. "A kid? Here? No, I haven't seen—"

"Never mind," Akane cut him off, already continuing her search. She didn't have time to explain or worry about the questions she was raising.

Her desperate search took her past the Barcha common room, the training facilities, and eventually toward the borders between team sectors. With each passing minute, her heart pounded harder in her chest. How could she have been so careless?

It was outside the Bastard Münchën bay that she finally spotted a flash of familiar red hair. There, standing in the middle of the corridor, was Ryo, looking up at none other than (Name) (L/n).

(Name), with her stone-faced expression, was staring down at Ryo with what Akane could only describe as calculating shock. The Bastard Münchën manager wasn't interacting with the child, merely observing him with the same intense analysis she applied to football statistics.

Ryo, for his part, seemed fascinated by (Name)'s intense gaze, staring back at her with equal curiosity rather than fear.

Akane rushed forward just as (Name) looked up, those sharp eyes instantly connecting the dots between the child and herself. Before (Name) could speak, Ryo turned, having sensed Akane's approach, and his face lit up.

"Mama!" he called happily, reaching for her with his little arms outstretched.

Akane scooped him up automatically, relief washing over her at having him safe in her arms again. But that relief was short-lived as she registered (Name)'s slightly agape mouth – the most expression she'd ever seen on the typically stoic manager's face.

"Is this a younger sibling or cousin of yours?" (Name) asked, her analytical mind clearly searching for the most logical explanation.

Before Akane could formulate a response, Ryo turned in her arms, his mismatched eyes – one golden like hers, one purple-black that was unmistakably Aiku's – fixed on (Name) with a furrowed brow and wide smile that mirrored Akane's own signature expression.

"Mama," he stated again, as if clarifying for (Name)'s benefit, then nestled against Akane's chest.

The silent moment that followed felt eternal. Akane watched as (Name)'s sharp mind processed the evidence before her: the child's age, his red hair matching

Akane's exactly, his unmistakable reference to her as "mama," and most damning of all, that distinctive purple-black right eye that anyone in Blue Lock would recognize as the trademark of Oliver Aiku.

(Name)'s eyes widened just a fraction more – the mathematical equation in her head clearly yielding a result she hadn't anticipated.

Akane held Ryo tighter, as if she could somehow shield him from the implications of this moment. Everything she'd worked to keep separate – her life as a mother and her career at Blue Lock – had just collided in the worst possible way, before a fellow manager known for her calculating precision and unflinching logic.

"(Name)," Akane began, her voice barely above a whisper, "I can explain."

But looking into (Name)'s eyes, Akane knew the damage was done. The secret was out. And there was no equation, no statistical model, no tactical formation that could predict what would happen next.

The sound of a door clicking shut echoed in the quiet hallway as (Name) followed Akane back to the Barcha bay, her eyes occasionally glancing at the small red-headed child walking between them. Ryo's tiny hand was firmly clasped in Akane's, and the resemblance between them was unmistakable—the same vibrant red hair, though his was slightly thinner, and the same sprightly energy with each step. The only stark difference was his eyes, that peculiar heterochromia that had stirred something in (Name)'s analytical mind.

The trio made their way into Akane's manager room, a space decorated with considerably more warmth than (Name)'s own quarters. Colorful Spanish posters covered one wall—likely Lavinho's influence—along with several framed photographs (Name) couldn't quite make out from where she stood.

"Ryo, sweetie," Akane said softly, kneeling to meet her son's eyes, "here are some toys Mama brought from home. Can you play with them while I talk to my friend?"

The boy nodded enthusiastically, reaching for a small plush football from the bag Akane had prepared. He immediately clutched it to his chest, unwilling to let it go—a gesture that made Akane smile despite the tension visible in her shoulders.

Once Ryo was settled in the corner of the room with his toys, Akane gestured for (Name) to take a seat on the small sofa while she collapsed into the chair opposite. For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Akane's usual relaxed demeanor had vanished, replaced by something more vulnerable, more raw.

"I didn't plan for anyone to find out," Akane finally said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Especially not like this."

(Name) remained silent, waiting. Her face displayed its usual stoicism, but her eyes were watchful, calculating—not with judgment, but with careful observation.

"It happened three years ago," Akane continued, her gaze drifting to Ryo, who was now attempting to balance on one foot while hugging his football. "I was sixteen. I used to play football—did you know that? I was pretty good, too."

She smiled faintly at the memory.

"I was a striker, always had been. But then in high school, I got wrapped up in being someone I wasn't. The popular girls, the makeup, the long hair," she gestured to her now-short red locks. "I thought that was what I was supposed to be."

(Name) nodded slightly, her eyes still fixed on Akane's face, processing each word.

"One day, I saw the boys' football team practicing. Something just... clicked. I couldn't help myself—I jumped the fence and challenged one of their defenders."

Akane paused, hesitating. Her eyes darted quickly to Ryo and back.

"We became friends afterward. We were both popular in our own circles, so we kept running into each other at parties and school events. Then at one party..."
She trailed off, color rising to her cheeks.

"We weren't careful. A few weeks later, I found out I was pregnant. He—" she stopped again, clearly unwilling to name the father. "He had already started avoiding me before I even knew. I took two years off school, stayed with my grandmother while my mother helped support us."

(Name)'s eyes narrowed slightly as she pieced together the timeline.

"When Ryo was born," Akane continued, her voice trembling slightly, "I knew right away from his eyes that he would be a constant reminder of... of his father. Post-partum hit me hard. I cut off all my hair one day—my mother and grandmother were horrified, but it felt like freedom. Like I was finally choosing something for myself again."

She looked at (Name) directly now, a fierce determination in her eyes.

"I went back to football as a coach at first. The leadership skills got me noticed, and that's how I ended up here. I see Ryo once a week usually, on my day off. But my grandmother got sick, and my mother has to work... I didn't have a choice but to bring him here."

Before (Name) could respond, the door burst open with a bang that made both women jump. Haru Kamishiro stood in the doorway, her light blue pigtails bobbing as she practically vibrated with energy.

"Akane-senpai! Bachira told me you were busy but I just had to—" Her words died in her throat as she spotted Ryo, who had looked up curiously at the newcomer.

"Haru," Akane sighed, too exhausted to even pretend anymore. "Come in and close the door."

Haru obeyed, her eyes wide as she looked between Akane and the child. "Is that—"

"My son," Akane confirmed, her voice steadier now. "His name is Ryo. He's two."

Haru's mouth formed a perfect 'O' of surprise. She looked at the toddler again, then back at Akane, her expression cycling through confusion, surprise, and—most painfully for Akane to witness—a flicker of judgment.

"But you're... you're so young," Haru said finally, her usual exuberance subdued.

Akane's shoulders slumped slightly, and something in (Name)'s chest tightened at the sight. She'd seen that look before—the weight of expectations, of disappointment, of being measured and found wanting. It was a look she knew intimately from her own experiences, though for entirely different reasons.

"Yes," (Name) spoke for the first time, her voice clear and firm in the quiet room. "She is young. And she's also the manager of a professional football team, supporting her child through her work here."

Haru blinked, taken aback by (Name)'s sudden defense.

"My view of you hasn't changed, Makino-san," (Name) continued, her eyes returning to Akane. "Except perhaps that I see you as even more of a threat as a rival now. To manage a team while carrying this responsibility... it requires strength I'm not sure many of us possess."

Akane's eyes widened, glistening with unshed tears. It was as if (Name) had unlocked something in her—a door she'd been holding closed for so long that when it finally opened, everything came rushing out at once.

Akane's shoulders began to shake, and before either of them could react, she had buried her face in her hands, tears streaming between her fingers. (Name), usually so averse to physical contact, found herself moving to sit beside Akane, allowing the older girl to collapse against her shoulder.

Haru's expression shifted from shock to dismay as she realized the impact of her reaction. "Akane-senpai, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—I just—" She rushed over, dropping to her knees in front of Akane. "(Name)'s right. You're amazing, and Ryo is adorable, and I'm a stupid jerk for even thinking anything else!"

Akane couldn't respond through her tears, years of tension and pretending finally breaking through. Ryo, sensing his mother's distress, toddled over with concerned eyes, still clutching his football.

"Mama?" he asked, his mismatched eyes wide with worry.

(Name), seeing Akane was in no state to respond, gently picked up the toddler and settled him on her lap.

"Your mom is okay," she said, her voice softer than Haru had ever heard it. "Sometimes grown-ups need to cry too."

Haru, watching the scene and still feeling terrible about her initial reaction, suddenly brightened with an idea.

"Hey, Akane-senpai," she said gently, "why don't I take Ryo for a little bit? Give you some time to... you know." She gestured vaguely at Akane's tears. "I'm great with kids! And Ryo already knows (Name), so she can come too if he's shy."

Akane looked up, her face tear-streaked but her breathing steadier. She glanced at Ryo, who seemed perfectly content sitting on (Name)'s lap, playing with the calculator watch on her wrist.

"I... I don't know," she hesitated.

"I'll just say he's a staff member's brother that I'm babysitting," Haru assured her. "No one will know, I promise."

Akane looked to (Name), who nodded slightly. "Having some time to compose yourself might be good," (Name) said quietly. "And I'll make sure Haru doesn't lose him," she added, a hint of dry humor in her voice.

After a moment's consideration, Akane nodded weakly. "Okay," she agreed, wiping her tears with the back of her hand. "Just for a little while. Please be careful."

Haru beamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "You can count on me, Akane-senpai! We'll be back before you know it!" She held out her arms for Ryo, who looked to his mother for permission before allowing himself to be transferred from (Name)'s lap to Haru's arms.

"We'll just walk around a bit, maybe show him some of the training areas from a distance," (Name) said, standing up. "Nothing risky."

Akane nodded, taking a deep breath. "Thank you. Both of you."

As (Name) and Haru left with Ryo, Akane leaned back in her chair, feeling strangely lighter despite everything. For the first time in two years, someone knew her truth and hadn't turned away.

Oliver Aiku wiped sweat from his brow as he completed another set of passes with Lorenzo. The Ubers were in the middle of their daily training session, focusing on precision drills after their recent victory against Barcha. The win had put them in high spirits, especially since they'd managed to defeat Bachira and Otoya, two of the most skilled players in the league.

"Aiku, your left side's still telegraphing too much," Snuffy called from the sidelines, his usual easygoing demeanor sharpening when it came to technical corrections.

Aiku nodded, adjusting his stance for the next drill. He was about to pass back to Lorenzo when the double doors to the training area swung open.

All heads turned as Haru walked in, her pigtails bouncing with each step. But it wasn't their energetic manager that caught everyone's attention—it was the small child balanced on her hip, looking around wide-eyed at the spacious training area.

"Is that a... baby?" Barou asked incredulously, the ball he'd been about to kick forgotten at his feet.

"Not a baby," Haru corrected cheerfully, bouncing the toddler slightly. "A two-year-old. This is Ryo! I'm babysitting him for one of the staff today."

(Name) followed a few steps behind, her face as impassive as ever, though her eyes kept careful watch on both Haru and the child.

The Ubers quickly gathered around, training momentarily forgotten as they stared at the unusual sight. In Blue Lock, seeing a child was almost as rare as seeing a female before the manager program had started.

"Why would you bring him here?" Sendou asked, looking bemused. "This isn't exactly a daycare."

"Because I wanted to show him real football players!" Haru exclaimed. "He loves football, don't you, Ryo?"

The little boy nodded eagerly, still clutching his plush football to his chest.

It was then that Aiku got close enough to see the child clearly, and something in his chest constricted painfully. The boy also had striking heterochromia—one eye a warm golden yellow, the other a deep purple-black that mirrored his own right eye perfectly. But it wasn't just the eyes that stopped him cold; it was the vibrant red hair that looked so achingly familiar.

Time seemed to slow as the toddler turned to look directly at him. For a moment, they just stared at each other, Aiku unable to move or speak as memories from three years ago crashed through his mind like a tidal wave.

Ryo broke the silence with a delighted laugh, wriggling to be put down. Haru complied, and the boy immediately toddled toward Aiku with confident steps.

"Looks like he likes you, Daddy Aiku!" Niko teased, nudging him out of his daze.

"Yeah," Aiku managed, forcing a smile as he knelt to the boy's level. "Hey there, little guy."

But his mind was racing, calculating possibilities, timelines, coincidences that seemed too precise to be mere chance. It couldn't be possible. And yet...

The red hair. Those particular eyes. The age.

"Whose child did you say this was?" he asked Haru, keeping his voice carefully neutral as Ryo reached out to touch his face with curious fingers.

"One of the staff," Haru repeated vaguely, looking slightly uncomfortable. "It's just for today."

Before Aiku could press further, Aryu's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Hey, he really does like football!" Aryu pointed at the plush ball Ryo was still clutching tightly. "Do you know how to play, little man?"

Ryo looked at Aryu with wide eyes but didn't respond.

"Let's show him a real ball," Lorenzo suggested, retrieving a regular-sized football from the nearby rack.

As Lorenzo slowly rolled the ball toward Ryo, the boy's eyes lit up. But instead of kicking it as everyone expected, he dropped his plush toy and simply picked up the real ball, hugging it to his chest just as he had with the stuffed version.

"Huh," Niko said, looking puzzled. "Maybe he doesn't know how to play yet?"

"He's only two," (Name) pointed out from where she stood, arms crossed as she observed the scene with calculating eyes.

"We can teach him!" Haru exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "Come on, Ubers! Let's show Ryo how to play football!"

What followed was a series of increasingly absurd attempts to teach a toddler the basics of football. Sendou tried demonstrating simple passes, but Ryo just watched with fascination before picking up the ball again. Lorenzo tried showing him how to dribble, but the boy just giggled and ran away with the ball in his hands.

"Maybe he's just not coordinated enough yet," Snuffy suggested, chuckling as he watched the professional footballers being thoroughly defeated by a two-year-old.

"No, wait," Barou said, frustration evident in his voice. "He keeps using his hands. We need to stop that."

With a determined look, Barou approached Ryo and gently took the ball away. Then, to everyone's surprise, he loosely tied the boy's sleeve cuffs behind his back using a spare shoelace.

"Barou!" Haru exclaimed, horrified. "You can't tie up a child!"

"It's not tight," Barou defended himself. "I'm just showing him he can't use his hands. That's football 101."

They all watched expectantly as Barou placed the ball in front of Ryo again. Without the use of his hands, the boy stared at the ball for a long moment. Then, to everyone's amazement, he knelt down and used his head to nudge the ball forward.

"He's resourceful," Lorenzo commented, impressed despite himself.

Aiku, who had been oddly quiet throughout the whole process, suddenly had a realization. He'd been watching the boy carefully, noticing subtle patterns in his movements.

"I think we're teaching him wrong," he said, stepping forward. "Ryo, look here."

The boy turned to Aiku, his mismatched eyes curious. Aiku knelt down and untied the shoelace from Ryo's sleeves, freeing his arms. Then he placed the ball in front of the boy again and pointed to his left foot.

"Try with this foot," Aiku suggested, tapping his own left foot to demonstrate. "Like this." He gently nudged the ball with his foot.

Ryo looked from Aiku's foot to the ball, then to his own foot. After a moment of concentration, he swung his left foot—not his right—and connected with the ball, sending it rolling toward Aiku.

"He did it!" Haru cheered, jumping up and down with excitement.

But Ryo wasn't done. As the ball rolled away from him, he toddled after it with surprising determination. When he reached it, he kicked it again with his left foot,
then again, clumsily but effectively dribbling the ball straight into Aiku's waiting arms.

The training room erupted in cheers as Ryo crashed into Aiku's embrace, both of them tumbling backward in a moment of pure, unfiltered joy. Aiku found himself laughing, lifting the boy high above his head in celebration.

"He's a natural!" Lorenzo declared.

"Left-footed too," Sendou observed with a nod of approval. "Not common."

Aiku set Ryo back on his feet, a strange emotion tightening his chest as he watched the boy beam with pride at his accomplishment. The similarities were becoming harder and harder to ignore—the left-foot dominance, the instinctive understanding of the ball's movement, the fearless way he'd charged forward.

Just as the Ubers had begun to form a celebratory circle around Ryo, the training room doors opened again.

Akane Makino stood in the doorway, her composure restored but her eyes still slightly red-rimmed from crying. She took in the scene—the professional footballers crowded around her son, the discarded plush football, the real ball at Ryo's feet—and for a moment, she seemed frozen in place.

Then Ryo spotted her and his face lit up. "Mama!" he called, running toward her with unsteady steps.

The word hung in the air as Akane knelt to receive her son, scooping him up in a tight hug. The Ubers exchanged surprised glances, the pieces falling into place.

Aiku felt as though the floor had dropped from beneath him. As Akane straightened, her eyes met his across the room, and in that moment, he knew. The short red hair had thrown him off at first—the Akane in his memories had long, flowing curls that he'd run his fingers through. But those distinctive yellow-gold eyes were unmistakable.

It was her. Akane Makino. The girl from three years ago.

And the child—Ryo—with his left-foot dominance and that distinctive purple-black right eye...

Akane bowed deeply to the group, her voice steady as she spoke. "Thank you for looking after him. We need to go now."

Before anyone could respond, she turned and walked away, Ryo secure in her arms. The boy looked back over her shoulder, his mismatched eyes finding Aiku's.

He smiled and waved, a gesture so innocent and unaware of the storm of realization it had triggered.

Aiku stood frozen, watching them disappear down the hallway, the implications swirling in his mind. Two years ago. A party. A girl with red hair who moved on the football field like she'd been born to play. A night he'd tried to forget, followed by weeks of avoiding her out of shame and confusion about his own feelings.

But surely it wasn't possible. Akane must have met someone else, had a child with someone else who happened to have the same distinctive eye. The timing was just a coincidence. The left-footedness was just chance and the red hair was just genetics from Akane herself.

It couldn't be.

And yet, deep down, a voice he couldn't silence whispered the truth he wasn't ready to face.

Chapter Text

(Name) stood beside Haru in the Ubers training room, watching silently as Akane left with little Ryo. Her mind was already racing with calculations, processing information at a speed that outpaced everyone else in the room. The probability that Ryo was Aiku's child based on the matching heterochromatic eyes alone was approximately 98.7%, but factoring in timing, Akane's story, and Aiku's stunned expression, her certainty approached 99.9%.

The door closed behind Akane and Ryo, but Aiku remained transfixed on the spot where they'd disappeared, his usual confident demeanor replaced by something (Name) couldn't quite place. Confusion? Recognition? Fear? She wasn't skilled at reading emotions like she was with numbers, but even she could recognize the weight of this moment.

"You know her?" Sendou asked, breaking the tense silence as he approached Aiku.

Aiku blinked, then nodded slowly. "Yeah... from before Blue Lock."

The other Ubers paused their training, sensing something significant. Even Barou, who typically paid little attention to anything beyond himself, looked over with mild interest. Snuffy leaned against the wall, his usually relaxed posture now alert.

"She was in my high school," Aiku continued, his voice taking on a wistful quality that (Name) had never heard from him before. "We were both sixteen and pretty popular in different circles."

His eyes shifted to the training room floor, but (Name) could tell he wasn't seeing it. He was somewhere else—somewhere years ago.

"I still remember that day," he said, a small smile forming. "It was a regular practice. The team was drilling, and a group of girls were walking by the field, all done up in their uniforms with their hair perfect."

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the field as Aiku positioned himself for defense. He could hear the giggles from the sidelines—the usual audience of female classmates coming to watch practice. He never paid them much mind; girls were easy to charm but rarely interesting beyond that.

Then something unexpected happened. One of the girls—one with striking long red curls—suddenly broke away from her friends, threw her bag over the fence, and with surprisingly athletic prowess, climbed over it.

"What the—" one of his teammates muttered.

The girl marched directly toward him, her yellow eyes blazing with determination that seemed wildly out of place with her delicate appearance.

"You," she pointed at him. "I've been watching your defensive techniques. I want to see if I can break through them."

Aiku blinked in surprise. "Excuse me?"

"I'm challenging you," she said firmly. "Three-on-three. Me and my friends against you and two others."

His teammates laughed, but Aiku was intrigued. There was something in her eyes—a fire he recognized. "You play?"

"I used to." She didn't elaborate, but her stance said enough. This wasn't just some girl trying to get his attention; she knew what she was doing.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Akane. Akane Makino."

"She was something else," Aiku continued, his voice pulling (Name) back to the present. "The gentle beauty of the school climbing a fence and demanding a match? Everyone was shocked. Even more shocked when she scored against me twice."

Lorenzo whistled. "She scored on the great Oliver Aiku? Impressive."

"We tied 2-2," Aiku nodded, the memory clearly vivid. "First time in a while someone had matched me like that. And a girl who had the whole future of a football star ahead of her..."

(Name)'s eyes narrowed slightly. She knew the rest of this story from Akane's perspective—how Aiku had become a friend, someone Akane genuinely liked spending time with, before everything went wrong. But hearing it from his side was providing new variables to her equation.

"She wasn't like other girls," Aiku continued. "She was a friend—a real one. I didn't see her the way I saw other girls. She was a tomboy at heart, despite trying to fit in with the popular crowd. I'd tease her like buddies do, pull her long ponytail when she tried to keep those beautiful curls she always complained about out of her face."

His expression darkened slightly. "Then came that party. We were both drunk. It wasn't supposed to mean anything..."

(Name)'s jaw tightened imperceptibly. She'd already calculated where this was going—the conception probability of unprotected intercourse even once was significant enough—and Akane had confirmed it in her tearful confession earlier. But hearing Aiku describe it so casually made something twist uncomfortably in her stomach.

"So you hooked up?" Sendou asked bluntly. "Was she good?"

Several of the Ubers chuckled, but (Name) noticed Haru's small frame go rigid beside her. The youngest manager's usual bouncy energy was suddenly charged with something else—anger.

"That's not the point," Aiku said, frowning at Barou. "Afterward, things got weird. She kept trying to talk to me, but I just... I wasn't interested in that kind of thing with her. So I avoided her."

Haru's hands clenched into tiny fists. (Name) glanced at the younger girl, noticing her shoulders trembling.

"I didn't see her again after that," Aiku finished. "Last I heard, she'd transferred schools. I figured she just moved on."

The silence that followed was heavy. Several Ubers exchanged uncomfortable glances, but no one spoke.

Until Haru's voice cut through the quiet, wavering with recognition and horror.

"That was Akane-senpai?" she whispered, her usually cheerful voice strained. "You're the one who ghosted her?"

Aiku's eyes widened, clearly not expecting the accusation in Haru's tone. "I didn't ghost her, I just—"

"Even when she tried to talk to you?" Haru pressed, her voice rising. "Even when she needed to tell you something important?"

Aiku's silence was answer enough. The pieces were falling into place for everyone in the room, but (Name) had calculated this outcome minutes ago. The statistical probability that Aiku was still in denial despite the evidence was rapidly approaching zero.

"You don't know what that did to her!" Haru suddenly shouted, tears brimming in her eyes. Something in the usually bubbly manager had snapped. "She was sixteen and pregnant and alone because YOU ran away! She dropped out of school! She gave up football! And she raised that baby by herself!"

The other Ubers froze, the implications of Haru's words sinking in.

"You shouldn't have ditched her when something so life-changing like having YOUR KID was happening to her!" Haru's voice cracked. Tears were now streaming down her face. "That little boy—Ryo—he's YOUR son! And you didn't even recognize him!"

Aiku stood there, speechless, the color draining from his face.

"You're cruel," Haru choked out before turning and running from the room, her sobs echoing down the hallway as she called out Akane's name.

(Name) gave Aiku one cold, calculating glance before following Haru. She wasn't emotionally invested like the younger manager, but even she knew when calculations needed to be set aside for more important matters.

Behind her, she could feel the suffocating silence that had fallen over the Uber training room. No one moved. No one spoke. Even Barou seemed to recognize the gravity of what had just happened.

As she stepped into the corridor, (Name) heard Haru's voice calling out, "Akane-senpai! Wait!"

She quickened her pace, her mind already formulating a new set of calculations—the probability that this revelation would affect team dynamics, the likelihood of
Akane being reprimanded for bringing a child into Blue Lock, the statistical chances of Aiku accepting responsibility.

But for once, (Name) pushed those numbers aside. Some situations couldn't be reduced to probabilities and statistics.

Some things were simply human.

Back in the Ubers training room, Aiku stood frozen, his teammates' stares burning into him from all directions. The weight of Haru's accusations hung in the air, impossible to dismiss.

Memories flooded back—Akane's attempts to talk to him after that night, the desperation in her eyes that he'd deliberately misinterpreted as romantic interest. Her sudden disappearance from school that he'd barely questioned.

And then the boy—Ryo. His heterochromatic eyes, one purple-black like Aiku's own, the other a brilliant yellow-gold like Akane's. The red hair that had seemed so familiar. The way the child had immediately responded to his football coaching.

His son.

The word felt foreign, terrifying, impossible—yet undeniable.

"Is it true?" Lorenzo finally asked, his usual playful tone absent.

Aiku couldn't answer. But his silence spoke volumes.

Sendou shook his head slowly. "Man, that's... I don't even know what to say."

"Nothing to say," Barou muttered, turning away. "Let's get back to training."

But no one moved. The atmosphere remained thick with unspoken judgment.

Snuffy finally pushed off from the wall, approaching Aiku with an uncharacteristically serious expression. "Take some time," he said quietly. "Sort yourself out. We'll continue without you today."

Aiku nodded numbly, grateful for the escape. He needed to be alone, to process what had just happened, to come to terms with the reality that had been thrust upon him.

As he turned to leave, he caught Niko's eye. The younger player, close to Haru in age, looked at him with unmistakable disappointment.

That was when Aiku realized—this wasn't something he could run from anymore. The consequences of his actions three years ago had found him, and no amount of charm or deflection would make them disappear.

He exited the training room, the door closing behind him with a finality that matched the collapsing of his carefully constructed world.

(Name) caught up to Haru halfway down the corridor. The younger manager was still calling out for Akane, tears streaming down her face.

"Kameshiro," (Name) said firmly, grabbing the girl's wrist. "Stop. You're making a scene."

Haru whirled around, her normally cheerful face contorted with emotion. "But (L/n)-san! He—he doesn't even care! He just left her alone with a baby!"

"I know," (Name) said, keeping her voice level despite the anger she felt simmering beneath the surface. "But this isn't how we help Akane."

Haru hiccupped, trying to control her sobs. "But..."

"Think logically," (Name) said, defaulting to what she knew best. "If we cause a commotion, everyone will learn about Ryo. Akane kept this secret for a reason."

This seemed to reach Haru, who nodded reluctantly, wiping at her eyes.

"We need to find her quietly," (Name) continued. "She probably went back to the Barcha bay."

As they walked, (Name)'s mind worked overtime. She had always viewed her players as pieces in a mathematical equation—variables that could be manipulated for maximum efficiency. But the events of today were forcing her to recalculate, to see the human elements that couldn't be reduced to numbers.

Akane was more than just a rival manager. She was a single mother who had sacrificed her dreams to raise a child. She had faced judgment and hardship but emerged stronger.

And Aiku—the charming defender who had seemed so one-dimensional in (Name)'s calculations—suddenly had layers of complexity she hadn't accounted for.

She frowned. This was why she preferred numbers. People were messy, unpredictable, full of contradictions that defied logical analysis.

They arrived at the Barcha bay to find it unusually quiet. No sounds of Lavinho's boisterous laughter or Bachira's energetic banter.

"Akane-senpai?" Haru called, her voice small now. "Are you here?"

They checked the common room and training areas, but there was no sign of Akane or Ryo. Finally, they approached her private quarters, where (Name) knocked firmly on the door.

"Makino, it's (L/n) and Kameshiro."

There was a long pause before they heard movement inside. The door opened slightly, revealing Akane's tear-stained face. She'd clearly been crying again, but she'd composed herself enough to face them.

"Is everything okay?" she asked, concern filtering through her obvious distress. "Haru-chan, you look upset."

"I told him," Haru blurted out, fresh tears welling. "I told Aiku that Ryo is his son. I'm so sorry, I just got so angry when he was talking about—"

"You what?" Akane's face paled, and she opened the door wider, revealing Ryo playing contentedly on the floor with a small football. "You told Oliver?"

(Name) stepped forward. "It was inevitable, Makino. The statistical probability of him realizing was approaching certainty, especially after seeing Ryo. The resemblance is undeniable."

Akane sank onto her bed, burying her face in her hands. "I wasn't ready," she whispered. "I've spent two years building a life without him. I don't need him. Ryo doesn't need him."

"But Akane-senpai," Haru said softly, sitting beside her. "Doesn't Ryo deserve to know his father?"

Akane looked up, her gold eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "His father didn't want anything to do with me after that night. Why should I believe he'd want anything to do with Ryo?"

(Name) leaned against the wall, observing. She wasn't good at emotions or comfort, but she could offer clarity.

"You don't have to believe anything," she said firmly. "But now that Aiku knows, you'll need to deal with it directly. The probability of him approaching you is 97.6%."

"How can you be so sure?" Akane asked.

"Because despite his ego, Aiku values his image," (Name) explained. "And right now, his entire team is judging him for abandoning you and his child. My calculations suggest he'll attempt to rectify that perception, if nothing else."

Akane laughed bitterly. "Always about appearances with him."

On the floor, Ryo looked up at the sound of his mother's laugh. He pushed himself to his feet, toddling over with the small football clutched in his hands.

"Mama," he said, holding the ball out to her. "Kick!"

Akane's expression softened as she took the ball. "Where did you learn that word, little man?"

"I think Aiku was teaching him," Haru admitted sheepishly. "Before we... before I realized."

Akane's eyes widened slightly, but she said nothing, just bounced the ball gently on the floor for Ryo, who giggled in delight.

"What are you going to do?" (Name) asked directly. She didn't believe in dancing around issues. "If Ego finds out you brought your child into Blue Lock, there could be consequences."

"I know," Akane sighed. "But my grandmother is sick, and my mother works full-time. I didn't have a choice."

"We'll help," Haru offered immediately, her usual exuberance returning. "Right, (L/n)-san? We can take turns watching Ryo!"

(Name) blinked, surprised to be included in this plan. Babysitting was not in her skill set, nor was it something she'd calculated into her daily routine. But looking at Akane's exhausted face and Haru's hopeful one, she found herself nodding reluctantly.

"We'll need to create a schedule," she said, already mentally calculating the probabilities of success based on their various commitments. "And a contingency plan in case of emergency."

The tension in Akane's shoulders eased slightly. "Thank you. Both of you. I don't deserve this kind of support."

"Of course you do!" Haru exclaimed, throwing her arms around the older manager. "We're the manager squad! We stick together, even if Tsukiko-san is a big meanie."

The mention of Tsukiko made (Name)'s eye twitch slightly, but she refrained from commenting. There were more important matters at hand.

A soft knock at the door made all three freeze. Akane quickly scooped up Ryo, holding him protectively as (Name) moved to answer it.

Standing in the doorway was Oliver Aiku, his usual confidence nowhere to be seen. Instead, he looked uncertain, vulnerable—emotions (Name) had never calculated into her assessment of him.

"I need to talk to Akane," he said quietly. "Please."

(Name) glanced back at Akane, whose face had hardened into a mask of indifference that rivaled (Name)'s own. She gave a slight nod.

"We'll be right outside," (Name) told her, ushering a reluctant Haru out of the room. As they passed Aiku, she fixed him with her coldest stare. "Remember that the statistical probability of you making this worse is directly proportional to your ego."

Aiku blinked, clearly not expecting such a direct warning, but nodded.

As the door closed behind him, (Name) found herself facing an unexpected variable: concern. She didn't like not being able to calculate the outcome of this confrontation. Akane had become something like a friend—an anomaly in (Name)'s data-driven world—and she didn't want to see her hurt further.

"Do you think they'll be okay?" Haru whispered, pressing her ear against the door in a failed attempt at discretion.

(Name) pulled her away with a firm hand. "That depends on variables I can't adequately calculate."

"That's a fancy way of saying you don't know," Haru pouted.

(Name) didn't respond. She was too busy recalculating everything she thought she knew about the people around her—and her own place among them.

Inside the room, Akane and Aiku faced each other in tense silence. Ryo, sensing the change in atmosphere, clung to his mother, burying his face in her neck.

"So," Aiku finally said, his eyes fixed on the child. "He's mine."

It wasn't a question, but Akane answered anyway. "Yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" The hurt in his voice seemed genuine, which only fueled Akane's anger.

"I tried," she said coldly. "For weeks after that party. You avoided me. Stopped answering my calls. Changed direction when you saw me in the hallway."

Aiku winced. "I thought you wanted more—romantically. I wasn't interested in that."

"And I wasn't interested in raising your child alone at sixteen," Akane shot back. "But here we are."

The harshness of her words seemed to hit Aiku like a physical blow. He looked at Ryo again, taking in the heterochromatic eyes so similar to his own, the red hair that matched Akane's.

Can I—" he hesitated. "Can I hold him?"

Akane's instinct was to refuse, to protect Ryo from the man who had abandoned them both. But looking at her son, she remembered how excited he'd been after playing with the Ubers, how he'd finally started to kick the ball instead of just holding it.

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Ryo," she said softly, "This is... a friend. Do you want to say hello?"

Ryo peeked out from his mother's shoulder, studying Aiku with curious eyes. After a moment, he reached out his small hand. "Ball?"

Aiku's face broke into a genuine smile, perhaps the first one Akane had seen from him in years. "Yeah, buddy. We can play with the ball again later."

Cautiously, Akane transferred Ryo to Aiku's arms. The defender held his son awkwardly at first, but Ryo seemed comfortable, patting Aiku's face with his small hands.

"He has your eyes," Aiku said softly. "One of them, anyway."

"And your stubbornness," Akane replied, some of the edge leaving her voice. "He never gives up once he decides he wants something."

They fell into silence again, but it was different now—still tense, still laden with unspoken history, but with something else too. A recognition of the shared life they'd created, whether they'd meant to or not.

"I don't expect anything from you," Akane finally said. "We've been fine on our own for two years."

Aiku looked at her, really looked at her, perhaps for the first time. Gone was the girl with the long red curls who had challenged him on the football field. In her place was a young woman who had faced her responsibilities head-on while he'd run from his.

"I want to know him," he said firmly. "I want to be part of his life."

Akane's eyes narrowed skeptically. "Until when? Until it gets difficult? Until it interferes with your career?"

"I deserve that," Aiku admitted, surprising her. "But I'm not sixteen anymore. Neither are you. Let me try to do better."

Ryo chose that moment to grab Aiku's hair and give it a firm tug, giggling when the defender winced.

"He pulls hair," Akane warned belatedly. "It's why I cut mine."

Aiku carefully disentangled Ryo's fingers. "I noticed. It looks good on you, by the way. The short hair."

Akane felt her cheeks warm slightly and immediately hated herself for it. This was Oliver Aiku—the boy who had left her alone when she needed him most. She couldn't let herself be charmed again.

"We'll figure something out," she said neutrally. "But right now, I need to focus on keeping my job. I wasn't supposed to bring him here, but I had no choice."

"I'll help," Aiku offered immediately. "The Ubers will help too. We can take turns watching him when you're busy."

"Why would they do that?"

Aiku's expression turned rueful. "Because right now, they all think I'm the worst person in Blue Lock. And they're probably right. Helping with Ryo is the least I can do to start making amends."

Akane studied him, trying to determine if this was just another charm offensive or something genuine. She'd been fooled by him once before; she wouldn't let it happen again.

"We'll see," was all she said, reaching to take Ryo back. "But for now, I think you should go. We all need some time to process this."

Aiku nodded, reluctantly handing back his son. As he turned to leave, he paused at the door. "I really am sorry, Akane. For everything."

She didn't answer, and after a moment, he left.

Outside, (Name) and Haru had been joined by several curious Barcha players, including Lavinho and Otoya, who were pestering them for information.

"Why is Uber boy here?" Lavinho asked, his usual grin in place despite his suspicious tone. "Secret strategy meeting?"

"Nothing like that," (Name) answered flatly. "Personal matters."

"Personal?" Otoya echoed, eyes widening with interest. "Like romantic personal? Is Aiku trying to woo our manager?"

Haru opened her mouth, clearly ready to spill everything, but (Name) cut her off with a sharp look.

"That's for Akane to discuss, if she chooses to."

The door opened then, and Aiku emerged. He looked shaken but composed, nodding briefly to (Name) and Haru before facing the Barcha players.

"This isn't about football," he told them firmly. "It's private. Show some respect."

The seriousness in his tone must have registered, as even Lavinho backed down, raising his hands in surrender. "Fine, fine. No questions, man."

As Aiku departed, (Name) turned to Haru. "Let's check on her."

They re-entered the room to find Akane sitting on the bed, Ryo curled up against her side, playing with a small toy. She looked up as they entered, her expression unreadable.

"How did it go?" Haru asked anxiously.

Akane sighed. "About as well as could be expected, I guess. He wants to be involved."

"And how do you feel about that?" (Name) asked, sitting in the desk chair across from her.

"I don't know," Akane admitted. "Part of me wants to tell him to stay away from us. Another part knows Ryo deserves a father."

"The statistical probability of co-parenting success varies widely based on multiple factors," (Name) began, falling back on what she knew best. "But single-parent households have proven highly effective when—"

"Aki-san," Haru interrupted with a giggle. "Not everything can be calculated!"

(Name) frowned slightly. "Everything can be calculated. Some variables are just more complex than others."

This drew a small laugh from Akane, easing some of the tension in the room. "I appreciate the attempt, (Name). Really."

(Name) nodded, accepting the gratitude even if she didn't fully understand why her analysis had been dismissed. "We should discuss the logistics of caring for Ryo while you're working. With three of us coordinating, we can create an effective rotation that minimizes disruption to our managerial duties."

"Four of us," Haru corrected. "Aiku said he wants to help too."

"Including Aiku increases the complexity but improves coverage," (Name) conceded after a brief calculation. "Especially since his practice schedule differs from ours."

Akane looked between them, her eyes shining again with unshed tears. "You guys really want to help me with this?"

"Of course!" Haru exclaimed, bouncing onto the bed beside her. "That's what friends do!"

Friends. The word echoed in (Name)'s mind, another variable she hadn't fully factored into her Blue Lock equations. She'd come here focused solely on proving herself as the superior manager, on helping Bastard Münchën dominate the NEL.

She hadn't calculated on finding friendship among her rivals.

Yet here she was, plotting childcare schedules with Akane Makino and Haru Kameshiro, feeling something that defied mathematical expression—a sense of belonging that had nothing to do with competition or achievement.

"I'll create a spreadsheet," she said, pulling out her tablet. "We'll need to account for match days, training sessions, and recovery periods."

As she began to work, the familiar comfort of numbers and probabilities washing over her, (Name) realized something: for all her genius with calculations, she'd missed the most important variables of all—the human ones.

Friendship. Support. Connection.

They couldn't be quantified or predicted with any formula she knew. Yet somehow, they'd become essential components in her Blue Lock experience.

For someone who prided herself on always being three steps ahead, (Name) had to admit she never saw this coming.

Perhaps there were some things even she couldn't calculate.

Chapter Text

The Bastard Münchën facility had settled into its usual late-night quiet, the kind of silence that made even the smallest sounds echo through the corridors. Most of the players had retreated to their rooms hours ago, exhausted from another grueling day of training under Noel Noa's unforgiving regimen. The overhead lights had dimmed to their nighttime setting, casting long shadows that danced across the polished floors.

Kaiser found himself wandering these empty hallways, unable to find the peace that sleep typically brought him. His mind was restless tonight, thoughts churning like storm clouds. The events of the past few days had been... eventful, to say the least. The managers' presentation incident, the growing tensions between teams, and most notably, the peculiar dynamic that had developed between himself and their stoic manager, (Name) (L/n).

He paused outside the viewing room, noticing a faint blue glow seeping through the crack beneath the door. Kaiser frowned. Who would be using the room at this hour? His curiosity piqued, he pressed his ear against the cool metal surface. The sound of dialogue filtered through – German dialogue...actually untranslated, he realized with surprise.

Pushing the door open silently, Kaiser stepped inside. The massive room was bathed in the flickering light from the wall-to-wall screens, all displaying the same film. And there, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the center of it all, was (Name) (L/n). Her usually perfect posture seemed more relaxed in the solitude, her hair falling slightly forward as she concentrated on the screen with that intense focus he'd come to recognize.

What struck him as odd was the small device lying abandoned beside her – her translator. The blue lock-issued device that every player and staff member relied on sat there, powered down and forgotten.

Kaiser cleared his throat deliberately, stepping fully into the room. "Guten Abend, (Name)," he said, his voice carrying that familiar hint of arrogance. "Burning the midnight oil, I see."

(Name)'s head whipped around at the sound of his voice, her eyes wide with what looked like genuine confusion. She blinked at him several times, her mouth opening slightly as if she wanted to respond but couldn't find the words. Her gaze darted to the translator beside her, then back to Kaiser, and he could practically see the wheels turning in her head.

A slow, predatory smile spread across Kaiser's face as understanding dawned. Without her translator, she was essentially deaf to his German. How... interesting.

"Was ist los?" he continued in German, taking a step closer. "Katze hat deine Zunge?" He chuckled at his own joke, watching as frustration began to cloud her usually impassive features.

(Name)'s jaw tightened, that telltale sign that she was fighting to maintain her composure. Kaiser had learned to read these subtle shifts in her expression – the slight narrowing of her eyes when she was calculating, the way her shoulders tensed when she was annoyed, the almost imperceptible furrow in her brow when she was truly focused. Right now, she looked like she was ready to either hit something or solve a particularly complex equation.

"Du siehst verwirrt aus," Kaiser added, his tone mockingly sympathetic. "Perhaps you should have kept that little device closer to hand, ja?"

That did it. With a sharp exhale of annoyance, (Name) reached for her translator, jabbing at the power button with more force than necessary. The device hummed to life, and she held it up between them like a shield.

"I deactivated it intentionally," she said through the translator's mechanical voice, her tone clipped and defensive. Kaiser had to admit he was almost curious to hear her actual voice, without the translator that stripped away all the subtle inflections that made speech human. "I'm trying to learn German properly, without being so reliant on this thing."

Kaiser raised an eyebrow, genuinely surprised. "And how's that working out for you?"

"It's..." (Name) paused, and for the first time since he'd known her, she looked almost... vulnerable. "It's harder than numbers. Much harder."

There was something in her admission that made Kaiser's chest tighten unexpectedly. The great (Name) (L/n), the girl who could calculate player statistics with frightening accuracy, who could predict game outcomes with mathematical precision, was struggling with something as basic as language. It was almost endearing.

Almost.

"I could teach you," Kaiser found himself saying, then immediately regretted it. What was he thinking? He didn't have time to play tutor to their manager, no matter how intriguing she might be.
(Name)'s eyes flickered with something – hope? – before her expression shuttered back to its usual neutrality. "You don't have to do that."

"I know I don't have to," Kaiser replied, his voice carrying its usual arrogance. "I simply... might. If I felt like it." He paused, then added with a smirk, "But don't expect any favors from me, Calculator."

(Name) didn't respond to the nickname, which by now she'd grown accustomed to. Instead, she turned back to the screen, effectively dismissing him. Kaiser should have left then – should have returned to his room and tried to find sleep. Instead, he found himself settling onto the floor beside her, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of her shampoo, something clean and understated.

"What are you watching?" he asked, even though he'd already recognized the film. How could he not? He'd seen fragments of it years ago, hidden away in his father's study when the man was too drunk to notice or care.

"I don't know the title," (Name) admitted. "It was in the German film section. Something about action and revenge, I think."

Kaiser nodded slowly, his eyes fixed on the screen where a car chase was unfolding through the streets of Berlin. The cinematography was dated but competent, the kind of straightforward action film his father had specialized in during his brief career in the industry. Before the drinking became too much. Before everything fell apart.

"'Schatten der Vergangenheit,'" Kaiser said quietly. "Shadows of the Past. It's... an old film."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the sounds of gunfire and screeching tires filling the space between them. Kaiser found himself stealing glances at (Name), noting how her expression remained focused even when she clearly couldn't understand the dialogue. She was trying to follow the story through context and action alone – typical of her analytical approach to everything.

"The protagonist is seeking revenge against the man who killed his family," Kaiser found himself explaining, his voice softer than usual. "He's been hunting him for years, following every lead, every shadow of a clue."

(Name) nodded, not taking her eyes off the screen. "I gathered that much. The mathematical probability of him succeeding seems... low, given what I've observed so far."

Kaiser almost smiled at that. Trust (Name) to reduce a revenge thriller to statistics.

The scene changed, and suddenly the screen was filled with the face of the film's leading lady. She was breathtakingly beautiful, with golden blonde hair that caught the light like spun silk and eyes the color of a summer sky. Even through the grainy quality of the older film, her presence was magnetic, commanding attention in every frame she appeared in.

"She's stunning," (Name) said quietly, and for once her voice carried genuine admiration rather than clinical observation. "I've never seen someone so... luminous."

Kaiser's throat tightened. "Yes," he managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. "She is."

On screen, the actress was in the middle of an emotional scene, tears streaming down her perfect cheeks as she pleaded with the protagonist. Even without understanding the words, (Name) seemed captivated by the raw emotion being displayed. Kaiser, however, felt like someone had wrapped barbed wire around his chest and was slowly tightening it.

He knew every line of this scene by heart. Had watched it countless times as a child, hidden behind his father's chair as the man drank and stared at the screen with hollow eyes. This particular scene always made his father cry – great, heaving sobs that terrified young Kaiser more than any of his drunken rages ever had.

"She looks... free," (Name) observed, tilting her head slightly. "Like she belongs in that world, under those lights."

Kaiser closed his eyes briefly. Free. Yes, she had been free. Free to pursue her dreams, free to chase stardom across the world, free from the responsibilities of motherhood and family that had apparently weighed her down so much.

"Acting suited her," he said, surprised by how steady his voice sounded. "She was... she was in her element.”

"The chemistry between them is incredible," (Name) continued, still watching the screen with analytical eyes. "You can see why she'd be willing to wait for him, why she'd believe in their love despite everything."

Kaiser wanted to laugh bitterly. Chemistry. Love. Pretty words for a pretty lie.

Instead, he forced himself to relax, to push down the familiar ache that always accompanied thoughts of his mother. This was just a movie. Just flickering images on a screen. It had nothing to do with him, with the life he'd built for himself, with the empire he was constructing one goal at a time.

"She was quite famous, I believe," he said carefully, proud of how steady his voice sounded. "This was from her peak period, before she... moved on to other projects."

(Name) glanced at him curiously. "You know about German cinema?"

"I know about many things," Kaiser replied evasively. "It pays to be well-informed."

On screen, the couple was sharing what was clearly meant to be their final kiss. The camera lingered on their faces, capturing every nuance of emotion. His mother's eyes were wet with tears, but she was smiling—that radiant, luminous smile that had apparently captivated audiences across Europe.

Kaiser wondered if she'd ever smiled at him like that. If there had been a time, before memory began, when he'd been the recipient of such warmth and affection. The thought was both comforting and painful in its impossibility.

"She reminds me of someone," (Name) said suddenly, her head tilted as she studied the screen. "There's something about her expression... like she's seeing something the rest of us can't."

"Perhaps she is," Kaiser murmured. "Perhaps she's seeing her future."

The movie continued, but Kaiser found his attention drifting. The viewing room felt smaller somehow, more intimate with just the two of them sharing this quiet space. (Name) had relaxed beside him, her usual rigid posture softening as she became absorbed in the film. Occasionally, she would repeat a German phrase under her breath, testing the sounds and rhythms.

"Ich liebe dich," she whispered, echoing the male lead's declaration.

"Your pronunciation is terrible," Kaiser observed, but there was no malice in his voice.

"Then correct me," (Name) challenged, looking at him directly.

Something in her gaze made him pause. There was no judgment there, no pity or curiosity about his sudden quietness. Just... acceptance. As if she understood that sometimes people needed space for their thoughts, even in shared silence.

"Ich liebe dich," he repeated slowly, enunciating each syllable clearly. "The 'ch' is softer, more like a whisper of air than a hard sound."

(Name) tried again, and this time it was better. Not perfect, but better. They continued like this for a while, Kaiser correcting her pronunciation of various phrases from the movie. It was easier than thinking about blue eyes and blonde hair and choices made long before he was old enough to understand their consequences.

The film was reaching its climax now, with the typical dramatic showdown between hero and villain. But Kaiser found himself watching (Name) instead of the screen. She was completely engrossed, her lips parted slightly in concentration, those eyes reflecting the changing colors from the display.

"Why mathematics?" he asked suddenly, surprising himself with the question.

(Name) blinked, clearly caught off guard by the change in topic. "What do you mean?"

"You could have chosen any field, any specialty. Why mathematics? Why not... I don't know, literature? Psychology? Something that deals with people rather than numbers?"

She was quiet for a long moment, considering his question with the same serious attention she gave everything else. "Numbers don't lie," she said finally. "They don't change based on mood or circumstance. They're reliable. Predictable. If you understand the formula, you can always find the right answer."

"And people?"

"People are..." She paused, searching for the right words. "Complicated. They say one thing and mean another. They make choices that don't make logical sense. They leave when you need them most and stay when you want them gone."

There was something in her voice—not quite pain, but an awareness of it. As if she'd learned these truths through experience rather than observation.

"Numbers have never disappointed you," Kaiser said. It wasn't really a question.

"No," (Name) agreed softly. "They haven't."

They turned their attention back to the movie, but the moment had shifted something between them. The silence was no longer just comfortable—it was understanding. Two people who had found their own ways of dealing with an unpredictable world, sitting in the darkness and watching other people's stories play out.

On screen, the hero was victorious, naturally. He and the beautiful blonde woman were reunited, spinning in each other's arms as triumphant music swelled. The camera pulled back for the final shot, showing them silhouetted against a perfect sunset.

"Unrealistic," (Name) observed as the credits began to roll.

"Completely," Kaiser agreed. "Happy endings usually are."

"Do you believe in them? Happy endings?"

Kaiser considered the question seriously. Did he? His own life had been a series of battles, each victory hard-won and temporary. Success in football, recognition, respect—these things filled certain voids, but they didn't erase the fundamental loneliness that had shaped him from childhood.

"I believe in winning," he said finally. "Whether that constitutes happiness... I'm not sure the distinction matters."

(Name) nodded as if this made perfect sense to her. "Winning is quantifiable. Happiness is subjective."

"Exactly."

They sat in comfortable silence as the credits finished and the screen went dark. The room felt even more intimate now, lit only by the ambient glow from the facility's night lighting. Kaiser realized he should probably leave—it was late, and tomorrow would bring another day of intense training and competition.

But he didn't want to move. There was something peaceful about this moment, this shared quiet with someone who didn't expect anything from him except his presence. No performance, no charisma, no carefully constructed persona. Just... existence.

"Thank you," (Name) said suddenly.

"For what?"

"For not making fun of my German pronunciation. For sitting with me. For..." She gestured vaguely. "This."

Kaiser felt something warm unfurl in his chest, an unfamiliar sensation that he couldn't quite categorize. "Don't get used to it," he said, but the words lacked their usual edge.

"I wouldn't dream of it," (Name) replied, and he could hear the small smile in her voice.

They finally stood, stretching muscles that had grown stiff from sitting on the floor. Kaiser gathered himself, preparing to slip back into his usual role—the confident, untouchable prodigy who had no time for sentiment or weakness.

But as they walked toward the door together, he found himself thinking about blue eyes and radiant smiles, about choices and consequences, about the strange comfort of shared silence with someone who understood that sometimes the most honest conversations happened without words at all.

"Gute Nacht, Kaiser," (Name) then said softly as they reached the corridor where their paths would diverge. And Kaiser realized she'd spoken in German without using her translator.

"Gute Nacht, Calculator," he replied, his voice equally soft.

He watched her walk away, her small figure disappearing around the corner toward her own quarters. Only then did he allow himself to think about what he'd seen on that screen—his mother, young and beautiful and full of dreams that had taken her far away from the son she'd left behind.

She had looked happy. Genuinely, radiantly happy. And for the first time in years, Kaiser found that the thought didn't fill him with rage or bitterness. Instead, there was something almost like peace.

Perhaps that was enough. Perhaps understanding didn't require forgiveness, and acceptance didn't require approval. Perhaps sometimes it was enough to simply acknowledge that people made choices, and those choices led them where they needed to go, even if it wasn't where others needed them to be.

Kaiser made his way back to his room, the corridors no longer feeling quite as empty as they had before. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new opportunities to prove himself, new battles to win. But tonight had given him something unexpected—a moment of connection, a glimpse of understanding, and the strange realization that sometimes the most profound conversations happened in silence, sitting on the floor of a viewing room, watching other people's stories and recognizing pieces of your own.

As he finally settled into bed, Kaiser found himself looking forward to tomorrow's training with renewed energy. Not because anything had fundamentally changed, but because sometimes all it took was a single moment of genuine human connection to remind you that even in a world built on competition and individual achievement, you didn't have to face everything alone.

And if (Name)'s German pronunciation improved by tomorrow, well... that would just be a happy coincidence.

Chapter Text

(Name) (L/n) checked her outfit one last time in the mirror, a fitted black blazer over a crimson blouse paired with a sleek pencil skirt. Professional. Calculating. Perfect.

(L/n)-san, we're ready for the setup review," one of the staff members called from outside her dressing room.

(Name) nodded to herself, taking a deep breath. After the disaster of the last offer event—her brawl with Tsukiko still occasionally trending on Blue Lock TV highlights—she had promised Noel Noa to keep her temper in check this time. No matter what that sparkling seal of Paris X Generation might say or do.

When she stepped out, Noa was waiting, dressed in an immaculate charcoal suit that somehow made him look even more imposing than his usual training gear.

"Remember," he said, his voice level as always, "this is about showcasing the strength of Bastard Münchën. Personal feelings remain secondary."

"Understood, Coach," (Name) replied, matching his stoicism.

As they walked toward the main venue, she mentally reviewed the statistics she had prepared. Every player's performance metrics, growth trajectories, and potential marketability had been calculated to three decimal places. No other manager would have data this precise. (Name) allowed herself a small smirk of satisfaction.

The layout for this offer event was different. The formal presentations had already been completed earlier that day—thankfully without physical altercations this time—and now they were moving to what the organizers were calling the "personality segment." A talk show format designed to humanize the managers for the viewers and potential sponsors.

(Name) hated it already.

"There you are!" Natsumi's soft voice called out as she hurried over, her cream-colored hair bouncing in its neat ponytail. "I've been so nervous about this part. It's not scripted at all, from what I heard."

"Unscripted conversation is inefficient," (Name) stated flatly, though she gave Natsumi a slight nod of acknowledgment. Despite her generally antisocial nature, she had developed something resembling friendship with the Manshine City manager.

"I know, right?" Natsumi wrung her hands. "Who knows what they'll ask us? I've been overthinking it all morning."

Before (Name) could respond, a staff member with a headset approached them. "Five minutes to places, managers!"

Natsumi's face paled slightly. "Oh no, here we go..."

"It's simple mathematics," (Name) assured her. "The program needs ratings. Ratings require entertainment. Entertainment requires mild discomfort from participants. Expect questions designed to unsettle us by approximately 67.8%."

"That doesn't help!" Natsumi whispered frantically as they were ushered toward the stage.

The set reminded (Name) of those late-night talk shows—a large semicircular sofa where all five managers would sit, facing a desk where a charismatic host was already warming up the audience. On the opposite side, a smaller sofa had been set up for the coaches.

Across the stage, (Name) spotted Akane's fluffy red pixie cut, then the unmistakable gleam of Tsukiko's long silver hair. Haru was practically bouncing beside them, her light blue pigtails bobbing with each excited movement.

The lights dimmed, and the audience that filled the auditorium fell silent. Blue Lock's logo flashed across multiple screens, followed by the announcement: "Welcome to Blue Lock Manager Spotlight—where we discover the minds behind the world's most promising strikers!"

The host, a man with perfectly styled hair and an unnaturally white smile, bounded onto the stage with microphone in hand. "Good evening, football fans around the world! Tonight, we have a special treat—the five young women responsible for shaping the future of football's greatest talents!"

As each manager was introduced, they walked onto the stage one by one. (Name) kept her face carefully neutral as she took her seat, positioning herself as far from Tsukiko as the sofa arrangement would allow. From across the stage, she caught Noel Noa's subtle nod of approval.

"Now," the host continued once they were all seated, "you've all seen their professional presentations earlier today. Impressive displays of talent analysis, strategic planning, and player development. But tonight, we want to know who these remarkable young women really are!"

The audience cheered, and (Name) suppressed a sigh. This was exactly the kind of emotional spectacle she despised. Numbers were clean, precise, dependable. People and their reactions were messy, unpredictable variables.

"Let's begin with something that's been the talk of Blue Lock for weeks now," the host said with a dramatic pause. "Akane Makino of Barcha..."

A photograph appeared on the massive screen behind them—Akane holding a toddler with striking red hair and heterochromatic eyes: one golden like Akane's, one distinctly purple-black.

(Name) felt Natsumi stiffen beside her. They both knew the full story now, but it had never been publicly addressed like this.

"The football world was surprised to learn you're balancing being a top-tier manager with motherhood," the host continued. "How has this journey been for you and little Ryo?"

The audience went silent, hanging on every word. (Name) had to admire Akane's composure as she smiled warmly before responding.

"It's been a beautiful challenge," Akane said, her voice steady. "When I first came to Blue Lock, I thought I'd have to hide that part of my life. But my players, my fellow managers—" she glanced at (Name) with genuine gratitude, "—they've shown me that I don't have to choose between being a mother and pursuing my passion for football."

The audience responded with supportive applause. (Name) noticed several women in the crowd dabbing at their eyes.

"And how is little Ryo adapting to life around so many football stars?" the host pressed.

Akane laughed genuinely. "He's already developing quite the kick. I think he might give our strikers competition in about sixteen years!"

More appreciative laughter from the crowd. (Name) could appreciate the tactical way Akane handled the question—honest but controlled, revealing just enough to satisfy curiosity without exposing her vulnerabilities. The slight tension around Akane's eyes told (Name) that she was relieved to have addressed the elephant in the room early.

"Well, we wish you and Ryo all the best," the host said before turning his attention elsewhere. "Now, let's move on to our youngest manager..."

The screen changed to display a montage of clips that made (Name) bite back a smirk. Haru Kamishiro's face appeared in numerous footage snippets, each showing her wide-eyed admiration—no, downright flirtation—with players from across the Neo Egoist League.

There was Haru giving Rin Itoshi flowers she had somehow procured, the stoic striker looking utterly baffled. Another clip showed her attempting to teach Bachira a dance routine, both of them laughing as they failed to synchronize. Then came Haru dramatically clutching her heart as Otoya removed his jersey after a match, followed by her offering homemade chocolates to Hiori, who accepted them with an awkward smile. The final clip showed her earnestly complimenting Reo on his eyes, the purple-haired player looking both flattered and deeply uncomfortable.

The audience was echoing with laughter now. Beside (Name), Haru had shrunk into herself, her usual boundless energy contained in embarrassment as she hid her burning face behind (Name)'s shoulder.

"Kamishiro-san," the host said through his own chuckles, "you seem to have developed quite the collection of favorites across Blue Lock. Would you care to explain why your affections seem so... widely distributed?"

"I—I—" Haru stammered, peering out from behind (Name) with wide, mortified eyes. "They're all just so amazing in different ways! Bachira-kun has such playful energy, and Rin-kun is so intense and cool, and Otoya-kun is so charming, and—" She stopped herself, seeming to realize she was only digging the hole deeper.

The audience's laughter grew louder. (Name), feeling an unexpected surge of protectiveness for the youngest manager, shifted slightly to better shield her from the crowd's view.

"Perhaps," (Name) interjected, her voice cool and clinical, "Kamishiro-san simply recognizes excellence in all its forms. A comprehensive appreciation of talent is a valuable quality in a manager."

Haru peeked up at (Name) with grateful eyes. "Y-yes! That's it! I'm just... scouting! For the Ubers! Professional scouting!"

The host, sensing the opportunity for more entertainment, turned back to the screen. "Well, your 'professional scouting' seems to have made you quite popular with the viewers. In fact, #HarusHarem has been trending on social media after every match."

"Nooooo," Haru whispered in horror as the hashtag appeared on screen along with fan art depicting her surrounded by various Blue Lock players.

"And speaking of popularity," the host smoothly transitioned, "let's talk about another manager who's been making waves online..."

(Name) tensed instinctively, expecting to be next in the spotlight. Instead, the screen filled with footage of Tsukiko Yugi.

The gray-haired manager appeared to be alone in what looked like her private room at the PXG facility. She stood before a mirror, her expression haughty as she seemed to be practicing... impersonations?

"Look at me," screen-Tsukiko said in a deliberately flat voice, straightening her posture to mimic (Name)'s rigid stance. "I am (Name) (L/n). Numbers are my only friends. Kaiser-kun, Isagi-kun, let me calculate your probability of scoring if you tie your left shoelace 0.3 centimeters tighter."

The audience erupted in laughter as several more clips played, each showing Tsukiko's increasingly dramatic impressions of (Name)—from analyzing the mathematical perfection of her breakfast to calculating the precise angle at which to glare at Tsukiko herself.

(Name)'s face remained impassive, though a small muscle in her jaw twitched. Beside her, Natsumi looked horrified, while Haru seemed relieved that attention had shifted elsewhere. Akane merely shook her head with a knowing smile.

"Yugi-san," the host turned to Tsukiko, whose confident smile had faltered slightly upon realizing this particular footage was being aired, "it seems you spend quite a lot of time thinking about (L/n)-san. Some might even call it an obsession?"

Tsukiko flipped her long gray hair, quickly recovering her composure. "I simply find her approach to management... puzzling. All numbers and no heart! How can anyone connect with players that way?"

(Name) crossed her arms, determined not to rise to the bait this time. "If you're struggling with the mathematical aspects of performance analysis, I'd be happy to tutor you," she said evenly. "Efficiency in management requires
numerical literacy."

The audience "oohed" at the subtle dig. Tsukiko's blue eyes narrowed dangerously.

"Some things can't be reduced to numbers, (L/n)," she shot back. "Like charisma. Presence. The ability to inspire rather than calculate."

"Both approaches have their merits," Akane cut in diplomatically. "That's what makes our competition so compelling, right?"

The host, clearly sensing the potentially explosive tension, quickly redirected. "Speaking of compelling dynamics, let's move on to our next manager..."

(Name) settled back, satisfied that she'd maintained her composure. The fleeting look of disappointment on the host's face confirmed he'd been hoping for another physical altercation. Not today.

The screen changed again, and beside her, Natsumi made a sound like a strangled gasp.

What appeared was a meticulously edited compilation of footage—all featuring Natsumi Hatoshima and Karasu of Paris X Generation. The first clips seemed innocent enough: Natsumi watching Karasu during a practice session, Karasu nodding to her across the cafeteria. But then came more suggestive moments: the two talking in a secluded corner, Natsumi blushing as Karasu leaned close to whisper something, their hands briefly touching when passing documents.

The final clip, however, caused the entire audience to gasp collectively. It showed Karasu pulling Natsumi behind a wall in a dimly lit corridor. Though the wall partially obscured them, there was no mistaking what was happening. Moments later, Natsumi emerged, hair slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed, adjusting her collar with trembling fingers. Karasu followed seconds after, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips as he ran a hand through his own tousled hair.

"The Romeo and Juliet of Blue Lock!" the host declared dramatically. "Crossing team lines for forbidden romance!"

Natsumi had turned a shade of red so intense that (Name) was momentarily concerned for her blood pressure. Across the stage, Chris Prince had shot to his feet, his face contorted in what could only be described as paternal outrage.

"HOW DARE THAT CROW TOUCH MY PRECIOUS MANAGER!" he bellowed, while Loki physically restrained him from charging across the stage. "I'LL CLIP HIS WINGS! I'LL—"

"Chris, please," Natsumi whispered, mortified as the audience's attention split between her blushing face and her coach's meltdown.

"Hatoshima-san," the host said, clearly delighted by the chaos, "care to comment on your relationship with Karasu-kun? The viewers are dying to know—is it true love or just a strategic alliance between teams?"

Natsumi opened and closed her mouth several times before any sound emerged. "I... we... that is..."

"When did this happen?" (Name) whispered to her, genuinely curious. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Natsumi leaned over slightly. "After the whole Ryo situation... it just never seemed like the right time to bring it up," she whispered back. "And then it kept... happening."

"Happening?" (Name) raised an eyebrow.

Natsumi's blush deepened impossibly further, but before she could respond, the host pushed on.

"Well, the fans have spoken! #KarasuhatoEndgame has been trending worldwide since these clips first leaked!"

"Karasuhato?" Natsumi squeaked.

"Your ship name," Haru explained helpfully, seemingly recovered from her own embarrassment. "It's cute! Much better than mine would be with any of those players. What would you even call me and Rin? Harin? That sounds like a medicine."

While Natsumi continued to sink further into the sofa cushions, Chris Prince was now sobbing dramatically into Snuffy's sympathetic shoulder about "losing his baby girl to that scavenger bird."

(Name) felt a small surge of gratitude that her own coach maintained his dignified composure at all times. Across the stage, Noel Noa watched the spectacle with the same impassive expression he wore during matches.

"And now," the host announced with a dramatic flair that made (Name) instantly wary, "let's talk about our final manager of the evening—the mathematical genius behind Bastard Münchën's rise, (Name) (L/n)!"

The screen changed once more, and (Name) steeled herself. She had nothing to hide—no romantic entanglements, no embarrassing outbursts (except the fight with Tsukiko, but that had already been dissected endlessly in the media). What could they possibly—

"Viewers have been speculating about these mysterious cans that seem to follow you everywhere," the host said, as footage appeared of (Name) in various locations around the Bastard Münchën facility, always with a metal can covered in colorful stickers clutched in her hand.

(Name)'s pulse quickened imperceptibly. She had been careful—or so she thought. The stickers from Haru's extensive collection had effectively covered the beer logos. Still, the frequency of the cans in the footage was... concerning.

"Care to explain your attachment to this particular beverage?" the host asked innocently. "Our analysts have noticed you consume approximately 2.7 per day."
Of course they had counted. (Name) almost appreciated the statistical approach.

"It's a specialty soda," she replied smoothly, her face betraying nothing. "Not widely available. The stickers prevent others from identifying and depleting the stock."

"Hmm, quite the strategic thinker, even with refreshments," the host nodded, though his expression suggested he wasn't entirely convinced. Across the stage, Noa's eyes narrowed slightly—the equivalent of another man raising skeptical eyebrows.

Before the host could press further, the screen changed again. This time, it displayed what appeared to be a complex diagram. Three points arranged in a triangle, each labeled with simplified Blue Lock-style portraits: (Name) at the top, Isagi Yoichi and Michael Kaiser at the bottom corners.

Boldly emblazoned across the center were the words: "BASTARD MÜNCHËN LOVE TRIANGLE: WHO WILL WIN THE CALCULATOR'S HEART?"

(Name) blinked. Once. Twice. Her brain, typically lightning-fast at processing information, seemed to encounter an error.

"What... is this?" she asked flatly, genuinely confused.

Haru giggled beside her. "It's a ship chart, (Name)-san! Blue Lock fans think you're in a love triangle with Isagi-kun and Kaiser-kun!"

"A what?" (Name) stared at the diagram.

"A ship chart," Tsukiko explained with evident enjoyment of (Name)'s confusion. "It means fans think there's romantic tension between you three. And they can't decide who you should end up with."

"End up with?" (Name) repeated, the concept so foreign to her analytical mind that she was having trouble processing it. "That's... illogical. There is no romantic component to my professional relationships."

"Oh, (L/n)-san," the host laughed. "That's exactly what makes it so intriguing to the viewers! The cold, calculating manager melting for one of her star strikers—or perhaps both?"

The audience cheered enthusiastically, clearly invested in this fictional scenario.

"The fan community is deeply divided," the host continued, pulling up social media statistics. "Team Isa(L/n) or Team Kai(L/n)—or as some bold fans suggest, why choose at all?" He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.

"Isa(L/n)?" (Name) questioned, still trying to catch up.

"That's the standard ship name," Natsumi explained gently. "Isagi and (L/n) combined."

"But I think it should be (L/n)sagi," she continued thoughtfully. "That way neither name gets cut off too much, and they combine more naturally."

"No, no," Haru jumped in excitedly. "Yoi(Name) sounds way cuter!"

(Name) stared at them blankly. "And... Kaiser?"

"Kai(L/n)," Tsukiko supplied with a smirk. "Though some fans call it (Name)ael, since Kaiser's first name is Michael."

"But we don't even get along," (Name) protested, thinking of her frequent clashes with the arrogant striker.

Tsukiko actually laughed out loud at this. "Oh, (L/n)-san, you really don't understand fandom, do you? Tension is what fans eat up! The more you argue, the more they're convinced it's unresolved sexual tension!"

(Name) felt her ears growing warm—the closest she ever came to showing embarrassment. This was absurd. Numbers, statistics, probabilities—these were her domain. Not... whatever this was.

"The real question," the host interrupted, clearly enjoying (Name)'s discomfort, "is who has more chemistry with our mathematical manager? The fan polls are nearly tied! Though I must say, there's a growing contingent who simply ship all three together—the Bastard Münchën throuple, if you will!"

(Name) heard Noel Noa clear his throat from across the stage—the closest he'd come to intervening all evening. She took it as a cue to respond professionally.

"I'm not a particularly romantic person," she said evenly, composing herself. "When I joined Blue Lock, my objective was clear: to maximize the potential of Bastard Münchën's players through statistical analysis and strategic development. Love was not a variable I considered."

The audience seemed disappointed by her clinical response, but she continued.

"However, if such... narratives... increase audience engagement with our team and players, then I cannot object from a purely marketing perspective. Fan investment translates to commercial success, which benefits all involved."

"Always the pragmatist!" the host laughed. "Well, viewers, you heard it here—(L/n)-san won't deny the possibilities!"

"That's not what I—" (Name) began, but was cut off as the segment concluded.

"And that's our Blue Lock Manager Spotlight for tonight! A big thank you to these five remarkable young women who are revolutionizing football management!"

As the audience applauded and the cameras finally stopped rolling, (Name) exhaled slowly. Beside her, Natsumi still hadn't recovered her normal complexion, and Haru was animatedly discussing potential ship names for herself and various players, having apparently gotten over her initial embarrassment in favor of enthusiasm.

The managers were escorted back to their respective areas to prepare for departure. As (Name) gathered her tablet and notes, she found both Isagi and Kaiser waiting by the exit, their expressions a mixture of embarrassment and irritation.

"Why didn't you just deny it?" Isagi demanded, his cheeks slightly flushed. "Now everyone's going to think—"

"That there's something going on between the three of us," Kaiser finished, his typical arrogance tinged with unusual discomfort. "You should have shut it down completely."

(Name) looked between them, her eyes unreadable. "Shutting it down would only fuel speculation. Basic psychology. Denial creates intrigue."

"So what, we just let people think we're in some weird... triangle?" Isagi asked incredulously.

"From a purely marketing perspective," (Name) replied, echoing her words from the interview, "it creates investment in Bastard Münchën. More viewers. More sponsors. Higher valuation for you both when offers come in."

Kaiser scoffed. "Always the calculator."

"It's my job to increase your value," (Name) stated simply. "If this ridiculous narrative accomplishes that, then it's a variable I can work with."

As they argued further, Noel Noa approached, effectively ending the conversation with his presence alone. "Good handling of the publicity, (L/n)," he said with a slight nod. "Numbers are up already."

When the coach and players had departed, (Name) finally allowed herself a moment alone. She leaned against the wall of her dressing room and reflected on the absurdity of the evening.

"Throuple," she muttered to herself, shaking her head. "Completely illogical."

Still, as she finished changing and prepared to return to the Bastard Münchën facility, (Name) couldn't help but wonder about the strange new variables that had been introduced to her carefully calculated life. Love triangles. Shipping. Fandom.

Perhaps there were some equations that even she wasn't equipped to solve.

Chapter Text

(Name) sat with perfect posture on the bench, her tablet balanced on her knee as she tracked each player's movements. The Bastard Münchën versus Ubers match was halfway through the first period, and the scoreboard reflected a tense 0-0. Her eyes darted between the field and her statistics, the numbers rapidly calculating in her mind as she watched.

Unlike the previous matches, the team benches were positioned much closer together today, which meant—

"(Name)-chaaan!" Haru's voice pierced through her concentration. "Did you see that move Lorenzo just did? Wasn't it amazing?"

(Name)'s eye twitched slightly, but she didn't look up from her tablet. "I'm tracking all players' movements, Kamishiro-san."

"But you have to admit Lorenzo-kun is playing super well today!" Haru bounced in her seat, her light blue pigtails bobbing with the movement. "Though your Kaiser is doing pretty good too!"

"He's not my Kaiser," (Name) muttered, her eyes narrowing at the field.

"Aww, don't be so cold!" Haru continued, undeterred by (Name)'s obvious disinterest in conversation. "I know we're rivals today, but we're still friends, right? Right?!"

Friends. The word felt foreign on (Name)'s tongue. She supposed that after the whole incident with Akane and little Ryo, and now knowing about Natsumi's secret romantic escapades with Karasu, the five managers had been bonded by their shared secrets. But right now, with Haru's incessant chatter threatening to disrupt her pre-match focus, friendship was the last thing on her mind.

"Kamishiro," (Name) said without looking up from her tablet, her voice flat and emotionless. "Perhaps you should focus on your own team's impending defeat rather than attempting small talk."

Haru's laughter rang out like wind chimes, seemingly unbothered by the harsh words. "You're so funny, (Name)-chan! That's exactly what I'd expect you to say!"

Irritating little... (Name)'s grip tightened on her tablet. How was someone supposed to maintain their analytical focus with this walking embodiment of sugar and rainbows chattering away like a caffeinated squirrel?

The ball was then intercepted by Isagi, and (Name) felt her body relax slightly as her attention shifted to the field. This was her domain - watching, calculating, predicting. The players moved across the pitch like pieces on a chess board, and she could see every possible move three steps ahead.

Bastard Münchën took control early, just as her projections had indicated. Kaiser moved with his usual arrogant precision, commanding the field like the self-proclaimed emperor he believed himself to be. But it was Isagi who caught her attention first - his movements were sharper today, more decisive. The boy was evolving, adapting, becoming something closer to the striker she'd calculated he had the potential to be.

"Oh wow! Look at Barou-kun go!" Haru's voice cut through her concentration again. "Isn't he amazing? The way he just... swoosh!" She made exaggerated gestures with her arms, nearly knocking over her water bottle in the process.

(Name)'s eye twitched again. "Could you perhaps contain your enthusiasm to a more reasonable volume?"

"But it's so exciting!" Haru beamed, completely missing the irritation in (Name)'s tone. "Don't you just love watching them play? It's like... like watching art in motion!"

Art in motion. (Name) almost snorted. It was mathematics in motion - angles, velocities, probabilities all converging into predictable outcomes. There was nothing artistic about it, just pure, beautiful logic.

On the field, Isagi received a pass and immediately began his signature analytical process. (Name) could practically see the gears turning in his head as he assessed his options. Three potential passing routes, optimal shooting angle at 23 degrees from current position, Aiku's defensive positioning leaves a 34% opening on the left side...

Isagi struck the ball with precision, sending it sailing past Aiku and into the back of the net.

"GOOOAL!" Haru screamed, jumping to her feet despite the fact that her own team had just been scored against. "That was incredible! Did you see that, (Name)-chan? The way he just—"

"I saw it," (Name) replied curtly, making notes on her tablet. Isagi's shooting accuracy has improved by 12% since the last match. His spatial awareness calculations are becoming more refined. She allowed herself a small smile of satisfaction. The boy was developing exactly as her projections had indicated.

The match continued, and (Name) found herself genuinely impressed by the level of play. Kaiser scored next, a goal that showcased both his technical skill and his massive ego as he celebrated with his usual theatrical flair. Even Ness seemed more focused today, though there was something concerning about the way he was playing - less like a teammate and more like a devoted servant.

"Ness-kun really loves Kaiser-kun, doesn't he?" Haru observed, as if reading (Name)'s thoughts. "It's kind of sweet in a weird way!"

(Name) glanced at the younger girl, surprised by the astute observation. Perhaps there was more to Haru than just boundless energy and empty chatter. "His devotion is... strategically problematic," she admitted. "It creates predictable patterns that opponents can exploit."

"But love makes people do crazy things!" Haru giggled. "Just look at all those fan theories about you and Isagi-kun and Kaiser-kun!"

The tablet nearly slipped from (Name)'s hands. "That is not... that has nothing to do with..." She felt heat rising in her cheeks, a foreign sensation that she absolutely despised. "Those fans are delusional."

"Are they though?" Haru tilted her head, her bright green eyes sparkling with mischief. "I mean, you do spend an awful lot of time analyzing those two specifically..."

"Because they are the most statistically significant players on my team," (Name) snapped, her voice rising slightly above its usual monotone. "My attention is purely professional."

"If you say so!" Haru sang, clearly not believing a word of it.

The match resumed, and (Name) forced herself to focus on the field rather than Haru's irritating observations. Barou managed to score for Ubers, his raw power and determination breaking through Bastard Münchën's defense.

Then Lorenzo added another, his Italian flair and unexpected positioning catching everyone off guard.

Concerning, (Name) noted, adjusting her calculations. The match was closer than she'd anticipated, though still within acceptable parameters for victory.

It was Isagi who sealed the deal in the final minutes, scoring his second goal of the match with a shot that left even (Name) slightly impressed by its audacity. The boy had seen an opportunity that her calculations had only given a 23% success rate, and he'd taken it anyway.

Interesting. His instinctual play is beginning to override pure statistical analysis. This could be... beneficial.

The final whistle blew: Bastard Münchën 3, Ubers 2.

"What a match!" Haru exclaimed, leaping to her feet and applauding enthusiastically. "Both teams played amazingly! Congratulations, (Name)-chan!"

To (Name)'s surprise, the younger girl bounded over to her section, ignoring the various staff members trying to direct the managers back to their respective areas.

"That was incredible!" Haru gushed, practically vibrating with excitement. "Your team is so strong! And Isagi-kun's goals were just... chef's kiss!"

"Thank you," (Name) replied stiffly, unsure how to respond to such genuine enthusiasm from a rival manager. Most people in competitive situations would be bitter about losing, but Haru seemed genuinely happy about the quality of play.

Haru giggled. Then her expression changed, becoming surprisingly serious. "Hey, (Name)-chan, can I talk to you for a second? Like, privately?"

That was unexpected. (Name) raised an eyebrow but nodded, allowing Haru to pull her aside.

Once they were out of earshot of the remaining staff and players, Haru's face lit up with excitement.

"So, my birthday is coming up!" she announced, practically vibrating with excitement. "I'm turning 16!"

"Congratulations," (Name) said flatly.

"And I want to do something special with all the managers!" Haru continued, undeterred by (Name)'s lack of enthusiasm. "Something big and fun and exciting!"

(Name) had a feeling she wasn't going to like where this was going. "And what exactly did you have in mind?"

Haru leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "I want us all to sneak out of Blue Lock and go to this amazing party happening downtown! It's for upcoming celebrities—models, idols, athletes—and I got us on the list!"

(Name) blinked. "That is possibly the stupidest idea I've ever heard."

"But (Name)-chaaan," Haru whined, "it'll be so fun! And we won't get caught, I promise! Plus—" Her eyes gleamed mischievously. "—I heard they have an open bar with those fancy imported beers you like."

(Name)'s eye twitched. "How did you—"

"Please? Please, please, please?" Haru clasped her hands together, giving (Name) her best puppy-dog eyes. "I already asked the others, and they said they'd go if you did!"

(Name) was about to refuse outright, but then she paused. The stress of the match, of constantly keeping these egotistical players in line, of being stuck in this facility day after day... Maybe a night out wasn't the worst idea. And if there was going to be good beer...

"Fine," she said finally. "But if we get caught, I'm throwing you under the bus."

Haru squealed with delight and threw her arms around (Name), who stiffened at the contact. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! It's going to be the best birthday ever!"

(Name) extracted herself from Haru's embrace. "Just tell me when and where."

"Tonight at 11! Meet at the back entrance!"

"Tonight?" (Name) stared at her. "Are you serious?"

"I don't want to wait for our day off," Haru explained. "That's not for another week, and my actual birthday is today!"

(Name) pinched the bridge of her nose. "Of course it is."

"So you'll be there?"

Against her better judgment, (Name) nodded. "I'll be there."

At precisely 11:00 PM, (Name) stood at the back entrance of the Blue Lock facility, dressed in a crimson cocktail dress that Haru had somehow procured for her. She felt ridiculous in the form-fitting garment, which was far more revealing than anything she would normally wear.

"(Name)-chan! You look amazing!"

She turned to see all four other managers approaching, each looking drastically different from their usual appearances. Akane had done their makeup, transforming them from football managers to glamorous partygoers.

Akane herself was wearing a skimpy golden dress that complemented her red pixie cut perfectly. Natsumi looked tempting in a soft pink number that made her appear even more like a dove, but also telling of promiscuity. Tsukiko was predictably dramatic in a deep blue mini skirt that shimmered like the ocean. And Haru—the birthday girl—was practically bouncing in a orange dress adorned with so many sequins that she sparkled with every movement.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," (Name) muttered.

"Oh, loosen up, Calculator," Tsukiko said with a smirk, using the nickname the Blue Lock commentators had given her. "Even machines need maintenance sometimes."

(Name) chose to ignore her, focusing instead on Natsumi. "You're usually the voice of reason. Why did you agree to this?"

Natsumi gave a sheepish smile. "Sometimes it's good to do something spontaneous. And Haru was very persuasive."

"She threatened to tell Chris Prince about Karasu, didn't she?" (Name) guessed.

"Maybe..."

"The Uber is here!" Haru announced, pointing to the approaching headlights. "Operation Birthday Bash is officially underway!"

The ride to the venue was filled with Haru's excited chatter and Tsukiko's theatrical stories about past celebrity encounters. (Name) tuned them out, focusing instead on the unusual sensation of wearing makeup and fancy clothes.

She caught her reflection in the car window and barely recognized herself. Akane had somehow made her eyes look bigger, her lips fuller, and had even managed to create the illusion of cheekbones that (Name) was pretty sure she didn't actually have.

When they arrived at the club, a line of hopeful attendees stretched around the block. Haru led them confidently to the front, where a burly bouncer checked a list on his tablet.

"Names?" he asked gruffly.

"Haru Kamishiro plus four," Haru replied with practiced confidence. "We're from Blue Lock."

The bouncer scrolled through his list, then nodded. "Go ahead."

As they entered the club, (Name) was immediately assaulted by flashing lights and pulsing music. The space was packed with beautiful people, all dancing, drinking, and posing for photos. She recognized several famous faces from sports magazines and television shows.

"This is amazing!" Haru shouted over the music, her eyes wide with excitement. "Come on, let's get drinks!"

They followed her to the bar, where (Name) was pleasantly surprised to find an impressive selection of imported beers. She chose a strong German brew, while the others opted for colorful cocktails.

"To Haru!" Akane toasted, raising her glass. "Happy 16th birthday!"

"To Haru!" they echoed, clinking their glasses together.

(Name) took a long swig of her beer, feeling the familiar warmth spread through her chest. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

The next few hours passed in a blur of music, dancing, and more drinks than (Name) cared to count for once. Akane was in her element on the dance floor, moving with the natural grace of someone who had taken a lesson or two of tango from Lavihno. Haru bounced from celebrity to celebrity, collecting selfies and birthday wishes. Tsukiko had somehow found herself in a circle of up-and-coming idols, clearly reveling in being among "her people."

(Name) and Natsumi eventually found themselves separated from the group, standing near a quieter corner of the club where they could actually hear each other speak.

"Having fun?" Natsumi asked, a slight flush to her cheeks from the alcohol.

(Name) considered the question seriously. "More than I expected," she admitted.

"You should let loose more often," Natsumi said with a gentle smile. "You work so hard all the time."

Before (Name) could respond, they were approached by a young woman holding a microphone and accompanied by a friend with a small camera.

"Excuse me," the woman said, her eyes lighting up with recognition. "You're the managers from Blue Lock, right? Would you mind answering a few questions for my blog?"

(Name) was about to refuse, but something about the woman's earnest expression stopped her. "What kind of blog?"

"I cover up-and-coming talents in sports and entertainment," she explained. "I'm trying to build a reputation for serious sports journalism, but it's hard to be taken seriously at these events." She gestured around at the party atmosphere.

(Name) studied her for a moment. This wasn't some gossip hunter looking for drunken quotes to exploit—this was someone trying to prove herself in a field dominated by others. Someone like her.

"What would you like to know?" (Name) asked.

The woman's face lit up. "Really? That's great! I'm Rei, by the way."

"(Name) (L/n)," she replied, then gestured to Natsumi. "And this is Natsumi Hatoshima."

"Nice to meet you both," Rei said, positioning her microphone. "So, first question: As young women in the predominantly male world of professional football, what challenges have you faced, and how have you overcome them?"

It was a real question—thoughtful, professional, and relevant. For the next twenty minutes, (Name) and Natsumi engaged in a surprisingly deep conversation with Rei about their experiences, their aspirations, and the future of women in sports management.

"That's perfect," Rei said finally, lowering her microphone. "Thank you so much for your time. You've given me some really great material."

"You asked good questions," (Name) replied. "Most people just want to know if I'm dating any of the players."

Rei rolled her eyes in understanding. "I know exactly what you mean. People assume because I'm young and female, I must only be interested in the gossip side of sports."

"Keep doing what you're doing," (Name) told her. "The numbers are on your side—there's a growing demand for serious sports content created by women."

"Thank you," Rei said, looking genuinely touched. "That means a lot coming from you."

They exchanged contact information before parting ways, with Rei promising to send them a link to the interview once it was published.

"That was nice of you," Natsumi remarked as they made their way back into the crowd to find the others.

(Name) shrugged. "She had potential."

They found Haru and Akane near the DJ booth, but Tsukiko was nowhere to be seen.

"Where's Yugi?" (Name) asked.

Akane pointed toward a secluded corner of the club. "Last I saw, she was talking to that idol from Starlight Express."

(Name) followed her gaze and froze. Tsukiko wasn't just talking to the idol—she was full-on making out with her, and from the looks of it, the idol was enthusiastically reciprocating.

"Is that—" Natsumi began, her eyes widening.

"On camera," (Name) confirmed, spotting several phones pointed in their direction. "We need to get her out of here before this ends up all over social media."

The four of them rushed over to the corner, with (Name) and Akane physically pulling Tsukiko away from the surprised idol.

"Hey! What gives?" Tsukiko slurred, clearly more drunk than any of them had realized.

"Sorry," Akane apologized to the idol, who looked both dazed and disappointed. "Our friend has had a bit too much to drink."

They dragged Tsukiko away, ignoring her protests.

"You can thank us later," (Name) told her sternly. "That was about to become a PR disaster."

"I was just having fun," Tsukiko pouted. "It's a party!"

"It's my party!" Haru interjected. "And speaking of which, it's almost midnight, which means it's officially my birthday!"

Somehow, despite the chaos, Haru managed to convince the DJ to play "Happy Birthday." The entire club joined in singing to her, creating a moment of genuine celebration amidst the mayhem.

By 1:00 AM, even Haru had to admit that it was time to go. They stumbled out of the club, all five of them varying degrees of intoxicated.

"We should get a hotel," (Name) suggested, the most sober of the group despite having consumed the most alcohol. "We're in no state to sneak back into Blue Lock right now."

The others agreed, and they managed to find a nearby hotel with a vacant room. It was a tight fit for all five of them, but none of them were in any position to be picky.

"Best birthday ever," Haru mumbled as they all collapsed onto the king-sized bed, not even bothering to remove their makeup or change out of their party clothes.

(Name) set an alarm for 4:00 AM, knowing they needed to get back to Blue Lock before anyone noticed their absence. Then she too succumbed to exhaustion, falling asleep with Natsumi's head on one shoulder and Haru's on the other.

The alarm blared much too soon, jolting all five girls awake. They groaned collectively, struggling with headaches and the disorientation of waking up in an unfamiliar place.

"We need to move," (Name) said, forcing herself to sit up despite her pounding head. "If we leave now, we can be back at Blue Lock by 5:00 AM."

They did their best to make themselves presentable, but there was only so much they could do. They still wore last night's party dresses, now wrinkled from being slept in, and their once-perfect makeup was smudged and faded.

The Uber ride back to Blue Lock was quiet, with Tsukiko and Haru dozing against each other and Akane staring out the window with a thoughtful expression. Natsumi looked the worst off, her gentle features pinched with what was clearly a killer hangover.

"Never again," she whispered to (Name). "I'm too old for this."

"You're 18," (Name) pointed out.

"Exactly. Too old."

When they finally arrived at Blue Lock, the facility was still dark and quiet. They approached the back entrance they had used to escape, confident that their return would be as smooth as their departure.
They were wrong.

Standing in the dim light of the entrance were five figures, each radiating disappointment in their own way. Noel Noa, Chris Prince, Snuffy, Lavinho, and the PXG coach Loki—all staring at their wayward managers with expressions ranging from mild amusement (Lavinho) to outright fury (Chris Prince).

"Oh shit," Haru whispered, all traces of sleep vanishing from her face.

"Welcome back," Noa said, his voice dangerously calm. "Enjoy your evening?"

None of the girls could meet their coaches' eyes.

"Inside. Now," Noa continued, stepping aside to let them pass.

As they filed in, each coach claimed their manager. (Name) found herself being led away by Noa, his expression unreadable.

"I can explain—" she began.

"Save it," he cut her off. "You're almost an adult, technically. But you're also a professional, or at least I thought you were."

The disappointment in his voice stung worse than any anger would have.

"It was Haru's birthday," she said weakly.

"And that required sneaking out, getting drunk, and returning at 5:00 AM looking like you just came from a nightclub?"

"We did just come from a nightclub," (Name) admitted, seeing no point in lying.

Noa pinched the bridge of his nose. "Go to bed. We'll discuss this when you're sober."

He left her at the door to her room, and (Name) slipped inside, grateful for the moment of privacy. She stripped off the dress, removed what remained of her makeup, and collapsed into bed, setting another alarm for 7:00 AM.

That would give her two hours of sleep before she had to face the day—and the consequences of their night out.

(Name)'s second alarm felt like it was drilling directly into her brain. She silenced it with a groan, forcing her eyes open despite the protests of her body.

A message notification blinked on her phone. It was from Natsumi, containing a link and the message: "At least something good came from last night."

(Name) clicked the link, finding herself on a sports blog run by Rei, the young journalist they had met at the club. There, prominently featured, was their interview, complete with professional photos that somehow made them look composed and thoughtful rather than the tipsy messes they had actually been.

The headline read: "Blue Lock's Leading Ladies: How Young Women Are Changing the Face of Football Management."

(Name) skimmed the article, surprised to find it was actually quite good—insightful, respectful, and focused on their professional achievements rather than any personal gossip. The comments section was already filling up with positive responses, particularly from young women expressing their admiration for the managers and their own aspirations in sports.

Despite her hangover, (Name) felt a small smile tugging at her lips. Maybe their night of rebellion hadn't been a complete disaster after all.

She showered, though she didn't bother to change of her pyjamas just yet- one slow morning wouldn't hurt anyone- and made her way to the Bastard Münchën common area, where she found Isagi and Kaiser engaged in what appeared to be a civil dispute over breakfast.

"Morning," she greeted them, her voice slightly raspier than usual.

They both looked up, their eyes widening slightly at her appearance. (Name) knew she looked rough—her eyes were slightly bloodshot, and despite her best efforts, she couldn't completely hide the effects of her late night.

"Are you okay?" Isagi asked, genuine concern in his voice.

"Fine," she replied, pouring herself a cup of much-needed coffee.

Kaiser was studying her with a knowing smirk. "Fun night?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," (Name) said flatly, taking a long sip of her coffee.

Before either of them could respond, Noa entered the room, his expression serious. "Team meeting in five minutes," he announced. "Common room."

As they made their way to the Common room, (Name)'s phone buzzed with messages from the other managers, comparing notes on their respective punishments. Akane had gotten off relatively lightly, with Lavinho seeing the whole thing as amusing rather than serious. Natsumi was on thin ice with Chris Prince, who felt personally betrayed. Tsukiko was confined to the PXG bay for a week, not allowed to leave except for official events.

And Haru... poor Haru had received the lecture of a lifetime from Snuffy, who had apparently been moved to tears by his concern for her safety. According to her message, it was far worse than any yelling could have been.

(Name) pocketed her phone as they reached the room where the rest of Bastard Münchën was already gathered. Noa stood at the center, waiting for everyone to arrive.

Once they were all present, he cleared his throat. "First, I want to congratulate you all on yesterday's victory against the Ubers. Your second-half performance, in particular, showed the kind of teamwork and strategic thinking that wins championships."

There were nods and satisfied smiles among the players.

"Second," Noa continued, his gaze shifting to (Name), "I want to address something important. As you may have noticed, our manager is not quite herself this morning."

(Name) felt her face heat up as all eyes turned to her.

"Last night, she and the other managers decided to celebrate Haru Kamishiro's birthday by sneaking out of the facility and attending a party downtown."

Murmurs rippled through the team, with a few barely suppressed snickers.

"While I understand the desire to celebrate special occasions, this behavior was irresponsible and unbecoming of a professional manager."

(Name) kept her eyes fixed on a point just past Noa's shoulder, refusing to show embarrassment.

"That said," Noa's voice softened slightly, "it has come to my attention that some good did come from this excursion."

He held up his phone, displaying the article from Rei's blog. "This piece has been shared thousands of times this morning, bringing positive attention to Blue Lock and specifically highlighting the important role our managers play in the program."

(Name) blinked in surprise.

"Given this unexpected positive outcome, and the fact that this is a first offense, I've decided that (Name)'s punishment will be limited to helping the janitorial staff clean the common areas for the next week."

It could have been much worse, (Name) realized. She nodded her acceptance of the punishment.

"Now," Noa continued, moving on, "we’ll soon start today's training schedule."

As the team relaxed back into the seating around them in the Common room, Isagi sat beside (Name).

"So," he said quietly, "you do have a life outside of statistics and calculations."

"Barely," she replied. "And it's not worth the headache."

Isagi laughed. "I don't know. That article made you sound pretty cool."

"I was just being honest."

"That's what makes it cool," he insisted. "You're always authentic, even when you're threatening to break our legs."

(Name) felt the ghost of a smile touch her lips. "I meant every word of that threat, you know."

However, sensing her state of presentation, she started to head back to her room to properly clean up.

But she only made it halfway across the common area before Igaguri called out, "Manager-chan, what's that on your back?"

(Name) froze. Slowly, she turned around to see several players looking at her with expressions of confusion and curiosity. Following their gaze, she twisted to try to see what they were looking at.

Through the gap between her shirt and athletic pants, just visible above her waistband, was the edge of something dark against her skin. Something that definitely hadn't been there yesterday.

With growing horror, (Name) excused herself and rushed to her room, slamming the door behind her. She pulled off her shirt and turned to look at her back in the mirror, and what she saw made her release a scream that could probably be heard throughout the entire Bastard München bay.

There, in the small of her lower back, was a fresh tattoo. A perfectly geometric star design, mathematically precise in its proportions and undeniably professional in its execution. It was exactly the kind of design she would have chosen if she had been sober and thinking clearly.

Which she very clearly had not been.

The scream brought several players running to her door, their voices calling out in concern. She could hear Isagi asking if she was okay, Kaiser demanding to know what was wrong, and what sounded like half the team gathering in the hallway outside her room.

"I'm fine!" she called out, her voice higher than usual. "Everything is fine! Nothing to worry about!"

"That didn't sound fine," she heard Yukimiya say.

"Manager-chan, did you hurt yourself?" That was Igaguri.

"Should we call Noa-san?" Hiori asked.

"No!" (Name) practically shrieked. "No, don't call anyone! I just... I need a moment!"

She stared at her reflection in the mirror, trying to process what she was seeing. The tattoo was beautiful, she had to admit. The star was perfectly symmetrical, with mathematical precision that appealed to her analytical mind. If she had planned to get a tattoo, this would have been exactly what she chose.

But she hadn't planned it. She had been drunk and apparently more impulsive than she had ever imagined possible.

A gentle knock on her door interrupted her panic. "(Name)?" It was Isagi's voice, softer than usual. "Are you sure you're okay? You sounded scared."

She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. These were her players - her responsibility. She couldn't let them see her completely fall apart over something as trivial as an impulsive tattoo.

"I'm fine," she said, pulling her shirt back on and opening the door. "I just... discovered something unexpected."

The players clustered around her door looked genuinely concerned. Even Kaiser, who usually maintained his smug demeanor, seemed worried.

"What kind of unexpected?" he asked.

(Name) hesitated. She could lie, make up some excuse, pretend nothing had happened. But looking at their faces - these players who trusted her judgment and leadership - she found herself telling the truth.

"I appear to have gotten a tattoo last night," she said quietly.

The hallway fell silent. Then, suddenly, everyone started talking at once.

"A tattoo?!"

"When did you have time for a tattoo?"

"What kind of tattoo?"

"Can we see it?"

"Is that why you were screaming?"

"Actually," Kaiser said, his voice cutting through the chaos, "that's pretty cool. Very... unexpected from you."

"It's not cool," (Name) protested. "It's completely irrational and impulsive and I have no memory of making the decision to get it."

"So you were drunk," Ness observed with amusement.

"I was... impaired by alcohol, yes."

"Show us!" Igaguri demanded excitedly.

"Absolutely not."

"Come on, Manager-chan! We're curious!"

"I said no."

"Is it embarrassing?" Yukimiya asked gently. "Like, inappropriate?"

(Name) considered this. The star design was actually quite tasteful and geometric. Mathematical, even. It wasn't inappropriate or embarrassing in content, just in placement and circumstances.

"It's... actually not terrible," she admitted reluctantly. "It's a star. Very symmetrical. Mathematically pleasing proportions."

"See?" Isagi grinned. "That sounds like something you'd choose. Maybe drunk you just has better timing than sober you."

"Drunk me has terrible decision-making skills and no impulse control."

"Actually," Kaiser interrupted, his voice carrying an odd note of amusement, "I think it's rather fitting. We match now - both branded with our choices."

"This is not the same as your artistic expression!" (Name) gestured wildly at her back. "This is a drunken mistake that advertises poor decision-making skills and questionable moral character! The statistical correlation between lower back tattoos and—"

"And what?" Kaiser's question held a challenge that cut through her mathematical rambling. "You made a choice, (Name). Perhaps not a calculated one, but yours nonetheless. Own it."
The suggestion was so fundamentally opposed to everything (Name) believed about optimal decision-making that she could only stare at him in shock. Own a mistake? Embrace a variable that couldn't be controlled or optimized?

"Besides," Igaguri added unhelpfully, "it's not like anyone's going to see it unless you want them to!"

Despite herself, (Name) felt some of her panic beginning to fade. The players' reactions were supportive rather than judgmental, and their easy acceptance of her impulsive decision was oddly comforting.

"You know," Hiori said thoughtfully, "it's kind of nice to know you're human like the rest of us. You always seem so in control and calculated. It's... relatable."

"Relatable," (Name) repeated flatly.

"Yeah! Like, you make mistakes too. You do impulsive things. It makes you more..." He struggled for the word. "Approachable?"

(Name) stared at him, trying to process the idea that her moment of complete loss of control had somehow made her more relatable to her players. It went against everything she understood about leadership and professional behavior.

But looking at their faces - genuinely warm and accepting - she began to wonder if maybe being perfect all the time wasn't actually the best approach to management.

"Right," she said finally. "Well. This conversation never happened, and if anyone asks, I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Got it, Manager-chan," Isagi grinned. "Your secret tattoo is safe with us."

"It's not a secret, it's just... private."

"Whatever you say, boss."

As the players dispersed to begin their morning training, (Name) found herself standing in her doorway with a strange mix of mortification and relief. The night had been a disaster in many ways - they'd been caught, lectured, and she'd apparently made a permanent addition to her body without conscious consent.

But somehow, she didn't entirely regret it. The interview with Rei had been worthwhile, the article was already helping to reshape public perception of the female managers, and her players' reaction to her tattoo had revealed a side of their relationship she hadn't expected.

Maybe, she thought as she headed to her room to change into appropriate wear, being perfectly calculated all the time wasn't the only way to succeed. Maybe sometimes, just sometimes, it was okay to let drunk (Name) make a decision.

Even if that decision involved permanent body modification.

After she pulled up her tablet and began reviewing the previous day's match statistics, but her mind kept wandering to the feel of the tattoo on her skin and the memory of genuine laughter shared with the other managers. For the first time since joining Blue Lock, she felt like she might actually be building something more than just professional relationships.

And if that came with the occasional impulsive tattoo, well, maybe that was a price worth paying.

Chapter Text

(Name) (L/n) wasn't used to being stared at.

As a rule, she preferred to be the one doing the calculations, not the one being calculated. Yet here she was, sitting stiffly in the common room of Bastard Münchën's bay, locked in what had to be the most ridiculous standoff of her career as manager.

"I'm telling you," Tsukiko insisted, her voice carrying that irritating sing-song quality that made (Name)'s teeth grind, "Shidou's eyeliner is iconic. It's bold, it's fearless—it's a statement."

"A statement of what? Poor taste?" (Name) replied flatly, adjusting the crimson tie tucked neatly into her beige waistcoat. She didn't know why she was even engaging in this absurd argument. Her job was to calculate statistics, predict plays, and ensure Bastard Münchën secured the best deals during offer events—not debate the merits of teenage boys' makeup skills.

Yet here she was.

"Kaiser's technique shows actual precision," (Name) continued, surprising even herself with how quickly she defended him. "There's a mathematical elegance to it. The angle, the consistency, the application—"

"The way you're suddenly Kaiser's biggest fan?" Tsukiko interrupted with a smirk, flipping her long gray hair over her shoulder. "Careful, (Name), you're starting to sound like his personal cheerleader."

(Name) felt heat rise to her cheeks but kept her expression neutral. "I'm stating objective facts. If you can't see the difference between clean lines and whatever Shidou thinks he's doing—"

"Ladies!" A bright voice cut through their bickering as Haru Kamishiro bounded into the room, her light blue pigtails bouncing with each step. "Are we really fighting about eyeliner again?"

"We're not fighting," (Name) said coldly.

"We're debating," Tsukiko added with a deceptively sweet smile.

Haru's eyes lit up with mischief. "Well! If you want my opinion, Barou's eyeliner is the best in all of Blue Lock. It's sharp enough to kill a man!"

(Name) rolled her eyes. "This isn't a popularity contest, Kamishiro."

"But it could be!" Haru clapped her hands together, bouncing on her heels. "I have the perfect solution! Let's have our players do our eyeliner, and we'll see who's really the best! It's market research!"

Tsukiko's eyes narrowed competitively. "You know what? I'm in."

"Absolutely not," (Name) said firmly. "I have actual work to do. Statistical analysis. Player development plans. Things that actually matter."

"Afraid Kaiser won't live up to your hype?" Tsukiko taunted.

Before (Name) could respond, Haru had already dashed toward the door. "This is happening! I'm getting Barou right now! Don't chicken out, (Name)!"

And just like that, the hyperactive manager was gone, leaving (Name) to wonder how she kept getting dragged into these situations.

"See you in an hour," Tsukiko said with a wink as she sauntered out. "I'll bring Shidou. Prepare to be amazed—and to lose."

(Name) pressed her fingers to her temples, calculating how much time this ridiculous competition would cost her. Important time she could spend analyzing their next match or preparing for the second offer event.

Yet somehow, she found herself walking back to the Bastard Münchën bay, mentally drafting a way to present this absurd request to Kaiser that wouldn't make her sound completely unprofessional.

"You want me to what?" Kaiser asked, his voice low and amused as he looked down at (Name) from his full height.

They were standing in the Bastard Münchën common room. (Name) had found Kaiser relaxing with Ness, both of them going over footage from their last match. She'd explained the situation as clinically as possible, framing it as a "team-building exercise" and "inter-team competition," rather than admitting it was sparked by a petty argument.

"Apply eyeliner," (Name) repeated flatly. "Apparently, there's some debate about which team has the best skills in this area."

Kaiser's lips quirked up at the corner. "And they chose me to represent Bastard Münchën?"

"I did," (Name) said, immediately regretting the admission. "Based on empirical observation."

Ness looked between them, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Kaiser is definitely the most skilled with eyeliner. His technique is perfect."

"Thank you for your input, Ness," Kaiser said without looking at him, his eyes still fixed on (Name)'s face with an intensity that made her want to look away. She didn't.

"So? Will you participate?" she asked, keeping her voice professionally neutral.

Kaiser tilted his head slightly, studying her with those piercing eyes. "What exactly is in it for me?"

(Name) had anticipated this question. Everything with Kaiser was a transaction. "Your victory would prove Bastard Münchën's superiority over PXG in yet another area. Public image matters for professional contracts."
It was a logical argument, but Kaiser didn't seem convinced.

"And," she added reluctantly, "I'd owe you a favor."

That caught his attention. The hint of a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. "A favor from the Calculator? That's valuable currency."

(Name) didn't respond to the nickname that had somehow stuck after that first night when she'd calculated Isagi's stats from memory. She simply waited, knowing Kaiser was already considering the benefits.

"Alright," he finally said. "I accept your proposal."

"I'll set everything up," Ness volunteered eagerly.

"No need," Kaiser replied smoothly. "(Name) and I can handle this. Wouldn't want to disturb your analysis of the match footage."

Ness's face fell slightly, but he nodded and retreated, though not without shooting a questioning glance back at them.

"Where should we do this?" Kaiser asked once Ness had left.

(Name) considered for a moment. "My office. It has the best lighting."

Kaiser nodded, and (Name) tried not to think about how utterly bizarre this situation was as she led him through the corridors of the Bastard Münchën bay.

(Name)'s "office" was actually just a small room adjacent to her sleeping quarters, equipped with a desk, high-resolution screens for footage analysis, and professional lighting for video conferencing. It was meticulously organized, with stacks of paper arranged in perfect right angles and writing implements lined up by size.

Kaiser glanced around the space with mild interest as (Name) dragged a chair into the center of the room, positioning it beneath the main light.

"Sit," she said, gesturing to the chair.

Kaiser raised an eyebrow. "I believe I'm supposed to be applying eyeliner to you, not the other way around."

"Yes, but I need to remove what I'm already wearing first," she explained, pulling a small makeup bag from her desk drawer.

Kaiser watched as she efficiently wiped away her minimal everyday makeup. His gaze was analytical, as if he were studying her face for the first time.

"Do you have the eyeliner?" she asked when she was finished.

Kaiser reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek black case. "I always carry it."

Of course he did.

"I'll need you to stay perfectly still," Kaiser said as he approached her. "This requires precision."

(Name) nodded once and then froze, her hands gripping the edges of the chair. She wasn't used to having people this close to her face. Personal space was something she valued highly, and now Kaiser von Winterrowd was about to be mere inches from her.

Kaiser seemed to sense her discomfort. "Relax, (Name). I'm not going to stab you in the eye."

"I'm relaxed," she lied.

He stood directly in front of her, leaning down slightly. From this angle, (Name) could see details she'd never noticed before. The blue dyed tips of his blond hair caught the light, creating an almost iridescent effect. But what really drew her attention was a thin red line that followed the curve of his right eye—not eyeliner, but something more permanent.

"Is that a tattoo?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

Kaiser paused, his hand hovering near her face. "Yes. Got it when I was sixteen."

"Isn't that illegal?" she asked, immediately calculating the legal age for tattoos in Germany.

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "Only if you get caught."

Before she could respond, the door to her office swung open, and Isagi walked in, stopping abruptly when he saw them.

"Uh, sorry," he said, looking between them with confusion. "Ness said you were doing some kind of... eyeliner contest?"

Kaiser straightened up, clearly irritated by the interruption. "Don't they teach you to knock in Japan, Isagi?"

Isagi ignored the jab, his eyes fixed on (Name). "Are you okay with this?" he asked her directly.

Something about his concern made her feel both annoyed and touched. "Yes," she said firmly. "It's for a competition against PXG."

Understanding dawned on Isagi's face. "Another thing with Tsukiko?"

(Name) nodded curtly, not wanting to elaborate on how childish the whole situation was.

"I'll wait outside then," Isagi said, but made no move to leave.

Kaiser sighed dramatically. "Or you could just stay and observe a master at work. Maybe you'll learn something."

Isagi hesitated, then moved to lean against the wall, arms crossed. His presence somehow made the whole scenario feel less intimate, which (Name) appreciated.

"Now," Kaiser said, turning back to her. "As I was saying, you need to stay absolutely still."

(Name) nodded once, then froze again. Kaiser leaned in, his face now just inches from hers. She could feel his breath on her skin as he carefully uncapped the eyeliner. His hand was steady as he brought it to her face.
"Look up," he instructed softly.

She did as told, focusing on a spot on the ceiling while Kaiser's finger gently pressed against her eyelid. His touch was lighter than she'd expected, almost delicate.

"The key to perfect eyeliner," Kaiser explained, his voice low and focused, "is understanding the natural shape of the eye and enhancing it, not fighting against it."

From his position by the wall, Isagi watched with undisguised interest. "I didn't know eyeliner was so complicated."

"Everything is complicated if you're aiming for perfection," Kaiser replied without looking away from his work.

As he worked, (Name) found herself studying him from this uncomfortably close distance. The concentration in his eyes was similar to what she'd seen on the pitch—the absolute focus of someone who accepted nothing less than excellence. And there was something else she noticed: trailing up from his hand, partially visible beneath the sleeve of his shirt, was another tattoo. This one appeared to be a blue rose with thorns that spiraled up his arm.

"That rose tattoo," she said, careful not to move too much. "How far does it go?"

Kaiser's hand paused for just a fraction of a second. "All the way to the neck," he answered, resuming his work. "I got it after my first professional contract."

"It's very detailed," she observed.

"Beauty and pain," Kaiser said softly, as if to himself. "The thorns represent the sacrifices made for greatness."

It was perhaps the most personal thing he'd ever said to her, and (Name) found herself momentarily unable to respond. There was something unexpectedly vulnerable about the comment.

The moment was broken when the door opened again, this time revealing Noel Noa. The legendary striker paused, taking in the scene with a raised eyebrow.

"Am I interrupting something?" he asked, his voice betraying mild amusement.

"Team-building exercise," (Name) explained quickly, relieved that her position prevented her from having to make eye contact with her coach.

"Eyeliner competition," Isagi added helpfully.

Noa's expression didn't change, but something like understanding flickered in his eyes. "Against PXG?"

"How did you know?" Isagi asked, surprised.

"Ego mentioned something about the managers organizing an impromptu cosmetics contest," Noa replied calmly. "Apparently, it's spreading through all the teams."

(Name) felt a flush of embarrassment. What had started as a stupid argument with Tsukiko was now apparently Blue Lock-wide news.

Noa stepped further into the room, observing Kaiser's work with a critical eye. "Your line is too thick on the outer corner," he noted.

Kaiser paused, clearly startled by the critique. "I'm creating a deliberate wing."

"The angle is wrong for her eye shape," Noa countered. "You need to follow the natural upward curve of her lower lash line."

Three sets of eyes turned to Noa in surprise.

"What?" he asked, completely unfazed. "Do you not see the work of eyeliner on me right now?"

Kaiser's pride was clearly wounded, but he stepped back slightly. "Perhaps you'd like to demonstrate."

Noa shrugged. "I can show you on Isagi. Different eye shapes require different techniques."

"What?" Isagi sputtered, pushing off from the wall. "I didn't sign up for—"

"Don't you want to learn from the master striker himself?" Noa asked, his tone making it clear this wasn't really a question.

Isagi hesitated, but ultimately succumbed to being under his hero’s attention. "Fine."

(Name) watched with fascination as Noel Noa pulled a small kit from his pocket—apparently, he also carried eyeliner with him—and gestured for Isagi to sit in the second chair.

"Watch carefully," Noa instructed Kaiser. "For Asian eye shapes, you want to create a line that extends the eye outward, not upward."

As Noa began working on a very stiff and nervous-looking Isagi, Kaiser turned back to (Name). "Let's continue," he said, his competitive spirit clearly ignited. "I'll show him perfect technique."

(Name) nodded slightly, and Kaiser resumed his work, this time with even more intense concentration than before. His face was so close to hers that she could see the individual flecks of color in his irises.

"Close your eye," he murmured, and she complied.

There was something strangely intimate about surrendering control like this, about trusting someone else with such proximity. (Name) was used to keeping people at a distance—emotionally and physically—but here she was, letting Michael Kaiser of all people apply makeup to her face.

She felt the cool tip of the eyeliner trace a precise line along her lash line, then extend outward in what she assumed was the "wing" he'd mentioned.

"Perfect," Kaiser said softly, and (Name) wasn't sure if he was talking to her or to himself.

When she opened her eyes, Kaiser had moved to her other side, ready to create a matching line. From the corner of her vision, she could see Noa working with similar concentration on Isagi, who looked like he was trying very hard to remember how to breathe normally.

"I'm going to do something a little different," Kaiser told her. "A signature look. Trust me."

(Name) didn't respond, but she didn't object either. She closed her eye again and felt the eyeliner trace the familiar path along her upper lash line, then wing outward. But then, to her surprise, Kaiser gently tilted her chin up and applied the eyeliner to her lower lash line as well, creating a subtle curve that extended downward.

"The red will compliment your eyes," he said. And that's when she realized he wasn't using black eyeliner anymore, but a deep crimson shade.

When he finally stepped back to examine his work, there was a look of satisfaction on his face. "Done."

Noa had just finished with Isagi as well. "Let's see the results," he said, gesturing toward the small mirror on (Name)'s desk.

(Name) picked it up first, studying her reflection. Kaiser had created impeccable wings on her upper lids in black, but what caught her attention was the thin red line curving under her eyes, a perfect mirror to the tattoo that adorned his own face.

It was like he'd marked her with his signature, a subtle claim that didn't escape her notice. The red against her eyes made them appear even more intense than usual.

"Your turn," she said, passing the mirror to Isagi.

His eyes widened as he took in his reflection. Noa had created a clean, sharp line that perfectly complemented his eye shape, making his already intense gaze appear even more focused. It was subtle enough to be professional but defined enough to be noticeable.

"Wow," he breathed, clearly impressed despite himself.

"Well?" Kaiser prompted, looking at (Name) expectantly. "What's your assessment?"

(Name) examined both their work clinically. "Both are technically excellent," she admitted. "Though your artistic license is... noted," she added, touching the red line under her eye.

Kaiser smirked. "It suits you. The Calculator needs her signature look for the offer events."

Noa checked his watch. "Speaking of which, aren't you supposed to be meeting the other managers soon for this contest?" he asked (Name).

She nodded, suddenly remembering the whole reason for this exercise. "Yes. Thank you both for your assistance."

"I'm coming with you," Kaiser declared. "I want to see Shidou's attempt in person."

"Me too," Isagi added quickly, still studying his reflection with a mix of embarrassment and fascination.

Noa shrugged. "I might as well see this through. Consider it part of my coaching duties to monitor team morale."

And just like that, what was supposed to be a simple makeup session had turned into a full team excursion.

The central meeting area was already crowded when (Name) arrived with her unexpected entourage. Tsukiko was there, sporting dramatic black eyeliner that extended well beyond the corners of her eyes. Beside her stood a bored-looking Shidou, his own signature liner even more exaggerated than usual.

Haru bounced over to them immediately, her eyes widening when she saw (Name). "Wow! That's so cool!" she exclaimed, leaning in uncomfortably close to examine Kaiser's work. "It's like a signature! Like you're Kaiser's personal manager!"

(Name) wasn't sure if the comment was meant to be irritating, but she found it so nonetheless.

Behind Haru, Barou stood with his arms crossed, looking like he'd rather be anywhere else. His own eyeliner was, (Name) had to admit, impressively precise—a sharp wing that accentuated his already intense gaze.

"The gang's all here," Tsukiko said with a smirk, eyeing (Name)'s red underliner with obvious amusement. "Branded by Kaiser already, (Name)?"

(Name) could only glare at her and now kaiser who was snickering behind her.

The room fell silent as everyone took in the various styles on display. It was Noa who finally broke the silence.

"I think we can all agree," he said calmly, "that Blue Lock has an unexpected wealth of cosmetic talent."

"But who wins?" Haru asked eagerly, bouncing on her toes. "Who has the best eyeliner game?"

Kaiser stepped forward. "Clearly, artistic vision counts for something," he said, gesturing toward (Name)'s eyes. "Anyone can draw a black line, but creating a signature style takes true talent."

"Says the guy who just copied his own tattoo," Shidou scoffed.

"At least mine doesn't look like it was applied in the dark," Kaiser retorted.

As the two strikers began to bicker, with Barou occasionally interjecting his own opinions, (Name) found herself standing next to Isagi.

"This got out of hand," Isagi observed quietly.

"It always does," (Name) replied.

Isagi studied her for a moment. "I like the red, though. It suits you."

(Name) touched the line under her eye self-consciously. "It's temporary."

"Is it?" Isagi asked with a small smile, then turned her attention back to the ongoing debate.

In the end, no clear winner was declared. Ego eventually appeared, took one look at the gathering, and announced that all Blue Lock players now had five minutes to remove any makeup before returning to training. "Save the beauty contests for the offer events," he said dryly before disappearing again.

As they all dispersed, Kaiser caught (Name)'s arm. "Before you wash it off," he said, his voice lower than usual, "you should know that red suits you. It matches your focus when you're calculating plays."

(Name) looked up at him, trying to read his expression. "Is that why you chose it? Because of my eyes?"

Kaiser's gaze flicked to her eyes and (Name) looked straight into his blue pair.

"Partly," he admitted. "But also because red is the color of Bastard Münchën. If you're going to be our Calculator, you should carry our mark."

There was something possessive in the way he said it, something that should have irritated her but instead left her feeling strangely... seen.

"I'll take that into consideration," she said neutrally, stepping back from him.

Kaiser's usual smirk returned. "You do that. And remember—you owe me a favor now."

As he walked away, (Name) found herself wondering what exactly she'd gotten herself into with this ridiculous competition. But when she passed a reflective surface and caught a glimpse of her reflection—the sharp black wings extending from her eyes and the red line curving beneath them—she had to admit it didn't look half bad.

Maybe, just maybe, she'd keep it for the next offer event.

After all, the Calculator did need a signature look.

Chapter Text

Natsumi Hatoshima sighed as she pushed a stray strand of cream-colored hair behind her ear. The hallway leading to Paris X Gen's bay felt both familiar and forbidden—a path she'd traveled many times, yet one she wasn't supposed to take. Her soft coral eyes scanned the corridor to ensure no one was watching as she approached the entrance.

She'd told herself she was just checking on Tsukiko after the manager had been formally restricted to the PXG bay following the recent party incident. A solid alibi, reasonable and believable. But the gentle flutter in her chest betrayed her true intentions.

Karasu.

The name alone made her pulse quicken. She'd never imagined herself as someone who would sneak around for a boy, especially not one from a rival team. Yet here she was, the shy, reserved manager of Manshine City, actively seeking out moments with the crow-like striker whenever possible.

A pang of guilt hit her as she thought about (Name). Her friend would likely understand—(Name) wasn't one to judge others' personal lives—but using her friendship with Tsukiko as a cover felt dishonest. Especially since Tsukiko remained completely oblivious to the fact that she was primarily a convenient excuse, not the actual destination.

"Natsumi-chan!" Tsukiko's voice rang out the moment she stepped through the doorway. The gray-haired manager bounded toward her with a sparkle in her blue eyes. "You came to see me! I knew you couldn't stay away for long."

Natsumi managed a gentle smile. "I wanted to check how you're doing after... everything."

"Being confined is so boring," Tsukiko sighed dramatically, flipping her long hair. "But now that you're here, we can have some fun! Did (Name) send you to spy on me?" She narrowed her eyes playfully.

"No, nothing like that," Natsumi replied, her eyes already scanning the common area for a particular silhouette. "I was just worried about you."

"You're too sweet," Tsukiko linked her arm through Natsumi's, leading her further into the bay. "Come on, I'll show you what I've been working on for the next offer event."

As they walked through the common area, Natsumi caught sight of him—Karasu, leaning against the wall near the viewing room, eyes already fixed on her. Their gazes locked for just a moment, but it was enough to send a rush of warmth to her cheeks. He gave an almost imperceptible nod before returning his attention to his phone, but Natsumi knew he'd noticed her arrival.

"So I was thinking," Tsukiko continued, completely unaware of the silent exchange, "that for the next event, we could coordinate our outfits. Not the same, obviously, but complimentary colors maybe? You'd look gorgeous in a rose gold that would pair nicely with my silver—"

"That sounds nice," Natsumi replied automatically, her mind elsewhere. "But I think (Name) might have plans for us already."

Tsukiko rolled her eyes. "Of course she does. Everything has to be calculated with her. But just between us—" she leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "—I think I'm winning you over from her little circle. She must be so jealous that you visit me so often."

Natsumi bit her lip, the guilt intensifying. "It's not really like that," she started, but Tsukiko had already moved on, pulling her toward a table covered in fashion magazines.

"Look at these designs I found! I was thinking of suggesting these for our team uniforms. Not the actual playing uniforms, of course, but for events and press conferences."

As Tsukiko flipped through the pages, pointing out various styles, Natsumi nodded politely while sneaking glances toward Karasu. He had moved to sit with Rin at another table, but she could tell he was equally distracted, his eyes finding hers whenever Tsukiko wasn't looking.

This had become their routine—stolen glances across rooms, brief moments of contact disguised as coincidences, and the occasional blessed escape when they could actually be alone together. It wasn't ideal, but in Blue Lock, nothing about personal relationships ever was.

"Tsukiko-chan," a playful voice called out, interrupting her fashion presentation.

Natsumi looked up to see Shidou sauntering toward them, Charles trailing behind with his usual elegant posture.

"We need your expertise," Charles said with a slight bow. "We're having a disagreement about the proper use of emojis in team communications."

Shidou nodded vigorously. "This guy thinks a fire emoji means something's good, but I keep telling him it means something's hot—there's a difference!"

Tsukiko's eyes lit up at the prospect of solving such a conflict. "Well, actually, it depends on the context..."

Natsumi caught Charles's eye for a brief moment, and the French striker gave her a subtle wink. She realized with a jolt that this interruption was deliberate—they were creating a distraction. Her gaze flickered to Karasu, who had already stood up and was casually making his way toward the hallway leading to the storage areas.

"Excuse me," Natsumi said softly, rising from her seat. "I should use the restroom."

Tsukiko, already deep in emoji analysis with the two strikers, barely acknowledged her with a wave of her hand. "Down the hall to the left!"

Natsumi nodded and walked away, heart hammering in her chest. She turned right instead of left, following the path Karasu had taken just moments before. As she rounded the corner into a less-frequented hallway, a hand gently caught her wrist, pulling her into the janitor's closet.

The door clicked shut, and suddenly she was enveloped in semi-darkness, face to face with Karasu. His eyes, intense and focused, seemed to glow in the dim light filtering through the small window on the door.

"I was beginning to think you wouldn't come today," he murmured, his hand still wrapped around her wrist.

"Chris almost caught me leaving," she whispered back, aware of how close they were in the confined space. "I had to pretend I was retrieving training data for Reo."

Karasu's lips curved into a smile. "The perfect alibi." He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingertips lingering on her cheek. "How long do we have?"

"Not long. Tsukiko will notice eventually."

"Then we shouldn't waste time."

His lips met hers with a gentleness that contradicted his intense demeanor on the field. Natsumi melted into the kiss, her hands finding their way to his shoulders as he pulled her closer. This was what she'd been thinking about all day—being close to him, away from the watchful eyes of coaches and teammates, away from the constant pressure of Blue Lock.

Karasu deepened the kiss, one hand cradling the back of her neck while the other rested on her waist. Natsumi responded with equal fervor, surprised as always by her own boldness. With everyone else, she was quiet, reserved, the gentle manager who listened more than she spoke. But with Karasu, she felt different—braver, more assertive, willing to take risks she'd never have considered before.

When they finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, Karasu kept his forehead pressed against hers. "I missed you," he said simply, his fingers tracing the outline of her face with feather-light touches.

Those three words made Natsumi's heart swell. She had never expected this when she first came to Blue Lock—never thought she'd find someone who could understand her quiet strength, who appreciated that there was more to her than her shy exterior.

"I missed you too," she whispered back, her hands finding their way to his shoulders. "Every strategy meeting feels twice as long when I know you're somewhere in this facility."

"I've been thinking," Karasu began, his voice taking on that analytical quality it always did when he was working through something important. "About what happens after NEL."

Natsumi tensed slightly. This was the elephant in the room they'd both been avoiding—the uncertain future all Blue Lock participants faced, whether players or managers.

"We still have time," she said softly, not wanting to break the spell of their stolen moment.

"Time passes quickly here." His fingers intertwined with hers. "Players can be eliminated at any moment. Managers might choose to follow their coaches overseas. Our paths could diverge without warning."

The reality of his words settled heavily between them. Natsumi had tried not to think about it too much—how their situationship, as (Name) had once bluntly termed it, existed in a bubble that could burst at any moment.

"What are you planning to do?" she asked, suddenly needing to know. "If you don't make it to the top 23?"

Karasu was quiet for a moment, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "I'll make it. I'm positive."

"I know," Natsumi nodded. It was what made him Karasu—that single-minded determination that had first drawn her to him.

"But," he continued, surprising her, "the best path to that goal might not be what I initially thought."

Before she could ask what he meant, he closed the distance between them, his lips meeting hers with a gentleness that contrasted with his usual intensity on the field. Natsumi melted into the kiss, her hands moving to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his dark hair.

Unlike their previous encounters, which had often been rushed and desperate—stolen kisses in empty corridors or quick embraces in shadow-filled corners—this felt different. Deliberate. As if Karasu was memorizing every detail, every sensation.

When they finally parted for breath, Natsumi found herself braver than usual. "I've been thinking too," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Chris wants me to return to England with Manshine City after NEL. He says my analytical skills would be valuable to the team."

Something flickered in Karasu's eyes—concern, perhaps, or determination. "What do you want?"

"I want..." she hesitated, gathering her courage. "I want to find a path where I don't have to choose between my career and... this. Us."

The word 'us' hung in the air between them, heavier than any tactical analysis or performance metric they'd ever discussed. They hadn't put labels on what they were to each other, letting actions speak instead of words. But now, with the future looming like a deadline neither could avoid, the unspoken needed voice.

"I'm not good at this," Karasu admitted, his usual confidence slipping for a rare moment of vulnerability. "Relationships. Connections. They weren't part of my plan."

"They weren't part of mine either," Natsumi said with a small smile. "But plans change. We adapt. Isn't that what makes a good player? A good manager?"

A hint of a smile touched Karasu's lips. "Using my own philosophy against me."

"I learned from the best."

This time when he kissed her, there was something different in it—a promise, perhaps, or a decision made. Natsumi wrapped her arms around him, allowing herself to believe, just for this moment, that they could find a way forward together, regardless of what Blue Lock had in store.

The closet was small and cramped, smelling of cleaning supplies and dust, but somehow it felt like the most honest place in all of Blue Lock—the only space where they didn't have to perform for cameras or conform to expectations. Here, they were just Karasu and Natsumi, not a striker and a manager, not pawns in Ego's grand experiment.

When they finally broke apart, Karasu rested his forehead against hers. "We should probably head back before someone notices we're both missing."

"Probably," Natsumi agreed, though neither made a move to leave.

Instead, they sat together on an overturned bucket, Karasu's arm around her shoulders, talking in hushed tones about everything and nothing—training regimens, their childhood dreams, favorite books, the weird food combinations the nutritionists had been experimenting with lately. Normal things that had nothing to do with football or Blue Lock, conversations that reminded them they were still people outside of this pressure cooker.

"Did you know," Natsumi said, feeling unusually talkative in his presence, "that I used to be terrified of birds when I was little?"

Karasu raised an eyebrow. "Yet here you are with me."

"Ironic, isn't it?" she laughed softly. "My name means 'summer dove' and I couldn't even look at pigeons without crying. My mother used to say I'd grow out of it."

"And did you?"

"No," she admitted with a smile. "I just met one particular crow who changed my mind."

Karasu's eyes softened, and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss to her temple. These were the moments Natsumi treasured most—the quiet tenderness that no one else got to see from the calculating, analytical striker who kept everyone else at a distance.

Before Natsumi could speak up about timing, the closet door suddenly swung open, flooding the small space with light.

"Oh my god! Are you two—!"

Tsukiko stood in the doorway, her blue eyes wide with shock as she took in the scene before her—Natsumi and Karasu standing impossibly close, his hand still resting on her waist.

"Tsukiko!" Natsumi exclaimed, instinctively stepping back, though there wasn't much space to retreat in the tiny closet. "I was just—"

"You were just making out with Karasu in a janitor's closet!" Tsukiko finished for her, her voice climbing an octave. "How long has this been going on? Is this why you've been visiting so often?"

Karasu, seemingly unfazed by the interruption, simply sighed. "Could you lower your voice? This isn't exactly information we want broadcasted throughout Blue Lock."

Tsukiko's mouth opened and closed several times before she found her words again. "I can't believe this. You've been using me as an excuse to see him?" She turned accusing eyes on Natsumi. "Does (Name) know about this?"

Natsumi felt a flush of shame creep up her neck. "It's not like that, Tsukiko. I do enjoy spending time with you, it's just..."

"Just that you're more interested in spending time with him," Tsukiko finished, crossing her arms. For a moment, hurt flashed across her features before she schooled her expression into something more neutral. "Well, I suppose I

should be flattered you thought I made a convincing cover story."

Before either Natsumi or Karasu could respond, another voice joined the conversation.

"What's going on here?"

All three turned to see Chris Prince standing a few meters away, his expression darkening as he took in the scene. Natsumi felt her stomach drop. Of all the people to discover them, Chris was perhaps the worst possible option.

"Prince-san," she started, her voice small. "I was just—"

"Fraternizing with the enemy," Chris finished coldly, his gaze fixed on Karasu with obvious disdain. "Again."

Karasu met his stare evenly, not intimidated in the slightest. "I wasn't aware there were rules against managers and players from different teams talking to each other."

"'Talking' isn't what this looks like," Chris retorted, his voice sharp. He turned to Natsumi. "We have a team meeting in twenty minutes. I've been looking everywhere for you."

The implication was clear—it was time to go. Natsumi nodded, not daring to argue. "I'll be right there."

Chris gave a curt nod before leveling one more glare at Karasu. "Stay away from my manager." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, clearly expecting Natsumi to follow.

Tsukiko looked between Natsumi and Karasu, her initial shock seemingly transformed into intrigue. "Well, this is certainly more drama than I expected today. Don't worry, your secret is safe with me." She gave an exaggerated wink. "Though I expect all the details later."

With that, she flounced away, leaving Natsumi and Karasu alone again.

"I should go," Natsumi said quietly, her eyes downcast. "He'll be even more upset if I make him wait."

Karasu nodded, his expression unreadable. "We'll talk later." He brushed his knuckles against her cheek in a gentle caress before stepping back, allowing her to exit the closet first.

As Natsumi hurried after Chris, she could feel the weight of his disappointment pressing down on her. They walked in silence until they were well away from the PXG bay, Chris's strides purposeful and stiff.

Finally, when they were alone in an empty corridor, he stopped and turned to face her.

"Do you have any idea how this looks?" he asked, his voice strained. "Our manager, sneaking around with a player from a rival team?"

Natsumi met his gaze, summoning courage she didn't know she had. "It's not affecting my work."

"That's not the point," Chris sighed, running a hand through his hair. "We're supposed to be a united front. Manshine City against the world. How can the team trust you if they think you're divided in your loyalties?"

"I'm not divided," Natsumi insisted. "I'm fully committed to Manshine."

"And yet you keep running back to that crow," Chris said bitterly. The fight seemed to drain out of him suddenly, his shoulders slumping. "I'm not going to forbid you from seeing him—I doubt that would work anyway. But please, be more discreet. And remember where your priorities should lie."

Natsumi nodded, surprised by his relatively mild reaction. The Chris Prince of a few months ago would have exploded in dramatic outrage. This more restrained response was unexpected.

"Thank you for understanding," she said quietly.

Chris gave a humorless laugh. "I don't understand it at all. But I've learned that fighting these things only makes them stronger." He gestured for her to follow him. "Come on. Reo's been waiting to talk to you."

They walked the rest of the way to Manshine City's bay in silence, Natsumi lost in thought. As they entered the common area, she immediately spotted Reo pacing near the strategy board, a familiar look of agitation on his face.

"There you are!" he exclaimed when he saw her. "I've been waiting forever."

Chris gave Natsumi a knowing look before walking away, leaving her to deal with whatever crisis Reo was currently experiencing.

"What's wrong?" she asked, though she had a pretty good idea already.

"It's Nagi," Reo said, as expected. "He completely ignored my pass during practice today. It was the perfect setup! He was wide open, I delivered it exactly where he likes it, and he just... let it go by him like it wasn't even there."

Natsumi settled into a chair, preparing herself for what would undoubtedly be a lengthy dissection of yet another Nagi-related grievance. As Reo continued his impassioned explanation, complete with diagrams drawn on napkins, she found her mind drifting back to Karasu.

What would happen after the NEL? The question he'd posed lingered in her thoughts. Professional football was a global sport, and there was no guarantee they'd end up in the same country, let alone the same team. Was what they had strong enough to survive that kind of separation? Or was it just a Blue Lock romance, intense but ultimately temporary?

"Are you even listening?" Reo's voice broke through her reverie.

"Sorry," she said, quickly refocusing. "You were saying about the pass..."

Reo's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You seem distracted. Did something happen with Chris? He looked annoyed when you came in."

"It's nothing," Natsumi assured him. "Just a small disagreement. Please, continue."

As Reo launched back into his narrative, Natsumi couldn't help but see parallels between his complicated relationship with Nagi and her own situation with Karasu. Both involved deep connections across team boundaries, both were fraught with complications and misunderstandings. The main difference was that she and Karasu actually acknowledged their feelings for each other, while Reo and Nagi seemed locked in an endless cycle of miscommunication.

"...and then he had the audacity to say I was trying too hard!" Reo was saying, his voice rising in indignation. "Can you believe that? Me, trying too hard to connect with him on the field? Isn't that the whole point?"

Natsumi nodded sympathetically. "Have you tried talking to him about it? Not during practice, but afterward, when you're both calm?"

Reo scoffed. "Nagi doesn't talk. He grunts and sighs and looks bored. It's infuriating!"

"Maybe that's his way of communicating," Natsumi suggested gently. "Not everyone expresses themselves the same way you do, Reo-kun."

"That's putting it mildly," Reo muttered. He fell silent for a moment, contemplating her words. "So what should I do? Just accept that he's never going to be as invested in our partnership as I am?"

The question struck closer to home than Reo could know. Wasn't that exactly what she feared with Karasu? That perhaps she was more invested, more willing to take risks for their relationship than he was?

"I think," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "that sometimes we have to accept people as they are, not as we wish they would be. Nagi-kun has his own way of showing he cares. It might not be what you're used to, but that doesn't mean it isn't genuine."

Reo looked at her with a mixture of surprise and thoughtfulness. "When did you get so wise about relationships, Natsumi?"

She felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "I'm not. I'm just... observing."

Reo seemed about to press further when Chris's voice called out from across the room.

"Team meeting in five minutes! Everyone to the strategy room!"

Saved by the bell, Natsumi thought with relief. She stood, offering Reo a small smile. "We can talk more later if you want."

As she followed the rest of the Manshine City team toward the strategy room, her phone vibrated in her pocket. Discreetly, she checked the message.

Whatever comes next, we’ll face it. together. –Tabito

Despite everything—the complications, the secrecy, the uncertainty of their future—Natsumi found herself smiling as she typed her response.
together.

She put her phone away just as they entered the strategy room, her mind already formulating excuses for another visit to PXG bay tomorrow. As Chris began outlining their strategy for the upcoming match, Natsumi forced herself to focus, pushing thoughts of Karasu to the back of her mind.

For now, she had a job to do. The rest would have to wait.

Chapter Text

Tsukiko Yugi was, for lack of better words, utterly bored.

House arrest to the PXG bay was the punishment for… sneaking out to party, but it was to celebrate haru’s birthday which to her was any good of excuse no matter what loki told her.

Sprawled across the common room sofa, Tsukiko scrolled mindlessly through her tablet, making sure to keep football-related content on display. If Loki caught her watching anything else, he'd give her another lecture about "utilizing time productively" since she was confined to the bay anyway.

"Boring... seen it... pathetic..." she mumbled, flicking through various clips.

Her finger paused over a video thumbnail featuring the Uber family's latest antics. Despite herself, she tapped on it, watching with mild amusement as Barou scowled his way through some ridiculous dance challenge while Haru bounced around him like an over-caffeinated puppy. Sendou and Aiku were doing what could only be described as thirst traps, and Tsukiko couldn't help but roll her eyes.

"Why does everyone eat this up?" she muttered, though she watched the entire clip anyway.

Next came a compilation of baby Ryo's smiles—the little red-headed boy had apparently become Blue Lock's unofficial mascot since his discovery. Tsukiko had to admit he was adorable, with those mismatched eyes and chubby cheeks. Still, she quickly scrolled past, not wanting to dwell on how Akane had handled the entire situation with such grace.

Then her eyes caught something that made her groan out loud—fan art of (Name) with Kaiser and Isagi. The "bastard münchën love triangle" was trending again.

"You've got to be kidding me," she huffed, staring at the detailed artwork that captured (Name)'s stoic essence perfectly, flanked by the two strikers who seemed equally entranced by her in the illustration. "What do people even see in her? She's a walking calculator with anger issues."

As Tsukiko continued scrolling, an interview thumbnail made her pause. The elegant profile of Sae Itoshi filled the screen, his reddish-brown hair immaculate as always. She glanced across the room to where Rin Itoshi was seated, nose buried in a book about football strategies.

The resemblance was uncanny—both brothers possessed those enviably long lashes that Tsukiko had tried and failed to achieve with expensive mascaras. Their features were similarly refined, though Rin carried a permanent shadow of discontent that his older brother seemed to have outgrown.

Siblings. Tsukiko understood the complicated emotions better than most.

Her mind drifted to Hoshi Yugi, her half-brother with his Russian plus Dutch features and their father's ocean blue eyes—the same eyes she saw every time she looked in a mirror. The eyes of a star, their father would say. Though Hoshi had always burned brighter, desperate to outshine everyone, including her.

Lost in thought, Tsukiko didn't notice her finger slip on the volume control. Suddenly, Sae Itoshi's smooth, confident voice blasted through the common room at full volume.

"—naturally, when you reach a certain level of play, there are expectations that come with—"

"Shit!" Tsukiko fumbled with the device, frantically trying to lower the volume, but the damage was already done. The sound cut off abruptly, but not before heavy footsteps approached from both directions of the hallway.

Two figures appeared almost simultaneously—Rin Itoshi with a piercing glare that could freeze water, and Shidou, whose face had morphed into something resembling religious ecstasy at the mere sound of Sae's voice.

"What was that?" Rin's voice was cold, controlled, but with an undercurrent of fury that made Tsukiko swallow hard.

"N-nothing! Just some random interview that—"

"Play it." Rin's demand left no room for argument.

Shidou had already slid next to her on the couch, practically vibrating with excitement. "Was that Sae-chan? Play it again! I need to hear his beautiful voice!"

Trapped between two of the most unpredictable players in Blue Lock, Tsukiko reluctantly tapped the video again, this time with the volume at a reasonable level.

Sae Itoshi appeared on screen, composed and elegant in a tailored suit as he sat across from an interviewer. The setting was clearly high-end—some European sports channel that catered to elite football audiences.

"Your transition to professional football in Spain has been remarkably smooth," the interviewer was saying. "Many young players struggle with the adjustment. What's your secret?"

Sae clicked his tongue, revealing nothing but mere distaste. "There's no secret. I've always known my place is on the world stage. Japan was merely a stepping stone."

Rin's jaw clenched visibly beside her.

"And what about the rising talents coming out of programs like Blue Lock? Do you keep an eye on them?"

"I'm aware of the program," Sae replied coolly. "It's an interesting experiment, isolating these young players and forcing them to develop their ego. But football isn't played in isolation. The true test will be how they adapt to team dynamics in professional settings."

His perfect eyebrow raised slightly. "Though I understand my brother is participating. Rin has always had... potential. Perhaps Blue Lock will help him realize it finally."

That condescending tone wasn't lost on anyone watching. Tsukiko felt Rin stiffen beside her.

The interview continued with questions about Sae's current club and future aspirations. Throughout it all, Shidou made increasingly disturbing sounds of pleasure, his eyes never leaving Sae's face on the screen.

When it finally ended, Shidou was practically panting. "Play it again."

"No," Rin snapped, his voice razor-sharp. "Leave."

"You don't give me orders, little Itoshi," Shidou grinned maniacally. "Only Sae-chan can tell me what to—"

"I need to speak with Yugi. Alone."

Something in Rin's tone must have registered even with Shidou's Sae-addled brain, because he huffed dramatically before standing.

"Fine, but send me that interview link. I need it for... research purposes."

Tsukiko's lip curled in disgust as she forwarded the link to Shidou's phone. "There. Now please go... research... somewhere else."

With a disturbing wink, Shidou sauntered away, muttering something about "releasing tension" that Tsukiko desperately tried to unhear.

An uncomfortable silence descended as she was left alone with Rin, whose eyes remained fixed on the blank screen where his brother's face had been moments before.

"Delete that," he finally said.

Tsukiko blinked. "What?"

"Delete that interview. Then post a comment about how washed-up he's becoming."

"I'm not doing that!" she protested, clutching her tablet protectively. "I'm already on thin ice with the management after the (Name) incident. I can't be caught leaving hate comments on interviews."

Rin's eyes narrowed dangerously. "So you're another Sae worshipper? Like Shidou?"

"I don't even know him! I was just curious because—" she stopped herself, suddenly aware of how it would sound.

"Because what?" Rin pressed.

Tsukiko sighed, sinking deeper into the couch. "Because I was looking at your eyelashes, okay? You both have these perfect, doll-like lashes that girls would kill for, and I was trying to figure out if they're natural or if there's some secret Itoshi family mascara I don't know about."

For a moment, Rin stared at her like she had grown a second head. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but the closest thing to amusement she'd ever seen from him.

"They're natural," he replied flatly.

Another uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Tsukiko found herself fidgeting with the edge of her blazer, searching for something to say.

"You don't get along with your brother," she finally stated the obvious.

Rin's expression hardened again. "That's not your concern."

"No, but..." Tsukiko hesitated, then decided she had nothing to lose. Being confined to the bay meant her entertainment options were limited, and getting Rin to talk about something personal was definitely more interesting than watching more Uber family videos.

"I have a brother too. Half-brother, technically. And we... well, 'don't get along' would be putting it mildly."

Rin didn't respond, but he hadn't walked away either, which Tsukiko took as encouragement.

"His name is Hoshi Yugi. He's quarter-Russian and Dutch, from my dad's first marriage." She pulled up a photo on her tablet—a tall, striking young man with sharp features, platinum grey hair, and those same ocean blue eyes that matched her own. "He's kind of a big deal in Dutch football now. One of their top youth players."

Rin glanced at the photo, his interest seemingly piqued despite himself. "And he hates you."

It wasn't a question. Tsukiko nodded, chewing her bottom lip.

"He hates everything about me. My existence, specifically." She laughed, but it sounded hollow even to her own ears. "Funny thing is, I never did anything to him. Just had the audacity to be born and have our dad's attention."

To her surprise, Rin sank down onto the couch beside her, maintaining a careful distance but close enough for conversation. His posture remained rigid, hands clasped between his knees.

"Sae abandoned our family," he said abruptly. "Went to Spain and never looked back. Told me I wasn't worth his time until I could meet him on the world stage."

Tsukiko nodded slowly. "That's... harsh."

"It's the truth," Rin replied. "I wasn't good enough."

"But you're here now. In Blue Lock. That has to count for something."

Rin's expression darkened. "Blue Lock is just the beginning. I'm going to surpass him, crush him completely, and make him regret ever dismissing me."

The intensity in his voice made Tsukiko shiver. She'd seen Rin play—seen the calculated precision in every move he made. The boy beside her wasn't just talking; he was stating a fact as he saw it.

"At least you want to surpass him," she offered. "With Hoshi, it's like... it's all one-sided. He hates me with his entire being, and I'm just confused about what I did wrong."

She scrolled through her tablet again, finding another photo—this one of a much younger Hoshi standing next to their father, both beaming with identical smiles.

"My dad was his hero. The great Yuuto Yugi, star of Japanese football for a decade. Hoshi wanted nothing more than to be just like him."

"And then you came along," Rin surmised.

Tsukiko nodded. "And suddenly Dad had a new family, a new focus. He still supported Hoshi's football, but it wasn't the same. And when I started showing interest in football management instead of playing..."

"Your father supported that too," Rin finished, understanding dawning in his eyes.

"Enthusiastically. Started teaching me everything he knew about the business side, the analytics, the psychology of players." She smiled sadly. "Hoshi saw it as a betrayal. That I got Dad's attention without having to work for it, without having to be the best on the field."

She sighed, running a hand through her sleek gray hair. "So he left. Went back to the Netherlands to live with his mother, determined to become so bright and successful that he'd outshine everything, including Dad's new family. Now he's one of the top youth players there, and he still can't even look at me when we're in the same room for holidays."

For a long moment, Rin was silent, seemingly processing her story. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual.

"Our situations are opposite."

Tsukiko glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"

"Your older brother hates his younger sibling. In my case, the younger brother hates his older one." A mirthless smile ghosted across his face. "But we both have brothers who shine too brightly."

The observation struck her as oddly poetic coming from the usually taciturn Rin. "Yeah, I guess you're right. Though I'd say Hoshi is more like... a dying star."

"What do you mean?"

Tsukiko considered her words carefully. "In astronomy, stars burn their brightest right before they die. They expand, consuming everything around them in a desperate attempt to sustain themselves. That's Hoshi. He's so desperate to outshine everyone that he's burning himself up from the inside out."

She looked at the photo of her brother again, at the fierce determination behind his smile. "He works better under pressure, under impossible expectations. But that kind of intensity... it's not sustainable. Eventually, something has to give."

Rin was watching her with an unreadable expression, but she could tell he was truly listening—perhaps for the first time since she'd arrived at Blue Lock.

"And what about you?" he asked suddenly. "If he's a dying star, what does that make you?"

The question caught her off guard. No one had ever asked her that before.

"I'm the moon," she replied after a thoughtful pause. "I don't generate my own light. I reflect what's around me. My dad's legacy, the talent of my players, even the attention from the audience at events." She laughed softly. "That's why (Name) pisses me off so much. She doesn't care about reflecting anything—she's all about cold, hard numbers, while I'm trying to create something beautiful with what I've been given."

Rin nodded slowly, and for a brief moment, Tsukiko thought she saw a flicker of understanding in his usually guarded expression.

"The moon still controls the tides," he observed quietly. "It has influence, even without burning itself up."

The unexpected philosophy from Rin Itoshi—Blue Lock's resident ice prince—left Tsukiko momentarily speechless. Before she could formulate a response, Loki's voice cut through their conversation.

"Yugi! There you are. I've been looking all over the bay for you."

Tsukiko straightened immediately, plastering on her most charming smile. "Just reviewing some football interviews with Itoshi-kun. Research purposes."

Loki raised a skeptical eyebrow but didn't press further. "We have a strategy meeting in ten minutes. Don't be late."

"Yes, sir!" she chirped, waiting until he disappeared down the hallway before deflating back into the couch.

Beside her, Rin stood, his moment of openness clearly over. But before he walked away, he paused, eyes fixed on some distant point.

"Send me that interview of your brother sometime," he said, so quietly she almost missed it. "I'm curious about this dying star."

And then he was gone, leaving Tsukiko alone with her tablet and the strange feeling that she had just witnessed something rare and genuine from one of Blue Lock's most closed-off players.

With a sigh, she pulled herself up from the couch. Confinement to the PXG bay was still punishment, still boring—but perhaps less lonely than she'd thought. In a complex filled with egotistical strikers all vying to be the brightest star, maybe there was something to be said for being the moon instead.

After all, even in darkness, the moon still found a way to shine.

Chapter Text

Isagi's eyes traced the movement of the ball as it arced through the air, calculating trajectories and possibilities in his mind. He watched as Kaiser executed yet another perfect shot, the ball whistling into the top corner of the goal. The German striker turned with that familiar smirk, eyes briefly flicking toward the sidelines where their stone-faced manager stood, clipboard in hand.

(Name) (L/n).

It had been a while since she'd been introduced as Bastard Münchën's manager, and Isagi even now was still not entirely sure what to make of her. The girl was undeniably brilliant—her analytical abilities bordered on supernatural—but she maintained such a cold, impenetrable exterior that getting to know her seemed nearly impossible.

He wiped sweat from his brow and jogged back into position for the next drill. As he moved, his gaze drifted toward (Name) again. She stood beside Noel Noa, her hair catching the morning light, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she scribbled something on her clipboard. The formal women's suit she wore—cream beige with a striking red tie—made her look older and more professional than her seventeen years.

"Quit staring and focus, Isagi," Hiori called out, snapping him back to attention. "You'll never beat me if you're distracted by our cute manager."

"I wasn't—" Isagi began to protest, but Hiori was already laughing as he jogged away.

The truth was, all of them had been curious about (Name). A female presence in Blue Lock was rare enough, but one with her particular talents had quickly become a topic of fascination. Isagi had seen firsthand how she could calculate a player's statistics just by watching them move, predicting outcomes with uncanny accuracy. It was a skill that resonated with his own spatial awareness, though hers seemed to operate on an entirely different level.

Their training session continued for another hour before Noa called them in. As the players gathered around, Isagi noticed (Name) checking her watch with a slight frown—the only break in her otherwise perfect poker face.

"Good work today," Noa said in his typical economical manner. "Review your individual footage before tomorrow's session. Focus on the weak points we discussed."

As the team began to disperse, Isagi overheard (Name) speaking quietly to Noa.

"I'll be leaving for a few hours this afternoon, as discussed," she said, her voice as flat and precise as ever. "It's my day off."

Noa nodded. "Be back by evening. We have strategy to discuss for the upcoming match."

"Understood."

Isagi found himself wondering where she might go on her day off. Did she have friends outside of Blue Lock? Family nearby? The realization that he knew almost nothing about her personal life struck him suddenly. For all her presence in their daily training, (Name) remained a mystery.

Later that afternoon, Isagi was lounging in the common area with several other team members. Gagamaru was half-asleep on one of the couches, while Yukimiya and Kurona debated some point about a professional match they'd watched the previous night. Hiori sat quietly reading a book, occasionally glancing up at their conversation with mild interest.

Kaiser and Ness had claimed another corner of the room, speaking in hushed voices. Though Isagi now had a translator device, he couldn't hear them clearly enough for it to pick up their words.

"Anyone seen (Name) today?" Yukimiya asked suddenly. "I wanted to go over some of my stats from yesterday's practice."

"Day off," Gagamaru mumbled without opening his eyes. "Noa mentioned it earlier."

"She actually takes days off?" Kurona sounded surprised. "I figured she'd be analyzing data 24/7, even in her sleep."

"She's human, not a robot," Hiori said, not looking up from his book. "Though sometimes I wonder..."

A commotion from the hallway interrupted their conversation. Raised voices echoed down the corridor, growing louder by the second.

"Three weeks, (Name)! Three whole weeks and you couldn't even be bothered to call? Do you have any idea how worried I've been?"

Isagi exchanged glances with Kunigami, whose eyes had widened slightly. That was definitely not a voice any of them recognized. Since entering Blue Lock, they'd hardly interacted with anyone outside their bubble of players, coaches, and the occasional staff member.

"I've been busy," came a cooler, more controlled response. Isagi immediately recognized (Name)'s voice, though he'd never heard it carrying such an edge before.
"I told you this position would require my full attention."

The players collectively paused just around the corner, not yet visible to the arguing pair but close enough to hear everything clearly.

"You had a day off last Thursday," the unfamiliar voice countered. "What, you couldn't spare five minutes to let your mother know you're still alive?"

Isagi's eyebrows shot up. Mother? Their stone-faced, mathematically brilliant manager had a mother who came all the way to Blue Lock to scold her? Of course she had a mother—everyone did—but something about the collision of (Name)'s Blue Lock persona with her personal life felt jarring.

"It's not like I was in danger," (Name) replied, her typically even tone showing cracks of frustration. "This is Blue Lock, not a war zone. And I'm perfectly capable of handling myself."

Kurona nudged Isagi's side, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. Isagi knew they should probably give the two some privacy, but curiosity rooted him to the spot.

"We should go," Hiori whispered, ever the voice of reason.

Gagamaru shrugged. "Or we could not."

"That's not the point!" (Name)'s mother's voice rose another octave. "The point is that I'm still your parent, and you don't just disappear for weeks without a word!"

"I didn't disappear," (Name) retorted. "You know exactly where I am. And this job is important for my future."

"More important than your family?"

There was a beat of silence. Isagi winced, recognizing the familiar weight of parental expectations colliding with personal ambitions. His own mother had similar concerns when he first left for Blue Lock, though perhaps not expressed quite so loudly.

"That's not what I meant," (Name) said, her voice lower but no less intense. "But you knew what this opportunity meant to me, and you agreed—"

"I agreed because I thought you'd at least acknowledge my existence occasionally!"

A different voice suddenly cut through the argument. "Perhaps we should take this conversation somewhere more private?"

Isagi's eyes widened. That was Kaiser, and he sounded unnervingly composed, as if walking into a verbal battlefield was nothing unusual for him.

Yukimiya mouthed 'What is he doing?' to no one in particular.

"Or maybe," Kaiser continued, "your mother would appreciate it if you respected her personal worries."

The silence that followed was deafening. Isagi could almost picture Kaiser's self-satisfied smirk. Only he would have the audacity to insert himself into what was clearly a deeply personal matter.

"This doesn't concern you," (Name)'s voice was razor-sharp.

"On the contrary," Kaiser replied smoothly. "Your performance affects our team's performance. And right now, you're creating quite the spectacle."

Isagi exchanged nervous glances with his teammates. This was rapidly turning into a disaster. Before anyone could decide on a course of action, Kurona took the initiative and stepped around the corner, followed quickly by the others who couldn't very well hide now.

The scene that greeted them was exactly as tense as it had sounded. (Name) stood with her arms crossed, her usually impassive face flushed with anger, glaring daggers at both Kaiser and a woman who could only be her mother. The resemblance was striking—they shared the same hair, though the older woman's was longer and slightly darker, and the same intense eyes. But where (Name)'s face rarely betrayed emotion, her mother's features were animated with fury, eyes flashing and brows knitted.

Kaiser stood between them, the picture of affected nonchalance, though Isagi knew him well enough now to recognize the calculating look in his eyes. Whatever his reason for intervening, it wasn't simply to help.

The tableau froze as everyone became aware of the audience. (Name)'s eyes widened fractionally, and Isagi could almost see the moment she remembered where she was—not at home having a private argument, but at her workplace, surrounded by the very players she was meant to be managing.

The woman—(Name)'s mother—recovered first. Her expression transformed with startling speed, the fury replaced by a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Oh!" She straightened her blazer, remarkably similar to the one (Name) often wore, though in a deep navy rather than beige. "You must be the Blue Lock players. I'm so sorry you had to witness this little... disagreement."

Isagi glanced at (Name), whose face had settled back into its usual stoic mask, though her eyes still burned with embarrassment and anger.

"It's fine," Kunigami said neutrally. "We were just heading to the common room."

"Yes, yes, of course," (Name)'s mother nodded, her smile widening in a way that felt practiced. "Don't let us keep you. I'm Furuta Haruna, by the way. (Name)'s mother."

Isagi noted the different last name but didn't comment. Divorced, perhaps?

"Nice to meet you," Yukimiya offered with his usual charm. "I'm Yukimiya kenyu."

The others introduced themselves as well, and Isagi couldn't help but notice how Ms. Furuta's eyes swept over each of them appraisingly. He understood then where (Name) got her analytical gaze, though her mother's was warmer, more openly curious.

"Ah, so you're Isagi Yoichi," she said when he introduced himself. "(Name) has mentioned you in her texts."

Isagi blinked in surprise. "She has?"

(Name) let out an audible sigh. "Mother, we can continue this discussion later."

"Actually," Kaiser interjected, "I'm quite interested in hearing what Ms. Furuta has to say about our team's manager." His smile was all teeth. "It's not often we get insider information."

If looks could kill, the one (Name) shot Kaiser would have dropped him on the spot.

"What's all this commotion about?"

The deep, composed voice cut through the awkward tension like a knife. Everyone turned to see Noel Noa standing in the doorway, his expression mildly curious as he took in the scene.

"Coach Noa," (Name) said quickly, "this is my mother. She was just leaving."

Noa's gaze shifted to Ms. Haruna, and something strange happened. His usual detached expression flickered, replaced by something more alert, more present.
Isagi had only seen that look on Noa's face when he was watching particularly impressive plays on the field.

"I see," Noa said, stepping forward. "Ms. (L/n), I presume? I'm Noel Noa, head coach of Bastard Münchën."

Ms. Furuta's demeanor changed subtly as well. The forced smile relaxed into something more genuine, and she extended her hand. "Haruna Furuta.” She corrected. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Coach Noa. I've followed your career for years."

Noa took her hand, holding it perhaps a moment longer than strictly necessary. "The pleasure is mine. I must say, your daughter has proven to be quite the asset to our team."

"Has she now?" Ms. Furuta raised an eyebrow, though her voice had lost its edge. "I'm glad to hear it. She's always been exceptional, though sometimes her focus can be... intense."

"A trait I appreciate in my players and staff," Noa replied. His usual monotone had shifted into something smoother, more conversational. "Dedication is essential at this level."

(Name) cleared her throat loudly. "Mom, you were saying you needed to leave soon to catch your train."

"Was I?" Ms. Furuta asked innocently, her eyes still on Noa. "I don't recall mentioning a train."

Isagi watched (Name)'s composure crack further. He'd never seen her so visibly uncomfortable, not even during the infamous face mask night when Kaiser had ended up with a cartoon cat face.

"Perhaps," Noa said, "I could escort you to the exit, Ms. Furuta? The Blue Lock facility can be confusing for visitors."

(Name)'s eyes widened in what could only be described as horror.

"That would be lovely," Ms. Furuta replied, her earlier anger seemingly forgotten. "And please, call me Haruna."

"Haruna it is," Noa said with the barest hint of a smile. He gestured toward the corridor. "After you."

As they walked away, Noa glanced back over his shoulder at (Name), and Isagi swore he saw the coach's lips quirk in what could only be described as a smirk.

The room fell silent as the pair disappeared down the hallway. (Name) stood frozen, her expression a mixture of disbelief and mortification.

"Did... did Noa just..." Gagamaru began.

"He did," Yukimiya confirmed, looking equally stunned.

"Your mom is pretty hot…total Milf," Kurona blurted out, then immediately flinched when (Name)'s glare transferred to him. Gagamaru elbowed him sharply, but several other players nodded in subtle agreement.

"Sorry!" he backpedaled quickly. "Just an observation! Totally respectful observation!"

Kaiser chuckled. "Well, this is an unexpected development."

"Shut up, Kaiser," (Name) snapped, a rare break in her professional demeanor.

Isagi cleared his throat. "Maybe we should give (Name) some space."

"No need," she said, visibly collecting herself. "This is ridiculous. Coach Noa is simply being polite."

"That," Yukimiya said carefully, "was not just politeness."

(Name)'s glare intensified. "What exactly are you implying?"

"Nothing!" Yukimiya held up his hands. "Nothing at all."

"We should follow them," Kurona suggested, earning incredulous looks from his teammates.

"What? Don't you want to see what happens?"

"No," (Name) said firmly. "We are not following them. Coach Noa is escorting my mother out, and that's the end of it."

And with that (Name) stormed off out of sight, leaving the players all plotting..

"This is a terrible idea," Isagi whispered, crouched beside Kaiser, Ness, Kurona, Yukimiya, and Gagamaru in the dimly lit corridor outside the viewing room.

"Then why are you here?" Kaiser whispered back, a smirk evident in his voice even if Isagi couldn't clearly see his face.

"Someone has to make sure you don't get carried away," Isagi replied, though in truth, his curiosity had gotten the better of him. "Where's (Name)-san?"

"She went to 'handle this properly,'" Ness said, mimicking (Name)'s stern tone. "Then she slipped in through the other entrance five minutes ago."

"She's spying on them too?" Isagi couldn't hide his surprise.

"Of course," kurona replied. "Wouldn't you want to know if your mother was being seduced by your boss?"

Isagi winced at the phrasing. "I don't think that's what's happening."

"Oh? Then listen for yourself," Kaiser gestured toward the slightly ajar door.

Noa's smooth voice drifted out: "...your approach to predictive modelling has applications beyond academia. In football, anticipating movement patterns can make the difference between victory and defeat."

"That's what (Name) has been implementing with your team, from what I understand," Haruna replied. "Her mathematical abilities are exceptional, even by my standards."

"She's certainly unique," Noa agreed. "Though now I see where she gets her... intensity."

A light laugh from Haruna. "Is that what you call it? Most people use terms like 'intimidating' or 'difficult.'"

"I prefer 'focused,'" Noa countered. "It's a quality I value highly, both in players and... elsewhere."

Isagi exchanged wide-eyed glances with his teammates. That was definitely flirting, delivered in Noa's characteristic understated manner, but flirting nonetheless.

"Shall we view some match footage?" Noa continued. "I'd be interested in your perspective on our recent performance against Barcha."

"I'd like that," Haruna replied, her voice warm in a way Isagi couldn't imagine (Name)'s ever being. "Though I should warn you, I tend to be brutally honest in my assessments."

"Another trait your daughter inherited," Noa observed, and the smile was audible in his voice. "It's refreshing."

The conversation shifted to more technical matters as Noa presumably began showing match footage. Isagi leaned back slightly, processing what he'd heard.

"Told you," Kaiser whispered triumphantly. "Noa's making a move."

"On (Name)'s mom," Gagamaru added, sounding scandalized yet entertained.

"This is going to destroy (Name)-san," Kurona murmured, genuine concern in his voice.

Isagi frowned. "We don't know that. Maybe she'd be happy if her mother found someone."

"Someone who's her boss?" Ness countered skeptically. "That's a recipe for disaster."

"Not to mention awkward as hell," Kaiser added. "Imagine if Noa became her stepdad."

The thought was so absurd that Isagi almost laughed out loud, catching himself at the last second. "That's not going to happen."

"I don't know," Gagamaru mused. "They seem to be hitting it off."

Inside the viewing room, the conversation continued, occasionally punctuated by Haruna's analytical observations about player positioning and strategic weaknesses. Isagi had to admit, her insights were razor-sharp—similar to (Name)'s but delivered with more flair and confidence.

"She's good," Kurona whispered. "I can see where (Name)-san gets her brains from."

"But not her personality," Ness added. "Her mother's actually likeable."

"(Name) is likeable," Isagi found himself defending before he could think better of it.
Five pairs of eyes turned to him in varying degrees of disbelief.

"When?" Kaiser asked bluntly.

Isagi thought about it—about how (Name) had stayed late reviewing footage with him when he asked for help analyzing his blind spots, how she'd noticed when he was pushing himself too hard and quietly left water bottles near him during practice, how sometimes when she thought no one was looking, she allowed herself tiny smiles at their antics.

"You just have to pay attention," he finally said.

"Oh, he's paying attention all right," Kaiser smirked suggestively.

Before Isagi could retort, a cold voice from behind them made them all freeze.

"Fascinating conversation. Please, don't stop on my account."

Slowly, all six players turned to find (Name) standing behind them, arms crossed and expression murderous. Her usual stoic demeanor was cracking at the edges, a dangerous flush coloring her cheeks.

"(Name)-san," Isagi began, scrambling to his feet. "We were just—"

"Spying," she finished flatly. "Like children."

"As were you," Kaiser pointed out, not bothering to appear contrite as he stood. "From inside."

(Name)'s eyes narrowed fractionally. "I was monitoring a situation involving my mother and my employer. You were gossiping."

"We were concerned," Isagi tried, though he knew it sounded weak.

"Your concern is noted and unnecessary," (Name) replied coldly. "Now all of you, go find something productive to do before I assign additional conditioning drills."

No one moved immediately, except for Kaiser, who dragged Ness along with him elsewhere, causing (Name)'s expression to darken further.

"That's it," (Name) sighed. standing abruptly. "I'm putting a stop to this."

"Wait!" Isagi grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down. "You can't just barge in there."

"Watch me," she hissed, but didn't pull away.

Before she could make good on her threat, Ms. Furuta and Noa shook hands—a handshake that lasted just a beat too long—and then Ms. Furuta was walking out the door. Noa remained in place for a moment, watching her leave, before turning and heading back toward them.

"Scatter!" Kurona whispered urgently.

They all scrambled to their feet and attempted to look casual, as if they just happened to be congregating near a potted plant in a hallway they had no reason to be in. Isagi noticed that (Name) remained rooted to the spot, her usual calculating gaze replaced by something that looked almost like dread.

Noa approached them with unhurried steps, his expression once again unreadable.

"Interesting choice of location for a team meeting," he commented dryly as he reached them.

"We were just—" Yukimiya began.

"Discussing strategies," Kurona finished lamely.

"By a plant," Gagamaru added, making Isagi wince.

Noa's gaze swept over them before settling on (Name). "Your mother is quite knowledgeable about football. She mentioned she played in university."

(Name)'s jaw tightened. "Yes. She did."

"She also mentioned she'd be attending our next match," Noa continued, and Isagi could swear there was a note of satisfaction in his voice.

"She what?" (Name)'s composure slipped again.

"I invited her," Noa said simply. "As a potential team sponsor."

"A sponsor," (Name) repeated skeptically.

"Yes. She mentioned her company is looking to expand its sports marketing division. It seemed like a natural fit."

Isagi glanced at (Name), whose expression had shifted from dread to suspicion.

"My mother's company specializes in financial software," she said slowly. "Not sports marketing."

"Diversification is essential in today's economy," Noa replied smoothly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have training plans to finalize."

With that, he walked past them, but not before giving (Name) what Isagi could only describe as a triumphant look.

Once Noa was out of earshot, Kurona let out a low whistle. "So Coach Noa just..."

"Used a business pretext to see (Name)'s mom again?" Yukimiya finished. "Absolutely."

"This can't be happening," (Name) muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Look on the bright side," Gagamaru offered. "If Noa becomes your stepdad, maybe he'll give you inside information on his techniques."

The look (Name) gave him could have frozen lava.

"That's not funny," she said. "And it's not going to happen. Coach Noa is simply... being professional."

"That didn't look professional to me," Kurona remarked.

"I didn't ask for your opinion," (Name) snapped. She took a deep breath, visibly gathering her composure. "This is ridiculous. Coach Noa is one of the greatest strikers in football history. He's not interested in my mother."

"Your mother is pretty attractive," Isagi pointed out, then immediately regretted it when (Name)'s glare turned on him. "I mean, objectively speaking."

"(Name) and noa are both pretty stoic," Kurona mused. "They'd make a convincing father-daughter."

"Stop it," (Name) warned.

"Actually," Gagamaru said thoughtfully, "if they did become a family, would anyone even be able to tell they weren’t blood related? They'd just stand next to each other not showing any emotion."

Despite the tension, Isagi felt a laugh bubbling up at the mental image. He quickly suppressed it when he saw (Name)'s expression darken further.

"This discussion is over," she declared. "We have more important things to focus on, like our upcoming match against PXG."

"True," Yukimiya conceded. "But you have to admit, it's kind of—"

"I don't have to admit anything," (Name) cut him off. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have statistics to analyze."

She turned on her heel and marched down the corridor, her back rigid.

"She's really upset," Isagi observed once she was out of earshot.

"Wouldn't you be?" Yukimiya asked. "It's her mother and her coach."

"Yeah, but it's not like anything's actually happening," Kurona said. "Right?"

They all exchanged uncertain glances.

"Hard to say with Noa," Gagamaru shrugged. "He's not exactly an open book."

"Either way," Yukimiya said, "we should probably give (Name) some space."

Isagi nodded in agreement, but he couldn't help feeling curious about how this strange situation would unfold. In the relatively short time since (Name) had joined them as their manager, she had proven herself to be incredibly competent, if somewhat distant. Seeing her flustered and emotional was new—almost like discovering a different person behind the analytical facade.

As they made their way back to the common room, they found Kaiser lounging on one of the sofas, scrolling through his phone with apparent disinterest.

"Well?" he asked without looking up. "What did i miss?"

"He invited her to our next match," Kunigami said. "As a 'potential sponsor.'"

Kaiser snorted. "Of course he did."

"You don't seem surprised," Isagi observed.

"Why would I be?" Kaiser finally looked up from his phone. "Noa may be a football genius, but he's still human. And Mommy Furuta is an attractive, charismatic woman who shares his... sharp demeanor."

"I wouldn't call her just sharp," Gagamaru commented. "She was pretty fired up when she was arguing with (Name)."

"Passion is different from personality," Kaiser said dismissively. "At their core, they're both analytical, focused individuals. It makes sense."

Isagi raised an eyebrow. "Since when are you an expert on relationships?"

"I'm an expert at reading people," Kaiser corrected. "It's why I'm a better striker than you."

Before Isagi could retort, the door to the common room slid open, and Noa himself walked in. The players immediately fell silent, watching as their coach crossed to the tactical board and began adjusting magnets.

"Your observational skills need work," Noa said without turning around. "A footballer who can't remain undetected off the pitch will struggle to find space on it."

Isagi felt heat rise to his face. So Noa had known they were watching all along.

"That said," Noa continued, finally turning to face them, "Ms. Furuta did provide some interesting insights into our manager's methods. Did you know (Name) has been analyzing statistics since she was eight years old?"

This was news to Isagi. He tried to picture a young (Name), hunched over spreadsheets and calculators, her serious eyes focused on numbers while other kids played outside.

"She also mentioned," Noa added, a trace of amusement in his voice, "that (Name) keeps a collection of plush bears in her room at home. Apparently, she finds their symmetry mathematically pleasing."

Kurona snickered. "That explains the Rilakkuma pajamas."

"Indeed," Noa nodded. "I find it beneficial to understand the backgrounds of my team members. It provides context for their decision-making processes."

Isagi wasn't entirely convinced that was Noa's only motivation for talking to Ms. Furuta, but he wasn't about to challenge his coach on it.

"Now," Noa continued, his voice returning to its usual businesslike tone, "let's discuss our strategy for the PXG match. Their manager, Yugi, favors promoting individual skill over team cohesion—a reflection of her own approach to leadership."

As Noa launched into tactical analysis, Isagi found his mind wandering back to (Name). He'd never given much thought to her life outside Blue Lock, but today's encounter had painted a picture of a complex person with her own family dynamics and personal struggles.

Throughout the rest of the day, (Name) was conspicuously absent from team activities. According to Ness, who had bumped into her in the analysis room, she was "recalibrating player metrics with extreme prejudice"—which Isagi took to mean she was burying herself in work to avoid thinking about Noa and her mother.

By evening, most of the team had gathered in the common room for dinner. The conversation inevitably drifted back to the day's unusual events.

"Do you think she'll actually come to the match?" Yukimiya wondered aloud as he picked at his food.

"Who?" Hiori asked.

"(Name)'s mom," Kurona clarified. "Noa invited her as a 'sponsor.'" He made air quotes around the last word.

"I'd bet on it," Kaiser said. "Noa doesn't strike me as a man who fails to follow through."

"Poor (Name)," Gagamaru chuckled. "Imagine having your mom dating your boss."

"They're not dating," Kunigami pointed out. "It was one conversation."

"A very intense conversation," Kurona countered.

As they debated, the door slid open, and (Name) walked in. The room immediately fell silent. She looked composed again, her usual stoic expression firmly in place, though Isagi thought he detected shadows under her eyes that hadn't been there this morning.

She approached their table with measured steps. "I want to apologize for my unprofessional behavior earlier. My personal matters should not interfere with our work here."

"No need to apologize," Kunigami said with a slight shrug.

"Yeah, family stuff happens to everyone," Yukimiya added.

(Name) nodded stiffly. "Nevertheless, it won't happen again."

She turned to leave, but Kaiser's voice stopped her.

"Is your mother really coming to the match against PXG?"

(Name)'s shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly. "Apparently so."

"Interesting," Kaiser mused. "Will she be sitting with the Bastard Münchën staff, or with Noa specifically?"

Isagi winced. Trust Kaiser to poke at the most sensitive point.

(Name) turned slowly to face him, her expression perfectly neutral, but her eyes blazing with that distinctive intensity Isagi had come to associate with her focusing on a particularly difficult calculation.

"I haven't discussed the seating arrangements," she said coolly. "But I'm sure Coach Noa will ensure she has an appropriate view of the match."

"I'm sure he will," Kaiser smiled, the picture of innocence.

(Name) held his gaze for a moment longer before addressing the table at large. "I've updated the player analyses after today's training session. I'll be reviewing them with each of you individually tomorrow morning, starting with Isagi at 8 AM."

With that, she turned and left, her posture rigid.

"You're such an ass, Kaiser," Kurona said once she was gone.

Kaiser shrugged, unbothered. "Just adding a little entertainment to our routine."

"At (Name)'s expense," Isagi pointed out.

"She can handle it," Kaiser replied. "Our manager is tougher than she looks."

Isagi frowned. While there was truth to that—(Name) had proven herself remarkably resilient in the pressure cooker that was Blue Lock—it still felt wrong to deliberately provoke her about something so personal.

The next morning, Isagi arrived at the analysis room precisely at 8 AM. (Name) was already there, surrounded by tablets and printouts, her focus entirely on the screen in front of her.

"Good morning," Isagi greeted her.

"Morning," she replied without looking up. "Take a seat."

Isagi sat across from her, taking note of the dark circles under her eyes. Again. Had she slept at all?

"Before we start," he said hesitantly, "I just wanted to say that whatever happens with your mom and Coach Noa... it doesn't change how any of us see you as our manager."

(Name)'s fingers paused over the keyboard. She finally looked up at him, her expression unreadable.

"There is nothing 'happening' with my mother and Coach Noa," she said firmly. "It was a single conversation."

"Right," Isagi nodded. "Of course."

She studied him for a moment, then sighed, her shoulders dropping slightly. "But thank you. For what it's worth."

It was probably the closest thing to vulnerability he'd ever seen from her. Isagi felt an unexpected surge of protectiveness toward their usually unflappable manager.

"Your mom seems nice," he offered. "Intense, but nice."

A ghost of a smile flickered across (Name)'s face. "She is. Both of those things."

"You're a lot like her," Isagi observed. "The intensity, I mean."

"So I've been told," (Name) replied dryly. She hesitated, then added, "She used to be a mathematician before she switched to finance. That's where I get my affinity for numbers."

"And the Rilakkuma obsession?" Isagi couldn't help asking, immediately regretting it when (Name)'s expression hardened.

"Noa told you about that?"

"He mentioned something about you liking bears because of their symmetry?"

(Name) closed her eyes briefly, as if praying for patience. "Of course he did."

"It's kind of cool, actually," Isagi said quickly. "Finding the math in everything, I mean."

She gave him a skeptical look, but her posture relaxed slightly. "Let's focus on your performance data, shall we?"

As (Name) launched into her analysis of his play, pointing out patterns and probabilities with her usual precision, Isagi realized that despite her cool exterior, she was just as complex and human as any of them. The stoic, analytical manager and the daughter who argued with her mother were two sides of the same person.

When their session concluded, Isagi stood to leave but paused at the door. "For what it's worth, (Name), I think it's nice that your mom cares enough to come all the way here when she hadn't heard from you."

(Name) looked up from her tablet, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. "Yes, well. She's always been... persistent."

"Must run in the family," Isagi said with a smile.

As he left the analysis room, Isagi spotted Noa in the common room, phone in hand, looking unusually pleased about something. Kaiser trailing behind. Their coach nodded briefly in acknowledgment as they passed each other.

"Isagi," Noa said, pausing. "Is (Name) available?"

"She's preparing for her next analysis session," Isagi replied.

"Good. I need to discuss logistics for our upcoming match." Noa paused, then added with the barest hint of satisfaction, "We'll be having an additional observer."

"Ms. Furutai confirmed she's coming, then?" Isagi asked before he could stop himself.

Noa's expression remained neutral, but there was a definite gleam in his eye. "Indeed. She's quite interested in seeing how her daughter manages a professional team, Her mother is quite impressive," Noa continued, surprising both strikers. "It's easy to see where (Name) gets her intelligence, though their personalities diverge significantly."

Isagi nodded, unsure how to respond to this unusual conversational direction from their coach.

"Speaking of the (L/n) women," Noa said, turning his penetrating gaze directly at Isagi, "I've noticed you've been spending quite a bit of time with our manager, Isagi."

Isagi nearly choked on air. "I – what? I mean, yes, we discuss strategy and positioning a lot, but—"

"It seems we have similar taste," Noa commented cryptically, the ghost of a smile playing at his lips. "Though I suppose I'm pursuing the more mature option."

With that bombshell dropped, Noa nodded at both players and exited the room, leaving a stunned silence in his wake.

Isagi blinked repeatedly, his brain struggling to process Noa's words. "Did he just... what did he mean by that?"

Kaiser's expression darkened as he crushed his empty bottle in his hand. "He meant that you're not the only one fishing for an (L/n), you oblivious idiot."

"Fishing for... wait, what?" Isagi's eyes widened as understanding slowly dawned. "I'm not – (Name) and I are just—"

"Save it," Kaiser interrupted, his voice cold. "Your obvious puppy-dog eyes whenever she analyzes your play are pathetic. Just know that if you're setting your sights on our manager, you've got competition."

Isagi stared at Kaiser in disbelief. "Are you saying that you're interested in (Name) too?"

Kaiser's scowl deepened. "I'm saying that the best deserve the best. And I'm the best striker here, which means I deserve the best manager supporting me, not you."

"That's not how relationships work, Kaiser!"

"This isn't about relationships," Kaiser snapped. "It's about optimization. (Name)'s analytical abilities are wasted on your limited talent. She should be focused on enhancing my game, not yours."

Isagi stood up, irritation flaring. "That's not for you to decide. (Name) works with all of us equally."

"For now," Kaiser replied with a smirk. "But we'll see who she chooses to prioritize in the end."

As Kaiser stalked out of the room, Isagi sank back onto the sofa, mind whirling. Was Noa right? Did he have feelings for their stoic, mathematical manager? And was Kaiser really seeing her as some sort of prize to be won?

More importantly, what did (Name) think about all this? She'd never shown particular favoritism to either of them, treating them both with the same analytical detachment she showed everyone. Though Isagi had to admit, there were moments when he thought he'd seen something softer in her expression when they discussed his spatial awareness and positioning strategies.

Isagi groaned and buried his face in his hands. As if competing with Kaiser on the pitch wasn't complicated enough, now they were apparently rivals for their manager's attention too.

And somewhere in the back of his mind, a small, competitive voice whispered: Just like on the field, I'm not going to lose to Kaiser in this either.

With a sigh, Isagi turned back to the game footage. For now, he needed to focus on improving his game. After all, the best way to impress a manager who thought in statistics and probabilities was to give her impressive numbers to work with.

And maybe, just maybe, he could show her that there was more to both of them than just calculations and football.

Chapter Text

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across her desk as she glared at her English textbook. Equations, formulas, statistical probabilities—those made sense. But English? The words seemed to swim before her eyes, refusing to obey any logical pattern her brain could detect.

"Remind me what the difference is between 'affect' and 'effect' again?" (Name) asked, her voice laced with irritation as she scribbled another incorrect answer in her notebook.

Kaiser, who was lounging on the couch opposite her in the Bastard Münchën common area, smirked. "One is a verb, one is a noun. You affect something, which creates an effect."

"That's not always true," Ness chimed in from across the room. "Effect can also be a verb meaning 'to bring about,' and affect can be a—"

"Shut up," (Name) interrupted, face glowering with frustration. "Just... shut up. This is why I hate English. Everything has exceptions. Numbers don't lie. Numbers don't have exceptions."

She pushed the textbook away and reached for her tablet, the comforting blue glow illuminating her face as she pulled up player statistics—her happy place. Just as she was about to lose herself in the beautiful certainty of numbers, her phone buzzed with a notification from the manager group chat.

Akane: Hey girls! Since NEL is wrapping up with our last match and one more offer event, I was thinking we should do something fun together! How about a manager football match? 😊

Haru: OMG YES!!!! I'd love to play instead of just watching for once!

Tsukiko: Perfect opportunity to show off my skills~ I was quite the athlete in middle school

Natsumi: I'm not very good but I'll try my best... 🥲

(Name) stared at her phone in horror. A football match? Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she considered her response.

(Name): No.

Akane: Come on, (Name)! It'll be fun! We'll do it after our last NEL match before the final offer event. That gives you a few weeks to prepare if you're worried.

Haru: PLEAAAAAAASE (Name)-CHAN!!! 🥺🥺🥺

Tsukiko: What's wrong, Calculator? Afraid you can't hack it on the pitch?

(Name)'s eye twitched at Tsukiko's taunt. She could feel the probability of her escape from this situation decreasing rapidly. Four against one—20% chance of successful objection. Unwinnable odds.

(Name): Fine. But just us five. Got it?

(Name) deleted her draft and tossed her phone onto the textbooks with a groan. Four against one. She never stood a chance.

"Bad news?" Kaiser asked, his voice laced with amusement.

"Nothing that concerns you," she replied curtly, but her mind was already spinning with calculations. Two weeks to prepare. Zero current athletic ability. Five years since she'd last run more than fifty meters at a time. The probability of her making a complete fool of herself was approximately...97.3%.

Those weren't good odds.

The next morning found (Name) wearing something the Bastard Münchën players had never seen before—athletic clothes. She'd managed to scrounge up a pair of black joggers and a simple gray t-shirt, her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail rather than leaving it down.

She stood awkwardly at the edge of the training field, watching as the players warmed up with their usual drills. They were all built like machines, conditioned to perfection. And there she was, the human calculator who couldn't remember the last time she'd done a proper squat.

"Are you lost?" Ness asked with genuine confusion as he jogged past.

"No," (Name) replied flatly. "I'm training today."

Ness almost tripped mid-stride, turning back to look at her as if she'd announced she was quitting to become a circus performer.

"You're what?"

"Training," she repeated, crossing her arms defensively. "Is that a problem?"

"No, just... unexpected," Ness said, a small grin forming on his face.

(Name) ignored him, focusing instead on the field. The players were running laps to warm up—that seemed simple enough. Basic cardio. Even she could handle that. Probably.

She made her way to the starting line, taking a deep breath before setting off at what she hoped was a reasonable pace. The first fifty meters weren't so bad. She kept her breathing steady, arms pumping mechanically at her sides.

By one hundred meters, her lungs had begun to protest.

By two hundred, her legs felt like they were filled with concrete.

And by three hundred, she was seriously contemplating the merits of just collapsing on the spot and accepting death.

The players lapped her effortlessly, some shooting her curious glances, others barely noticing her as they focused on their own training. Isagi passed her twice, offering an encouraging smile the second time around.

"You're doing great, (Name)!" he called, seemingly genuine despite how pathetic she must have looked.

She didn't waste precious oxygen responding, just glared at his retreating back. Easy for him to say when he wasn't dying.

Kaiser was less kind when he passed, slowing just enough to comment, "If you're trying to intimidate the other managers, gasping like a fish might not be the best strategy."

That comment gave her just enough spite-fueled energy to finish the lap, though by the time she crossed the arbitrary finish line, she was hunched over with her hands on her knees, sweat dripping from her forehead.

"That's...one," she gasped to herself, checking her watch. Her time was abysmal. At this rate, she'd be lucky to make it through five minutes of an actual match.

The training continued, and with each drill, (Name) became more aware of how poorly suited she was for this. Sprints left her dizzy. Agility drills had her tripping over cones. And when it came time for strength training, she couldn't even do a single proper push-up.

The worst part was seeing the amusement on the players' faces. They tried to hide it, but she could see it—Yukimiya's poorly concealed smile, Gagamaru's raised eyebrows, Kurona's outright snickering. Even Kunigami, usually so serious, had to turn away a few times to compose himself.

Only Isagi seemed genuinely concerned, appearing at her side with a water bottle after a particularly grueling set of sprints.

"You know," he said as she gratefully accepted the water, "you don't need to push yourself this hard right away. Building stamina takes time."

(Name) took several large gulps before responding. "I don't have time," she said bluntly. "Two weeks."

"Two weeks until what?"

She considered not telling him, but what was the point in hiding it? They'd all find out eventually.

"Manager football match," she muttered, wiping sweat from her brow. "Akane's idea."

Understanding dawned on Isagi's face, quickly followed by something that looked dangerously like pity. "Oh. That's... that's great!"

"No, it's not," she snapped. "I'm a statistician, not an athlete."

"Well, maybe I could help," Isagi offered. "I'm not exactly Kaiser when it comes to raw talent, but I know a thing or two about working smarter, not harder."

(Name) considered the offer. Isagi did have a point—he wasn't the strongest or fastest player, but he had an uncanny ability to position himself perfectly. Maybe there was something to learn there.

"Fine," she agreed. "But if you laugh once—just once—I'm calculating your odds of losing the next match down to the decimal point and sharing them with the entire team."

Isagi grinned. "Deal."

The afternoon training session was marginally better. Isagi had convinced Noa to let him work separately with (Name), focusing on the basics: ball control, passing, and proper running technique. It was still humiliating, but at least she wasn't flailing around in front of the entire team.

"You're too stiff," Isagi commented as she attempted to dribble a ball in a straight line. "You need to relax your ankles more. Let the ball roll naturally."

"There's nothing natural about this," (Name) muttered, but she tried to loosen her posture.

The ball immediately rolled away from her, and she suppressed a growl of frustration.

"It's all about feeling the ball," Isagi continued, demonstrating with ease. "Think of it as an extension of your foot."

"My foot doesn't usually detach and roll away," she deadpanned.

Isagi laughed, then quickly stopped when he saw her death glare. "Sorry. Look, maybe we're approaching this wrong. You're analytical, right? Maybe we should break this down mathematically."

That caught her attention. "Go on."

"Well, dribbling is all about angles and force. When you want the ball to go straight, you need to hit it with the right amount of force at a perpendicular angle to your direction of movement."

For the first time that day, something clicked in (Name)'s brain. Angles. Force. These were concepts she understood.

She tried again, this time mentally calculating the angle of her foot against the ball, the amount of force needed based on the ball's mass and the friction of the grass. It wasn't perfect, but the ball stayed closer to her foot.

"Better!" Isagi encouraged. "Now try again, but this time—"

"What's this? A private coaching session?"

Kaiser's voice cut through their concentration. He strolled over, looking annoyingly fresh despite having trained all morning.

"Just helping (Name) with some basics," Isagi replied, his tone friendly but with an edge of defensiveness.

Kaiser looked (Name) up and down, taking in her sweaty appearance and the barely controlled ball at her feet. "Basics indeed. Though I'm surprised you didn't come to me first, calculator girl. I am the best striker in Blue Lock, after all."

"Isagi offered," (Name) said shortly. "And don't call me calculator girl."

"Would you prefer 'mathlete'? Or perhaps 'numerical prodigy who can't kick a ball straight'?"

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. "I'm learning."

"Clearly," Kaiser said with a smirk. "Though at this rate, you'll be ready in time for the next World Cup. Not this one, the one after."

"Kaiser," Isagi warned, stepping slightly between them. "She's trying."

"And failing spectacularly," Kaiser replied, but there was something almost playful in his tone. He turned back to (Name). "Your stance is all wrong. You're standing like you're about to solve a calculus problem, not play football."

Before she could protest, Kaiser moved behind her, adjusting her shoulders with a firm grip. "Relax here," he commanded, then nudged her feet wider with his own. "And distribute your weight evenly. Football is about balance."

(Name) stiffened at the contact, unused to anyone invading her personal space so casually. But she had to admit, reluctantly, that his adjustments made her feel more stable.

"Now try," Kaiser instructed, stepping back.

She kicked the ball, and to her surprise, it rolled forward in a relatively straight line for a good five meters before veering off course.

"Huh," she said, unable to keep the surprise from her voice.

Kaiser smirked. "See? Even the great (Name) (L/n) can benefit from the Kaiser's wisdom."

She rolled her eyes, but there was less venom in it than usual. "Don't let it go to your head."

"Too late," Kaiser replied easily. "Now show me what else you can't do, and I'll fix it."

And so began one of the strangest training sessions in Blue Lock history—Kaiser and Isagi, rivals on the field, united in their mission to teach their manager the basics of football. They had distinctly different teaching styles: Isagi was patient and encouraging, breaking movements down into understandable components; Kaiser was demanding and blunt, correcting her form with uncompromising precision.

But somehow, between the two of them, (Name) started to improve. Marginally. Microscopically. But it was improvement nonetheless.

By the end of the day, she could dribble in a somewhat straight line for about ten meters, make a simple pass over a short distance, and run half a lap before feeling like death was imminent.

It wasn't much, but it was a start.

As they finished up, several other players had gathered at the sidelines, watching with various degrees of interest and amusement. (Name) pretended not to notice them, focusing instead on collecting the cones they had used for drills.

"So," Yukimiya called out as she passed, "what position are you playing in this manager match?"

(Name) paused. She hadn't even thought about that. "I don't know."

"She'd make a terrible striker," Kaiser commented. "No killer instinct with the ball."

"Defender?" Gagamaru suggested. "She's analytical enough to read plays."

"Too slow," Ness countered. "She'd get burnt on every run."

"Goalkeeper?" Kurona offered.

(Name) shuddered at the thought of having balls fired at her face at high velocity. "Absolutely not."

"Midfielder," Isagi said decisively. "She has good spatial awareness, and she's starting to get the hang of passing. Plus, she can direct play—like a coach on the field."

The others considered this, then nodded in agreement. Even Kaiser didn't contradict him.

"Midfielder it is," (Name) said, somewhat relieved to have that decision made for her. Though she wasn't sure if any position would save her from complete embarrassment.

As the team began to disperse for dinner, Hiori approached with that unsettling yet sweet smile that always made (Name) feel like she was being dissected.

"Interesting career change," he commented. "From mastermind to midfield maestro."

"It's one match," (Name) replied flatly. "And I wouldn't call what I'm doing 'maestro' level."

"True," Hiori agreed, his smile widening. "But it's entertaining to watch you try."

Before (Name) could respond with something appropriately cutting, Isagi called her over to discuss training plans for the next day. She left Hiori with a glare, though the effect was somewhat diminished by how exhausted she looked.

That night, after a shower that felt like heaven on her aching muscles, (Name) collapsed onto her bed, every part of her body protesting the day's activities. She pulled out her tablet and began running calculations—not on player statistics or match probabilities, but on her own training regimen.

If she increased her stamina by X amount each day, improved her ball control by Y percentage, and practiced passing for Z hours, what were the odds she wouldn't completely humiliate herself in two weeks?
The numbers weren't encouraging, but they were better than they had been that morning. And (Name) (L/n) had never been one to back down from unfavorable odds.

The next few days followed a similar pattern. (Name) would join the team for morning training, struggling through drills that they found elementary. In the afternoons, either Isagi or Kaiser (sometimes both) would work with her on specific skills.

The rest of Bastard Münchën had gotten used to the sight of their stone-faced manager attempting to master the basics of football. Some offered tips here and there; others simply watched with amusement. But none of them questioned her determination, even if they didn't understand it.

By the fifth day, (Name) could run a full lap without feeling like she was going to die. Her passes were more accurate, and she could even receive a ball without it bouncing awkwardly off her foot. Progress was slow but measurable—exactly how she liked it.

Today, however, she was trying something new. The team had finished their regular training and retreated to the sidelines for a water break, but (Name) remained on the field, positioning a ball in front of the goal.

"What is she doing?" Kurona asked, watching curiously.

"No idea," Gagamaru replied. "But this should be good."

The players gathered, theories flying back and forth.

"Maybe she's practicing penalty kicks?" Yukimiya suggested.

"Or working on her shooting form," Ness added.

"What kind of player do you think (Name) would be in a real match?" Kunigami wondered aloud.

"Defensive midfielder," Isagi said immediately. "She'd be calculating passing lanes and opponent movements constantly."

"Nah, she'd be a rage monster," Igaguri countered. "Have you seen her when she gets angry? I bet she'd tackle like a demon."

"I can see it now," Yukimiya laughed. "The (Name) Impact—like the Kaiser Impact, but with more glaring."

The joke rippled through the group, even Kaiser allowing a small smirk at the idea of (Name) attempting his signature move.

On the field, oblivious to their comments, (Name) stood before the ball. Her face had settled into her trademark concentration glare, eyes seeming to glow with intensity. She had changed back into her regular outfit—blouse, skirt, and notably, heels—after training, but apparently had one more thing to accomplish before leaving.

She took a deep breath, eyes fixed on the goal, and took several steps back. The players watched, curiosity turning to concern as they realized what she was attempting.

"She's not actually going to—" Ness began.

"She is," Kaiser confirmed, leaning forward with interest.

(Name) charged toward the ball, face locked in determination. But as she planted her foot to strike, the heel of her shoe sank into the soft turf. Her ankle wobbled, her balance vanished, and in an instant, she was airborne—but not in the way she had intended.

She went down hard, one shoe flying off in the process. By some cosmic coincidence, the heel of her detached shoe hit the ball, causing it to roll forward pathetically for about half a meter before stopping.

The (Name) Impact, indeed.

For a moment, nobody moved, too shocked by the spectacular failure they had just witnessed. Then, as one, the team rushed forward, concern mixed with poorly suppressed laughter.

Hiori reached her first, his usual sadistic smile firmly in place. "Is anything broken?" he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

(Name) lay flat on her back, staring up at the ceiling, her copper-brown hair splayed out beneath her. Her face was flushed with a combination of embarrassment and anger, the red dot in her eyes practically burning. Her lip trembled slightly as she fought to maintain her stoic demeanor.

"Just my pride," she replied, voice remarkably steady despite everything.

And despite the pain, despite the humiliation, despite the fact that she now had absolute confirmation that the manager football match would be a complete disaster—(Name) (L/n) found herself surrounded by her team, their
laughter not mocking but inclusive, as if she were part of some shared experience rather than the butt of a joke.

As Kaiser and Isagi each offered her a hand up, their earlier rivalry temporarily forgotten in the face of her spectacular failure, (Name) realized that perhaps there was value in this exercise beyond improving her football skills.
Not that she'd ever admit it.

Chapter Text

The third offer event had finally concluded the last of it’s kind finally, leaving a fatigued (Name) (L/n) walking alongside the other four managers. Each step felt heavier than the last as they made their way back to their respective bays.

"I'm never going to get used to these events," (Name) muttered, reaching up to loosen the choking tie around her neck. The fitted crimson business suit she wore for presentations felt constraining after hours under the spotlight.

"At least no one tried to scratch anyone's eyes out this time," Akane quipped with a light chuckle, her red pixie cut bouncing as she walked. "I'd call that progress."

Tsukiko flipped her straight gray hair over her shoulder with practiced elegance. "I don't know what you're talking about. These events are the perfect opportunity to showcase our talents."

(Name) rolled her eyes, fighting the urge to remind Tsukiko that her "talents" consisted mainly of batting eyelashes at representatives rather than presenting actual player statistics. Before she could open her mouth to deliver a cutting remark, a deep voice called out behind them.

"Ladies, a moment of your time."

The five managers turned to see Buratsuta Hirotoshi approaching, his expensive suit and confident stride marking him instantly as someone of authority. As chairman of the Japan Football Union and the mastermind behind Blue Lock TV's marketing strategy, his presence made each of them straighten their posture instinctively.

"Congratulations on another successful offer event," he said, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "Your performances have been generating quite the buzz on social media."

(Name) kept her face carefully neutral, though inwardly she cringed at the thought of being a "social media buzz." Numbers and probabilities were her domain, not trending hashtags.

"I've been developing some new promotional ideas for Blue Lock TV," Buratsuta continued. "Tomorrow, I'd like all five of you to report to Studio B at 9 AM sharp. We'll be recording some promotional content."

"What kind of promotional content?" Natsumi asked quietly, her white cream-colored ponytail swinging as she tilted her head.

"Just bring yourselves and your enthusiasm," Buratsuta replied cryptically. "The creative team will handle the rest."
With that, he turned and walked away, leaving the five managers exchanging concerned glances.

"Why do I feel like we're about to become lab rats in some twisted marketing experiment?" (Name) said, narrowing her eyes at Buratsuta's retreating figure.

"Oh, come on!" Haru chirped, bouncing on her toes. "It could be fun! Maybe we'll get to do a photo shoot or something!"

"With our luck, they'll probably make us wrestle in mud while reciting player statistics," (Name) deadpanned.

Akane laughed, wrapping an arm around (Name)'s shoulders. "Always the optimist, (L/n)-chan."

(Name) merely grunted in response. She had a bad feeling about tomorrow, and her probability calculations rarely led her astray.

The following morning, (Name) arrived at Studio B to find the other four managers already waiting outside. Haru bounced excitedly from foot to foot, her light blue pigtails bobbing with each movement.

"(Name)-senpai! You made it!" Haru exclaimed, latching onto (Name)'s arm. "I couldn't sleep last night thinking about what we might be doing today!"

"I just hope it doesn't take too long," (Name) replied, extracting her arm from Haru's grip. "I have actual work to do analyzing the Ubers match data."

Before anyone could respond, the studio door swung open, and a woman with a clipboard beckoned them inside. "Managers, please follow me."

As they entered, (Name)'s eyes widened in confusion. Instead of cameras or a photo set, the room was filled with recording equipment. Microphones hung from the ceiling, headphones lay neatly on five chairs, and sound panels lined the walls.

"What is this?" Tsukiko asked, voicing everyone's confusion.

"Recording studio," the woman replied, checking her clipboard. "Today you'll be recording the vocals for Blue Lock TV's new promotional jingle."

"Vocals?" (Name) repeated, feeling her stomach drop. "As in... singing?"

"Precisely!" Buratsuta clapped his hands together. "During your little slumber party on the first day of matches, our security footage picked up your karaoke session. The marketing team and I believe a manager idol group would be an excellent promotional tool for Blue Lock."

(Name)'s eyes widened in horror. "You were spying on us?"

"Blue Lock TV monitors all common areas for security purposes," Buratsuta dismissed with a wave. "Consider it a happy accident that led to this brilliant marketing opportunity."

(Name) felt her face drain of color. That night in the akane’s room, when they all thought they were alone... Buratsuta had somehow seen or heard them.

"We've composed a catchy tune that highlights Blue Lock's appeal while showcasing your unique vocals," Buratsuta continued, apparently oblivious to (Name)'s internal horror. "The audience loves the manager program, and this will push your popularity even further."

"I didn't sign up to be an idol," (Name) stated flatly.

"No, you signed up to be a manager," Buratsuta countered smoothly. "And part of management is promotion. This is simply another aspect of your job."

(Name) opened her mouth to argue further but closed it again. The mathematics were simple: arguing would waste time and energy without changing the outcome. Better to endure this ridiculous exercise and return to her real work as quickly as possible.

"Fine," she muttered.

"Excellent!" Buratsuta clapped his hands together. "You'll each have your own verse, with everyone joining for the chorus. Let's begin with warm-ups."

"It'll be super fun!" Haru exclaimed, already bouncing on her heels. "Like we're real idols!"

Natsumi looked apprehensive but didn't protest. Akane seemed resigned, perhaps too tired from juggling motherhood and her managerial role to fight this new absurdity.

"The song is called 'Striker's Heart,'" the sound engineer explained, stepping forward. "It's a catchy football-themed pop anthem that we believe will capture the spirit of Blue Lock. We've assigned each of you vocal parts that should suit your ranges based on the... uh, surveillance footage."

"This is ridiculous," (Name) stated flatly. "I'm a football manager, not an entertainer."

"Actually, Miss (L/n), you're both," Buratsuta said, his smile never wavering. "Your contract includes participation in promotional activities, which this certainly falls under. Besides, your voice has an interesting quality. A bit monotone, but with proper direction, it adds a unique element to the group dynamic."

(Name) glared at him, eyes burning intensely, but she knew when she was cornered by contractual obligations.

"Fine," she said through gritted teeth. "Let's get this over with."

The next few hours were torture. The song was exactly what (Name) feared—overly cutesy with cringeworthy football metaphors like "kick my heart into your goal" and "your passion burns like a red card." Tsukiko and Haru took to it naturally, while Akane's experience with rhythm gave her a decent foundation. Natsumi was soft but surprisingly on-key.

(Name), however, struggled. Her analytical mind couldn't process the emotional delivery required for certain lines. When instructed to sing "your striking technique sends shivers down my spine" with breathless admiration, she instead delivered it with the same tone she might use to recite player statistics.

"Just pretend you're drunk," Akane whispered when (Name) failed for the eleventh time. "You've got plenty of performance skills then."

(Name) shot her a glare but took a deep breath and tried again, channeling the version of herself that emerged after a few beer cans. Somehow, it worked. The producer finally nodded in approval, and they moved on.

By early afternoon, they had successfully recorded all their parts. (Name)'s throat felt raw from the unfamiliar strain, and she desperately wanted to return to the Bastard Münchën bay where numbers and probability calculations awaited her—things that made sense, unlike whatever this was.

"Excellent work, ladies," Buratsuta said as they removed their headphones. "That's all for today. Please be at Studio A tomorrow at the same time."

(Name) froze halfway out of her chair. "Tomorrow? What's happening tomorrow?"

"The video shoot, of course," Buratsuta replied with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "You didn't think this was just an audio recording, did you?"

Five pairs of eyes widened in unison.

"Video?" Natsumi squeaked.

"We need visual content for Blue Lock TV," Buratsuta explained as if it were obvious. "Tomorrow, you'll be performing the routine while lip-syncing to today's recording."

"Routine?" (Name) echoed, her voice dangerously low. "What routine?"

"The choreography team will walk you through everything tomorrow," Buratsuta said, already heading for the door. "Make sure you rest your voices tonight. Big day ahead!"

As the door closed behind him, the five managers stood in stunned silence.

"Did he just say... choreography?" Akane finally asked.

"I think he did," Natsumi confirmed quietly.

Tsukiko's eyes gleamed with excitement. "This is my chance to shine! I've always wanted to try being an idol!"

"I've done TikTok dances before! This will be so fun!" Haru added, already twirling in place.

(Name)'s head was spinning, but not with excitement. The probability of her maintaining any dignity through this ordeal was rapidly approaching zero.

The next morning arrived far too quickly. (Name) had barely slept, her mind calculating all the possible ways this video shoot could go wrong. Each scenario was worse than the last.

Studio A was three times the size of yesterday's recording room. Lights hung from a complex grid on the ceiling, cameras stood mounted on tracks, and in the center of it all was a stage designed to look like a football stadium in miniature.

"Welcome back, managers!" Buratsuta greeted them. "Today we transform you from football strategists to Blue Lock's very own idol group!"

"Kill me now," (Name) muttered under her breath.

"I heard that, (L/n)-san," Buratsuta said with a smirk. "Now, let's get you all to hair and makeup. Your costumes are ready in the dressing rooms."

"Costumes?" (Name)'s alarm bells were now ringing at full volume.

Thirty minutes later, (Name) stood in front of a full-length mirror, barely recognizing herself. Her usually down-styled hair had been styled into some kind of elaborate half-up arrangement with a spiky ponytail at the back. Her face was painted with dramatic makeup—winged eyeliner, sparkly eyeshadow, and bright red lips that matched the crimson cheerleader-inspired outfit she now wore.

The uniform—if it could even be called that—consisted of a cropped red top with "BM" emblazoned across the chest in bold gothic lettering, a pleated skirt that was far too short for comfort, and knee-high white boots. A small Bastard Münchën emblem was pinned to her chest like a mockery of her actual manager position.

"This is ridiculous," she growled at her reflection.

"I think you look cute, (Name)-senpai!" Haru chirped, bouncing into view in her similar but Orange-colored outfit.

Tsukiko followed, seeming completely in her element in steel navy. "This is perfect! I knew I'd make a good idol!"

Akane and Natsumi joined them, looking equally transformed in gold and pink respectively. Akane gave a rueful smile.

"Well, at least we all look equally ridiculous," she offered.

"Speak for yourself," Tsukiko replied, striking a pose. "I look fabulous."

A choreographer appeared to hustle them back to the main stage. "Time to learn your routine, ladies! We have two hours before the shoot begins."

What followed was 120 minutes of pure humiliation for (Name). The choreography wasn't particularly complex—basic steps and arm movements coordinated to the peppy Blue Lock anthem they'd recorded yesterday—but (Name)'s brain simply didn't work this way. Numbers and probabilities flowed naturally through her mind; coordinating her limbs to move in sync with music was an entirely different matter.

"No, no, (L/n)-san," the choreographer said for what felt like the hundredth time. "It's step-touch, step-touch, arm wave, then point. You're doing arm wave, step-touch, point, step-touch."

(Name) gritted her teeth. "This is inefficient. If you just explained it in numerical patterns—"

"Just follow my lead," Tsukiko interrupted, executing the move perfectly. Her natural grace made the routine look effortless, which only irritated (Name) further.

By some miracle, (Name) had marginally grasped the choreography by the time filming began. The lights came up, the playback started, and the five managers began their performance. (Name) moved stiffly through the routine, her face set in concentration that the director kept mistaking for her signature glare.

"More smile, (L/n)-san!" the director called out between takes.

"I am smiling," (Name) replied through gritted teeth that were definitely not forming anything close to a smile.

"No, you're baring your teeth like you're about to bite someone," Akane whispered as they reset for another take.

Take after take, they repeated the routine. Each time, something went wrong—Natsumi tripped, Haru's enthusiasm sent her bouncing out of frame, or (Name) missed a cue. By the fifteenth take, even Tsukiko's idol enthusiasm was wearing thin.

"Final take, everyone!" the director announced. "Let's make this one count!"

Summoning the last reserves of her energy, (Name) forced herself to focus. The music started, and she moved through the routine with mechanical precision, lips syncing to her recorded vocals. When the final pose came—right hand on hip, left arm extended in a point to her face, chin up with what was supposed to be a confident smile—(Name) held it, counting the seconds until the director finally called, "Cut! Perfect!"

A collective sigh of relief echoed through the studio.

"That's a wrap, ladies," Buratsuta announced, clapping slowly. "The ad will begin running on Blue Lock TV next week. I expect viewer engagement to increase significantly."

(Name) looked around for her regular clothes, eager to change and put this nightmare behind her, but was interrupted by a staff member.

"Sorry, but we need to keep these outfits for promotional photos tomorrow," the woman explained apologetically.

"Tomorrow?" (Name)'s voice rose dangerously. "There's more?"

"Just a quick photo shoot," the woman assured her. "But until then, we've stored your regular uniforms separately for cleaning. You'll have to wear these back to your bays."

(Name) felt her blood pressure rising. "You expect me to walk through Blue Lock, in front of my team, dressed like... this?" She gestured at the ridiculous cheerleader outfit.

The woman shrugged helplessly. "Orders from Chairman Buratsuta."

For a moment, (Name) seriously considered the probability of successfully hiding in the studio overnight rather than facing the Bastard Münchën players in her current state. But even with her mathematical genius, she couldn't make those odds work.

"Fine," she bit out. "Let's get this over with."

The walk back to the Bastard Münchën bay was the longest of (Name)'s life. Each step in the knee-high boots made her increasingly aware of how ridiculous she must look. The other managers seemed to be handling it with varying degrees of grace—Tsukiko practically strutted, Haru skipped happily, Akane walked with resigned dignity, and Natsumi kept her eyes firmly on the ground—but (Name) couldn't shake the feeling that this was some elaborate punishment designed specifically for her.

When they reached the point where they needed to separate to their respective bays, Akane placed a sympathetic hand on (Name)'s shoulder.

"Just walk in like you own the place," she advised. "Confidence is key."

"I'm a mathematician, not an actress," (Name) replied flatly.

"Then calculate your way through it," Akane suggested. "What's the probability that anyone will dare to comment if you look like you'll murder them for speaking?"

(Name) considered this. "That... might actually work."

"Good luck," Natsumi said softly. "Text us when you're safely inside."

With a final nod to her fellow managers, (Name) squared her shoulders and headed alone toward the Bastard Münchën bay. She adopted her most intimidating glare, the one that made even Kaiser think twice before arguing with her. With each step, she mentally calculated the fastest route to her room while minimizing potential player encounters.

Her calculations failed her spectacularly when she rounded the corner and walked straight into the entire Bastard Münchën team returning from practice.

Time seemed to freeze as way too many pairs of eyes landed on her. (Name) felt her face heating up despite her best efforts to maintain her threatening glare. The silence stretched for what felt like an eternity before Isagi finally broke it.

"(N-Name)?" he stammered, his face turning an impressive shade of red as he quickly averted his gaze. "What are you...?"

"Promotional video," she ground out, crossing her arms defensively. "For Blue Lock TV."

"You look..." Yukimiya started, then seemed unable to find an appropriate word to complete the sentence.

Kunigami and Hiori were making valiant efforts not to stare, while Igaguri had no such reservations, his jaw practically on the floor.

"Is this some kind of Japanese tradition?" Ness asked in genuine confusion. "Managers dressing as... cheerleaders?"

"No," (Name) snapped. "It's Buratsuta's idea of marketing."

Kaiser, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, finally spoke up. "I didn't know idols were part of football culture here," he said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"They're not," (Name) replied through gritted teeth.

"She means idol like the pop stars," Hiori explained to the confused Germans. "They're really popular in Japan. They sing, dance, and have elaborate costumes like this."

"Ah!" Igaguri suddenly exclaimed, eyes wide with realization. "Like AKB48 or Nogizaka46! (Name)-chan, you're going to be famous!"

(Name)'s glare intensified. "Call me that again, and I'll calculate exactly how many bones in your body I can break before you're unable to play football."

Igaguri retreated behind Kunigami, who was still awkwardly looking anywhere but at (Name).

Kaiser, however, seemed amused by the whole situation. "So, (L/n), does this mean you'll be cheering for me specifically during matches now?"

Before (Name) could formulate a suitably cutting response, a large jacket suddenly dropped over her shoulders, enveloping her in warmth and mercifully covering most of the ridiculous outfit. She looked up to see Noel Noa had joined them, his face set in its usual stoic expression.

"Training room. Five minutes," Noa said to the team, his tone leaving no room for argument. As the players filed past, still stealing glances at (Name), Noa turned to her.

"Buratsuta's marketing schemes are getting out of hand," he commented dryly. "Keep the jacket until you change."

(Name) nodded gratefully, pulling the tracksuit jacket tighter around herself. It smelled faintly of expensive cologne and was comically large on her frame, but it provided blessed coverage and a small return to dignity.

"The video recording is over," she said. "But apparently there's a photo shoot tomorrow."

Noa raised an eyebrow. "I'll speak with Ego about this. The manager program is meant to develop strategic minds, not pop idols."

"Good luck with that," (Name) muttered. "Buratsuta seems determined to milk every marketing opportunity."

"Go change," Noa instructed. "I'll handle the team."

As (Name) finally escaped to her room, she calculated the odds of the ground opening up and swallowing her whole before tomorrow's photo shoot. Unfortunately, even her mathematical genius couldn't make those probabilities work in her favor.

Pulling out her phone, she sent a quick message to the other managers: "Made it back. Nearly died of embarrassment. Noa gave me his jacket and is probably going to throttle Buratsuta."
Moments later, replies flooded in:

"Chris Prince nearly had a heart attack when he saw me," from Natsumi.

"The Ubers took pictures 😭 Lorenzo was laughing so hard!" from Haru.

"Lavinho asked me to teach him the dance 🤦‍♀️" from Akane.

And finally, from Tsukiko: "Rin just walked past without even looking at me. I spent an hour in makeup for NOTHING."

(Name) flopped onto her bed, still wearing Noa's oversized jacket. As infuriating as this whole situation was, there was a small comfort in knowing she wasn't suffering alone. The five of them were in this ridiculous boat together, cheerleader outfits and all.

With a sigh, she reached for her tablet to review the match data she'd meant to analyze earlier. Numbers and probabilities—these were her domain, her comfort zone. No matter what nonsense Buratsuta threw at them tomorrow, at least she'd always have mathematics to return to.

As she immersed herself in player statistics, the humiliation of the day gradually faded into the background. By the time she'd calculated new offensive strategies for the upcoming match, (Name) had almost—but not quite—forgotten that somewhere in Studio A, a video existed of her dancing in a cheerleader outfit.

Almost.

The next morning, (Name)'s fears were confirmed. The advertisement had been edited, produced, and distributed with lightning speed. It was everywhere—playing on the screens throughout Blue Lock, on social media, and even as pre-roll ads before match footage.

The five managers dancing and singing in perfect synchronization, winking at the camera and making heart gestures while belting out lyrics about football and passion. The editor had somehow managed to make even (Name) look enthusiastic, cutting together her least scowling moments into something that almost resembled enjoyment.

The jingle was catchy, too—infuriatingly so. She could hear it playing from her teammates' phones as she entered the dining hall for breakfast.

"Good morning, (Name)!" Gagamaru called out. "Or should I say, ' Ms Idol (Name)'?"

She fixed him with a death glare that made him shrink back slightly.

"Your singing voice is actually pretty good," Yukimiya offered, apparently trying to be supportive. "Kind of deep and sultry."

"I like the choreography," Hiori added. "Very... coordinated."

"It was manufactured entertainment designed to exploit our positions as the only females in Blue Lock," (Name) stated, stabbing her breakfast with unnecessary force. "Nothing more."

She could hear the chorus of the song drifting from Ness's phone across the table. He at least had the decency to look embarrassed when she caught his eye, quickly lowering the volume.

"The algorithms predict it will trend for approximately 72 hours before interest wanes," she continued. "I'm choosing to ignore it until then."

"It's already got half a million views," Isagi noted, looking up from his own phone. When (Name) turned her glare on him, he quickly added, "Just an observation! Statistical data, right?"

Before she could respond, Kaiser strolled into the dining hall, his eyes finding her immediately. A slow, deliberate smirk spread across his face.

"(Name)," he greeted, his voice rich with amusement. "I never knew you had such... hidden talents."

"Don't," she warned.

Ignoring her, he pulled out his phone and swiped to the part of the video where she was front and center for a solo line, looking directly at the camera with what the editors had transformed into a seductive glance. "This part in particular was quite enlightening. The way you moved your—"

"Finish that sentence and I will recalculate every one of your statistics to reflect a 40% decrease in performance," (Name) threatened, her voice deadly quiet. "I have access to the official database."

Kaiser chuckled, clearly not believing her, but he did put his phone away. "Such hostility from someone who just hours ago was singing about 'the beautiful teamwork of our hearts.'"

Several of their teammates snickered, and (Name) felt heat rising to her cheeks—not from embarrassment, but from pure rage. The red dot in her eye seemed to glow with increased intensity.

"If any of you mention this commercial again, I will personally ensure that your nutritional plans consist solely of protein shakes and plain chicken breast for the next month," she announced to the table at large. "No exceptions."

That shut them up. Food was a serious matter to athletes, and no one wanted to test whether she had the authority to alter their meal plans. She probably didn't, but they weren't willing to risk it.
Isagi, ever the peacemaker, cleared his throat. "So, about our strategy for the upcoming match..."

Grateful for the change of subject, (Name) launched into a detailed analysis of their next opponents. Numbers never betrayed her, never made her dress in ridiculous outfits or dance for the entertainment of others. Statistics were reliable, constant, and most importantly, dignified.

As she spoke, she caught Noa watching her from across the room. There was something like approval in his eyes—not for the commercial, but for how she was handling its aftermath. She straightened her posture slightly, reinforcing her professional demeanor.

Let Buratsuta have his little marketing triumph. She would endure this temporary humiliation and emerge unscathed, her analytical reputation intact. After all, she had calculated the probabilities, and the odds were in her favor that something else would capture Blue Lock's attention soon enough.

Until then, she would simply have to accept that somewhere in Blue Lock's vast digital archive, there would always exist footage of (Name) (L/n), stern mathematical prodigy and Bastard Münchën's stoic manager, dressed as an idol and singing about striker's hearts. It was a statistical anomaly in an otherwise perfectly logical existence—an outlier she would prefer to erase from the dataset entirely.

Chapter Text

Haru Kamishiro bounced excitedly on the balls of her feet, light blue pigtails swaying with each movement as she practically vibrated with energy. The hallways of Blue Lock were quiet this early in the morning, but that wouldn't last long – not if Haru had anything to do with it.

"Rin-kun and I are both sixteen now!" she squealed to herself, clutching a carefully wrapped bouquet of blue and white flowers. "We're the same age! It's totally destiny!"

She had spent the previous evening meticulously selecting each flower, with Charles offering increasingly ridiculous suggestions over video chat while she prepared her "confession gift." Not that she was actually confessing – Haru
just wanted to celebrate their shared age milestone. At least, that's what she told herself.

The young Ubers manager skipped down the corridor toward PXG's quarters, humming the idol jingle she and the other managers had recorded. The embarrassing commercial had been airing non-stop on Blue Lock TV for the past week, but unlike (Name) who wanted to crawl into a hole every time it played, Haru relished the attention. It was just like being a real idol!

"Haru-chan, where are you sneaking off to at this hour?"

Haru froze mid-skip, nearly dropping her bouquet. She turned to find Niko leaning against the wall, arms crossed and eyebrow raised.

"Niko-kun!" she beamed, recovering instantly. "Good morning! I'm just... taking a walk!"

"With flowers?" Niko pointed at the bouquet she was failing to hide behind her back.

"They're... for the common room! To brighten it up!" she lied, her honey eyes wide with unconvincing innocence.

"Uh-huh." Niko clearly didn't believe her. "This wouldn't have anything to do with you telling everyone at dinner yesterday that you and Itoshi Rin are 'cosmically connected through the power of shared sixteen-ness,' would it?"

Haru's cheeks flushed pink. "Maybe..."

Niko sighed but couldn't help smiling at her enthusiasm. "Just don't get caught by Snuffy. You know he was serious about the curfew after the whole birthday party incident."

"I won't!" Haru promised, already bouncing away. "Besides, I'm a manager! I have manager business!"

"Stalking Itoshi Rin isn't manager business!" Niko called after her, but she had already disappeared around the corner.

Haru peered cautiously around the entrance to PXG's training facility. The team wasn't scheduled for morning practice for another hour, but she knew Rin always came early to train alone. Charles had confirmed this crucial intelligence during their last "Young Alliance" meeting.

Sure enough, there he was – Itoshi Rin, moving with deadly precision as he executed perfect shots into the goal, one after another. Haru watched, entranced. There was something so beautiful about the way he moved, like a dancer performing a lethal choreography.

Gathering her courage, she took a deep breath and burst into the room.

"Good morning, Rin-kun!" she called out with enough cheer to power a small city.

Rin froze mid-kick, the ball sailing wide of the goal as his concentration broke. He turned slowly, his face darkening when he spotted the source of the interruption.

"What are you doing here?" he asked coldly. "This is PXG's private training time."

"I brought you flowers!" Haru announced, thrusting the bouquet toward him with both hands, bowing slightly like she'd seen in her favorite romance anime. "To celebrate us both being sixteen!"

Rin stared at the bouquet as if it might explode. "Why would I want flowers?"

"Because they're pretty! Like your playing style!" Haru replied without missing a beat. She rushed forward, still holding out the bouquet. "Did you know we're the same age now? Isn't that amazing? We have so much in common!"

"We have nothing in common," Rin stated flatly, taking a step back.

"That's not true!" Haru protested. "We're both super talented, we're both sixteen, we both kinda have older brothers..."

Rin's eyes narrowed dangerously at the mention of his brother.

"Charles-kun told me," Haru explained quickly. "But that's another thing we have in common! We're both part of Blue Lock's youngest elite!"

"Get out," Rin said, turning back to his training.

But Haru wasn't so easily deterred. She placed the bouquet carefully on a bench and moved to retrieve a ball that had rolled nearby.

"I can help you train!" she offered brightly. "I'm really good at—"

"No."

"But I—"

"No."

Haru's lower lip trembled slightly, but she quickly recovered. "Then I'll just watch! I won't make a sound, promise!"

Rin sighed, realizing she wasn't going to leave. "Fine. Just sit there and be quiet."

Haru beamed victoriously and plopped down on the bench next to her bouquet, mimicking locking her lips and throwing away the key.

Her silence lasted approximately forty-five seconds.

"That was amazing!" she burst out when Rin completed a particularly impressive shot. "The way you calculated the angle was just like what (Name)-san does with numbers!"

Rin ignored her, focusing on his next shot.

"And your form is so perfect! No wonder you're one of the best strikers in Blue Lock!" Haru continued, bouncing in her seat. "I bet you could score from anywhere!"

Rin's eye twitched slightly, but he continued his training. Perhaps if he ignored her completely, she would eventually lose interest.

He was wrong.

An hour later, Rin was at his breaking point. Haru had maintained a steady stream of enthusiastic commentary, praise, and random facts about herself that he never asked for. Every time he changed drills, she would applaud.
When he took a water break, she rushed to hand him his bottle before he could reach for it himself.

"Don't you have your own team to manage?" he finally snapped.

"Morning practice isn't for another twenty minutes," Haru replied cheerfully. "I wanted to spend my free time with you! Since we're both sixteen now, I thought—"

"Age doesn't matter here," Rin cut her off. "The only thing that matters is ability."

"I know! And you're amazing!" Haru agreed eagerly. "That's why I want to learn from you! I need to be the best manager for Ubers, just like you're going to be the best striker for PXG!"

Before Rin could respond, they were interrupted by slow, sarcastic clapping.

"Well, well, what a touching scene," Shidou drawled as he sauntered into the training area, a predatory grin on his face. "Itoshi Rin has a girlfriend now? How cute."

"She's not—" Rin started.

"I'm not his girlfriend!" Haru exclaimed simultaneously, her face turning pink. "Yet," she added under her breath, slightly menacingly.

Shidou's grin widened. "Oh? So it's a work in progress? I didn't know you had it in you, Rin."

"Shut up," Rin growled.

"Shidou-san!" Haru greeted him with a bow. "Good morning! I was just watching Rin-kun train. He's incredible, isn't he?"

"Hmm." Shidou's eyes glinted with mischief. "You know, Rin is very picky about who he spends time with. You must be special if he's letting you stay."

"Really?" Haru's eyes widened, glowing with hope.

"No," said Rin flatly.

"Don't be shy, Rin," Shidou teased. "We all know you're just playing hard to get."

Rin shot him a murderous glare, but Shidou only laughed.

"Did you know," Shidou continued, turning to Haru conspiratorially, "that Rin has a secret collection of—"

"One more word and I'll put a ball through your teeth," Rin threatened.

Shidou raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning. "So violent. No wonder the ladies love you."

Haru observed this exchange with fascination, her head swiveling between them like a spectator at a tennis match. She couldn't help but giggle at their dynamic.

"You two are so funny together!" she exclaimed. "Like brothers!"

Both strikers froze, equally horrified by the comparison.

"We are nothing alike," they said in unison, then glared at each other for the synchronization.

Haru giggled again, her laugh light and musical in the tense atmosphere. "See? You even talk at the same time!"

"Mon Dieu, what is all this noise so early in the morning?" came a new voice with a distinct French accent.

Charles Chevalier strode into the training area, immaculately dressed despite the early hour. He paused, taking in the scene – Rin looking murderous, Shidou grinning like a shark, and Haru beaming with a bouquet on the bench beside her.

"Ah, Haru-chan!" Charles' face lit up with recognition. "You actually brought the flowers! Magnifique!"

"Charles-kun!" Haru bounded over to hug him, which he accepted with a dramatic flourish. "I did just what you suggested!"

Rin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You put her up to this?"

Charles placed a hand over his heart in faux innocence. "Moi? I merely suggested that a gesture of friendship would be appreciated. It is not my fault if our little puppy took it as encouragement for more."

"Puppy?" Haru tilted her head, her pigtails swaying.

"Oui, you remind me of an enthusiastic puppy," Charles explained with a smile. "Always bouncing, always happy, loyal to a fault."

"Funny, that's what Aiku-san says too!" Haru nodded vigorously. "He says I'm like the Uber family's puppy!"

Shidou snorted. "Family? The Ubers call themselves a family?"

"Of course!" Haru confirmed proudly. "Snuffy-san is grandpa, Lorenzo-san is uncle, Aiku-san the dad, Sendou-san is mommy –though he hates it– Aryu-san is the glamorous aunt, Barou-san is the older brother teen –he hates it the most– and Niko-kun and I are the twins!"

The three PXG players stared at her in disbelief.

"That is... quite the arrangement," Charles finally said, a smile tugging at his lips.

"It started as a joke," Haru explained, "but it stuck! We're really like a family now. That's why I thought maybe..." She glanced shyly at Rin. "Maybe PXG could have family roles too?"

"Absolutely not," Rin stated.

"I would be the handsome prince, obviously," Charles mused, ignoring Rin's objection.

"And Shidou-san would be the wild cousin!" Haru added excitedly.

"I prefer 'dangerous uncle' actually," Shidou grinned, joining the game just to annoy Rin further.

"And Rin-kun could be—" Haru started.

Before Rin could respond, another voice cut through the tension.

"Haru-chan, what are you doing here?"

Everyone turned to see Tsukiko approaching, her long grey hair flowing behind her like liquid silver. She moved with the practiced grace of someone accustomed to being watched, her deep blue eyes taking in the scene with kind yet sharp intelligence.

"Tsukiko-senpai!" Haru's face immediately brightened again, though she still clutched the flowers nervously. "I was just trying to give Rin-kun these flowers, but he doesn't want them."

Tsukiko's gaze flicked between Haru and Rin, something unreadable passing over her features. "I see. And why exactly are you giving flowers to my team's striker?"

There was something in her tone—not quite possessive, but definitely territorial—that made Charles raise an eyebrow and Shidou's grin widen even further.

"Because I think he's amazing!" Haru replied without hesitation. "And we're both sixteen now, so I thought—"

"You thought what, exactly?" Tsukiko interrupted, her voice still pleasant but with an edge that hadn't been there before. She stepped closer, her presence somehow making Haru seem even smaller than her already petite frame.
Haru looked between Tsukiko and Rin, finally beginning to sense the undercurrent of tension in the air. "I... I just wanted to be friends..."

"Friends," Tsukiko repeated, the word sounding strange on her lips. Her eyes never left Rin's face, studying his expression with an intensity that made him shift uncomfortably.

"This is getting interesting," Shidou murmured to Charles, who nodded in agreement.

Rin, apparently having reached his limit for social interaction, turned on his heel and started walking away. "I'm going back to training. Don't follow me."

But as he walked away, Haru called out desperately, "Wait! You still didn't take the flowers!"

Without stopping or turning around, Rin replied coldly, "Give them to someone who cares."

The words hit Haru like a physical blow, and for the first time since arriving, her perpetual smile faltered. She looked down at the bouquet in her hands, suddenly feeling foolish for putting so much thought into each flower's meaning.

Tsukiko watched Rin's retreating figure with an expression that was difficult to read, then turned back to Haru. Her voice was gentler now, though still carrying that underlying sharpness.

"Haru-chan, can I give you some advice?"

Haru nodded mutely, still staring at the flowers.

"Boys like Rin... they're complicated. They don't respond well to grand gestures or flowery declarations. If you really want to understand someone like him, you need to pay attention to the things he doesn't say."

"What do you mean?" Haru asked, looking up with confused eyes.

Tsukiko's smile was enigmatic. "I mean that sometimes the people who push others away the hardest are the ones who are most afraid of being hurt."

Charles and Shidou exchanged glances, both recognizing that there was more to Tsukiko's words than simple advice for a lovesick teenager.

"But," Tsukiko continued, her voice taking on a firmer tone, "that doesn't mean you should keep bothering him. Some people need space to figure things out on their own."

Haru's shoulders slumped. "So... I should give up?"

"I'm saying you should think about whether what you're feeling is real, or if you're just caught up in the excitement of having a crush," Tsukiko replied diplomatically. "You're both very young, and there are more important things to focus on right now."

As if on cue, the announcement for teams to prepare for training echoed through the facility. Tsukiko straightened, slipping back into her manager role with practiced ease.

"I need to get back to my team," she said. "Haru-chan, shouldn't you be with the Ubers?"

"Oh! You're right!" Haru gasped, suddenly remembering her actual responsibilities. She looked down at the bouquet one more time, then thrust it toward Charles. "Charles-kun, can you... can you make sure these get some water? I spent a long time picking them out."

Charles accepted the flowers with surprising gentleness. "Of course. They're beautiful, by the way. You have good taste."

Haru's smile returned, though it was smaller and more subdued than usual. "Thank you. I hope we have a good match today!"

As she hurried away, her pigtails bouncing with each step, Charles turned to Tsukiko with a knowing look.

"That was interesting," he commented.

Tsukiko didn't respond immediately, her gaze still following Haru's retreating figure. When she finally spoke, her voice was thoughtful.

"She's very sweet. But she doesn't understand him at all."

"And you do?" Shidou asked with a provocative grin.

Tsukiko's expression became guarded. "I understand that some people are worth the effort it takes to figure them out. Others... aren't."

With that cryptic statement, she turned and walked away, leaving Charles and Shidou to wonder exactly what she meant.

"Haru-chan!" Niko's voice called out as she entered the Ubers bay. "How did it go? Did you finally confess to—"

He stopped mid-sentence when he saw her expression, concern immediately replacing his teasing grin. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," Haru said, managing a wobbly smile. "I just... I think I figured something out."

The rest of the Ubers team looked up from their various activities—Aiku pausing in his conversation with Sendou, Lorenzo stopping his dramatic gesturing, Barou glancing over from where he was aggressively organizing his gear, and Aryu looking up from his reflection in a compact mirror.

"Figured what out, bambina?" Lorenzo asked, his usual boisterous energy subdued by obvious concern.

Haru looked around at all these people who had become her strange, chaotic family over the past months. Snuffy, who worried about her like an overprotective grandfather. Lorenzo, who treated her like a beloved niece to be spoiled and entertained. Aiku, who played the role of irresponsible father of the group with surprising dedication. Sendou, who pretended to be annoyed by the family dynamics but always made sure she was included. Aryu, who had taught her about self-confidence and self-expression. Barou, who grumbled about having a "brat" around but always made sure she ate enough at meals. And Niko, who understood what it was like to be young in a place full of older, more experienced people.

They were her family, her Uber family, and maybe that was enough for now.

"I figured out that having a crush and actually caring about someone are two different things," she said finally, setting the bouquet down on a nearby table. "And maybe... maybe I was more in love with the idea of being in love than with actually understanding who Rin-kun really is."

Aiku whistled low. "That's pretty mature insight, kid."

"I'm sixteen now," Haru said with a small laugh. "I guess I'm supposed to start having mature insights sometimes."

"So what are you going to do?" Niko asked.

Haru considered this, twirling one of her pigtails around her finger—a nervous habit she'd never quite outgrown. "I think... I think I'm going to focus on being the best manager I can be for you guys. And maybe work on understanding what it really means to care about someone before I go throwing myself at the next cute guy I see."

"Does this mean no more fangirling over random players during matches?" Barou asked hopefully.

"Oh, I didn't say that," Haru grinned, her usual bright energy starting to return. "I'm still going to appreciate talent when I see it. I'm just going to try to be a little more... thoughtful about it."

As the conversation moved on to other topics and the Ubers team returned to their various activities, Haru found herself thinking about Tsukiko and Rin again. There had been something in the way they moved together, a shared understanding that spoke of deeper connection than surface-level attraction.

Meanwhile, back at the PXG training area, Tsukiko Yugi had arrived to find Rin standing alone on the field, staring down at the discarded petals from now Charles’s bouquet with an unreadable expression. It seemed that the roses were already beginning to wilt in the facility's artificial lighting.

"Rough training?" she asked, approaching him with her usual graceful stride.

Rin glanced up at her, his teal eyes still holding traces of the earlier chaos. "Kamishiro is damn annoying."

"I know," Tsukiko said, kneeling down to pick up the scattered petals. "And you made it clear you thought that to her face."

"Obviously." Rin's voice was flat, but there was something defensive in his tone. "I don't have time for that kind of nonsense."

Tsukiko studied him carefully. Despite her usually theatrical nature, she had a keen eye for reading people - it was part of what made her such an effective manager. And right now, she could see that Rin was more shaken by the encounter than he was letting on.

"She's sweet, you know," Tsukiko said, gathering the flowers into a neat pile. "Haru-chan. A little overeager, but her feelings were genuine."

"I don't care if they were genuine," Rin replied, but his voice lacked its usual conviction. "I told you before - I'm not interested in romance. I'm here to prove I'm better than my brother."

Tsukiko stood up, brushing the dirt from her knees. "And yet you seem bothered by the whole thing."

"I'm not bothered. I'm annoyed. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Tsukiko asked, tilting her head. "Because you look like someone who's been forced to think about things they'd rather avoid."

Rin was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the ground where the flowers had fallen. "She said we were the same age now, like that mattered. Like age was the only thing standing between us."

"Wasn't it?" Tsukiko asked gently.

"No," Rin said firmly. "It was never about age. It's about... everything else."

"Such as?"

Rin looked at her sharply, as if just realizing how much he'd revealed. "Nothing. Forget it."

But Tsukiko wasn't about to let it go. She moved closer, her usual performative demeanor dropping away to reveal something more genuine underneath.

"Rin," she said softly, "you can talk to me. We've both got our share of complicated family situations. I understand what it's like to feel like you can't let your guard down."

Something in her tone made Rin's defensive walls crack slightly. "It's not that I don't think she's... nice. Kamishiro. She is. She's enthusiastic and caring and all those things that normal people probably want in a girlfriend."

"But?"

"But I'm not normal people," Rin said, his voice growing quieter. "I'm someone who's spent his entire life chasing after his brother's shadow. I'm someone who's willing to destroy friendships and hurt people if it means getting stronger. What kind of person does that make me?"

Tsukiko felt her heart ache for him. She recognized the self-loathing in his voice because she'd heard it in her own thoughts countless times.

"It makes you human," she said simply. "Flawed, maybe, but human."

"Haru deserves better than human," Rin replied. "She deserves someone who can match her energy, who can make her happy without having to constantly fight against their own demons."

"And what about what you deserve?" Tsukiko asked.

Rin looked at her with surprise. "What?"

"What about what you deserve, Rin? Don't you think you deserve happiness too?"

The question seemed to catch him completely off guard. "I... I don't think about things like that."

"Maybe you should," Tsukiko said. "Maybe we both should."

They stood in comfortable silence for a while, both lost in their own thoughts. Finally, Tsukiko took a deep breath, as if steeling herself for something difficult.

"Rin," she said, "there's something I need to tell you. Something I've been thinking about for a while now."

He looked at her expectantly, noting the unusual seriousness in her tone.

"I'm not going to stay when the NEL finishes," she said quietly. "I'm going to France. With Loki and Charles."

The words hit Rin like a physical blow. For a moment, he couldn't process what she'd said, couldn't understand why his chest suddenly felt tight.

"What?" he managed to say.

"My father has connections there, and Loki thinks I could have a real future in French football management," Tsukiko explained, her voice growing stronger. "It's an incredible opportunity, and I'd be crazy to pass it up."

"But..." Rin struggled to find the words. "But what about Blue lock? What about your job here?"

"Blue Lock was always meant to be temporary," Tsukiko said, though her voice was gentle. "You know that. Eventually, we'll all have to move on to the next stage of our careers."

"That's not the same thing," Rin said, and there was something almost desperate in his voice now. "You're choosing to leave. You're choosing to go somewhere else instead of staying here and helping me become the number one striker."

Tsukiko's eyes widened at the raw emotion in his voice. "Rin..."

"Isagi's manager is staying," Rin continued, his usual composure cracking. "(L/n) is going to be there to support him as he climbs to the top. Why can't you do the same for me?"

"Because this isn't about you," Tsukiko said, though her voice was pained. "This is about my future, my dreams. I can't put my life on hold just to support someone else's ambitions."

"Even if that someone else is me?" Rin asked, and the vulnerability in his voice made Tsukiko's heart break.

"Rin, that's not fair," she whispered.

"Fair?" Rin glared, eyes of teal as ice cold as they were when they first met. "You want to talk about fair? It's not fair that everyone I care about leaves me behind. First Sae, now you. What is it about me that makes people want to run away?"

The pain in his voice was so raw, so honest, that Tsukiko felt tears prick at her eyes. "It's not about you, Rin. It's not about running away from you."

"Isn't it?" Rin asked. "Because it feels exactly like when Sae told me he was going to Spain. Like I'm not worth staying for."

"That's not true," Tsukiko said firmly, stepping closer to him. "Rin, you are worth staying for. You're worth everything. But I can't sacrifice my own dreams just to prove that to you."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Rin asked, and for the first time since she'd known him, he sounded lost. "How am I supposed to trust that anyone will stick around when everyone important to me keeps leaving?"

Tsukiko reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. "You're supposed to believe that the people who care about you will find a way to stay in your life, even if they're not physically here. You're supposed to trust that distance doesn't always mean abandonment."

"Easy for you to say," Rin muttered, but he didn't pull his hand away.

"No, it's not easy," Tsukiko said. "It's terrifying. Do you think I want to leave you? Do you think this decision is easy for me?"

Rin looked at her sharply. "Then why are you doing it?"

"Because I have to," Tsukiko said, her voice breaking slightly. "Because if I don't take this chance, I'll regret it for the rest of my life. And eventually, I'll resent you for being the reason I didn't pursue my dreams."

She then turned and walked toward the exit, her posture straight and determined despite the tears threatening to spill.

"Tsukiko."

She paused but didn't turn around.

"When you leave," Rin said, his voice carefully controlled, "don't expect me to wait for you to come back."

She nodded once, a sharp, painful movement. "I wouldn't ask you to."

And then she was gone, leaving Rin alone in the empty training room with only the taste of goodbye on his tongue.

After, Haru found herself in the common area of the Ubers bay, video-calling with Charles as they worked on homework together. It had become a regular routine for the younger Blue Lock members to study together virtually, creating their own little support network.

"So," Charles said, not looking up from his math problems, "how are you feeling about today?"

"What do you mean?" Haru asked, though her subdued tone suggested she knew exactly what he meant.

"Come on, Haru. The whole flower thing, the match, everything. You've been quiet all evening, which isn't like you at all."

Haru sighed, setting down her pencil and flopping backward on her bed. "I feel stupid."

"Why?"

"Because... because I thought if I just tried hard enough, if I was sweet enough and supportive enough, maybe Rin-kun would at least want to be friends. But he didn't even want to talk to me."

Charles finally looked up from his homework, his expression sympathetic. "Haru, can I tell you something about Rin?"

"What?"

"I can tell he had been hurt before. Really badly. And when people get hurt like that, sometimes they build walls to protect themselves. It's not personal—he would have reacted the same way to anyone."

Haru rolled onto her stomach, propping her chin on her hands. "Tsukiko-senpai said something similar. About how he pushes people away because he's afraid."

"Tsukiko said that?" Charles's eyebrows rose in surprise.

"Yeah. Why? Is that weird?"

Charles was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. "No, not weird. Just... interesting. I think Tsukiko understands Rin better than most people realize."

"What do you mean?"

"Well," Charles said carefully, "have you ever noticed how she acts around him? She's different with him than she is with everyone else."

Haru frowned, thinking back to earlier that day. "Different how?"

"She's... calmer. Less performative. When Tsukiko is around most people, she's always 'on'—always charming and sparkling and trying to impress. But with Rin, she just... is."

"I don't understand."

Charles leaned back in his chair, choosing his words carefully. "I think Tsukiko might have feelings for Rin too. Real ones, not just a crush."

The words hit Haru like a cold splash of water. She sat up abruptly, her orange eyes wide. "You really think so?"

"I've seen how she looks at him when she thinks no one's watching," Charles said gently. "And I've seen how he looks at her too."

"How does he look at her?" Haru's voice was small, almost afraid of the answer.

"Like he's trying to figure her out. Like she's a puzzle he actually wants to solve."

Haru was quiet for a long moment, processing this information. Finally, she asked, "Do you think... do you think they'd be good together?"

Charles studied her face through the video call, noting the way she was trying to hide her disappointment. "I think they understand each other in a way that's pretty rare. They both know what it's like to have complicated family situations, and they both know what it's like to feel like they have to prove themselves."

"Oh," Haru said softly.

"Haru, are you okay?"

She was quiet for another moment, then suddenly brightened—though Charles could tell it was forced. "Of course! I mean, if Rin-kun would be happy with Tsukiko-senpai, then I should be happy for them, right?"

"Haru..."

"Besides," she continued, her voice getting higher and more energetic, "I probably just had a silly crush anyway! I get excited about lots of things, and maybe I just got carried away because he's so talented and—"

"Haru, stop."

She fell silent, looking at him through the screen with eyes that were a little too bright.

"It's okay to be disappointed," Charles said gently. "And it's okay to have feelings, even if they don't work out the way you hoped."

Haru's forced smile wavered. "I just... I really thought maybe we could be friends. I thought maybe if I was nice enough and supportive enough, he'd see that I'm not just some silly kid."

"You're not a silly kid," Charles said firmly. "You're one of the kindest, most genuine people I know. And someday, someone is going to appreciate that about you."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

They then sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, both pretending to work on their homework while actually processing the day's events.

"Charles-kun," she said softly.

"Yeah?"

"Want to sneak out? Maybe go get some ice cream or something? I think I owe you a proper conversation."

Charles's face lit up with excitement, but he was then tempered with caution. "Are you sure? I don't want to be your consolation prize."

"You're not," Haru said firmly. "You're not a consolation prize or a second choice. You're... you're Charles. And maybe that's exactly what I need."

Later that evening, as Haru sat with Charles in the Blue Lock cafeteria sharing a bowl of ice cream, she found herself thinking about second chances and the courage it takes to see what's right in front of you.

"Charles-kun?" she said, licking ice cream off her spoon.

"Hmm?"

"Thank you. For being patient with me. For being my friend even when I was being an idiot."

Charles grinned with his snag tooth peeking out. "Thank you for finally opening your eyes." he joked.

"Better late than never?" Haru asked hopefully.

"Better late than never," Charles agreed, and when he reached across the table to take her hand, Haru didn't pull away.

Somewhere in the distance, she could hear the faint sound of music from the Blue Lock TV commercial they'd all been forced to film. Her own voice floated through the air, singing about dreams and determination, and for the first time, she thought maybe she was finally starting to understand what those words really meant.

Growing up, she realized, wasn't about turning sixteen or chasing after boys or trying to prove you were mature. It was about learning to see the people who truly cared about you, and having the courage to let yourself be seen in return.

As Charles squeezed her hand gently across the table, Haru thought that maybe, just maybe, she was finally ready to grow up.

Chapter Text

Ever since receiving permission to keep Ryo at Blue Lock, Akane's world had shifted. The constant guilt of missing precious moments of her son's early years had been weighing on her shoulders heavier than any match loss. Now, with Ryo staying in her room at the Barcha bay, she could breathe a little easier—even if it meant asking the other managers to babysit occasionally.

Standing in the doorway of her room, Akane watched as her two-year-old son built a tower with colorful blocks that Bachira had given him. His mismatched eyes—one golden yellow like hers, the other that distinct purple-black—focused intensely on his creation. The sight still made her heart skip with both love and uneasiness.

"Hey, little champion," she said softly, crouching down beside him. "Mama has to go meet with Coach Lavinho. Do you want to come or stay with the blocks?"

Ryo looked up, his small face brightening. "Come! Come with Mama!" He abandoned his tower, tiny hands reaching for her.

Akane scooped him up, settling him on her hip. At two, he was getting heavier, his red hair—a shade lighter than hers but just as vibrant—tickling her chin as he nestled against her. Her pixie cut made it easy for him not to pull her hair anymore, a practical benefit she hadn't considered when first cutting it all off.

As she walked through the Barcha bay hallways, players greeted her with warm smiles and little waves to Ryo. The team had taken to the boy immediately, especially Bachira, who seemed to share the same childlike energy. Even Otoya, usually focused solely on flirting with any woman who crossed his path, had a soft spot for the toddler, often performing silly tricks just to hear Ryo's delighted giggle.

"Akane! There you are," Lavinho called out as she entered the strategy room. "And little man too!" The coach had embraced Ryo's presence with typical Spanish warmth, even teaching him a few simple words in Spanish that Ryo loved to repeat at random moments.

"Sorry I'm late," Akane apologized, setting Ryo down on a cushioned chair with a small tablet loaded with football animations. "What's on the agenda today?"

"We need to finalize our strategy against PXG for next week," Lavinho said, spreading out diagrams on the table. "And Bachira wanted to test something new with his flow state."

As they talked tactics, Akane found herself smiling. This was what she had missed during her years away from football—the strategic thinking, the creative problem-solving, the thrill of anticipating an opponent's moves. Now she could have both worlds: her son and the sport she loved.

After an hour of productive planning, Akane's phone buzzed. A text from Haru:

"Akane-senpai! Snuffy gave us permission to take Ryo to the Ubers bay this afternoon if you're okay with it? Aiku-kun wants to try again with him! Pretty please? (＾▽＾)"

Akane's stomach tightened. Oliver Aiku wanting to spend time with his son—a son he hadn't known existed until recently—still felt surreal. Part of her wanted to refuse, to shield both Ryo and herself from the complicated emotions that surfaced whenever she saw Aiku's face. But another part—the part that remembered the look of wonder on Aiku's face when he realized the connection between himself and Ryo—couldn't deny him this chance.

"Everything okay?" Lavinho asked, noticing her expression.

"Yeah," she said, composing herself. "Just need to drop Ryo off with the Ubers this afternoon."

Lavinho gave her a knowing look. The coaches weren't supposed to know the details of the managers' personal lives, but rumors spread quickly in Blue Lock. "Take whatever time you need," he said kindly.

The walk to the Ubers bay felt longer than usual. Ryo bounced excitedly beside her, his small hand in hers as he chattered about seeing "Haru-nee" and the other Ubers players he had already grown fond of.

"Papa too?" he asked suddenly, looking up at her with those mismatched eyes.

Akane nearly missed a step. "Yes, your... Papa will be there too." The word still felt foreign on her tongue. For two years, it had just been "Mama" in Ryo's world.

As they approached the Ubers bay, she saw Haru waiting outside, bouncing on her toes with characteristic energy. Her cyan pigtails bobbed as she waved enthusiastically.

"Akane-senpai! Ryo-chan!" Haru rushed forward, crouching down to Ryo's level. "We have so much fun planned today!"

Ryo immediately let go of Akane's hand to give Haru a hug, making the younger manager beam with delight.

"Thanks for watching him," Akane said, handing over Ryo's small backpack with his snacks and spare clothes. "I have a meeting with Ego about some new training protocols, so I can pick him up in about three hours."

"No problem! The whole Uber family is excited," Haru grinned, using the term that had stuck even though Akane knew it had started as a joke. "Especially... you know." She nodded meaningfully toward the bay entrance.

As if on cue, Oliver Aiku appeared in the doorway. His tall frame filled the space, dark hair perfect as always, those heterochromatic eyes—identical to one of Ryo's—regarding her with an unreadable expression.

"Akane," he said with a nod, then his gaze shifted to Ryo. His face softened instantly. "Hey, buddy."

Ryo, spotting Aiku, let out an excited squeal and ran toward him with the unsteady gait of a toddler. "Papa! Papa!"

Akane's heart clenched as Aiku crouched down to catch Ryo in a hug, lifting him up with an ease that spoke of natural athleticism. The sight of them together—identical eyes, Ryo's small hands patting Aiku's cheeks—was still something she was getting used to.

"He, uh, he's been asking about you," she said awkwardly, approaching them. "I think he really enjoyed that dribbling practice last time."

Aiku's gaze met hers over Ryo's head. "I've been thinking about that. He's got natural talent, Akane. Just like you had."

The compliment caught her off guard. Before she could respond, Haru clapped her hands.

"We should go inside! Niko made special juice boxes for Ryo-chan, and Lorenzo wants to show him the new mini goals!"

Akane nodded, stepping back. "Alright, I'll be back later." She leaned in to kiss Ryo's cheek. "Be good for everyone, okay?"

Ryo nodded solemnly before breaking into a grin. "Bye-bye, Mama!"

As she turned to leave, Aiku called after her. "Akane, wait."

She paused, looking back over her shoulder.

"Maybe... maybe you could stay? Help me out a bit? I'm still learning, and he listens to you better." There was a vulnerability in his voice she rarely heard.

Haru's eyes widened with excitement at this development, barely containing a squeal as she looked between them.

Akane hesitated. Her meeting with Ego wasn't for another hour—she'd deliberately built in buffer time, anticipating her own reluctance to leave Ryo. "I suppose I could stay for a little while."

Haru beamed, taking Ryo from Aiku's arms. "Come on, Ryo-chan! Let's go find Uncle Lorenzo while your mama and papa talk!"

Before Akane could correct the "mama and papa talk" implication, Haru had whisked Ryo inside, leaving her alone with Aiku in the hallway.

An awkward silence fell between them.

"Look," Aiku started, running a hand through his own hair, "I know this is weird. All of it. Finding out I have a son, seeing you again after... everything."

"Weird doesn't begin to cover it," Akane responded, crossing her arms.

"I meant what I said before. With Ryo." His eyes, so similar to her son's, held a sincerity that made it hard to maintain her anger. "And I want to apologize again. For before. For disappearing on you."

Akane felt her defenses wavering. She'd held onto her resentment for so long, it had become a comfortable weight. But seeing Aiku with Ryo, witnessing his genuine effort to connect with their son, made that weight feel suddenly heavier than necessary.

"You didn't know about him," she admitted. "I never told you."

"I still shouldn't have ghosted you. That was... that was cowardly."

She nodded, acknowledging the truth in his words. "Yes, it was."

From inside the bay came the sound of Ryo's laughter, followed by what sounded like Lorenzo's booming voice making silly sound effects.

"We should go in," she said, gesturing toward the door. "Before they convince him he's actually part of the 'Uber family.'"

Aiku smiled—a real smile, not the flirtatious one he used on most women. "Too late for that. Sendou's already teaching him Italian endearments to annoy Barou."

Despite herself, Akane laughed. "God help us."

Inside the Ubers bay, the scene that greeted Akane could only be described as chaos—but the warm, family kind that she hadn't realized Ryo had been missing.

Lorenzo was on his hands and knees, pretending to be a horse while Ryo rode on his back, squealing with delight. Niko cheered them on, while Barou stood to the side, arms crossed but with a barely concealed smile tugging at his lips. Sendou was setting up small cones in what appeared to be a miniature obstacle course, while Snuffy watched it all with the indulgent expression of a grandfather.

"The whole family's here," Aiku murmured beside her, amusement lacing his voice.

Haru bounced over to them, her energy somehow even more amplified in her home environment. "Akane-senpai! You're staying? That's perfect! We're going to teach Ryo-chan football the Uber way!"

"Which means?" Akane raised an eyebrow, both concerned and curious.

"Fun first, skills second!" Haru declared. "That's why all the best players started young, right? Because they loved it!"

The wisdom in those simple words struck Akane. How many young players had she seen driven away by strict training regimens that forgot the joy of the game? Even she had temporarily lost sight of that love, pressured by societal expectations about femininity and proper behavior.

"You're right," she said, surprising herself with the admission.

Lorenzo finally noticed their arrival and trotted over, Ryo still giggling on his back. "Look who's here, Piccolo! Your papa and mama together!"

Akane felt her cheeks warm at the phrasing but couldn't find it in herself to correct him when Ryo looked so delighted.

"Watch, Mama! Watch, Papa!" Ryo called, patting Lorenzo's head. "Horse!"

"I see, baby," Akane laughed. "What a fancy horse you have!"

Aiku stepped forward, tentatively at first, then with more confidence. "Want to show me what else you can do, buddy?"

Ryo nodded eagerly, sliding off Lorenzo's back with the Italian striker's help. He ran to the small football that Niko had rolled toward him, but instead of kicking it, he picked it up and hugged it close.

"Still doing that, huh?" Akane sighed. "I thought he was all about kicking the ball last time?."

Aiku tilted his head, observing Ryo with a thoughtful expression. "Maybe we're approaching it wrong."

"What do you mean?"

"When you first challenged me, you didn't just want to kick a ball around. You wanted to play," Aiku reminded her. "To compete, to feel the rush."

Akane remembered that day vividly—climbing the fence, challenging the school's star defender, the pure joy of playing without pretense or expectations. Just the game in its purest form.

"So what do you suggest?" she asked.

Aiku crouched down to Ryo's level. "Hey, buddy. Want to play a game with Papa? You and me against Mama?"

Ryo's eyes widened, his gaze darting between his parents. "Play?"

"Yeah, a special game. You have to get the ball to me, and we have to get past Mama to score a goal. Think we can beat her?"

Ryo considered this seriously, then nodded, his expression determined in a way that mirrored Aiku's concentration on the field.

"Oh really?" Akane couldn't help the competitive spark that ignited within her. "You think you two can get past me?"

"What do you think, Ryo? Can we beat Mama?" Aiku asked, his voice playfully challenging.

"Beat Mama!" Ryo declared, making the Ubers players laugh.

Within minutes, a small game had been set up. Sendou's cones formed a miniature pitch, with small goals at either end. The Ubers players gathered around, cheering and commentating as if it were a championship match.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Lorenzo announced dramatically, "welcome to the ultimate showdown: Team Papa and Ryo versus the legendary Akane Makino!"

Haru jumped up and down, recording everything on her phone. "This is going on the Ubers family TikTok for sure!"

Akane found herself laughing, the weight of past resentments temporarily forgotten in the simple joy of the moment. She took her position, hands on her knees as she faced Aiku and Ryo.

"Ready to lose?" she taunted playfully.

Aiku grinned, that same competitive spark she remembered from years ago lighting his eyes. "Don't underestimate us, right Ryo?"

Ryo, standing with the ball at his feet now—not hugging it for once—nodded solemnly.

"Go!" Snuffy called, serving as their referee.

What followed was less a football match and more a dance of laughter and gentle guidance. Aiku would tap the ball to Ryo, encouraging him to push it forward. When Ryo hesitated, Aiku would crouch behind him, guiding his little feet to make contact with the ball.

Akane played along, making exaggerated attempts to steal the ball but always letting Ryo maintain possession just long enough to feel successful. The delight on her son's face when he managed to move the ball forward was worth every moment of the past two difficult years.

"Look at that footwork!" Lorenzo cheered as Ryo managed a wobbly dribble.

"He's a natural!" Niko added, clapping enthusiastically.

Barou, despite his typical aloofness, called out tips: "Keep your eye on the ball, kid!"

Even Sendou seemed invested, crouching down to Ryo's level to demonstrate proper form when the toddler got frustrated.

Through it all, Akane kept catching Aiku's gaze—grateful, tentative, hopeful. Something unspoken passed between them with each exchange, a gradual softening of the hard edges their shared history had created.

Finally, after Ryo had almost reached the goal with Aiku's guidance, Akane purposely left an opening. Aiku recognized it immediately, tapping the ball directly in front of Ryo.

"Now, buddy! Kick it hard!" he encouraged.

Ryo's little face scrunched in concentration. He pulled his left foot back—the same side preference Aiku had noticed during their first encounter—and kicked with all his might.

The ball rolled slowly but determinedly into the goal.

The Ubers erupted in cheers. Haru jumped up and down, her phone capturing every moment. Lorenzo and Niko started a victory chant. Even Barou allowed himself a small smile, nodding in approval.

Ryo stood stunned for a moment, processing his achievement, before breaking into the biggest smile Akane had ever seen on his small face. He ran to Aiku, arms raised in triumph.

"Papa! I did it!"

Aiku scooped him up, spinning him around. "You sure did, champion! Best goal I've ever seen!"

Akane felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes—happy tears, she realized with surprise. Seeing Ryo's joy, witnessing the bond forming between him and his father, filled a space inside her she hadn't known was empty.

Aiku turned toward her, still holding Ryo, and for a moment, they looked like what they were: a family. Unconventional, unexpected, unplanned—but undeniably connected.

"Good game," she conceded, approaching them. "You two make a dangerous team."

"Mama!" Ryo reached for her, and she took him from Aiku's arms. "I win!"

"You sure did, baby. I'm so proud of you." She hugged him close, inhaling the sweet scent of his hair.

Over Ryo's head, her eyes met Aiku's again. This time, instead of awkwardness or tension, there was a shared pride—a tiny bridge forming over the chasm of their past.

"He has my instincts," Aiku said softly. "But I think he got your left foot."

Akane nodded, acknowledging the truth of it. "And your eyes. One of them, anyway."

"Lucky kid," Aiku grinned. "Getting the best of both of us."

Before she could respond, Haru bounded over, her phone still recording. "That was amazing! Ryo-chan's first goal! And look at you two being all parent-y together!"

Akane felt her cheeks warm again. "We're just—"

"Family!" Ryo declared confidently, looking between his parents with perfect innocence.

The simple word hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning and possibility.

Later, after Ryo had exhausted himself playing with the Ubers and fallen asleep on one of their common room couches, Akane found herself sitting beside Aiku in relative quiet. The others had dispersed to various activities, giving them a rare moment alone—well, alone except for their sleeping child.

"He really wore himself out," Aiku observed, watching Ryo's chest rise and fall with each peaceful breath.

"He did. I haven't seen him this excited in a long time," Akane admitted. "He loved playing with you."

A comfortable silence fell between them, so different from the tense ones that had characterized their earlier interactions.

"I missed so much," Aiku finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "His first words, first steps..."

Akane felt the familiar guilt rise up. "I should have told you. Eventually. But at first, I was so angry, and then it just got harder with time."

"I understand why you didn't." Aiku turned to face her directly. "I was an ass, Akane. Running away after that night... I was scared. We were friends, and suddenly it was complicated, and I didn't know how to handle it."

"We were both young," she conceded. "Neither of us handled it perfectly."

"But you stepped up. You raised him alone for two years."

She thought about those early days—the morning sickness she hid from classmates, the isolation during her pregnancy, the sleepless nights with a newborn while trying to keep up with studies. But also the indescribable joy of Ryo's first smile, the weight of his tiny body against her chest, the purpose he had given her life.

"It was hard," she acknowledged. "But worth every second."

Aiku's hand moved tentatively toward hers on the couch between them, not quite touching. "I want to be there now. For both of you. If... if you'll let me."

Akane looked at him—really looked at him. The boy who had fascinated her with his defensive skills, who had become her friend, who had disappeared when things got complicated, who was now trying to make amends as a man.

His eyes—the same unusual bright green and purple-black that she saw every day in her son's face—held a sincerity she couldn't dismiss.

She placed her hand over his. "One day at a time, okay? For Ryo's sake."

He nodded, relief washing over his features. "For Ryo."

As if hearing his name, their son stirred slightly in his sleep, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "football" before settling again.

They both smiled, both watching over the small person they had created.

"You know," Aiku said after a moment, "the Ubers really have become like a family. I never expected that when I joined Blue Lock."

Akane laughed softly. "From what I hear, you're 'Daddy Aiku' to all of them."

He groaned, running his free hand over his face. "Don't remind me. Haru started that nonsense, and now I can't escape it."

"It's kind of sweet, actually. Ryo will grow up with a bunch of crazy uncles."

"And aunts," Aiku added. "Haru's already claimed the title of favorite aunt, though I think (Name) might fight her for it. That girl is surprisingly gentle with him, for someone so... intense."

The mention of the other managers brought reality crashing back. Akane checked her watch. "I should probably get to my meeting with Ego. It's about time."

"I can watch him until you're done," Aiku offered quickly. "If that's okay with you."

She hesitated only briefly before nodding. "That would be helpful, thank you." She stood, gathering her things. "I'll be back in about an hour."

As she turned to leave, Aiku called after her softly, mindful of their sleeping child. "Akane?"

She paused, looking back.

"I'm glad you climbed that fence that day. To challenge me."

A smile tugged at her lips as memories of her younger, bolder self flooded back. "Me too, Oliver. Though I still say I could've beaten you if we'd played a full match."

Aiku's eyes sparkled with the same competitive spirit that had drawn her to him in the first place. "Maybe someday we'll find out."

"Maybe we will," she agreed.

As she walked away, leaving her son in his father's care, Akane felt lighter than she had in years. The road ahead was uncertain, complicated by their past and the high-pressure environment of Blue Lock. But for the first time since discovering she was pregnant at sixteen, she didn't feel like she was facing it entirely alone.

One step at a time, she reminded herself. For Ryo.

But perhaps, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind, for herself too. And maybe even for the three of them—this unexpected, imperfect family finding its way forward together.

Chapter Text

Thursday mornings in Bastard Münchën were noticeably quieter. With training scheduled for the afternoon, the morning offered a rare moment of respite for the players. Isagi Yoichi sat in the common room, nursing a protein shake as he observed their manager, (Name) (L/n), packing her bag for her day off.

There was something oddly fascinating about watching their usually stone-faced, mathematically precise manager engage in such an ordinary task. Her movements were efficient as always—packing items in what was likely some optimal arrangement that only made sense to her analytical mind. Her eyes seemed to intensify as she concentrated, strands of hair shifting slightly with each movement.

"You always leave exactly at 9 AM," Isagi observed, taking another sip. "Is that part of some calculation too?"

(Name) barely glanced up. "Train schedules are predictable. I leave at 9 to catch the 9:15 express." Her voice was flat, matter-of-fact as always.

Isagi nodded, watching as she rummaged through her bag with a slight frown. (Name) dumped several items onto the table, checking if something had leaked. Among the scattered contents—a water bottle, a notebook filled with what looked like formulas, and several snacks—something small and colorful caught Isagi's eye.

It was a keychain, but not just any keychain. Curious, he reached forward, picking it up for closer inspection.

"What's this?" Isagi asked, his eyes widening as he realized what he was looking at.

The small plushie dangling from the keychain was unmistakably... him. A tiny, chibi version of Isagi Yoichi, with the signature ahoge sticking up from its head, bright blue eyes, and wearing the Bastard Münchën uniform. The craftsmanship was impressive—the details were spot on, from his determined expression to the number on his jersey.

"This is... me?" Isagi couldn't help but feel a strange mix of flattery and confusion. Why would their stoic, numbers-obsessed manager be carrying around a plushie of him?

(Name)'s head snapped up, and for the first time since Isagi had known her, her expression changed dramatically. Her eyes widened and a hint of color flushed her normally impassive face.

"Give that back," she demanded, her voice sharper than usual.

Isagi held it up, a small smile forming on his lips. "I didn't know they made these. It's actually pretty cute—"

"It's not what you think," (Name) cut him off, reaching across the table. "It's just a—"

Before she could finish, a larger hand snatched the keychain from Isagi's grasp. Kaiser stood beside them, his expression amused as he examined the tiny Isagi plushie.

"Well, well," Kaiser said, dangling the keychain between his fingers. "What do we have here? Our cold, calculating manager carries around a little Isagi doll?"

"It's a collectible," (Name) said through gritted teeth, the glare she was famous for intensifying. "Now give it back."

Isagi found himself in the unusual position of being both embarrassed and somewhat pleased. He'd never seen (Name) this flustered before. The usually composed manager looked ready to leap across the table to retrieve her keychain.

Kaiser turned the plushie over in his hand, examining it with a critical eye. "I suppose it does look like him... if Isagi were somehow even smaller and less intimidating than he already is."

"Hey!" Isagi protested, feeling a flare of irritation at Kaiser's backhanded comment.

"It's detailed work," Kaiser continued, ignoring Isagi's outburst. "Though I can't imagine why you'd want to carry around a reminder of Isagi everywhere you go."

(Name) snatched at the keychain, but Kaiser held it just out of reach. She was visibly frustrated now, her usual mathematical calm completely disturbed.

"Fine!" She snapped. "If you must know, the Isagi one isn't the only one I have."

Both players froze, staring at her.

"What do you mean it's not the only one?" Isagi asked, genuinely curious now.

The commotion had drawn the attention of the other Bastard Münchën players. Gagamaru and Kurona had wandered in from the hallway, while Yukimiya and Hiori peered in from the kitchen doorway. Igaguri bounced over, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Does (Name)-chan have collectibles? Do you have one of me too?" Igaguri asked, his eyes wide and hopeful.

With a defeated sigh that seemed to physically pain her, (Name) reached for her bag. "Wait here."

The room buzzed with anticipation as she disappeared down the hallway toward her quarters. Kaiser still held the Isagi plushie, studying it with what Isagi recognized as poorly disguised interest.

"Stop handling it so roughly," Isagi found himself saying.

Kaiser's eyes flicked to his, amusement dancing in them. "Afraid I'll damage your miniature ego?"

"It's not mine. It's (Name)'s," Isagi reminded him, then felt heat rise to his face at the implication of his words.

Kaiser's expression shifted subtly—something hard to define passing across his features before his usual smug mask fell back into place.

When (Name) returned, she was carrying a medium-sized box. Without ceremony, she placed it on the table and removed the lid.

Inside, nestled carefully together, were plushies of every Bastard Münchën player. Each one was crafted in the same chibi style as Isagi's, with accurate uniforms and exaggerated but recognizable features. There was kurona with his sharp teeth, Yukimiya with his distinctive glasses, and even smaller market players like Igaguri and Gagamaru.

"Holy shit, they made me!" Igaguri exclaimed, fishing out his miniature doppelgänger with unrestrained glee.

"The proportions are surprisingly accurate," Yukimiya commented, examining his own plushie with approval.

Isagi noticed Kaiser staring into the box, his expression unreadable as he located his own plushie sitting in the corner. Unlike Isagi's, which had been affixed to (Name)'s keys and clearly taken everywhere with her, Kaiser's remained in the box with the others.

"I started with one to check the quality," (Name) explained, her tone clipped and professional as though she were delivering match statistics instead of discussing her collection of cute player plushies. "The production value was satisfactory, so I continued acquiring them when possible."

"When possible?" Kaiser asked, picking up his own plushie finally.

(Name)'s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Some were more difficult to obtain than others."

"Let me guess," Yukimiya laughed, "Kaiser's had a waiting list a mile long?"

"I had to fight off several overzealous fangirls to secure that one," (Name) admitted, and Isagi couldn't help but notice how her glance darted away from Kaiser as she spoke. "It was the last one I needed to complete the set."

The last one. Isagi watched as something hardened in Kaiser's expression. For all his arrogance, Kaiser had always craved recognition, validation. Being the "last one" collected, merely to complete a set—Isagi could see how that might sting the ego of Bastard Münchën's star striker.

"So you carry Isagi's around but keep mine in a box?" Kaiser asked, his tone light but with an undercurrent that Isagi immediately recognized as dangerous.

(Name) blinked, clearly not having anticipated that particular question. "The keychain was a practical choice. His was the first one I acquired."

"Practical," Kaiser repeated, testing the word as though it tasted strange.

"Yes, practical," (Name) confirmed, reaching out to reclaim the Isagi plushie from Kaiser's hand. As her fingers closed around it, Isagi noticed how careful she was with it—how she subtly examined it to ensure it hadn't been damaged.

Kaiser noticed too.

The room's previous levity dissipated as Kaiser placed his own plushie back in the box with deliberate care. "Well, they're certainly... quaint."

(Name) gathered the plushies back into their box, her movements efficient but gentler than her usual clinical precision. "If you're all quite done, I need to finish packing."

The players began to drift away, Gagamaru chuckling as he left, Igaguri still babbling about his own plushie. Yukimiya shot Isagi a knowing look before following them out, leaving just Isagi, Kaiser, and (Name) in the common room.

"Thank you for indulging their curiosity," Isagi said to break the awkward silence.

(Name) nodded curtly, closing the box and setting it aside to finish packing her bag.

"I suppose we should be flattered to be immortalized in polyester," Kaiser remarked, but his usual humor seemed forced.

Isagi watched as (Name) carefully reattached the Isagi plushie to her keychain, her fingers moving with a practiced familiarity that suggested she'd handled it many times before. The realization made something warm unfurl in his chest.

Kaiser observed this too, his eyes tracking her movements with an intensity that surprised Isagi. There was something almost vulnerable in his expression, quickly masked when he caught Isagi looking.

"Well, I'll leave you to your departure preparations," Kaiser said smoothly, nodding to (Name) before turning to leave. At the doorway, he paused. "Oh, and (L/n)?"

(Name) looked up.

"Take good care of mini-Isagi. Wouldn't want any harm to come to our team's little genius, even in plushie form." The words were light, but there was something heavier beneath them that Isagi couldn't quite identify.

With that, Kaiser left, and Isagi found himself wondering why it felt like something significant had just transpired.

Michael Kaiser prided himself on his ability to remain unfazed. As the undisputed emperor of Bastard Münchën, he had cultivated an air of superiority that extended to all aspects of his life. He didn't get flustered. He didn't get jealous. And he certainly didn't care about childish things like plushie dolls.

Yet here he was, three days after the discovery of (Name)'s collection, still thinking about it.

More specifically, thinking about how she carried around a miniature Isagi on her keychain while his own plushie counterpart sat forgotten in a box.

Kaiser stared at the ceiling of his room, annoyed at himself for even giving it a second thought. It was ridiculous. He was Michael Kaiser, the chosen Ace of Noel Noa. Why should he care which toy a mathematics-obsessed manager chose to attach to her keys?

And yet...

He rolled onto his side, recalling the way (Name) had protected the Isagi plushie, the way she'd snatched it back and held it almost protectively in her small hands. The fact that it was special enough to carry everywhere she went.

"Ridiculous," he muttered to himself, sitting up and running a hand through his hair.

He'd noticed something else too—something that bothered him more than he cared to admit. When she'd explained her collection, she'd described his plushie as just the final piece needed to complete her set. An afterthought. A box to check. Meanwhile, she'd created an entire justification for why she carried Isagi's around, something about "statistical reminders" and "similar analytical approaches."

Kaiser swung his legs off the bed and stood up. Training would start in an hour, and he needed to focus. This was precisely the kind of trivial distraction that had no place in his pursuit of becoming the world's best striker.

As he made his way to the common room, he heard an unusual sound—something high-pitched and completely unfamiliar echoing down the hallway. It sounded almost like... a squeal?

Kaiser quickened his pace, curious despite himself. As he rounded the corner into the common room, he was met by a strange sight.

(Name) (L/n)—their perpetually serious, emotionless manager—was standing in the center of the room, holding something in her hands with an expression Kaiser had never seen before. Her eyes were wide, and though her face was set in what appeared to be her usual glare, there was something different about it. She looked almost... excited?

"What's going on?" Kaiser asked, stepping into the room.

Several other players had gathered already—Isagi, Gagamaru, and Kurona were all staring at (Name) with varying degrees of confusion.

"(Name) just received a package," Isagi explained, gesturing to a torn-open parcel on the table. "And then she... made that sound."

"I did not make a sound," (Name) insisted, though her voice lacked its usual flat certainty.

"You definitely did," Gagamaru countered. "Like a cross between a kettle boiling and a puppy seeing its owner."

Kaiser moved closer, curious about what could have possibly elicited such a reaction from their stoic manager. In her hands, she held what appeared to be another plushie, similar in style to the ones she collected of the team. But this one wasn't a player.

It was (Name) herself.

A tiny, chibi version of their manager, complete with her exact same hair, distinctive sharp eyes paired with sewn furrowed brows, and the familiar Bastard Münchën manager's uniform—white button-up with rolled sleeves, beige waistcoat and skirt, red tie, dark tights, and brown heels. The miniature (Name) even had the same intense glare as the real thing.

"They made one of you," Kaiser observed, oddly fascinated by the tiny replica.

"Yes," (Name) confirmed, her voice barely containing what seemed to be excitement. "The company saw my collection through Blue Lock TV and decided to create a manager line." She thrust a note forward. "They sent me the first production sample as a thank you for the publicity."

Kaiser took the note, scanning it quickly. Indeed, the plushie company expressed their gratitude to (Name) for showcasing their products on Blue Lock TV, mentioning that her collection had sparked increased interest in their merchandise line. They planned to release manager plushies for all five Blue Lock manager teams, with (Name)'s being the first to enter production.

"They're going to mass-produce these?" Kaiser asked, handing the note back.

"Limited edition," (Name) corrected, running a finger over the tiny plushie's head with surprising gentleness. "Projected production of only 5,000 units."

"That's still a lot of mini-(Name)s running around," Kurona commented, leaning in to get a better look.

"It's... cute," Isagi offered, smiling at (Name)'s obvious pleasure.

Kaiser watched as (Name) continued to examine her plushie self, turning it over in her hands with uncharacteristic care. He'd never seen her this animated about anything that wasn't related to statistics or match probability.

"Will you put this one on your keychain too?" Kaiser found himself asking, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

(Name) looked up at him, blinking as if she'd forgotten they were all there. "No," she said after a moment. "This one is special. It will stay in my room where it's safe."

Kaiser nodded, unsure why her answer satisfied him so much. At least the Isagi plushie wouldn't be joined by a mini-(Name) on her keychain. Though the thought of the two plushies together on her keychain still needled at him in a way he didn't care to examine too closely.

As the group continued to discuss the new development, Kaiser found himself formulating a plan. When these plushies were released to the public, he'd make sure to get one of (Name) for himself. And maybe a new one of himself too. After all, if his plushie was going to be part of a collection, he preferred it to be in a prominent position—not buried in a box with the rest of the team.

The more he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. His plushie and (Name)'s, side by side. It made perfect sense. They were both exceptional, after all. Both destined for greatness. Both perfectly logical in their approaches.

It was ridiculous, of course. Childish, even. But something about the way (Name) had looked at that Isagi plushie—the way she'd kept it close while his remained in the box—had awakened a competitiveness in Kaiser that extended beyond the field.

If the plushies ended up together in his possession, perhaps it was a step toward something more. And if not, well... at least mini-Kaiser wouldn't be left alone in a box and instead have the company of a mini-(Name) when the actual (Name) had her attention on the real Isagi.

Some part of him recognized the absurdity of his reasoning. A larger part simply didn't care.

Across the room, Kaiser spotted Isagi watching (Name) with a warm expression that irritated him more than it should have. The self-proclaimed spatial awareness, Talented learner looked entirely too pleased by (Name)'s rare display of emotion.

Well, that would change soon enough. Kaiser made a mental note to find out the release date for the manager plushies. He'd make sure his order was among the first.

After all, Kaiser never settled for second place. Not on the field, and certainly not when it came to plushie proximity

Numbers had always made sense to (Name) (L/n). They were reliable, predictable, and most importantly, they didn't carry the messy complications of emotions. One plus one would always equal two. The probability of a certain outcome could be calculated with variables and constants.

People, on the other hand, were infinitely more complex.

Take Yoichi Isagi, for instance. His spatial awareness operated on an almost mathematical level that (Name) could appreciate intellectually. His movements on the field followed patterns she could predict with 94.2% accuracy. Yet there was something about him that defied pure calculation—an intuitive leap that often surprised even her most careful analysis.

Then there was Michael Kaiser. Technically perfect in execution, with physical attributes that should make him the superior player by every measurable metric. His arrogance was proportional to his abilities, which made him simultaneously predictable and infuriating.

(Name) had not anticipated becoming the object of either's attention beyond her professional capacity. She certainly hadn't expected to find herself caught between them in what seemed to be developing into something beyond mere team dynamics.

And she definitely hadn't expected plushies to be the catalyst.

As she carefully placed her miniature self on her desk, arranging it so that it sat precisely in the corner at a 90-degree angle, (Name) allowed herself a moment of uncharacteristic self-reflection.

The mini-(Name) stared back at her with stitched, cold eyes. The uniform was perfect—from the white button-up with rolled sleeves to the beige office skirt and waistcoat, even down to the red tie that added the singular pop of color.

It was strange, seeing herself reduced to this cute, simplified form. Strange, but oddly satisfying.

Her phone buzzed with a notification from the training system—she was expected on the field in three minutes. With a final glance at the plushie, (Name) gathered her tablet and notes.

As she locked her door, her keys jingled, the small Isagi plushie bouncing against her palm. She paused, looking at it with newfound awareness.

Why had she chosen Isagi's plushie for her keychain? At the time, it had seemed a practical choice—it was slightly smaller than the others, more suitable for a keyring. But Kaiser's pointed observation had forced her to consider whether there might be other factors at play.

Did she favor Isagi? The question was uncomfortable precisely because she prided herself on objectivity. Favorites were inefficient. Preferences could cloud judgment.

And yet.

There was something about Isagi's determined blue eyes, the way he approached problems with the same analytical intensity that she did. They understood each other on a fundamental level that transcended normal communication.

Kaiser, meanwhile, challenged her. He pushed against her assessments, questioned her methods, tested her patience. Where Isagi collaborated, Kaiser competed—even when they were theoretically on the same side.

Lost in thought, (Name) nearly collided with someone as she rounded the corner toward the training field.

"Calculating the mysteries of the universe?" Ness asked, stepping aside just in time.

"Something like that," she muttered, quickening her pace.

Noa was already addressing the team when she arrived, outlining the day's training regimen. She slipped into place beside him, tablet at the ready.

"Nice of you to join us, (L/n)," Noa commented without breaking his rhythm. "Perhaps you can explain the statistical breakdown for today's precision drills."

(Name) nodded, stepping forward as Noa moved aside. She felt rather than saw Kaiser and Isagi's eyes on her—a prickling awareness that had become increasingly common lately.

"Today's focus is on capitalizing on spatial awareness to improve goal conversion rates," she began, her voice shifting into its familiar analytical cadence. This was comfortable territory—data, statistics, improvements measured in percentages.

As she outlined the drills and expected outcomes, her gaze swept across the assembled players, pausing briefly on Isagi and Kaiser. They stood on opposite sides of the group, yet both seemed to be paying unusually close attention to her words.

When the briefing concluded and the players dispersed to their assigned stations, (Name) found herself approached by Isagi.

"That plushie really made your day, huh?" he asked with a small smile. "I don't think I've ever heard you squeal before."

Heat rose to (Name)'s face at the reminder of her momentary lapse in composure. "A temporary aberration in emotional regulation. It won't happen again."

Isagi laughed, the sound surprisingly pleasant. "It was nice, actually. Seeing you excited about something personal, not just statistics and win percentages."

Before she could formulate a response, Kaiser appeared at her other side.

"If I'd known stuffed toys were the key to cracking your mathematical exterior, I would have invested in a teddy bear months ago," he remarked dryly.

"Focus on your training, not my emotional responses," (Name) replied, trying to regain her professional footing. "Your shot accuracy has decreased by 2.4% in the last three sessions."

"Always the numbers," Kaiser sighed dramatically. "And here I thought we were having a moment of human connection."

"The correlation between human connection and athletic performance is tenuous at best," she responded automatically.

Isagi grinned. "That's our (Name). Always the analyst."

Our (Name). The casual possessive pronoun shouldn't have registered as significant, and yet something about it resonated uncomfortably. She wasn't anyone's (Name). She was a manager, a strategist, a mathematical mind tasked with optimizing performance.

Yet the warmth in Isagi's voice, contrasted with the challenging gleam in Kaiser's eyes, created an equation she wasn't sure how to solve.

"Your drills await," she reminded them both, gesturing toward the field where the others had already begun their exercises.

As they jogged away, (Name) found her hand unconsciously reaching for her keys, fingers closing around the small Isagi plushie that hung there. The familiar texture was somehow comforting against her palm.

She caught Kaiser glancing back, his eyes dropping to her hand before meeting her gaze with an unreadable expression. In that moment, something shifted in (Name)'s understanding—a new variable entering the equation that
she hadn't fully accounted for.

This wasn't just about plushies or keychains or childish collections. This was about something far more complex and infinitely less predictable than numbers could capture.

For the first time in her analytical life, (Name) (L/n) faced a problem she wasn't sure she could solve with mathematical precision. And the uncertainty was both terrifying and strangely exhilarating.

As she watched Kaiser and Isagi take their positions on the field, each casting occasional glances in her direction between drills, (Name) made a mental note to order a display case for her growing collection.

Perhaps it was time to rearrange some things—both the plushies and her understanding of the players they represented.

Chapter Text

(Name) (L/n) stood at the edge of the field, her eyes scanning the pitch with mathematical precision. Today was the day—the final match of the Neo Egoist League. Bastard Münchën versus Paris X Gen. Her versus Tsukiko.

The night before, Ego had visited them personally. She recalled the way he'd sauntered into their bay, that same menacing smile plastered across his face as he addressed the team.

"Originality," he had said, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Hunger. That's what will separate the predators from the prey tomorrow."

His eyes had lingered on Kaiser and Isagi, who had been seated at opposite ends of the room. Even without calculation, (Name) could feel the rivalry crackling between them like electricity.

Before leaving, Ego had paused beside her, placing a hand on her head—a gesture that had caught her completely off-guard.

"You've got good eyes," he'd told her. "Just like him." His gaze had flickered toward Isagi.

"I'm nothing like him," she'd responded automatically, her face remaining impassive.

Ego had merely chuckled. "Keep telling yourself that." Then he was gone, leaving (Name) to wonder what exactly he'd meant.

Now, as game day arrived, she watched her team make their entrance onto the pitch. Kaiser, Kunigami, Isagi, Ness, Grim, Hiori, Raichi, Kiyora, Gagamaru, and Schwarz—the German player whose defense statistics had impressed her. The Blue Lock TV cameras were everywhere, capturing every angle of what was about to unfold.

In the center of the field, Isagi and Rin locked eyes.

"I'll destroy you today," Rin stated flatly, his gaze unwavering.

"Try it," Isagi retorted, that spark of determination burning in his eyes. "I'll be the one standing at the top."

(Name)'s tablet beeped with an incoming message from Noel Noa: "Keep an eye on Kaiser's status." She acknowledged it with a slight nod, though she'd already been monitoring his growing agitation over the past few days. His precision had slipped 3.7% in training—not enough for most to notice, but to (Name)'s calculations, it was significant.

The whistle blew.

From the first touch, it was evident this would be no ordinary match. Kaiser and Ness immediately established possession, their familiarity with each other evident in every pass. Karasu attempted an interception, but Kunigami blocked him with perfect timing. The ball bounced between players until Rin finally got possession.
Isagi, as if anticipating this exact moment, intercepted.

(Name) tapped her tablet, bringing up a diagram of Paris X Gen's formation. "They're running a two-party system," she murmured to herself. "Two different pairs—one supporting Shidou, one supporting Rin." It was similar to what they had seen before, but there was something different in the execution.

Her calculations were interrupted when Kaiser lost possession to Rin, with Nanase supporting his play with unwavering loyalty. Just as Rin prepared to score, Hiori came through with a crucial defense.

But moments later, the unexpected happened. Charles—the young player (Name) had noted as having particularly unpredictable plays—sent a perfect pass to Shidou, who headed it straight into the goal.

0-1 to Paris X Gen.

"Kunigami," Noa's voice came through the comms. "Track Shidou. Don't let him out of your sight." He turned to (Name). "What do you think about Hiori and Isagi?"

"They should recreate their combination from previous games," (Name) responded immediately. "Their spatial awareness when working together increases scoring probability by 24.3%."

Noa nodded in agreement, relaying the instruction to the team.

As the match progressed, (Name)'s eyes remained fixed on Isagi, who was building momentum for what looked like a clear shot—but Kaiser was on his tail, clearly intent on claiming the opportunity for himself. The tension between them had been escalating throughout the game, each trying to outdo the other at every turn.

Something changed in Isagi's expression. (Name) recognized it—that moment when his spatial awareness shifted, when he saw something no one else could.

"He's adapting," she whispered.

In a move that even (Name) couldn't have calculated, Isagi performed a perfect two-gun direct volley—switching direction mid-shot—and struck a clean goal.

1-1.

For a moment, something unfamiliar stirred in (Name)'s chest—a flutter of excitement that left her slightly breathless. She quickly composed herself, turning her attention back to the tablet.

Noa signaled for a substitution: Grim out, Kurona in. (Name) immediately began recalculating odds with this new variable. Kurona's stats indicated he'd work well with Isagi's style—which meant another ally for him against Kaiser.

Kaiser had noticed it too. His face remained stoic, but (Name) could see the tension in his posture. He was being systematically isolated, left with only Ness to support him against Isagi's growing coalition on the field. Yet, surprisingly, Kaiser was holding himself together—for now.

The game continued with increasing intensity. (Name) watched as Kaiser and Ness attempted the 'Magnus shot' they'd been practicing—a technique that had fascinated her when Kaiser had explained the physics behind it. The scientific precision required had captured her interest in a way few things outside mathematics ever did.

But the execution failed. Not enough spin, improper angle—the ball went loose, becoming a 50/50 chance for either team.

That's when she saw it: the first crack in Kaiser's composure. His plays became more desperate, more erratic. His calculated efficiency was giving way to something raw and emotional. He was fighting to maintain his identity on the field—the very thing that made him feel human.

And then, in a moment that sent shock waves through the stadium, Kaiser broke.

"I don't need you," he told Ness, loud enough for the nearest camera to pick up. "You're holding me back."

Ness's face crumpled, but Kaiser had already turned away.

What happened next defied even (Name)'s calculations. Rather than collapsing, Kaiser seemed reborn. He began playing with a new flow, passing to teammates he would have previously ignored, dismantling his own pride to reset himself to zero.

When Kiyora's pass slowed to a stop in front of him, Kaiser capitalized on the perfect moment. The Magnus shot connected this time—powerful, precise, unstoppable.

2-1 to Bastard Münchën.

(Name) allowed herself a small smile—not out of emotion, but mathematical appreciation for the perfect execution. The trajectory, the spin, the velocity—it all aligned exactly as the equations predicted.

But Rin wasn't finished. Something in him seemed to snap, and he entered a flow state so intense that even Isagi couldn't keep pace. His movement became almost impossible to track—even for (Name)'s calculations—and before they knew it, he had equalized.

2-2.

The coaches activated the star change system. Loki entered for Paris X Gen, and Noa countered by subbing in Igaguri.

"Use him as intended," (Name) advised Noa. "His diving statistics indicate a 78.4% success rate in drawing fouls, particularly against emotionally volatile players."

Noa nodded. "Igaguri," he instructed through the comms. "Target Rin. Get us a penalty."

When play resumed, everyone expected Noa to pass to Isagi. Instead, the ball went to Kaiser. The look of betrayal on Isagi's face was unmistakable.

"I only joined the NEL to make Kaiser into a formidable rival," Noa announced, loud enough for both players to hear. "So I could improve myself."

(Name) watched as Isagi's world seemed to crumble around him. Everything he'd been working for, every connection he thought he'd built with Noa—all revealed to be just stepping stones for others. His face went blank, his movements mechanical.

Kaiser took the shot, unleashing his iconic Kaiser Impact—but Loki, living up to his reputation as the world's fastest player, blocked it with inhuman reflexes.

Igaguri managed to secure another foul, but by this point, Isagi looked completely lost. His eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, seemed dull and unfocused. For the first time since she'd known him, he looked defeated.

His gaze drifted toward (Name), as if seeking something—validation, perhaps, or instruction. But what he received was a frown, followed by a firm nod. Even without words, her message was clear: Get back up. Keep calculating. Show me that impossible shot wasn't a fluke.

Something shifted in Isagi's eyes—a rekindling of that fire that had first captured (Name)'s interest. He took a deep breath and seemed to recenter himself, rearranging his mental approach to the game.

Rin made another powerful shot, but Gagamaru managed an incredible block.

As the star change system's time limit expired, Loki made a dismissive comment about Bastard Münchën's chances. That's when Isagi, seemingly in a trance, launched into a verbal assault that stunned the entire stadium.

"You're just a guy born with fast legs," he spat at Loki, before turning to Noa. "And you, shitty master—using me as a tool? I'll create a theory that surpasses you. The next World Cup is mine."

(Name)'s eyebrows raised slightly—the closest she ever came to showing surprise. What a statement, she thought as Noa returned to her side, his expression unreadable.

"That was unnecessarily cruel," she commented quietly to Noa, though she understood the strategic value of pushing Isagi to his limits.

Noa said nothing, his eyes fixed on the field.

With the coaches back on the sidelines, Isagi approached Kaiser. (Name) activated the directional microphone on her tablet to listen in.

"Let's team up," Isagi proposed. "Not as supporters, but as rivals competing for the final goal."

Kaiser studied him for a moment before nodding. "Fine. But the last goal will determine the true winner between us."

What followed was a display of football that even (Name), with all her analytical capabilities, found breathtaking. Isagi and Kaiser, fierce rivals yet perfectly in sync, created scoring opportunities that the Paris X Gen defense barely managed to block.

Igaguri received a yellow card for an overly aggressive dive, and Noa immediately pulled him from the game.

"You've failed to prove yourself," Noa told him bluntly. "You have no more use here."

As Igaguri trudged off the field, (Name) felt an unexpected twinge of sympathy for the monk-headed boy. His statistical contributions had been significant, even if they weren't flashy. She made a note to mention this to Noa later.

Yukimiya was subbed in, bringing fresh energy to the field.

Meanwhile, Ness was still desperately trying to reconnect with Kaiser, following him around the pitch like a shadow. His desperation was interfering with the team's dynamics—even (Name) didn't need calculations to see that.

"Quit football," Kaiser told him harshly. "I don't need those who can't keep up."

(Name) expected Ness to break down—his psychological profile suggested he would—but something unexpected happened. Instead of collapsing, Ness seemed to undergo a transformation. He adapted to Kaiser's new playstyle, finding a new role for himself within it.

In the final minutes of the game, Ness sent a finishing pass that was meant for who he thought was Kaiser, but unintentionally landed at Isagi's feet. Isagi, who had somehow anticipated this evolution in Ness, was perfectly positioned.

Time seemed to slow as Isagi took the shot. (Name)'s calculations ran automatically: angle, velocity, defensive positions, goalkeeper reaction time—all the variables aligned for success.

The ball hit the back of the net.

3-2 to Bastard Münchën.

The whistle blew. Game over.

The team erupted in celebration, surrounding Isagi, who stood tense and triumphant, still riding the high of his victory. Bastard Münchën had won the Neo Egoist League. And by extension, (Name) had defeated Tsukiko.

(Name) allowed herself a moment of satisfaction before turning her attention back to the field. Isagi was approaching Kaiser, who remained on his knees, utterly defeated. She expected some sort of reconciliation—a gesture of sportsmanship after their temporary alliance.

Instead, Isagi extended his hand to Kaiser and said, "Thanks for being my finest clown."

Kaiser's face contorted with rage as he slapped Isagi's hand away, but there was no hiding his defeat.

The rankings appeared on the giant screen. Rin's name was at number one, and Isagi's face immediately darkened with fury. But then (Name) noticed what he hadn't seen yet.

"Look up," she said, pointing.

There, next to Rin's name, was Isagi's—tied for first place.

Before she could fully process what was happening and take in his lit up eyes, Isagi was moving straight toward her with an expression of pure exhilaration that made something flutter dangerously in her chest.

She had approximately two seconds to consider her response options before he reached her, and in that brief moment, every calculation her mind tried to run came up blank. There was no statistical model for this, no probability matrix that could predict what happened next.

Isagi swept her up in his arms, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around like she weighed nothing at all. His hands were warm against her waist, his face tilted up toward hers, and the words that spilled from his lips were breathless and joyful and completely overwhelming.

"I did it, (Name)! I actually did it! I'm number one! I’m amazing! Did you see? Did you see what happened?"

For a moment, (Name) forgot how to breathe. Suspended above the field in Isagi's arms, she could see everything - her celebrating team, the defeated PXG players, the cameras capturing every angle of this moment. But somehow, all of that faded into background noise compared to the feeling of Isagi's laugh vibrating through his chest, the warmth of his hands, the unguarded joy in his eyes as he looked up at her.

She should have pushed him away. Should have reminded him about professional boundaries and appropriate manager-player relationships. Should have calculated the probability that this moment would be broadcast to millions of viewers worldwide.
Instead, she sighed - a sound that somehow contained both resignation and affection - and let it happen.

"Yes," she said simply, her voice softer than usual. "I saw."

“Very charming…”

Rin's sharp comment about their display broke the spell somewhat, and Isagi seemed to suddenly realize what he was doing. He set her down carefully, a slight flush creeping up his neck, but before either of them could feel truly awkward about it, something unexpected happened.

She laughed.

Not the quiet huff of amusement she sometimes allowed herself, but an actual laugh - warm and genuine and completely spontaneous. The sound seemed to surprise both of them, but particularly Isagi, whose eyes went wide with wonder.

"What?" she asked, seeing his expression.

"I've never heard you laugh before. Properly," he said softly. "It's... nice."

(Name) felt warmth spread across her cheeks - an entirely unprecedented physiological response that she chose to ignore in favor of patting his shoulder in what she hoped was a casual, professional manner.

"You did well today," she told him, her voice returning to its usual measured tone. "Your adaptation rate exceeded all projected parameters. The two-gun volley was... mathematically elegant."

Isagi's grin could have powered the stadium lights. "High praise from our resident genius."

"I'm not a genius," (Name) protested automatically. "I simply process information more efficiently than most people."

"Sure," Isagi agreed easily, but his smile suggested he didn't believe her for a second.

It had taken all her promotional skills, all her statistical arguments to convince scouts of Isagi's value. But in the end, he had proven himself on the field. His natural talent, combined with his spatial awareness and adaptive intelligence, had given him wings.

Their attention was drawn back to the screen as the border settled for ranks 23 and above—those who would make the U-20 team. (Name) scanned the list methodically, noting each name.

"Nagi didn't make it," Isagi said, sounding genuinely surprised.

(Name) nodded. "Unexpected. His technical skills warranted inclusion." She paused, recalculating. "But this is Blue Lock. Technical skill isn't everything."

As the celebrations continued around them, (Name) stood apart, observing. Kaiser remained on the field long after most had left, staring at nothing. Isagi was surrounded by teammates and cameras, his face showing the complex mix of emotions that always fascinated (Name) with their unpredictability.

And somewhere on the other side of the pitch, she knew Tsukiko was watching, seething at her defeat.

(Name) turned her attention to her tablet, already beginning preparations for what would come next. The real journey was just beginning. And her calculations indicated it would be even more intense than what they'd just experienced.

But for now, Bastard Münchën were champions. And that was a statistical outcome she could appreciate.

Chapter Text

The aftermath of victory tasted bittersweet in (Name)'s mouth as she slipped away from the celebrating team. The tablet in her hand had vibrated with the notification she'd been anticipating for days now. A quick glance across the pitch confirmed that Tsukiko had received the same alert, her expression shifting as she looked down at her screen. Their eyes met briefly, and (Name) offered a curt nod. Without a word to the celebrating Bastard Münchën players, she turned on her heel and headed for the exit.

The two rival managers walked in silence down the stark corridors of Blue Lock, the tension between them having evolved from heated antagonism to something more complex after their teams' final showdown. The distant cheers of Bastard Münchën's victory celebration echoed through the halls, each sound making Tsukiko's shoulders tense slightly.

As they approached Ego's office, (Name)'s mind calculated the possible outcomes of this meeting with precision. She'd been running the numbers since the beginning of the NEL, weighing variables and plotting trajectories. Now the moment of decision had arrived, and despite her usual emotional detachment, she felt a flicker of uncertainty.

The door to Ego's command center slid open to reveal walls covered with screens displaying every angle of Blue Lock - matches in progress, training sessions, statistical analyses blinking in real-time. Haru Kamishiro was already there, bouncing on her heels with that perpetual puppy-like energy that both irritated and somehow endeared her to (Name).

"(L/n)-san! Yugi-chan!" Haru waved enthusiastically. "That was such an amazing match! Bastard Münchën was so cool! The way Isagi-kun and Kaiser-kun worked together was—"

(Name) noticed Tsukiko's jaw tighten at the praise of their opponents. The wound was still fresh.

"That's enough, Kamishiro," Ego's voice cut through Haru's excited chatter. He stood before them, arms crossed, that ever-present calculating smile playing at his lips. "We're still waiting on Makino and Hatoshima, but this isn't a team meeting. This concerns each of you individually, though I suspect you all know why you're here."

(Name) nodded. This was the decision point – stay with Blue Lock for the U-20 team as part of a unified management force, or follow their NEL coaches abroad to continue their development in professional leagues.

For (Name), it meant either going with Noel Noa, Ness, and Kaiser to Germany... or staying to support Isagi's continued journey to become number one. The thought of Kaiser made her pause. From the beginning, he had made it clear he wanted her mathematical mind as part of his imperial arsenal. And she had to admit, his evolution throughout the NEL had been fascinating to analyze.

But when she ran the calculations, the answer was clear. Her brain screamed with certainty that following Isagi to number one was her optimal path. She had watched him adapt, evolve, and overcome in ways that defied even her precise predictions. There was something about his growth that resonated with the part of her that sought perfection in numbers.

"I've made my decision," (Name) stated flatly, breaking the silence. "I'll be staying with Blue Lock."

Ego's smile widened slightly, a flicker of approval crossing his face. "I expected as much from you, (L/n). Your analytical skills are among the most promising assets we have in the management program. I'm pleased to retain your expertise."

Haru fidgeted beside them, clearly torn. "I'm going to stay too!" she finally blurted out. "I mean, I'll miss Lorenzo-san and Snuffy-san so much, but..." She trailed off, her usual exuberance dimmed by genuine uncertainty.

All eyes turned to Tsukiko, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. She seemed deep in thought, her normally expressive face unreadable. Before she could speak, however, the door slid open again as Akane and Natsumi entered.

Natsumi looked pale, clearly still processing her team's loss, while Akane carried herself with the composed dignity that had earned her the respect of all the managers despite her complicated personal situation.

"Sorry we're late," Akane said, taking a seat beside Haru.

"I've just informed the others of the choice before you," Ego explained. "Stay with Blue Lock for the U-20 program or continue with your NEL coaches abroad."

Akane's decision was a foregone conclusion. "I'll be staying," she said without hesitation. Everyone knew her reason – little Ryo needed stability, and the arrangement at Blue Lock, while not ideal, was the best solution for now.

"I'll also remain at Blue Lock," Natsumi added quietly. "I believe I need to improve myself further before taking such a major step abroad."

With all decisions made except one, everyone's attention shifted to Tsukiko. The normally chatty, charismatic manager seemed to be wrestling with something internally, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. When she finally looked up, there was a determination in her eyes that (Name) hadn't seen before.

"I'll be joining Loki and Charles in France," Tsukiko announced.

The statement landed like a bomb in the room. Haru's mouth fell open in shock, while Natsumi and Akane exchanged surprised glances. Even Ego raised an eyebrow, clearly not having anticipated this outcome.

"Are you sure, Yugi-chan?" Haru asked, voice smaller than usual. "We won't see you anymore..."

"I'm certain," Tsukiko replied, her voice steady. Then she turned directly to (Name), eyes burning with intensity. "I'll be back, though. Different. Stronger. You'll see me at the U-20 matches, and I won't be the same manager you defeated today."

(Name) met her gaze and nodded. Perhaps for the first time, she felt a flicker of genuine respect for her rival. The numbers didn't lie – Tsukiko's conviction was real.

"Your decisions are noted," Ego said, breaking the moment. "You're all dismissed. Except you, (L/n). A word."

As the others filed out, with Haru giving Tsukiko a tearful hug and promises to video call, (Name) remained behind. Ego's smile had an edge to it that she recognized – calculation mixed with satisfaction.

"Your team performed exceptionally well," he said. "Particularly Isagi."

"His growth exceeded my statistical models," (Name) admitted. "The probability of him adapting so rapidly to incorporate elements from all his rivals was only 17.3%."

Ego chuckled. "That's why he's interesting. Always exceeding expectations." He fixed her with that penetrating gaze. "You chose to stay because of him, didn't you?"

(Name) didn't flinch. "I chose to stay because the data indicates this is where I'll develop most effectively as a manager."

"And that data just happens to align with following Isagi's path to number one?"

She didn't answer, but her silence was confirmation enough.

"Good," Ego said. "You've made the right calculation. You may go."

When (Name) returned to the locker room, she didn't hesitate at the door despite knowing the team would still be in various states of undress. Personal discomfort was irrelevant compared to team cohesion, and she wanted to congratulate them properly.

The celebration was still in full swing, with Kurona grinning wider than she'd ever seen, Gagamaru doing some absurd victory dance, and Isagi at the center of it all, still vibrating with the energy of his game-winning shot. Only Kaiser stood apart, seemingly composed but with tension evident in the set of his shoulders.

"Congratulations," she said, cutting through the noise. The team turned to her, some scrambling for towels while others were too euphoric to care about modesty. "Your performance was within 3% of my optimal projections."

Coming from (Name), this was high praise, and they knew it. Cheers erupted again, with Raichi slapping her on the back hard enough to make her stumble forward.

"Did you see my block against Rin?" Gagamaru crowed. "Tell me you calculated that!"

"The probability was 32.4%," she replied, the ghost of a smile touching her lips. "But yes, I saw it."

As the players continued their celebration, she noticed Noel Noa observing from the doorway. With a slight nod, she approached him, stepping away from the rowdy team.

"Coach Noa."

"(L/n)," he acknowledged. "I received word about your decision."

"Yes. I've chosen to remain with Blue Lock."

Noa studied her with those penetrating eyes that, like hers, seemed to calculate rather than merely see. "May I ask why? You would have valuable experience in the Bundesliga."

(Name) considered her response carefully. "My development trajectory aligns better with remaining here for now. The U-20 program offers unique analytical challenges that would enhance my managerial skills more efficiently than immediate international exposure."

It was logical, precise, and entirely truthful. And yet, not the complete truth.

"Your reasoning is sound," Noa conceded. "Though I suspect there's more to it than pure analysis."

(Name) didn't respond to that. Instead, she asked, "Did you always intend to use Isagi merely as a catalyst for Kaiser's growth?"

The question was blunt, but Noa didn't seem surprised by it. "Everyone uses everyone in football, (L/n). The question is whether both parties benefit from the exchange. Isagi has grown tremendously through his rivalry with Kaiser, hasn't he?"

Before she could respond, a voice cut in from behind them.

"She's staying?"

Kaiser stood there, still in his sweat-soaked uniform, face composed but eyes burning with intensity. He must have overheard their conversation, and from the tightness around his mouth, he wasn't pleased.

"Yes," Noa confirmed simply. "(L/n) has chosen to remain with Blue Lock rather than join us in Germany."

Kaiser's eyes fixed on (Name), something in them flickering between disbelief and what might have been hurt, quickly masked by his usual imperial arrogance.

"Why? Your analytical skills would be wasted here once the real talents leave."

The dismissal of Blue Lock—of Isagi—provoked a rare spark of anger in (Name). "My decision is based on optimal development paths and resource allocation. The data doesn't support your assumption."

"The data?" Kaiser's laugh was sharp. "Or is it that you've been seduced by Isagi's underdog story? I thought you were above such sentimentiality”.

"I require no emotional justification for decisions based on statistical analysis," she replied coolly. "You performed exceptionally well today, achieving 98.7% of your potential output. That final 1.3% was the difference."

Kaiser's eyes narrowed at the implicit reference to Isagi's winning goal. "And you think staying here will help you reach 100%?"

"I calculate a 79.4% probability, yes."

For a moment, Kaiser simply stared at her, jaw working slightly as if biting back words. Then he stepped closer, voice lowering. Almost breaking "You were supposed to be my manager, (Name). The tactical mind behind the emperor. We could have dominated the Bundesliga together."

There was something almost desperate beneath his usual confidence, a vulnerability that her calculations hadn't accounted for. It made him seem suddenly human in a way that caused an unfamiliar flutter in her chest.

But the numbers didn't lie (plus additional feelings she didn’t want to admit). And they pointed her toward Isagi.

"I'm no one's possession, Kaiser," she said quietly. "Neither yours nor Isagi's. I follow the optimal path for my own development."

"And that path leads away from me." It wasn't a question.

(Name) nodded once, definitively.

Kaiser's expression hardened. "Then you've made a mathematical error, (L/n). And you'll realize it when you're watching me from the other side of the field in the World Cup."

He turned and walked away, back straight and head high—every inch the emperor, even in defeat. (Name) watched him go, a strange heaviness settling in her chest that defied numerical explanation.

Noa gave her a considering look. "It's interesting," he said, "how the heart can complicate even the most precise calculations."

"I don't make decisions with my heart," (Name) replied automatically.

"Don't you?" Noa's smile was knowing. "Then perhaps you should recheck your algorithms, (Name). They seem to have developed a bias."

Before she could retort, he too walked away, leaving her alone with thoughts that refused to arrange themselves into neat, orderly numbers.

Later that night, (Name) sat cross-legged on her bed, tablet balanced on her knees as she reviewed the match statistics. The quiet of her room was a welcome reprieve after the chaos of the day. She scrolled through the data with practiced efficiency, searching for patterns and insights to feed into her evolving models.

A knock at her door interrupted her concentration.

"Enter," she called, not looking up from her calculations.

The door slid open to reveal Isagi, freshly showered, his usual spiky hair dampened against his forehead. He hesitated at the threshold, as if uncertain of his welcome.

"Sorry to disturb you," he said. "I heard you were staying with Blue Lock."

(Name) finally looked up, taking in his appearance. His eyes still held that fierce intensity from the match, though tempered now with exhaustion. "That's correct."

"Why?" The directness of the question matched her own style of communication, which she appreciated.

"The probability of optimal development is highest here," she replied simply.

Isagi stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "That's it? Just numbers?"

"Numbers are reality distilled to its essence," (Name) said. "What other reason would I need?"

He studied her for a moment, head tilted slightly. "Kaiser wanted you to go with him to Germany."

It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. "He did."

"But you chose Blue Lock instead." Isagi moved closer, perching awkwardly on the edge of her desk chair. "You chose to stay with me—with us," he corrected quickly.

(Name) returned her gaze to her tablet, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. "I chose what the data supported."

"And what exactly did the data say?"

She sighed, putting the tablet aside. "That your growth curve is steeper than Kaiser's. That your ceiling is undefined rather than merely high. That the strategies you develop continue to evolve unpredictably, making you a more valuable subject for analysis."

Isagi's lips quirked into a small smile. "So I'm an interesting math problem to you?"

"An exceptional one," she confirmed, allowing a hint of her own smile to show. "Most puzzles have fixed answers. You keep changing yours."

His expression softened at that, something like understanding passing between them. "When I called Kaiser a clown today, I almost felt sorry for him," Isagi admitted. "He thought he was using me, but in the end..."

"In the end, you used him," (Name) finished. "Just as he used Ness. Just as Noa used both of you."

"Is that how you see football? Just people using each other?"

(Name) considered this. "It's more accurate to view it as symbiotic evolution. Rivals push each other to heights neither could reach alone."

Isagi leaned forward, eyes bright with that fierce intelligence that had drawn her attention from the beginning. "And what about us, (Name)? Are we using each other too?"

The question caught her off guard, making her pause to recalculate. "I... suppose we are. You benefit from my analytical insights, and I benefit from studying your development."

"And that's all it is? A mutually beneficial arrangement?"

There was something in his tone that made her uncomfortable, a variable she couldn't quite quantify. "What else would it be?"

Isagi shook his head, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips. "Nothing. Forget I asked." He stood up, stretching slightly. "I should let you get back to your analysis."

As he headed for the door, (Name) felt a strange impulse to say something more, though she wasn't sure what. "Isagi."

He paused, looking back at her.

"Your final goal today," she said. "The probability of success based on angle, force, and goalkeeper positioning was only 47.8%."

Isagi grinned. "And yet it went in."

"Yes," she acknowledged. "That's what makes you interesting. You consistently defy probability."

"Maybe some things can't be reduced to numbers." His expression was warm, almost teasing.

"Everything can be quantified," she insisted. "Some variables are simply more complex than others."

His smile widened. "If you say so." He opened the door, then paused one last time. "I'm glad you're staying, by the way. However you calculated it... I think it's the right decision."

After he left, (Name) returned to her tablet, but found it difficult to focus on the statistics. For the first time, the numbers swam before her eyes, refusing to arrange themselves into their usual patterns of meaning. With an uncharacteristic gesture of frustration, she set the device aside and lay back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

The faces of Kaiser and Isagi floated in her mind—one coldly perfect, the other wildly evolving. Both brilliant in their own ways. Both wanting her at their side, though for different reasons.

(Name) had always trusted numbers above all else. They were constant, reliable, the language of the universe itself. Emotions were messy, unpredictable variables that corrupted clean data.

And yet.

When she had watched Isagi score that final goal, something had burst in her chest that had nothing to do with statistical probabilities. And when Kaiser had
looked at her with that brief flash of wounded pride, something had twisted painfully inside her that defied mathematical explanation.

Perhaps Noa was right. Perhaps her algorithms had developed a bias. A dangerous thought.

With methodical determination, (Name) forced her mind back to numbers, to the comforting certainty of statistics and probabilities. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new data to analyze. The U-20 program would push her abilities further, test her models against even more variables.

And somewhere out there, Tsukiko was heading to France, determined to return stronger. The thought brought an unexpected smile to (Name)'s lips. Some rivalries, it seemed, transcended rational calculation.

As sleep finally claimed her, (Name)'s last conscious thought was of percentages—the probability that she had made the right choice, the statistical likelihood of success in the path ahead, the mathematical certainty that staying with Isagi would lead to optimal outcomes.

But beneath those comforting numbers lurked a stubborn, unquantifiable variable that refused to be factored into her equations. A variable that, despite her best efforts, kept inserting itself into her most careful calculations.

It felt suspiciously like emotion.

Chapter Text

The morning air felt unusually cold despite the clear skies overhead. (Name) (L/n) stood alone on the balcony of the Bastard Münchën bay, her eyes reflecting the sunrise that painted the sky in hues of gold and crimson. She'd been awake for hours already, her mind calculating permutations and outcomes as precisely as always—except this time, the equations weren't about football statistics or player performance metrics.

Today was different. Today, the international players would be returning to their home countries.

Today, Kaiser would leave.

Her tablet vibrated with a notification, but she already knew what it would say. The travel arrangements had been finalized days ago. Every international player would be departing Japan before the parade for the selected Blue Lock U-20 representatives—an event that remained a closely guarded secret among the managers. None of the players knew yet of the celebration that awaited them.

None of them except Kaiser, who had found out through Noel Noa's indiscretion. An unfortunate variable (Name) hadn't accounted for.

She tapped her screen, confirming what she already knew. The private jet for the German contingent was scheduled to depart at 10:00 AM. Her eyes flickered to the time: 7:43 AM. Two hours and seventeen minutes remained.

The door to the balcony slid open behind her.

"You're up early," Isagi said, his voice still rough with sleep.

(Name) didn't turn around. "I'm always up early."

Isagi came to stand beside her, leaning against the railing. His presence was a comfortable one, familiar after all they'd been through together. "Today's the day, huh?"

(Name) nodded, her face betraying nothing. "The Germans leave at ten."

"You're going to see them off?"

She finally glanced at him, her expression unchanged. "It's my duty as manager."

Isagi's eyes studied her face for a moment before he shrugged. " Well, Kaiser still isn't taking it well."

Something twisted in (Name)'s chest—an irrational, unpredictable variable she couldn't quantify. She hated those. "Kaiser's emotional responses are not my concern."

Isagi laughed, a sound that carried no malice. "You know, for someone who can calculate the trajectory of a ball to the millimeter, you're really bad at lying about certain things."

(Name) narrowed her eyes at him, the red dot in the center of her black irises seeming to pulse. "I'm not lying. My decision was logical. Blue Lock offers the most efficient pathway to achievement."

"Sure," Isagi said, turning to look back at the sunrise. "Staying in Japan with the chosen players makes perfect sense. I get it." He paused. "But Kaiser wanted you to choose him, not just the program."

(Name)'s fingers tightened imperceptibly around her tablet. "That's irrelevant. My purpose is to maximize performance outcomes, not satisfy emotional demands."

"Right," Isagi said, pushing himself off the railing. "Well, I'm going to get breakfast. You coming?"

(Name) shook her head. "I have preparations to make."

Isagi nodded and headed back inside, leaving (Name) alone once more with her calculations and the uncomfortable, unpredictable variable that continued to disrupt her usually perfect equations.

The airport terminal reserved for private jets was nearly empty when (Name) arrived, wheeling three large suitcases behind her. Her own small bag was slung over her shoulder, containing only her tablet, a notebook filled with complex formulas, and a single can with colorful stickers plastered across its aluminum surface.

The contents of that can would be necessary today, she'd concluded. A mathematical certainty.

Noel Noa was already there, his tall figure unmistakable even from a distance. He stood with his hands in his pockets, silently observing the preparations for departure. When he spotted (Name), he nodded in acknowledgment.

"(L/n)," he said as she approached. "I didn't expect you to come."

"It's my responsibility," she replied mechanically, arranging the suitcases in a perfect line beside Noa's own luggage.

Noa studied her for a moment. "Kaiser was certain you would change your mind at the last minute."

(Name)'s expression remained unchanged, though something flickered behind her eyes. "Kaiser miscalculated."

"Did he?" Noa asked, but didn't press further when (Name)'s gaze hardened slightly.

The silence between them was interrupted by the arrival of Alexis Ness, his magenta eyes puffy and his usually perfectly styled brown-to-magenta hair slightly dishevelled. He clearly had a rough night.

"(Name)," he said with a weak smile. "You came after all."

She nodded curtly. "I brought your things." She gestured to one of the suitcases.

"Thanks," Ness said, his voice subdued. He glanced around nervously. "Is... is Kaiser here yet?"

"No," Noa answered. "Though he should be arriving shortly."

Ness nodded, fidgeting with the strap of his bag. The tension in his shoulders was obvious—he'd been cast aside by Kaiser in their final match, yet here he was, still following him back to Germany with nothing but loyalty in his heart.

(Name) observed this with clinical detachment. Ness's loyalty defied logical explanation. It was inefficient, potentially detrimental to his own development. Yet she couldn't deny a begrudging respect for his decision to follow his own path, even if that path remained in Kaiser's shadow.

"Your choice is your own," she said suddenly, breaking the awkward silence. "I respect that."

Ness looked at her in surprise, then offered a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, (Name). That... means a lot."

They waited in silence after that, (Name) occasionally checking her watch with mathematical precision. 7:07 AM. 7:14 AM. 7:22 AM.

At 7:31 AM, Kaiser finally arrived.

He moved with the same imperial confidence he always possessed, his blonde mullet with electric blue tips catching the morning sunlight as he approached. The blue rose tattoo that climbed from his hand up his arm to his neck seemed more vivid than usual against his pale skin. His blue eyes, however, were cold as they landed on (Name).

"So you did come," he said, his voice controlled but with an edge that betrayed his true feelings. "To see off the 'clown,' as your precious Isagi would say?"

(Name) met his gaze unflinchingly. "I came to fulfil my duties as manager."

Kaiser scoffed. "Always so professional, (L/n). Even when saying goodbye."

She didn't respond, simply moving to hand him his suitcase. When their fingers brushed during the exchange, she withdrew her hand quickly, as if the contact had disrupted one of her calculations.

"Your flight departs in twenty-eight minutes," she said, her voice perfectly level. "The pilot has been instructed to wait for no one."

Kaiser's jaw tightened as he took his luggage. "Eager to be rid of me, aren't you?"

"Kaiser," Noa interrupted, his tone warning.

But Kaiser ignored him, stepping closer to (Name). "You've made your choice clear. You prefer to stay with Isagi, to help him reach the pinnacle. I understood that the moment you told me your decision."

(Name)'s expression remained neutral, though her eyes darkened slightly. "My decision was based on—"

"Calculations. Numbers. Probabilities," Kaiser cut her off. "Yes, I know. You've made that abundantly clear. The perfect machine, aren't you, (L/n)?"

Something flickered across (Name)'s face—so quickly that anyone else might have missed it, but Kaiser didn't. His eyes narrowed, a predator sensing weakness.

"Or perhaps not so perfect after all," he said, his voice lowering. "Perhaps there's more behind those cold calculations than you're willing to admit."

Before (Name) could respond, a commotion from across the terminal drew their attention. Haru Kamishiro had arrived with Charles and Tsukiko, Lorenzo, and Snuffy, the young manager's eyes already red and puffy from crying.

"I-I don't want you to g-go!" Haru wailed, clinging to Lorenzo's arm. "It's not f-fair! Why can't you st-stay in Japan?"

Lorenzo patted her head awkwardly, his usual brash demeanor softened by the girl's genuine distress. "Come on, puppy. Professionals gotta do what professionals gotta do."

Snuffy knelt down to Haru's level, his face kind but firm. "Remember what we talked about, Haru. This isn't goodbye forever. We'll see each other again on the world stage."

Charles nodded, his usually perfect composure slightly ruffled by Haru's emotional display. "Yes, our alliance will continue, petite. Just across continents now."

Haru sniffled, wiping at her eyes. "B-But it won't be the same! Our Uber family..."

"Will always be your…. family," Snuffy assured her. "No matter where we are."

(Name) watched the scene with a strange tightness in her chest. Haru's emotions were on full display, raw and unfiltered. There was something almost enviable about that transparency, that freedom to express what she felt without reservation.

Kaiser followed (Name)'s gaze, then looked back at her with a calculated gleam in his eyes. "At least the puppy isn't afraid to show what she feels," he said quietly. "Unlike some people."

(Name)'s gaze snapped back to him, her eyes seeming to intensify. "Don't."

Kaiser smirked, but there was no joy in it. "Don't what, (L/n)? Don't point out that beneath all those numbers and calculations, you might actually feel something about me leaving? About choosing Isagi over me?"

"I didn't choose Isagi over you," she said, her voice still controlled but with the smallest thread of tension running through it. "I chose the path that maximizes—"

"Efficiency. Success. Yes, you've said that already," Kaiser interrupted again. "And yet, here you are, saying goodbye. The perfect machine wouldn't waste time on such an inefficient activity."

(Name) fell silent, her hands unconsciously tightening around her tablet.

An announcement echoed through the terminal: "Final boarding call for private charter to Munich, Germany. All passengers please proceed to Gate P3."

Noa and Ness exchanged glances, then began gathering their things. "It's time," Noa said, looking at Kaiser.

Kaiser nodded but didn't move immediately, his eyes still fixed on (Name)'s face. "Well, this is it then."

"Yes," she said simply.

"Nothing more to say? No final words of wisdom from the genius manager?" His tone was mocking, but there was something else beneath it—a vulnerability he was trying desperately to hide.

(Name) met his gaze directly. "Goodbye, Kaiser. I expect to see excellent performance metrics from you in the Bundesliga."

Kaiser stared at her for a long moment, then let out a bitter laugh. "Always about the numbers with you. Even now." He shook his head. "Fine. Have it your way."

He turned to follow Noa and Ness, who were already heading toward the gate. (Name) watched him go, her face betraying nothing, her body perfectly still.

Then, almost against her will, she called out: "Kaiser."

He stopped but didn't turn around immediately. When he did, his expression was guarded. "What is it, (L/n)?"

(Name) opened her mouth, then closed it again, the words refusing to form. What was there to say? What could possibly bridge the gap between them now?

"I..." she began, but faltered.

Kaiser's eyes softened slightly, and he walked back to her. "Can you do something for me, (L/n)? Just one thing?"

She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"For once, don't calculate. Don't analyze. Just answer honestly." He leaned in slightly closer. "Will you miss me?"

The question hung in the air between them, simple yet impossibly complex. (Name)'s mind raced through potential responses, weighing each for its efficiency and appropriateness.

"I can survive without your presence," she finally said, her voice steady.

Kaiser's face hardened, disappointment and anger flashing across his features. "Survive?" His voice was climbing toward that familiar sharp edge. "That's all you have to say? I ask if you'll miss me, and you tell me you can survive?"

"Yes."

"Unbelievable." He turned away from her, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You could at least show some sort of emotion for a farewell. But no, not the great (Name) (L/n). Too good for human feelings, aren't you? Too antisocial to care when someone who actually gives a damn about you is walking away."

His words picked up speed and venom as he continued, the familiar pattern of Kaiser building toward a dramatic outburst. "You know what your problem is? You hide behind all those numbers and calculations because you're terrified of actually feeling something. You'd rather treat people like variables in an equation than admit that maybe, just maybe, you might actually care about—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his voice cutting off so abruptly that (Name) looked up in surprise. When she saw his expression, she felt something cold and unfamiliar twist in her chest.

Kaiser was staring at her face with an expression she had never seen before. The theatrical anger had drained away completely, replaced by something soft and almost... sad.

"(Name)," he said quietly, his voice suddenly gentle. "You shouldn't say such harsh words you don't mean with such a pitiful lying expression."

(Name) blinked in confusion. "What are you talking about? I'm not—"

But then she felt it. The wetness on her cheeks. The salt taste at the corner of her mouth. Her hand flew to her face in shock, fingers coming away damp.

Tears. She was crying.

When had that started? How had she not noticed? Her body had betrayed her completely, displaying the very emotions she had tried so desperately to keep locked away behind walls of logic and calculation.

Yet here she was, tears flowing freely before the very person she'd chosen to leave behind.

"I'm not—" she started to say, but her voice cracked on the words. More tears fell, hot and unwelcome, tracking down her cheeks faster than she could wipe them away.

Kaiser's hands came up to her face, his thumbs brushing away the tears with a gentleness that only made them flow harder. His touch was careful, reverent almost, as if he were handling something precious and fragile.

"There she is," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the jet engines. "There's the real (Name) (L/n)."

She tried to pull away, embarrassed by this display of weakness, but Kaiser's hands remained steady against her face. Through her blurred vision, she could see that his expression had completely transformed—gone was the arrogant emperor, replaced by someone she barely recognized.

"I have to go," he said, but he made no move to step away.

(Name) nodded, not trusting her voice. She brought her hands up to cover her face, trying to hide the evidence of her emotional breakdown, but the tears kept coming.

It was then that Kaiser's hands moved to her ears, his fingers finding the small blue translation devices she wore constantly. With deliberate care, he tapped each one twice, deactivating them with soft electronic beeps.

"Kaiser, what are you—"

But when he spoke, it was in German. Rapid, flowing German that her deactivated translators couldn't interpret. The words washed over her, incomprehensible but somehow still meaningful in their tone and cadence.

"Liebste, du bist grausam dafür, dass du Tränen an mich verschwendest, wenn du weißt, dass ich gehen muss," he said, his voice thick with an emotion she couldn't name. His hands had returned to her face, thumbs still tracing the paths of her tears.

(Name) stared at him through her tears, frustrated by her inability to understand. "Kaiser, I can't—the translators—"

"Ich liebe dich," he said simply, his blue eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. "Ich liebe dich, und das macht alles so viel schwieriger."

(Name) shook her head, unable to understand his words but hating the vulnerability he was witnessing. No one had ever seen her cry before—not her parents, not her teammates, not even herself in private moments. She prided herself on her control, her detachment, her ability to rise above emotional responses.

Kaiser smiled, but there was pain in it. "Ich gewinne doch," he said softly. "Isagi hat vielleicht das Match gewonnen, vielleicht deine Loyalität gewonnen, aber ich bin derjenige, der das hier sehen wird. Der wahre (Name) (L/n), hinter all diesen Zahlen."

With that, he stepped back, his hands falling away from her face. He gave her one last long look, as if committing her tear-streaked face to memory, then turned and walked toward the gate without looking back.

(Name) stood frozen, tears still streaming down her face, watching as Kaiser joined Noa and Ness. The three of them disappeared down the jetway, Kaiser's blonde and blue hair the last thing visible before they were gone.

Only then did (Name) raise shaking hands to her ears, reactivating the translators with trembling fingers. But it was too late—Kaiser's German words would remain a mystery to her, their meaning lost in translation.

She wiped roughly at her face, determined to regain control, to lock away the emotions that had broken through her carefully constructed barriers. But the tears wouldn't stop, her body rebelling against her mind's commands in a way she'd never experienced before.

From across the terminal, she caught sight of Haru, still sobbing openly as she waved goodbye to the departing Ubers. There was a strange comfort in not being the only one breaking down, in knowing that she wasn't alone in her inexplicable grief.

As if sensing her gaze, Haru looked over and their eyes met. Instead of the shock or mockery (Name) expected at the sight of her tears, Haru simply offered a watery smile of understanding before returning to her own emotional farewell.

(Name)'s tablet vibrated again in her hand. She glanced down to see a new notification, one she hadn't been expecting for at least another hour. Opening it, she read the message from Ego:

CONFIDENTIAL: BLUE LOCK U-20 MANAGEMENT TEAM ASSIGNMENTS

Head Manager: (Name) (L/n) (Bastard Münchën)
Assistant Managers: Natsumi Hatoshima (Manshine City), Akane Makino (Barcha)
Communications Manager: Haru Kamishiro (Ubers)

Report to central office at 1400 hours for briefing.

Under any other circumstances, this news would have filled her with satisfaction. It was the logical outcome, the position her skills and performance merited.

Head Manager—the pinnacle of achievement within the Blue Lock management program.

Yet as she stared at the screen through tear-blurred eyes, all she could think about was Kaiser's final words to her, spoken in a language she couldn't understand.

All she could see was his face as he'd wiped away her tears, the unexpected tenderness in his touch.

All she could feel was the irrational, unpredictable variable that had disrupted all her perfect equations—the variable she now had to acknowledge had a name.

Emotions. Feelings. Perhaps even...

No. She wouldn't calculate that. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

With a deep, shuddering breath, (Name) straightened her shoulders and wiped the last of her tears away. She was (Name) (L/n), Head Manager of the Blue Lock U-20 team. She had a job to do, a purpose to fulfill, a path to follow.

And if, as she walked away from the now-empty terminal, she reached into her bag and pulled out the sticker-covered can for a long drink of liquid courage, well—that was one variable she could at least control.

Behind her, the private jet carrying Kaiser, Ness, and Noa lifted into the clear blue sky, bearing them away to Germany and whatever future awaited them there.

(Name) didn't turn to watch it go.

Some calculations were better left unmade.

In the pressurized cabin of the private jet, Kaiser settled into his seat by the window, deliberately keeping his gaze fixed on the clouds outside rather than on his companions. Ness had attempted conversation twice already, but Kaiser's curt responses had quickly silenced him.

Noa, seated across from them, hadn't said a word since takeoff, his eyes closed as if in meditation. The silence in the cabin was heavy, broken only by the steady hum of the engines.

As Japan grew smaller beneath them, Kaiser finally allowed himself to reach into his carry-on bag. His fingers brushed against something soft, and he pulled out two small plush keychains—miniature versions of himself and (Name), the pair stylized into the Japanese chibi format. He'd bought them weeks ago from a Blue Lock merchandise shop, hiding them from everyone, especially (Name) herself.

Now, looking at the two plush figures nestled in his palm, Kaiser let out a soft, bitter laugh. The irony wasn't lost on him—only in miniature form, the two were side by side.

"Something funny?" Ness asked cautiously from beside him.

Kaiser closed his hand around the keychains, concealing them from view. "Nothing," he said curtly. "Just thinking about something."

Ness hesitated, then said quietly, "She was crying."

Kaiser's grip tightened on the keychains. "I noticed."

"I've never seen her cry before. None of us have." Ness's voice was careful, as if testing dangerous waters. "What did you say to her? Before you turned off her translator?"

Kaiser turned to look at him, his blue eyes cold. "That's between (L/n) and me."

Ness nodded, accepting the rebuff. After a moment, he added, "She'll be waiting for us at the World Cup. On the other side."

Kaiser returned his gaze to the window, watching as they passed through a bank of clouds, momentarily obscuring the view. "Yes," he agreed softly. "She will."

And when they met again, things would be different. Kaiser would make sure of it. He would prove himself on the world stage, show her that his path was the right one, the strongest one. He would make her regret her choice to stay behind with Isagi.

Or perhaps... perhaps he would simply be content to see her again, to witness once more the emotions she tried so hard to hide.

Kaiser opened his palm again, looking down at the two plush keychains. With deliberate care, he placed them back in his bag, nestled together in a way their real counterparts were not.

Until we meet again, my little mathematician. Until we meet again.

Chapter Text

The private jet's leather seats were probably worth more than most people's cars, but right now they felt like the most uncomfortable throne of misery Tsukiko had ever sat on. She adjusted her position for the fifteenth time in the past ten minutes, her long grey hair cascading over the armrest as she dramatically threw her head back.

"This is it," she whispered to herself, staring at the pristine white ceiling of the aircraft. "This is how my story ends. Not with glory, but with... with abandonment."

The French players around her were settling in for the long flight back to France, their chatter a mix of excitement about returning home and melancholy about leaving Blue Lock behind. Tsukiko could hear Loki a few rows back, probably meditating or doing whatever zen-like activities kept him so annoyingly composed all the time. She'd initially planned to sit next to him - after all, he was practically the only person who could match her sparkle and dazzle - but one look at his peaceful expression and she'd chickened out. The last thing she needed was his serene judgment when she was feeling this emotionally volatile.

Instead, she'd plopped down next to Charles, who seemed equally lost in thought, staring out the small airplane window with an expression that could only be described as 'wounded puppy meets existential crisis.'

"Charles," Tsukiko began, her voice taking on that theatrical quality that made everyone either love her or want to throw things at her. "Do you ever feel like... like you're just a side character in your own story?"

Charles turned to look at her, his usually bright demeanor notably dimmed. "What do you mean, Hime-sama?"

Even now, even when they were both clearly drowning in their own emotional turmoil, he still called her princess. It should have made her feel better - after all, wasn't that what she wanted? For everyone to treat her like royalty, to sparkle and shine and be adored? But right now, it just made her chest feel tight.

"I mean..." she gestured wildly with her hands, nearly knocking over the complimentary champagne she hadn't touched. "I spent all this time trying to be the perfect manager, the perfect idol-like figure, trying to charm everyone and make them fall for my whole... waves hand vaguely at herself ...this whole thing I do. And what happens? I fall for the most emotionally unavailable, traumatized ice prince in all of Blue Lock!"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and suddenly the floodgates opened. All the composure she'd been maintaining, all the perfect seal-like charm she'd been projecting, crumbled like a sandcastle hit by a tsunami.

"And now I have to leave him!" she wailed, actual tears streaming down her perfectly applied makeup. "Just like his stupid brother did! I'm just another person who's going to abandon Rin Itoshi and prove to him that everyone he cares about will eventually walk away!"

Charles's eyes widened in alarm as Tsukiko's volume increased, but she was too far gone to care about the other passengers.

"I tried so hard to be different! I tried to show him that not everyone leaves, that some people stay and fight and care, but here I am, getting on a stupid airplane and flying away just like Sae did! I'm literally becoming the thing that broke him in the first place!"

She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with the force of her sobs. "And the worst part is, I couldn't even tell him how I really felt! I just... I just said goodbye like it was nothing! Like he was nothing! But he's not nothing, Charles, he's everything and I'm such a coward and now he probably thinks I never cared at all!"

Charles reached over tentatively, patting her shoulder in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture but felt more like he was trying to calm down a wild animal.

"Hime-sama, I'm sure Rin knows you care about him. You spent so much time with PXG, and everyone could see—"

"No!" Tsukiko interrupted, lifting her tear-streaked face from her hands. "You don't understand! I performed for him too! Even with Rin, I was still putting on this stupid act, still trying to be the perfect dazzling princess instead of just... just being honest! And now I'll never get the chance to show him the real me because I'm stuck on this flying metal death trap heading back to France!"

She grabbed Charles by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. "What if he forgets about me? What if he decides I was just another fake person trying to use him? What if he never trusts anyone again because of me?"

Charles looked overwhelmed by her emotional outburst, but before he could respond, something seemed to crack in his own composure. His face scrunched up like a kicked puppy, and suddenly he was the one falling apart.

"I know exactly how you feel!" he burst out, and to Tsukiko's shock, tears started streaming down his face too. "Because I did the same thing with Haru!"

Tsukiko blinked through her tears, momentarily distracted from her own crisis. "Wait, what? Haru? But you two are just friends, aren't you? You were always helping her with her... her boy-crazy missions and..."

"That's the problem!" Charles wailed, and oh god, his crying was even more dramatic than hers. "I spent months watching her fall for every single guy in Blue Lock! Bachira, Rin, Hiori, even some of the other players during matches! And I just... I just stood there like an idiot, helping her plan ways to get their attention, giving her advice on how to impress them, all while dying inside because she never looked at me that way!"

Tsukiko's mouth fell open. This was news to her. Big news. Earth-shattering, paradigm-shifting news.

"You... you're in love with Haru?" she whispered, her own tears momentarily forgotten.

"Of course I'm in love with Haru!" Charles practically shouted, throwing his hands up in exasperation. "How could I not be? She's sunshine and puppies and chaos all rolled into one adorable package! She makes me laugh, she remembers weird little details about everyone, she does those ridiculous TikTok dances that somehow make my entire day better, and she has this way of looking at the world like it's full of infinite possibilities!"

His voice got quieter, more broken. "But she never saw me as anything more than her helpful friend Charles. I was just... just the guy who would listen to her gush about whatever player had caught her attention that week. And I couldn't... I couldn't bring myself to ruin that by being selfish and confessing when she was clearly happy chasing after other people."

Tsukiko felt her heart breaking all over again, but this time it was for Charles. "Oh, Charles..."

"And now I'm leaving!" he continued, his voice reaching new heights of melodrama. "I'm leaving, and I never told her how I felt, and she's probably going to fall for some other guy while I'm gone, and when I come back for the U20 World Cup, she'll have forgotten all about me!"

He collapsed forward, burying his face in his hands just like Tsukiko had done moments before. "I'm such a coward! At least you and Rin had moments together, real moments where you connected! Haru doesn't even know I exist as anything other than her supportive friend!"

Without thinking, Tsukiko reached over and pulled Charles into a hug, both of them crying into each other's shoulders like the dramatic disasters they apparently were.

"We're both idiots," she sobbed into his hair.

"Complete idiots," he agreed, his voice muffled against her shoulder.

"Emotional cowards!"

"The worst kind of cowards!"

"We had our chances and we blew it!"

"Completely and utterly blew it!"

They sat there clinging to each other, two teenagers having simultaneous breakdowns at 30,000 feet, their tears mixing together as they wallowed in their shared misery.

"I should have told him," Tsukiko whispered. "I should have been brave and honest and told Rin that he means everything to me."

"I should have told her," Charles whispered back. "I should have stopped being her helpful friend and started being the guy who wanted to dance with her to those stupid TikToks."

"We're disasters."

"Complete disasters."

"Romantic failures!"

"The most pathetic romantic failures in Blue Lock history!"

Their conversation had devolved into a weird call-and-response of self-deprecation, each statement more dramatic than the last. Other passengers were definitely staring now, but neither of them cared.

"Do you think..." Tsukiko started, then stopped, biting her lip.

"Think what?"

"Do you think we'll get another chance? When we come back for the World Cup?"

Charles was quiet for a moment, considering. "I don't know. Maybe? If they still... if they still care about us by then."

"What if they don't?" Tsukiko's voice was small, vulnerable in a way that had nothing to do with her usual performance.

"Then... then at least we'll know we tried?"

Before either of them could spiral further into their pit of romantic despair, a calm, distinctly unimpressed voice cut through their melodrama.

"Are you two quite finished?"

They both looked up to see Loki standing in the aisle, arms crossed, looking like the picture of elegant exasperation. His usually perfect composure was intact, but there was something in his eyes that suggested he was about two seconds away from either laughing at them or strangling them.

"Loki!" Tsukiko hiccupped, wiping her nose with the back of her hand in a decidedly un-princess-like manner. "We're having a crisis!"

"I can see that," Loki replied dryly. "The entire plane can see that. I'm fairly certain people in the airport below us can see that."

Charles lifted his head from Tsukiko's shoulder, his face blotchy and tear-streaked. "But Loki, we've ruined everything! We're never going to see them again!"

"Never!" Tsukiko agreed dramatically. "This is the end of our love stories before they even began!"

Loki pinched the bridge of his nose, taking a deep breath that screamed 'give me patience.'

"First of all," he said, his voice taking on that calm, reasonable tone that somehow made you feel like an overdramatic child, "you're both acting like you're going to different planets instead of different countries. It's not exactly a permanent exile."

"But—" both teens started to protest.

"Second," Loki continued, holding up a hand to silence them, "need I remind you that we're coming back for the U20 World Cup? Which is, what, a few months away? Not exactly a lifetime separation."

Tsukiko blinked. "We... we are coming back?"

"Of course we're coming back," Loki said, looking at her like she'd just asked if water was wet. "Did you think this was a permanent goodbye? That Blue Lock was just going to forget about their international players when the World Cup starts?"

Charles sat up straighter, hope creeping into his expression. "So we'll see them again? Soon?"

"Relatively soon, yes." Loki's expression softened slightly. "And when you do see them again, you'll have had time to figure out what you actually want to say instead of having these... theatrical meltdowns."

Tsukiko felt something like relief washing over her, though the embarrassment of her breakdown was quickly following. "I... I didn't think about it that way."

"Clearly." Loki's tone was dry, but not unkind. "Now, might I suggest you both clean yourselves up before we land? You look like you've been through a natural disaster."

As if on cue, both Tsukiko and Charles caught sight of their reflections in the airplane window. Their faces were blotchy, their eyes red and swollen, and their hair was a mess from all the dramatic head-clutching.

"Oh god," Tsukiko whispered. "I look terrible."

"We both look terrible," Charles agreed.

"Good thing your love interests aren't here to see it," Loki said with just a hint of amusement. "Though I suppose this is what they call 'showing your true colors.'"

Tsukiko looked at Charles, who looked back at her, and suddenly they both started laughing. Not the elegant, controlled laughter they usually performed, but the kind of messy, hiccupping giggles that came after a good cry.

"We really are disasters," Tsukiko said between giggles.

"The absolute worst," Charles agreed, grinning despite his tear-stained cheeks.

"But at least we're disasters with a second chance," Tsukiko added, wiping her eyes.

"A second chance to not be complete cowards," Charles nodded.

Loki watched them with something that might have been fondness, though it was hard to tell with his composed expression.

"There's the spirit," he said. "Now, if you're quite done with your emotional purge, perhaps we could enjoy the rest of this flight in relative peace?"

As Tsukiko settled back into her seat, feeling oddly lighter despite the emotional roller coaster, she caught Charles's eye and smiled.

"Thank you," she said quietly. "For... for understanding. And for being just as much of a mess as I am."

"Thank you too," Charles replied. "I feel like... like maybe it's okay to be scared, as long as you don't let it stop you forever."

"Next time," Tsukiko said, her voice gaining some of its old determination, "next time I'm going to be brave. I'm going to tell Rin exactly how I feel, performance be damned."

"And I'm going to tell Haru that I don't want to be just her friend anymore," Charles added, his own resolve strengthening.

As the plane continued its journey toward France, both teens settled into a more comfortable silence, their earlier breakdown having cleared the air in more ways than one. They had their second chance coming, and this time, they were going to take it.

Even if they were still disasters, at least they'd be brave disasters.

Chapter Text

The morning air was crisp as (Name) (L/n) stood watching the private jet taxi down the runway. Her vision blurred slightly, the tears she refused to acknowledge still streaming down her face despite her best efforts. Kaiser's last touch lingered on her skin where he had brushed those betraying droplets away. His final words in German remained a mystery to her, the translator earbuds deactivated by his careful fingers before he'd walked away.

She stood there until the plane became a speck in the distance, then vanished entirely. Only then did she allow herself to wipe her face with the sleeve of her Bastard Münchën jacket, taking a deep breath to regain her composure. She hadn't meant to cry. Hadn't even realized she was capable of it anymore. How long had it been since she'd last shed tears? Not since she was a child, surely.

"Pull yourself together," she muttered, her voice steadier than she felt. The rational part of her brain—the part that could calculate player statistics with machine-like precision—reminded her that she had exactly forty-seven minutes to return to the Blue Lock facility and prepare for the parade.

Forty-seven minutes to erase all evidence that (Name) (L/n), the stone-faced mathematical genius of Bastard Münchën, had broken down at an airport over the departure of a player who wasn't even supposed to matter to her this much.

As she turned to leave, her phone buzzed with a notification. The official assignment for the World U-20 team had been finalized: (Name) (L/n), Head Manager.

Despite everything, a small smile tugged at her lips. At least something was going according to plan.

The airport parking lot was unusually quiet for this time of morning. (Name) found her way to where the other managers had agreed to meet after their respective goodbyes. Natsumi was already there, her cream-colored hair slightly disheveled, eyes rimmed with red. She wasn't the only one who'd been crying.

"Hey," Natsumi said softly when she spotted (Name). "How'd it go?"

(Name) nodded curtly, unwilling to elaborate. "Fine. The Germans are gone."

"I still can't believe Nagi got locked off," Natsumi murmured, her voice wavering slightly. "Reo is devastated. Chris Prince had to practically drag him away from the facility last night."

(Name) didn't respond immediately. Instead, she pulled out her tablet, focusing on the screen rather than the emotional weight settling in her chest. She'd known Nagi would be eliminated—the numbers had predicted it with 97.8% certainty—but seeing how it affected those around him made the cold statistics feel hollow somehow.

"Where are the others?" she asked, changing the subject.

"Akane went to pick up Ryo from her mother. Haru is..." Natsumi gestured vaguely toward the international terminal entrance.

Following her gaze, (Name) spotted the youngest manager slumped against a pillar, sobbing openly as she waved frantically at a departing Charles, who was looking back over his shoulder with genuine concern. Lorenzo placed a comforting hand on the young French player's shoulder, guiding him toward their gate.

Snuffy followed behind, giving Haru one last warm smile before they disappeared inside.

"Should we...?" Natsumi started, but (Name) was already walking toward the distraught girl.

Haru looked up as (Name) approached, her face streaked with tears, light blue pigtails slightly askew. "They're gone," she hiccupped, stating the obvious in a way that only Haru could make sound utterly heartbreaking.

"I know," (Name) said, awkwardly patting the younger girl's shoulder. Physical comfort wasn't her strong suit, but she tried nonetheless. "But you'll see them again."

"At the World Cup," Haru sniffled, "when we'll be on opposite sides."

"Yes," (Name) acknowledged. "But that doesn't mean you won't be friends." She paused, considering her next words carefully. "You made them promise to text, didn't you?"

Haru nodded vigorously, pulling out her phone to show a series of new contacts: 'Lorenzo', 'Coach Snuffy', and 'Charles♡ '.

"See? You won't lose them."

The words felt strange coming from her mouth—(Name) wasn't used to offering comfort, especially when she herself felt like something important had been torn away from her. But Haru's teary smile in response made the effort worthwhile.

"Did Kaiser promise to text you?" Haru asked innocently, wiping her nose with her sleeve.

(Name)'s expression hardened slightly. "No. We have nothing to text about."

Haru looked unconvinced but didn't press further. Instead, she glanced at her own phone, eyes widening. "Oh! I got the notification about the U-20 positions!" She scrolled quickly, then looked up at (Name) with genuine excitement. "You're Head Manager! That's amazing!"

"Communications for you," (Name) noted, checking her own device. "Natsumi and Akane as assistants. The optimal arrangement, considering our skills."

"We're going to crush it," Haru declared with sudden determination, her tears forgotten as she pumped her fist in the air—a gesture so reminiscent of Isagi that (Name) had to look away.

"Let's go," she said instead. "We've got a parade to prepare for."

The drive back to the Blue Lock facility was quiet, each manager lost in their own thoughts. (Name) stared out the window, watching Tokyo's skyline draw closer.

The numbers and probabilities that usually filled her mind had given way to unwelcome images: Kaiser's face as he'd turned off her translator, the soft brush of his fingers against her cheek, the blue tips of his blonde mullet disappearing into the jet bridge.

She closed her eyes, willing the memories away. It was irrational to dwell on something so inconsequential. Kaiser was just another player, and she'd made her choice—to stay with Blue Lock, to follow Isagi's path to becoming the world's best striker. It was the logical decision.

Then why did it hurt so much?

Her phone vibrated again, pulling her from her thoughts. A message from Ego to all four remaining managers:

"The players are still unaware of today's parade. Ensure you're prepared to represent Blue Lock appropriately. The nation will be watching."

Straightforward and practical—just how (Name) preferred things. She could focus on work. Work didn't leave on private jets with unsaid German words lingering in the air.

As they arrived at the facility, Akane was waiting for them in the parking lot, little Ryo balanced on her hip. The toddler's mismatched eyes—one golden like his mother's, one startlingly similar to Aiku's purple-black—blinked curiously at the new arrivals.

"How was it?" Akane asked, her expression sympathetic.

"Terrible," Haru declared dramatically. "I made Charles promise to call me every day, but Snuffy says the time difference will make it difficult and—"

"It was fine," (Name) interrupted. "Everyone departed as scheduled. We have fifty-six minutes until we need to be ready for the parade."

Akane nodded, professional as always despite the child on her hip. "I've got our outfits prepared in my room. And I'll do everyone's makeup."

"Thanks, Akane-senpai!" Haru beamed, immediately gravitating toward Ryo, who reached for her with chubby hands.

(Name) watched the interaction with detached interest. Ryo had become something of a mascot for their little group since his discovery—a secret they'd all agreed to keep, even from the perpetually observant Blue Lock cameras. She'd never been particularly interested in children, but even she had to admit there was something endearing about the toddler's innocent enthusiasm for everything around him.

"He's got a little suit for today," Akane mentioned, pride evident in her voice. "Mom dropped it off this morning."

"He'll be the cutest one there," Natsumi added softly, still seeming distracted by thoughts of Nagi's elimination.

"Let's get inside," (Name) said, checking the time again. "We've got a lot to do before the parade."

Akane's room had been transformed into a makeshift styling suite. Dresses hung from every available surface, and a formidable collection of makeup was arranged on her desk. Ryo stood in the corner happily occupied with kicking his minature football against the wall and back—a quirk that Akane found endlessly amusing.

"I picked something for each of you," Akane explained, gesturing to the various outfits. "Nothing too formal—we want to look professional but approachable for the crowds."

(Name) eyed the navy fitted suits, suggesting that they were all going to be matching, with skepticism. "Is this necessary?"

"You're Head Manager now," Akane reminded her. "You need to look the part."

With a resigned sigh, (Name) took the suit. It was tasteful at least—tailored to still have a feminine touch yet professional enough for her standards while still maintaining a certain elegance.

As they prepared, Natsumi broke the comfortable silence. "Do you think the players have any idea what's happening today?"

"No way," Haru giggled. "Ego-sensei is way too good at keeping secrets. They probably think it's just another training day."

"Isagi might have figured it out," (Name) found herself saying. "His analytical skills are improving rapidly."

"Ooooh," Haru teased, wiggling her eyebrows. "Speaking of Isagi..."

(Name) shot her a warning glare, but Akane was already jumping in.

"Yes, let's talk about that," she said with a mischievous grin, applying eyeshadow to a squirming Haru. "Yoichix(Name) versus (Name)xMichael—the great debate continues!"

"There's nothing to debate," (Name) insisted flatly. "Those are fan fabrications with no basis in reality."

"Says the girl who was crying at the airport this morning," Haru mumbled, earning a sharp elbow from Natsumi.

(Name) froze, heat rising to her face despite her best efforts to remain impassive. "I wasn't crying," she lied, knowing it was futile. Haru had apparently seen more than she'd let on.

"It's okay to have feelings, you know," Akane said gently. "Even for someone like Kaiser."

"I don't have feelings for Kaiser," (Name) stated, the words sounding hollow even to her own ears. "I made my choice based on logical assessment. Staying at Blue Lock offers the optimal path for my career development."

The other three managers exchanged knowing glances but didn't push further. Instead, Natsumi changed the subject.

"Ego says the parade route goes through Roppongi. The streets are already packed with fans. I think Karasu has friends waiting there."

"Speaking of Karasu," Haru piped up, wiggling her eyebrows again, "how are things with our Blue Lock Romeo and Juliet?"

Natsumi blushed deeply. "We're... good. He's happy I'm staying."

"I bet he is," Akane teased, carefully applying mascara to Natsumi's lashes. "Remember when that compilation of you two played at the event? I thought Chris Prince was going to have an aneurysm!"

They all laughed at the memory, even (Name) managing a small smile. Chris Prince's theatrical outrage had been a highlight of an otherwise tension-filled evening.

"And what about you, Haru-chan?" Akane continued, moving onto the youngest manager's makeup. "Still torn between Otoya and Bachira?"

Haru's face flushed. "They're both just so... ugh!" She made a frustrated gesture. "Bachira's playfulness makes me feel like I'm flying, but Otoya's intensity is just..." She trailed off, sighing dreamily.

"You're too young to be this boy-crazy," Natsumi laughed.

"I'm sixteen!" Haru protested. "That's practically grown up!"

(Name) rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. These moments with the other managers had become strangely important to her over the past months—a camaraderie she hadn't expected to find in the cutthroat world of Blue Lock.

"Your turn, (Name)," Akane announced, gesturing to the chair in front of her. "Let's make sure you look intimidating enough for your new role."

(Name) complied, sitting stiffly as Akane worked her magic. The feeling of brushes against her skin reminded her too much of Kaiser's touch earlier that morning, and she had to consciously keep her expression neutral.

"There," Akane said finally, turning (Name) toward the small mirror on her desk. "Perfect."

(Name) barely recognized herself. Akane had emphasized her eyes, making them stand out even more dramatically. Her hair had been styled into an elegant twist, and eyeshadow several shades lighter than her navy suit but complementing it perfectly.

"You look amazing," Natsumi breathed. "Isagi won't know what hit him."

"Or Kaiser, when he sees the photos online," Haru added with a wink.

(Name) ignored the comment, rising from the chair with practiced grace. "We should get going. The limousine will be here in seven minutes."

As if on cue, Ryo chose that moment to toddle over to her, football clutched possessively to his chest. He looked up at (Name) with those mismatched eyes and reached up with one chubby hand.

Hesitantly, (Name) crouched down to his level. "What is it?"

Ryo patted her cheek with surprising gentleness, then offered her his prized football. The gesture was so unexpected that (Name) found herself momentarily speechless.

"He likes you," Akane explained, watching the interaction with soft eyes. "He doesn't share that ball with just anyone."

(Name) accepted the offering carefully. "Thank you, Ryo," she said, her voice unusually gentle. "But you should keep it. You're going to need it if you want to become a striker someday."

Ryo grinned in response, revealing tiny teeth, and reclaimed his ball with evident joy.

"He's already getting better at holding onto it than his father," Akane commented dryly, and they all laughed—even (Name), who normally wouldn't have understood the joke about Aiku's defensive playing style.

A notification on their tablets interrupted the moment: the limousine had arrived.

"Ready to make history?" Akane asked, lifting Ryo into her arms and straightening his miniature suit.

(Name) nodded, suddenly feeling the weight of her new position as Head Manager. "Let's go."

The black limousine gleamed in the morning sunlight, its sleek exterior designed to follow behind the double-decker Blue Lock bus that would carry the twenty-three remaining players. The driver opened the door with a bow, revealing an interior of plush leather seats and, most notably, a retractable roof.

"For the parade," the driver explained, noting their curious expressions. "You'll be able to stand and wave to the crowds."

"Exciting!" Haru clapped her hands together, immediately climbing in and exploring every feature of the vehicle like an enthusiastic puppy.

Akane secured Ryo into a car seat that had been specially installed, then settled beside him with maternal attentiveness. Natsumi followed, sitting across from them with a nervous smile.

(Name) entered last, choosing a seat that gave her a clear view through the front windshield. From here, she could see the imposing Blue Lock bus parked ahead of them, its distinctive black exterior emblazoned with the facility's ominous logo.

"The players are boarding now," the driver informed them as he started the engine. "They've just been told about the parade."

"I bet they're freaking out," Haru giggled, imagining the scene.

(Name) could picture it clearly: Ego's dramatic announcement, the shock on the players' faces as they realized they'd be paraded through Tokyo like conquering heroes. She wondered how Isagi was taking it—probably analyzing the opportunity for what it was, a chance to showcase himself to the nation.

As the limousine pulled out behind the bus, (Name)'s tablet chimed with a message from Ego:

"Your first task as Head Manager: ensure the parade goes smoothly. The world is watching."

No pressure, then.

The drive into central Tokyo was filled with Haru's excited chatter, Ryo's occasional delighted squeals, and Natsumi's thoughtful observations about the growing crowds they glimpsed on the approach to Roppongi. (Name) remained largely silent, mentally calculating the optimal ways to present the Blue Lock project to the public. This parade wasn't just celebration—it was marketing, positioning these twenty-three players as Japan's hope for World Cup glory.

"Do you think..." Natsumi began hesitantly, "do you think we've changed since coming here? To Blue Lock, I mean."

The question hung in the air, unexpectedly profound.

"Of course we have," Akane answered first, absently stroking Ryo's hair. "I came here thinking I could just be a manager, keep my head down, support my team.

And now..." She gestured to her son with a soft smile. "Everything's complicated, but clearer somehow. I know who I am now."

"I've definitely grown up," Haru added, more serious than usual. "Lorenzo says I understand football better than half the coaches he has worked with." The pride in her voice was evident.

"Karasu helped me find my voice," Natsumi admitted quietly. "I'm not just in the background anymore."

Three pairs of eyes turned to (Name), waiting for her contribution.

She considered the question carefully. Had she changed? Six months ago, she'd been recruited for her mathematical brilliance, her ability to see patterns where others saw chaos. She'd approached Blue Lock as a purely logical exercise—support the strongest players, make optimal decisions, advance her career.

And now?

Now she was sitting in a limousine with three women she might cautiously call friends, on her way to celebrate the achievements of players she'd come to respect beyond their statistical value. Now she'd shed tears over Kaiser's departure and felt genuine pride in Isagi's growth. Now she was Head Manager of
Japan's U-20 team not just because it was the logical next step, but because she wanted to see these players—her players—succeed.

"Yes," she said finally. "I've changed."

The simple admission felt monumental somehow, as if acknowledging the transformation made it real in a way it hadn't been before.

The conversation was interrupted as the limousine slowed, approaching the starting point of the parade route. Through the front window, (Name) could see the massive crowds lining the streets, many waving Blue Lock flags or holding signs with players' names and numbers.

"We're here," the driver announced. "Roppongi. The route will take approximately forty-five minutes to complete. The roof can be retracted at your command."

"Open it," (Name) decided, standing up. "It's time to show Japan what Blue Lock is capable of."

The roof slid back smoothly, revealing the clear blue sky above and allowing the sounds of the cheering crowds to filter in. Ahead of them, the double-decker bus had already opened its top level, and (Name) could see players beginning to ascend the stairs to wave at their fans.

"Oh my god, look at all the people!" Haru squealed, popping up to peer over the edge of the limousine.

"Stay seated until we're fully in the parade route," (Name) instructed, though her own heart was racing at the sight of so many supporters.

As they pulled into position behind the bus, the full scale of the event became apparent. The streets were packed on both sides, barricades holding back

thousands of cheering fans. News helicopters circled overhead, cameras flashing everywhere. Signs waved in the air: "ISAGI #11!" "BACHIRA MAGIC!" "CHIGIRI SPEED DEMON!" and even, to (Name)'s surprise, several declaring "(L/N) FOR HEAD MANAGER!" and "BLUE LOCK MANAGERS FTW!"

"They know us," Natsumi whispered, eyes wide with disbelief. "They're cheering for us too."

"Of course they are," Akane laughed, carefully lifting Ryo to peek over the edge while keeping him secure. "We're part of this crazy experiment too."

As the parade officially began, the roar of the crowd became deafening. The managers stood carefully, holding onto the sides of the open roof as they waved to their unexpected fans.

(Name) spotted signs that made her cheeks flush: "TEAM YOICHIX(NAME)!" complete with poorly photoshopped images of her with both Isagi. Blue Lock TV and its shipping wars had a lot to answer for.

"Your fans are louder than mine!" Haru pouted playfully, waving enthusiastically at a group of teenage boys holding "HARU IS THE CUTEST!" signs.

"This is insane," Natsumi murmured, looking overwhelmed but pleased as she spotted a "KARASU X NATSUMI" banner in the crowd.

Akane was laughing at a particularly bold sign reading "MARRY ME AKANE!" while Ryo clapped his hands in delight at all the noise and commotion.

But (Name)'s attention was drawn to the bus ahead of them. The players had fully emerged onto the upper deck now, looking stunned but increasingly enthusiastic about their reception. She could see Bachira waving wildly, Chigiri flipping his hair for the cameras, Gagamaru perched precariously on the railings like the wild guy he was.

And there, at the front of the group, was Isagi Yoichi. Unlike the others, he wasn't frantically waving or playing to the crowd. Instead, he was taking it all in with that analytical gaze of his—the one that had first caught her attention months ago. Understanding what this meant, what they were building toward.

As if sensing her scrutiny, Isagi turned, scanning the crowd before his eyes landed on the limousine behind the bus. For a moment, their gazes locked across the distance, blue eyes meeting hers.

Then, with a smile that somehow felt meant just for her despite the thousands of screaming fans surrounding them, Isagi raised his fist to the sky in a gesture of triumph and determination.

The crowd went wild, the chants of "ISAGI! ISAGI!" growing even louder. But (Name) barely heard them. In that moment, she knew with absolute certainty that she'd made the right choice to stay.

The World U-20 tournament awaited them. Kaiser would be there, with Ness representing Germany. Tsukiko would be with France, Charles, and Loki by her side.

And here in Japan, (Name) would stand with Isagi and the others, pushing them toward victory with every calculation and strategy at her disposal.

Head Manager (Name) (L/n). It had a nice ring to it.

As the parade continued through the streets of Tokyo, (Name) allowed herself a genuine smile, feeling something unfamiliar but not unwelcome bloom in her chest. Not just pride in her new position, or satisfaction at the logical rightness of her choice.

Something warmer. Something that felt suspiciously like belonging.

The moment broke as the vehicles continued moving, but something had passed between them—an understanding that they were partners in this endeavor, that her analytical support and his field instincts were parts of the same equation.

The limo eventually stopped behind the bus at a large facility, where cameras and journalists waited to document this pivotal moment in Blue Lock's history. The transition from parade to press conference felt jarring, the intimate connection with the crowd replaced by the clinical brightness of professional lighting.

The platform had been arranged with strategic precision—four key players each flanked by their designated manager. Natsumi stood behind Rin, her usual nervousness barely contained but her posture professional. Akane positioned herself behind Aiku, and (Name) noted with interest how they maintained careful distance, their shared history invisible to outside observers. Haru bounced slightly behind Sendou, her enthusiasm infectious even in the formal setting.

And (Name) took her place behind Isagi Yoichi, Blue Lock's chosen representative. From this position, she could see the back of his head, the determined set of his shoulders, the way he held himself ready to speak for all of them.

Anri stepped forward to address the assembled media, her voice carrying the confidence of someone who'd fought to make this moment possible. "We formed Blue Lock dreaming of being the best in the world," she began, and (Name) felt a surge of respect for the woman who'd created the manager program that had given her this opportunity.

As Anri continued her speech, outlining Blue Lock's journey from three hundred hopefuls to twenty-three survivors, (Name) found herself thinking about probability and possibility. The mathematical odds of any individual player making it this far had been astronomical, yet here they stood.

"It's finally time for the U-20 World Cup," Anri declared, and the weight of that statement settled over everyone present. This was no longer theoretical. In a matter of months, they'd be facing the world's best young players on an international stage.

The questions from journalists came rapidly, and Anri handled them with practiced ease. She spoke about Japan hosting the tournament, about the participating countries, about the New Gen 11 players they'd be facing. Each answer was calculated to build excitement while managing expectations.

Finally, she turned to introduce Isagi as Blue Lock's representative. "And now, a word from the player who embodies Blue Lock's philosophy—Isagi Yoichi."

(Name) felt the moment's significance and, acting on an impulse that surprised even her, reached out to give Isagi an encouraging pat on the shoulder. The gesture was small but meaningful—probably the most physical comfort she'd ever offered to anyone, and certainly more emotion than she typically displayed in public.

Isagi stepped forward to the microphone, and (Name) could see his breathing steady as he prepared to speak. This was it—the moment that would define how the world saw Blue Lock's ambitions.

"We will win," he said, his voice carrying absolute conviction. "Yoichi Isagi will make the U-20 World Cup... the hottest place for football on earth!"

The declaration sent chills down (Name)'s spine. Not because of the words themselves, but because of the mathematical certainty in his voice. This wasn't bravado or empty boasting—this was a calculated assessment delivered with unwavering confidence.

She felt a surge of pride that caught her off guard. This was why she'd stayed, why she'd chosen Blue Lock over following Kaiser to Germany. This moment, this declaration, this absolute commitment to excellence—this was what her analytical skills were meant to support.

As Anri concluded the conference with her own declaration—"Okay everyone! Please look forward to the start of the new Blue Lock Japan!"—(Name) realized that everything they'd been through had led to this moment.

The rivalries, the heartbreak, the impossible decisions, both the tears she'd shed for the first time in years and the laugh she learnt to embrace rather than stifle. All of it had been preparation for what came next. The real test wasn't behind them; it was waiting on the international stage, where her mathematical precision would need to merge with human emotion to create something unprecedented.

Standing behind Isagi as the cameras flashed and the journalists scribbled notes, (Name) (L/n) allowed herself a rare moment of genuine emotion. Not the tears she'd shed for Kaiser's departure, but something deeper and more complex—anticipation mixed with pride, determination tempered by the knowledge of how much was at stake.

The storm of the NEL was over. The real war was about to begin.

And for the first time since joining Blue Lock, (Name) felt truly ready for whatever equation came next.

Chapter Text

hello! it's bunnibyte here!!!

I've been meaning to do this, but I'm moving it to now!

what is it? it's a Q&A of course!

in the egoist protocol, there are a lot of original characters and subplots, not to mention where the fic is going.
and I also don't know if some of what I'm trying to convey has plot holes or is just confusing to you as the reader. so to fix that, I would love to hear your questions and suggestions on the managers, relationships and more, of course!
Plus I'll also upload some of the planning/behind-the-scenes works I had for this fic.

as always, thanks for getting us this far, we are 3 matches out of 4 in the Neo egoist league, and it has been so fun writing each chapter with your guys support! looking forward to reading some questions! （〃｀ 3′〃）

Chapter Text

OKAY! hello again, Q&A time woo

Q1. Tsukiko was the first to ask the rest of the managers if any player had caught their attention, but we don't know anything about her opinion and tbh i expect her to be flirty

A. I'm planning to do more chapters based on other managers, so a chapter on Tsukiko is coming. When writing Tsukiko (and you will see in the planning phase) i wanted tsukiko to be obsessed with attention/love, a bit like how kaiser deep down wants to be loved too however she is way more demanding, i mean making her own team refer to her as princess and lady is a bold way to receive affections. though, i think that parallel to (Name) she is here at Blue Lock actually to succeed, following her father's footsteps as a star, and she is very much focused on that goal; therefore she doesn't have time to spare on guys sorry lol

Q2. We already saw the bond that Kaiser and Name are creating (sigh...) even though it's in some way one-sided, but is Kaiser aware of it? does he even think about it? romantically ofc

A. OMG, looking back on what I've written and what I'm coming up with after my gosh, is this really looking like a kaiser/reader fic, and I feel horrible for how dirty i have done him! imfact im starting to wonder if there is more chemistry between reader and him rather than isagi and the reader (/▽＼). Of course, back to the question, Kaiser is not aware of his feelings yet, in the current phase of the fic he still believes it's all in the process of making reader part of his arsenal, though the question of if he will in the future...DEFINITELY! Kaiser is quite sharp and I'm sure he would catch on, though unfortunately for him, I'm sure it's going to be hopeless...

Q3. The same goes for isagi, despite not having a lot of close moments with Name, did he start to feel something? or maybe just a slight blush when he sees all the love triangle the bllk fandom is making

A. Right, back to the main guy of the fic, and I'm still very much embarrassed that he doesn't have so many close moments ahh!! but does he start to feel something? yes! infact probably sooner than Kaiser, though now that the next arc with u20 world cup is coming it might slow down as i plan to continue to story alongside the manga (though in different fics) so see the egoist protocol as covering the whole of the Neo-egoist league...ok going off track there lol...but yeah isagi is pretty much surrounded by constant reminders, like when hiori was calling out kaisagi in that one chapter, so i can imagine hiori and the others showing fan works and readerxisagi tag, plus i do have little something in mind with noel noa coming up!

Q4. Is there any possibility of Akane going back with Aiku after he has decided to help her with Ryo? I WISH SHE DOESN'T BUT IM SO INTRIGUED, AND IF SHE DOES THAT I HOPE AIKU ENDS HIS WOMANIZER CAREER 😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻

A. oh Akane! even to me it's complicated...honestly very mixed when writing their chapter...like i did want another romance but even for akane i was pissed off by aiku, like haru going off at him was lowkey also me projecting hahhh.. but still for Akane, under her older sister cool headed personalilty is still a very much human girl, and there was a time she did start to love aiku and i could see it returning again. ALSO THEY WILL DEFINITLY HAVE THAT CONVERSATION, time for aiku to leave those days behind

Q5. Is somebody secretly a bit jealous of a relationship between a player and a manager?

you didn't hear it from me but when planning the potential ships... rin did pop up twice for two of the managers...(⊙ˍ⊙)

thank you nabidulis so much for the questions, they were really fun to think about an answer!

(EDIT-added questions)

Q6. I mostly wonder about the writing process, I love the managers, as in how you created orginial characters and the process of writing their personalities, dynamics, and stories. And how do you come up with the more orginial stories such as milf, birthday, idol arc. And will they more of one off story lines or they continue on?

A. When writing my original characters I kind of first view them as group at first and pick out ‘roles’ (the only way I can explain it) so that the characters don’t come up as too similar and blur into each other. Really basic characteristics I would say: shy, older sister, younger sister, princess, and stoic. I usually take inspiration from other media like I was going for a ‘honey senpai’ when writing haru. And then imagery that I would like reflected in them, real life examples of what I mean could be Karasu and his crow imagery or kaiser and his emperor image.

After I got basics I then build up on their characters with back stories I think would compliment them or are just interesting via some crazy scenario workshops in my bed (best ideas come to you when your delusional and think you have a whole fandom for ur media)…for example something I haven’t written yet but have thought about is that haru at her home might actually be the older sister in her family but at blue lock likes to live the best of both worlds and be spoiled for once! And of course there is akane’s backstory which dare I say was the one I put the most into it, she started off really with nothing, she wasn’t exactly my favourite I’ll admit but I think the idea really just hit me that caring nature came from having to care for a child. Also she was already paired up with aiku because their common age but then it kinda just made sense the more I rolled with it. Also I might have written a whole episode akane on the side that goes more into her backstory pre blue lock so if anyone is interested in that perhaps after I could post it.

Then for look wise and names they are all loosely based of other characters, tsukiko yugi is literally a tsukasa yugi with a twist to make it represent a moon. Again with haru her last name was just taken from rui kamishiro. Even akane is a victim her last name makino is a play on from makima from csm because they both share that red hair and yellow eyes. Natsumi hatoshima was my own thought process though like I have mentioned in a previous chapter’s note.

OK AND THEN FOR THE CHAPTER IDEAS…I have to thank scenarios before sleeping..I mean even before the egoist protocol was even on paper, I was just making scenarios on how it all a really blue lock thing and that all those chapter I wrote were all stupid blue lock additional time that I then added some story, a lot of brainrot and growing dynamics between characters.

However with the question as if there will be more I have to say that this fic is sort of ending and I want the last chapters to resemble more story rather then the filler vives I was going for previously, however this fic follows the NEL and with the future U20 World Cup coming up I’m excited to say the story will continue but on another fic as I’m too attached to these characters and have so much more planned for isagi and (Name) which is why I made this fic not have that much with isagi going on…

Q7. Another question, will we ever talk to Ego? I think with the managers it would be funny, now that I'm thinking about it he was probably part of the interview process.

A.this whole fic is pretty much done on Google docs and pre written so I can say there will be a ego mention but it really isn’t so much of a big enough interaction, so in the World Cup arc we will get more of ego working alongside the managers.

Q8. Also hoping to see the reporter girl, I think Rei? Idk, she just stuck with me a bit.

A. I feel like most answers are going like this buttt…whats a World Cup with out reporters? Hahaha plus reader was pretty fond of rei too. Also on that aswell I think of new characters for the World Cup too..so yaya

Q9. Also, yeah I was shipping kaiser more with the manager but then the way he acted during Noel flirting with our mother, I was like "brother ew" but now he's getting on my good side again.
Isagi needs to work on his rizzing skills cause I'm rooting for kasier. He has cute moments but doesn't feel like he doesn't grow with/or help manager grow. You know?
But then again Kaiser has his moments of disappointment helping reader crash out, milf arc, all men do is disappointment me. 😔✊️

A. AHHHH.. I swear I fully went into this fic with isagi on my mind…heck isagi is my favourite character of all time, ask the bunch of little isagis on my shelf but alas…kaiser has done something to me…like total mind control or something…I don’t know but I guess I found myself having more fun with kaiser than isagi…
Which then again drunk isagi was so hilarious to me so maybe I’m just extremely mixed…YEAH I MIGHT NEED TO ADJUST FUTURE CHAPTERS 😣

OK BIG THANKS TO YOU VIOLETA2, thanks for stumbling across the fic and sticking around!

As a bonus cause i still wanted to post something, here is a random chapter, though im pretty sure it probably isnt canon lol

The morning started like any other in the Bastard Münchën facility—with (Name) (L/n) calculating probability matrices for today's training session while nursing what she hoped looked like an energy drink but was actually beer disguised with one of Haru's ridiculous stickers. The numbers flowed through her mind like a familiar symphony, each statistic and projection falling into perfect mathematical harmony.

Then Kaiser opened his mouth.

"Your calculations are wrong again, Mathe-Prinzessin," he drawled in that insufferably confident tone, leaning against the doorframe of the analysis room with his arms crossed. "Maybe if you focused less on your mysterious drinks and more on actual strategy..."

(Name)'s eye twitched—that telltale sign that her patience was wearing thin. "My calculations have a 99.7% accuracy rate, which is more than I can say for your ego-driven plays that cost us two potential goals yesterday."

"Ego-driven?" Kaiser's laugh was sharp and mocking. "At least I don't hide behind numbers like some antisocial—"

"At least I don't compensate for my insecurities by dyeing my hair like some wannabe—"

"Enough."

The single word cut through their argument like a blade, and both Kaiser and (Name) turned to see Noel Noa standing in the doorway. His expression was as impassive as ever, but there was something in his tired eyes that suggested he'd reached his limit. Behind him, the rest of the Bastard Münchën team lingered, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the tension crackling between their manager and star player.

Noa rubbed his temples slowly, deliberately. "I woke up with a headache. Your constant bickering is making it worse." His gaze moved between them with the weight of absolute authority. "Since you two cannot communicate like civilized adults, perhaps you need to learn the value of actual communication."

Before either could protest, Noa stepped forward and plucked the translation earbuds from both their ears in one swift motion.
The effect was immediate and jarring.

Kaiser continued speaking, but now the familiar cadence of Japanese was replaced by rapid, guttural German that sounded like complete gibberish to (Name)'s ears. "Was zum Teufel machst du da? Gib mir das verdammte Ding zurück!"

(Name) blinked, her mathematical mind struggling to process this new variable. She responded in Japanese, her words equally meaningless to Kaiser: "What did you just do? I can't understand anything he's saying!"

Kaiser's blue eyes widened with realization and frustration. "Verdammt! Ich kann dich nicht verstehen!" He gestured wildly at his ear, then at her, his meaning clear even without words.

"This is ridiculous," (Name) muttered in Japanese, knowing full well he couldn't understand her. "How are we supposed to work together if we can't even communicate basic strategies?"

"Sie werden lernen," Noa said simply, though (Name) couldn't understand him without her translator. He switched to English, his accent thick but understandable. "You will learn. No earbuds until you can work together without fighting."

Both (Name) and Kaiser stared at him in horror.

"English!" Kaiser exclaimed, snapping his fingers as the solution occurred to him. He turned to (Name) with renewed confidence. "We speak English, yes? I know... some English."

(Name)'s face went blank—the same expression she wore when faced with literature homework or any non-mathematical concept. "I... English is..." She struggled for the words, her brain failing to supply anything beyond the most basic vocabulary. "Numbers... are... same?"

Kaiser stared at her. "You don't speak English?"

"I..." (Name)'s cheeks flushed with embarrassment and frustration. "Math is universal language!"

"Math is not language!" Kaiser shot back, his own English stilted and uncertain. "Is... numbers!"

They glared at each other, the language barrier creating an almost comical standoff. The other Bastard Münchën players watched in fascination as their usually articulate manager and eloquent striker struggled with basic communication.

Isagi cleared his throat tentatively. "Um, maybe you could try—"

"No help," Noa interrupted firmly. "They figure out themselves."

The first few hours were absolute hell.

(Name) tried explaining a tactical formation using hand gestures, pointing at imaginary players and moving her hands in complex patterns that made perfect sense in her mathematically-wired brain. Kaiser watched with growing confusion and irritation, occasionally interjecting with German phrases that sounded increasingly exasperated.

"Nein, nein, das ist völlig falsch!" he said, waving his hands dismissively. "Du verstehst nichts von Fußball-Strategie!"

"Stop making those ridiculous noises!" (Name) snapped back in Japanese. "If you would just watch my hands, the formation is perfectly clear!"

They were saved from complete mutual destruction by Yukimiya, who quietly slid a piece of paper and pencil across the table toward them. Both Kaiser and (Name) looked at it, then at each other.

Kaiser picked up the pencil first, sketching a rough soccer field and drawing X's and O's in various positions. He pointed to one X, then to himself, then drew an arrow showing movement toward the goal.

(Name) studied the diagram, her mathematical mind immediately calculating angles and probabilities. She took the pencil and began adding numbers—percentages, distances, optimal positioning coordinates. Kaiser watched as she covered his simple sketch with complex equations.

"Du bist wirklich verrückt," he muttered, but there was something almost impressed in his tone. He pointed to one of her calculations, raised an eyebrow, and nodded slowly.

For the first time all day, they were actually communicating.

As the day progressed, they developed an increasingly elaborate system of gestures, drawings, and single-word attempts at each other's languages. Kaiser would say "gut" and nod when he understood something. (Name) would respond with "hai" and a small bow.

It was during lunch that they encountered the full scope of their linguistic isolation.

The Blue Lock facility's common area was buzzing with conversation, but without their translators, (Name) and Kaiser could suddenly hear the true diversity of languages being spoken around them. It was like someone had lifted a curtain they didn't even know existed.

At a nearby table, Haru was chattering excitedly with Niko and Charles, but instead of the seamless Japanese conversation they usually heard, it was a bizarre mixture of Japanese, French, and enthusiastic hand gestures.

"C'est incroyable!" Charles was saying, his French accent thick and musical. "Cette formation est magnifique!"

Haru responded in rapid Japanese, it was surreal seeing it without the presence of the translator, creating a three-way conversation that somehow worked despite the linguistic chaos.

"Fascinating," (Name) murmured in Japanese, her analytical mind immediately engaged by this new puzzle.

Kaiser nodded, following her gaze. "Interessant. Wie funktioniert das überhaupt?"

At another table, Lorenzo was holding court with Aiku and several other players, his animated Italian mixing with Japanese in a way that created its own rhythm. Little Ryo sat on Aiku's lap, babbling happily in his toddler mixture of sounds that seemed to transcend all language barriers.

"Die ganze Zeit," Kaiser said slowly, as if realizing something profound, "haben wir nie wirklich zugehört."

(Name) looked at him, not understanding the words but sensing the shift in his tone. There was something contemplative there, almost vulnerable.

"What?" she asked in Japanese, then caught herself. She pointed to her ear, then to him, shaking her head to indicate she didn't understand.

Kaiser smiled—not his usual arrogant smirk, but something more genuine. He pointed around the room, then made a gesture like he was listening, followed by a shrug that seemed to say 'I never noticed before.'

(Name) followed his gaze, really looking at the multicultural tapestry around them for the first time. Without the seamless translation, she could see how hard everyone was working to communicate, how much effort went into every interaction. It was like watching a complex equation solve itself through pure human determination.

"Amazing," she whispered, using one of her few non-mathematical expressions.

Kaiser tilted his head. "...Sugoi?"

"Amazing," she said in English, struggling with the pronunciation. "Is... amazing."

"Ah." Kaiser nodded, understanding. "Ja, ist... amazing."

The afternoon training session was an exercise in creative communication. Without being able to discuss complex strategies verbally, (Name) had to find new ways to convey her tactical insights to the team.

She started with her trusty whiteboard, but instead of her usual detailed explanations, she drew simple diagrams and used numbers—universal mathematical concepts that transcended language. Kaiser watched as she broke down play patterns into geometric shapes and probability percentages.

"Dreißig Prozent," Kaiser said, pointing to one of her calculations.

"San-juu... percent," (Name) repeated slowly, recognizing the number thirty in his pronunciation.

Kaiser's eyes lit up. "Thirty! Dreißig is thirty!"

"Dreißig," (Name) tried, her pronunciation terrible but earnest. "Thirty... dreißig."

"Gut! Very gut!" Kaiser grinned, and for once it wasn't mocking. "Ichi, ni, san... what is vier?"

"Yon," (Name) replied, then added, "Four. Vier is four."

They spent the next few minutes counting in each other's languages, creating their first real bridge of communication. Numbers, as (Name) had insisted, truly were universal.

But Kaiser, being Kaiser, couldn't resist pushing boundaries.

"Du hast wirklich schöne Beine," he said conversationally while they were reviewing game footage, his tone casual as if commenting on the weather.

(Name) looked at him suspiciously. Something about his expression suggested he wasn't discussing football statistics. "What did you say?"

"I said..." Kaiser paused, pretending to think. "Your... calculations are good."

"Liar," (Name) said flatly in Japanese, not needing to understand German to recognize that particular look in his eyes.

Kaiser laughed, delighted at being caught. "Du bist klüger als du aussiehst."

"Stop saying things I can't understand," (Name) demanded, though there was less venom in it than usual.

"Warum? Du kannst mich nicht stoppen," Kaiser continued, clearly enjoying himself. "Ich könnte dir alles sagen, und du würdest es nie erfahren."

(Name)'s eyes narrowed into her characteristic glare—the one that usually sent her teammates scurrying for cover. But Kaiser just grinned wider, completely unrepentant.

"Fine," she said in Japanese, her voice taking on a dangerously sweet tone. "Anata wa totemo baka de, jibun ga dono kurai kakko warui ka wakaranai hito desu."

Now it was Kaiser's turn to look suspicious. "What did you just say?"

"I said your hair looks very nice today," (Name) replied with perfect innocence.

Kaiser studied her face, clearly not buying it for a second. "Lügner," he accused.

"I don't know what that means," she said, still maintaining her innocent expression.

They glared at each other for a moment, then simultaneously burst into laughter—the first genuine moment of amusement they'd shared in weeks.

By evening, their communication had evolved into something resembling a functioning system. They had a vocabulary of about twenty shared words, a complex series of hand gestures, and an understanding that seemed to transcend their linguistic limitations.

(Name) was reviewing player statistics when Kaiser approached with two cups of coffee. He set one down next to her without a word—a peace offering that spoke louder than any language.

"Danke," she said carefully, using one of the German words she'd picked up.

"Dōitashimashite," Kaiser replied, his pronunciation of the Japanese phrase absolutely terrible but earnest.

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Without the constant back-and-forth of their usual arguments, there was space for something else to develop between them.

"Du bist nicht so schlimm, wie ich dachte," Kaiser said quietly, his voice lacking its usual arrogance.

(Name) looked at him, not understanding the words but hearing the softer tone. "I wish I could understand you," she admitted in Japanese.

Kaiser seemed to hear the sentiment if not the words. He pointed to himself, then to her, then made a gesture that somehow conveyed mutual understanding. It was clumsy and imperfect, but the meaning was clear.

The moment was interrupted by the arrival of Noel Noa, who had been watching them from the doorway with something that might have been approval.

"Better," he said in English, holding up their confiscated earbuds. "But not yet."

Both (Name) and Kaiser opened their mouths to protest, then stopped. Something had shifted between them during this day of linguistic isolation, and neither was entirely sure they wanted to break the spell just yet.

"Tomorrow," Noa continued, "you continue without these. Learn to understand without words first. Then learn to speak."

As their coach walked away, Kaiser turned to (Name) with a wry smile. "Mehr Zeit zum Deutschlernen," he said.

(Name) didn't understand the words, but she found herself smiling back. "Whatever you say," she replied in Japanese.

They were saying the same thing without knowing it—more time to learn each other's language. More time to understand each other beyond the barriers they'd built with words.

The next morning brought new challenges and small victories. Kaiser had apparently spent the evening learning basic Japanese phrases, while (Name) had attempted to memorize some German words, though her pronunciation was still atrocious.

"Guten Morgen, (Name)," Kaiser greeted her with exaggerated formality.

"Morning, Kaiser," she replied, then added hesitantly, "Guten... Morgen?"

"Sehr gut!" Kaiser praised, and (Name) felt an unexpected flush of pride at his approval.

Their teammates watched this linguistic exchange with fascination. Isagi looked particularly intrigued by the way their usual hostile dynamic had shifted into something more collaborative.
During training, they discovered that their enforced cooperation was actually improving their tactical coordination. Without the luxury of detailed verbal explanations, (Name) had to trust Kaiser's instincts more, while Kaiser had to pay closer attention to her strategic insights.

"Hier," Kaiser called out during a practice match, pointing to a specific position on the field. "(Name)... calculations... gut hier, ja?"

(Name) quickly ran the numbers in her head, calculating angles and probabilities. "Yes! Probability... achtzig percent?"

"Achtzig!" Kaiser confirmed, then added with a grin, "Du lernst schnell!"

She didn't understand all the words, but his pleased expression was clear enough. They were actually working together, and it was working well.

The breakthrough came during lunch when they encountered Lorenzo and some of the Ubers players in the common area. Little Ryo was toddling between the tables, babbling happily in his mixture of baby talk and the various languages he'd been exposed to.

"Ciao, piccolo!" Lorenzo called out in Italian, scooping up the toddler with practiced ease.

"Ryo-kun is very energetic, huh?" Aiku added in Japanese, ruffling the boy's red hair.

The child responded with a stream of sounds that seemed to incorporate elements from every language he'd heard, creating his own unique form of communication that somehow everyone understood.

"Incredible," (Name) breathed in Japanese, watching the linguistic chaos resolve into perfect understanding.

"Unglaublich," Kaiser echoed in German, clearly thinking the same thing.

They looked at each other, struck by the same realization. They'd been using different words to express the same thought, just like they had been doing all along.

"We... same," (Name) said slowly in English, the words clumsy but meaningful.

"Ja," Kaiser nodded, then tried in Japanese: "Onaji... same."

It was a small moment, but it felt significant. They were finding common ground in the spaces between languages, in the universal human experience of trying to connect with someone else.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of small discoveries and shared frustrations. They learned that Kaiser's laugh was the same in any language, that (Name)'s focused glare transcended cultural boundaries, and that their competitive spirits were perfectly matched regardless of the words they used to express them.

By evening, they had developed their own pidgin language—a mixture of German, Japanese, English, mathematical symbols, and an elaborate system of gestures that somehow made perfect sense to both of them.

"Tomorrow, earbuds back," Kaiser said as they packed up their training materials.

"Yes," (Name) nodded, then added quietly in Japanese, "But maybe... we don't need them as much?"

Kaiser tilted his head, not understanding the words but hearing the questioning tone. "Was sagst du?"

(Name) pointed to her ear, then shook her head slightly. She made a gesture that encompassed both of them, then pointed to her heart.

"Verstehen," Kaiser said slowly, understanding not just the gesture but the sentiment behind it. "Wir verstehen uns jetzt."

They were saying the same thing again—that they understood each other now, in ways that went deeper than words.

As they walked back to their respective quarters, the Blue Lock facility hummed with multilingual conversations around them. But for the first time, (Name) and Kaiser weren't isolated by their differences. They were connected by something more fundamental than language—a shared recognition of each other's strengths, weaknesses, and the peculiar way their minds worked.

"Gute Nacht, (Name)," Kaiser said as they reached the junction where their paths diverged.

"Goodnight, Kaiser," she replied, then added with a small smile, "Gute... Nacht."

He grinned back, that genuine expression that was becoming more frequent. "Dein Deutsch wird besser."

She didn't understand the words, but his approving tone was clear. "Your Japanese... getting better too," she managed in English.

They stood there for a moment, reluctant to end this strange day that had somehow brought them closer together than weeks of shared language had managed.

"Tomorrow," Kaiser said finally.

"Tomorrow," (Name) agreed.

As they walked away in opposite directions, both were thinking the same thought in their respective languages: this was just the beginning.

The morning of their third day without translators, Noel Noa found them in the analysis room, working together over a tactical diagram with the focused intensity of seasoned partners. They were switching seamlessly between languages, filling in gaps with gestures, and somehow achieving a level of strategic coordination that their previous arguments had never produced.

"Hier ist das Problem," Kaiser was saying, pointing to a section of the field diagram. "Defense too... schwach... weak here."

"yes, I see," (Name) nodded, adding calculations to the margin. "If we adjust formation by fifteen degrees... probability increases to eighty-seven percent."

"Siebenundachtzig percent? Gut!" Kaiser studied her numbers with the same intensity she'd seen him apply to analyzing opponent weaknesses. "Very gut calculation."

Noa cleared his throat, causing both to look up. In his hand were their translation earbuds.

"You want them back?" he asked in English.

(Name) and Kaiser exchanged a look. The devices represented a return to easy communication, to the familiar comfort of understanding every word. But they also represented a return to their old patterns of argument and misunderstanding.

"Maybe..." (Name) said slowly in English, "we try more first?"

Kaiser nodded emphatically. "Ja, more learning. Is... fun?"

Noa's expression remained impassive, but there might have been the slightest hint of approval in his eyes. "Very well. One more day."

As their coach walked away, Kaiser turned to (Name) with a grin that was becoming familiar. "Ein Tag mehr zum Lernen."

"one more day of studying," she replied, then added in her terrible German, "Ein... Tag... mehr?"

"Perfect," Kaiser laughed, and for once, (Name) found herself smiling.

They were learning more than just each other's languages. They were learning how to be teammates, partners, and maybe something that neither of them was quite ready to name yet.
But whatever it was, it didn't need translation.

The numbers, as (Name) had always insisted, spoke for themselves. And the probability of their partnership succeeding was looking better every day.