Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rin woke up in the middle of an all-consuming ache, his body feeling like it had just been run over by a truck—three times—and left at the scene like roadkill. Pain throbbed in his skull in relentless waves, so intense that he could practically see Itoshi Sae standing over him with a sledgehammer, bashing his brain without mercy.

His legs—the very ones once hailed as the future of Japanese football—were now staging a full-blown rebellion. If they were tortured for even two more seconds, Rin was sure they’d just snap themselves off to save everyone the trouble.

“What the fuck...?”

The words tore from his throat in a hoarse whisper, barely audible.

He tried to sit up. Every muscle screamed in protest, and a burst of white light flashed behind his eyelids like a busted TV screen. He shut his eyes quickly, waited for the nausea to pass, then slowly opened them again.

A strange, cramped room came into view—dim, damp, reeking of mildew and stale dust. The walls looked like they hadn’t seen sunlight or cleaning in years.

Looking down, Rin realized he was lying on a worn-out mattress, torn in places with stuffing spilling out. He glanced around. Everything was broken or rusted. Old cardboard boxes were piled in the corner, coated in so much dust he couldn’t even tell what color they used to be.

...A storage room?

Rin frowned. Why the hell was he in a dump like this? Who the fuck did this to him?

The thought didn’t last long. Within two seconds, Rin gritted his teeth, and a familiar blonde-haired bastard popped into his mind—clear as day. No evidence. No need for a trial. It had to be that idiotic golden cockroach.

Rage simmered in his chest like a ticking bomb. Everyone knew Blue Lock’s No.1 had a temper, but whoever dared to mess with him like this must’ve had a death wish. They better start digging their grave right now—because once Rin got out of here, that was the second thing he was going to do.

First thing? Escape this goddamn place.

Bracing himself, Rin pushed up from the mattress. He wobbled instantly. His head felt like it was being split in two, vision spinning, and he almost collapsed face-first back into the grimy excuse for a bed.

That’s when the pain really hit him—seeping deep into every joint and muscle fiber. His body was covered in bruises—green, purple, yellow, all overlapping like a damn color palette. But what caught his eye was his left arm: a deep gash, at least ten centimeters long, the blood long dried.

Rin stared at it in stunned silence for a beat.

...Motherfucker. Did someone beat him before locking him in here?

“YOU FUCKING BASTARD!!”

Unable to contain his fury, Rin swore loudly, his voice hoarse with rage. A part of him genuinely believed that burying alive whoever was behind this mess would be far too merciful. No, he needed to consider dismemberment, maybe even an acid bath—just to be sure the bastard wouldn’t get the chance to reincarnate.

Shaking, Rin dragged himself toward the only door in the dark room. Though the lighting was barely there, his eyes had already adjusted, allowing him to take in the surroundings. But it wasn’t the darkness that made him scowl—it was the door.

It looked nothing like it should.

Doors in Blue Lock were all the same: thick slabs of reinforced metal, heavy enough to flatten someone, stamped with the program’s iconic pentagon logo. Ego had them installed under what he proudly called “war-bunker security standards”—meant to boost “discipline and the feeling of incarceration.”

But the one in front of Rin? It was a beat-up wooden thing with loose hinges and a rotting bottom so brittle the wood was flaking off in chunks. What the hell was this? Don’t tell him—don’t tell him this was some kind of budget cut from Ego!?

Click… click…

The handle rattled faintly as Rin tested it.

Locked. From the outside.

He paused.

Then—
Rage Level 2 officially unlocked.

“LOCKED FROM THE OUTSIDE!?? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME!? WHICH DEAD DOG BASTARD LOCKED ME IN HERE!!!”

The fire in his gut erupted into action. Rin turned, threw his weight into one leg, and slammed his foot straight into the door.

Never underestimate the legs of Blue Lock’s No.1—the very legs that once made goalposts tremble and sent opponents crying home to their mothers. If Michael Kaiser were here to witness this kick, he’d probably have to retire his whole “Impact” shtick and go searching for a new brand name. Isagi? Isagi would slow-mo record the moment and set it as his phone wallpaper.

BANG!!!
CREEAAAAK… CRASH!!

The poor door didn’t stand a chance. It snapped at the hinges and collapsed to the floor in miserable splinters.

Rin winced as pain shot up his foot, but he only let out a cold scoff, covering his nose and mouth as a cloud of dust rose from the impact.

Once the air cleared, he opened his eyes. And then—

Footsteps.
Soft. But distinct. Echoing from a distance.

Rin squinted, his feet already carrying him out of the ruined room. The light outside struck him in the eyes, blinding for a moment, and he had to squint hard before the view sharpened. What lay before him was a large open yard—filled to the brim with trash. Broken bikes. A busted ceiling fan. A couch with its springs bursting out like some monster ready to bite.

Rin’s expression visibly darkened.

…No way.No fucking way. Was this seriously—

A goddamn scrapyard!?

His blood boiled. Rage Level 2 was rapidly evolving into Level 3.

But—
The sound of footsteps pulled Rin’s attention back.

From the shadowed corner beside the storage shed, the source of the noise stepped into view.

Rin froze. His pupils shrank. Eyes went wide.
A storm of emotions crashed through him—panic, confusion, disbelief… and something deeper.

Because the one who stepped out from the darkness was the person Rin knew better than anyone else.

Itoshi Sae.

His sudden appearance made Rin’s brain shut down for a full second.

…Sae?
Sae?
What the hell is he doing here?

Wasn’t he supposed to be in Spain? Training. Competing. Living the glorious life of Japan’s “National Treasure.” So why… why was he here, in a place like this, emerging from behind the door of a rotting storage shed?

Was he here to find Rin?

The thought flickered—and Rin crushed it instantly. Because a second later, Sae’s eyes met his.

Cold. Sharp. Utterly repulsed.

Rin stopped breathing. He didn’t even have time to put up any mental defenses.
“…Nii-chan…”

The word slipped out instinctively—soft, fragile, barely audible.
And that was when Rin saw it.
That expression on Sae’s face.

Disgust.

Not hidden. Not filtered. Bare and cutting, as if he were looking at a piece of trash thrown out on the street.
Rin swallowed the rest of his words, throat closing like it’d been slashed. A searing numbness spread across his chest.

…What the hell was that look?
Did Sae… really hate him?

“Don’t call me that.” That voice—cold and final—fell like a blade. “I don’t have a piece-of-shit little brother like you. You’re a monster.”

Rin stood frozen.
Something inside him twisted, cracked apart.
He had heard that sentence before. In the past. And it had already hurt him enough to keep him awake for nights.
But this time… this time was different.

There was something in Sae’s voice—something crueler. Deeper.
A hate so raw, so real, it felt like he genuinely wanted to sever everything between them.
Like he could kill Rin, if given the chance.

Rin stared at the man in front of him, dazed.

This wasn’t the Itoshi Sae he once admired.
Wasn’t the older brother he had followed across oceans to Europe.

“W… what…?”

His voice shattered like glass—falling apart before it even fully left his mouth.
But it didn’t soften Sae. On the contrary—his eyes grew colder. His voice, sharp as acid-laced poison, dropped another bomb:

“Putting on that pitiful look for who, exactly? Monster. Locking you up in a storage room clearly wasn’t enough of a lesson.”

!!!

Rin’s entire body went numb.

What… did he just say?

…The one who had locked him inside that dark, damp, reeking room…
Was Sae?
Itoshi Sae—his own brother?

Rin felt something explode in his skull. His emotions were blindsided by a sudden, shattering blow.

“WHAT THE FUCK—?! WHY!? WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS!? YOU BASTARD!!!”

Rage erupted. So violently that he screamed, losing all control. Thought ceased. Logic shattered.
Sae looked at him, brows furrowed—not with anger, but as if staring at a lunatic. Then, without hesitation, he stepped forward—and in one cold, terrifying moment—

Slapped him.

SMACK!

The sound cracked through the air like thunder. Rin’s body reeled. His cheek flushed bright red before splitting open, and his lip burst with blood. He staggered, eyes wide with disbelief, staring at the man in front of him like the world had flipped upside down. The metallic taste in his mouth made him nauseous.

Sae… just slapped him?

“…What are you screaming for, trash,”
Sae said, his voice full of disgust. Not fury—not fire—but a glacial, bitter coldness. Like wind slicing from the Arctic.

“You really dare to ask why? After what you did to my little brother? Now you dare to play dumb?”

A high-pitched ringing started in Rin’s ears. He could hear the rush of blood pounding through his head. Hear the wind. Hear the pain. The sting. But through all of it, Sae’s voice cut through, sharp and cruel.

“You hurt my little brother—”

And just like that—
Everything collapsed.

Bit by bit.

“Little… brother?”

Rin froze in place.

Him?
He hurt… himself?
What the hell was going on?

The brain that had been trained to analyze full matches in seconds—the brain praised as “the hand that pulls Blue Lock’s strings”—completely broke down.

No strategy. No clarity. Just shattered data and meaningless noise. Nothing fit together. He didn’t understand. Not even a little.

What the hell is this?

“I… I don’t understand what you’re talking about…”

His voice cracked like glass—shaky, soft, foreign even to his own ears.

“You’re a monster. Can’t even admit what you did,” Sae’s words were like steel—cold and merciless. Each syllable struck like a death sentence. “Kia’s ankle is sprained, and you still dare make excuses?”

Kia??

The unfamiliar name lashed across Rin’s unraveling mind like a whip.…Kia who?

Sae’s little brother? No. No fucking way. Had their parents seriously given birth to another son in the one year Rin had been stuck in Blue Lock? A kid named Kia—someone Rin had never even heard of?

But no…
That didn’t make sense. Even if his relationship with their mother was distant—there was no way she could hide something that big. A baby? No matter how estranged he’d become, Rin would’ve known.
And if Kia was just a toddler, then what? Was Sae seriously accusing him of bullying… a one- or two-year-old?

It was completely insane.

“What the hell is this…” Rin muttered again, clutching the fabric of his shirt with trembling fingers. It felt like he had fallen into some kind of twisted dream—one where every rule of reality had been warped beyond recognition.

But Sae didn’t so much as flinch at the confusion in Rin’s eyes. He just let out a scoff, low and sharp, thick with disdain.

To Sae, Rin right now was nothing more than trash—cowardly, cruel, someone who bullied his little brother and then dared to put on that fake, innocent face. It disgusted him. Made him regret ever bringing Rin into this house. If only Rin had never existed, things would’ve been so much quieter. So much happier.

He looked at Rin one last time—with the same cold indifference someone might spare a piece of dirt stuck to their shoe—then turned away. His final words, tossed over his shoulder like a discarded knife:

“Stay in this shitty place and reflect on what you’ve done. When you finally come to your senses, go apologize to Kia. Then—maybe—I’ll let you come home.”

Clack.

The door slammed shut behind Sae. Footsteps faded. His silhouette vanished down the dusty hallway.

Rin didn’t move.

He didn’t cry.
Didn’t scream.
Didn’t run after him.

He just stood there—completely still.
As if moving even a fraction would cause the entire world to shatter into pieces.

The sting of that slap still burned across his cheek. It hurt. It really hurt.

Snap.

Something broke inside his mind.

Logic.
Emotion.
His understanding of the world.

All of it felt like a fragile thread—sliced clean through.

And then—

Rin collapsed.
Unconscious.

...

...

Not knowing how much time had passed, feeling the cold on his face, Rin opened his eyes with difficulty. His head throbbed, the pain sharp and splitting, as though it were being torn in two. While unconscious, he’d had a dream... a long, long dream.

In the dream, he saw a boy named “Rin”—a child born and raised in a peaceful seaside village. “Rin’s” family was poor, but his parents always looked at him with eyes full of love. Beneath a modest roof, “Rin” was raised with laughter, with warm embraces, and with simple meals of vegetables and rice, rich in affection.

“Rin” grew into a bright teenager, often smiling, surrounded by friends who adored him. His life glowed like sunlight, calm as a mirror-smooth sea—like a beautiful dream woven from the simplest of things.

But then—

A massive earthquake struck. In an instant, everything collapsed. The home where “Rin” had grown up was reduced to rubble. His parents—shielding him in their arms—were buried beneath sand, stone, and concrete. Relatives, friends, neighbors... some died, others vanished.

In a single night, “Rin” became a child abandoned by the heavens.

“Rin” despaired. “Rin” no longer wanted to live. Inside, he screamed: Why? Why take everything away—just when he was at his happiest? He wanted to follow his parents. He had almost let go of everything.

But—

His mother’s trembling embrace, the weak arms that clung to him even in despair... His father’s unwavering gaze, filled with love, as the man used his own body to shield them from the falling debris... All of it pulled “Rin” back from the edge.

“Rin, live. Live well, okay? Promise me, Rin… please.”

“Rin” was only twelve years old. He clutched his parents close and—for the first time—sobbed like a real child, his cries breaking through the dust and rubble, his voice calling out to his parents in heart-wrenching desperation.

“Mom... hhic… Dad... I promise, I promise I will… But… you have to promise you’ll stay with me too… please… please… hhic… waaah…”

His mother smiled softly, whispering:

“Alright... we promise…”

His father couldn’t speak—he was using his shoulders and back to brace against the massive slab of concrete threatening to crash down. He bit down so hard blood seeped from his lips, his face contorted in agony. And yet, in his eyes—there was still love. Still the kind of regret that tore straight through the soul.

CRASH.

A huge stone fell from above, slamming into the three of them.

“Rin” was knocked unconscious by the impact.

Darkness fell once more.

.

.

When “Rin” awoke, all that remained was a hollow void. Voices cried for help in every direction. Ambulance sirens pierced the air. Wails of grief shredded the silence. Around him lay ruins, dust, shattered bricks, blood, and chaos. “Rin” was silent. Completely still.

He didn’t know how he had managed to escape the rubble. His body ached, every wound pulsing like it was set ablaze. Blood trailed from his leg in long, smeared streaks, staining the ashen ground a deep crimson. But he felt nothing. None of it compared to the pain tearing apart his chest. He stood up. Staggering. Unsteady. Dust blurred his vision—or maybe it was tears. His hometown. His village. The small house where his parents’ laughter once echoed. All of it… gone. As if it had never existed.

“No… no… please… no…”

He mumbled like a man lost to madness, dragging his heavy limbs toward a pile of debris on the left. Something instinctive—something left over from the fading breath of memory—told him that place… that was home.

“Dad… Mom… please…”

His voice cracked like shattering glass, and the tears wouldn’t stop falling. Every step left a dark, bleeding trail on the cold, dead earth.

And then—

He saw it.
A piece of white cloth.
Tucked behind a large slab of stone.
Just a corner—but enough to freeze his heart in place. That had been the spot filled with lullabies, with warm hands that comforted him when he was afraid. Now there was only… white. Funeral white.

That cloth was a blade, invisible yet merciless, severing the last tie between him and the people he loved. A chill raced down his spine. He couldn’t breathe. The air was gone, sucked out of his lungs. “Rin’s” chest tightened, his stomach twisting so violently it felt like he’d throw up everything inside. His knees buckled. His whole body shook.

The world tilted. Sounds warped into noise. Each step “Rin” took was the dragging weight of a life ripped in half. He moved closer. Every inch forward stabbed deeper into his soul. That white—once a color of peace, of purity—was now a blinding scream, so loud it drowned every last whisper of hope. His hand trembled, slowly reaching out. Touched the edge of the cloth. Ice cold. Cold like the hands of death. He wanted to pull it back. He needed to know. But he also couldn’t bear to know.

His heart pounded so hard it felt like it would burst. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to face that brutal truth.But gathering the last of his strength—the strength drawn from beautiful memories now shattered—“Rin” gently lifted the fabric. And in that moment—

“Rin’s” soul broke, crashing into the endless void of despair.

.

.

No one knew how “Rin” had survived that disaster.
Two years passed. The boy who once shone as brightly as the summer sun had become quiet, withdrawn—like a shadow drifting among the living.

In the early days at the relief center, “Rin” hardly spoke a word.
He simply curled up in the corner of a small room, silently enduring the searing pain—
The kind of pain only someone who had lost everything could understand.

At night, he sobbed in the darkness.
His muffled cries echoed between the cold walls, and his pillow was soaked with tears.
There were nights he nearly choked on his own weeping, trembling like a wounded, helpless animal with nowhere to go.

“Rin” had wanted to give up.
He had come dangerously close to the edge between life and death.

But then—
In a fevered daze, he dreamt of his mother’s eyes.
Of his father’s rough, calloused hands that were somehow always warm.
Of a voice—gentle yet firm—
"Rin, live… live well, okay? Promise me..."

He jolted awake.
He had to live.
He must live.
He had to live well—for them, too.

From that moment on, “Rin” began to stand back up.
Each day was a battle.
He pushed through sleepless nights, through nightmares, through wounds that never quite healed.
He learned to smile again, even if he wasn’t sure the smile was ever genuine.

At fifteen, by chance, he was allowed by his homeroom teacher to travel to the city and attend the provincial academic competition.

That was when “Rin” met him.

The man had a face almost identical to his own—uncannily so, as if they’d been cast from the same mold.
The moment their eyes met, “Rin” paused, frowning slightly.

“How strange. The world truly was full of odd wonders...”- He thought that, and paid it no further mind, turning to walk into the exam room.

The test went well. He came out feeling lighter, hopeful. If he placed in the competition, he’d receive a full tuition waiver for the second semester—just enough to ease some of the burden. “Rin” had always been a top student, qualifying for financial aid. But in a small village, everything had limits. He received 60% tuition support. The remaining 40%, plus living expenses— all of it rested on his shoulders.

But today, he felt at ease. Partly because the test went well,
Partly because he knew— he was moving in the right direction.

As he stepped out of the exam building, he caught sight of those same turquoise eyes again—the same person from earlier. That gaze was sharp, piercing, as if it could cut through every layer of thought.

"Rin" blinked, a little surprised, but didn’t dwell on it. He immediately turned away. If he missed the last bus, he wouldn’t make it back to the village in time. But just as he passed by, a hand suddenly grabbed his arm and yanked him back. The pain made “Rin” hiss through his teeth.

“What the hell—?” he growled, already turning to snap at the stranger, only to be silenced by a voice cold and steady, like a frozen lake:

“Come with me to the hospital.”

“…??”

“Rin” frowned, clearly suspicious, his patience already thin. Who even was this guy? So what if he was good-looking? Probably crazy.

“I’m busy. I’ll miss my bus.” His voice was flat, almost insulting. He jerked his arm away, ready to leave.

But then—

“100,000 yen. For a DNA test. With me.”

His footsteps faltered. That number halted every sarcastic thought in his brain. A hundred thousand yen? He almost laughed. Of course. This guy must think they were long-lost brothers or something, and wanted to confirm it with a test. It made sense—they looked nearly identical. It was absurd. A scoff nearly slipped from his lips, but that number—it hung in the air like a noose, tightening around his neck.

Right now, "Rin" needed money. Every path he’d taken to survive was a struggle. Even if he won first place in today’s competition, the prize was barely 20,000 yen. A hundred thousand yen—that was nearly half a year of food and tuition. “Rin” lifted his head, meeting that icy blue gaze. Those eyes looked like they could see right through a person. But he didn’t flinch. His voice was clear and steady:

“Cash. Upfront.”

The red-haired man stiffened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. But then he nodded, firm and sure:

“Alright.”

.

.

Sitting in a luxurious car that clearly cost more than a little pocket change, "Rin" suddenly felt... kind of stupid. No—really stupid. He had just gotten into a stranger’s car for… 100,000 yen? One hundred thousand! He snuck a glance around at the pristine, high-end interior, wondering if he had just unknowingly signed up to sell his organs.

It wasn’t until his fingers brushed against the neat stack of bills inside his backpack—cold, crisp, and real—that some of the panic eased from his chest.

It’s fine, he told himself. Normal people don’t take you to a hospital if they’re planning to harvest your organs. His expression twitched. The guy’s face wasn’t bad either—actually, kind of decent-looking. He seemed… respectable. Okay. Calm down. Stop scaring yourself.

While he was still wrestling with the tornado of thoughts in his head, the car pulled into the entrance of a high-end private hospital. “Rin” instantly went on high alert. He silently committed the route to memory, along with the license plate and the driver’s face.

Everything after that happened fast—blood samples, tests, consent forms, more waiting. He hadn’t expected something that sounded like a joke to drag on this long. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier, and just as he was about to doze off in the waiting chair, the final door finally opened.

The red-haired man—Itoshi Sae—walked over to the doctor and murmured something in a low, even tone. “Rin” didn’t catch a word of it. His eyes had drifted toward the window instead. The sky was fading into twilight, the sun painting the clouds in soft reds and golds. At least he didn’t have any classes tomorrow—getting home late wouldn’t be a big deal.

Then he felt it—a gaze on his back. He turned his head.

There, standing just across from him, was a version of himself—older, colder, and wearing an expression that was impossible to read. Inside those eyes flickered surprise, confusion, and something vague and unsure.

Then that stranger opened his mouth.

“Let’s go home.”

“…??”

Home?

“Rin” stared at the man like he had just spoken in a foreign language. His brain, already fried from everything that had happened today, was on the verge of shutting down. He stood frozen, blinking up at the stranger as if he were seeing a ghost.

Home had long become a foreign concept to him.

Ever since losing his parents, “Rin” had spent nearly two months at a rescue center. Once he had recovered enough to move around, he returned to the only place he had ever called home—the one that had once been warm and filled with laughter. With the thin body of a 14-year-old and the help of a few kind neighbors, he spent three months rebuilding the little house. It wasn’t perfect, but it kept out the sun and rain. It was enough.

The first night he slept alone in that quiet house, he dreamed of his parents.

They were holding each other and crying. His mother stroked his hair and wiped his tears with the hands he remembered so well. His father said nothing—he simply pulled the two of them into his arms and held on tight.

“Rin” couldn’t remember how long he cried in that dream, or what he said, but when he woke, his pillow was wet. His heart, though, felt just a little bit lighter. From that day onward, he kept living. Alone—but no longer lonely.

So when the red-haired stranger casually said “Let’s go home,” all “Rin” could do was stare at him in stunned silence. Itoshi Sae let out a sharp, irritated sigh.

“Ch’… Itoshi Rin, you are my younger brother. I’m your brother—Itoshi Sae. Remember that. Now let’s go. I’ll explain later.”

His voice sounded distant, like it was echoing from the other end of a tunnel. “Rin” stood still, brain lagging behind, overwhelmed by data he couldn’t process.

So in the end, he just… followed.

Blank-faced, numb, he trailed after the man and walked straight into the grand Itoshi residence like a hollow shell.

.

So it turned out that—years ago—because of his mother’s poor health, his father had scraped together all their savings to bring her to a major hospital in the city for childbirth. By sheer coincidence, the Itoshi family’s mother had also been admitted to that very hospital for prenatal care.

Two infants, two different surnames—yet due to an unthinkable mistake, the hospital had switched them at birth. Neither family had any idea. The Itoshi family had lived in ignorance, everything seemingly fine, until four years ago. That was when their younger son went in for a routine medical checkup and discovered his blood type was B—completely different from the family’s type A.

That discovery triggered everything. They began digging through every record, launching a full investigation into the hospital’s past. But for four years, there were no leads. No progress. Until today. A moment of coincidence. A glance that lingered. An unexplainable feeling. A casual suggestion to run a DNA test.

And then…
Everything finally became clear.

For the first time, “Rin” heard the words he never dared hope to hear:
“These are your biological parents.”

His entire body froze, as though struck by lightning. Something twisted violently in his gut—a strange, chaotic surge, like a storm had erupted within his chest. “Rin” bent over slightly, his face contorting, unsure whether to laugh or cry. His body trembled uncontrollably—not from fear, but from a faint, almost dreamlike joy at the realization that he wasn’t alone in this world anymore... mixed with a gut-wrenching grief for the parents he had lost.

He slowly looked up at the couple standing in front of him—his birth parents. A fragile sliver of hope sparked within him:
Would there be warmth in their eyes?
A soft smile?
An open embrace?

But the moment his gaze met theirs, his heart went cold.

There was no love.
Only unfamiliarity. Wariness.
And… discomfort.

No welcoming arms. No tears of joy. No smiles.
In fact, their eyes held something closer to…
The entire world of “Rin” crumbled again.

Just as their lips parted—about to speak—a sharp crash echoed from the corner of the room, snapping everyone’s attention toward it.

“Rin” turned his head—and this time, it was his own breath that caught.

A boy, around his age, stood frozen. His hand was trembling, and at his feet lay a shattered mug shaped like a guinea pig—broken into jagged pieces. It was a beautiful face, with gentle, clear eyes that instantly reminded “Rin” of his mother’s—always overflowing with love. The features were softer, but the strong eyebrows and the tall bridge of his nose were identical to his father’s.

It was uncanny. It was painful.

“Rin” stood frozen. Every muscle in his body went rigid with shock. He felt like an outsider—like a misplaced copy, thrown into a world that had no space for him.

The boy, eyes shimmering with tears and lips trembling, didn’t say a word. He simply turned and bolted upstairs.

No one had to tell him. Itoshi Sae immediately chased after his younger brother. His face—normally calm and composed—was now filled with alarm, and every step he took up the stairs seemed to tear through the suffocating air in the room.

Even their biological parents—who had just found their long-lost son—paused only briefly before hurrying after their “real” child.

And just like that, “Rin” was alone.

He stood there, small and stiff in the middle of an unfamiliar, grand mansion, like an uninvited guest. Unwanted. Unwelcome. Within less than a minute of being “reunited,” the family had turned their backs on him.

What a joke.

“Rin” bit his lip hard, vision beginning to blur. He told himself it was fine, that he didn’t care. But his heart was screaming for the one thing he never stopped longing for: love.

He didn’t know how long he stood there. His toes had gone numb from not moving. Maybe twenty minutes passed. Eventually, he began convincing himself to leave—that staying was a mistake. That he’d let himself believe in an illusion.

But then—footsteps echoed from the stairs. It was Mr. Itoshi. His biological father. The man descended slowly, with a tired, strained posture. When their eyes met, he hesitated—as if taken aback. Then, as if recalling something, he continued walking forward. His gaze was sharp. Cold. Not angry, but far from warm. There was a quiet scrutiny in his eyes—perhaps even doubt. Then he spoke, voice flat and unwavering:

"Alright. You can stay here. But don’t ever think of yourself as the owner of this house."

The words hit like a blade of ice. He continued, without pause:
"Kia is still our son. I hope you can live peacefully with him."

That was it. No apology. No open arms. No trace of paternal warmth. He turned away, called a servant to arrange a room for “Rin,” and walked straight out of the house.

And so—“Rin,” the boy who had been returned to the family that shared his blood, began a new life in the Itoshi household.

A place he belonged to…
But where no one truly wanted him. .

.

.

“Rin” had once desperately yearned for the love of this family. But after just one month, he already wanted to give up. “Rin” wasn’t stupid—he had been the top student in his village school, more than smart enough to realize his real place in this house: he wasn’t a son, and certainly not the long-lost younger brother they had dreamed of for fifteen years.

On the surface, the Itoshi family looked like the perfect model: loving parents, a doting older brother.
But the one they doted on wasn't “Rin.”

It was Itoshi Kia—the boy who had been with them for all fifteen years.

Deep down, “Rin” knew he couldn’t really blame them. If he were in their place, he’d probably choose the child who had always been by their side too—the one they had poured all their unconditional love and devotion into raising. But the way they treated him like he was invisible, like he had never existed—
That still hurt.

There was a time “Rin” confronted them. Asked directly.
All he got in return was an irritated glare and a voice so cold it made his blood freeze:

“Letting you live here is more than enough. Don’t delude yourself—you’ll never replace Kia.”

But “Rin” had never wanted to replace anyone.
He just wanted to be heard.
Just wanted someone—just once—to look at him with gentle eyes.

“Rin” knew Kia always targeted him. He wasn’t oblivious. But he didn’t hate Kia. Kia already had everything. Then “Rin” showed up—bringing with him an unspoken threat that forced Kia to protect what was his.
That was instinct. “Rin” understood that.

He just… was tired of the game.

.

.

Then one day, the Itoshi family held a celebration. A “reunion party.” Kia’s idea.

Kia said “Rin” needed to be recognized. The Itoshi parents, pleased with Kia’s “thoughtfulness,” grew even more displeased, assuming he must have overheard something unpleasant from “Rin.”

The party began in glittering lights and cheerful laughter. But “Rin” curled up in a shadowed corner.

His eyes, hollow, scanned the room—everyone was a stranger.
He wanted to go home.
Not to the house of Mr. Itoshi Kai and Mrs. Itoshi Mina.
But to his real home—where his parents had loved him unconditionally.

He had to leave.
Because this place… had never been his home.

.

.

Amid the chatter and music, Kia approached him. Still polite, perfectly dressed, and with a question that sounded almost casual—almost natural:

“Those two old peasants really raised you to be this useless, huh?”

Kia’s voice was light and bored, but each word stabbed into “Rin’s” ears like knives. He froze, his body tightening, his eyes darkening. His breath hitched—sharp and strained.

“Their names are Dad Itoshi Ryu and Mom Itoshi Inari,” “Rin” hissed, voice low and trembling with rage. “They are your parents. Show them some respect.”

Kia laughed. A cold, mocking sound.

“Respect?” He tilted his head—eyes that carried their mother’s softness now glinting with something poisonous. “They’re just two worthless farmers. You seriously think people like that deserve respect? Wake up. The poor will always belong under other people’s feet.”

The fury in “Rin” boiled over. His hands shook violently, heart pounding like war drums. But Kia wasn’t finished. Raising his wine glass with casual grace, he spoke slowly, savoring each word as if he were sipping a fine vintage—one made of “Rin’s” pain.

“Good thing they’re dead. I swear, I would’ve disowned them anyway. I’m not taking back some pathetic excuse of parents like that. Absolutely disgusting.”

That single sentence was like a fuse being lit. All the memories of his parents came flooding back like a storm—wild, unstoppable.

Of the rural man who always shuffled quietly in his worn-out slippers so he wouldn’t wake his child from sleep.
Of the woman whose hands were rough with calluses but who stroked her son’s hair with the gentleness of the whole world.
Of their laughter. Of the simple dinners in a tattered tin-roofed house that still felt warmer than any grand palace ever could.

The love “Rin” held for his adoptive parents had never once faded, never once fallen short of the love they had poured into him. Even the name “Rin” itself was a quiet testament to that love.

When he was six years old, “Rin” had once looked up with wide, curious eyes and asked Mom Inari:

“Mama, why did you name me Rin?”

Mom Inari had only smiled softly, smoothing down his messy hair as she began to tell the story:

“When I was about to give birth to you, your father panicked so badly he forgot everything. He left the rice fields, even though it was harvest season, and ran straight to the hospital to be with me. When you finally let out your first cry, he sighed with relief… But when the doctor asked for your name for the birth certificate, he was so flustered he fainted right there in the waiting room.”

She had chuckled at that point. On the bed, Dad Ryu’s face flushed red with embarrassment as he coughed awkwardly and mumbled:

“They kept rushing me to give a name… I panicked, so I just… combined the first letters of your mom’s name and mine. ‘Rin.’ Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Mom Inari had then gently cradled “Rin” in her arms, her voice like a lullaby:

“Rin, your dad and I never wished for anything more than for you to grow up in peace. Wherever you go, whatever you choose to do—just carry our hopes with you, soar high, and see the world. And if you stumble, if you fail… don’t be afraid. Because your father and I will always be with you. Whatever happens, we’ll carry it for you.”

And they had. They truly had carried it all—for him. With their lives.

Those people—so warm, so tender, so full of patience and love—were the kind of parents anyone would bow their head in respect for.

And yet now, their biological child… felt relief?
Even felt lucky, that they were no longer alive ?

“Rin” said nothing more.

He sprang up like a cornered animal, lunging straight at Kia, grabbing his collar and slamming his head down against the glass table. The impact echoed, sharp and sickening.

“You—!” Kia cried out in pain, but was immediately drowned beneath the fury in “Rin”’s eyes.

The first punch landed squarely on his cheek. Whatever was left of reason had long since been choked out. All that remained was a single, blinding instinct: make him pay.

Panic erupted around them—shattered glass, screams, chaos.

Kia struggled, but it was useless against the strength born from a year of suffocating rage. “Rin” kept punching—again and again—until blood mixed with tears, until Kia’s handsome face was twisted and unrecognizable.

Only when a sharp, sudden pain slammed into his lower back did “Rin” falter. He collapsed backwards, coughing, clutching his waist. Through the blur of blood and tears, he saw… Itoshi Sae. His older brother. Pale-faced, still gripping the chair he had struck with. Horror. Anger. A searing, burning disappointment in his eyes.

“Rin…” Sae murmured, but his voice cracked halfway through.

From behind, Mr. and Mrs. Itoshi burst in. They rushed straight to Kia, wrapping their arms around his trembling form, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

No one looked at “Rin”. Not even once.

He pushed himself up, staggering to his feet. Blood still trickled from the corner of his lips. Kia was sobbing like a child, face distorted and pathetic.

How laughable, “Rin” thought. The "real" son was being protected. And him?
He glanced around the room, once. Then, without a word, he raised his foot and brought it down hard on Kia’s ankle.

A scream tore through the air—raw and broken—just as Sae’s second punch landed.

The two brothers fell into a struggle, though it was never a fair fight. Sae was stronger, trained, composed. “Rin” fought back, but he was slowing down, weakening with each blow.

In the end, all “Rin” could do was curl up, arms shielding his head, like a stray cat cornered by wild dogs.
This wasn’t punishment anymore. It was abandonment. Humiliation. A sentence passed without trial. And when the sound of sirens pierced the air, when Kia was lifted onto a stretcher, comforted by whispered words from his mother, fingers tightly held by his father...

“Rin” was still lying there. Breathing hard. No one came to lift him up.

For a brief second, he closed his eyes.
And smiled. So faintly he couldn’t even hear it himself.

Chapter Text

Rin woke up from the cold, his head buzzing uncomfortably, he had just experienced a dream, no, it must have been a fast-forwarded life, the life of another “Itoshi Rin”, he witnessed “Rin” grow up brightly then fall into pieces, also witnessed “Rin” pick up each broken piece, carry the pain and move on, accidentally found his real family then was abused by that family, finally “Rin is” driven mad by Kia's insulting words towards him deceased parents.

Rin felt a headache, at least that "Rin" really hit the adopted son, he was not wronged.

So why is he here now?? Rin needs to go back, the World Cup is coming, PXG needs him, Loki must be panicking right now, hoping Charles won't cry, as for the cockroach Shidou, he might be celebrating his absence. Task, Rin clicked his tongue. All around was a quiet black patch, he was really angry to the point of fainting, now he was lying on a pile of rubble in the middle of the night. This must be the darkest day in the history of No.1 BlueLock's life, even though his body was aching, his brain still told him to get up, if he stayed here he would definitely catch a cold. Stumbling to his feet, his whole body was as weak as running 25 laps with Loki, with no other choice, he dragged himself step by step back into the broken warehouse before, a smart person definitely wouldn't be wandering around in the middle of the night, now he needed to calm down and think of a plan to return.

As he stepped through the rotten wooden door under his feet, the sound of the wood cracking rang out as if mocking his powerlessness. Rin just clicked his tongue, slowly sat down on the tattered carpet and felt ridiculous, should he still stick to the idea of ​​cutting up the body and wrapping it in a mattress to bury it, when the target was Itoshi Sae – the real brother of “Itoshi Rin”… Of course, after all, this was not his brother, and even if it was the real Itoshi Sae, he would still consider it. The proud brain of No.1 BlueLock started working at full capacity, first of all, this did not seem to be a dream, no dream could be so real that it was a dream; secondly, Rin was really trapped in another Itoshi Rin’s body, even an Itoshi in another world or dimension, Rin completely doubted that there were people who were the same, even in the same place without knowing each other; The third thing is that Rin has absolutely no idea how to return to her original self. This is the most important thing, Rin suddenly remembers a time when Charles - who was extremely curious about Japanese culture was seduced by the damn golden cockroach Shidou and given a brainless love book, Rin doesn't know why when she was tied to a chair and forced to listen to that worthless nonsense with Charles. The main content revolves around the real young master being swapped since childhood, returning to the real house, being treated unfairly and gradually conquering his parents, siblings, fiance, friends... with some kind of sincere love. Rin only remembers that after that, Rin kicked 3 balls in a row towards Shidou, one of which hit him straight in the face, making Rin very satisfied.

Thinking about the content of the damned web novel, Rin suddenly felt ridiculous. Could it be that he was really “summoned” here to please his family? If that was true, then this world should be destroyed. Rin coldly thought.

Although the most urgent thing now is to find a way to return to his original self, Rin's mind can't help but drift back to what he witnessed in his dream. To be honest, he feels that this "Rin" is not completely different from him, there is something that makes him feel familiar, the same appearance, familiar relatives, erratic temperament and especially the twisted, twisted desire for love. Rin understands that feeling, although in BlueLock he is the No.1 admired by everyone, even Isagi once said: "BlueLock without Rin is no longer BlueLock!", and after the Neo Egoist League (NEL) campaign, Rin became famous worldwide, no one can deny the strength and talent of this arena control genius anymore, but in the 16 years of his life before that, Rin was just a shadow of the Japanese treasure - Itoshi Sae. So he clearly understood the feeling of wanting to prove, to be acknowledged, to be loved of this “Itoshi Rin”. Rin frowned, in any world was he this miserable??

Rin doesn't want to live someone else's life, even if it's living the life of another Itoshi Rin, he wants to return to his world, he has to return, he still hasn't killed Isagi, hasn't overthrown Sae, hasn't been able to completely defeat himself... HE HAS TO RETURN.

Rin's eyes flashed with fierce determination, nothing could stop the No.1 striker, not Sae, not "Rin", and certainly not this damn world.

His brain continued to work, he began to make assumptions about the supernatural opportunities in reality that could help him return. It must be said, Rin's mental strength was not mediocre, normal people when brought to another world would have completely collapsed, even people with strong mentality would be shaken by the cruel reality. But Rin was not like that, not today.

The first method is, as usual, the craziest and most dangerous: Kill himself.

Rin believed that the biggest reason why he was dragged into this absurd event was because the “Itoshi Rin” here had given up his life, and accidentally made him appear to clean up this mess. Therefore, the possibility was that when Rin also ended it himself, he would be able to return, as for whether there would be another Itoshi Rin taking his place, Rin didn’t care, God bless that unlucky guy. However, the risk was of course also great, if he couldn’t return, there was a high chance that he would put his own head on the guillotine, Rin had no intention of giving up his life. However, this would be the strongest backup plan, if he couldn’t really find a solution, he would try, after all, Rin wouldn’t be afraid of anything.

Option 2: Remembering what the damn novel described, although in the end, Rin was impatient to listen to the ending of the series, but Rin vaguely remembered that his biological son had achieved his wish. Perhaps if Rin could achieve the wish of this body, then he would also have a chance to return? But thinking that the wish of his real son could be to use his feelings to conquer this entire world made Rin frown in disgust, if that was really the case, then he could only directly choose option one to be quick. Then he suddenly remembered the last look in “Itoshi Rin’s eyes” before he passed out, it was not a look of expectation, it was not a look of longing for love and recognition at all, it was a look of giving up everything, completely numb.

Rin sneered, at least he himself was not an idiot in this world. So what was the true desire of this body? Rin's mind rewinded to a pile of ruins, three small people hugging each other, hugging a small hope of life.

“Rin... promise with us, you have to live, live well, please... promise...”

“Wa...wa...I promise...I promise..”

Rin frowned slightly, then his eyebrows slowly relaxed, his turquoise eyes flashing something, sharper and more dangerous. Okay, this one seemed easier.

Okay, the last option: Eat your fill and wait to die, this option really made Rin laugh, in other words, it was quite similar to the first backup option, except that Rin would wait for things to happen naturally, if he was lucky he would be able to return, if he was unlucky he wouldn't. Rin immediately shook his head, this wasn't his style, this kind of thing was more suitable for some giant white bear.

Alright, it was obvious that he had no other choice. Alright, at least he had a direction now, Rin thought and slowly falling asleep.

The sun gradually appeared above the treetops, scattering broken rays of sunlight on the dewy ground. Rin opened his eyes and woke up, his vision gradually clearing to show the entire damp warehouse.

“It’s really not a dream.” Rin muttered, standing up, feeling every muscle screaming in pain, causing his delicate eyebrows to furrow tightly. This pain was completely different from the fatigue and pain caused by overtraining, but Rin could bear it. In order to quickly stabilize his body, Rin started to do some gentle body relaxation steps. When he was in BlueLock, he also often woke up on time to do Yoga and the necessary stretching before starting the hellish training day at BlueLock, and usually that bastard Isagi would also follow, mumbling something about No.1’s training methods. Today, being alone for the first time made Rin feel strange for a moment, then suddenly felt a little angry. It was all because that bastard Isagi always bothered him!!!

After about 20 minutes of light relaxation, his body also calmed down a bit, however these bruises would probably last at least another 5, 6 days. Rin was fine, Rin never complained to anyone or about anything.

As his body relaxed, the daily demands of life arose, and Rin's stomach began to protest against fasting. To be honest, Rin was not a person who followed a healthy eating schedule, he often skipped meals to train more, some times by accident, the rest because he didn't care. However, every now and then, Isagi and Bachira would drag him out to dinner without permission, or Chigiri and Reo would start babbling about the seriousness of skipping meals, despite his fierce stares, until he paused his activities to walk towards the cafeteria, even Nagi would occasionally share her energy jelly, placed on his towel and training gear.

Rin shook his head slightly, getting rid of irrelevant thoughts. Now was not the time to be sad or anything. The most important thing was that he needed to recharge his energy right now. This damn body was much weaker than the original.

Rin started to walk out of the warehouse. Yesterday was too dark, he could only see part of this place. Now, under the light of the morning, the hidden corners from yesterday were completely revealed. This was a standard warehouse, about 80 square meters in area, in front was a large yard containing a pile of miscellaneous, messy items, in front of the house was a relatively large empty plot of land, behind was a garden overgrown with weeds.

It was disgustingly beautiful, Rin just frowned and hobbled forward. There was a fence surrounding the house, 1.5 meters high, yesterday Sae turned into it and disappeared. Mentioning Sae only made Rin more upset, yesterday he really got slapped by Itoshi Sae, although this Sae was not his brother Sae, but that did not reduce his anger at all. Walking out of the empty land, Rin saw a large modern house at the end of the street, Rin had no intention of going there. According to this body's "memory", that was the Itoshi family's house, it seemed that after beating him that day, Sae threw "Rin" out to this junkyard, without any mercy. Rin turned his head and walked in the opposite direction. Luckily, he still had his phone. This phone was bought when he was 15 years old while studying and working. “Rin” bought it to support his studies and work. The current account balance was 119,720 yen, of which 100,000 was the money that Sae first gave him for the DNA test. Luckily, he had some money on hand. Otherwise, Rin would be the unlucky one who would either starve to death or have to step into that money-losing house to eat for free. The not-so-bright thought made Rin’s stomach churn and feel extremely uncomfortable.

Following his memory, Rin went to a small restaurant and ordered a bowl of hot noodles. Although there were quite a few gossips and the shop owner's perfunctory inquiries about the bruises, the news of the newly adopted son assaulting his adopted son had already spread far and wide. People didn't want to comment on the Itoshi family so they tacitly ignored the matter. That was fine, Rin didn't intend to explain anything to anyone, it didn't matter.

After finishing his meal, he felt a little better, stood up to pay and bought a take-out portion, he really needed to recover his strength but his body's stomach was like a cat's, he was afraid that it would be able to digest everything in less than 2 hours. But as soon as he stepped out the door, he wanted to pull his feet back immediately.

It was Kia – according to his memory, the adopted son of the Itoshi family, walking this way, looking like he had just returned from the hospital. Rin had no intention of getting involved in this so early, but the heavens seemed to hate “Rin” or even Rin, before he could turn away and not acknowledge the person, Kia hurriedly shouted:

“Rin!! Is that Rin! Wait!?”

Damn, wouldn't it look cowardly if he shrank back now? So Rin didn't care at all, walking towards the warehouse, completely ignoring the calls from behind. Ridiculous, telling him to stop would make him stop immediately, unreasonable. Rin didn't pay attention but the adopted son completely couldn't catch up with his brainwaves, hastily hopping after him, after all Rin was injured, couldn't walk fast, otherwise with the physical strength of No.1 BlueLock, even 10 Kias wouldn't be able to catch up with him, that is if Rin wasn't in this crippled body. Kia caught up, panting, unable to speak:

“Rin, wait... hey...”

The guy reached out to pull him back, Rin reacted immediately, clap his hand away, his face cold:

“Don't touch me.”

The blow wasn't that strong, but Kia's whole body shook as if it was about to fall, he swayed, almost falling backwards. At this moment, a panicked voice from behind hurriedly shouted:

“Watch out!!” Then a nimble figure supported Kia from behind, when he saw the person clearly, the corner of Rin’s mouth started to twitch, no way, the charcoal blue hair with two wisps of hair wagging, the deep blue eyes staring angrily, who else but his opponent from the other world – Isagi Yoichi, was currently directing a dissatisfied gaze towards him. Alright, you win. Rin sighed, today he didn’t want to meet anyone who reminded him of his life, it would only push him to buy a knife to immediately stab himself or someone else in the stomach. This world, it’s fine to be destroyed.

“What are you doing? Kia is still injured!” Isagi asked, his angry voice directed at Rin, while gently helping Kia up, brushing off the invisible layer of dirt on his body. Please, his body was still a meter away from the road, what was there to brush off. Rin only glanced, disdainful to the point of not bothering to reply, just as he stomped his steps to prepare to continue walking, Kia spoke up again, his voice trembling as if he had just suffered some great injury.

“Rin, I know you hate me, it's all my fault, don't blame your parents and brother, just blame me, you can do whatever you want to me... hit me... scold me... whatever...”

Rin stared then suddenly waved his hand, Kia quickly shouted and jumped back, bumping into Isagi making both of them stagger, Rin curled his lips, mocking:

"If you want to fight, then fight. You retreat faster than a turtle. How shameful."

Kia gritted his teeth, his face flushed red, the memory of Rin banging his head on the table still vividly appeared like a psychological shadow, making him unconsciously falter. His eyes were filled with tears, he appeared to be indignant, his eyes looked down, and he spoke with a trembling voice:

“I'm sorry... I just... I...”

At this moment, Isagi stepped forward, pulled Kia behind him, protected her like a loyal guard, his blue eyes and lips were fiery, staring at Rin:

“That's rude, apologize to Kia quickly, or I won't be polite.”

Rin opened his eyes wide, staring at the scene before him. According to his short memory of nearly a year, “Rin” had met Isagi a few times. The first time was fine, and the two of them spoke relatively politely. Only the second time did Isagi’s attitude completely change, becoming much more fierce. Even with a knee, he knew the reason why. In conclusion, this world’s Isagi was just Kia’s loyal dog. This made Rin feel both new and extremely disappointed. Isagi Yoichi, his opponent, was a true egoist, a person with extremely high adaptability but always kept his own instincts and goals. He could play with his teammates but could also win the final goal by himself. Not depending on anyone, unlike now, this Isagi couldn’t arouse Rin’s competitive spirit, this was just a waste of his time.

“What are you going to do? Hit me?”

Isagi was speechless, he was not a violent person, he did not expect Rin to bite him back, although they did not have much contact, but in his eyes Rin was not such a sharp person, Rin was a timid person who even had a tendency to flatter, always pleasing everyone. Rin's sudden change in attitude made Isagi feel suffocated and uncomfortable.

“I... I don't care, you have to apologize to Kia right away.” Isagi was still stubborn, speaking in a dignified manner.

“Listen…” Rin crossed his arms, the overwhelming sense of superiority of No.1 BlueLock appeared, completely overwhelming Isagi’s aura, his turquoise eyes lit up with dangerous rays “First, this crazy guy deliberately approached me, use your head, If you know I don’t want to interact with you, why are you still coming so close, do you want to get beaten up? Second, who the hell are you to order me around, what kind of a crazy guy is this, ridiculous. Third and most importantly, it’s best to keep this damn thing as far away as possible, I don’t like him, next time I see him, I’ll break his legs, you piece of trash.”

...

Isagi was stunned, completely unable to digest what Rin had just said, for a moment he felt very strange. Kia was also startled, this was completely different from the Rin of the past, the Rin of the past did not have this kind of momentum at all, even at the party last time, when he lost control, he only used pure violence, there was no verbal attack at all. The two people facing each other stood there like statues, their mouths open wanting to say something but the choking feeling in their throats completely made them speechless.

Clap... clap... The sound of clapping echoed in the stuffy atmosphere, all three people turned towards the direction of the sound.

“Very interesting speech, seems like the punishment was too light for you?”

Rin and Kia's expressions completely changed. Rin's face turned colder while Kia's face looked aggrieved and dependent, like a drowning person grasping a pole.

Itoshi Sae.

Rin said nothing, okay, today is not his day.

Sae walked over to Kia, patted his shoulder lightly, and nodded to Isagi beside her, who responded with a wry smile.

“Nii-chan…” The call was filled with mist, Rin suddenly felt goosebumps all over her body, and shivered slightly. But Sae was different, she seemed to enjoy this form of address. Now that Rin knew that the person in front of her was not Itoshi Sae, the person she needed to destroy, she felt absolutely no emotion, only hatred and impatience.

Sae comforted Kia with her eyes, then looked at her younger brother with displeasure and calmly said:

“I'll give you a chance, apologize to Kia now, or else...”

Rin interrupted.

“Alright, you guys don't even want to change lines. Itoshi Sae, it's good that you're here, let's get this over with.”

Sae was naturally annoyed by the interruption, but didn't say anything, waiting to see what kind of farce Rin was planning.

Rin didn't care at all, he had already thought about this problem while preparing breakfast. "Rin" wanted to live well as his parents expected, Rin could temporarily do it for him, the first thing to live well was definitely not to be involved in this mess anymore, so Rin chose the simplest way to solve the problem.

“First, prepare a letter Sever personal relations, I cut off all personal ties with you, not the other way around. Second, my belongings, within one day, be returned to me, nothing missing and nothing extra. Third, it’s best if we don’t see each other again in the future, or if you move away, or if we accidentally see each other, please treat each other as strangers.”

Rin slowly spoke each word, completely immune to everything. Sae frowned, what was this guy going crazy about again.

“What are you doing crazy again? Stop being so unreasonable. This trick won't work.”

Rin felt that talking to brainless people was tiring, they were really fake, although he didn't want to admit it, his real brother suddenly became much more approachable than these psychopaths.

Rin said directly:

“Stop, stop, stop, don’t think about anything. I’m giving you a radical solution to the problem, if you keep stalling, I’ll think you’re holding me back. Don’t you see how eagerly your good brother is waiting for you to agree?”

Being pointed out, Kia's gloating gaze quickly retracted, but the person next to him had already seen it. Sae didn't say anything, just stared at Rin, examining her, then slowly opened her mouth:

“If you are playing the soft-tie game then...”

Rin raised his hand to rub his head, extremely impatient and snapped:

“Fuck, you guys either don’t understand human language or don’t want to use your brain, you idiots. Option one: you agree, and there’s no fucking ‘option two.’ I’m informing you, not negotiating.”

Sae felt a little strange, feeling like his real brother was either crazy or playing a game with him, but Rin's attitude of not caring about anyone made his whole body burn, the two identical blue eyes looked like they were emitting sparks, but reason won out, he only left one sentence: "Tell dad and mom about this directly." Then he turned around and got into the Lambo parked nearby, waving to Kia. Kia only dared to look at Rin furtively before hurriedly following.

Rin felt he was getting closer to the first backup plan, he was bored and his patience had hit rock bottom, these guys really didn't understand human language.

When he looked up and met the familiar blue eyes, Rin raised his eyebrows, why hasn't Isagi left yet?

Isagi had been completely silent since Rin had insulted him, except for nodding to Sae earlier, he had been completely invisible during the fight just now. Rin didn't want to waste words, he continued walking, the bowl of noodles from earlier was almost completely digested, he needed to recharge his energy quickly. Isagi looked at the limping figure in front of him, his heart was completely in turmoil, this Rin was different, very different, making him feel uneasy, he wanted to run after him, wanted to ask clearly why Rin had become like this but "Who the hell are you??" His voice was deeply engraved in his mind, that's right, he was nothing, what qualifications did he have. Isagi's eyes were blank, looking at Rin's increasingly smaller figure, for the first time in his life he felt extremely helpless.

-------------------------------------------

Stepping into the warehouse yard, Rin could only widen her eyes, feeling that seeing Shidou everyday was even more pleasant.

Even though Sae had said he would go talk to his parents himself, he hadn't exactly expected to see them face to face. Alright, the second bowl of noodles would probably have to wait a while, hopefully it wouldn't get cold. Rin thought to himself as he walked in, facing his biological parents.

Chapter Text

Facing the three men and one woman before him, Rin felt his eyelid twitch uncontrollably. Though he knew these weren’t his real parents, the uncanny resemblance to his actual family made his stomach churn. Mr. Itoshi Kai looked at Rin with an extremely displeased expression, Mrs. Itoshi Mina gently held Kia's hand, patting and comforting him, while Itoshi Sae just silently looked at Rin, not saying a word, his expression unreadable.

The air thickened with unsaid words—awkward, suffocating, ripe with unspoken shame.

Itoshi Kai cleared his throat, voice dripping with forced calm. "Rin, I heard from Kia that—"

"Correct." Rin cut him off.

"Why would you—"

"I despise him."

"If this is some childish joke—"

"It’s not."

Kai’s jaw tightened, fury simmering beneath his skin. The patriarch’s authority was being challenged, and it burned. At this moment, Mrs. Mina beside him immediately patted her husband on the shoulder. He exhaled sharply and turned away.

“Rin, I know you were just being rebellious. But hitting Kia was completely wrong. Just apologize to him. We promise to treat you like before. Don’t be angry anymore. Listen to me please” She looked at him gently, but her words were full of superiority, as if she was giving him charity. Rin felt like his intelligence was being lowered. Really, these people didn’t understand what he said at all, or were simply mentally retarded.

"Mrs. Itoshi Mina." The name rolled off his tongue like ice, Mrs. Mina immediately feel uneasy. Rin had never called her in such a distant way before. He usually called her “Mom Mina” in a soft voice, but one time when he did that, Kia felt so disappointed that he cried, so she told him to call her “Mrs. Itoshi Mina” in front of Kia so that he wouldn’t feel wronged and abandoned. But Rin just looked at her silently, his sparkling turquoise eyes dimmed a bit. From then on, he didn’t call her “Mom Mina” anymore, and also completely avoided using the subject in his sentences. So now, hearing Rin call her with such an unfamiliar name made her panic.

Rin ignored her panic. "First," he said, "I’m sixteen. My ‘rebellious phase’ ended at twelve when I jumped off a roof chasing a bird that stole my only pencil. My real mother carried me two kilometers to the hospital, sobbing, while I gritted through a dislocated shoulder. That’s when I cut the rebellion out of me."

A beat. The room stiffened.

"Second," he continued, "I admit I hit him. But an apology? Don’t hold your breath. Maybe ask your precious Kia why he earned those punches—oh wait, you didn’t even ask, did you?"

Mina’s lips parted. She hadn’t. Looked at Kia lying on the ground in a panic, at that time her mood was only filled with extreme worry and pain, she completely didn’t consider this issue.

“But fighting is wrong anyway...” Madam Mina could only force herself to reply.

“Third.” Rin bulldozed over her, done with their moral grandstanding. “You want to ‘treat me like before’? Let’s recap: you shower your adopted golden child with love while giving your biological son the emotional warmth of a tax audit. That’s your ‘before’? Newsflash—I don’t do abuse, but I also don’t do charity for hypocrites.”

At this point, Mr. Itoshi Kai interrupted:

“He's all alone, Was a little compassion too much to ask, you selfish brat?” Spittle flew, his face flushing with performative outrage.

Rin turned slowly, locking onto the man’s turquoise eyes— that were exactly like his own. “Mr. Itoshi Kai,” he enunciated, “let me be crystal clear. You’ve done nothing for me. So wipe that ‘savior complex’ off your face—it’s disgusting.” Every syllable iced the room further. The family’s expressions curdled, Mina’s tearful gasp loud in the silence.

“How can you... say that? We are your parents!”

“Not after today.” Rin’s arms crossed, bored. “If you’re done whining, let’s get to business.”

“B-business?” she echoed, tears frozen in confusion.

“The paperwork.” A shark’s smile. “To legally sever ties. Or do you need Kia to explain it in crayon?”

Rin crossed his arms indifferently, completely wanting to end this drama. Rin was not stupid, he was completely unmoved by this mother’s face covered in frost. It had to be said that family ties were not as important to Rin as everyone thought. When he was in his world, Rin and his parents did not have much contact, ever since he had memories, he could not remember his parents’ faces at all, they were always busy with “work”, the number of times they met in a year was even rarer than his cups, the most familiar scene to Rin was the cold house, without warmth when he returned after school.

Rin’s childhood only had Sae, he considered Sae as his religion to follow, Sae was his god but then the world was torn into pieces, embedded in his heart in the thick snow that year. The two years that passed since Sae left were the darkest days for him, and Rin learned to live alone.

The long memories only made him uncomfortable. Shaking his head slightly, looking at the fake people in front of him, Rin felt that the bowl of noodles would have to wait a bit too long.

“You mistake the Itoshi name for a revolving door. You think of Itoshi's house as a place you can come and go as you please”

The voice—Sae’s voice—cut through the tension. Rin turned, meeting the gaze of this hollow replica. Same face. Same voice. Zero effect on his pulse.

“Regret picking me up yet?” Rin tilted his head, all mocking challenge.

Sae was silent, this sentence made him not know what to say.

Kai, ever the diplomat, bulldozed ahead: “Enough! You don’t need to apologize to Kia, but never pull this stunt again. You’re not one of us.”

“...”

Rin pinched the bridge of his nose. These people made kappa look like geniuses.

Rin was done being polite.

Everyone in Blue Lock knew the real No. 1 was a monster—one who could flay a man alive with words alone. Dealing with him required either: One was a skin thicker than a bunker wall - typically Isagi, Shidou or Charles, Two was A complete absence of brain cells, can mention by Bachira, Nagi—bless their hollow little heads.

To be exact, Rin didn't always point his finger at everyone, for example with Loki, he completely showed respect for this young genius, or with Reo or Chigiri, Rin also had his patience to a certain extent, even with Nanase, he could help point out the points that needed to be improved in the young man's soccer style.

But these people? They’d burned through his patience like kindling.

And now, they got nothing.

Kia trembled, his voice timid, hiding behind Mrs. Mina, whispered:

“How could Rin say that... it's too much...”

Rin's veins throbbed, damn, he really wanted to find a knife to stab this guy in the gut... Then it was his turn. Grinning his teeth, Rin said fiercely:

"One more word," Rin whispered, "and I’ll snap your other leg like a fucking twig."

Sae frowned, but Mr. Itoshi Kai couldn't hold back anymore, rushed in front of Rin, raised his hand to slap him. Who was Rin, yesterday he didn't understand the situation and was hit by Sae, making him feel uncomfortable until now, now someone wanted to hit him?

Not a change.

Rin simply leaned to the side. The old man lost his balance, by inertia, fell forward, directly hitting the broken car, groaning in pain. Mrs. Mina and Kia cried out in panic, hurriedly running to support him. Sae's face darkened, staring at Rin, gritting each word:

"You’ve gone too far," Sae growled.

Rin tilted his head. "Oh? You expected me to just stand there and take it?" A cold smirk. " that’s a nice dream. If you want to fight now, you should think twice. I don’t want to play cat and mouse with you guys. If you want to fight, bet your life on it. Life and death are predestined.” "

He meant it.

If they came at him, he’d drag one of them to hell with him.

Sae's eyes were complicated, completely unable to understand what the hell was going on, how much could a person change in just one night, could he really turn into such a different person.

"You’re insane," he hissed.

Rin’s grin turned unhinged. "Maybe. But this insane man’s giving you a gift—the chance to cut me loose. Cherish it. not everyone gets to be given such a good offer.”"

Kai, purple with rage, exploded:

"FINE! You ungrateful bastard—get the fuck out! This family doesn’t need a white-eyed wolf like you!"

Rin nodded in satisfaction, his eyes looking at Mr. Itoshi even had a hint of a smile.

“Alright, finally someone understands human language. God, talking to you all was literally shortening my lifespan."

Mrs. Mina looked at him painfully, stuttering and unable to speak.

Rin continued to speak leisurely: “Don't forget the second and third things I said, I hope you guys aren't so goldfish brained that you can't remember what they were.”

Sae just glared, saying nothing, Rin smiled, taking it as a sign of agreement, he shrugged.

“Today is Thursday, while it’s still office hours, let’s go now or we’ll be late.” His tone was high-pitched, even a little cheerful, as if he was inviting everyone to go to an amusement park, not to confirm the abandonment of a loved one.

Mina choked on tears. Sae stood frozen, fists clenched—powerless for the first time in his life.

Mr. Kai was so angry that he went crazy, his body swayed, and he shouted loudly:

“GO, motherfucker, go now.”

30 minutes later, Rin stared at the legal severance papers, satisfaction curling in his chest.

"Itoshi Rin is no longer legally bound to Kai, Mina, or Sae Itoshi."

Perfect.

The wasted noodles? Worth it.

Alright, it seems like the backup plan is not needed yet. Rin is in a good mood, and feels that now is the perfect time to go out for a celebratory meal. Thinking so, Rin walked straight ahead, not looking back at the gloomy family behind him.

Kia looked at the tall and thin back in front of him, his heart completely bewildered. Was that it? His opponent had surrendered? He tried to suppress his joy, appearing sad and helpless, and whispered softly:

“Why is Rin so stubborn? It's my fault...”

Mrs. Mina just gently hugged him, not saying anything. Mr. Kai muttered some vulgar words, Sae silently watched Rin's figure gradually move further away, the feeling of emptiness made him uneasy, for the first time in his life, Itoshi Sae didn't know what he should and needed to do.

Rin's shadow gradually became smaller and smaller, then disappeared.

"What’re you staring at?" Kai snarled. "That bastard was never one of us."

But Sae didn’t move.

For the first time, Itoshi Sae didn’t know what to do.

Rin was currently relaxing in the bathtub of a small inn, he sank deeper into the scalding water, hissing when it licked at his half-healed wounds. The pain was good—a reminder that he was alive, free, and finally untethered from that farce of a family.

Now came the real question:

What next?

"Living well" was a meaningless phrase. For some, it meant full bellies and warm beds. For others, conquest. There are too many possibilities that can happen, so Rin needs to carefully consider her choices.

For Rin? It had always been simple—soccer, and the annihilation of those who stood in his way.

The “Rin” of this world doesn’t seem to have much passion for soccer, perhaps partly because there isn’t a perfect Sae as an ideal model. The Sae of this world is no longer the soccer genius hailed as a treasure of Japan, he has become a relatively successful businessman, the Itoshi company is one of the famous sources of mineral and construction material distribution. In addition, “Rin” grew up with boundless love, even excessive pampering from his parents, so “Rin” as the beloved son of father Ryu and mother Inari, became a typical carefree child. Rin’s greatest joy is to “go and destroy” the village with his fellow villagers, however, the surprising thing is that Rin studies very well, even excellently, he is considered the pride of the small village.

Rin felt that continuing the path of being a good son and good student was meaningless, simply because he didn't want to waste time, he wanted to continue playing soccer, but there were too many obstacles, especially:

First, there was no suitable environment for his football development here. Although he didn't want to admit it, Ego and the damn BlueLock project were one of the few things that had made him happy in recent years. BlueLock had honed him, awakened his destructive football style, given him challenges, people who needed to be defeated. No Ego’s hellish crucible, no warzone of rivals sharpening his fangs. Just… nothing.

Second, there is no one in this world that he must “killed”, no Itoshi Sae, no Isagi Yoichi, not even Michael Kaiser, absolutely none. Or maybe there is someone with the same name, the same appearance but not the person Rin wants. A world without his demons was a world not worth dominating.

This is starting to get difficult for Rin.

Just as Rin was sinking into the bathtub, his eyes closed, completely relaxed, His fingers drummed against the tub’s edge. Think. There had to be—

BRRRRRRR

The loud sound of the old version of his phone rang, startling him. Rin didn't have the habit of using his phone while taking a bath, to be exact, ever since he entered BlueLock, Rin had barely touched his phone, if you were someone with a pitifully narrow social circle, you would realize that the phone wasn't as inseparable as people said. Even the last time he texted someone, let's see, was around after the match with Bastard, Isagi texted something like amazing, unbelievable, how could it be done! about his goal, Rin replied with the word "Lukewarm" and hung up, not caring anymore.

Yet now, the damn thing wouldn’t stop. In short, under the continuous beeping, Rin reluctantly stood up, wiped himself, and put on the simple pajamas he bought when he rented a motel.

While drying his hair, he tapped on his poor phone.

Four messages. Four different contacts.

From Itoshi Mina:

* "Rin, I’ll send you all your clothes and shoes.

Is there anything special you need? Just tell me.

Send me your bank details—I’ll transfer money. Don’t hurt yourself.

I’m not a good mother. Please don’t be angry with me ." *

Rin raised his eyebrows, feeling that it was ridiculous. "Rin" had been home for nearly a year, yet this woman didn’t even have his bank account. The only money he’d ever received was a one-time 100,000 yen from Sae—meanwhile, Kia’s weekly allowance was double that. The Itoshis weren’t poor. They were just selective with their generosity.

ToItoshiMina:
* "Just send the books and documents. I’ll burn the rest and dump the ashes at your doorstep." *

Then without a single wasted move, he was blacklisted.

Second message, well of course, Itoshi Sae:

From Itoshi Sae:

*” Give me your address and I will send it to you.

In addition, the first semester has been successfully registered and tuition paid, the admission notice will be sent, pay attention to the admission date and time.

Let me know if you need anything .”*

The last message was about 4.5 minutes later than the previous one, it seemed like the sender was also struggling a lot internally. Rin sneered, they were no longer anything to each other, so why did they show concern? Rin just felt that these people were fake, Rin didn't have time to play family love games with them. On the contrary, the second message made a slight impression on Rin. The first year Rin got his relatives back, he continued to study at his old school, when he finished junior high school with an excellent degree in hand, the Itoshi family arranged for him to enter a relatively good high school in Kanagawa prefecture, especially since this school was the school that Itoshi Kia was also studying at. Thinking of this, Rin's eyebrows also furrowed, he really didn't want to meet any members of the Itoshi family anymore, but... Rin glanced at the calendar on his phone, Monday was already the day of school, Rin had absolutely no chance to look for another school, moreover, since the tuition was already paid for him, he wasn't stupid enough to refuse. Thinking of this, Rin felt that everything seemed fine.

* To Itoshi Sae: “Send to the school dormitory.” *

Then also resolutely pulled into the blacklist, Rin did not soften, there was absolutely no such thing as psychological barrier at all.

The third message was a notification from Fuji Otakawa High School – the same school that Itoshi's family had enrolled in.

From Fuji Otakawa:

*”Dear Itoshi Rin, this is an automated message informing new students about the first day of the first semester of the K15 course. Please read and confirm the time and location of enrollment.

Class 1A3, lecture hall A, teaching area.

Time: 8:30 a.m. April 15, 2021. ”*

Rin remembered the time with the class and then scrolled down to the most recent texter, the name on the screen made him frown in confusion.

“GOOD FRIEND SHIDOU RYUSEI” is even bolded, in all caps.

Rin felt that this world must have gone crazy, really, “good friend” Shidou, that golden cockroach, maybe there was a lot of work today so his eyes were a bit tired. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath and slowly opened them, the big words “good friend” on the screen made him feel extremely sore. Okay, Rin wasn’t someone who liked to judge, not today. The “Rin” of this world first met Shidou about a month after being accepted into the Itoshi household, when he was already exhausted, tired of pleasing everyone, and then Shidou appeared, looking like he was mocking the world, he was like a breath of fresh air, becoming Rin’s first friend in this strange place. Shidou was 4 years older than Rin, currently working as an intern for Sae’s company, holding the position of secretary to the business director, don’t look at his frivolous appearance, Shidou was actually a person with quite good abilities in his specialized field. Shidou treated Rin very differently, not distant, not serious, and not at all contemptuous, Shidou gave off the feeling of a cheerful, friendly neighbor brother. “Rin” truly loved this friend.

This world was a joke.

Rin's skin crawled all over, his face contorted in an expression of nausea or horror, or both.

FromShidou:
*"Din Din, heard about you through Sae. Well done, baby!! Even though I like Sae, I’m disgusted by how he handled things. (Damn my face-reading habit.)

Don’t worry—Ryusei’s got your back. Blacklist them ALL.

P.S. You looked cool today!!! Dancing for u rn. 🕺

Welcome to new life!! Let’s eat ochazuke—MY treat!! (Don’t worry about my intern salary… it’s basically zero lol.)

P.P.S. Heard you’re at Fuji School. Got a junior there—I’ll tell him to ‘take care’ of you. 😉

Don’t love me too much. 😘 "*

The last message also included a series of winking and dancing icons, making Rin's mouth twitch continuously, this damn cockroach. This Shidou worked for Sae and still took Rin’s side?

But he felt a lot more relieved inside, this Shidou was new... but not too bad, in "Rin's" eyes, Shidou could be considered a good friend, Rin wasn't sure, although they were different, the guy's teasing attitude of wanting to fight made Rin feel connected to the old world, he typed back a sentence:

*” To Ryusei: Just don't cause me any trouble. ”*

Messages are read and responded to at the speed of light.

From Shidou:

* "Don’t worry, baby!! Din Din’s gonna love it here!!

P.S. Sae’s pissed today. God, his angry face is art. 😍

But Ryusei’s still on Team Din Din!!"*

Rin ignored it, went to bed, applied medicine to the wound, and went straight to sleep.

Fuji Otakawa High School is a relatively famous high school in Kamakura City, Kanagawa Prefecture. It is one of the schools that is highly regarded for its teaching quality, facilities, and even after-school activities. The learning model is relatively democratic, students can choose to register for other skills subjects in addition to the main subjects. “Rin” reviewed the elective subject list, requiring at least 2 subjects per semester, and then decided:

Physical education, specific sport: Soccer

Art of painting, specifically: Quick sketching

A far cry from the original "Rin’s" selections—handwritten calligraphy and violin—which would have driven him to set the classroom on fire within a week. Rin suddenly felt lucky that he still had time to correct this application form.

Currently, Rin was standing in front of the 4th row of the male dormitory

The warden's tone was filled with displeasure, as if Rin's late registration was an unforgivable crime. He glanced at him with judgmental eyes, breathing heavily as if he had just endured a terrible inconvenience.

Rin paid no attention.

He was used to this kind of reaction—people tended to be annoyed by things that were not within their "normal" framework. But Rin had never been one to follow such so-called normals.

"Room 309," the warden pushed the key towards Rin, his voice cold. "Be here by 10 p.m. at the latest, or else."

Rin curled his lips. Rules. He had long since had enough of this nonsense.

Room 309, Rin knocked on the door politely, waited for a while then opened the door and entered. The dormitory was about 30 square meters wide, with 4 single bunk beds, 4 desks and 4 lockers. The beds were equipped with curtains and nets, ensuring privacy. There was a large table in the middle of the room, with a heater for the winter, a large, airy balcony with a washing machine and a dryer, and a full clothesline. The bathroom was in the left corner, with both a bathtub and a private shower area. In short, the dormitory was relatively well-equipped, completely suitable for the top position of high schools. Rin didn't see anyone in the room and didn't have anything, so he naturally walked to the bed in the right corner, hung a name tag on the bed and started cleaning up. There were still 1 or 2 days left until school started, so there would still be a few lazy people who didn't want to say goodbye to spring too early. Rin didn't care about that at all.

After about 2 hours of cleaning, it was time for lunch. Glancing at the clock: 11:20, Rin didn't have the habit of eating lunch back at BlueLock, but with this damn body that was still not fully recovered, he was completely unable to refuse the energy that could be received from the outside. With a sigh, Rin locked the door and trudged toward the East side of campus. Since the cafeteria wouldn’t open until classes started, his only option was to venture into the wilds of off-campus snack bars.

Ten minutes later, Rin found himself standing in front of a row of shops, each one blasting a symphony of sizzling pans, shouting vendors, and the intoxicating smell of food. It was like walking into a culinary trap designed to empty wallets and destroy diets. Genius marketing, Rin thought dryly. Or psychological warfare.

Entering the restaurant that didn't seem to be popular, Rin quietly chose a small table for one in the corner, waiting for his Ochazuke tea-filled rice. During this time, Rin took the opportunity to check his subjects and the schedule of his elective extracurricular activities. Although it was a top school, the curriculum was really loose, or maybe it was because Rin was currently only a first-year student. He had about 5 classes a week for his major subjects and 3 for his elective subjects, the schedule was mainly distributed in the mornings on weekdays, there were 2 elective physical education classes that he registered for on Wednesday and Friday afternoons. Rin had Saturday and Sunday off.

Rin was relatively satisfied with the way he divided his activities, the many free time slots would be suitable for his soccer practice, he had researched yesterday, Fuji Otakawa High School had spontaneous clubs, as long as there were enough students and they registered with the school's union members, many clubs would be born. Speaking of clubs, Rin had skimmed the school’s official list the night before and immediately regretted it. Among the usual suspects were monstrosities like:

• The Cake Cooking Club ("Only cakes. If you make a cake with a face, you will be diced into eight pieces.")
• The Budget Flower Arranging Club ("We ran out of flowers. Now we fold paper. Pray for us.")
• The Friendzone Support Group ("If you’ve ever heard ‘I just see you as a friend,’ welcome to hell. Meetings every Tuesday. Bring tissues.")

Rin stared at his phone, deadpan. What kind of school allows this? Then again, democracy was a terrifying thing.

However, Rin's luck or not, there were two official soccer clubs in the school, maybe because of the large number of members? Rin didn't care but he would definitely join one of them, he couldn't let his legs rest during this damn time. Even without Ego or BlueLock he could still hone his skills, no doubt about it.

“Here is your Ochazuke, enjoy your meal.”

His ochazuke arrived just in time to save him from descending further into existential despair. Maybe eating would restore his faith in humanity.

…Probably not. But at least it would shut his stomach up.

Rin took a slow, blissful bite of his ochazuke, savoring the perfect balance of soft rice and fragrant tea. The roasted rice tea was just the right temperature—warm enough to comfort but not so hot it burned his tongue. It was leagues better than that overpriced place near his old house, the one he’d sworn off after one tragically bland meal.

As soon as he took the first bite of rice, Rin happily enjoyed the heat in his mouth with the light, fresh taste of the tea, Just as he was about to take another bite, the doorbell jingled like a bad oregon. A burst of laughter exploded into the quiet restaurant, loud enough to make Rin’s eye twitch. He didn’t even need to look up to know his peaceful lunch was officially ruined.

But look up he did.

And of course—of freaking course—standing in the doorway was a walking, talking flashback to his past life. A whole squad of them, actually.

Front and center was him—black hair neatly styled, light blue eyes sparkling with the kind of joy that made Rin’s stomach churn (and not from the food). To his left, a blue-and-black-haired guy with two ridiculous antenna-like tufts bouncing with every laugh, gazing at the group leader like he personally hung the moon. Next to him, a redhead whose braided hair was so meticulously maintained it probably had its own skincare routine, radiating confidence like a human lighthouse.

And on the right—because the universe clearly hated Rin today—stood two more familiar faces: a purple-haired guy who screamed "rich kid" just by existing, casually chatting with a white-haired dude who looked like he’d rather be napping on the floor than standing upright.

Rin’s chopsticks hovered midair.

Seriously? Out of all the restaurants, they had to walk into this one? During his lunch break? Was this some kind of cosmic joke?

He considered ducking under the table. Or maybe throwing his ochazuke at them and making a run for it.

Instead, he took a deep breath, clenched his jaw, and muttered under his breath, "This damn world really has it out for me."

All he’d wanted was a quiet meal. Was that too much to ask?

Apparently, yes.

Chapter Text

Rin looked at the people in front of him, stunned for a moment, then shook his head. Wake up! This isn’t Blue Lock, and these aren’t your weirdly competitive soccer. Rin gave himself a mental pep talk—or maybe a mental slap—before turning back to his steaming bowl of Ochazuke. But just as he was about to take a bite, the smell of rice tea hit him like a sneaky ninja, growing stronger by the second. Great. Even the universe doesn’t want me to enjoy a peaceful meal today. Resigned to his fate, he started shoveling food into his mouth like a chipmunk preparing for winter, cheeks puffing out comically. He was so focused on his mission that he completely missed the judgmental stares burning holes into his soul.

Within a minute of entering the door, the group of male students noticed the person sitting in the corner.  To be fair, the restaurant was emptier than Nagi’s motivation levels, so Rin kinda stuck out. Isagi froze like he’d just seen a ghost, Reo and Chigiri looked like they’d bitten into lemons, and Kia’s eyes were doing complicated math equations—probably calculating the exact probability of Rin ruining their meal or reverse. As for Nagi? Well, Nagi was just there because of Reo's constant babbling about how nutritional jelly wasn't as nutritious as it was advertised.

Chigiri broke the silence with all the grace of a dramatic soap opera star. "Wow. I specifically picked the most deserted place I could find, and yet here we are. Unbelievable. Let’s go next door."

Rin glanced up, mouth still stuffed like a squirrel who’d won the lottery. Chigiri’s smirk was practically dripping with sarcasm, but Rin just glared back, too busy chewing to care. Nagi let out a suspicious cough—probably disguising a laugh—before Reo shot him a "don’t you dare" look.

Reo, ever the diplomat (or at least pretending to be), sighed. "We don’t have to sacrifice our moods for food. There’s a decent noodle place nearby."

Kia, rolling his eyes so hard they might’ve gotten stuck, muttered, "We’re already here. Leaving would hurt the owner’s feelings."

Reo gave up and dragged Kia and Nagi to the farthest table possible, as if Rin had some kind of contagious "bad vibes" disease. Rin almost laughed. Out of all the Blue Lock crazies, Reo was one of the few he didn’t actively want to strangle. Polite, talented, but with just enough petty drama to keep things interesting.

Then Rin remembered his “ex”, and suddenly, the rice in his mouth felt like betrayal. He chugged his tea like it was liquid amnesia and decided, Screw it. I’m here to eat, not deal with emotional baggage.

And with that, he went back to inhaling his food, blissfully ignoring the world.

Isagi was struggling. Ever since the breakup—and especially after Kia casually dropped the bomb that Rin had officially yeeted himself out of the Itoshi family—he’d been stuck in a state of perpetual "what the actual hell?"

The first time he met Rin, Isagi had seen it—that desperate, twisted hunger for approval in his eyes. It was almost pathetic. Almost. So, like any decent human being, Isagi had shown him kindness. Big mistake. Turns out, Rin wasn’t just a sad, misunderstood soul—he was a sad, misunderstood soul with a vendetta.

The day Kia showed up with tear-streaked cheeks, a bruised arm, and the dramatic flair of a K-drama protagonist, Isagi’s sympathy for Rin evaporated faster than water in the Sahara.

"I didn’t—sob—mean to steal his family!" Kia gasped between cries, looking like he was three seconds away from fainting onto a fainting couch. "Why does he blame me?! I’m a victim too!"

Isagi’s blood boiled. Rin did this? Over a hospital mix-up? What kind of soap opera nonsense was this?! And here he’d thought Rin was just socially awkward—not a full-blown villain origin story in the making.

From then on, Isagi avoided Rin like expired milk. The first time he cold-shouldered him, he watched the light in Rin’s eyes flicker out like a dying lightbulb. Good, Isagi thought. If Kia hadn’t warned me, I might’ve actually fallen for those puppy-dog eyes.

Since then, when she saw Isagi, Rin no longer started a conversation, no longer approached her, and often chose to take a detour.

. But Isagi still caught glimpses of his pathetic attempts to win over his "family."

Isagi had seen Rin wake up early in the morning, cook a sumptuous breakfast, and wait for the whole family, only for Sae to drag everyone out to eat literally anywhere else, not even glancing at Rin's small waiting expectantly on the dining table.

Isagi had seen Rin spend an hour pruning and taking care of the row of bonsai trees in front of Mr. Kai's house, his eyes sparkling, waiting for a compliment, only for the man to rip them out like they’d personally offended him.

Isagi also saw Rin carefully knitting a scarf for 2 weeks as a birthday present for Mrs. Mina. When she received it, she smiled! She thanked him! Victory! Rin smiled brightly, joy overflowing from the bottom of his eyes.  …Until Isagi saw the same scarf the next day wrapped around the neighborhood hobo’s neck.  Rin must have seen it too because the knitting kit was thrown straight into the trash bag in front of the house...

It was tragic. It was comical. It was so over-the-top that Isagi half-expected a laugh track to play every time Rin got emotionally sucker-punched.

And yet, despite the constant rejection, Rin kept trying. Like a glutton for punishment. Like a man who’d bet his entire life savings on a losing horse.

So when Isagi heard Rin had dragged the whole family to court to legally disown them?

His brain blue-screened.

How?! How does someone go from "please love me" to "legally, you’re dead to me" in one dramatic flourish? Was this a telenovela? Was Rin the scorned heroine finally snapping?

Isagi didn’t know whether to be horrified or impressed.

One thing was clear, though:

Rin Itoshi didn’t do things halfway.

Isagi was staring. Like, full-on "I just witnessed a car crash" staring at Rin, who was peacefully inhaling his ochazuke in the corner like a man who had long since accepted that the universe hated him.

Chigiri yanked his sleeve. "Earth to Isagi. You zoning out or did that guy cast some kind of tragic-backstory hypnosis on you?"

Isagi snapped back to reality, forcing a laugh that sounded more like a deflating balloon. "Pfft, no! I was just—uh—wondering why he’s here of all places. Yeah. That’s it."

Reo, ever the subtle one, scoffed loud enough for the entire restaurant (and possibly the next block) to hear. "Oh, you didn’t hear? Kia said he enrolled here—and guess who’s still footing the bill? Sae-san. Shocking, right?"

Chigiri, never one to miss a chance to fan the flames, leaned in with the grace of a gossip columnist. "Wow. Cutting ties my ass. What’s next? ‘I don’t need your money’ while stuffing his pockets with it? Shameless." He even side-eyed Rin like he was auditioning for a villain role in a high school drama, as if afraid that no one would know who he was talking about.

Kia, the picture of wounded innocence, sighed like a martyr. "Don’t be too hard on him… It’s my fault, really. I’m the outsider. I should’ve left… but I just… love everyone too much…" Cue the dramatic pause. "This is all my mistake…"

Reo and Chigiri immediately jumped in like a synchronized "No, Kia, you’re perfect!" chorus.

"Stop blaming yourself!"

"The only mistake here is him existing near us!"

Chigiri, now fully committed to his role as Rin’s personal heckler, raised his voice another octave. "Thank god he finally crawled out of their lives. The farther away he is, the better. Just looking at him ruins my appetite."

Rin wasn’t deaf. And the "subtle" commentary was about as discreet as a fireworks show. But did he react? No.

He delicately finished his meal.

Politely wiped his hands.

Neatly stacked his dishes like a man who respected the sanctity of tableware.

Then, with the calm of a monk who had achieved enlightenment (or simply stopped caring), he glanced over at Chigiri’s table and dropped the verbal equivalent of a grenade:

"Good dogs don’t bark nonsense."

Silence.

Chigiri’s eye twitched. His face did an impressive impression of a tomato. "Y-YOU—!!"

And just like that, the restaurant’s ambiance shifted from awkward tension to "oh shit, someone’s about to catch these hands.

Rin couldn’t care less. He paid the owner with the grace of a man who had zero fucks left to give and strolled toward the exit.

Although they were sitting diagonally across from each other the restaurant was tiny—so tiny that Kia’s table was basically parked in front of the door. And as Rin passed by, Kia—sitting at the far end like a fragile Victorian child—suddenly yelped, leaping up like he’d been electrocuted. His eyes shimmered with the dramatic tears.

"Rin… y-you stepped on my foot…" A delicate pause. "B-But it’s okay! You… you didn’t mean it, right?"

Rin’s eyebrow twitched.

Excuse me?

"Don’t push it!" Chigiri slammed the table so hard the chopsticks jumped, looking like he was two seconds away from throwing hands (or at least a very aggressive salad). Reo’s face darkened like a storm cloud as he pulled Kia behind him, his voice dripping with disapproving rich heir energy.

"Rin. Apologize. Now."

Rin sighed. Why does everyone keep demanding apologies like I’m running a sorry sale? He glanced at Chigiri, who—despite his earlier bravado—instinctively flinched back. Then, with the deadpan delivery of a man reading a grocery list, Rin stated:

"There aren’t even footprints on his shoes."

A beat of silence.

Everyone couldn't help but look down. Today, Kia was wearing a red T-shirt, paired with white khaki pants and a pair of pure white Nike shoes, giving off a dynamic and fashionable feeling, and his pants and shoes were completely free of stains, then he looked back at the black Converse shoes that Rin was wearing. Then back at the utter lack of evidence.

Kia’s face burned hotter than a microwave burrito. Shit. Before he could conjure up another Oscar-worthy performance, Rin—ever the problem solver—lifted his foot…

And stomped down. Hard.

"GYAH—!" Kia screeched, nearly toppling over like a knocked-over bowling pin. And there it was—a perfect, grubby footprint glaring back from the formerly immaculate shoe.

"There. Now it’s accurate."Rin smirked, eyes glinting with the cold satisfaction of a man who’d just won “another ice-cream.”.

The silence that followed was deafening. Rin didn’t stick around for the encore. He strolled out, leaving behind a room so tense you could’ve cut it with a butter knife.

Chigiri was the first to respond, immediately shouting loudly:

“You bastard!!!”

Reo also regained his senses and muttered: "Unbelievable, truly unbelievable."

Isagi didn't say anything, he was relatively quiet today, his brain was still working at full speed to find the breakthrough point for the complete change in Rin's personality. Nagi, who had been lying on the table since entering the restaurant, completely unable to understand the situation, indifferently asked:

“Why is Rin's second footprint so clear?”

Everyone was silent, Kia was so embarrassed that he wanted to die, and at the same time secretly blamed "Nagi, you useless lump—!" so he could only smile lightly and change the subject:

“Everyone must be hungry, let's choose something first?”

The meal that followed was so awkward, even the rice felt uncomfortable.

After a leisurely 30-minute walk (because apparently, his digestive system now demanded post-meal cardio), Rin returned to the dorm, snack in hand. The door was slightly ajar—not exactly shocking, since every lazy idiot here had a key. Maybe, he thought with naive hope, someone finally realized cleaning shouldn’t be a one-man show starring me.

With the politeness of someone who hadn’t yet given up on humanity, Rin knocked three times.

"Come in!"

That voice. Familiar. But Rin’s brain, still buffering from the restaurant drama, took a full two seconds to load the horror. He pushed the door open—

—and was greeted by what could only be described as "a tornado’s dirty laundry pile." Suitcases? Check. Art supplies? Check. Enough cardboard boxes to rebuild Amazon? Check. The only thing missing was a neon sign flashing: "Your New Roommate Is A Menace."

And there, in the eye of the storm, , Rin's mind automatically came up with the name of this "super lukewarm person with a negative IQ": Bachira Meguru, grinning like a golden retriever who’d just discovered mud. His honey-brown eyes sparkled with the kind of joy usually reserved for puppies or people who’d definitely forgotten to take their meds.

Rin’s soul left his body.

Of course. Of course it was him. The human equivalent of a sugar rush, the guy who’d once followed Rin into the baths like a lost duckling, babbling about "monsters" and "lonely hearts."

To be honest, Bachira was the first person to come into close contact with Rin, after the first 3vs3 selection round, Rin's team won without any effort, at that time Tokimitsu and Aryu chose Bachira as the 4th member. Although the young man was a bit depressed at having to separate from his group of friends, but only about 30 minutes later, when Rin was relaxing in the public bath, Bachira - who had completely recovered his spirit and was grinning, approached him, Rin almost smashed the tray into the face of this naked man wandering around. For the first time in his life, Rin felt extremely helpless. Bachira clung to him wherever and whenever, during meals, during baths, during training, and even during breaks. As soon as Rin's endurance hit rock bottom, he grabbed this stubborn person by the neck and lifted him up, growling as to why he kept following him. Bachira's answer made Rin a little startled:

“Because my monster really likes the monster inside Rin, it told me that this new companion is very strong, but it's so lonely... I'm following what my heart tells me to do!!”

After that, Rin ignored Bachira, telling himself that he would get bored with him, but even after the 4vs4 competition ended, Bachira was still there, along with Isagi Yoichi, the second tough guy. Although he didn't believe in the supernatural, Rin must have done something really evil in her previous life to get involved with these two psychos.

Rin looked at the person in front of him, even though he knew this wasn't the Kappa he knew, his heart still skipped a beat. Bachira also looked at the person in front of him, then he couldn't help but grin:

“The monster inside you looks so lonely!”

Rin was stunned, the familiar feeling came over him making him bewildered, standing still in the middle of the room.

Bachira grinned, bouncing on his heels like an over-caffeinated puppy. "Hehe, I'm Bachira Meguru! Second year! From Chiba! My bestie Yu's mom moved here for work so I tagged along! Oh, and—" He dramatically clutched his chest, eyes sparkling with the intensity of a shoujo protagonist. "There's a monster in here! And it says you and I are gonna be BEST FRIENDS!"

Silence.

Rin stared.

Bachira’s smile faltered. The longer Rin didn’t react, the more his confidence deflated like a sad balloon. "Uh… am I… kinda crazy? S-Sorry…" His voice shrank to a whisper, and suddenly, the human sunbeam looked like a kicked golden retriever.

Rin’s eye twitched, Silently looked at Bachira, the atmosphere was a bit awkward, he looked at the boy in front of him who looked like he was about to cry and could only sigh helplessly, this Bachira was a bit... um... hard to describe. This was the same guy who’d once followed him into a bathroom stall babbling about "destiny." The same guy who’d taken "personal space violation" to Olympic levels.  According to what Rin remembered, he was completely a carefree person to the point of making others uncomfortable, no matter how Rin chased him away or threatened him, in just about 30 minutes, Bachira completely forgot about it, and when he came closer, Rin almost beat him up.

Therefore, now seeing Bachira with a hurt look in his eyes, even a bit self-conscious, made his heart ache. And now here he was, shrinking into himself like a wilted flower because Rin hadn’t immediately joined his cult of weirdness.

Damn it.

Bachira felt the shame seeping through the floor, he lowered his head, his poor brain started racing against time to find a way to untangle his relationship with his new roommate.

"…No."

Bachira’s head snapped up. "Huh?!" He wondering if he had misheard or what did this new friend just say?

"Bachira Meguru, you’re not crazy, it’s just that your eyes look at life through a different lens.” Rin muttered, avoiding eye contact. A pause. Then, through gritted teeth: "…That’s what the monster in me says."

Instant regret. His ears burned. What the hell was that?! Since when did he do pep talks?! Damn it was so embarrassing, this wasn’t his intention, but… but the broken eyes of the boy in front of him made Rin’s heart ache, even if he wasn’t from his old world, but seeing someone about to shrink into the darkness because of other people’s prejudice made Rin unable to bear it.

The room became so quiet that only the sound of his own heart pounding could be heard. Rin was about to escape from this damn dormitory immediately when he suddenly heard a clicking sound and turned around.

Standing in the middle of the dormitory, amidst the busy piles of cartoons, the stubborn noon sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting a layer of soft light on the boy. Bachira stood there, his hands clutching the hem of his shirt, his honey-colored eyes glistening with tears, each tear rolling down, sliding down hitting the wooden floor, echoing throughout the room.

Rin frowned, then sighed, slowly walked closer, placed the food on the large table, pulled Bachira back, and gently patted the older man on the back.

Bachira Meguru learned early that the world didn’t know what to do with him.

Other children saw playgrounds. He saw shadows that whispered.

Other kids heard bedtime stories. He heard his monster giggling under the bed.

"Weird."
"Freak."
"Stay away—he’s not right in the head."

Just like that, Bachira gradually got used to those nicknames, even once, when he passed by a house, inside suddenly shouted "Monster!!" He also stopped, leaned over to look for the person calling him, after a while, he realized that it was just 2 children watching cartoons.

The words stuck like gum to his shoes, trailing after him no matter how many schools Yu’s mom moved him to. (Two in one month, once. A record.) He tried. God, he tried—laughing when they laughed, nodding when they nodded—but as time went by, the void in his heart grew bigger and bigger and he gradually felt no motivation to continue.

“Monster, so scary...”

“Dad told me not to play with Bachira, or you will be haunted!”

“Yes, my mother said not to talk to sick people...”

Bachira lay on the empty ground, his body covered in wounds, he absentmindedly looked up at the sky, white clouds drifted above his head, leisurely going in one direction. He saw that, His monster—jagged teeth, ink-blot eyes—leaped after it, tumbling through the air like a rogue kite. Then it laughed, wild and unhinged, and Bachira…

Bachira grinned back. The golden brown eyes that were originally gloomy, finally flickered with a quiet fire. For the first time, Bachira Meguru no longer felt lost, he had his own monster. That day the rain was very heavy, when Yu's mother found him, he had fallen asleep under the bridge, a smile still on his lips.

...

"Mommy… am I crazy?" The brown-haired boy stared blankly at his mother with his big, round honey-colored eyes. Mrs. Bachira Yu paused her brush, then put down her palette, leaned over to face her son, and spoke clearly and firmly.

She knelt, cupping his tear-streaked face. "Listen well, Meguru. You’re not crazy. You’re magic." Her thumb brushed his cheek. "One day, someone will see your monsters… and love them as much as I do."

Bachira, 6 years old, hugged her mother, crying loudly, the golden afternoon sunlight shone on the unfinished painting, on it were 2 strange black shadows, immersed in the afternoon sunlight, holding hands and walking forward.

Right now, in the dorm room, Bachira was hugging Rin, sobbing like a child, Rin could only endure, he was not someone who knew how to comfort others so he could only awkwardly pat the brown-haired man's back, Rin stood frozen like a statue in a museum titled "Why Me?" as Bachira clung to him, sobbing like a telenovela star who just found out her husband was also her long-lost brother, It took about 5,6 minutes for Bachira to sniffle, wipe his nose on Rin's shirt then slowly separate from him, eyes and nose red.. His shirt was now 30% tears, 10% snot, and 100% regret.

Five minutes (and one disgusting nose-wipe on his sleeve) later, Bachira finally detached himself, looking up with the red, puffy face of a kicked puppy. Rin’s left shoulder was a disaster zone—wet, sticky, and probably cursed.

"I’ll let you off today," Rin growled, shoving a tissue box at him like it was a peace treaty.

Bachira, of course, used half the box in one go. Rin’s eye twitched. ?! He briefly considered throwing him out the window, but alas, murder was frowned upon in this dimension.

Rin had to restrain herself from picking up a chair and hitting the person in front of her in the face. In any world, a Kappa head could easily drive Rin crazy. Rin turned his head away, out of sight and out of mind, as he said indifferently:

"Itoshi Rin," he stated flatly, as if introducing himself to a natural disaster. "Freshman. Not easy to live with. If you keep this up, either you leave or I help you leave. Via window."

Bachira blinked. Then beamed. 

“Okay Rin-chan, so you’re younger than me, I just came here, I haven't had time to clean my room yet, don't worry, I'm super tidy.”

Rin glanced at the war zone formerly known as their dorm. "…Sure.

Rin was still in disbelief, clicking his tongue in disbelief, he could only sit down at the table, Bachira, drawn by the sound of "Rin-chan doing something interesting!" plopped next to him, before he could even open his mouth, his stomach started to cry out for the right to not have had any energy since morning. Bachira felt like he should dig a hole right under his feet and lie there for two hours, his face was red, he was stuttering and unable to speak.

"Uh… hehe…" Bachira turned tomato-red. "I kinda… forgot to eat?"

What else could Rin do, Rin sighed and slid his snack over like a reluctant zookeeper feeding a hyperactive monkey. Bachira lit up and devoured it with the grace of a starved raccoon.

Meanwhile, Rin took the opportunity to open his small notebook and phone, researched and then outlined the highlights of the two football clubs that he had previously researched. He thoughtfully considered many aspects, from the coach, practice schedule to equipment and recent competitions. Bachira, with his curious instinct, quickly pulled his chair and half-eaten noodles closer to him, watching Rin scribble on the small piece of paper.

“Ugh, Rin-chan, your handwriting looks like a chicken walked through ink!"

Rin’s pen snapped in his grip. Rin glared at him, this idiot treated the person who just helped him like this??

“Hehe... Huh, Rin is also planning to join the soccer club!!? Rin, join the EG club with me, I'm also applying to join it!!”

Rin raised his eyebrows, he didn't expect that Bachira of this world also played soccer, new news but not surprising, Bachira's terrible chaos would be a waste if it was only for art. Rin looked back at the E.G club that he had just crossed out, this club was founded two or three years later than N.O club, although the awards and matches were much worse than N.O's, but in return the training schedule was incredibly dense, if someone with a bit of brains would not want to choose this torture club at all, what the hell, EG Club’s schedule was insane—practice 7 days a week, games 6, and zero sanity. Perfect for two idiots: one with no brain (Bachira) and one with no life (Rin). Rin accepted his fate.

Rin sent the club registration form via email, then continued to pack his things, Bachira also quickly finished lunch, then also started cleaning up. The whole afternoon, Bachira kept chattering, his mouth seemed to have a valve, almost not stopping for a second.

"Did you know our school’s founder was obsessed with koi fish?!"

"I once drew a monster so scary my art teacher cried!"

"Rin-chan, do you think aliens play soccer too?"

At first, Rin politely said a few sentences, but later he completely ignored it, only occasionally responding with a few sentences, his responses ranged from "Hn." to "…What." But somehow, against all odds, he kept listening. And asking questions. And maybe not hating it.

It seemed like every Bachira Meguru was equipped with the software to “ignore Rin’s indifference”, he completely didn’t care if Rin noticed or not, talking about random things from the school’s history, world famous people to when he started drawing when he was a child. The surprising thing for Bachira was that Rin actually listened to him, he would occasionally ask something about the problem Bachira was rambling on about, Bachira, of course, took this as "Rin-chan LOVES my stories!!" and doubled down.

Afterthat, Rin had:

• Survived a snot tsunami.
• Adopted a human golden retriever.
• Signed up for soccer hell.

Worth it? Debatable.

Entertaining? Absolutely.

Because of this lack of concentration, it took 5 hours for the two of them to have a completely neat dormitory for people to live in. Part of the reason was because Bachira had too many miscellaneous things, Rin even had to personally design the locations for her things. Rin, now questioning every life choice that led him here, had personally become: An interior designer "No, we're NOT hanging your 'abstract' finger-painting over my bed."; A safety inspector "Why do you own fireworks?!" or even A therapist "Bachira, no, we can't keep the 'lucky' roadkill turtle shell."

Rin felt exhausted.

Rin Holding up suspicious wooden structure "Explain."
"Painting easel! I brought three!"
"…Why."
"One for outside, one for inside, one for emotional support!Preparation is key, Rin-chan~"
Rin didn't say anything, he only left one outside, and stuffed the other two directly under the bed under its resentful gaze like a bullied wife.

"Preparation is waste."

Rin Stares at neon-pink skateboard with 'MONSTER' scribbled in glitter, and felt like the world was laughing at him "You realize EG Club practices every day?"

 "Sunday!"
"That’s when you have 'Color Explosion' class, are you going to throw it to the dogs."

"You remembered my schedule?! Rin-chan cares—"

"I care about silence." Rin leisurely replied and then stuffed the entire set of notebooks under the bed.

“...”

“...?”

“What the fuck? Am I blind or did I really just pull out an 8kg boulder from your luggage?”

“It's a rock for pickling pickles, Rin. I love eating that hehe...” Bachira smiled brightly, rubbing the rock like she was stroking a puppy's head.

Rin twitched the corner of his mouth, looking at Bachira like a clown.

“If you really soak that thing in this room, I swear to God, I will smash your head with this rock and soak it with it.”

....

Then, after an entire afternoon, the two of them went back and forth before they could finish cleaning up Bachira's messy stuff, their dorm finally resembled a livable space—if you squinted. He lay down on the bed, completely exhausted. Moreover, the wounds that had not yet healed were already starting to ache. Rin took off his long-sleeved shirt, conveniently hung it on the bed frame, and growled at the idiot who was still hanging on his bed frame like a monkey:

“Fuck, I really doubt your brain structure is developing backwards, a normal person can't possibly have such stupid ideas.”

Bachira sprawled on his bed like a starfish, grinning at Rin who was visibly aging.

"Yu’s mom says I’m special!"

"Special edition nuisance."
“Rin-chan joked! Progress!"

Rin collapsed onto his bed, glaring at the human tornado still swinging from their bunk bed.

"I must be evolving backwards to tolerate this."

"Nah~ You love me!"

Rin Pulls pillow over his face, accepted his fate. Again.

"I hate that bowl of noodles for giving you energy."

Bachira's eyes caught sight of the purple bruise on his arm. She was stunned for a moment, then quickly rushed to his bedside, frantically saying:

"RIN-CHAN! YOUR ARM! WHO DID THIS?! WAS IT A FIGHT? WAS IT A CAR DOOR? WAS IT—" He gasped dramatically, "—A WILD ANIMAL?!" Tears pooled in his honey eyes, hands hovering like he wanted to poke the bruise but feared Rin might explode.

Rin sighed, pressing a palm to Bachira's forehead to keep him at bay. "Chill. It was just some idiot. It's handled."

"Handled how...?" Bachira blinked, tilting his head like a confused puppy.

Rin opened his mouth—

BAM!

The door slammed open without so much as a "hey, you decent in there?" And there, standing in the doorway like an uninvited villain in a soap opera, was—

"Ah." Rin smirked. "Speak of the devil."

Bachira whipped around, eyes widening at the intruder-

Rin leaned back, crossing his arms. 

"The culprit is here."

Little drama, somewhere at the BlueLock facility (Ver1. No Rin at there):

Bachira (waves her arms, cheers) I'm hugging Rin, everyone see Rin is hugging me back hehehehe

Others (folded arms, smiled faintly and said nothing)

Isagi, Reo, Chigiri, Nagi (lined up, facing the wall, dark smoke rising continuously)

Shidou (Supporting the fainted Sae, worriedly said) Someone, call an ambulance, he's about to die!!

Or Ver 2. When it is just a movie:

Bachira: (tackle-glomping Rin like an overexcited golden retriever) "RIN-CHAN'S HUGGING MEEEEE! LOOK, EVERYONE! HE'S EVEN PATTING MY BACK! HEHEHEHE~" (spins in circles while Rin's face screams 'I will murder you in your sleep')

The Rest of Blue Lock: (arms folded, nodding slowly like disappointed uncles) "Mhm. Sure." (whispers) "That's not a hug, that's a hostage situation."

[Cut to:... ]
Isagi, Reo, Chigiri & Nagi: (lined up facing the wall like misbehaving kindergarteners, literal dark aura swirling around them)
Isagi: (muttering) "Why does Bachira get hugs..."
Reo: (eye twitching) "I bought him limited-edition cleats."
Chigiri: (death-gripping a water bottle) "This is homophobia."
Nagi: (monotone) "I want a refund on life."

[Meanwhile, Across the Room]
Shidou: (dragging a pale-as-a-ghost Sae by the collar) "MEDIC!! THIS MAN'S ABOUT TO TRANSCEND FROM SECONDHAND EMBARRASSMENT!" (shakes Sae violently) "STAY WITH ME, PRINCESS! YOUR BROTHER'S CUDDLING THE ENEMY—"

Rin: (finally shoving Bachira off) "I WAS NOT—"
Bachira: (immediately latching onto his arm like a koala) "HE'S BLUSHING! LOOK, HE LOVES ME~"
Rin: (grabbing Bachira's face with one hand) "I will end you."

[Bonus: Karasu in the background, filming everything on his phone]
Karasu: (narrating like a nature documentary) "And here we witness the rare tsundere in its natural habitat—"
Otoya: (snatching the phone) "POST THAT AND I'LL FRAME YOU FOR THE TOILET PAPER HEIST."

Chapter Text

The one who walked in was none other than Itoshi Sae—Rin’s real brother, in the most technical sense of the word. He strode in like he owned the place, exuding the smug aura of someone who’s sat too long at the top and thinks gravity doesn’t apply to him. His gaze landed on Rin, who was slumped on his bed position that screamed I don’t care enough to move properly, alongside a clingy attachment file in human form currently half-kneeling on his mattress like a badly coded NPC.

Rin didn’t bother asking how Sae knew his exact room. What, open the student records, scroll a bit? Not exactly MI6 work. A glance at the cardboard box in Sae’s hand told him everything. Cool. Great. Just what he needed. Flatly, he said:

“Put they on the table, get out, close the door. Thanks.”

Sae’s eyebrow twitched. Rin’s attitude was about as welcoming as a brick to the face, but since starting a fight wasn’t on his to-do list today, he silently walked over and placed the box down.

“Books and personal items are all in here. Mom said there’s no need to bring clothes.”

Rin was too exhausted to form words, so he gave a curt nod and waved a hand like You’re dismissed. Sae, either blind or stubborn, kept talking.

“She didn’t have your bank info, so she made a supplementary card,” he added, pulling a bank card from his pocket and dropping it on the table. “You can use it freely. No limit.”

Rin narrowed his eyes. Oh, what now. He dragged himself upright with all the energy of a dying cat, every movement a reminder that his body hated him. Behind him, Bachira, noticing the slow fusion of Rin’s eyebrows, wisely ducked behind him like a soldier avoiding crossfire.

Sae hesitated before continuing, clearly not reading the room:

“Mom said… since we’re in the same school now… maybe you and Kia can take care of each other.”

Rin let out a laugh, sharp and dangerous. The kind of laugh that screamed I'm this close to flipping a table. His voice dropped to something dangerously calm.

“Excuse me?” he echoed, voice icy. “ Let me get this straight. Did you seriously just ask me to ‘take care of’ the exact reason I cut all ties with your family? Are you hearing yourself, or is this a new low in shamelessness?”

His eyes sharpened. "Mr. Itoshi Sae, And in case you’ve developed short-term amnesia or your ego is blocking brain function, what’s else, who care --- 48 hours ago, we legally ceased to be family. And if you’ve forgotten—which, shockingly, seems possible—let me quote Clause 3 for you...”

He paused, then smiled sweetly.

“If we meet, act like we don’t know each other. Strangers.”

The room went dead silent.

Bachira felt that even breathing was not good right now, thinking that, he gently covered his mouth with his hand, lowered his head, his eyes met the purple-blue mark on Rin's left calf, the goldfish's 8-second memory began to carry out the task it should have done 80 seconds ago.

"The culprit is here."

The light bulb lit up, Bachira immediately jumped up, pulled Rin towards him, the alert antenna directly turned on to the highest level:

“You! You’re the one who hit Rin-chan, right? Bad guy!!”

Rin was caught off guard and was pulled back by Bachira's sudden action. Damn it, this idiot really picks the worst times. Rin's face darkened as he slapped the arm that was hugging his shoulder.  Bachira reluctantly let go, but the damage was done—Bachira was now glaring at Sae like he’d personally kicked a puppy, already filled with hostility

"For the last time. Take whatever isn’t mine and leave. And tell Mrs. Itoshi—" (the name dripped with venom) "—she has one son. So unless she wants a lawsuit, she should stop handing out that title like candy.”

Sae frowned tightly, he didn't understand, the whole family had already given in to this, why was Rin still acting so rebellious, so difficult to please. A few months ago, Rin had still mumbled out nii-chan with hesitation—and now he could coldly say Mr. Itoshi Sae like he was reading off a courtroom transcript?

But of course, Sae would never understand. Not now. Maybe not ever.

And honestly? Rin preferred it that way.

Just as Sae was about to say something, the phone in her pocket vibrated. Sae looked at the name on the screen, her eyes softened a bit, then her gaze returned to Rin, full of criticism. As if Rin didn’t already know who it was. Ask his kneecap and it could probably tell you.

He massaged his temples, his patience hanging by a thread.

“Take the card and leave. Every time I see your face, I get the sudden urge to commit a felony.”

Sae said nothing. And just as Rin was on the verge of flipping the table, he finally reached over, picked up the card, and walked out— slammed the door hard enough to rattle the frame.

Rin’s eye twitched. Seriously? That was MY dramatic exit.

He was the one who should be slamming things, not this self-important walking migraine.

This... damn!

Bachira looked at the pitiful door, then secretly pulled Rin's shirt, Rin glared impatiently, what stupid idea did this idiot come up with again?

“Rin-chan is so scary,” Bachira whispered, “so how did you still end up getting beat up so bad?”

Rin let out a long sigh, pulled on his long-sleeved shirt again, and climbed off the bed. As he started toward the door, he muttered one word:

“Bad luck.”

Bachira also followed in a daze, Wait, what? He got beat up because of... bad luck? Wasn’t getting beaten up usually about, y’know, losing? So if he'd been lucky, he wouldn’t have been hit? Bachira could feel his IQ melting. His brain short-circuited.

Rin side-eyed Bachira’s vacant stare. Of course the idiot wouldn’t get it. Bad luck was putting it lightly—, if he had come to the body at the time of the beating, who would have been bedridden, No.1 BlueLock's fighting strength was no joke. Itoshi Rin never lose a fight.

But explaining was too much effort.

“I'm hungry, let's eat.”

Bachira, the king of selective memory, immediately threw all what bad what luck out the window. He dashed over to the bed, grabbed his jacket like it was a rescue mission, and bounded over to Rin who was shoving him feet into him shoes like they’d personally offended him.

"Let’s go, let’s gooo!" he cheered, practically vibrating. "I’ve been starving for centuries—my stomach finished digesting those sad noodles from lunch three whole hours ago. Rin-chan, don’t ever buy from that shop again—the portions are criminally small.”

Rin snarled, "You ate the entire thing, what are you still babbling about? Hurry up.”

"Only because you gave me them!"

Since lunchtime had already involved unwanted faces and even more unwanted feelings, Rin chose the direction opposite all that drama and walked decisively away. Flight over fight. Always a wise choice.

Bachira, on the other hand, was like a kid let loose at recess—bouncing from one shop window to another, Bachira zigzagged down the street like a golden retriever in a meat market, yelling about every shop they passed, chattering non-stop like a radio with no off switch. A few pedestrians were starting to throw side-eyes at them because of the noise pollution.

Rin really, really wanted to pretend he didn’t know this human. He snagged Bachira’s collar and yanked him back. " Fuck, I swear to god, if you don’t shut up, I’ll stitch your mouth closed myself. People are already looking at me like I’m a single mom who’s lost control of her gremlin child.”

Bachira beamed. "Aww, thanks!"

"THAT WASN’T A COMPLIMENT, YOU IDIOT!"

Despite the spike in his blood pressure, Rin managed to find a place that looked respectable enough: clean, decent lighting, and most importantly, no annoying people in sight. He didn't bother asking Bachira for his opinion and went straight in to find a seat. Bachira, who’d eat literal cardboard if it had ketchup on it, cheerfully followed.

Rin wiped down the table (germs were the one thing he respected) and skimmed the menu. The selection was obscenely thorough—rice, noodles, creatures that once swam, flew, or committed tax fraud. Honestly? A true paradise for the chronically hungry.

Keng...keng...

The wind chime at the door jingled. Rin had developed a sixth sense for incoming chaos lately. His heart skipped a beat. He slowly looked up toward the entrance.

Eyes locked. Rin realized the universe had a sick sense of humor.

"OHHH! DIN DIN!!!"

The source of the screech was a guy with sun-kissed skin, blond hair tinged pink at the ends and styled within an inch of its life. His pink pupils practically sparkled with untamed chaos. Shidou Ryusei—the walking embodiment of chaos—stood there, grinned like a man who had never learned what “personal space” meant and waved enthusiastically—like this was a family reunion instead of Rin’s personal hell.

And next to him? A bunch of painfully familiar “strangers” Rin had just met this morning. Great. New witnesses to my suffering.

Rin didn’t respond. Not a word. Not a twitch. He turned away and continued wiping the table with the grace of a man desperately pretending to be deaf, blind, and spiritually absent.

But this was Shidou. In BlueLock, he was Rin’s natural-born enemy. They were completely incompatible both on and off the field, Rin with his precise, control-heavy playstyle was more of a dominating style of football from teammates to opponents, Shidou with the energy of a rabid gremlin who thought “teamwork” was a myth, on the field, they fought for the ball like wild animals; Off the field, they exchanged punches like greetings.

And here? Still obnoxious. Still loud. Still impossible to ignore.

Only God knew why the “Rin” of this world had decided to label Shidou Ryusei as a “Good Friend.” God must’ve been drunk.

But Rin, this Rin, had no intention of sharing airspace with this glittery-haired cockroach. All he wanted was to fill his stomach, go back to the dorm, shower, apply ointment to his bruises, and crawl into bed. That was it. A quiet, peaceful evening. Was that too much to ask?

Spoiler: Yes, because Shidou existed.

Shidou, as usual, destroyed it without asking for permission.

Ignoring Rin’s glacial aura, he slid into the seat next to Rin like a damn eel and launched into his one-man show:

“Oh my god, Din Din, why didn’t you reply to Ryusei’s messages? I was devastated!”

“Has it only been a week? Din Din, you’ve gotten prettier! This radiant glow is burning my poor eyes!”

“I sent you my adorable little brother’s info and you didn’t even look at it. So cruel.”

“Ryusei is so sad he can’t even stand up… Unless~ little Din Din buys me some Ochazuke...?”

Rin had one fatal flaw: his patience has a limit, even a very low limit, and this damn golden cockroach just appeared and it hit rock bottom.

SMACK.

Without a word, Rin launched the cleaning rag straight at Shidou’s face. The bastard, of course, ducked with annoying ease, letting it fly past as he clutched his head dramatically like he’d just been shot.

“Din Din! So aggressive! But because you’re cute,” he said, placing a hand on his heart like a telenovela lead, “I’ve decided to treat you to this meal. Don’t fall for me too hard, okay?”

He even threw in a double wink for good measure.

Rin’s eye twitched. His face darkened to "I will commit arson" levels.

Bachira, who had been loyally seated to Rin’s, suddenly perked up like an excited puppy. His wide golden eyes darted between Rin and the loud pink-blond intruder before asking with all the innocence in the world:

“Is this guy your friend, Rin-chan?”

"NO!" Rin's answer came like a gunshot.

“Of course!” Shidou replied at the exact same time, voice cheerful like he hadn't just been rejected harder than a scam call.

Then Shidou turned to Bachira with mock seriousness and squinted. “And who’s this little gremlin?”

Bachira immediately struck a heroic pose, hands on hips, chest puffed out. "I'm Rin-chan's BEST FRIEND! The monster inside me and Rin-chan's monster are SUPER close!!"

“Same here!” Shidou beamed. “I’m Din Din’s bestie too! We’ve been friends since we were kids!”

LIES. ALL OF IT.

No, Bachira, don't inflate your position. And you cockroach - we've met NINE times total! "Childhood friends" my ass!  The only childhood they’ve shared is in someone’s fever dream.

The cold aura radiating off Rin was approaching blizzard level. Honestly, if glares could kill, Rin would’ve been locked up in international prison years ago.

Unfortunately for him, both Shidou and Bachira seemed to possess the ultra-rare legendary trait: Immunity to Itoshi Rin’s Emotional Damage. Oblivious and unstoppable, they continued bonding across the table like two long-lost brothers reunited in a budget restaurant.

“So we’re the same?” Bachira asked, all sparkly eyes and empty brain.

“Yes yes!” Shidou nodded, full turbo mode. “Din Din loves us both very, very much!”

Excuse me, what did you just shove into my mouth, you lying gremlin, Rin thought, now exuding enough murderous intent to turn the air toxic.

"Then if we're both Rin's best friends..." Bachira's eyes sparkled with the power of terrible logic. "That means we're best friends too, right??"

"YES! The three of us are the ULTIMATE BEST FRIEND TRIO!" Shidou roared, grabbing Bachira's hand for an enthusiastic shake.

Rin stared at the lemon knife on the table, hesitating between leaving or stabbing the two idiots then leaving. As the newly crowned "Best Friend Trio" began planning matching friendship bracelets, Rin's fingers inched toward the cutlery.

Murder was starting to feel like a reasonable option.

The world might thank him for what came next.

Isagi watched the unfolding circus with growing existential dread, the world, he decided, was officially broken. Just ten minutes ago, when Reo had rallied everyone for dinner, he had declared—full of confidence and zero foresight:

“Lunch was just bad luck. Let’s just go the opposite direction this time.”

"Statistically, we can't possibly run into them again," Chigiri added with naive hope.

And now? Boom. The universe laughed in their faces.

Sae, who had an unpleasant encounter with Rin less than half an hour ago, now sat watching Shidou hover around Rin like an overexcited mosquito—and somehow not getting swatted into orbit. (Well, he was getting swatted, but apparently Shidou had evolved past caring.) His expression twisted with a complicated cocktail of confusion, irritation, and a hint of mid-life crisis.

Meanwhile, Kia - either blessed by angels or cursed by demons - began his slow, dramatic walk toward Rin's table. Isagi's hand twitched to stop him, Rin's earlier warning "If we meet, act like strangers" ringing in his ears. But some cosmic force (probably the same one that made people slow down to watch car crashes) kept him rooted in place.

Kia walked to Rin's table, smiled politely, and spoke softly:

“Hello Rin, I didn't expect to meet you here, We must really be… destined.”

Rin didn’t even bother lifting his head. Shidou, for once in his life, shut up. Bachira, blessed with uncanny social instincts despite being a chaos gremlin, went totally silent too. The atmosphere instantly dropped to sub-zero.

Kia was a bit embarrassed:

“Since we're here anyway, if you don't mind, let's have dinner together. The more the merrier.”

Rin finally looked up with the enthusiasm of someone reviewing their tax returns.

"Mind."

Rin spoke indifferently, his deep teal eyes made Kia overwhelmed, his face darkened, he didn’t expect Rin to be so disrespectful, he stood there, hands clasped together, looking both pitiful and helpless. Rin didn’t spare him a second glance.

Instead, he turned to Bachira and handed over the menu with all the grace of a mafia boss at a family dinner.

“Choose, Shidou pays.”

“Damn right!” Shidou thumped his chest proudly. “Don’t be shy, kiddos. Order whatever - I'm not some broke college student!"

Bachira grinned like he’d just won a lifetime supply of food. “Then I won’t hold back!”

He immediately dived into the menu with the focus of someone studying for finals. Every few seconds, he’d shoot Rin a questioning look like: This one? And Rin, surprisingly cooperative, would nod. Another dish circled. Another victory.

From across the restaurant, Isagi buried his face in his hands, he knew it!! Somewhere, a meteorologist was reporting unexplained atmospheric pressure changes caused solely by Rin's disdain

Kia was completely ignored, his eyes misting up like someone had just told him Santa wasn’t real. He stood there, flustered and pitiful, like a chicken that got halfway through a sob story before choking on a feather.

And then—because no disaster is complete without a chorus—here came the rest of them, pushing forward like backup dancers in a tragedy.

"Kia just wanted to have dinner together out of kindness! No need to be so damn rude. Who raised you? Wolves?"

Reo also pulled Kia behind and spoke to comfort him:

"Don’t waste your kindness, Kia. Some people just don’t deserve it."

"B-But… Rin looks so lonely… What if seeing us together hurts him even more…?" Kia said with tears in his eyes, showing innocent expression.

“You,” Chigiri sighed, shaking his head like a proud parent at a school award ceremony, “you’re always so kind.” From the first time they met, Kia was already like this, Chigiri had seen Kia standing in the rain holding an umbrella for two abandoned kittens until he caught a cold, he was also the only one who came to visit him when he sprained his ankle from running too hard, he also saw Kia tearfully recounting the outrageous things Rin had done and then in the end taking all the blame on himself, smiling sadly. Thinking of this, Chigiri immediately bristled, raising his voice:

"Lonely? GOOD. Maybe he’ll finally learn some karma!"

Reo placed a hand on Chigiri’s shoulder, trying to calm the volcano down. He knew Chigiri’s temper ran hot, and he knew his friend hated Rin’s guts. Not that Reo liked Rin either—guy had a habit of bulldozing people’s feelings and acting like he didn’t care—but he was raised to keep a cool head. Still, even he muttered under his breath:
"Seriously, what’s his problem…?"

Then—silence.

Clink.

The soft sound of chopsticks tapping against a plate. Bachira, who had up until now been laser-focused on circling food like it was a sacred ritual, slowly raised his head.

Gone was the warm golden light in his eyes. What replaced it was cold, clear, and razor-sharp—like glass splinters catching the light.

Dangerous.

"Karma?" Bachira tilted his head, voice eerily calm. “Sorry, I must’ve missed the logic train, ‘cause I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

He set his chopsticks down and stood up, sliding an arm around Rin’s shoulder with all the possessiveness of someone guarding a treasure. Then he tilted his chin up with just the right amount of arrogance:

"Funny. Rin-chan clearly said no, but here you are, crying like he’s the villain." Smirking. "And newsflash—Rin’s not lonely. He’s got me. So take your fake concern and shove it."

Shidou, who had been silently observing the chaos while mentally calculating how much Bachira’s menu choices would cost him, He glanced at Rin—who looked more confused than offended by Bachira’s sudden transformation—and suddenly grinned. 

Worth every damn cent!

Isagi also spoke up to mediate, though the uncertainty in his own voice made him flustered:

“Okay, okay, I think maybe Kia meant well—no need to get so fired up, right?”

Wrong move.

Bachira’s gaze shifted, slow and deliberate, locking onto Isagi with the intensity of a jungle cat sizing up prey.

“And who the hell asked what you think?”

He didn’t even shout. Just dropped it, deadpan, as if he were pointing out that the sky was blue and Isagi’s opinion was useless.

“You weirdo.”

Silence.

Complete, awkward, pin-drop silence. Even the wind chimes at the door seemed to reconsider making noise.

Rin watched the scene unfold—Bachira baring fangs one second, grinning wide the next, Shidou looking like a proud sponsor of this chaos—and suddenly, unexpectedly, he giggled.

Just a little. But it slipped out.

It was a strange sound, even to his own ears.

Because this—was new.

Ever since Bachira met Isagi after that 4vs4 match, the two had been inseparable, like someone had pressed “bond instantly” and then broken the dial. They clung to each other like velcro, and somehow, clung to him too, like a third piece of a set no one asked for. At one point, their friendship—nicknamed The Kappa and the Striker—even made it into the press. Twice.

The headlines were embarrassing. "Unbreakable Bond of Understanding on and off the Field." Pfft. What understanding? They spent most of their time arguing over snack flavors.

When asked in an interview, “Who’s your best friend in BlueLock?”, both Isagi and Bachira pointed at each other without hesitation.

Yet when questioned about who they wanted beside them on the field—

"Itoshi Rin."

What a mess.

So seeing those two "ride-or-die brothers" now, practically growling at each other like rival cats over a sunbeam... it was kind of funny. Ridiculous, and maybe a little heartwarming. Just enough for Rin to lose control for a second.

Rin’s chuckle sliced through the tension like a knife.

Bachira, hearing it, immediately sheathed his claws. He beamed at Rin—sunlight in human form—then resumed studying the menu as if he hadn’t just verbally eviscerated someone. Completely ignoring the way Shidou was blinking like he’d just been emotionally mugged.

Rin wiped the smile off his face like a smudge on glass, then said flatly:

“Kappa Head already said it. I refuse. If you want to eat, eat. If not, turn around and turn left. The restaurant’s not so cramped that I have to degrade myself by sitting with you bottom-feeders. Sharing a table would ruin my appetite.”

Then he dropped into his seat with the elegance of someone completely done with all lifeforms present.

He gave Bachira a light pat on the hand, a subtle cue. Bachira got the message immediately, took the menu, sprinted to the counter, and returned grinning like he'd just won the lottery. Shidou, now distracted by the promise of food (and the impending doom for his wallet), easily matched Bachira’s energy s, lid right into their dynamic, laughing along like he hadn’t just threatened to duel someone minutes ago.

Rin didn’t say much, but he listened. Occasionally, he’d throw in a dry comment or a two-word opinion, and the two idiots would instantly react like they’d been blessed by a rare Pokémon encounter.

Across the room, Itoshi Sae sat very still.

That laugh—Rin’s real laugh—echoed in his skull.  It had been so long since he’d seen Rin smile like that. No sarcasm. No forced charm. No teeth-baring social mask. Just... a smile. It was jarring, almost unreal. The only smile Sae remembered from Rin was the fake, desperate kind—trying to please, trying to survive.

But this?

This was different.

Sae didn’t even notice Kia tugging at his sleeve until he looked down and saw the boy pointing toward a table two rows over from Rin’s. Wordlessly, Sae sat down. No point calling Shidou back. That idiot would sooner lose three months’ salary than abandon Rin now. That guy was a mule in human skin. Unless Sae deducted five months' salary, nothing on Earth could reel him in.

Besides, Sae knew Shidou cared about Rin. He’d even warned the idiot once about Rin’s twisted personality, All he got for it was a look like Shidou was five seconds away from punching him in the face.

Honestly? Sae still wasn’t sure he’d been wrong.

.

.

The food arrived suspiciously fast—the perk of Bachira’s enthusiastic ordering. Rin eyed the spread with quiet satisfaction. "Thanks for the meal."

Then, he ate.

Bachira and Shidou chatted while they ate, hopping from one topic to another with alarming speed. Somehow, they were already two sentences away from discussing the birth of the universe. The atmosphere was almost... peaceful.

Until—

That’s when Kia’s voice rang out—loud, needy, and just slightly above what etiquette considered acceptable:

“Nii-chan, can you get that one for me? I can’t reach it.”

Shidou and Bachira both turned their heads at the same time, curious like cats hearing a new bag of treats being opened. Kia’s voice had rung out from two tables over, sweet and high-pitched:

“Nii-chan, pass me that one~ I can’t reach~”

Rin, master of selective hearing, chose violence in the form of silence. He calmly continued enjoying his meal, mentally bookmarking the restaurant under “Places worth returning to when the world isn’t full of idiots.”

But even Rin couldn’t ignore the uncanny resemblance between their two tables. Despite arriving later, Kia’s group had ended up with a spread 80% identical to Rin’s—down to the damn shrimp dish. And now, Kia was pulling the helpless baby act, complete with the "feed me, nii-chan" tone.

Bachira, watching this unfold, stared at the shrimp sitting barely a foot away from Kia’s precious little fingers. He pouted. Visibly.

Then muttered, loud enough for everyone at their table (and the next) to hear:

“That dish is right there, and he’s still asking for help. His arms aren’t broken.”

To be fair, Bachira had been giving Sae the stink-eye since this morning, ever since identifying him as The Guy Who Punched Rin. And after the guilt-tripping circus from earlier? His expression screamed: "Drop dead."

And while Bachira hadn’t spoken loud, but everyone here had predator hearing. Chigiri’s expression darkened instantly, like someone just insulted his shampoo brand.

Chigiri, ever the loyal attack dog, immediately snarled:
"Mind your own business, freak. Ever heard of manners?"

Bachira stuck out his tongue. "Last I checked, my mouth is on my face. Worry about yours."

Dramatic gasp.

Shidou immediately burst out laughing, clapping like someone watching live theatre. “Oooh~ spicy!” Then he added with a devilish smirk:
“But dear friend, that’s not the way. Don’t you see? The boy was just making a suggestion.”

Bachira turned to him, visibly confused, question marks hovered around his head; Kia was also very questionable, he asked Sae to pick up food for him simply to attract Rin's attention and heartache, after all, before when eating, Sae often picked up food for him, every time like that, Rin's eyes would shine with longing and anticipation, even though Sae never saw it; so he also completely didn't understand what exactly he was suggesting??

Shidou, ever the chaos conductor, raised his phone like he was presenting hard evidence in court. “I read a tweet yesterday. It said, ‘Whoever puts more food in someone’s bowl clearly loves them more.’” He turned to Bachira, eyes sparkling. “So tell me, Bachira—who loves Rin more: you or me?”

Bachira froze for exactly three seconds.

Then his golden-brown eyes lit up like a carnival.

“ME, duh!” he shouted, and immediately went turbo mode. Like a blur of chopsticks and reckless speed, he attacked the plates, dropping shrimp, meat, vegetables, and probably a garnish flower or two into Rin’s bowl.

“Rin-chan, eat more! You’re so skinny—if someone punched you, you’d fly through two walls! Come on, eat! Grow! Evolve!!”

Then, with the most innocent villain smile possible, he turned to Kia, whose jaw had tightened, and added sweetly:

“Thanks, buddy. I forgot to feed Rin. Your reminder was super helpful~”

Shidou, wiping tears of laughter, joined the food frenzy. “Ahh, Din Din needs it! You’re all bones and angst. Let Ryusei pile on the love—don’t fall for me too hard!”

Meanwhile, Rin, blissfully mid-meal just moments ago, stared at the mountain growing in his bowl like it personally offended him. He set down his chopsticks slowly. The corner of his eye twitched. Then twitched again.

He looked up at the two lunatics across from him, voice calm, even pleasant:

“If you two don’t quit this idiotic performance, I swear on every god that ever lived, I will dunk your heads into this soup and hold them there until I see bubbles.”

Dead silence.

The two idiots froze mid-reach, adopting identical "who, me?" puppy eyes. Rin exhaled through his nose, sighed, long-suffering, and then casually redistributed part of his overstuffed bowl into the two pristine bowls sitting in front of them.

“Eat. It’s getting cold.”

The two idiots lit up instantly, smiles back at full brightness. And sparked new chaos:

“Hey! Rin gave me seven pieces, you only got six!” Shidou called out, wagging a finger and throwing Bachira a mock-sneer. “Understand your place, newbie!”

Bachira puffed his cheeks and stared at Rin with enormous puppy eyes.

Rin grumbled, clearly regretting all life choices, and added another shrimp to his bowl.

Immediately, Shidou protested.

“Excuse me?! I’ve known Din Din longer! Why is this newly-hatched gremlin getting equal treatment?”

Bachira grinned. “Shidou-san, haven’t you heard of destiny? Rin-chan and I were meant to be. Love at first kick!”

Shidou crossed his arms. “Din Din is being UNFAIR. TWO MORE SHRIMP OR I DIE RIGHT HERE.”

"Then I get three! Best friend privileges!"

Rin’s face was a warzone of black lines, twitching muscles, and the spiritual scream of a man on the edge. He could feel his Anderine levels (like adrenaline, but worse) spiking into “potential felon” territory.

He raised his hand—

Bonk.
Bonk.

Two solid whacks to their heads.

“You two little shits. Eat. Or leave. If I end up with a murder charge on day one of school, it’s going in both your files. Under ‘cause of death: annoying while eating.”

Bachira cradled his head and muttered:

“Rin-chan is so fierce…”

Shidou rubbed his temple and added in a whisper:

“Good thing I’m in love with Din Din, or I’d have snapped back.”

“I love Rin-chan too,” Bachira whispered, like this was a romantic tragedy.

Rin, dead-eyed and deeply regretting every choice that led to this moment, picked up his chopsticks.

He ate.

In silence.

Surrounded by idiots.

From the beginning until now, Rin’s eyes had not glanced at the table next to him even once.

Sae noticed.

And he frowned. Hard.

He didn’t know why, but an uneasiness had started gnawing at him—like he’d done something very wrong and just didn’t know what it was yet. Which, frankly, was worse than knowing. It was like being guilty and clueless at the same time.

Beside him, Kia’s expression wasn’t any better. Not only had he failed to provoke Rin’s pity or even a single look, but he’d somehow helped set the stage for the warm little bubble of chaos happening at the next table. Watching it made his molars hurt.

And the worst part? Nothing he did now would change anything. So Kia just silently picked up his chopsticks and started eating, sulking like a cartoon side character who just got written out of the scene. The food he had sweetly asked Sae to get for him earlier? Still untouched on the platter. Sae hadn’t served it into his bowl like usual. And Kia—shockingly—no longer had the guts to remind him.

It was Isagi, ever observant and awkwardly nice, who quietly picked up the food and dropped it into Kia’s bowl. Kia forced a smile, whispered a thank you, and the whole table sank into an awkward silence so thick it could be sliced like sashimi.

Chigiri didn’t speak. Reo was too busy cutting meat into tiny pieces for his "treasure" to care. Everyone retreated into their own thoughts, and the atmosphere became... complicated.

.

In contrast—at Rin’s table—life was thriving.

After suffering a double-head-smack from Rin's righteous fury, Shidou and Bachira had finally started eating in silence. For exactly three minutes.

"Rin-chan, try this! It's so good I could cry!"
"Din Din, open wide~ Ah—"
"NO FEEDING." (Rin smacks chopsticks away)

Then the countdown to chaos reset.

They were already laughing again, making up nonsense about alternate universes and arguing over which animal would win in a mud wrestling match: a giraffe or an angry goose.

Rin sighed but didn’t interrupt. He just tuned them out, choosing peace over logic. Yet despite his scowls, Rin did pause intermittently to glare at them until they actually ate.

"Chew. Swallow. Then talk, idiots.".

About forty minutes later, the table was full of empty bowls and satisfied sighs.

Rin leaned back, rubbed his stomach with quiet pride, and then nodded at Shidou with the grace of a queen giving orders.

Shidou stood up with the energy of a man walking to his own execution, grumbling about "ungrateful brats", inflation and unjust friendship fees while flashing his obnoxiously bedazzled phone at the cashier. Meanwhile, Bachira was not slacking. He darted into the kitchen, returned with takeout containers, and carefully packed the leftovers—each dish neatly sealed like a survival ration.

"This is for midnight snacks! This for breakfast! This for—"

Rin didn’t comment. After all, they shared a dorm. Privacy and solo snacking were already a fantasy.

Once the bill was paid, they slowly made their way to the door. Shidou jogged after them, refusing to let the night end without his customary 2-minute “mom rant.”

“Din Din, don’t you dare skip meals when I’m not around, okay?” he began, wagging a finger like someone twice Rin’s age. “You’re so damn skinny—if I see you again and you haven’t gained at least 3 kilos, I’m gonna be mad. Eat on time, eat enough, eat well, don’t study too hard, don’t train too late, don’t stay up— hey! Are you even listening to me?!”

Rin, with all the grace of a tired cat, mumbled, “I know, I know. You say this every time. You’re not my mom, why do you care so much?”

“I am!” Shidou huffed. “You’re the worst child. No sense of security at all.”

Then he turned to Bachira, who stood next to him looking up with wide eyes and arms full of leftovers. Shidou laid a dramatic hand on his shoulder like he was giving away a precious daughter at a wedding.

“Kid, I’m leaving Din Din in your care for now. Keep an eye on him. He never listens to me.”

Bachira stood tall—well, as tall as one can while carrying six pounds of Tupperware. If his hands were free, he’d have saluted like a soldier.

“Shidou-san, you can count on me! I guarantee Rin-chan will gain four kilos in two weeks!”

The hell he will, Rin thought, almost tripping over his own feet. Sure, this body was weaker than his old one, but unchecked weight gain was not on his to-do list.

Shidou gave a satisfied nod and gently patted Bachira’s shoulder. Then he gave Rin two solid, oddly warm smacks on the arm and softened his voice:

“Alright, go home early and rest. Din Din, if something happens, message me. Don’t carry everything alone like you always do.”

Rin looked at Shidou's slightly serious gaze and laughed.

Just a little.

He reached out to take the bags that Bachira was holding, walked back to the dormitory, and said back:

“I know, I know, why don't you go register to be my direct guardian?”

“I would, and you know it!” Shidou yelled after him.

Bachira skipped forward to catch up with Rin, then turned around and waved wildly.

“Shidou-san! Treat us to a few more meals next time, okay? Bye byeeee~!”

Shidou’s face instantly darkened. “These freeloaders... You think intern salaries are limitless?!”

But even as he grumbled, he couldn’t stop smiling. He waved back anyway.

Because, despite everything—despite the noise, the chaos, the shrimp war, the fake drama and the shrimp again—tonight had been warm.

And sometimes, warm was more than enough.

.

Once Rin and Bachira’s silhouettes disappeared around the corner, Shidou took his sweet time strolling back into the restaurant like he owned the place. Hands in pockets, smirk loaded. He walked straight to Sae’s table, dragged out a chair, and dropped into it with the elegance of a collapsing sandbag.

Unbothered by the sharp, cold glares aimed his way, he turned to Sae, winked, and said cheerfully—no, demandingly:

“Don’t worry. I’m stuffed. I won’t mooch off this table anymore.”

Chigiri narrowed his eyes. “So now you remember who you came here with?”

Shidou glanced lazily at Chigiri’s hot pink hair, squinting like it personally offended him. Then he smiled, full of mockery:

“Now I’m here with you kids. Loosen up, yeah? Sheesh, it’s like everyone here has a crush on me or something.”

He let out a dramatic sigh and put a hand to his chest.

“This tragic curse of mine—being this damn irresistible.”

Chigiri was left speechless. He stared at Shidou like he wanted to throw his chopsticks at him but knew it wouldn’t help. The man’s skin was too thick—emotionally and physically. So, instead, Chigiri chose peace and went back to his food, chewing with the vengeance of a man biting his tongue just to survive the moment.

Then Kia spoke, his voice as soft and sugary as ever:

“I didn’t expect Rin to treat Shidou-san so kindly. He was so aggressive earlier... only toward me.”

Big. Mistake.

Shidou’s expression dropped faster than a guillotine. His easygoing smirk vanished, and his pink pupils sharpened into slits of wild, simmering heat. He turned his gaze on Kia—slowly, deliberately—and stared.

Until he started trembling.

His voice came low and dangerous, all friendliness gone:

“If you knew he was aiming that at you… and still came over acting cute, then weren’t you basically asking to get hit?”

Sae frowned, dissatisfied, glanced at Shidou warningly, Shidou had received the message but didn't care, he crossed his arms, the aura he gave off wasn’t “casual”—it was predatory.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sae,” he said coolly. “I’m not the type to hold back just because we’re on the same payroll. If someone gets on my nerves, they get dealt with.”

Then he turned his eyes back to Kia, tilting his head ever so slightly, voice cold as ice:

“Also, lose that fake politeness. That little ‘Shidou-san’ thing? Gives me hives. Next time, say it with some actual respect or don’t say it at all.”

Kia’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. It felt like every molecule of shame from the past five years had just resurrected and slapped him in the face at once.

Reo, frowning now, spoke firmly:

“Shidou. Don’t overdo it.”

Shidou raised an eyebrow, but didn’t argue. He had no interest in bickering with this batch of soap opera extras. He simply shrugged, as if flicking off the drama like lint from his jacket.

Then his phone buzzed.

He glanced down—and immediately, his sharpness melted like sugar in tea. His whole posture softened, and a dumb smile curled onto his lips.

It was from Bachira.

----------------

From: Bachibee 🐝MISSION COMPLETE!!! 🔥🔥🔥
Rin-chan is choosing pajamas like it's life or death 😭👕👖
I’m standing guard outside the bathroom like a loyal knight 🫡
P.S. DON’T FORGET OUR STEAK DATE 🥩💥🔥 OR I’LL CRY!!!

📸 [Attachment: Unhinged selfie. Bachira’s face squished in the bottom corner, huge grin. Behind him: Rin, back turned, dramatically inspecting pajama options like he’s picking a wedding suit.]

-------------------

😈 To: Bachibee 🐝
Make him pick SOMETHING or we’ll be here till morning 😩
Steak is conditional 🥩🪙
Good boy = reward 🎁
Car’s on the way.
DON’T DIE. ☠️

-------------------

From: Bachibee 🐝
ROGER THAT, SECOND MOM!!! 💥💥💥
MISSION: FEED RIN-CHAN!!!
STATUS: PROCESSINGGG. 🔥🔥🔥

----------------------

Sae, sitting beside him, caught a glimpse of the photo.

Something twisted in his chest.

Rin had blacklisted everyone just the day before. Sae hadn’t been able to message him, call him, or even forward a file. Watching that blurry back view of Rin choosing clothes, warm light falling on his shoulders—and seeing someone else receive it in real time—was… hard.

Sae quietly turned his head and picked up his chopsticks again.

He pretended the tightness in his chest was just indigestion.

Out of everyone at the table, he was doing the best. Barely.

But for Isagi, Reo, Chigiri, and Kia? This was déjà vu from lunch all over again. They had eaten heartbreak at noon, and dinner wasn’t looking much tastier.

Isagi poked at his rice, feeling frustration bubble inside him.

Annoyed. Helpless. Hungry.

And the only thing worse than being ignored… was being ignored while someone else got all the laughter.

Chapter Text

The next day, Rin practically didn’t set foot outside the dorm.
Partly because he was busy rearranging his schedule with the precision of a military general—which made Bachira visibly distressed. The moment he peeked at Rin’s planner, his eyebrows shot up and he cried out with all the gravitas of a self-proclaimed life coach:

“Rin-chan, let life happen as it wants to!”

Rin, entirely unimpressed, scoffed. His life would go exactly how he wanted it to. That Kappa-headed idiot would soon regret his carefree attitude once  brutal training schedule—sandwiched between actual classes—kicked in. . And when that moment came, Rin would absolutely not offer him a single helping hand. Not even a finger. Nope. Never.

Besides, Rin was still healing. His bruises—fading under his strictly regimented (read: obsessive) recovery routine—meant overexerting himself right now would be idiotic. And Rin was many things, but never an idiot. Lunch was last night’s leftovers reheated; dinner was two giant bowls of ramen Bachira sprinted out to buy. They both ate until they physically couldn’t get up. Zero regrets.

As for their mysterious roommates, still MIA. Bachira asked once—then shrugged.
“As long as Rin’s here, I don’t need anyone else~,” he chirped.

And so, their first semester began, soundtracked by Bachira’s endless, meaningless chatter.

...

Morning sunshine filtered stubbornly through the leaves, leaving messy patches of white light on the ground as Rin bid farewell to Bachira—his upperclassman—amidst (one-sided) tears.

“Rin-chan, be a good student today, okay?” Bachira sniffled, clutching Rin’s hand.
“Listen to the teachers, don’t slack off, punch anyone who bullies you—but if you can’t, come tell me and I’ll punch them for you! And no sneaky snacks in class, alright? Don’t get caught or you’re done for…”

Rin had zero patience for this nonsense. He kicked Bachira gently in the shin and waved him off like an annoying stray cat. Bachira looked betrayed but still turned away—only to glance back every three steps, eyes shimmering like a drama queen —until Rin bent down and picked up a small rock (purely symbolic, probably) that Bachira squeaked, dodged, and scampered off toward Building B.

Rin strolled leisurely toward the freshman lecture hall. It was barely past 7 AM; assembly didn’t start until 8.

He wasn’t worried about being late. On the contrary, he wanted to be early—to check out the practice rooms, the gym, the clubs, and the layout of the campus.
So far, his entire world had consisted of his dorm, his schedule, and a certain chaotic roommate with too much energy and too little volume control.

Time to expand the map.

...

Rin wandered aimlessly, glaring at his phone's map before coming to an abrupt halt.
Where the actual hell am I?

Lost. Pathetically lost. How humiliating. All thanks to this stupid, traitorous, GPS-pretending piece of junk. He gave his phone a little shake, as if threatening it might miraculously improve the signal. The map insisted he was still on the east side of campus, but unless the school recently installed a haunted pine forest as a decorative piece, something was seriously wrong.

He looked around. Tall pines stabbed into the sky, their trunks strangled by nameless vines. The air smelled like untouched wilderness and poor life choices, as if nature itself was going through a goth phase. It didn’t feel like a campus anymore—it felt like he’d been dropped straight into the set of a survival horror movie.

Fantastic. A primeval forest in the middle of campus? Seriously, Fuji, what kind of messed-up campus planning is this? Was he in a “forbidden zone”? Was there going to be a cursed statue around the corner demanding a blood sacrifice? Perfect. One minute he was preparing for theory class, the next he was auditioning for Survivor: Academy Edition.

Rin felt a headache forming. He should have just waited in the stupid building for the stupid professor with the stupid tie instead of playing explorer and ending up in this damn forest like an idiot. Late on the first day. Brilliant.

The map was useless. Absolutely no help. So Rin made the executive decision to march west. Blind faith and sheer bitterness would be his compass. He stomped through the forest like a grumpy cryptid. Just as he was seriously considering setting fire to the entire forest and sacrificing himself for warmth and irony, something caught his ear.

Shouting. Fighting. Swearing.

It was faint but clear—because in this quiet wilderness, even a whisper could sound like a rock concert. Rin’s eyes narrowed. He followed the sound, crunching leaves underfoot, and with every step, the cursing grew louder, shriller, more violent.

Then he stepped out into a clearing.

Silence.

Everyone turned to stare at him like he was the final boss that had just spawned. Rin blinked. Before him were two boys enthusiastically kicking the living daylights out of another one curled up on the ground. And yet, weirdly enough, the boy being beaten wasn’t making a single sound. He just stayed there, curled into a defensive ball, arms protecting his head and vital areas.

Rin raised an eyebrow. Solid defense. Not bad. Honestly, the kicks looked dramatic but were probably doing 10% actual damage. No bruises, no blood—what a bunch of amateurs.

Look, Rin wasn’t a saint. He wasn’t even a part-time hero. As long as no one was actively being murdered, he had better things to do than intervene. He was a law-abiding citizen, not a rescue service.

So, he simply raised a hand and asked—politely, mind you:

“Excuse me. Does anyone know how to get back to campus?”

Despite the courteous phrasing, his deadpan tone and glacier-level expression gave him the exact energy of a noble prince passing judgment on peasant squabbles.

The two aggressors froze, completely incapable of processing this new variable.

Just as Rin sighed (preparing to repeat himself for the intellectually challenged)—when the boy on the ground spoke up. His face was hidden behind his arms, but a mess of purple-red hair peeked out, ending in sun-bleached yellow tips. Something about it rang a bell, but Rin didn’t have the energy to care. Whatever. Priority one: escape this nightmare.

The boy’s voice came out weak, yet eerily calm, like this was just another Tuesday.

“Just… keep going straight. Five minutes. You’ll get outta here.”

Rin gave the boy a small smile, nodded his thanks like a polite citizen of society, then casually stuffed his hands into his pockets and strolled forward, like this was just a scenic walk through an enchanted forest instead of a post-brawl crime scene.

And of course—because peace was never an option—the moment he turned his back, one of the bullies suddenly regained brain function.

“Hey!” A hand clamped onto Rin’s collar and yanked him backward.

Rin blinked lazily as the boy snarled right in his face, eyes gleaming with the feral confidence of someone who’d watched one too many street fight compilations.

“You saw it, didn’t you? Better shut the hell up about it—unless you want to eat dirt next!” he growled, attempting intimidation with all the subtlety of a cartoon villain.

Rin stared back, emotionless. The look on his face said, Do I look like someone who gives a single damn?

The bully twitched, clearly mistaking silence for fear. He puffed up like a pufferfish and shouted:

“You—you bastard! Who the hell do you think you’re giving that look to?!”

And then, predictably, he swung.

Rin had roughly zero interest in catching a fist to the face today, so he smoothly leaned aside. The guy’s punch sliced through air, momentum carried the bully forward—exactly where Rin wanted him. Rin took that moment to drive his knee hard into the kid’s stomach.

WHUMP.

The sound was satisfying. The kind of sound that made you wince even if you were three meters away. The bully made a choked noise somewhere between a cough and a squeal as his organs collectively filed for emergency relocation. Before he could even remember what breathing felt like, Rin pivoted, swung his leg up, and cracked him across the side with a clean hook kick.

BAM.

The guy hit the ground like a sack of regret.

The second guy, watching this scene unfold like a slow-motion nightmare, finally decided to try something. He charged forward with all the strategic planning of a drunk goose, foot already lifted for a kick.

Rin side-eyed him. Rookie mistake. Who used their right leg to pivot and attack without guarding their stance? Amateur hour.

Without blinking, Rin stepped in and kicked hard into the inside of the guy’s calf—right where the muscle is tender and totally unprepared for violence.

“AGHHHH—!” The guy screamed like a banshee as his leg gave out. Rin followed it up with a clean jab to the stomach—just for good measure—and the second one collapsed next to his friend, gasping and groaning in perfect harmony.

Rin clicked his tongue, mildly impressed.

He'd learned that calf-kick trick from none other than the yellow cockroach Shidou. Rin vividly remembered watching Shidou knee poor Nanase in the exact same spot—Nanase almost cried from the pain and soreness. Rin had been halfway between horrified and weirdly impressed. After that, every time Shidou got within five meters of him, Rin instinctively reached for a weapon or a whistle.

Now, seeing the second guy on the ground clutching his leg and sobbing into the grass, Rin thought grimly: Damn. That move really is effective.

He folded his arms, looked down at the two heapified bodies rolling on the forest floor, and sighed. From the corner of his eye, movement caught his attention.

The victim from earlier—purple-red hair with sun-bleached tips—was now standing up, slowly brushing the dirt off himself. His wide eyes flicked from the bullies to Rin, then back again, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

Rin couldn’t either.

Because wait just one second.

Wasn’t this supposed to be an ordinary high school?

He stared at the boy in disbelief. Not just because he’d just soloed two idiots, but because—that hair. That face. Those weirdly European features.

Rin’s brain did a mental systems check. This isn’t Blue Lock. I’m not in some elite training prison. This is just a normal Japanese high school, right??

And yet—this person was wearing the same school uniform as him.

Which made absolutely no sense. Rin had done his mental math: Only Reo and Nagi were supposed to be classmates. Isagi and Bachira definitely went to a different school—he had proof. Rin still remembered the time Bachira showed him a photo of their school festival, dragging Isagi along in a ridiculous costume, both of them in different uniforms.

So explain this.

Why was he living in the same dorm as Bachira, but now seeing Isagi, Reo, Chigiri, Nagi, and now this one on the same campus? Was this cursed school just out here recruiting the entire national team? Was Fuji running an elite Blue Lock 2.0 underground without telling anyone?

Rin felt a full-body headache coming on. A bad one.

He had a horrible feeling—one of those ominous, gut-level instincts—that every damn member of Blue Lock might somehow be enrolled in this same chaotic school.

He tried to dismiss the thought.

Unfortunately, Rin was almost always right about the things he didn’t want to be.

His eye twitched. His soul sighed.

Alexis Ness blinked, slightly dazed, as he stared at the boy in front of him—dark green hair, sharp turquoise eyes that looked like they could cut through lies and souls alike. Rin was frowning at him with all the warmth of a winter gust, sunlight dappled through the leaves and fell softly on his face, giving him the strangely ethereal aura of some forest guardian spirit who would 100% kick you out of his territory for littering.

Ness drooled slightly. Not literally. (Okay maybe literally, but just a little.)

Someone had just saved his ass from getting kicked into next week. He couldn’t just stand there like a stunned deer forever, could he?

So, trying his best to act like a normal human being, Ness brushed the dirt off his clothes, straightened his disheveled collar, took one graceful step forward—and lifted a hand with the gentlest smile he could muster.

“Hi! I’m Alexis Ness. I’m German. Second year. First time attending a Japanese high school, but I speak Japanese just fine. Very nice to meet you!”

Rin looked at him. Then looked at Ness’s outstretched, dirt-smudged hand.

He made no move to shake it, had absolutely no intention of participating in sharing bacteria with Ness.

In fact, Rin didn’t say a single word. Just reached into his pocket, pulled out a packet of wet wipes (an essential survival tool when you lived in the same dorm as Bachira the Ferret of Filth), and chucked it straight at Ness’s chest.

Then, like nothing had happened, he turned around and started walking in the direction Ness had pointed earlier, hands casually in his pockets.

Rin had decided this was now officially just a walk in the woods. He didn’t meet anyone. He didn’t see anything. The boy on the ground? Figment of his imagination. The beatdown? A breeze ruffling the branches.

Besides, if Ness was here, then that raised the probability that certain other German disasters were nearby too. Rin was not mentally or emotionally prepared to bump into anyone from Blue Lock right now—especially not the ones with sparkles in their eyes and poor impulse control. He had a mission. A single objective. And it didn’t involve murdering a narcissist in a school uniform.

Behind him, Ness stood quietly, clutching the wet wipes like they were holy scripture.

Something in his chest twisted.

He wasn’t quite sure what it was. Gratitude? Admiration? Existential confusion?

Whatever it was, it got cut short by the groaning of the two guys still flopping around on the ground like fish out of sewer water.

Ness looked down at them. The softness vanished from his expression. Completely. All that remained was frost.

These bastards had dragged him into the woods over bumping into a girl on the first day of school. What kind of villain origin story was that? Ness had barely gotten a tour and already he was getting ambushed by discount gangsters. He hadn’t even done anything back—just blocked, covered, and hoped he’d still have teeth by lunch.

Now, watching them writhing like discarded trash, Ness stepped forward.

The bigger guy made the mistake of trying to look threatening again. Opened his mouth to spit out something.

Ness stared him down.

Cold. Flat. Sharp as broken glass in the snow.

And then he spoke—softly, evenly—but with a darkness curling behind every syllable:

“Lucky you.”
“I was going to use this injury as a reason to personally remove your moldy presence from this school. But surprise… I met someone far more interesting.”

“So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to disappear. You’re going to act like you’ve never seen me. Because if I ever see you two cockroaches crawling around again, I won’t even need to fight you.”

“I have a hundred and one ways to drag filth like you straight back into the mud you came from.”

The silence afterward was thick. The air practically buzzed.

And then Ness crouched down beside the big guy, took out his phone, and, in a voice light as air, began reading:

“Aoyama Toiki. Seventeen. Sent to a juvenile facility for two days at age thirteen—shoplifting. Transferred schools twice by fourteen. Violence. Harassment. Huh... says here you’re very protective of your little sister, Shizu. What a pretty name.”

The guy’s face went pale. Visibly. Like milk poured into dirty water.

Ness smiled—no kindness in it.

“Fuck—don’t you dare touch my sister!!”

The bully screamed it in raw panic, scrambling backward as if Ness was holding a loaded gun instead of just words and a very detailed Google history.

Ness lowered his gaze, voice dropping to a murmur—low, almost casual, but every syllable laced with razor wire:

“It’s your choice.”
“Maybe your little sister will meet some lunatic with a knife on the way home. Or maybe she’ll stumble across a few depraved bastards—just like you two. Or maybe she’ll fall into a river—deep, quiet, empty—where no one’s around to hear her scream.”
He tilted his head, thoughtful.
“Hard to pick, isn’t it? So many options. So little time.”

Then he turned, his purple gaze locking onto the second guy—Chunta Takeshi. Ness smiled, too sweet, too slow, and nudged his polished shoe against the guy’s bruised leg. Chunta flinched, pain twisting his features, his whole body trembling like a kicked mutt.

Ness whispered like he was telling a secret.

“But hey… your girlfriend deserves options too, doesn’t she? You wouldn’t want her to miss out.”

Chunta cracked.
“I—we’re sorry! Please! We won’t do it again, just—just leave them out of this—!”

“Yes! We’re scum! Trash! Please—don’t touch them—!” the other one gasped, voice broken.

Ness watched them with glowing violet eyes, something unreadable coiling beneath his skin. His smile never reached his eyes, and when he finally spoke, it came out in a sing-song falsetto—mockery dipped in poison:

“Aww, such model students. But time’s ticking.”
He lifted one foot, rested it gently atop a twitching hand on the ground.
“Can’t keep the teachers waiting, right? Wouldn’t want to ruin such a lovely first impression on day one…”

And just like that, he turned and skipped off, the plastic pouch of wet wipes still clenched in his hand like a trophy, the sun glinting off his teeth in a smile that didn’t quite reach human.

...

Rin had absolutely no idea—and even less desire—to know what happened next.

After a few more minutes of wandering through unfamiliar hallways, he eventually found his way back to the assigned classroom. He slipped in just before the lecturer arrived, settling by the window, far to the left, where the light filtered in and spilled across his desk.

The first day held no lessons—just schedules, textbooks, rules, introductions. The teacher spoke steadily at the front, outlining everything from elective rotations to science practicums. Rin listened without listening, words washing over him like a soft tide against rock. His eyes wandered.

Outside, the sky stretched endlessly above the treetops, a brilliant, lazy blue. Clouds drifted slowly like weightless memories, thick as cotton, dissolving at the edges. The sunlight played across the leaves. Rin stared through the window and, without meaning to, drifted with it.

A summer sky. Just as blue. Just as endless.

“ Two figures walked beneath it—one tall, one small—hand in hand under scattered shade. Their shadows curved across the sidewalk, stretching long and thin in the sun.

“Nii-chan, Ice cream!!”
“Alright . Two, please! ”

The memory flickered like film—soft, sun-warmed, just a little out of focus.

“Wow! I won! Look, Nii-chan—‘Congratulations! One more free ice cream’!”
The boy grinned, holding up the winning stick like treasure, tugging the hand beside him with glee.

“Hmph. Don’t waste your luck on something so trivial,” the older one said with mock sternness, taking a bite of his ice cream like it offended him.

“Okay! I’ll listen to Nii-chan!”

The younger boy promptly threw the stick away.

Rin’s chest ached at the memory. He could still see the shape of it—the grin, the warmth, the sticky fingers. He could still hear the quiet laughter tucked behind Sae’s words, hidden beneath the scoldings.

But that world… it was gone.

His thoughts twisted, turned in on themselves. If he was here now, then what had happened to the Rin from before? Was he… gone? Dead? Had anyone noticed? Had anyone cared? Did Sae? Would he have even known if Rin had disappeared without a sound?

And what about Blue Lock? The World Cup? His team, his coach, that future he’d fought so hard for—
Gone?

Could he ever go back?

The weight of questions pressed down on him—wordless, relentless.

“Rin-chan...”

A voice. Distant. He barely registered it.

The dizziness came in waves. His stomach twisted. His skin had gone cold.

He was still—body taut, breathing shallow, muscles locked from the quiet storm within. He had plans. He had purpose. And yet, the past slipped through the cracks when he least expected it. These little memories—small, harmless things—would slide in, uninvited, and unravel him from the inside.

“Rin-chan, hey…”

His hands were clenched in his lap. His jaw tight. The sunlight no longer felt warm.

Rin rarely felt helpless. He hated it.

But here—lost in a world that wasn’t his, separated from everything and everyone he once knew—he couldn’t stop the silence from swallowing him.

And for the first time in a long time, Rin wasn’t sure how to keep himself together.

“ITOSHI RINNNN!!!”

The yell hit like a spiritual exorcism.

Rin jerked in his seat, as if someone had yanked his drifting soul back from the clouds. His dazed emerald eyes slowly regained focus—just in time to be filled with a pair of honey-colored ones blinking down at him, brimming with concern.

Standing right in front of him: Bachira Meguru.

Which immediately made zero sense.

Rin blinked.
“…Kappa? What the hell are you doing in the first-year zone?”

Bachira frowned dramatically, then reached out and slapped a hand onto Rin’s forehead with all the intensity of a frantic mother goose.
“School ended twenty minutes ago!! I called Rin-chan’s name like, a dozen times! You were totally zoned out! Did you catch a fever? Get possessed? Abducted by aliens and dropped back down missing half your memories?!”

Rin wrinkled his brow, brushing the hand off.
“I’m being haunted by an idiot who doesn’t belong here.”

Bachira grinned, clearly relieved Rin was back to his usual grumpy self.
“Ah, so Rin-chan is still in there somewhere! But—” His tone turned suspiciously serious. “Are you really okay? Because if you’re secretly possessed, I will go find a shaman. I’m not above smudging incense and chanting in Latin.”

Rin stood up, stretched like a lazy cat, and waved him off.
“I’m hungry. Stop talking nonsense. Cafeteria.”

“YEAH!!” Bachira lit up instantly, all concern forgotten as he bounced alongside Rin.
“I passed by earlier—it’s packed! That means they’re cooking something legendary today!”

Rin gave him a look.
“Crowds don’t equal quality, dumbass.”

Bachira hummed cheerfully, clearly unfazed and deeply committed to his personal cafeteria philosophy. Rin, knowing full well arguing with him was like trying to win chess against a tornado, said nothing and kept walking.

----

The cafeteria at Fuji High School sat neatly between lecture halls A and B—northwest corner, just far enough to feel like a hike when you were hungry. True to Bachira’s warning (or promise, depending on how you looked at it), the place was buzzing like a festival. Noisy. Chaotic. A sea of uniforms, voices, and clattering trays.

Crowds. He hated crowds. Every instinct screamed at him to turn around and retreat to the quiet of the dorm.

Rin frowned. His fight-or-flight instinct was leaning heavily toward “flight.”

Not that it mattered.

Because Bachira, oblivious to all social cues as usual, grabbed his hand and dragged him headlong into the mess like a puppy yanking its owner toward a butterfly. Rin’s whole body went rigid, like a cat being carried into a bathtub, but Bachira had the enthusiasm of a freight train. And when food was involved, he developed the brute strength of a full-grown ox.

In under a minute, they were smack in the middle of the crowd, sandwiched between sweaty shoulders and waving arms, with two full trays already balanced precariously in Bachira’s hands. He plopped Rin into the longest rice queue like it was a seat at a five-star restaurant.

Rin stared at him, expression deadpan.

Of course. This idiot’s addicted to crowds, isn’t he?

He sighed. Well. Since he was already here, he might as well get lunch. If it was good, maybe he'd tolerate this war zone again. If not, he was switching to off-campus food with zero negotiations.

Beside him, Bachira was already rambling with the energy of someone who’d downed three cups of sugar. He talked about everything and nothing—how he accidentally fell asleep in class for an hour, how he saw two dragonflies fighting outside the biology room, how one broke its wing and the other flew off in what he described as “a dramatic exit full of regret.”

Then suddenly, he leaned in close, voice dropping to a whisper, eyes gleaming like he was about to share classified intel:

“I’m telling you—last class, I was stuck with those annoying people again.”
Bachira leaned in, whispering like he was sharing a dark family curse.
“Rin-chan remembers, right? The guy with two leaves growing out of his head and the one with bright red hair?”

Rin squinted slightly. The cafeteria noise was like being caught in a jungle full of clanging trays and territorial upperclassmen. Still, his brain connected the dots almost immediately: Isagi Yoichi and Chigiri Hyoma.
He raised an eyebrow, eyes saying, “And then?”

Bachira caught the cue instantly. His face scrunched in righteous offense.
“That blue-eyed guy kept following me around like a lost dog. Even had the audacity to ask about Rin-chan! Like, what year you're in, which class—ugh! I almost leapt on him and bit his face off, I swear! So annoying!! Luckily, the redhead dragged him away before I transformed.”

Rin’s lips curled slightly into a smirk.

Isagi asked about him?

The emerald of his eyes darkened, shade by shade. Technically, according to the half-ghosted memories in his borrowed body, Isagi had never harmed him. But he’d also never protected him. Always hovering, never reaching. Rin didn’t know what had triggered the shift in Isagi’s attitude—but he had a hunch. And it had something to do with that damn adopted son of fate.

But honestly? Rin didn’t give a damn.

So he replied, voice smooth and cold:
“Doesn’t matter. Ignore him.”

Bachira nodded vigorously, still mumbling in protest like an angry cartoon bee.

Then, suddenly, his gaze zeroed in on something behind Rin. He stiffened.
His arms shot up.
His hands clapped straight over Rin’s face.
His voice dropped dramatically to a whisper:
“Don’t look!”

“What the fuck—?!” Rin growled, instantly glaring as his vision went full blackout.
Bachira held on tight, cupping Rin’s face like he was trying to protect a national treasure.
“Those hateful people are here! Out of sight, out of mind, Rin-chan!”

Rin, somewhere between amused and annoyed, sighed through his nose.
He patted one of Bachira’s hands.
“You actually know idioms? Impressive.”
Then, lowering his voice,
“Relax, I’m not looking. It’ll dirty my eyes. Let go, it’s almost your turn.”

Bachira, still pouting, slowly peeled his fingers off Rin’s face, but not without sending a death glare across the room toward whoever was responsible for his crisis.

Rin didn’t bother turning around. He simply nudged Bachira forward. Time to grab lunch, not start a school brawl.

Meanwhile, at the far corner of the cafeteria, a certain group of five stood in line—laughing, chatting, harmless as any other group of classmates.Kia, Isagi, Chigiri, Reo and Nagi

But the peace didn’t last.

Because suddenly, Isagi froze.

He’d just caught a very familiar (and extremely hostile) glare. His body stiffened like someone had poured ice water down his back.

Two hours ago, he’d made the grievous mistake of casually asking:
“Hey, Rin’s a first-year, right? So he’s in Building A?”

Totally innocent.
Completely polite.
Zero ill intent.

But the smiling demon across from him—Bachira Meguru—had nearly ripped out a chunk of his hair. If Chigiri hadn’t swooped in and yanked him away with Olympic-level reflexes, Isagi honestly doubted he’d be alive to enjoy lunch today.

He looked away now, flustered. Uncomfortable.

Which, of course, only drew everyone else’s attention.

Chigiri, Reo, Kia, Nagi —Only to witness Bachira clutching Rin’s face with both hands, squishing Rin’s cheeks so tightly that his expression looked halfway between a disgruntled cat and a poorly drawn mascot.

Nagi almost exploded with laughter.

Almost.

Reo gave him a single, spine-shivering glare.

The laughter died tragically in Nagi’s throat. He looked away, pretending to be deeply fascinated by his rice grains.

Rin, meanwhile, was still sighing.

Cafeteria chaos. Possessive bees. Annoying ghosts from a parallel life.

Great start to the school year.

“Only a few days left… and continue become a wandering ghost.”
Chigiri muttered under his breath with the solemnity of a temple monk predicting doom.

Kia glared at Rin. A full, dramatic glare charged with thunder and betrayal. The kind of glare people usually reserved for exes in revenge dramas. Rin, of course, didn’t even blink in his direction. Didn’t glance. Didn’t flinch. The sheer indifference hit harder than any insult. Kia’s fingers curled. His face twitched. How dare he?
This… this loser, who used to bow so low it looked like he was tying his shoes in front of Kia, was now acting like he couldn’t even see him? Unacceptable.

Kia’s expression dropped instantly, eyes glistening, voice trembling like a glass about to shatter:
“Rin… Rin won’t even look at me anymore…”
He sniffed. “I must’ve done something wrong. It’s all my fault… I’m such a burden…”

It was an Oscar-worthy performance. The cafeteria light hit his face just right—tears unshed, lips trembling, tragic beauty incarnate.

Chigiri gasped like someone just kicked his puppy.
“No, no, no! Don’t say that, Kia! You didn’t do anything wrong! You’re the victim here!!”
He turned to Rin, eyes narrowing in protest, already halfway to a full pouty monologue.

Reo, meanwhile, frowned faintly.
Something… didn’t line up.

He hadn’t seen Rin do anything—not even a glance toward Kia, let alone a cruel word. In fact, Rin had been a walking block of ice all morning, laser-focused on his food and far too grumpy to bother tormenting anyone.
So why did Kia sound like a damsel abandoned at the altar?

Reo shook his head. Don’t overthink it. Just Kia being Kia… probably. He stretched, put on a smile, and herded the group toward the back where a few open seats remained. There was lunch to eat, and a plate of karaage with his name on it.

On the other side of the cafeteria, Rin was slowly giving in to the scent of fried food and soy-glazed temptation.

This might be a battlefield, but at least it smelled divine.

His stomach let out a low growl of approval. Beside him, Bachira was bouncing like a caffeinated ferret, already halfway into a victory dance. Rin reached out and grabbed the back of his hoodie like a parent reeling in a rogue toddler.

“Pick your food before you start moonwalking.”

Bachira pouted but obeyed.
After some tray-wrangling and a few near-death experiences by elbow, they secured two decent-looking meals—balanced, colorful, and dangerously identical, ignoring Bachira's reproachful gaze.

“Rin-chan,” Bachira whined. “You’re really making me eat this? We’re twins now, and not in a cool way.”

“Shut up and chew.”

Ignoring the grumble, Rin scouted for seats. He spotted an empty table in the left corner—quiet, away from most of the chaos. He gave a small nod and started weaving through the crowd like a stealthy eel.
Behind him, Bachira made a sharp turn straight toward a tray of spicy chicken with all the subtlety of a missile.

Rin didn’t even look. Whatever. Let the monkey wander.

Click.
The sound of a tray hitting the tabletop cut through the white noise.

Rin blinked—and looked up.
Across from him: a rainbow of food. Vibrant, borderline artistic plating, absolutely not cafeteria standard. And next to it—

Alexis Ness.
Magenta hair shining like it came with a personal lighting rig, smile bright enough to blind a less emotionally-prepared man.

“Hello!” Ness beamed. “Nice to see you again! Thanks again for this morning! Can I sit here?”

Rin glanced around silently. The cafeteria was packed, the tables all around him full—some even had eight trays of food stacked on top of each other in a space meant for four. The word “no” threatened to fly out of his throat, but he swallowed it back.  He hadn’t done anything. Don’t be an asshole for no reason.

A soft sigh escaped. Rin nodded curtly and looked down, decided to turn Ness into air. Ness took that as an enthusiastic invitation and practically glided into the seat. Rin went back to eating, eyes focused on his grilled salmon like it owed him money.

2 minutes later.

The air speaks its presence:

“Um… I'm Alexis Ness, if you don't remember, a sophomore!”

The voice was just too bright, like it came with sparkles. It sliced through the air, clearly trying to plant friendship seeds in Rin’s icy terrain.

Rin resisted. Barely.
He was Japanese. He knew etiquette. He knew when someone introduced themselves, you responded, or risked karmic retribution in the form of stubbed toes and awkward elevator rides.

He swallowed his food slowly, eyes still half-lidded.

“…Itoshi Rin. First year.”

And just like that, the conversation—if you could even call it that—ended.
Rin dropped his gaze, returning to his lunch like it was the only thing left worth living for.

To be fair, his cold attitude wasn’t exactly Ness’s fault. Of course wasn’t Rin fault.
Back at BlueLock, Ness had never once landed on Rin’s radar. If Rin ever made a list titled “People Worth Interacting With” (spoiler: he wouldn’t, it never even existed), Ness wouldn’t even make the honorable mentions.
Why?

Two words.
Michael. Kaiser.

Rin almost gagged on his rice just thinking about that name.

He didn’t like Kaiser. In fact, he disliked him with an intensity usually reserved for war criminals and cockroaches—particularly the yellow-haired kind named Shidou.

Rin still remembered the first time Isagi complained about “that blond German freak” like a man personally betrayed by fate.
Back then, Rin didn’t really care. But then he met the guy.

And for the first time in history, Rin sided with Isagi on something.

The man was chaos with delusions of monarchy and a fan club made up entirely of people he either insulted or seduced.

This guy was really crazy.

After that, the confrontations between PXG Bastard became a triangular war, Isagi – Rin – Kaiser, the only difference was that Rin stood alone on one side while the other two sides joined together as a faction.

Back to Ness – who is known as “Bastard heart” or “magican” or something, Rin doesn’t care but he wasn’t blind. He’d seen Ness on the field, and begrudgingly admitted the guy had skill. Freakishly flexible joints, absurd dribbling control, and a pass style that made most defenders cry on the inside.

But none of that excused the way Ness practically worshipped Kaiser. Like a magician under a spell of his own choosing. Naturally, Ness—Kaiser’s self-declared shadow-slash-devoted-disciple—was collateral damage.
If Kaiser was a walking red flag, Ness was the flagpole he waved from.

In BlueLock, toxic dynamics were just Tuesday.
Fight. Manipulate. Survive.
“Kill or be killed,” not legally of course—don’t worry, Japan still had laws.

In short, Rin had no reason to talk to Ness. In any world. Past, present, multiverse, take your pick.

So today? He just wanted lunch. A quiet, drama-free lunch.

But fate was cruel.

And Ness? Apparently persistent.

Ness also felt the young man's coldness, but he was constantly attracted by something indescribable that kept pulling the man's gaze towards it. Ness could only try to eat lunch quietly, his eyes involuntarily glancing at the other side from time to time.

Rin picked at his salad, valiantly ignoring the violet-haired intruder across from him. But the feeling… the weight of those glances kept pressing on his temple like an annoying mosquito with manners.

He grit his teeth.
Another stolen glance.
Rin’s fork stabbed his lettuce with increasing violence.

Another glance.
Is he gonna eat me or sketch me?!

And finally—

“Fuck,” Rin snapped, voice low and sharp like a hiss between wolves.
His emerald eyes locked onto Ness’s startled gaze.
“I’m not a goddamn monkey in a zoo.”
He jabbed his fork into the salad like it owed him money.
“If you stare at me for one more second, I’ll gouge your eyes out. Got it?”

Anyone would feel embarrassed when caught peeking. Ness felt a little embarrassed and whispered:

 “I’m sorry… I just wanted to talk.”

Rin rolled his eyes and started a conversation. Doesn't Germany know that staring at someone while they're eating is very impolite? He sighed, just as he was about to lecture the idiot in front of him about the subtleties of Japanese dining culture, the sound of a chair being pulled out and the characteristic laughter of his hateful roommate pulled him back:

“Whoa, Rin-chan looks like he’s about to explode! Hehe, what happened?!”
Bachira slithered into the empty seat next to Rin with the speed and precision of a starving cat sniffing out tuna. He plopped down like the chair had his name engraved on it in gold.

Rin glanced sideways at Bachira’s plate and immediately regretted it.
A towering, rainbow-colored mountain of chaos stared back at him—meat, noodles, curry, tempura, dessert, and possibly something that was still moving.
The corner of Rin’s mouth twitched like it had received emotional damage.

“What the hell—did you seriously take a little bit from every single tray??”

Bachira grinned, as if carrying his food tray was at least 10 centimeters high and defied both physics and good taste around the cafeteria was perfectly normal and legally allowed, which it was, but not an unwritten rule between roommates!

“I didn’t take carrots or salad!” he announced proudly, as if that somehow redeemed him.

“You’re a walking food violation. Damn it, don't be so picky.” Rin groaned, burying his face in one hand. His headache officially evolved from “stop staring at me” to “this freak is eating like a garbage truck.”

As Rin tried to cool his nerves with a silent prayer to the food gods, Bachira squinted across the table at Ness—the innocent bystander in this battlefield—and tilted his head like a curious puppy.

“Who’s this? Rin-chan made a friend on day one?”

Before Rin could interrupt, Bachira dramatically pulled at his collar and wiped away invisible tears, his voice cracking with theatrical emotion like an overworked single mom in a soap opera:

“Hu-hu-huuu… Rin-chan has grown up… I’m so proud… I have to tell Shidou-san the good news!!”

Rin’s glare could've caused spontaneous combustion.

“If you ever speak to me like you’re my parent again, I swear I’ll dig a grave and bury you and Shidou in the same goddamn hole.”
He leaned forward, voice low and full of wrath.
“Also. NO. TEXTING. SHIDOU.”

Bachira puffed out his cheeks like a baby hamster.
“But Shidou-san entrusted Rin-chan to me! I’m a responsible adult now!!”

Rin’s soul detached from his body in pure frustration.
He had had it. If he couldn’t have peace, no one could.

With the precision of a Pokémon trainer casting the ultimate move, he dropped the bomb:
“No snacks this afternoon.”

Bachira froze.

His eyes widened like he’d just been betrayed by the final chapter of One Piece. He clutched his chest—in the wrong spot, over his stomach—and gasped like a Korean drama lead freshly dumped in the rain.

“Rin-chan… I loved you…”

“Two. Days.”

Bachira cried.

Ness, watching this emotionally catastrophic love-hate relationship unfold, blinked once.

Then twice.

He slowly picked up a piece of grilled fish and chewed silently.
Then blinked again. Just to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating.

Eventually, Bachira “calmed down” (read: stopped wailing like a dying goose) and wiped his imaginary tears, sniffled dramatically, and leaned toward Rin with sparkles in his eyes.

“But I still love Rin-chan soooo much~”

Rin rolled his eyes and shoved a spoonful of rice into his mouth.
“Eat. You’re forgiven. Idiot.”

As if he’d just been officially pardoned by the king himself, Bachira chuckled like a delinquent who got away with stealing cookies, and happily began “solving” his lunch—which, to Rin’s dismay, was less of a meal and more of a chaotic nutritional explosion. Too much protein. Too much sauce. Too much everything. How the hell did this qualify as “edible”?

But, of course, Bachira was physically incapable of eating in silence.

The sacred proverb “Eat quietly, chew properly” had clearly been burned and thrown into the trash can of his mind.
He jabbed his chopsticks dramatically in Ness’s direction, narrowed his eyes like a suspicious mother-in-law, and asked:

“But seriously… who even is this guy?”

Under the sudden spotlight, Ness—who had just taken a bite of some tragically dry cake—hurriedly swallowed and sat up straighter like a guilty student caught cheating.

“I’m Alexis Ness! I’m German, currently a sophomore. Uh… I met… um… Itoshi this morning. Rin helped me get away from some bullies.”
He ended with a bright smile that practically screamed, ‘Please like me!’

Rin frowned. Bachira frowned too.
But the reasons were entirely different.

Rin disliked being called by his last name.
He used to tolerate it, back when “Itoshi” meant something, before he did, ow it just felt like an unwanted label from a family tree he didn’t care to water.– But there was nothing he could do, because changing his last name immediately would make him look like a psychopath, and Rin didn't want to either, moreover why should he do that, they need to, not him! And punching someone for being polite? Was even worse.

Before Rin could say anything—

“BULLIES WHAT?!”

Bachira, of course, immediately ignored Ness's entire introduction,  latched onto the only two words he deemed important.
His eyes lit up like stadium floodlights.

“WHO DARED TO BULLY RIN-CHAN?!! WERE YOU HURT?! DID YOU FIGHT BACK? WHO WON? HOW MANY DID YOU KNOCK OUT? ANY BLOOD?! SHOW ME THE BLOOD!!!”

He immediately lunged at Rin like an overly dramatic ER nurse, grabbed his face, turned it left and right like a defective mannequin, even reached to lift his shirt to "check for internal injuries" —

SMACK.

Rin’s hand came down like divine punishment, landing square on Bachira’s head.
“You think I’ve been too gentle lately, huh?”
His voice dripped with menace. His glare could slice steel.

Bachira whimpered, holding his head like a bruised dumpling.
“I was just worried about Rin-chaaaan…”
His voice was so small you could spread it on toast.

Meanwhile, Ness stood between them blinking repeatedly—like a malfunctioning surveillance camera trying to make sense of a soap opera in fast-forward.
He exhaled softly and muttered in mild despair:

“Germany… has way less drama.”

Rin folded his arms and turned his glare to Ness.
“Hey. Don’t call me ‘Itoshi’ again.”

Ness straightened up like a soldier.
“Right. Uh—Rin…kun?”
He smiled nervously, trying to balance between respect and survival.

Rin: "… I'd rather be called Itoshi."

Bachira grinned: "Then call Rin-Rin!"

Rin: "I will punch you to death."

...

By some divine miracle—only the gods knew how—they actually finished lunch like normal human beings.
Well, normal if you counted Bachira changing the topic every thirty seconds and Rin restraining himself from smashing his lunch tray over the yellow-eyed menace’s head every forty-five.

Ness, on the other hand, had completely forgotten why he was at the table in the first place. Who was he? What was he doing here? Existential crisis loading...

Rin stepped out of the cafeteria feeling relatively relaxed, a full stomach doing wonders for his mood.
It almost felt like today would be a peaceful day in this chaotic new life.

But of course, peace was an illusion—and Bachira immediately shattered it like a cat knocking over a glass at 3 AM.

Somehow—God knows how—they managed to finish lunch normally.
Well, normal if you counted Bachira changing the topic every 30 seconds, Rin restraining himself from slamming his tray into the yellow-eyed gremlin’s face every 45, and Ness completely forgetting why he was even at the table in the first place. A flawless lunch, really.

Afterwards, Rin stepped out of the cafeteria with the kind of peace that only a full stomach could bring. He almost thought today might turn out to be calm, simple… maybe even boring.

That peace didn’t last.

“Hey hey hey! There’s a soccer club meeting this afternoon!” Bachira chirped beside him, bouncing like an excited cat. “What should I wear? Give me ideas, Rin-channn~!”

Rin sighed, not even breaking stride.
“As long as it’s not that neon yellow shirt with a skull vomiting black tar.”

Bachira gasped, eyes sparkling.
“WAHHH! That’s genius!! Rin-chan gets me the best!”

“…Die.”

Trailing behind like a ghost nobody invited, Ness finally chimed in to confirm his presence:
“You guys play soccer too? That’s awesome! I’m signing up for the NO Club!”
His purple eyes sparkled with genuine excitement. It was a little unsettling.

Rin gave him a quick side glance and replied flatly:
“We signed up for EG.”

Ness blinked. Then blinked again. Honestly, he’d probably blinked more today than a cash register in a Black Friday sale.

“…EG? That club full of lunatics, soccer psychos, and iodine-deficient gremlins?”
He looked at Rin. Then at Bachira.
“So that’s two out of three types accounted for…” A deep, dramatic sigh followed. “What a shame. I really wanted to play with you guys.”

Rin shrugged lazily.
“We’re not that close.”

Ness didn’t even miss a beat. His voice turned comically serious:
“But we know each other’s names. We ate lunch together. We even shared club info. Basiclly, we’re best friends.”

“…That’s not how Japanese culture works.”

Bachira, ever the chaos enabler, jumped in cheerfully:
“Don’t worry, maybe we’ll get some friendly matches! Or we can sneak in some extra training together!”

Ness smiled brightly and nodded.
“Perfect! Thanks again for lunch. I’m in Dorm Two, Room 202! If you need anything, come find me, okay? Bye-bye!”
He waved like he’d just made lifelong friends and skipped off like he had a diary entry to write about it.

Rin stared after him, face blank.
“I just want one peaceful day…”

Bachira immediately threw his arms around Rin with a big, toothy grin:
“But more friends means more fun, right? Right? Rin-channnn~?”

“…I’m signing up for the Lonely Club.”

“RIN-CHAN, THERE’S NO ‘LONELY’ IN DORM 309!!!”

Chapter Text

Afternoon hit like a blink—and just like that, Rin found himself and his attached file (a.k.a. Bachira) miraculously present—definitely on time—at the E.G. Football Club.

His legs were screaming. They were hungry. Starving. Ravenous, even. Rin hadn’t been away from football this long in forever, and the fire in his gut was roaring. The beautiful game—deadly, divine—was calling to him, and Rin, well… Rin was ready to dive straight into hell barefoot if it meant playing again.

Bachira beamed at him, eyes glinting with chaotic energy.
““Rin-chaaaan! My monster’s freaking out—it’s SCREAMING!”

“So is my last nerve, shut up, you idiot.” Rin muttered, deadpan.

He kicked open the club door. It was heavy enough to flatten an elephant, but Rin didn’t give a single damn. He didn’t even question why the club was buried in the most remote, GPS-forbidden corner of the school—so far off-map it might as well be Narnia. Didn’t matter. All Rin needed was a ball, a goal, and a few souls to destroy.

Bachira followed, babbling excitedly:

“Rin-chaaaan! I bet there’s a giant magical field inside, or a room full of floating soccer balls, or maybe a Saw-style monster trap! AHH THIS IS SO DRAMATIC I LOVE IT!!”

“I just want to play football…” Rin sighed—but secretly, his mind was already drawing up tactical ways to annihilate anyone who stood in his path.

And so…
The battle of the football freaks began—accompanied by the groaning creak of an ancient door surrendering its secrets.

…

Freeze frame.
Rin and Bachira stood dead still at midfield, like someone had hit pause mid-movie. No dreamy high-tech turf. No auto-scoring sensors. Not even a sad little scoreboard to crush their hopes with.

What greeted them was a battlefield of nostalgia and neglect: faded lines barely visible like the palm of a blind fortune-teller, a deflated ball curled in the corner of a wooden crate that looked ready to explode with a single "Kaiser Impact."

Rin stared.
This was not a club. This was a war crime against football.

In that moment, Rin realized something deeply disturbing: “Holy sh. I’m just another rich kid emotionally damaged by Blue Lock.”

He blinked slowly, trying to forget Ego probably sold his soul for funding to build a sauna, robotic turf, and who knows what else—while this place’s most advanced equipment was the spider web elegantly hanging from the net corner like it paid rent.

Bachira was weirdly quiet beside him. A rare moment of peace. But Rin didn’t trust it. That silence said it all:
"Rin-chan... we got scammed so hard, we need therapy."

No fancy facilities. No club president. No coach.
Just Rin, Bachira, and a few haunted souls wandering the afterlife of football dreams.

Rin sighed deeply.
“So this is what football hell looks like. And I paid the entry fee willingly.”

Bachira suddenly lit up:
“Maybe the club president used all the funding to buy three tubs of ice cream to welcome the newbies?”

“Shut up before I turn that wooden box into recycled furniture,” Rin snapped.

Marching toward the group of “wandering souls” (read: poor souls conned into joining this ghost-club), Rin did his best to sound polite—as polite as someone who’d just realized they were the victim of a pyramid scheme could sound.

“Excuse me,” he asked with grim courtesy, “do you know when the coach will be arriving?”

A random guy glanced up from his phone and looked at Rin like he’d just crawled out of Area 51 asking for directions to Earth.

“What? Did you idiot seriously sign up thinking this was an actual football club?!”

Rin’s eyebrow twitched. The urge to deliver a Kaiser Impact to the face surged. But he kept it together.

“This is the football club, isn’t it? Or is reading comprehension too much to ask from someone whose brain clearly moonlights as a coat hanger?”

“…”

The guy turned red. Like really red. Like, fighting-rooster-sees-another-rooster red.
But luckily, before he could start clucking and throwing hands, another background character stepped up:

“Uh, yeah… looks like you two are new. The club president’s probably not coming today. Or like… ever. Honestly, I think this club only exists for extracurricular credit. No one’s actually played football here since, like, last year.”

Rin’s eye twitched.
Slowly, mechanically, he turned to Bachira—murder in his gaze, death in his voice:
“This is your fault, you loudmouthed amphibian. You dragged me into a ‘football club’ where the only thing more deflated than that ball is your life’s potential.”

Bachira threw both hands up, grinning like a man who had no regrets and possibly no idea what day it was:
“I didn’t knooow~ I thought it was legit! C’mon, Rin-chan, don’t be mad! We can still kick the ball around—just the two of us!”

Rin sighed deeply. The sigh of a man betrayed by fate and one very stupid friend.
“Just great. One idiot, one innocent fool, and a haunted football club with zero future. Sounds like the start of a tragic sitcom.”

Bachira patted his shoulder, cheerfully:
“Hey now, look on the bright side—we do have a wooden box to kick.”

“…I swear I’m never trusting a single word that comes out of your mouth again.”

But of course—of course—switching clubs on day one, week one, or even month one wasn’t allowed.
Rin was stuck. Doomed. Trapped in a club without an actual club.
He let out another sigh—this one heavier, loaded with the kind of existential weight philosophers write books about—and dropped his sports bag onto the least dusty bench he could find.
(“Least dusty” meaning: just a light layer of despair settled like powdered sugar on a dead dream.)

He rolled his shoulders and started warming up. Each movement was sharp, clean, precise.
A war machine rebooting itself.
Bachira bounced after him like a caffeinated puppy, acting like this was the most fun he'd had all week.
A dozen eyes trailed after them—some amused, some smug, some with that "wow, these idiots are serious" kind of stare.

Rin ignored them all.
Dead silent. Dead focused.

He stalked over to the wooden crate—the Graveyard of Football Dreams™.
Inside lay a graveyard of flat, sad, misshapen balls—abandoned victims of time and neglect.
Rin began picking through them like a jeweler hunting for one last decent gem in a clearance bin.

And then—
Jackpot.

One ball. Worn, old, scuffed. But still breathing.
Still full of air.

Still alive.

Waiting.
Waiting for the foot of someone who knew how to treat it right.

Rin smirked. Of course.
He was always lucky when it came to the things that really mattered.

.

.

Thud.

The ball bounced lightly beneath Rin’s foot.

And in that exact moment—
The world shifted.

Rotting field? Irrelevant.
Absent coach? Even better.
Crowd treating them like a joke? They wouldn’t be laughing much longer.

Because Itoshi Rin needed only one thing:
A ball at his feet.

The air held its breath.

Pressure radiated from his frame like a tidal wave, crashing against every inch of the pitch, pressing into the bones of anyone watching.
The atmosphere trembled.
The space itself recoiled—understanding instinctively: a ruler had arrived.

This was no longer a rundown football club.

This was Itoshi Rin’s domain.

Blue Lock’s No.1.
The one who dictated the tempo.
A selfish monster with an ego sharp enough to carve the world into ashes.

His lip curled into a faint smirk.
Cold eyes scanned the crowd, slicing through their silence.

“You thought this was a joke?”

One touch. A curve that defied logic.
A sharp, clean smack echoed against the goalpost—like a war drum, a declaration.

“Then I’ll turn this place into a hell you’ve never known.”

Because when Blue Lock’s Ace steps onto the field—
Golden stadium or broken street—there’s only one rule:

“Rin dominates.”

Behind him, Bachira’s eyes lit up, glowing like fireworks about to explode. He burst into motion with the speed of chaos itself, yelling with gleeful conviction:

“RIN-CHAN YOU’RE SO COOOOL! I’M GONNA PLAY FOOTBALL WITH YOU FOREVERRRR!”

Rin didn’t look back.
“Prove it, idiot.”

And just like that—
The first match of Rin’s unintended arrival into this world began.
No permission. No plans. Just one ruined field, two players, a single ball.

No time.
No rules.
But fire? That, Rin had in abundance.

The ball touched his foot again—
and the world ignited.

Wham.
A mini “Kaiser Impact” ripped through the air—
Not quite strong enough to blow up the ancient wooden crate,
but more than enough to send the ball slicing through the wind toward the left goalpost—
which, according to Bachira, was his “lucky side!!”

Thud!

Bachira chest-trapped the ball, laughter bubbling from his throat as it rolled down in front of him.
He began to dribble in the opposite direction, grinning with all the glee of a child handed candy and told to go nuts.

“Well well~ Rin-chan’s serious today, huh?”

“Shut up, flat-brain.”
Rin jerked his chin, already sprinting after him.
The wind tore past his face like a crowd roaring in his ears.

Bachira danced with the ball like a man possessed— a street performer gone rogue.
One moment, he flicked it with his heel; the next, he popped it over Rin’s head.
No pattern. No rhythm. Just chaos in its purest form.
The ball was his partner in crime, and his feet were on fire.

Rin was the opposite—calculated destruction.
A starving predator with blades for feet.
Each tackle hit like thunder.
Every cut, flick, twist—precise, lethal, inevitable.

“Rin-chan, are we playing football or training for MMA?”
Bachira giggled, narrowly dodging as Rin lunged at him like a missile.

“It’s called garbage disposal,” Rin growled.

With a twist of his left foot, he curved the ball through the narrow space between Bachira’s legs—
Crack!
The ball slammed into the goalframe with a sound like a gunshot.

“Hurk!”

Bachira flopped to the ground, clutching his stomach like he’d been shot.
“Ahhh! I’m dyiing!! Rin-chan’s a murderer!”

Rin sneered.
“Good. Die faster.”

But then— they both smiled.

...

The decaying field blurred into a universe of their own.
Dust swirled in clouds. Footsteps thundered.
Bachira yelled at the top of his lungs:

“Rin-chaaaan!! Look! Behold the ultimate ‘Bachira Galaxy Spin’—”
He spun. One. Two. Three—
Splat.
Face-planted right into the dirt.

Rin stared at his fallen teammate,
and—for a brief second—he laughed.

“Fine then.”
He turned—spun twice, in perfect mockery—
and launched a classic volley shot with machine-like execution.

Boom.
The ball smashed into the wall.
Ricocheted.
Bounced back like something out of a cartoon—
barely missing Bachira’s forehead by inches.

“Bonus points for reflexes,” Rin said dryly.

Bachira cackled, hugging his head like it was a sacred relic.
“We’re the best duo in this club, Rin-chan!”

“There are only two people playing,” Rin deadpanned—
but passed the ball right back to him anyway.

And so the match went on.
No coach. No spectators.
Just two lunatics in love with the game, on a broken pitch that might as well have been the World Cup final.

For them—
this was everything.

...

Behind them, the crowd that had mocked them moments ago stood frozen.
Jaws slack. Eyes wide.

What they'd expected to be a circus act had become a battlefield.

Bachira—pure chaos.

A dribbling tornado.
A Picasso who painted with his feet, strokes unpredictable, abstract, brilliant.
And Rin—the conductor of destruction.
Possessed by a monster’s DNA.
Every movement clinical, cold, and devastating.
His presence radiated command. His every pass, every shot, every sprint—breathtakingly precise.

Together, they were apocalypse versus wildfire.
A spectacle impossible to ignore.

And they hadn’t even started trying yet.

.

.

.

The crowd had gone dead silent.

And then—it exploded.

The first to dash into the field had perfectly slicked black hair and a sharp beauty mark under his left eye. That mole practically sparkled with excitement as he roared:

“HELL YEAH! SIGN ME UP FOR THIS BEAUTIFUL MADNESS!!”

Without a second thought, he stole the ball from Bachira in a brutally unfair tackle.

Bachira froze for exactly two seconds—
A historical record.

Then screamed at the top of his lungs:
“RIN-CHAN! SOME BASTARD JUST STOLE MY BAAALLL!!”
But even as the words tore from his lungs, a maniacal grin split his face. Bachira, ever the embodiment of chaotic energy, was already a blur, sprinting after the thief with a speed born of pure, joyful fury.

Across the field, Rin, a coiled spring of controlled intensity, paused for a mere half-beat. His lips, usually set in a severe line, curled into a subtle, almost imperceptible smirk.

“Stupid crow,” he muttered, a dismissal laced with a hint of challenge. And then, he was off.

He and Bachira instantly swarmed the newcomer—Karasu—in a pincer movement like wolves closing in.

Under pressure, Karasu spun, laughed, and passed the ball wide left.
A shadow zipped across the edge of the field, white hair with a neon green streak catching the wind.

“SCORE, YOU DAMN NINJA!!”

A shadow zipped across the very edge of the field, a streak of white hair with a vibrant neon green highlight catching the wind, a vibrant blur against the more muted stadium backdrop. Otoya, a master of stealth and speed, effortlessly caught the pass. He shifted into top gear, his movements fluid and precise, gathering an almost visible power in his stride. Then, with a resounding Boom!, the ball was unleashed, tearing through the air like a cannonball, a white missile aimed squarely at the goal.

Only to be intercepted by a slim figure, graceful and deadly.

“Nice try… but not nearly fabulous enough, darling.”

Aryu volleyed it straight back over Rin’s head.
It sailed to a tall, muscular boy who caught it awkwardly, growling like a wounded beast.
Muscles coiled, face taut, he charged forward like a freight train, mumbling to himself:

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… I’ll do better… I have to be better…”

Rin blinked. Recognition flashed.
But there was no time.
He and Bachira surged forward again, possessed.

The chaos reached its peak.
No ref.

No rules.

No formations.

Just wild, ravenous wolves released into the wild, fighting tooth and nail over a single ball.

Every playing style clashed—chaotic, erratic, brilliant.
Screams.

Shouts.

Swearing.

Laughter.

Dust in the air.
It wasn’t just football anymore—
It was war dressed as a playground brawl.

To those still frozen on the sidelines—
the ones who didn’t dare step into hell or didn’t even know how to play—
it was overwhelming.

“Unbelievable… this is insane,” someone whispered, trembling in awe.

Among the gawking crowd stood a man with half his face shadowed behind glasses and messy black hair. He stared at the madness before him, unable to look away.

“…Found it.”

.

.

.

Two hours later.

Bachira was sprawled across the grass like a fish gasping on land, chest heaving, grinning so wide it nearly split his face in two.

“Rin-chaaaaan~ That was the best thing ever!! My monster hasn’t danced like that in ages!”

Rin, chugging water like he’d just crawled out of a desert, said nothing at first.
His body was a wreck—clearly not trained for this—but this wasn’t his fault.
He’d only played at 60% today.
Still... it was enough.

He glanced at Bachira and smirked.

“You played like your lunch was still stuck halfway up your throat.
I should’ve kicked you in the stomach to help get it out.”

A few feet away, Karasu sat with his chin propped on one hand, eye twitching with mirth.

“Hah! You guys are insane.
Eighteen years on Earth and this is the first time I’ve felt alive!”

“Better than dating three hot girls at once!”
Otoya chimed in, pouring water over his head like a lunatic, probably seconds from heatstroke.

Aryu, dabbing his face with a flamboyantly embroidered towel, added solemnly:
“Yes. That match was fabulous.
Too fabulous to repeat more than three times a week.”

In the far corner, Tokimitsu was curled up like a stressed-out hedgehog, muttering:

“I… I’m really happy… s-sorry for being happy…Ah wait, sorry for saying sorry…”

Rin looked around.

These idiots.
This world.
It had to be a joke.

But he was numb to it all now.
His gut had been right all along.
Even if Ego himself showed up now with some speech like—

“Alright, you raw, half-broken diamonds—are you ready to die for football?”

—Rin wouldn’t even flinch.

“Alright, you damn raw diamonds—

Are you ready to die for football?”

...

...

...

WHAT?!

Rin froze.
Slowly turned his head.
And there he was—a tall, lean man with sharp posture, dark swirling eyes hidden behind glinting glasses, and the kind of presence that made the world feel like it owed him an apology… for everything.

Rin’s breath caught. Goddamn this stupid world.

Who else could it be?

Of course it was Ego Jinpachi.
The egomaniac obsessed with unlocking egomaniacs.
The blind ambition in a turtleneck.
The mastermind behind the cursed project known as Blue Lock.

Of course he would show up now.
Of course he’d drop his iconic lines.
What next, an actual bomb falling from the sky?

GREAT!!!

Ego scanned the six sweaty, half-dead players before him.
His gaze lingered on Rin.
Then, calm and smug as ever, he said:

“I am Ego Jinpachi. Club founder, coach, or whatever title you need to sleep at night. I’m here with an official offer: Join my team.”

Rin’s lungs burned, not from exhaustion but adrenaline.
Even if this wasn’t Blue Lock proper, Rin knew this lunatic could lead him somewhere terrifying—
And right now? His blood was boiling for it.

Ego adjusted his glasses, eyes like knives cutting through each of them.

“You think you just played football?”
“That was a preschool slap-fight at best.”

Bachira sprang up like a cartoon on springs, eyes glowing:
“Ego-san!! Are you putting us on some super-ultra-mega-pro team?!”

“No.” Ego folded his arms.
“I’m building monsters. A team that crushes everything on the road to victory.”

Someone in the crowd—one of the irrelevant extras—snorted.

Rin recognized him as the same jerk who mocked him earlier.

“Victory? From this dump? What the hell is this, a comedy sketch?”

Ego didn’t blink.

“If you’re pathetic enough to be scenery in someone else’s story—go home and suck your thumb.”

“You little—!”

“Tch. Who wants to rot in this trash heap of a club anyway? I’m out. I’d rather join N.O.—at least they have real fields.”

The guy stormed off, a few others trailing after him.
In mere minutes, the field was left with only Ego... and the certified lunatics.

Karasu snorted, his beauty mark twitching:
“Sounds fun. Can I kick people in the stomach?”

“Only if you’ve got the guts to do it.”
Ego didn’t even look at him.

Otoya dangled from the goalpost like a cat burglar, grinning:
“I only care about the uniforms. And maybe cheerleaders in miniskirts~”

Aryu nodded solemnly:
“The kits must be fabulous. I will not compromise on color palettes.”

Tokimitsu trembled like a wet sponge:
“I-I’m sorry… but can I apologize before joining...? I-it feels more polite that way...”

Rin stood up.
Face blank. Voice like ice.

“Enough clowning around.”
“If you're talking about building the strongest team—”
He stepped toward Ego, eyes blazing—
“—then I’ll be at the center of it.”

Bachira giggled.
Karasu raised a brow.
Otoya muttered something profane under his breath.
The arrogance in Rin’s words was undeniable—

But so was the weight.

Because yes, the game was chaos.
But it was Rin’s chaos.
A symphony of destruction he orchestrated without even trying.

Invisible strings wrapped around them all—
And Rin pulled them taut like a puppeteer of pain.
Precise.

 Ruthless. Inescapable.

At the core stood a destroyer in human skin.
Flawless technique.
Passes like spells.
A vision that bent the field to his will.

Rin didn’t just play football.
He warped the universe to fit around him.
He was the kind of anomaly the cosmos only dared to make once.

Ego chuckled.
A dry, ominous laugh that made everyone flinch.

“Good.”
“That’s the attitude I want.”

He lifted one hand and pointed at the wreck of a field behind him.

“This place—”
“—will either be a sandbox for amateurs... or a furnace that forges monsters.
You decide.”

Silence fell.
But in that silence, something monstrous began to stir.

“Actual hell.”

Bachira threw both hands up like he just won the lottery:
“YATTA!! We made it to hell!! Did you hear that, Rin-chan?! We're gonna be real starving demons now!”

Rin let out a long, tortured sigh.
He could already see the future:
Training until his lungs bled.
Matches that felt like life or death.
And this squad of psychos dragging him to madness every single day.

But then… he glanced back at the chaos they’d just unleashed on the pitch.
Bodies flying. Dust clouds swirling.
Laughter. Screaming. Beautiful anarchy.

Maybe—just maybe—this insanity would be worth it.

CLAP!

A loud, deliberate smack echoed as Ego clapped once, sharp as a guillotine.

“Get ready, you maggots. Tomorrow, I start turning you from trash…”

“…into rulers.”

Because when Ego recruits you, there is no “no.”
There’s only “become a champion” or “die trying.”

And Rin and his new batch of maniacs?

They looked like they’d already chosen…

Both.

Rin and Bachira trudged back to the dorms—
One looked like the whole world owed him 20 million yen,
The other bounced like a sugar-high child freshly released from a candy store explosion.

In Rin’s head, numbers and training plans overlapped like a doomsday conspiracy board.
“This body’s too weak. The old me could’ve shot all three of “Rin” like that off the field in one kick.”

Disgraceful.

A personal insult.
If Bachira knew this was the first time “Rin” had ever touched a soccer ball, he’d probably gape so wide he could swallow the entire World Cup trophy.

“Rin-chaaaan~ Look! I juggled twenty times without stopping!”
Bachira beamed, his feet kicking like a possessed sewing machine.
The ball spun frantically on his toes like it had just escaped a bomb test site.
And somehow, it was still the most intact ball in Ego’s entire arsenal.

Rin gave it a lazy glance, expression flat as ever.
“Watch out or you'll headbutt a power pole.”

“Nahh, trust me—this is art!”
Bachira grinned, spun dramatically—and almost launched the ball onto the roof of the science lab.

Rin’s glare alone had enough force to make Bachira retreat sheepishly, clutching the ball like a wounded pet.
With his legs taking a break, Bachira switched to full mouth-mode: breaking down their game like a pseudo-analyst.
Rin had no idea why he was listening.
Maybe it was training.
For his patience.

The club was tucked away in the cursed far corner of campus, so to get back to their godforsaken dorm, the two had to practically circle the whole school.
Halfway through, Bachira was babbling something about:

“My monster told me to sprint past Otoya and curve the ball back to Rin-chan, but then it was like, ‘Wait—no! Pass to the cat instead!’”

FWOOOSH—
An unidentified flying round object suddenly zoomed toward them.
Reacting instantly, Rin yanked Bachira behind him and lifted a leg—
Trap. Flick. Catch.
Textbook.
Another soccer ball.

Rin squinted.
Okay, first of all, he had tolerated Bachira juggling the whole way home because no one else roamed this Ego-infested sector of the school.
But now? People playing ball in public? In the middle of the damn quad?

“Sorry—sorry—didn’t mean to!”
A group of boys jogged over.
Rin recognized the voices first.
Then the faces.
And immediately considered setting the entire campus on fire.

Bachira frowned. Rin's face darkened.

Was there some unspoken universal law that someone had to mess with him at least once a day, or else the world would implode in its sleep ??

Kia. Isagi. Chigiri. Reo.

(Where the hell was Nagi? Probably asleep in a vending machine somewhere.)

They all stopped short when they saw Rin and Bachira.

Rin and Bachira looked like they had just crawled out of hell— which, to be fair, wasn’t too far from the truth.
Hair sticking out in every direction, shirts soaked through with sweat and clinging to their skin—classic signs of surviving a full-scale battlefield.
And so, Rin honestly just wanted to drag himself back to the dorm, wash off the grime, the sweat, and possibly any invisible curses that had latched onto him along the way. He didn’t need affection, he didn’t need validation. He needed a shower, silence, and maybe a ritual to exorcise this entire day.

Rin, very much not in the mood for socialization, wordlessly tossed the ball back—
Gently.
No heat, no curve, no sauce.

But of course, because the gods hate Rin—

Kia, standing at the front of the group, let the featherweight toss tap his chest and promptly collapsed like he’d been shot.
Eyes watery.
Voice trembling.

“I—I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to kick the ball this way—! I didn’t mean it at all—please forgive me…”

…

Oh for f*ck’s sake. Not again.

This wasn’t a damn romance novel or a high school sitcom, for god’s sake.

Rin’s face twisted into the exact same expression as that meme of the old man squinting at his phone on the subway—
You know, the one Bachira laughed over for an entire evening after Shidou sent it.
Today, God was clearly testing Rin’s patience.
Maybe he should take up meditation.
Or buy a goldfish.
Or just stab the idiot in front of him.

As expected, Chigiri was the first to speak, voice sharp and snappy:
“Hey, Kia said it wasn’t on purpose. Don’t be so harsh.”

“Yeah,” Reo followed, calm but firm.
“Accident and intention are completely different things.”

Bachira instantly puffed up like an angry squirrel.
He stepped forward and pointed directly at Kia:

“Bro. You’re like, what? Sixteen? Seventeen? And you can’t take a baby pass without toppling over like a wet paper bag?”

“Rin-chan threw that ball like he hadn’t eaten lunch yet! If he actually kicked it, you’d be orbiting Saturn right now. Sheesh.”

Rin’s eye twitched.
He appreciated Bachira’s… “effort” to defend him.
But "threw like he hadn’t eaten lunch”?!
Whose side was this clown even on?

Rin sighed, voice cold and careless:
“Get up, drama queen. That ball was traveling at five kilometers per hour. Even a second grader could’ve thrown it back.”

“Y-You…”
Isagi finally spoke up, sliding into his unofficial role as Peacekeeper of Dumb Drama:
“Okay, okay—just a misunderstanding. Kia didn’t mean to kick it, and Rin didn’t mean to… throw it that lightly aggressive way. We’re all good, yeah?”

He helped Kia to his feet, even brushed invisible dust off Kia’s expensive uniform like some kind of overly gentle butler.

Chigiri shot a look at Rin and Bachira—disheveled, drenched in sweat, looking like survivors of a football apocalypse.
He scoffed:
“This is ‘football’ too? If we hadn’t met in N.O., you losers probably would've joined that E.G. Club trash fire. Honestly, suits you.”

Reo frowned—Chigiri was getting a bit too sharp.
He patted Chigiri’s shoulder lightly, but Chigiri just huffed and looked away.

Then came Isagi’s usual smooth voice:
“Wait, Rin plays football? That’s… surprising.”

Before Rin could respond, Bachira exploded like a New Year’s firecracker:
“Rin-chan’s amazing, okay?! He could take on TEN of you at once!”
Rin raised an eyebrow.
Was this guy… actually saying something smart for once?
He gave a lazy shrug, noncommittal but approving.

Kia smiled sweetly—too sweetly.
That kind of “shy debut heroine” smile that made Rin want to throw things.
“I think that’s a bit exaggerated. Maybe you didn’t know, but Isagi is N.O.'s ace. He’s really good!”

“Yeah, and you know jack about Rin-chan.”
Bachira snapped.

“But Isagi’s recognized as one of the school’s top players!”
“One of, yeah. Rin-chan is THE top. THE number one. Numero uno. THE FIRSSTTTT. GET IT?!”

Bachira growled, practically vibrating with chaotic loyalty.
Kia instinctively took a step back.
Rin casually raised a hand to stop the beast.

His voice came cool and sharp:
“Who cares? If you're good, you don’t need someone else hyping you up.”
“I don’t need cheap-ass titles to validate me.”

He turned to Bachira:
“Let’s go. I need a damn shower. This shirt’s sticking like hell. You hungry or what?”

“Yessir, Rin-chan!!”
Bachira beamed, kicked the ball gently toward Rin and chirped:
“Let’s hit the cafeteria! My source says they’re serving ochazuke tonight!!”

Rin caught the ball with one flick of his foot, spun it into his hand.
A rare smile tugged at his lips.
Ochazuke, huh.
There was nothing that a warm bowl of ochazuke couldn’t fix.
And if there was—then two bowls should do the trick.

He turned and walked ahead.
Bachira followed like a happy puppy, listing off dishes like a monk reciting holy scripture.

Behind them, silence lingered.

Kia stood frozen, lips pursed, eyes wide, jealousy storming in his chest like an incoming typhoon.
And the worst part?

Rin hadn’t even looked back once.

.

.

.

Rin should’ve known. He should’ve seen it coming.

Any kind of disaster—be it a meteor strike or the start of World War III—always seemed to choose the exact moment when Rin was… trying to have dinner.

In the cafeteria.

The one sacred meal Rin had been looking forward to all day like a dying man crawling toward the last bit of hope on Earth.

For god’s sake, was it really too much to ask for a simple bowl of ochazuke (or two… or three… Rin would not confirm the number) without the universe treating him like the root cause of global chaos?

Currently sitting in a sea of noise and emotional damage, Rin pressed two fingers to his temple. He looked like a war survivor dropped into a children’s birthday party.

To his left: Bachira Meguru, his roommate, a human sugar-rush with no concept of indoor voice. The same guy who had spent thirty solid minutes yelling out food names like holy chants, ever since the two of them had finished showering and declared themselves emotionally ready for the battlefield that was dinner.

To his right: Alexis Ness, the red-violet-haired German who declared himself “a friend” without Rin’s permission. The moment Rin and Bachira walked into the cafeteria, Ness had beelined to them like an overexcited golden retriever who’d found its owner after six years in war.

Across the table were their freshly acquainted “teammates” from that disaster of a club they had just joined that afternoon: Otoya, Karasu, Aryu, and Tokimitsu. Somehow, these six clowns had interpreted “Rin quietly eating dinner” as an open invitation to crash their personal space.

Seven people. At a table meant for four.

The last surviving table in a cafeteria so packed it looked like a train station during a national holiday.

They shamelessly ignored the stares from surrounding students—and the death glare from the cafeteria auntie—especially after Bachira and Otoya sneakily raided the kitchen area for three more chairs.

"This is fate! The more the merrierr~!!" Bachira yelled gleefully, golden eyes glowing with a dangerously contagious joy. His laughter was like a gas leak—one spark and the whole table went up in flames.

Everyone was swept into his whirlwind of absurd humor and off-the-wall comments about "alien soccer tactics."

Everyone, except Rin.

Rin, who silently prayed to every god and minor deity that his ochazuke would arrive soon—before he lost the last remaining cell of self-control and threw his dinner tray at someone’s head.

He could literally feel his soul slipping out through his ears.

And then there was Ness. Ness.
Who, despite not even being part of the “Ego's Torture Club” earlier, somehow melted right into this group of self-proclaimed football prodigies like he was born for chaos. Rin honestly couldn't tell if Ness was extremely adaptable or just didn't give a damn.

He sighed. Deeply.

Somewhere inside, a voice whispered:

"Ochazuke... If you don’t arrive in the next two minutes, I swear to god, I’m eating a person."

.

.

“You guys are amazing! I really wish I could’ve played with you. That match this afternoon must’ve been incredible!!”

Ness practically sang the words, eyes sparkling like a kid meeting his favorite boyband. He’d just listened to Bachira’s overly dramatic recap of their post-school “practice,” absorbing every word like a devout follower reading from sacred scripture.

Otoya and Karasu added their two cents here and there—stuff like “the tempo shift at minute 23 reminded me of a pro-level counterpress” or “we executed pure chaos, textbook-style.” Aryu, meanwhile, contributed eloquently with colorful interjections such as “a dazzling strike,” “a fabulously flamboyant pass,” or simply “peak glamor goal.”
Tokimitsu mumbled anxious apologies at regular intervals—no one knew what for—but he too was completely engrossed.

The only person at the table not hypnotized by Bachira’s pseudo-mythical storytelling was Rin, who sat beside him with the blank face of someone being slowly waterboarded by words.

Still, when Bachira started gasping for air—7 minutes and 28 seconds into his non-stop monologue—Rin simply passed him a water cup in silent defeat, no longer bothering to correct his grammar.

“Ness, my dear friend!” Bachira shouted once he regained breath, eyes gleaming, “Transfer to E.G!! We’ve got joy! Monsters! Chaos! And Rin-chan too!!”

“Indeed,” Otoya added with a smirk. “We don’t have hot cheerleaders, but I do have perfect passes.”

“And we’ve got the most dazzling defensive blocks!” Aryu tossed in, flicking imaginary hair.

Ness, overwhelmed by the glittering praise, clutched his hands dramatically and blinked up at them, voice tinged with regret:
“We’re not allowed to switch clubs in the first semester… What a tragedy…” He let out a theatrical sigh and dabbed at invisible tears.

“I’m so sorry that you’re so sorry... I—uh—I'm sorry too…!!” Tokimitsu blurted out, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry!” Ness said brightly, bouncing back. “If your team survives the semester, we can still face off in the inter-club summer games! But don’t expect mercy—I won’t go easy just because we’re friends~!”

That set Bachira off instantly. He grabbed Rin by the shoulders, violently shaking him like a toy:
“C’mon, c’mon, don’t underestimate the wild diamond squad of Ego-san!! We’ve got Rin-chan! Rin-chan, DESTROY THEM!!”

“Yes, Rin’s playstyle is absolutely dazzling,” Aryu nodded solemnly. “It’s the first time I’ve been out-glammed on the field.”

“I agree,” Karasu said, unusually serious—because this, clearly, was a matter of football honor.

Rin, now being physically rattled by the human equivalent of a sugar-high monkey, scowled and gave Bachira a light smack on the arm to get him off. He growled through gritted teeth:
“With the way you clowns played today, I wouldn’t be able to carry this team even if I grew six more legs.”

Bachira laughed shamelessly, completely unfazed by the insult, and immediately continued babbling about Rin’s greatness like it was part of his personal religion.

And then—just as the chaos reached its glittering, sparkly peak—the light from above shone like a miracle, and salvation arrived.

Ochazuke.

A steaming bowl of ochazuke was placed in front of Rin like a miracle descending in a time of war. Because it had to be served hot, it took a little longer to prepare—something Rin had accepted with the patience of a man on the brink of insanity.

Now, as the scent rose up and the steam curled in soft waves, Rin’s near-tearful gratitude nearly overwhelmed him. His eyebrows—those poor things that had been clenched together ever since he entered the cafeteria—finally relaxed. His lips moved, just barely, forming a whisper of thanks to the universe, before he bowed his head in solemn reverence.

He had only one goal now: eat with the full force of his soul.

No more thoughts of flipping chairs.
No more imagining how to poison the entire table.
No more daydreams of kicking Bachira into orbit.

Rin, in this moment, was simply a tired teenager, rescued by a bowl of warm rice soaked in tea and salvation.

Right then, the rest of the meals arrived. And in a stroke of cosmic wonder, the loudest table in the cafeteria finally lowered its volume to something barely tolerable for the human ear.

One second ago, they’d sounded like fans at a rock concert. The next, it was as if someone had pressed a universal “shut up and eat” button.
Each of them locked eyes with their plates like it was the first food they’d seen in a decade. Chopsticks moved like trained assassins—grab, bite, chew, swallow, repeat.

The battle at the club earlier had drained every ounce of energy and faith in humanity they had left. Now they bowed their heads, silently thanking every kitchen deity they’d ever heard of, before diving into their food with such velocity that any bystander might ask:
“Should we call a doctor…?”

And Bachira—of course—was still Bachira.

Even while chewing through half his own tray, he kept picking up bits of food and dropping them into Rin’s bowl, like it was a sacred duty he’d sworn to uphold ever since the traumatic “disaster dinner featuring Shidou.”
He chirped between bites:

“Eat up and grow big, Rin-chan! Gotta become the world’s number one striker, okay?”

Rin blinked at the unsolicited generosity. Once again, he debated whether it would be morally justifiable to splash his tea into this idiot’s grinning face.

Across from him, Ness—eyes gleaming like high beams on a midnight highway—excitedly ordered the same ochazuke “to experience authentic Japanese culture,” only to fall into stunned silence three minutes later as he tasted it for the first time.
“It’s like… angel tears,” he murmured, mouth still full, on the verge of spiritual enlightenment.

Otoya, Karasu, Aryu, and Tokimitsu were a tangle of noise and laughter, occasionally choking, yelling, or pounding the table mid-story. At one point, Karasu recounted the tale of how the school principal once became so obsessed with koi fish that he tried to name his daughter Koi—only to get kicked out of the house and live in the school’s faculty room for two whole weeks.

It felt less like a cafeteria and more like a comedy improv show mashed into a cooking documentary.

And Rin?

Rin felt… okay.

His face relaxed to the point he nearly yawned. And when he finished his second bowl of ochazuke, he casually raised his hand to request a third.

“Damn,” he thought, lips tugging up just a little, “The food at Fuji’s actually perfect for me.”

He didn’t even realize he’d smiled.

.

.

.

Everything had been going so well.
Rin was content.

But…

Maybe the damn universe really did have a grudge against him.
Or perhaps the gods above—due to some divine grudge involving Rin accidentally swallowing an ant when he was five—had collectively decided:
“This one? He doesn’t get peace. Not even one damn dinner.”

Because just as Rin got up to retrieve his third bowl of ochazuke (the previous two having vanished into his soul), noting how the cafeteria lady was beginning to emit steam from stress, he cradled the tray like a doctor holding the last vaccine in a zombie apocalypse.
His spirit was calm, his eyes focused, his mind ready to reclaim the tiniest scrap of serenity after the chaos of the day.

And then—it happened.

Rin navigated through the maze of packed tables, carefully maneuvering with the grace of a predator. Five meters. Five meters left until salvation, until the promised land where his band of chaotic “allies” were still dueling each other for chopsticks.
Just five more meters.

BUT NO.

A figure—who had previously been sitting quietly, peacefully, like a good little background extra—suddenly sprang up like he’d been struck by lightning.

And like a scene orchestrated by the most sadistic screenwriter alive, his head collided straight into Rin’s tray.

“…”

In one final effort to salvage what was left of his will to live, Rin stepped back and swiftly stabilized the tray—movement smooth and clean like a top-tier striker in slow motion.
He almost made it.

Almost.

Because the guy—either possessed or in full method acting mode for a daytime soap opera—lunged again with some frantic, flailing motion.
He cried, “Ah! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you!!”

And then—THE FINAL BUMP.

The ochazuke—his third dream—slipped.
In tragic slow motion worthy of a food-themed Titanic, the bowl tilted, spun mid-air like a fallen angel.
And then—

SPLASH.

Tea broth rained down Rin’s arm.
The ceramic bowl clattered to the floor. Rice exploded across the floor like a sad firework.
The entire cafeteria gasped.

Rin looked down.

His arm: red, hot.
The floor: ruined.
His soul: shattered.

And then—he looked up.

And there, standing like a war orphan mid-bombing, was a very familiar face, now full of tears, lips trembling, voice breaking like Rin had just shoved him into a boiling pot of soup.

“I-I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… I just… I just wanted some air… Please don’t be mad, Rin…”

Rin blinked. One. Two.

ITOSHI KIA.

RIN. LOST. HIS. SHIT.

Chapter Text

Kia rarely felt regret. Almost never.

Because he never had to.

He was Itoshi Kia — the sweet one, the innocent one, sometimes adorably clueless. The boy who was cradled like porcelain, pampered like a delicate bloom.

He grew up in a rose-colored world. Parents who spoiled him rotten, throwing money and time at every shadow of discomfort just to keep his smile intact — not dimmed, not for even a tenth of a second. An older brother, Itoshi Sae — the Japanese finance prodigy gracing international headlines — who treated him like royalty.
Friends? As abundant as a pop idol’s followers. Always orbiting, flattering, lifting him up like some golden child ordained by fate.

Kia lived as though the entire world spun gently on the axis of his name.
And he got used to it.

Until one deceptively beautiful afternoon — beautiful in the kind of way that lowers your guard — Sae came home with someone.

A boy. With dark green hair and eyes that…

A pair of turquoise eyes.

Just like their father’s.
Just like Sae’s.
Unmistakable.

Every nerve in Kia’s brain lit up like sirens.

Itoshi Rin.
The real son of the Itoshi family.

And that was when Kia’s world — the one he believed was his, crafted for him, revolving around him — cracked for the very first time.

Rin, in Kia’s memory, was something… wrong.

The first time they met, Rin walked in with his head down, his clothes rumpled and too big for his frame, dirt-stained shoes leaving marks on the pristine white tiles.

Kia remembered freezing. Staring.
Mouth open, eyes wide in disbelief.

Rin looked… pathetic. And fragile. And... disgusting.

A blemish smeared across the immaculate canvas that was the “perfect Itoshi family.”

And for the first time in his life, Kia’s mind raced at 200 kilometers per hour.

No. No. No.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.
This wasn’t part of the script.

This wasn’t an orphan his brother brought home for fun.
This wasn’t a lost kid who’d wandered too far.

This was the real son of the Itoshi family.

Itoshi Rin — the long-lost boy who’d vanished sixteen years ago. The one who carried the true blood of the Itoshis.

Kia felt his insides twist and curl, cold and furious.

Him.
The only little brother. The sun of this household. The rightful heir to their affection, their attention, their everything.

Was being replaced.

No.
No.
Never.

He was Itoshi Kia. Not some goddamn cuckoo chick stealing someone else’s nest.
And now this thing was about to trample all over sixteen years of his happiness and claim the place that belonged to Kia?

Over my dead body.

Rin wasn’t allowed to do this.
He wasn’t allowed to exist in this world as the rightful son of the Itoshis.

So, like muscle memory, Kia’s ultimate weapon kicked in.
Tears.

The trick that had always worked.
The one that made everything bend in his favor.

He let his lower lip tremble. His breath hitch. Eyes shimmer. Shoulders begin to shake.

A picture of slow, pitiful devastation.

Then, he turned.
Ran.
Up the stairs — each step a dramatic drumbeat of dread.

He didn’t need to check.
He already knew.

Behind him would come— Mother’s panicked voice. Father’s hurried footsteps. Sae’s reassuring tone.

They would follow.
Of course, they would.

Because he was Kia.
And who in their right mind would ever leave Kia alone?

At the turn of the stairs, Kia glanced back.

Rin was still standing there — dazed, misplaced, completely unaware of what had just unfolded.

Kia narrowed his eyes. No words were needed. Just a single look.

A warning.
The first of many.

“No one touches what’s mine.”

—

From that day forward, Kia began crafting his masterpiece.

Every resource, every skill, every bit of instinctual manipulation honed over years of being adored — all of it was put to use.

He painted himself as the fragile adoptive child.
The poor, sweet boy whose place was being stolen by the long-lost blood heir.

At night, he’d curl beneath his blanket and sob—loud enough to be heard, but only when Mina passed the door. The door was always cracked open, just enough.
During the day, he dropped hints: frightened glances when Rin entered a room, flinches when they brushed shoulders, whispered phrases of uncertainty just within earshot of Kai returning home.
Bruises—carefully placed, carefully timed—always “accidentally” revealed when Sae was around.

It was all orchestrated.
Meticulously.

And the effects came almost immediately.

At first, it was subtle.
A gentle scolding.
A look of concern.
A sigh.

Then came silence.
Then came the distance.

Mother stopped asking Rin if he wanted more rice.
Father no longer invited him along on weekend outings.
Sae treated him like air—refusing even eye contact.

Kia’s friends — once a noisy, laughing crowd in the Itoshi living room — would fall silent the moment Rin entered. Then, without a word, they would drift away.

No one said anything cruel.
No one raised their voice.

But Rin was quietly, deliberately pushed out of every conversation.
Every warm moment.
Every family photo that hung on the walls.

Just as Kia intended.

Rin grew quiet.
He didn’t cry.
He didn’t complain.

But every night, as he watched Kia sit between their parents in the kitchen light — laughing, being patted on the head, hugged, loved — he would set his spoon down, excuse himself, and retreat to his room.

He would sit there in the dark, listening to their laughter from the floor below like it was a song he'd never been taught the words to.

“I just want to be loved,” Rin once whispered into the silence,
“Just a little... I’m their son too… aren’t I?”

No one answered.
No one heard.

Except Kia.
Kia, who would pause outside Rin’s door, stare at the wood for a moment, and smile.

A faint, almost invisible curve of the lips — just enough to say:

“You might share their blood… but their hearts? Those belong to me.”

And Rin — sweet, pitiful Rin — did nothing.
Could do nothing.

Because deep down, he didn’t even believe he had the right to be jealous.

He was the outsider in a picture-perfect home.
Silently breaking.

And Kia?

Kia wore it like a crown.
The more Rin withered, the more delighted he became.

A tyrant who had finally found something fragile enough to crush.
Jealousy — grotesque, possessive — bloomed inside him like poison-tipped flowers.

A well-timed word.
A gentle lie.
A tear, falling like it meant everything.

And Rin would shrink again.
Smaller.
Quieter.

Like he wanted to disappear from a home that was, by every right, his own.

Kia loved that feeling.

Loved the way Rin lowered his gaze, murmuring apologies for things that weren’t his fault.
Loved how he endured it all — the isolation, the glances, the silences — without a word.
Loved the quiet ache Rin swallowed each time their mother brushed past him, when their father’s voice turned stern, when Sae didn’t even look his way.

Rin was weak.

So weak, Kia sometimes thought he could build a shining castle from the boy’s spine alone.

A creature that never fought back — perfect.
A flawless foundation for the role Kia played so effortlessly: the fragile, pitiful adopted son, bullied and mistreated by the blood heir, and thus more deserving of love than anyone.

Rin’s silence made him useful.
His passivity made him beautiful.

He would always be beneath Kia.
Always something to step on — a tool to shape Kia’s angelic image.

And Kia reveled in it.
Cackled, breathless and drunk on victory, as he nestled into his brother’s arms — Sae now openly scolding Rin for a broken ornament Rin hadn’t even seen on the table when he passed by.

But Kia forgot one thing.

A truth carved from centuries of warning:

Never rest too comfortably atop a throne built from someone else's ruin.

Kia made a mistake.
A grave one.

He shouldn't have insulted Rin’s birth parents — the people who raised Rin for sixteen years — not in public, and definitely not in front of Rin himself.

He thought Rin would just swallow it like always.
Just bow his head. Stay silent.

But Rin didn’t speak.

Rin lunged.

Like a storm unchained. No warning. No hesitation.

Kia’s skull slammed against the tiled floor with a sickening crack.

For the first time in his life, he saw stars at noon.

And Rin was on top of him.
Like a wild dog off its leash.

Those turquoise eyes — once soft, once quiet — were now alight with fury, pupils sharp and vertical, glowing like wildfire.

Fists pounded into his face.
Hard. Precise. Ruthless.

Kia’s world spun.

He tried to scream, but Rin grabbed his collar, hauled him up—and slammed him down again.

It was terrifying.

Rin had snapped. A rupture Kia never expected.

He thrashed, desperate to get away from the madman pinning him to the ground.
But Rin wasn’t mad.
Not really.

Rin was done.

Like a demon starved for years, now tearing flesh from bone.

Each punch came from a place deeper than rage — like they were meant to shatter something buried inside Kia.

Kia kicked, flailed — nothing worked.

Rin had become something monstrous.
Unstoppable.
A reckoning.

And everything crumbled.

All the charm, all the sweetness Kia had always worn — gone.

He began to cry. Really cry.
Not for pity.
Not for effect.

He was afraid.

Because Rin… Rin was no longer a piece in his little game.

Rin had become the nightmare no one could cage.

Kia finally saw it —
Rin had never been weak.

He had simply endured.
Because all he ever wanted was to be loved.

But monsters born in neglect do not stay docile forever.

Rin was a demon of patience.
A creature who begged for warmth… but once he stopped begging, he burned it all down.

Kia screamed. With all his strength.

His body trembled beneath the violence, saved only by the chaos that followed —
Sae and their parents rushing in.
Hands grabbing.
Pulling.

Rin was dragged back, chest heaving, muscles locked in fury.
But his eyes — god, his eyes — still locked on Kia like twin blades, shaking with fury and betrayal.

Kia had broken something sacred.
With a few ugly words about the dead.
And now he was bleeding for it.

Rin tried to lunge again.
But Sae struck him hard across the side — Rin collapsed.

Even so, his gaze didn’t break.
That look.

A silence so loud it screamed:
You ruined it.
You ruined what little I had left.

Kia trembled.

For the first time in his life, he understood fear.

Not the fear of being hit.
Not the pain.

But the terror of losing control.

The terror that the demon he thought he could leash with pity and false affection — was no longer inside the cage.

After that, Rin changed.

He wasn’t the meek Rin anymore.
Nor was he the furious one who had lost control.

Just… different.

Rin — the one who emerged from the wreckage — moved with unsettling calm.
He legally severed ties, without drama, without rage.

And then, he vanished from the house.

Not in the literal sense.
But like a soul quietly stepping out of a place it once called home.

No farewells.
No backward glances.

At first, Kia felt triumphant.
The spotlight was his again.
No more awkward silences in family dinners.
No more divided attention from their parents.
No more Sae drifting away to check on someone else.

Kia thought he had won.

But then—

The silence started to bite.

Mother began cooking meals Kia didn’t like.

The miso soup? Too salty.
The grilled mackerel? Dry.

All of them were Rin’s favorites.
Dishes he once complimented.

And still, she cooked them.
Methodically. Softly.

As if there was still a seat in the kitchen no one else could see.

Their father, Kai — always stern, always distant — began to pause in front of the family photo.

The one where Rin stood slightly to the side, smile stiff, posture uncertain.

Kia used to love that photo.

Now, it made his skin crawl.

And Sae…

Sae became a problem.

A gnawing, sleepless-night kind of problem.

He began to ask questions.

“Where’s Rin studying now?”
“Who are his friends?”
“Do you have his number?”

Kia started to panic.

Because he recognized that look in Sae’s eyes.

That same look from the day Rin was first brought home.

A heaviness.
A softness.

A kind of care.
A flicker of guilt.

No.

He couldn’t let things spiral back.
He couldn’t let Rin take everything again.

So Kia tried harder.
Sweeter.
Softer.

Cuter, even.

But something had shifted.
Maybe, in Rin’s absence, people had started to see —

That Kia alone wasn’t enough to fill the silence in the house.

And then, Kia saw Rin.

In the middle of a packed cafeteria.
Laughter everywhere. A new crowd surrounding him.

Rin sat tall — back straight, eyes bright.

He reached out, chopsticks in hand, placing a piece of grilled fish into Bachira’s bowl.
Nodded and smiled when Karasu whispered something that made the whole table burst into laughter.

No one looked down.
No one treated him like dead weight.

Rin — the boy Kia once believed would always kneel beneath him —
was now standing tall, as if no one had ever broken him.

There was a glow around him.
A soft, rose-colored light.

And something shattered inside Kia.

Like stained glass cracking quietly in the sun.

He lost control.

When Rin walked past — a warm bowl of steaming ochazuke in hand —
Kia lifted his arm.

No thought.
No hesitation.

The bowl tipped.

Scalding rice and broth poured across Rin’s hand.

A hiss — the sound of heat against skin.
Pale fingers turning angry red.

Kia felt it — that jolt of twisted triumph.
The rush.
The control.

He gasped theatrically, eyes wide, lips trembling,
tears already welling —

Playing the role he knew best.

“I… I didn’t mean to—!”

He thought it would end the same way it always did.

Soft voices.
Forgiveness.
Arms around him.

But this time—

This time, it was a mistake.

A very big one.

.

.

.

Itoshi Rin is not a forgiving person.
Never has been. Never will be.

He knows that.
Everyone around him knows that.

From the way conversations abruptly die the moment he walks into the locker room,
To the awkward silence that follows every glance he throws over his shoulder—
Rin’s used to it.

From middle school to Blue Lock, the number one survival instinct around him has always been the same:

Get. Out. Of. His. Way.

Whether it’s out of fear, dislike, or a warped sense of respect, people move aside.
Because Itoshi Rin isn’t a person.
He’s a razor blade in human form.

When he opens his mouth, it’s usually to launch a full-frontal assault on someone’s emotional stability.
When he opens his eyes, it screams: “What kind of idiot am I forced to tolerate today?”

Even Ego’s monthly internal reports consistently rank ITOSHI RIN among the top “Violence Risk: Immediate Intervention Required.”
Right below one equally chaotic disaster: SHIDOU RYUSEI — the national golden cockroach, who for some reason insists on hovering around Rin like a masochistic ghost addicted to being decked.

Point is — Itoshi Rin is not the kind of person who’ll smile, bow, and say, “It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
No.

He’s not that noble.

He’s not some misunderstood hero walking away from pain with a soft smile and the wind in his hair.
And he sure as hell isn’t someone who’ll forgive a boundary-stomping brat three goddamn times like his “DO NOT CROSS” sign is some Pinterest home decor.

And that brat — Kia — had just spilled scalding hot ochazuke onto Rin’s hand.

With those same trembling lips.
Those same crocodile tears.
That same nauseating performance of victimhood.

As if the world owes him compassion for a tragedy he manufactured.

Rin’s had enough.

He moved before anyone could blink.

SMACK.

The sound sliced through the cafeteria like a gunshot.
Sharp. Echoing. Merciless.

Rin’s palm printed clean and deep across Kia’s cheek —
So perfect it looked divine.

Like the mark of God punishing a liar.

Kia stumbled, crashing into the table behind him.
Food splattered. Soup spilled onto nearby students.

No one moved.

Rin didn’t wait for permission.

He surged forward like a thunderclap —
One hand shooting out, grabbing Kia by that perfectly combed, rich-boy mop of jet-black hair.

And then he yanked.

CRASH.

Kia’s head slammed straight into the steel cafeteria table.

CRACK.

A scream tore through the air.

Raw. Jagged.
Like glass shattering in a blender.

Kia howled — shrill and animalistic — as the world around them collapsed.
That thin, fragile illusion Rin hated most —
Shattered.

The people around Kia — strangers Rin couldn’t care less about —
leapt up in panic.

Limbs flailed like headless chickens.

One grabbed Rin’s arm.
Another clung to his leg.
The dumbest of them all wrapped their arms around Rin’s waist like a koala hugging a sparking telephone pole.

But Rin—

Rin didn’t care.
He didn’t hear.
He didn’t see.
He didn’t want to know.

He growled — low and feral — like a beast trapped too long in a rusted cage.

His turquoise eyes gleamed, tearing apart the last veil of rationality.

He swung.

The first punch missed someone’s head by a hair.

The second smashed into the shoulder of one of Kia’s friends —
A yelp rang out.

Still, Rin didn’t stop.

He kicked.
He twisted.

As if his entire body had been wrapped in flaming rope, burning him from the inside out.

The fury — the silent pressure that had coiled inside him minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day —
erupted.

Like a firestorm that devoured every last ember of restraint.

He hadn’t even known he could be this angry.

It didn’t last more than ten seconds.

But in those ten seconds—
the cafeteria fell into hell.

Kia’s friends — who initially just wanted to subdue the rampaging demon — snapped.

Maybe it was the wild punches.
Maybe it was the sheer tension snapping like a tripwire.

But one by one, they turned on Rin.

A fist scraped across his cheek — slicing skin, blood blooming instantly.

Rin retaliated with a hook to the gut.

Another thug yanked at Rin’s shoulder — tearing the fabric clean off.
Rin snarled and twisted the guy’s arm backward, a sickening pop followed by a shriek of pain.

Then came the biggest one.

A brute with a face like a rabid dog,
he roared as he grabbed a nearby chair and lifted it over his head,
eyes locked on Rin like a hunter on his prey.

“YOU PSYCHOTIC FREAK!!”

Rin — held down by two more — couldn’t dodge.

But even in that moment, his turquoise eyes burned not with fear… but with the fierce, unyielding will of a soldier who would rather die than bow.

And then—

“YOU TOUCH RIN AGAIN AND I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!”

CRACK!!
The poor plastic chair shattered mid-air—snapped clean in reverse impact, fragments flying like shrapnel across the battlefield.
A shadow blurred into view from the right, boots slamming onto still-warm cafeteria tables, food trays clattering in his wake like the prelude to a war march.
Bachira.
A yellow-black blur, feral and unchained, eyes sharp enough to slice steel.
He was the one who had thrown the second chair—direct hit.
It collided with the burly attacker’s arm, breaking his momentum and knocking the chair from his grasp.
Bachira’s face was flushed red, jaw tight, breathing erratic.
Not from the sprint.
But from rage. From panic. From the raw, instinctive fury that exploded in his chest the moment he saw the blood trailing down Rin’s cheek.

The big guy staggered.
Unwilling to give up, he reached for another chair—
But before his fingers even touched the plastic—
A fist drove into his side. Hard. Precise. Cruel.

He screamed, twisting—
And froze.

Eyes.
Deep red. Dead cold.
Not furious. Not panicked.
Just surgical.

Ness.

No one saw him move. No one knew when he got that close.
But he was there.
Standing still like a guillotine just dropped.

His hair was disheveled, sweat on his brow, but nothing—nothing—diminished the pressure he exuded.
The air around him had thickened—clotted—dense enough to crush a breath from the lungs.
His stance was still. His glare was not.

And in those eyes burned a single, merciless command:
“Walk away. Or I’ll erase you. From this room. From this school. From this goddamn world.”

The brute’s hands trembled.
His chest heaved.
He took a shaky step back.
Then another.

And fled.

Rin hadn’t even begun to register which of his nerves were screaming loudest — when suddenly, the grip on both sides of his body loosened.

Something shifted.

His head snapped sideways — not by instinct, but by sheer mechanical disbelief.

Aryu and Tokimitsu.

Aryu — hair wild, several strands broken and falling like petals — no longer the picture-perfect narcissist he always flaunted, was using one of his long arms to pin down the bastard who’d held Rin’s right side.

On the left, Tokimitsu — mumbling endless “sorrys” and “forgive mes”— was crushing another guy with terrifying strength, refusing to let go even as the guy begged for mercy.

Rin turned his head—

Kia.

Crouched behind his so-called friends, trembling, eyes darting toward Rin in sheer panic.

And that—
That set him off again.

The rage roared back to life.
A beast freshly wounded.

Rin lunged.
A snarl — low and raw — ripping from his throat like an animal on its last thread.

But this time, hands caught him mid-charge.

Karasu and Otoya.

They grabbed him like they’d done it a hundred times before,
like trying to contain a bomb with duct tape and prayer.

“Rin! Chill! Breathe, dammit!” Karasu barked, ducking under a wild punch.

“Ouch— bro, I’m on your side! That kick almost sterilized me!” Otoya wheezed as Rin’s foot nearly buried itself in his gut.

Rin didn’t care.
Didn’t listen.
Didn’t want to listen.

His brain had collapsed into a single instinct: stab the bastard, then vanish from this godforsaken world.

Otoya’s brow furrowed.
This wasn’t just anger.
It was loss of control — and worse, he could see two more lunatics about to spiral with Rin.

He flicked a glance at Karasu — urgent.

Karasu gave him a look back: I know. I know. I’m trying.

Meanwhile, his eyes darted forward—

Bachira.

Shrieking like a zoo tiger loose in the city. Aryu clung to him with all four limbs like a climbing frame — but Bachira still clawed toward Kia with rabid intensity.

Kia shrieked.
Stumbled back.
Stumbled again.

On the opposite side, Ness had begun yelling in German, voice high-pitched and echoing through the mess hall like an air raid siren. Tokimitsu — crying again, naturally — clung to Ness’s arm, trying to stop him from hurling a tray of curry rice at Kia, who had already curled up behind his cowering group like a soggy tissue in the trash.

The cafeteria was a war zone.

Kia’s friends had retreated —
now nothing more than a huddled, silent bunch.

But their side?
Still peaking.
Still surging.
Like an over-pressurized pressure cooker seconds away from explosion.

Karasu inhaled sharply.

Held tighter. Yelled, desperate:

“Rin — if you don’t calm the hell down, those two maniacs will burn this place to the ground for you!!”

Silence.

Rin blinked.
Once.
Twice.

Something —
finally —
caught in the tangle of wires inside his head.

He stilled.
The ragged breaths slowly came back into rhythm.

The cafeteria was still chaos—

But the most dangerous bomb had finally… paused its countdown.

.

.

.

Bachira used to believe he was a pacifist.
He truly believed that.

Until the moment a thunderous crack exploded from a metal dining table—
followed by a scream so shrill, so guttural, it tore through the air like a pig being slaughtered.
And just like that, every illusion shattered.

His head snapped up from the half-eaten fried fish on Otoya’s plate.

And then he saw.
He saw. Every detail carved into his mind like it was etched in steel.

Rin. Eyes bloodshot—savage, icy, as if frozen blood pulsed through his veins. Shirt torn, sleeve ripped, a long gash slicing across his cheek— blood dripping in thick crimson beads down pale, sharp cheekbones.

Two bastards were holding him down.
Another—huge, furious—was roaring, raising a plastic chair high like it was a weapon, ready to bring it down on Rin’s head.

In Bachira’s brain, something clicked.

OFF.

No sound.
No people.
Only Rin.
Only the threat.
And a mind gone completely, violently blank.

“Mama, what if I find someone like me? What if I find someone who can see my monster and isn’t afraid?”
The little honey-eyed boy tilted his head and asked.
His mother, painting bright sunflowers, smiled and ruffled his messy hair.
“Then you have to protect them, sweetie. That’s your destiny.”

Bachira’s body snapped up like a loaded spring.
He didn’t think.
Didn’t need to.
His instincts worked faster than his brain ever could.

He grabbed the chair Otoya had been sitting on.
Swung with everything he had—
WHAM!!

The chair flew like a missile, crashing into the attacker’s arm.
Plastic exploded into fragments.
The attacker’s own chair clattered to the floor, broken.
And at the same time, the last string of sanity inside Bachira’s head snapped.

He didn’t know how he leapt over the table.
Didn’t remember pushing through trays or shoving aside unfamiliar faces.
He only knew one thing:

He was going.

To Rin.

To the one who needed him.

“Rin’s in danger.
Rin needs me.
Right now.
Right fucking now.”

Bachira roared — a wild beast set loose from its iron cage.
Veins bulged in his neck, eyes glowing like wildfire.

He knocked over an entire food rack just to clear his path,
didn’t see anything, didn’t hear anything —
only knew that he was about to tear apart anyone who dared touch his monster.

A black-and-gold storm, spiraling forward,
ready to obliterate everything that stood between him—
and the one he was born to protect.

.

.

.

Ness hated fighting.

Not in the way people say, “I don’t like it,” or “I’ll avoid it if I can.”
No—he hated it.
With the bitter, visceral loathing one might reserve for garbage that should never have existed in any functioning system.

Since he was young, Ness had watched his older brother—intelligent, successful, talented—scream like a rabid animal when a servant broke a teacup.
All it needed was a replacement.
But no. He hit. He yelled. He smashed.
A waste of time. Of dignity. Of composure.
Inefficient.

He once saw a gang beat up two drunk idiots for not paying protection money.
Just across the street, a group of fresh-out-of-town merchants stood chatting with wallets practically bulging from their pockets.
Stupid.

To Ness, those who chose violence as their first option were always the same:
Idiots.

Just this morning, two brainless assholes had dragged him into a quiet hallway to “teach him a lesson.”
Punching. Kicking. Typical macho crap.
Each blow was a tick in his mental log:
Inefficient. Tactless. Wasteful.

Ness used to believe:

“Violence only brings trouble.”

And then— Rin happened. Rin, who used nothing but pure violence.
No reason. No pep talk.
Just walked up, kicked the crap out of them, yanked Ness out of the filth, shoved a pack of wet tissues into his hands,
and walked off.

No glance back.
No thank-you fishing.
No openings for attachment.
Just... did it.

From that moment on, Ness knew:
He was screwed.

Not a teenage crush.
Not admiration.
Definitely not some pink-filtered love story.

It was obsession.
Pure and simple.
No explanation needed.

He wanted to be near Rin.
To be a friend.
A guard.
A shadow, if that's what it took.

If Rin let him exist within his sphere—
That was enough.

Ness wasn’t normal.
He knew.
And he was perfectly fine with that.

Now, his king stood in the center of the chaos—
shirt disheveled, blood running down his cheek,
surrounded by filthy commoners like some sick public execution ritual.

Ness raised his head.
Every system in his mind flared to life like an emergency response:

Distance to Rin: 5.2 meters
Total obstacles: 27
Density increases toward center
87% behavioral aggression focused on Rin
Best escape route: left flank
Fastest breakthrough: right flank

He didn’t hesitate.
He chose the right.

He moved.

No warning.
No pause.

“No one touches Rin.
No one.”

And the small figure cut through the air,
shattering every gap in the crowd.
A winter storm, silent and lethal,
slamming into the chest of anyone foolish enough to stand in the way.

And in those flashing, violet-red eyes—was the trigger to annihilation.

.

.

.

Rin genuinely thought... he might’ve just died a little.

Died in the kind of way where your soul bursts out of your body in one final detonation— so violently that, for a few fleeting seconds, he no longer knew who he was, what he was doing, or even where he was.

Everything went white.
Like the rage had scorched not just memory, but identity.

Until—
Karasu’s voice exploded into his ear like a gunshot piercing through the night.

“Rin!! Snap out of it!!”

A jolt.
The bloodshot teal eyes blinked—once, then twice.

The fire dimmed.
Not the kind of softness that reminds you of an autumn lake under clear skies,
but the stillness of something terrifying:
a surface too calm,
too still,
too quiet.

No more fire.
Just... silence.

Rin started to understand again.

Cafeteria.
Ochazuke—spilled.
Blood—on his cheek.
Kia—punched.
His minions—beaten.

And currently, his side was winning.

The enemy was huddled like tattered rags behind an overturned metal table—
the last pathetic shield between them and the earthquake still rumbling in front of them.

Rin felt... powerless.

Not because they lost.
But because of what he saw now:

His friends.

Bachira—who used to be sunlight in a forest full of monsters— was screaming like a feral beast set ablaze inside a cage.

His voice was hoarse, cracking, no trace of that usual sing-song cheer he always carried:

“YOU SONS OF BITCHES—”
“WHO THE HELL TOUCHED MY RIN—GET OUT HERE!!”
“IF I DON’T SKIN YOU ALIVE I’LL CHANGE MY FUCKING LAST NAME!!”
“DON’T YOU FUCKING RUN FROM ME!!”

Rin shut his eyes.
Exhaled.

Then turned the other way—
Ness was mumbling “verdammt… hurensöhne…” under his breath, eyes blood-red, raising a metal tray like he was ready to bash the next thing that twitched.

Beside him, Tokimitsu—on the verge of tears—had both arms wrapped around Ness,
whimpering,

“Please... don’t... calm down... this is wrong...”

Rin sighed again.
The tension in his muscles slowly bled away.

Then he looked up— Aryu was sweeping his hair into someone’s face like a whip, Karasu was punching with one hand, kicking with the other, making some poor bastard howl like a dying goat.

Rin tilted his chin at Otoya, the guy holding onto both of Rin’s arms like a cop trying to cuff a fugitive.

His look said, “I’m okay now.”

Otoya raised an eyebrow, carefully letting go— but kept his stance firm, ready to dive back in if Rin lost it again.

What a sight.

In the lingering chaos, amid the screams and the clatter of flying trays, Rin felt something strange bloom in his chest.

A bit of calm.
A flicker of warmth.

Like...
somewhere in the ashes,
a tiny ember still glowed—
faint,
but alive.

.

He didn’t say anything. Just walked forward.
Ahead of him—Bachira, still roaring his lungs out like a rabid beast, teeth clenched tight, eyes bloodshot, arms swinging wildly in front of him.

Rin lifted a hand, reached out, and placed it gently on the storm’s shoulder.

“Bachira,” he said quietly. “Calm down. I’m fine.”

It worked instantly.
Like someone had flipped a switch in reverse.

The wild creature who was ready to tear apart the entire cafeteria just one second ago— froze in place.

Bachira turned around. Those golden eyes glimmered—then trembled.

And the tears came rushing out.

“OAAAA Rin-chan—!! You scared the hell outta me, huhu!! The blood! It’s Rin-chan’s blood!! Oh god, my heart—!!”

He threw himself into Rin’s chest, like a child finding their mother in the middle of a flood, sobbing and sniffling with all the force of a summer downpour.

Rin didn’t push him away.
Didn’t scold.
He just stood there— let Bachira cling to him like a wooden post in a raging storm.

Rin—who would normally bite anyone that got too close— now just sighed softly.

He turned his head.

Ness had frozen in place the moment Rin stepped forward.
The tray of food was already gone—smuggled away by Tokimitsu.
Ness just stood there, wide-eyed, watching Rin’s every move in silence.

Rin tilted his head.

“Ness. Watch your language.”

Ness blinked. “…Did you know what I said??”

“…No,” Rin answered honestly, and gave a strange little smile. “But I read something in your body language.”

Ness let out a shaky breath, his whole body deflating with relief.
He muttered under his breath:

“Don’t do that again… I can’t take it…”

Rin smirked, turning to glance over the mess of a battlefield behind him.

Tables flipped.
Food everywhere.
A bunch of students huddled in a corner, watching him like he was a warlord doing a surprise inspection without even bothering to wear a disguise.

The other students had backed away by several meters,
whispering things to each other—faces full of fear, confusion, and a pinch of pure, unfiltered curiosity.

Yep.
Sleep’s definitely off the table tonight.

.

.

.

BANG!!!
The desk slammed so hard it echoed like thunder across the faculty office, making the entire surface tremble.
A poor pen flung itself off the edge like it’d rather die than deal with this nonsense.

It was almost 8 PM.
The sacred hour.
That magical time of night when hormonal high school students typically engage in one of the following three activities:

1. Wandering around the campus playing ghost-hunting games in dark hallways and whispering about curses in the old storage building.
2. Sprinting back to the dorms like criminals, diving under their blankets to binge brainless shows or rage over meaningless video games.
3. Doing absolutely nothing… and getting punished anyway because of those in group 1 and 2.

And now—this.
Smack in the middle of the faculty office.
Right under the nose of Fuji High’s legendary disciplinary officer.

A group of students—utterly disheveled like they’d just been launched out of a tornado.
Clothes rumpled, hair looking like it got sucked into a vacuum cleaner, and worst of all… not a trace of guilt on any of their faces.

This wasn’t your average group of troublemakers.
This was the crew that had just flipped the goddamn cafeteria into a battlefield.
A full-blown brawl.
Property damage on a tragic scale.
Staff morale buried six feet under.
And the most horrifying part of it all?
It happened on the very first day of school.

Mr. Kaito—30-year veteran, war-scarred guardian of order at Fuji, man who had handled every kind of student from sneaky MOBA addicts to kids launching flares during exams—was, for the first time, doubting if he was still qualified for this job.

He leaned against the table, peered over his reading glasses, and muttered darkly:

“Live long enough… and you really do see everything.”

In front of him was the perfect cocktail of chaos:

Rin, face still red, expression cold as steel, standing upright like a soldier on alert.

Bachira, still sniffling and shouting about skinning someone alive.

Ness muttering to himself in German, looking way too satisfied for someone in trouble.

Tokimitsu on the verge of tears.

Aryu “wash” his hair by a stunning clumb.

Karasu grimacing like he was about to be handed a prison sentence.

And Otoya? That damn fool was trying to take a selfie.
A selfie. To “immortalize this legendary moment,” he said.

In stark contrast were the sheepish faces on the other side of the room.

Right at the center stood Kia—undeniably the most pitiful-looking of them all.
His cheek was still flushed red, the shape of five fingers clearly outlined on the skin.
His forehead? Swollen.
His eyes? Puffy and pink like he'd been crying for ten hours straight—not ten minutes.
The rest of his crew didn’t look much better: minor external injuries all around, and as for internal damage... well, that was anyone’s guess at this point.

The faculty office suddenly felt too cramped for the sheer density of chaos contained within.

Mr. Kaito let out a sigh.
Not a regular sigh.
A soul-deep, ancient sigh that seemed to sink through the floor and echo into the earth’s core.

“It’s only the first day, kids...
The. First. Damn. Day.”

He slammed his palm on the desk again—ignoring the stab of pain up his arm that reminded him just how much he hated everything about this moment.

“EXPLAIN.
ONE. BY. ONE.”

Silence.
For exactly 1.5 seconds.

Then—

“They’re the ones who dumped ochazuke on Rin-chan first!!! Look at him! THEY MADE HIM BLEED!! IT’S HIS BLOOD!!”
Bachira screamed, eyes bugging out like he was ready to flip the whole desk and chew on its legs.

“I was just defending myself! That guy literally lifted a chair over my head!”
Rin snapped, pointing dramatically into the air—because the actual offender was now… in the infirmary.

“I—I didn’t hit anyone!”
Tokimitsu raised both hands, tears brimming.
“I just… held them back… that’s all… hic…”

“It was purely tactical reflexes,” Ness suddenly said—in surprisingly fluent Japanese.

“If you ask me, you should be questioning those guys instead,” Otoya chimed in with a shrug. “All we did was protect our friend.”

Across the room, Kia’s squad—now huddled a safe 2-meter distance from “that unhinged bunch”—quickly scrambled to reclaim their voice.

Leading the charge, naturally, was Kia himself: trembling like a willow in a hurricane, one tear away from disintegrating into mist.

“They’re insane! I’m serious—INSANE! I just accidentally spilled some food!!”
Kia wailed, eyes wide and glossy like he was about to burst into tears.
“I didn’t mean anything by it! It was… it was just a mistake!!!”

“Exactly!!”
Another kid, arm in a sling, groaned in pain.
“It was just a bowl of ochazuke! Did they really need to jump us like a pack of wild animals?!”

“I legit thought I was gonna die!”
A third one, with a bandaged forehead, stared blankly into space.
“I don’t even know who kicked me. All I remember is a big fluffy purple cloud slamming into my face.”

“Purple?!” EXCUSE me—my hair is magenta. Beautiful, flawlessly styled magenta.”
Ness growled, not even bothering to deny the attack—just dead focused on correcting the injustice of inaccurate color identification.

“Someone laughed while punching me! Laughed, I tell you!!!”
screamed another poor soul from the far corner of the room.

Karasu shrugged coolly.

“If you’re gonna hit someone, you might as well have fun with it.”

“And that long-haired guy—he, he flipped his hair before punching me!!”

Aryu flipped his now-messy locks with a dramatic flourish:

“One must always be fabulous—no matter the moment~.”

The entire office descended into chaos like a market brawl gone off-script.
Voices shouting over each other, someone cursing at full volume, and what sounded suspiciously like a German exorcism ritual happening in the background.

Mr. Kaito pressed his fingers against his temples, migraine levels skyrocketing.

“EVERYONE. SHUT. UP!!!”

Silence dropped instantly—save for the quiet hum of the ceiling fan and Tokimitsu’s soft sniffling.

“No one’s admitting fault.
No one has a sensible explanation.
No one knows who started it.”

He spoke slowly. Too slowly. Like a man trying to savor the last threads of his sanity.

His eyes shifted between Rin—who looked about as emotionally invested as someone forced to attend an optional seminar on algae—and Kia, whose tears had literally formed a puddle at his feet.

And then came the verdict.
Each word a nail in the coffin.

“Call your parents.
YOU TWO.
IMMEDIATELY.”

Chapter Text

Their expressions shifted in an instant.
Kia looked as if he’d just been selected for a NASA mission—ready to fly to the moon as “the first radiant boy representing humanity in outer space.”
Rin, in stark contrast, had the dead-eyed look of a soldier who’d just survived a one-against-twelve alien deathmatch, only to come home and get stabbed in the back… by a cockroach wearing a white coat.

“Y-yes, sir, I’ll call them right away…” Kia stammered, voice watery, eyes glistening like a puddle after a thunderstorm. He fished out his phone with trembling fingers, glancing nervously at Rin as if afraid he might spontaneously combust under that gaze.

Rin’s stare was cold enough to crack glass.
Kia immediately recoiled, shrinking into the wall like a hamster suddenly dropped into a cage with a starving Bengal tiger.

Then Rin spoke.
Not loud. Not angry.
Just... precise. Glacial.
“I don’t have parents.”

The air paused.

Mr. Kaito frowned, lowering his voice, careful now.
“I… I’m sorry to hear that.”

But the discomfort didn’t end there.
His frown deepened. He turned swiftly to the computer, typing. Paused. Typed again. His eyes scanned the screen, then lifted back to Rin, this time tinted with visible confusion—and doubt.
“Your enrollment record lists your father as Itoshi Kai and your mother as Itoshi Mina.”
A beat.
“Kia’s form shows the same. Are you two... brothers?”

Rin’s lips twitched into something between disdain and disgust—like he’d just been asked to chug banana milk laced with dish soap.

“No,” he said flatly. “That’s outdated. The database hasn’t synced with the legal records yet. I formally severed ties with the Itoshi family five days ago.”

And to make his words absolute, he pulled out his phone, opened a high-resolution image of the Certificate of Severance of Kinship, and held it up with the calm finality of a sword laid across someone’s neck.

Mr. Kaito froze mid-breath.
The situation had just veered from “teen drama” to “evening primetime family implosion with legally binding documents.”

Over in the corner, Kia—still holding his phone—scratched the back of his neck and tried a weak, strained laugh.
“Rin’s my brother, sir. It’s just, y’know… some minor tension—”

Rin didn’t move.
Didn’t flinch.
But his voice sliced through the room like a scalpel dipped in frost:

“Don’t speak.”
Each word deliberate. Sharp.
“We are not brothers.”

Then, slowly, calmly:
“Say that again, and I’ll print 365 copies of that certificate and mail one to your house every morning, so you can eat them with your cereal. Maybe then it’ll sink in.”

Kia swallowed hard.
The sound echoed in the silence—loud, sharp, final.

Mr. Kaito genuinely had a headache now.
He took off his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose, then turned back to Rin.

“So, Itoshi...”
Realizing there were two Itoshis in the room, he quickly clarified,
“You—Itoshi Rin. Do you have any nearby relatives? An uncle? Aunt? Cousin, maybe?”

“No,” Rin answered, deadpan.

“Close family friends?”

“No.”

“…Legal guardian?”

“I’m sixteen. I’m legally independent.”

He said it with the same composed finality someone might use to say, “The bill’s paid. No need to call the waiter anymore.”

Mr. Kaito had no idea what to say to that.
Part of him wanted to feel sorry for Rin—this quiet, stone-faced kid who clearly carried the weight of the world on his shoulders far too early.
The other part was quietly thinking:
“Is this... some kind of teenage assassin level of self-sufficiency?”

While Mr. Kaito was still caught between human empathy and educational protocol, Kia—armed with all the cheerful cluelessness of a golden retriever and the emotional intelligence of a chair—decided now was the time to speak.

“Rin, should I just call both our parents then? I mean… they’re still our parents, right?”

…

Rin turned his head.
Slowly.
Very slowly.

And then he looked at Kia.

It wasn’t just a glare—it was a look that could boil rivers and turn grass into ash.
There was only one coherent sentence echoing through Rin’s mind:
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. Is this guy actually fluent in human speech?”

Sensing the rising murder aura in the room, Mr. Kaito practically jumped in like a fireman crash-landing into a burning building.

“Alright—uh—Itoshi Rin, you can call any responsible adult you trust. Anyone who's… employed and… can temporarily act as your legal guardian.”

“…”

Rin wanted to say No.
He really, really did.
But he knew—right now, circumstances didn’t care about what he wanted.
There was no room left to stall.
No escape route.
No luxury of pride.

He exhaled, slow and long, like someone counting down his own lifespan.

Then he pulled out his phone and opened his contact list.

Two names. Just two.
One was his roommate—who slept sixteen hours a day and couldn’t tell fish sauce apart from floor cleaner.
The other… didn’t even qualify as a “friend” despite the bolded name in the list.

Brilliant.

No choice.

Rin tapped the screen and hit Call.

.

.

.

.

Out in the hallway, a disheveled group of students shuffled out of the room, their clothes wrinkled, hair a mess, and faces clouded with the kind of tension that made it hard to even breathe.
Rin walked at the front, his brow furrowed so sharply it looked like he could crush a fly between them.
Beside him, Bachira looked like he wanted to say something—desperately—but every last brain cell he had was screaming “Do not engage. That’s how people die.”
Ness muttered something under his breath, glanced at Rin, muttered again, then turned to glare at Kia with the kind of analytical intensity usually reserved for autopsies.

Trailing behind were Otoya and Karasu, walking like the universe owed them an apology. Their faces were the dictionary definition of “existential exhaustion.”
Aryu and Tokimitsu brought up the rear—shoulders visibly sagging, as if gravity had decided to be a little extra cruel today.

Rin stopped.
Turned around to face them.
His voice was low, not too cold, but firm:

“Alright. Go home. Or go eat something. I’ll handle the rest.”

He hesitated.
Like he was deciding whether or not to say more.
Eventually, he looked away and added quietly:

“…Sorry for dragging you into this. And… thanks. For being there.”

For three full seconds, no one reacted.
Then—

Bachira sprang forward like a wound-up spring, launching himself onto Rin’s arm like a clingy octopus.

“Rin-channnnn, don’t worry! Damn it, they were in the wrong!! Even God wouldn’t mess with mealtime!! I didn’t even get to eat my fish!!”

“The fish from my lunchbox,” Otoya added flatly, shrugging like he’d long accepted his losses to fate.

“This is absurd,” Ness chimed in, arms crossed. “They started it. We got dragged in. We defended ourselves. Now we share equal blame? Japanese social dynamics are honestly a fascinating but exhausting sociological phenomenon.”

“Technically, it was a fight between two parties,” Karasu said, voice dry. “But realistically, we just fought better.”

“And I’m still reeling from seeing Itoshi Rin go full tropical storm mode,” Aryu murmured as he brushed his hair with a pocket-sized comb. “Just… violently glamorous.”

“Y-yeah…” Tokimitsu added meekly. “I always thought Rin was, like… calm, in control and stuff… ah… sorry for thinking that… I’m so sorry…”

Rin exhaled.

A sigh heavy with the weight of a thousand war memories.

The truth was—
Even he didn’t expect to get that angry.

He’d always known he was impatient, easily irritated by nonsense. But this?
The kind of rage that made him want to strangle someone, then turn around and strangle himself for letting it get that far?

No.
That was new.

It felt like—
For one raw, unguarded moment, every single barrier inside him tore open at once.
And just like that…
He wasn’t himself anymore.

Ness stared hard at Rin. After silently witnessing a whole interrogation session hosted by the two most terrifying personalities in school, he finally asked the one question that had been wedged in his brain the entire time:

“Hey, Rin. Why do you and that absolute lunatic—”
He pointed directly at Kia, who was currently lurking awkwardly outside the building, clearly waiting for an adult to show up and save him. Ness made no attempt to be subtle or polite. “—share the same parents? I mean, with that whole ‘cutting family ties’ document or whatever? Am I just bad at Japanese or is that whole situation insane?”

Rin didn’t even bother answering.
Instead, he nudged Bachira with an elbow—the human equivalent of throwing a meatball at a golden retriever and saying “Fetch.”

Bachira, ever the eager volunteer, immediately took the cue and grabbed Rin by the wrist, dragging him to the hallway bench with exaggerated concern.
“Rin-chan, sit. Save your legs,” he mumbled before turning back to rally the other miserable survivors of this emotional roller coaster. Then, in full storyteller mode—a role he’d begged Rin to play for nights in their dorm room only to end up angrily sleepless—he began.

(That particular night had ended with Bachira ranting non-stop for a solid hour until Rin lost all patience and flung a pillow in his face. Bachira fell silent—but the next morning, his eyes were bloodshot and puffy.)

“Once upon a time,” Bachira declared, full of theatrical flair, “there was a lovely little boy, radiant as the sun, named Itoshi Rin. He lived like a baby prince in a coastal fishing village—”

“Ow!! Rin-channn, I’m setting the mood here!!” Bachira yelped as Rin lightly thumped him on the head—too tired to threaten, just effective enough to silence.

“Stick to the damn point.”

“But the ambiance—ugh, fine,” Bachira grumbled. He turned back to their audience of wide, waiting eyes and straightened up, resuming with a surprisingly calm tone:

“So. Here’s the deal… and the story goes like this... and like that... and then this happened…”

Six minutes in, Bachira had covered most of Rin’s 16 years in a tidy, emotional package. And Rin—god help him—found himself thinking “...And then what?”
Which was honestly humiliating.

“And so,” Bachira declared dramatically, standing up mid-sentence for maximum impact, “after that red-haired bastard of a brother abandoned Rin in that house, Rin realized something!!”

He clenched his fists like he was about to punch God.

“He realized he deserved better! That he could be something more! A stronger, better monster! So he cut ties. Completely. Legally. With that entire cursed family line!”

~

Silence.
A loud, aching kind of silence—
The kind where even a fly buzzing by would be gender-identified on impact.
And then, the explosion.

Tokimitsu was the first to break. His huge, hulking frame trembled like a wet puppy, which would’ve been funny if he hadn’t started sobbing in hiccupped, barely-coherent grief:

“His parents… Rin’s parents died in that earthquake, didn’t they?! Huhu... Rin, I’m so sorry… don’t be sad...”

Rin sighed.
“I’m fine. It’s all in the past now.”
He didn’t add They weren’t even really my parents,—not in any literal or metaphorical sense.
But the pain “Rin” had carried for years… that was real enough. And heavy enough. No point in revisiting it out loud.

Aryu covered his face with his embroidered floral handkerchief. His voice dropped so low it was practically funereal:
“A fourteen-year-old boy… lost everything in one night.
How… how did you survive that?”

Otoya frowned, staring ahead. He forced his voice into something light, but the joke barely made it out alive:

“I always thought those ‘abandoned rich kid’ stories online were brainless trash fiction. Turns out, they’re real.”

Karasu turned his head away, but his shoulders twitched slightly.
“I think… I understand that craving,” he murmured. “A teenager doesn’t want much. Just love and acceptance—from someone. Anyone.”

Only Ness remained dead silent.
Jaw tight, lips pressed into a sharp line.
Then he exhaled, slow and deliberate, like unloading a weight he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

“…Seriously? The Itoshis—were they all insane? Or just criminally incompetent?
They really abandoned their biological son? Even beat him?”
His voice sharpened at the edges.
“Is that illegal in Japan? Or just morally bankrupt?”

“Technically?” Otoya said, not even blinking. “Both.”

Six pairs of eyes met.
And everyone sighed—
Deeply, in sync—
Like six war veterans staring out over a battlefield made of childhood trauma and questionable parenting

The atmosphere was as solemn as a Sunday sermon.
Everyone’s face had that distant foggy look, their eyes darkened with the weight of things left unsaid, occasionally sneaking pitiful glances at Rin when they thought he wasn’t looking.

Rin’s eye twitched.
These idiots.
He clicked his tongue.
“Don’t fall for the Kappa-head’s dramatics. I wasn’t that pathetic. Everything’s been dealt with already.”

Bachira immediately jumped to defend his honor.
“I already toned it down, okay?! That whole part about the other house—Rin-chan only told me, ‘Being home didn’t feel like being home.’ That kept me awake the entire night. I had to bribe Rin-chan with two bags of snacks just to get him to vaguely describe it!”

Otoya chimed in swiftly, his face visibly conflicted:
“Wait, this is what you mean by ‘dealt with’? We literally just signed a ceasefire agreement from World War III like… 8 minutes and 21 seconds ago.”

“Legally dealt with,” Karasu added with a shrug.
“But in practice? I vote someone hands me a knife and ends it clean.”

He was joking—kind of.
But Rin replied seriously. His voice flat. His eyes deadly calm.

“I’m considering that option.”

“…”

“Okay no—please don’t. You’re sixteen, that’s still prison time. My bad, bro. You’re scaring me here.”
Karasu sat up straight, visibly alarmed by the very real possibility that Rin might not be joking.

Ness muttered under his breath, “I mean, if you consider extenuating circumstances, psychological trauma, and the trigger point for involuntary defense—technically there’s legal nuance…”

“STOP. STOP. SWEET MOTHER OF LEGAL LIABILITY, I’M SORRY.
Please don’t bring this up again!
I was raised to be a good person!
I’m too young to go to juvenile prison for conspiracy to incite a felony!!”

Karasu was now curled up, hands over his head, groaning.

The air was thick—like a granite boulder had just rolled off Mt. Fuji and landed squarely on all of their collective chests.
It hadn’t even budged yet when Bachira, who had been hovering near Rin this whole time like a loyal if slightly unhinged fox on caffeine, suddenly flipped moods.

Still glued to Rin’s side, his golden eyes shone with the kind of fury that made small animals cry. He mumbled like casting a curse:

“I swear to god, Rin-chan, you dodged them on purpose. All week. Took extra routes. They stuck to you worse than gum under a desk.
If I see them again, I’m gonna shoot them into the net so hard the goal tears open—no need for VAR review, just straight red.”

Rin shrugged, unimpressed.
Honestly, today was probably a fluke. He rarely lost his temper this badly.
He glanced at Bachira with one-half of one eye, utterly dry:
“With your aim, you’re lucky they didn’t shoot you into the net instead.”

“Rin-channnnn! That hurts, that really hurts! Emotional damage!!
That’s like what you said to Otoya this afternoon!
You know, ‘the most tragic shot in football since the sport was invented’?!”

Bachira, wounded, immediately tried to drag Otoya into the battlefield with him—
Misery loves company, especially if that company also kicked air instead of a ball.

“Excuse me? What did I ever do to you?”
Otoya flared up immediately. What the hell—why was he catching strays lying down?

“Oh please, your dribbling earlier? I almost laughed myself unconscious!
Who the hell makes a reverse pass while being marked from behind?!
Did you leave your brain at school or what?”
Karasu followed up with a final blow, half-laughing, half-mocking.

Otoya, not one to let his name be dragged through the mud, smirked.
“Still better than someone tripping over their own foot and flopping like a dead fish.
You call that a striker’s move, even missed a shot from 4.5m? You sure you’re not auditioning for a circus act??”

Karasu’s face went dark.
That was a stain on his soul, and this psycho had the nerve to bring it up?

He grabbed Otoya by the collar, murderous:
“You little shit—forget you saw that.
Unless you want me to erase your memory the old-fashioned way—through blunt trauma.”

Otoya, textbook definition of “death? never heard of her,” just sneered:
“Too late, buddy. I’ve already saved the video.
Uploaded to Drive, iCloud, Google Photos.
Hard copy being printed as we speak.
It’s my future graduation gift, anniversary card, even wedding invitation.
Try not to fall in love with me too hard!”

“You absolute bastard!!!”
Karasu snapped, fully lunging.

“Please... please don’t... not again... we just made peace five minutes ago...”
Tokimitsu rushed in, throwing himself between them like a human wall of pacifism, desperate to prevent the spark that might ignite World War IV.

Nearby, Aryu—one hand on Otoya’s head, the other still adjusting his bangs—gritted his teeth and used all four limbs to pull the ninja menace out of Karasu’s range,
all while Otoya kept running his mouth like he wanted to die.

Bachira—still crouched loyally beside Rin like some hyperactive gremlin pet—perked up at the chaos, sensing the rising tempo.
He waved his arm like a cheer captain on a sugar high:
“Punch him, Karasu! Go for that moss-colored mop!
Looks like a dying bonsai that hasn’t been watered in three days, and he still dares to style it?!”

If Rin hadn’t been sitting nearby, Bachira would’ve probably jumped up to do his new TikTok cheer routine right then and there, yelling “Let’s go Karasu~!!”

“That is ART, you uncultured swine!!
It’s a statement piece! A girl magnet!
Bro, we’re on the same side—Team Highlight Hair!!”

Otoya practically screamed back, holding his green-white hair up like he’d just pulled Excalibur from the stone.

“We are NOT the same!
My colors are a harmonious work of art!”

“Black and gold is trash-tier, bro. Zero synergy!” – Otoya screamed, full-on slandering modern hair design.

“Green and white looks like eye trauma in color form!!” – Bachira shouted back without even a second of hesitation.

The mood shifted.
From “tragic childhood flashback”
To “hair-color battle royale.”

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU GUYS?!”
Karasu roared, his hair now resembling a bird’s nest after all the pulling and dragging, his face contorted like someone had sucker-punched him with a bottle of Sriracha.

Meanwhile, Ness—still mentally stuck somewhere between “emotional breakdown over Rin’s backstory” and “graphic hair-styling war crimes”—frowned deeply and muttered:
“Wait… wait a minute... Just five minutes ago, we were crying about Rin’s traumatic past. How did we get here? This pace of emotional whiplash... Germans need time to get used to this strange rhythm of life…”

Rin—the alleged protagonist of this entire operatic mess—just sighed.
Arms crossed, cold voice like an arctic draft: “Should I just go?”

“NO!!! STAY RIGHT THERE!!!”
Everyone yelled in unison.

And so, the chaos continued—
Somehow, in a way that felt warmer than any comforting words ever could.

.

.

.

Despite the utterly chaotic, borderline illogical mess that was the “Ego Victim Support Group” — a collection of self-appointed cheerleaders, hair-color theorists, and emotionally unstable misfits —
things finally... calmed down.

In a weird way, it felt normal.
The kind of normal where you sit outside the principal’s office after a fight, still bruised but proud because you “did it for a cause.” That kind.

Bachira, Otoya, Karasu, and Aryu stubbornly stayed put.
They knew the 2000-word apology letters waiting for them, but clearly, they chose what to see, what to hear, and what to remember.
In other words: Yeah, yeah, we'll write it later. Right now, we're here with Rin. So back off.

And then—
Thud... thud...
A series of rapid footsteps echoed down the hallway, followed by frantic yelling:

“Kia!! Are you okay?!”
“Kia, oh my god!!”
“You look awful, Kia!!”

The hallway temperature dropped at least five degrees.
Rin’s eye twitched.
It felt like he’d accidentally taken a sip of fizzy water mixed with pesticide.

Was this really necessary?

He shut his eyes. Took a deep breath—
the kind you take before diving into a lake of acid.
Then he opened them—

And there was Kia, standing in the doorway with that fake innocent face, eyes shimmering like a helpless bunny thrown into a den of wolves.
Earlier, Kia had bolted through that same door, using it like a shield the second their friends left to go write their punishments, terrified Rin would skin them alive just with a glare.

And behind Kia—
because of course, as dictated by the sacred laws of High School Drama Physics—
came the four faces Rin most wanted to never acknowledge again.

Isagi Yoichi. Chigiri Hyoma. Mikage Reo. And Nagi Seishiro.

A.k.a. the Kia Protection Squad:
top students, annoyingly good-looking, sparkling resumes, and always—always—showing up at the exact wrong time to mess everything up.

Rin swept his eyes across them:
Chigiri’s exaggerated silent-movie panic,
Isagi’s furrowed brow trying to mask his internal conflict,
Reo’s calculating, borderline suspicious squint,
and Nagi’s permanently confused face.

Then he turned to Bachira with a side glance that screamed:
“See? Told you. We’re not done with the circus yet.”

And then, a faint smirk.

The clowns. Now with DLC.

.

.

.

.

The self-proclaimed “Angel First-Responder Squad” immediately swarmed around Kia like a group of overzealous nursing students.
A cacophony of concern rang out in unison:

"God, your face is all flushed, Kia! Does it hurt?"
"That bruise on your forehead... oh no, it’s huge! It'll take at least a week to fade!"
"You really don’t look okay. Are you dizzy? Want to sit down?"

Kia smiled softly—
like a wounded cherub just trying to be polite—eyes shimmering with just enough moisture to trigger maximum sympathy.
"I'm fine, really... it’s just a few little bruises. I... I don’t want to be a bother. I was just… a bit scared waiting alone for my family..."

Pitiful, innocent, and just begging to be punched—Kia’s current aura in three words.

Chigiri, still clinging to Kia’s arm like he might crumble into flower petals, spoke first—voice high-pitched and scandalized:
"Kia, are you kidding me?! You called saying you couldn’t stand up—we dropped dinner and ran here, do you even get that?!"

Reo’s voice dropped, eyes narrowing with solemn concern:
"What the hell happened? Who could’ve done this to you?"

Isagi said nothing.
He just gently fixed Kia’s collar and smoothed his messy hair with the tenderness of an eyedrop commercial.

Nagi... stood silently.
His sleepy gaze flicked from the bruise on Kia’s temple to the other end of the hall, where Rin and his group stood frozen like statues.
Then back to Kia.

Kia glanced up at Isagi and smiled—
soft, fragile, like the soundtrack of a hospital drama playing in the background—
before speaking, voice trembling just enough to poke every emotional nerve in the room:

"It’s really... nothing. I accidentally spilled Rin’s rice bowl. I apologized, I did... but he didn’t accept it. And then... he hit me."
A subtle lip bite. Eyes lowered. The perfect mix of innocence and guilt-that-isn’t-really-guilt.
"And then... I guess the others got dragged in, and things spiraled. I feel awful. And being here alone, waiting for my parents and brother... it was just a bit scary..."
He looked up again, eyes glassy, voice softening even more:
"I really didn’t mean to interrupt everyone’s dinner..."

Silence.
Except for a couple of tsk sounds—possibly Karasu, possibly Ness.
Rin didn’t speak.
He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, eyes cold and detached—like he was watching a school drama rerun for the 80th time.
But the others, getting their first taste of this live performance, were visibly stunned.

Tokimitsu whispered under his breath, quietly:
"I mean... it’s not like we can even argue with that..."

Otoya, as usual, didn’t bother lowering his volume:
"Of course he’s scared—scared Rin’s gonna eat him alive. Or Bachira’s gonna yank his hair. Or Ness is gonna hex him. Or all three. Who knows."

Aryu sighed dramatically, flipping his hair with cinematic flair:
"I just witnessed a scene too glamorous for this planet. That was not a performance, that was cinema. And I would rather not sit through the sequel. My eyes can’t take it."

Ness scratched his chin like a professor mid-lecture:
"What the hell did I just watch? That’s... method acting. Is there a course for that? I want to learn the ‘tasteful bruising’ technique."

Bachira, who was visibly bristling—
and would've definitely launched an attack if Rin hadn’t grabbed the back of his shirt like a leash—
finally snapped, muttering through gritted teeth:
"For f***'s sake, it’s them again. Just leave Rin-chan alone.
Ness, I swear, give it thirty more seconds and they’ll all be singing in chorus,
‘Why would Rin do that to sweet little Kia~?’”

Ness raised an eyebrow, suspicious:
"Bro... you’re talking like you’ve seen this exact scene play out a dozen times?"

"Exactly! They've pulled this stunt like a hundred times already. I still have the PDF Shidou sent me—titled ‘White Lotus Script and the Chorus of Gasping Idiots’. Chapter 2, page 31, it’s verbatim what just happened."
Bachira practically growled.

Rin twitched at the corner of his mouth, turning to his roommate like he was observing an alien life form:
"Your memory only works for trash, huh? In 8th grade, you said it took you two hours to memorize four lines of poetry."

Bachira slapped his chest and replied without missing a beat:
"That’s because my brain only stores important things, Rin-chan."

"A PDF from Shidou does not qualify as 'important.'"

"It is important—for my emotional and spiritual well-being!"
Bachira declared, voice full of righteous fury like he was defending a UNESCO heritage site.

"Send it to me," Otoya said, resting his chin on his hand, eyebrow raised. "I’ve been kind of stressed lately."

Karasu nodded immediately: "Same. Just the title sounds like pure therapy."

Ness chimed in without hesitation: "I want a copy too—for academic purposes. Does it come with APA citations?"

Bachira’s eyes lit up like he’d just discovered the meaning of life:
"Okay okay, hold on! I’ll make a group chat. Should we call it ‘The Miserable Victims of Ego’?"

"The Miserable and Fabulous Victims of Ego." Aryu corrected him, smoothing his hair with dramatic precision at each word.

"The Miserable, Fabulous, and Girl-Magnet Victims of Ego." Otoya added, not forgetting to throw in a wink.

"The Miserable, Fabulous, Girl-Magnet, and Absurdly Cool Victims of Ego." Karasu joined in solemnly, like he was delivering a national address.

"The Miserable, Fabulous, Girl-Magnet, Absurdly Cool Victims of Ego... plus Ness." Ness tacked on, completely serious.

Rin stood off to the side, quietly watching his friends pour energy into naming a group chat with the same dedication one might have for writing a new constitution.
At last, he exhaled—long and slow, like sighing out an entire lifetime:

"Just call it ‘The Lunatics’ and be done with it."

.

.

.

.

As the situation began to spiral into chaos again, the newcomers—specifically Kia and his loyal pack of lapdogs—stared wide-eyed at Rin and his crew like they were a bunch of lunatics.
What kind of messed-up brainwaves are these people riding on?!

Chigiri was the first to snap out of it. He looked at Kia—who now resembled a ghost dragged out from the pits of hell—and his heart practically shattered. He seemed to have picked up the vibe somewhat, but still raised his voice, appalled:
"What... why would Rin do something like that to Kia—"

He stopped mid-sentence.
Because every single gaze on the opposite side instantly turned toward him. And then he realized—he had just echoed exactly what the big-eyed blond kid had said moments earlier.
His face flushed hot, and he stammered:
"I mean... uh... it’s just a bowl of rice, right? No need to blow it out of proportion..."

Bachira chuckled, utterly unapologetic:
"Karasu, two snack packs. Ness, one Coke each. Close call, Aryu—we almost scored a midnight snack, me and Rin-chan."

Karasu clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes:
"Should’ve trusted the PDF. Rin, you said it was useless!"

"It is useless. Totally worthless. Who the hell writes down potential things people might say?"
Rin replied flatly, showing zero remorse.

"First time gambling and I already lost. This just isn’t Germany’s day."
Ness added, visibly disappointed in his own poor bet.

The atmosphere shifted—tense, awkward, and somehow hilarious in the worst way possible.
Chigiri’s face was beet red. Isagi frowned deeply. Reo opened his mouth to say something... but no sound came out.
And Kia…
Kia’s eyes began to shimmer with unshed tears, his throat trembling like he was choking back sobs.

"Please... I’m sorry... don’t be mean to them..."

"…"

"...Shit."
The soft curse fell like someone had just pulled the pin on a grenade.

The hallway thickened with tension, like fine dust swirling in the dim yellow light dripping from the ceiling.
The ceiling fan groaned above them, quietly meting out the seconds of silence, evenly dividing time between the two opposing sides—both now slowly reaching for their metaphorical swords.

On one side stood "our team"—disorganized but solid.
Their eyes—be it bored, pissed off, or ice-cold—were locked onto the same target:
That golden child slumped in the opposite corner, cradled like a national treasure, trembling like a kicked puppy, pretending to be more heartbroken than anyone ever asked for.

Isagi, who had been standing quietly at the back the whole time—clearly trying to play the role of the “mature mediator”—finally took a step forward. He raised his hand slightly, his voice soft like pouring water onto fire:

“Actually… Rin can be a bit hot-tempered sometimes. I think if this was just an accident, we shouldn’t jump to violence so quickly, right? Everyone makes mistakes. Let’s just… calm down a bit and not be so quick to accuse each other.”

He ended his words with a look of goodwill, as if trying to reach out across a fault line splitting wide open beneath them.

Too bad the ground had already started to shake.

Otoya scoffed—a cold, razor-thin smirk crawling across his lips. He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with mockery:

“Calm down?”
His voice hit like metal on metal.
“Have you ever had a bowl of steaming rice thrown right at your hand? What if it was your face? How exactly do you want us to stay calm—clap our hands and cheer for that kind of behavior? Or are you gonna tell me the rice bowl flew on its own, so we should forgive the ‘mistake of the wind’?”

Reo nearly leapt forward, his voice sharp and biting:
“Kia already apologized! Why is everyone being so dramatic? Haven’t you ever made a mistake?”

A dry, humorless laugh rang out from Ness. He leaned against the wall, one finger tapping the picture frame behind him like he was counting the seconds before smashing it into someone’s head.

“A mistake? Fine. Call the first time an accident—even though the angle of that throw was suspiciously perfect. But the second time? After Rin was already trying to cool down, and that clown lunged at him like a rabid bull? Say whatever you want, just don’t call that ‘coincidence.’”

Chigiri took a step forward. His pink hair clung like wet ribbons, but his voice rang clear and sharp:
“Then what about punching someone? What gives you the right to justify brawling in the middle of the cafeteria?”

A chair screeched loudly against the floor. Bachira shot up like a string had snapped inside him.
All signs of his usual grin were gone. In its place: anger—raw, blazing, and seething through every cell of his face.

“Bullshit. Were you even there? Did you see four or five guys pinning my friend down like they were about to slit his throat? One of them almost smashed a chair over his head! If Rin-chan hadn’t dodged in time, you’d be reading his damn obituary right now. So don’t stand there preaching with your fake morals!”

Aryu folded his arms, leaning slightly, a wicked little smile playing on his lips. His long hair swayed with every breath.

“No one would've laid a finger on him if he hadn’t provoked us. And that poor-little-me act… He’s so pure I almost mistook him for a bleached bedsheet.”

Reo snapped, gripping Kia’s shoulder like shielding a fragile relic:
“You think this isn’t bullying? What do you call it then?”

Karasu laughed—a short, dismissive snort. One hand in his pocket, the other casually tossing a plastic water bottle like it was a grenade:

“Bullying? We’re protecting our friend from some emotional ticking time bomb. Bachira told us everything—how that bastard kept messing with him even back at home. So tell me again: who’s the real asshole here?”

Isagi took a deep breath. His voice dropped, low and trembling with the effort of holding his calm—like ice beginning to crack:

“You’re crossing a line, Karasu.”

“And you can stop sugarcoating the victim role for that guy.” Ness growled.
“Anyone with eyes saw what happened—he was eating quietly, then just snapped and lunged at Rin like he was trying to prove something.”

The air thickened—heavier than before.
Like someone had secretly hit Final Boss Mode in a survival game without asking the other players.

This wasn’t a hallway anymore.
It was a battlefield in mist, just seconds before both armies clashed.
Every glance fired like a loaded barrel, one hair trigger away from detonation.

Two sides.
On one: Rin and his group of emotionally fried misfits, faces grim as stone, silent and sharp.
On the other: Kia’s crew, red-eyed and furious, trembling voices barely holding back the fury.

In between them—just a few steps of empty floor.
A no-man’s land no one dared cross, like a single misstep would blow the whole place to hell.

Isagi, still clinging to neutrality, finally cracked.
He stepped forward—fully now—slipping past a dazed Reo. His blue eyes locked onto Rin, still leaning against the wall like a statue carved from frost.

Isagi’s usual gentle tone had vanished.
Now his voice rang out, high and clear, sharp with emotion he’d kept buried too long:

“Rin… I didn’t think you’d be the kind of person to act like this. You’re acting like everything is Kia’s fault. But did you ever stop to actually listen to him?”

That last sentence dropped like a match into a field of dry grass.

Karasu burst into laughter, the sound echoing down the hallway like a slap.

“Oh, he talks. Trust me—he talks a lot. Every damn time it’s ‘I’m fine’ or ‘I’m sorry,’ but his actions scream a whole different story. Gotta say, that guy’s a better actor than half the idols on national television.”

Reo grabbed Isagi’s shoulder and yanked him back, as if refusing to let his friend utter another word. His face was tight with fury, voice almost a growl.

“Don’t pretend we didn’t see the bruises all over Kia’s body! You beat him into that state and now you’re denying it?”

“Exactly!” Chigiri's voice shook with rage as he stepped forward. “What the hell is this all for? It was just a meal!”

From the back, Tokimitsu stammered, his voice trembling like a fraying thread:

“But… but… Rin’s hurt too… look at him… he’s still bleeding…”

His small, uncertain voice fell like a stone into a room full of smoke—but somehow, it struck a weak point.

Bachira, who had been gripping Rin’s sleeve tightly, suddenly yanked his hand free like a wild animal cornered. He stormed forward, fists clenched so tight his knuckles blanched.

“Goddamn it—look at him! Rin’s got burns, a cut on his face, someone nearly smashed a chair over his head, his shirt’s torn—! And yet you’re all crying over some scratches and bedhead like you just lost a national treasure? Shit. You drama-loving bastards.”

Otoya stood with arms crossed, his voice low and cold, like a snake slithering through dry grass.

“You all came late, heard one side of the story, and now you act like you’ve seen everything. If you cared that much about him, why weren’t you there in the first place to witness who did what?”

Reo’s fists clenched so tightly the veins popped under his pale skin.

“Don’t lecture us!”

“THEN DON’T YOU DARE TELL US TO FORGIVE A TOXIC BASTARD LIKE THAT!” Bachira roared, the shout tearing through the hallway like a blade, echoing off the walls.

Silence dropped like a curtain. Not because anyone had given up—but because everyone was waiting. Waiting for someone to breathe wrong, to flinch, to twitch out of rhythm.

The narrow hallway suddenly felt smaller. The air was dry, too dry. Sweat trickled down temples. Heartbeats thudded like war drums in every chest.

And Rin—still standing there, unmoving, like a shadow carved into the wall. His eyes scanned the crowd, but didn’t settle on anyone. He was strangely still, like the eye of a storm waiting for the sky to finally cave in.

He didn’t speak. His body ached. His mind felt like it had just been dunked into a basin of ice. Every word, every scream, passed through the air and crashed against his eardrums—but none of it truly landed. He just… watched.

His friends—the people he had never quite allowed himself to call “friends” in the true sense—were now bristling on his behalf. Like a pack of stray cats—no shared blood, no defined loyalty—yet united in instinct, ready to claw the hell out of anyone who dared touch a single hair on him.

It was a bizarre sight. And… oddly funny, too.

Rin had always been strong. Ever since Sae left, he learned to handle everything alone—on the field, in life, in BlueLock where survival meant stepping over others. He learned to trust his legs, his mind, and most of all, his solitude.

But right here, right now… something felt different.

They were standing between him and the world. Every single one of them. Each with their own flavor of madness, each loud in their own unbearable way. But together—they clenched their fists, bared their teeth, growled like wolves, and turned their backs to him… so they could face whatever threat dared approach Rin Itoshi.

No one asked them to do this. He never needed them to. But—

Something in Rin’s chest flickered. Just barely. But enough.

Enough to remind him:
He wasn’t alone.

His deep ocean-blue eyes swept over each of their faces—from Bachira, burning with fury; Ness, silent and icy; Karasu, aloof but ready to strike; Otoya with that smirk curling like a blade; Aryu, posture taut like a sculpture about to spring; and Tokimitsu, trembling yet still standing firm. Not one of them moved.

He saw them.
And then—he stepped forward.

Each step Rin took echoed down the narrow hallway—not loud, but sharp, slicing through the tension like a knife through wire. The air had stretched to its limit, and with that sound, it snapped.

Both sides fell silent, as if under a spell. No one moved. Every gaze was locked on the lone figure moving steadily forward.

He stopped.
His eyes were as cold as morning frost drifting across a still lake.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?”
His voice wasn’t loud, but every word landed like a nail hammered into concrete.
“Arguing? In the middle of a hallway?”
He cast a slow glance around.
“For what? For a bastard who hides behind cheap provocations and cries first to play victim?”

No one answered.

Rin tilted his chin, letting the harsh fluorescent light cast over the faint bruises on his cheek and a long scratch down his left side. He looked like someone who had just walked out of a battlefield—tired, yes, but unbroken.

“I don’t need anyone to fight for me.”
His voice dropped—no longer angry, but something far more chilling: calm. Calm enough to frighten.
“I can handle him myself. I don’t need anyone screaming on my behalf.
And I definitely don’t need some fake crusaders barging in here, yelling about justice they don’t understand.”

He turned, eyes locking onto Kia—who was curled slightly inward among his group, eyes glossy with tears, his expression carefully constructed in fragility.

“And you…”
Rin’s voice was like ice cracking.
“If you want to perform, at least learn how to act properly. Tears without truth are nothing but excess sweat.”

A pause.
Long enough to make the hallway forget how to breathe.

“I don’t regret hitting you.”

Rin stepped forward half a pace. His shadow stretched under the flickering light above—long, deliberate.

“And this is your last warning.”
His tone dropped lower, smooth and sharp, like a blade sliding out of its sheath.
“I don’t want to fight anymore.
But if you ever lay a hand on me, or any of them—”

A glance behind him.
His people stood still. Not speaking. But every pair of eyes burned.

“—ever again,”
He raised his chin. The final words fell like a guillotine.
“I won’t wait for anyone to hold me back.”

The atmosphere changed.

But it didn’t settle—it split.

Behind Rin, the tension finally loosened. Bachira’s clenched fists relaxed. Ness leaned back against the wall. Karasu and Otoya let their shoulders fall, Aryu and Tokimitsu both exhaled quietly, the rigid line of defense softening—but still present.

Across from them, the silence was different.
No one dared move. No one dared breathe.

Because Rin’s eyes held them still—too sharp, too cold, too merciless. The gaze of someone who had already judged them, and was only waiting for a reason to sentence.

And slowly, instinctively, they began to back away.

.

.

.

.

Clack.
A soft sound—barely more than a whisper.
But in the air, thick enough to explode with a clap, that sound felt like a siren.
A signal.
For what, no one knew.

A tall figure stepped forward in complete silence.
Past Kia—still trembling like a winter leaf.
Past Chigiri—eyes still red, still wide with disbelief.
Past Isagi—his brows furrowed as if dissecting Rin’s words under a moral microscope.
Past Reo—frozen in place like a lagged-out background character.

The figure came to a stop right in front of Rin.
The hallway lights cast a wide shadow behind him, making Rin’s form look almost swallowed.
A big silhouette. Pale.
Like a polar bear suddenly wandering into a war zone.

Rin raised an eyebrow.
Nagi Seishirou.

The one who had been almost invisible from the start—no words, no reaction, no movement. Like an NPC spawned into the wrong map.
And yet here he was, stepping forward quietly, like the season’s first snowfall.
Now standing between Rin and everything else.

A white wall.
A giant, slow-moving bear.

A shuffle behind.
A faint hiss from Bachira.
A muffled, “Wait—!” from Reo.

Rin didn’t flinch, but his eyes narrowed.
His knees bent ever so slightly, reflexes kicking in, hands clenched, ready for impact.

Nagi raised his hand.

Bachira screamed like he just saw his ex coming back with a knife:
“HEY!! WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

Ness and Bachira leapt at the same time—like two feral cats ready to claw Nagi to shreds.
Rin shifted his weight back, body tensed to dodge.

But—

Nagi’s hand stopped mid-air.
No punch.
No attack.

Just… a bag of ice.
Held gently in his palm.

.
.
.
…Huh?

The air stalled.
Like someone hit the pause button.

Ness nearly slipped.
Bachira, mid-launch, hung in the air like a cat caught mid-pounce by a squirt of cold water. His eyes bulged.

Rin—
Rin froze.

He stared at the bag of ice like Nagi had just pulled out a miniature nuclear bomb.
Then he looked up at Nagi’s ash-grey, unreadable eyes.
Then back down.
Then back up.

Still that same face.
Utterly blank.
As if to say, “What? What did I do?”

Nagi’s voice dropped into the silence—low, lazy, like a fan humming in the dead of night:
“...You should ice it. The burn’ll heal faster.”

That was it.
That was all.

The atmosphere, which had been teetering on post-Hiroshima meltdown, crashed down into something more like… awkward dorm laundry day.

No one knew whether to laugh or cry.

Bachira’s face crumpled like someone unplugged him mid-battle.
Ness froze mid-breath like a wax figure.
And Rin—still staring at the bag of ice—looked as if Nagi had just proposed with a ring but forgot to say the actual words.

What the hell…?
This air…
...is surreal.

.

.

.

The first person to snap out of it—albeit very unwillingly—was from the opposing side.

Reo Mikage.

His lavender hair swayed slightly as he stormed forward, as if suddenly reminded that he was not only Nagi’s lifelong best friend, but also his unofficial part-time guardian.
Reo grabbed Nagi by the shoulders and yanked him back a step, hissing through clenched teeth, his voice trembling somewhere between outrage and panic:

“Nagi, what the hell are you doing!?”

Nagi took a single step back—just enough to maintain personal space without wasting energy.
He glanced at Reo from the corner of his eye and replied with a tone so casual it sounded like he was explaining why he didn’t wash his hands after eating chips:

“I gave him ice. For the burn.”

Reo’s eyes bulged.
“What?! No—I mean, I saw that! I meant, why the hell would you do that?!”

“Because he’s burned?”

“NO! I mean—yeah, technically, but why would you just—?!”

Nagi’s expression didn’t change. His head tilted slightly, like he was pondering a great philosophical dilemma such as what to eat for dinner.
Then he replied—earnestly, and completely seriously:

“You said we should help our friends, didn’t you? I ran here kinda fast, so I stopped by the cafeteria and grabbed some ice. Oh, and—”

He raised his other hand.

Two more ice packs, neatly wrapped in soft towels, steamed with cold like fresh produce from a snowy mountain village.

Silence.
A vacuumed hush fell over the hallway.
The kind of silence that made the wide corridor suddenly feel too quiet.

Pffft—

The first sound came from Otoya, who clamped a hand over his mouth, his whole body trembling like he was trying to win a “don’t laugh” challenge.
Next to him, Karasu dug his fingers into Otoya’s ribs, gritting his teeth like he was enduring some deep emotional trauma, one hand clamped over his own eyes—but the corner of his mouth was twitching dangerously.

The atmosphere shattered.

From what had been gunpowder-level tension, everything collapsed into a surreal, parallel reality—
One where a giant white bear was handing out ice packs like relief aid in the middle of a war zone.

Nagi shrugged. He didn’t seem to care about anyone’s reaction—or about anything at all, really.
Completely unbothered, he pressed the remaining ice pack into Rin’s hand without so much as a word, then turned around and wandered toward the row of waiting chairs.
He dropped himself onto the bench like it was his natural habitat, leaned sideways, and casually placed one of the ice packs against his own cheek—for absolutely no apparent reason.

Then he sighed.
With the satisfaction of someone who just completed a high-level humanitarian mission.

The entire hallway descended into a collective confusion so profound that no one knew what to feel—
Should they be mad? Laugh? Call someone to report that Nagi Seishirou had… acted on his own initiative?

Rin—who up until now had been standing like a cosmic cat thrown into a live reality show—
finally rebooted.

He was still holding the ice pack.
The cold seeped into his wrist.
That chill jolted his brain back into motion.

He turned, face still somewhere between dazed and what the hell just happened, and began walking toward “his side”—
or rather, the group of metaphorical lions that had been roaring nonstop for him for the past thirty minutes.

He passed Bachira and Ness—both of whom had turned into statues less than ten seconds ago.
On the way, he even gave each of them a light pat on the shoulder.
A friendly little de-spell.

Bachira blinked twice.
Then, like a computer rebooting after a system crash, he turned around in a daze and started following Rin — like a GPS-tagged puppy automatically syncing to its owner.

Ness frowned.
He shot a look at Nagi — who was still sitting there with an ice pack on his cheek, perfectly at peace, like he was recovering from a casual mountain hike — then glanced toward the opposing group, still frozen in place like mannequins at a department store.
Finally, with a noncommittal shrug, he quietly stepped back to his usual spot beside Rin.

And just like that…

With nothing more than a small, innocent, utterly neutral ice pack — passed over by a member of the “enemy” like some unspoken truce offering —
the hallway slipped into a state of equilibrium.

Not peace.
Not harmony.
But at least, no one looked like they were about to throw a chair at anyone else.

Rin sat down on the bench, carefully adjusting the ice pack in his hand.
His eyes blinked when another hand entered his peripheral vision —
Bachira, whispering something indecipherable as he gently repositioned Rin’s arm, making sure the ice pack settled perfectly against the injury.

No one said anything serious after that.

Karasu had already started retelling a story about someone “missing a header like they were jumping rope.”
Otoya was yelling that it was a “fake-clueless baiting move.”
Aryu was fixing his hair while dramatically complaining that the hallway bench was so ugly it was drying out his skin.
Tokimitsu mumbled something supportive under his breath.
And Ness… kept glancing sideways at Nagi, like the guy had just landed from another planet and declared world peace by handing out frozen goods.

On the other side of the hallway…

The atmosphere couldn’t have been more different.

Aside from Nagi — who was currently reclining on the bench, eyes half-closed, enjoying the spreading cold from his ice pack like it was part of a 5-star spa package for emotionally distant people —
everyone else stood around like they’d just been struck by lightning.

Isagi and Chigiri looked like they’d lost the ability to form sentences.
Reo… Reo still had the expression of someone watching an entire building collapse in slow motion.
He stared at Nagi with the devastated breathlessness of a man who’d just lost his firstborn child.

And Kia — who was supposed to be the emotional center of this entire mess —
was now staring at Nagi like the guy had just ripped open the stage curtain and revealed that he’d been lip-syncing the whole time.

His face twisted, visibly. Confused. Betrayed.
Like all the strings he’d been tugging for so long had just been severed… by one bag of cafeteria ice.

No one said anything.

No one knew what to say.

But it was clear:
The entire board had flipped—
All because of one ice pack.

.

.

.

.

The fragile silence — barely formed like a thin layer of ice on a recently calmed lake — didn’t even last five minutes before…

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway.
Not the kind that comes with panic — no, these were deliberate. Heavy. Steady. The kind of footsteps that carry authority… and a hint of urgency.
One by one, people appeared at the hallway’s entrance, and in that moment — as if the final domino had just been tipped — the atmosphere shifted completely.

Kia — still hunched over by Nagi’s side like he was ready to star in a tragic silent film — suddenly lit up like someone had plugged him into a socket.
His teary eyes sparked with radiant hope, glowing like LED lights on Christmas Eve.
He jumped up, emotion flooding his face as he cried out:

“Mom! Dad!!”

As expected, leading the small group was Mina Itoshi — her dark brown hair slightly tousled, her face full of panic and heartbreak. Her eyes flicked past Rin for barely a second before locking onto her youngest son, filling with a storm of questions and maternal pain.

Right behind her was Kai Itoshi — perfectly pressed suit, spine straight as an iron rod, and an expression carved from granite. His eyes — sharp as a judge’s gavel — carried the silent weight of someone unaccustomed to being defied.

And finally…
Trailing just behind them, each step calm but ringing with the precision of a conductor marking the beat of a chilling symphony —
Itoshi Sae.
Hair a striking shade of red, slicked back effortlessly. His gaze, metallic and unreadable, scanned the hallway like someone who’d read the script ahead of time but hadn’t yet picked a role to play.

Kia — like a baby chick finally spotting its straw nest after a snowstorm — dove straight into his mother’s arms.
He buried his face into Mina’s shoulder, his voice trembling so hard it shook the fabric of her blouse:

“Mom… I’m sorry… I was careless… I made Rin that angry… it’s my fault… please, don’t blame him…”

His voice was soft as velvet, fragile as morning mist — as if he were still defending the very person who had hurt him so deeply.
A direct hit to any mother’s heart.

Mina instantly wrapped her arms around him, eyes brimming, fingers gently stroking his hair, murmuring in a broken whisper:

“Oh, Kia, sweetheart… how did it come to this? No, no — it’s not your fault. Don’t blame yourself. You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m here now.”

Across the hallway...

Bachira, crouched next to Rin, leaned in and whispered:

“Page 17. Chapter 2. Family edition. Nineteenth line from the bottom.”

Ness quietly pulled out his phone, tapped a few times, then stared at the screen.
One second. Two.
Then he looked up at Bachira with the wide-eyed reverence of someone realizing they’d just witnessed a prophet who could see through serialized drama arcs with uncanny precision.

Meanwhile, Rin hadn’t moved.

He just stood there — still as a statue.
No retreat, no advance, no glance back toward the touching family reunion.

And that, precisely,
was the thorn in Kai Itoshi’s eye.

The middle-aged man — already radiating tension since the moment he stepped into the hallway — froze the moment his eyes landed on his own son, Rin.
And what he saw was not a son bowing his head in remorse.
No apology. No reaction.
Just those cold, detached eyes, looking at him as if he were a stranger.

His chest tightened.

“You little shit.”
The words exploded like thunder down the corridor, laced with fury and raw authority.
“I knew it. You're a goddamn curse! You can't go a single day without making Kia your target, can you?!”

The hallway turned to stone.

No one dared to breathe.
The laughter from Otoya and Karasu evaporated. Even the soft crinkling of ice cubes in Nagi’s plastic bag disappeared as if it had never existed.

And yet, in the face of that storm — under the searing gaze of his own father — Rin didn’t flinch.
Didn’t blink.
He simply lifted his chin, meeting his father’s glare with eyes the color of a deep, frozen sea.
Eyes that didn’t tremble.

Like a fogged-up mirror reflecting back years of expectations and disappointments,
Rin stood unshaken.

No fear.
No retreat.
Only a calm so still it was terrifying.

Then Sae took a step forward.
His voice rang out, sharp and cold — like ice cracking beneath a boot:

“Rin, have you lost your mind? That’s enough. This reckless behavior has gone too far. You think fighting is something to take lightly?”

His tone wasn’t loud.
It wasn’t harsh, even.
But that calm, patronizing cadence — the kind an older brother uses when lecturing a younger one in front of strangers — shattered the air like glass.

For a second, Bachira’s eyes widened.
Otoya almost laughed in disbelief.
Karasu shot up from his seat.
Ness shook his head slowly, stunned.

And then came the first explosion — from Bachira:

“Reckless?”
His voice snapped like a bowstring stretched to its limit.
“Who are you calling reckless? Rin? You don’t know a damn thing about what happened here, and you're out here giving lectures?”

Karasu growled from behind, low and furious:
“This is a joke. When Bachira told me, I thought he was exaggerating — but this is real? You people pretend not to see anything until Rin finally snaps, and then you dump all the blame on him.”

Otoya folded his arms, eyes narrowed:
“This is what you call ‘no small matter’?
A brat who’s been playing dirty behind everyone’s back all year, fake-crying like a trained actor, staging a whole damn soap opera, dragging a cheer squad along with him —
And the one who gets ignored, burned, injured, nearly smashed in the head with a chair, he’s the one you call ‘reckless’? Seriously?”

Ness let out a short, bitter laugh — voice rough, barely more than a rasp:
“Not a single one of you asked Rin what happened. Not one of you looked at his injuries before yelling like he’d killed someone. I thought family would at least hear both sides.
But I guess the truth is, you’re not even his family.”

Rin still said nothing.
He sat in silence, just like before.
The cold wind whipped down the hallway, brushing through his hair.

But no one noticed the chill anymore.

Chapter Text

15 minutes earlier – Top floor, Itoshi Corporation Ltd.

It was well past 8 p.m.
The sterile white lights overhead cast a pale glow on weary faces and stiff fingers hovering over keyboards. Grumbling stomachs competed with the dying wheeze of an overworked printer, its every churn sounding like a death rattle. Documents related to a tangled export shipment lay strewn across the desks—so many that no one could tell originals from duplicates anymore.

The air felt heavy, ready to collapse on anyone too slow to move.
But one man seemed immune to it all.
Shidou Ryusei.

While others typed furiously or exchanged looks of mutual despair, Shidou tore through the chaos like a storm incarnate.

Phone in one hand—shouting in a rapid-fire mix of Japanese and English like he was berating someone who’d just crashed into his living room. Mouse in the other—clicking like a man trying to snag front-row tickets to a sold-out world tour. He stalked down the corridor without pausing, barking into the screen of his tablet, and kicked open the director’s office door like he was summoning the gates of Hell itself.

To a newcomer, he might’ve looked unhinged.
But no one said a word.
No one dared.

Because everyone here knew one thing:
Shidou doesn’t mess around.

He moved through this corporate jungle like a feral predator—loud, unrestrained, but sharp as a scalpel.

Twenty-three. An intern granted unusual privileges—not for pedigree or looks, but for raw, undeniable talent.
A tense negotiation with the region’s most infamously difficult client? Shidou flipped the script mid-meeting and walked out with two contracts instead of one.
A three-day accounting nightmare no one could untangle? Shidou took two hours, made three calls, and rewrote the entire tax disclosure with the precision of a surgeon.
A frozen port threatened a delivery deadline? He didn’t wait. He chartered a commercial yacht and delivered the cargo himself—crossing half the globe to do it.

Reckless. Rebellious. Dangerous.
That’s how people inside the company described Ryusei Shidou.
But no one ever called him useless.
No one dared call him irresponsible.

He lived like a man born to shatter norms—
And forced the norms to reshape themselves around him.

And then—
Just as he leaned back in his chair, smirking at the disorganized Excel sheet glowing on his monitor, the cold blue light catching his eyes like those of a predator in the dark—
His phone buzzed.

The ringtone pierced the air, familiar and unmistakable:
“I let the world burn for you…”
Only one person had that custom tone—set aside by Shidou himself for the people you never ignore.

His head snapped up from the screen immediately.

Caller: Din Din <3

The first thing that hit him wasn’t confusion.
It was a prickling sensation running down his spine.
Not fear—instinct.
That twisted, primal radar Shidou always trusted was now howling like a red alert inside his skull.

No hesitation. No glance at the time. He picked up instantly.

Grinning wide like the universe had dropped him a gift, he slipped into the kind of over-the-top performance only Shidou could deliver—even when it was just a voice call:

“Oh my god Din Din~ what’s happening with the weather? No typhoon on the forecast today, but Rin Itoshi is calling me? Am I dreaming? Or hallucinating? Wait, hold on—I need to write this down in my digital diary… ‘Historic Event: Rin called me for the first time in human history—’”

“Shidou.”

One word.
Flat.
Low.
Cold enough to silence a room.

Shidou stopped laughing immediately.
Like a cord had snapped inside his chest, his posture straightened, spine taut with alert.
He’d heard Rin speak in dozens of cold tones before.
But this—this wasn’t just cold.
Something cracked behind that voice.

“Rin?” he said quietly, his voice dropping all humor. “What happened? You don’t sound okay.”

There was only breathing on the other end.
One breath.
Slow.
Heavy.
And sharp enough to cleave through the rhythm of his pulse.

Then Rin spoke—
Each word dragging itself out like it was being forced through clenched teeth, laced with fatigue and something darker beneath:

“Shidou… I got into a fight.
They’re calling the guardian.
Can you come?”

Nothing else.

No goodbye.
No follow-up.
No explanations.

Only the screech of a chair being shoved back, the computer still unsaved, spreadsheets mid-print, and Shidou—
Launching himself out of the top floor like he’d just been summoned by blood.

.

.

.

The red-and-black motorcycle tore down the highway like a fire-lit bullet scorching the asphalt.
Shidou Ryusei wasn’t driving—he was flying.

The wind screamed past his ears, howling in sync with the low, guttural roar of the engine.
Every time he weaved past a truck or crossed a lane marker, his heart skipped a beat—
But his mind?

Crystal clear.
Beneath the chaos, a dangerous kind of focus thrummed through him.

Shidou had been the textbook definition of a problem student—expelled no fewer than three times, notorious for fighting teachers, punching classmates, picking locks, setting off lab explosions, and showing up to school with tattoos that weren’t exactly subtle.
And yet—not once had his parents ever been called in.

Not because he was discreet.
But because summoning a Shidou guardian came with a price: large-scale chaos, physical injury, property damage exceeding the school’s budget, or something that reeked of criminal charges.

Shidou knew exactly what kind of disaster warranted that call.
And he never—never—wanted Rin caught in something like that.

His thoughts spun out of control—
Then froze.
Like his mind had yanked the brakes and pulled time in reverse.

A rainy day.

Back then, Shidou was still a brand-new intern—wide-eyed, barely housebroken, trailing behind Sae like a stray dog as they returned to the Itoshi estate to retrieve a forgotten contract.
Sae had disappeared into a meeting room.
Shidou, being Shidou, wandered off—prowling through the garden like he was surveying a new kingdom.

That’s when he saw the kid.

Not that young—maybe fifteen or sixteen.
An age meant for football fields, libraries, or zoning out with earbuds and too-loud music.
But this boy was sitting alone on a rusted swing in the middle of the garden.
Umbrella in hand—yet his shoulders were soaked, rain slanting in from the side.

He sat there, perfectly still.
Eyes locked on a small tree that had been torn from the soil, dirt scattered like the remnants of something wounded.

Shidou paused mid-step.

“…Hey, kid. What are you doing out here?” His voice came out casual, intrusive—like always, never able to leave a stranger’s silence untouched.

The boy didn’t even look up.
He replied in a voice so flat, it sounded like a market report being read aloud:

“I’m waiting for the tree to die.”

“…Huh?”

“I planted it this afternoon. But Dad Kai uprooted it—said it ruined the aesthetic value of the garden. I’m not replanting it. I’ll wait until it dies so I don’t have to care anymore.”

Shidou stood frozen.

For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to say.
No joke to throw.
No silence to shatter.

He just stood there, watching dark hair plastered to pale skin, shoulders trembling ever so slightly in the wind—and then the boy looked up.

Eyes.

Turquoise.
They should have shone like summer woods, ocean tides, or youth burning bright.
But they didn’t.
They were gray. Cold. Hollow.

Beautiful—but anchorless.
Eyes that looked at the world like it was a tunnel with no end.
Like even if light existed, it was never meant for him.

And in that moment—whether it was the tree, the rain, or something buried deeper—Shidou acted on pure instinct:

“I’m Shidou Ryusei. And I’ll wait here with you.
Until the tree dies.”

The boy blinked. His gaze widened just slightly.
And in those eyes—just for a second—
A flicker.
Like a shard of something long-lost. Maybe hope.

Barely there.
But Shidou remembered it for the rest of his life.

After that rainy day, Shidou could never forget those eyes.

Eyes that shimmered—just barely—with the faintest flicker of light. So faint, it might as well not have been there.
But for Shidou, that sliver was enough.
Enough to know: The light inside Rin hadn’t gone out. It was simply hidden.

And with that realization—uncomplicated, unshakable—Shidou made a decision.
He would be the one to keep the fire alive.

So he came armed with every ridiculous, obnoxiously colorful thing he owned:

Offbeat jokes so out of place they deserved to be exiled from the dinner table.
Snacks of questionable taste—gummy dragons, fish-sauce-flavored chocolate bars, anything that made him go “ This looks weird. He’ll love it.”
Useless decorations—sparkly stickers, cat and bear decals, the occasional voodoo doll—plastered across one corner of Rin’s room like someone had cursed the furniture.
And weekends?
Shidou claimed them.
No warning, no invitation, no room for refusal.

“I don’t like crowds.”
“Perfect. We’re going to the woods today.”

“I’m in the middle of homework.”
“Great! I’ll do mine next to you. You can grade it—let’s pray I didn’t forget how to write?”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Then I’ll sit right here. Until you do.”

Rin resisted—at first. But Shidou never listened.

And strangely, Rin never pushed him away.

Over time, short replies grew into full conversations.
Silence shifted into quiet sighs, then faint laughter.
The corners of his lips began to lift.
And those eyes—when they turned back toward Shidou—
They weren’t empty anymore.

The light inside Rin, fragile as it was, began to warm—
Like a flame.

Shidou had once lived only for himself.
But from that moment on, he understood—
There was someone he wanted to protect for the rest of his life.

Rin didn’t deserve to be alone.
He didn’t deserve to live like he was some leftover piece of the world, something forgotten and unwanted.

If the Itoshi family couldn’t love him—
Then Shidou Ryuusei would.

At all costs.
Even if it meant standing against the entire world.

.

.

.

The hallway felt like it had solidified— Thick with something unnamed.
Something heavy. Suffocating. It pressed into every breath, seeped into every silence.

And Rin sat there.

Not in front. Not seeking attention.
He sat slightly behind the others—his so-called friends, lined up like a wall between him and the rest of the world.

But even hidden, no one could ignore him.
His presence was impossible to dim.

Amid the sharp scolding of his father, the probing glare of his mother, and the stiff silence of his brother—Rin said nothing.
Not out of fear.
Not out of hurt.
And definitely not because he believed he was wrong.

No—his mind was elsewhere.
Caught in a tide of memories, pulled under by a wave that had no mercy.

Disappointed stares.
Cold whispers behind closed doors.
Doubt. Disinterest. Distance.

Fragmented scenes that didn’t belong to the present forced their way in—each one clawing for space, trying to drag him back to a time he had buried with his own hands.

But he felt nothing.
Just that—nothing.

Rin inhaled slowly. Then exhaled.

The mind of BlueLock’s No.1 recalibrated—deliberate, exact, and cuttingly clear.

He was no longer “Itoshi Rin” of this family.
No longer bound. No longer obligated. He had taken enough.
This was enough.

Sae—who’d been standing beside Kai with an expression somewhere between exasperation and boredom, like a zookeeper watching the primates escape—finally broke the silence, voice blunt and tired:

“All right, everyone’s here. Let’s get this over with and meet the teacher.”

Rin turned his head.

For the first time since they arrived, his teal gaze met Sae’s—
Flat. Emotionless. Unmoving.

And when he spoke, his voice was calm, even, and cold—
Like a blade slicing through ice:

“My guardian hasn’t arrived yet. Please wait.”

Silence.

.

No one spoke for several seconds.
Not because the words were loud, but because of the sheer distance packed into every syllable.
It didn’t sound like an argument.
It sounded like a verdict.

Mrs. Mina—still gently patting Kia like sugarcoating a scene from some family-friendly drama—finally broke the silence.
Her expression strained to stay soft, but the corner of her mouth was trembling.

“Rin, your father, your brother and I—we came here for you. We know you don’t have anyone else in the city. Please, sweetheart—”

“If you don’t understand human language, don’t speak.”Rin cut in, icy and level, his eyes never once shifting. “My mother is dead. So stop calling yourself that, unless you’d like to hear from my lawyer tomorrow.”

“You—!”
Mina went silent, choking on words.

Kia jumped in, hurried and dramatic—like an actor grasping the climax of a tragic script.

“Rin, they’re just worried about you… You don’t have to be so harsh, it’s not good for—”

“I’m not being harsh,” Rin replied, unbothered, voice calm, deliberate “I’m telling the truth.”

The moment the words dropped, the air in the hallway seemed to drop with them— a few degrees colder.

Sharp. Still. Unyielding.

Because “Itoshi Rin”— the boy once broken by rejection—
was no longer kneeling in the rubble.

He’d stood up.
And now, no one could tell him what “right” was supposed to look like.
No one had the right to define who he was.

.

.

.

BANG.
The sound exploded through the hallway – the main doors were kicked open, slamming into the wall with a thunderous crack that echoed like gunfire.

Everyone turned.
Both sides.
Even Mr. Itoshi Kai—who had been mid-scowl, ready to spit out more words—froze.

A lone figure walked in, backlit by the dull fluorescent glow of the corridor.
Not rushing.
But carrying a pressure so thick it sucked the air out of everyone’s lungs.

Shidou Ryuusei.

The overhead lights caught half his face, casting a sharp shadow down the other side, making the glint in his eyes even more dangerous.
His hair was a mess. Sweat clung to his temple. His shirt was untucked, askew from a dead sprint. There was still a faint oil stain smudged on his forearm.
He didn’t look like a student.
Didn’t look like a parent.
Didn’t look like he belonged to this world at all.
He looked like a weapon.

But those eyes—sharp as a blade—weren’t focused on Kai.
Not on Kia, who was clutching her own shoulder in tearful performance.
Not even on Sae, who remained detached and distant.

Shidou looked straight at Rin.

And Rin looked back.

The hallway went still.

Only the two of them remained in that moment— one with silent, frozen fire, the other with wild, unhinged intensity.
Like two storms, meeting at the eye.

Then suddenly—Shidou smiled.
Too gently.
Too easily, for a moment like this.
But no one felt safe seeing it.

“I’m here,” he said, voice rough with breathlessness, but clear. “I’m Rin’s guardian.”

Sae frowned.
Kai’s head snapped toward Rin, incredulous:

“What kind of joke is this? This maniac is your so-called ‘guardian’?”

“Yeah, sounds kinda crazy, huh?” Shidou tilted his head with a grin that showed too many teeth.
“But I’m the one Rin chose. That’s all that matters.”

“You bastard—” Kai hissed, but the sentence never finished.

Because Shidou stepped forward.

Not fast.
Not loud.
But the entire hallway instinctively pulled back.

His voice was low.
But every syllable chilled the skin.

“If another word comes out of your mouth that makes my Rin lower his head, or hurt in any way… I can’t promise your jaw will still be attached.”

Stillness.
Silence.
Total.

Rin stayed seated, eyes unblinking.

But Bachira exhaled, his whole body loosening as he dropped into a nearby chair.
Ness, bewildered, followed suit. One by one, the others slowly sat down.

Kia stood frozen.

He looked at Shidou—
like he was staring at a beast he’d never managed to tame.
He recognized that look.
He knew that instinct.

Once it bit, it never let go.

Mr. Kai opened his mouth— then looked away.

For the first time, he didn’t speak.
No one wanted to confront something that couldn’t be reasoned with.

Shidou—still not sparing a glance at anyone else—finally turned back to Rin. His voice softened, as if the rest of the world no longer existed.

“You okay?”

Rin met his eyes.
A tiny nod.
So small it was almost invisible.

Shidou nodded in return. Then turned toward Kia, who was now trembling in Mina’s embrace.

“Let’s go inside. I’ll take responsibility.”

Rin rose to his feet slowly. Bachira instantly grabbed his arm, eyes filled with unspoken worry.

Rin looked at him, then gently patted his hand. His voice was calm, simple.

“Relax. I’m fine. The golden cockroach’s here now—nothing’s gonna happen.”

Shidou shrugged with a grin: “Don’t worry, kid. No one’s taking a bite out of our lil’ Din Din.”

“Shidou-san,” Bachira said in a whisper, eyes sparkling like he was asking for candy,“if possible, punch a few of them for me, yeah?”

“You trying to get his parents called up too?”
Rin frowned. Did this idiot bee not know how to read the room?

With a tired sigh, Rin followed Shidou toward the teacher’s office.

Click.

The door closed behind them.
Two worlds, now separated.

.

.

.

Outside.

Bachira and Ness immediately pressed their ears against the wooden door like a pair of safe-crackers on a stormy night.

Karasu slithered up beside them like a lizard, crawling stealthily.
Otoya lay flat beneath them, like some ninja mastering low-ground surveillance.
Aryu and Tokimitsu stacked themselves on top like characters straight out of a Japanese cartoon—
one person squashing the next, forming a whole human tower glued to the door.

No one said a word.

The atmosphere felt like a covert military operation.

The door was soundproof—too well made.
All they caught were scattered fragments:

– Shidou’s voice, shouting—sharp, aggressive, like he was in a life-or-death argument
– Rin’s voice—cold, clipped
– a steady string of reasoning that could only be Sae, full-on CEO mode
– and Kia, sobbing and gasping like a wet kitten

They all sat motionless, eyes locked on the door.

Aryu whispered:
“This is… a battle between reason and instinct.”

Karasu nodded, dead serious:
“Yeah. But I’m betting on instinct. If Shidou snaps, this school’s coming down.”

Ness stroked his chin like some ancient tactician, tone cool:
“I trust reason. A cool head is what we need now more than ever.”

Otoya hissed:
“Shh. Shut it. I heard a chair scrape the floor. It’s heating up…”

Everyone instantly held their breath.

One long moment…

Silence.

Inside—that was a different world.
Choked with tension, sharp as glass, the air sliced like a blade.
A courtroom, not for justice, but for performance—
and in its center sat a ticking bomb named Shidou Ryuusei, holding himself back by a thread.

.

.

.

Ten minutes later.
The office door burst open.

Bachira swore—maybe it was from watching too much action anime or reading too many psychological warfare manga—but he could’ve bet there was a faint wisp of smoke drifting out from the gap, like the room had just been both a battlefield and a furnace from hell.

He darted forward, peeking in, heart pounding like a war drum.
Was there blood? Any bodies?
Was Shidou breathing fire over a flipped desk?
Was Rin hanging Sae upside down from the ceiling?

Nope.
None of that.

Just one thing: exhaustion.

Mr. Kaito sat slumped back in his chair like he was this close to filing retirement papers and fleeing to the countryside to grow vegetables.

In front of him: a group of people, each with a different expression—
like a string of musical notes from clashing symphonies.

Leading the way—was Rin.
Expression blank, footsteps swift and precise—no more, no less— like every step had been pre-programmed.
He didn’t glance sideways. Didn’t turn his head.

Just walked straight to the crowd of friends still glued to the door like a weird modern art sculpture.

“Let’s go. It’s done.”
They all jumped like wind-up toys released at once.

Behind Rin—was Shidou.
Hair still a chaotic bird’s nest, shirt crumpled like he’d rolled through a tornado.
But his eyes…
Had softened.
No more madness. No countdown to detonation.
Hands stuffed in his pockets, stride relaxed like a smug bodyguard.
That signature half-smile of his—the kind that says "Win? Smile. Lose? Smile harder."

And finally—came the Itoshi family.
Kia was sandwiched in the middle, eyes puffy and sniffling,
but now clouded with a flicker of resentment.

The Itoshi parents…
looked like someone had shoved an entire lemon in their mouths.
Couldn’t spit it out. Couldn’t swallow it.

Sae—still composed, but the furrow in his brows had carved itself into his skin.
His eyes were cold… but clearly displeased.

Outside in the hall—
The friends watching on, like commoners witnessing the fall of a final boss, all let out a collective breath.

“Did we… win?” That thought echoed in every head.

Karasu grabbed Tokimitsu’s shoulder.
Otoya clutched his chest like he’d survived a heart attack.
Aryu was fixing his hair like it had just witnessed trauma.

The whole group looked… relieved.
Tired.
But also a little amazed they were still alive.

Rin walked straight ahead—no turning back, no side glances, not even a flicker of acknowledgement.
Even as he passed Isagi, Chigiri, and Reo—three statues frozen in shock—he didn’t pause for a second.
Cold. Decisive. As if everything behind him was nothing more than a blur of meaningless color, unworthy of his attention.

Only Bachira stopped.

He turned, stepped away from the crumbling formation, and made his way to the bench by the corridor—
Where Nagi still sat, silent as stone, arms slack, the cold pack almost completely melted at his side.

With a small smile, Bachira handed him the ice pack Rin had asked him to hold earlier.
Then he leaned in and whispered gently,

“Thanks, white-haired buddy. I think I’m starting to like you.”

Before Nagi could respond, Bachira had already darted off—
Clinging to Rin’s arm like a little fox trailing behind the lone wolf.

Grinning and skipping as if they’d just come back from a walk in the park—
Not out of a battlefield laced with unspoken tension and emotional landmines.

.

.

.

.

Out in the hallway.

Rin walked as calmly as someone who’d just finished a quiet geometry class. Not a hair out of place, not a nerve out of sync.
Meanwhile—Shidou.

Shidou exploded.

Finally .

Like a volcano whose emotional tectonic plates had been jammed too long and finally snapped—straight through his last functioning brain cell.

“Din Din!!! Oh my god, Din Din!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!!!”

He howled like a national emergency alert siren, spinning on his heel to face Rin,
Who, in contrast, looked like a particularly indifferent slab of premium granite.

“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW I FELT WHEN YOU CALLED ME?!”

“I THOUGHT YOU DIED!! OR I DIED!! OR WE BOTH DIED!! WTF!!!”

“IF THEY DIDN’T CALL IN A GUARDIAN, I WOULDN’T EVEN KNOW WHAT HAPPENED!!!”

“I!!! WAS!!! LOSING!!! MY!!! MIND!!!”

Shidou’s yelling reached operatic levels as he grabbed Rin by the shoulders and shook him like a faulty vending machine.

“DIN DIN!! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!! I ALMOST DIED!!!”

“MY SOUL LEFT MY BODY FOR THREE SECONDS!!! THREE!!! SECONDS!!!”

“THEN I YANKED IT BACK, GOT ON MY BIKE, AND RACED HERE IN A STATE OF EMOTIONAL DECOMPOSITION!!!”

“AND NOW YOU’RE STANDING THERE WITH YOUR "EVERYTHING’S FINE" FACE????”

“YOU DON’T LOVE ME ANYMORE, RIGHT??? RIGHT???”

Rin gave a sigh, responding like someone reciting a bread label: “I’m not dead.”

Shidou screamed, throwing his head back to the ceiling like Hamlet crying to the void:

“BUT I AM!!! GODS ABOVE, SPIRITS BELOW!!! SOMEONE SAVE MEEEE!!!”

Bachira tiptoed over, voice smaller than a baby kitten: “Shidou-san... maybe stop shaking Rin... I can see ripples on his forehead. Like, actual waves...”

Shidou whipped around, pointing an accusing, heartbroken finger at Bachira, eyes wide like a rejected yakuza boyfriend.

“YOU TOO!!! YOU TINY, TREACHEROUS GREMLIN!!!”

“WHY DIDN’T YOU TEXT ME EARLIER?!!”

Behind them, Ness, Aryu, Karasu, Otoya, and Tokimitsu stood frozen—
Like they’d just witnessed a three-act theatrical production, but couldn’t for the life of them figure out what genre it was.

Finally, Rin pulled his arm out of the manic grip and took a measured step back.

“Say one more word and I’ll block you.”

“WHAT?? I HELD BACK FROM BITING OFF THOSE GUYS’ HEADS JUST SO THE REPORT WOULD SOUND CIVILIZED, AND NOW YOU’RE BREAKING UP WITH ME??
DIN DIN DOESN’T LOVE ME ANYMORE!! YOU FORGOT ABOUT OUR SHRIMP MOMENTS!!!”

Rin was at his limit. Honestly, he was surprised—he had expected Shidou to explode and dive headfirst into a wordless warzone.
But no. The guy had actually kept a cool head. Acted with logic. Reason.
Unbelievable.

Rin sighed, rubbing his temple like he had a headache made of pure chaos. His voice was flat, exasperated:
"Okay. Calm down. It's over. It's late. Let’s go."
He gave a brief nod to the gossip crowd still lingering like spectators at a zoo, then turned, taking two steps toward the dorms.

But Shidou suddenly straightened, face serious, brow furrowing.

“No. There’s still one more important matter to settle.”

Everyone: ?!??!

Karasu leaned over and whispered like a spy at a crime scene: “He’s not done. He’s waiting for a final boss fight out front, I swear.”

“Or maybe he’s hosting a farewell party for their social credibility,” Ness muttered, stroking his chin in deep thought.

Shidou bent slightly to check his watch, clearly annoyed.
“What’s taking it so long...?”

And then—

From the far end of the schoolyard, a blur shot toward them like a human cannonball.
Wind screamed first, footsteps thundered after—
And then, a voice tore through the sky like a meteor crashing into the atmosphere:

“DAAAD RYUUUSEIIII!!!”

Rin: "...What?"

Everyone: "..."

Everyone again, collectively: “WHAT!!??”

.

.

The scream came before the shape.
High-pitched. Shrill. Like a fire alarm being strangled.
Rin squinted at the tiny speck in the distance—a black dot getting bigger and sharper, until it became a human figure hurtling toward them like a missile, arms overloaded with at least three overstuffed shopping bags, looking suspiciously like someone had just looted an entire convenience store.

The moment Rin registered the face, his body reacted before his brain did.
He paused. Just a little.
The boy in front of him looked barely out of middle school—young enough to be mistaken for a 9th grader and sent back to class without a second glance.
Messy blond hair flailed behind him as he ran, and a pair of pale golden eyes sparkled with a mix of delight and chaotic mischief—like someone seconds away from setting something on fire just to see what happens.

Then, the boy opened his mouth again and unleashed a scream that sent static electricity crawling down everyone's spine within a fifty-meter radius:
“DADDY RYUUUSEIIII, I’M HEEEREEE!!!”

And like an unchained feral beast, Shidou—who just ten minutes ago was seconds away from burning down the Ministry of Education—lit up with a grin so wide it looked medically concerning.
He roared back in a voice loud enough to scare birds into migrating early:
“CHEVALIEEEER, MY PRECIOUS SONNNN!!!”

The two shot toward each other like colliding galaxies.
Aryu, nearest to impact, instinctively sprang into action, his long limbs gracefully intercepting the airborne bags just before they could be flung across the courtyard in the name of “more dramatic hugging.”
But it was too late.

The storm had made contact.
They crashed into each other like the final act of a K-drama in slow motion, arms flailing, voices shrieking in a chaotic duet of nonsense only decipherable to those with low impulse control and a shared brain cell.
It was hugging. It was dancing. It was yelling. It was trauma.

And the boy?
None other than the heart of PXG, the gremlin prince of hell-passes himself: Charles Chevalier.

Rin stood there. Frozen.
But not just him—the entire group was paralyzed, their faces blank, eyes void of thought, brains collectively hitting a blue screen of emotional overload.

Sixty minutes ago: physical combat.
Forty minutes ago: verbal warfare.
Twenty minutes ago: a ceasefire brokered with psychological explosives.

And now?
A feel-good family reunion in the middle of the schoolyard???
Surprise father-son bonding??
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON.

.

Bachira, whose brain had clearly decided to abandon ship, raised a timid hand and asked the only question circling in everyone’s mind:
“Shidou-san? Your… son? He’s that big already?”

Ness, clutching onto the last fraying thread of logic in the room, began muttering like someone trying to defuse a bomb with a crossword puzzle:
“Wait. Wait. Something’s not adding up. The pink-haired maniac is clearly not even 25… unless he’s secretly 40? Or the blond kid is, what, three or four years old somehow? No, hold on, wait—”

“Ness, breathe. You’re about to short-circuit.”
Otoya patted his shoulder gently, like someone comforting a friend before the anesthesia kicks in.

Rin exhaled.
Not just any sigh—but that sigh.
The kind seasoned with the flavor of “I knew this would happen, and yet.”
He should’ve known. From the very first text Shidou sent him—a message bursting with glee about a ‘mysterious, insanely cute kouhai’—it was already too late.
Because it was Shidou.
And in every timeline, universe, or dimension, Shidou Ryuusei simply does not befriend normal people.

No.
It always has to be someone who threatens the collective stability of the nervous system.

That one, weary sigh was enough to snap Shidou back to Earth, like popping a balloon made of pink bubblegum and poor judgment.
Still grinning like he just won a lottery for chaos addicts, he threw an arm around his "beloved son" and gleefully addressed the crowd of traumatized souls:
“Alrighty! Let me introduce you all! This is Charles Chevalier—my adorable son!!!”

He gleamed.
Like the sun.
On a July afternoon.
In Tokyo.
At high noon.
And Charles—who looked like he’d walked straight off a European high school drama poster—bowed with all the flourish of a peacock mid-mating ritual.

His voice rang out, sharp and chipper, with a distinct French lilt tangoing awkwardly through his Japanese:
“I’m Charles, the adorable son of Papa Ryuusei! I’m French, just turned fifteen this year, I skipped a grade so I’m currently a first-year! I’ve been living in Japan for about three and a half years now!”

And of course—because this nightmare wasn’t surreal enough—Charles didn’t stop there.
His golden gaze swept lazily across the group, glimmering with the same spark of mischief and curiosity you’d find in a child staring down a dessert buffet.
That look bounced from person to person… until it landed.
And stayed.

Right on Rin.

Rin, who at that moment was radiating one very specific energy: “I want to go back to the dorm or dissolve into nothingness.”

Charles blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then beamed like a Pixar mascot.

“Hello, Nii-chan Rin Rin!!!”

“…”

“!!?”
WHAT THE F—?!

Rin froze.
For three full seconds, the air was packed so tight with horror it could’ve been bottled and sold as a weapon.
Then, slowly—painfully slowly—Rin lifted his eyes.
His teal-blue gaze locked onto those innocent golden irises shining with pure joy.
Then—click—his eyes shifted.
Over to the culprit.
The absolute danger to society.
Ryuusei Shidou.

The look Rin gave him could kill a grown man.
Possibly two.

His voice dropped, low and cold like something dragged up from a cursed well: “Shidou… If you don’t explain this properly, I swear to God… I’m not just writing a 5000-word incident report tonight. I’ll draft a full criminal affidavit with your name on it.”

Shidou—who was either immune to death glares or had simply evolved beyond shame—still grinned like a proud dad at a science fair. “Charles is this super cute kid I met during an internship gig, and boom! Now we’re father and son. Society hasn’t caught up yet, but hell already stamped the paperwork!”

Charles giggled, bouncing where he stood, eyes still glued to Rin like he was watching his favorite anime character come to life. “Rin Rin Nii-chan! Papa Ryuusei said there’s this grumpy older brother who never lets him rest, and now I finally get to meet you! I’ve wanted to for so long!!”

Rin folded his arms, monotone and done with everything:
“I don’t have a little brother. And Shidou is not my dad. You’ve been conned.”

Charles, with a sparkle in his eye and zero regard for logic, chirped back without missing a beat:
“WHO CARES!!!”

Shidou and Charles yelled in unison—
A psychic uppercut to everyone’s sanity, with the sheer impact of a heavyweight boxing KO.

Shidou immediately threw an arm around Charles like he was holding a priceless treasure.
His other arm—without a single ounce of hesitation—slung around Rin’s shoulders with lightning-fast speed before Rin could even dodge.

Grinning like a maniac, he shouted:

“FAMILY IS A CHOICE!!! Once your heart decides, your brain doesn’t get a vote, Din Din~!”

Charles chimed in half a second later, clapping with boundless enthusiasm:

“YES! YES! Papa Ryuusei says that to me every night before bed! You know what? I even made a family tree! Here—!”

From his backpack, Charles whipped out a full-sized A3 sheet.

It was decorated with glitter pens and heart-shaped stickers.
Right in the center were three chibi doodles:

A pink-haired head labeled “Papa Ryuusei”

A yellow-haired head labeled “Beloved Son Chevalier”

And one cold, unamused face with cat ears drawn on, labeled: “Grumpy but Adorable Big Brother RinRin”

Rin: “…”

Stay calm, Rin. You can’t hit a minor. You can’t hit a minor. YOU CAN’T HIT A—

Meanwhile, the rest of the group finally managed to claw their way back to a semblance of cognitive function.

Tokimitsu, eyes glazed over, sank to the ground, muttering:

“I… this is just like one of those isekai anime arcs… Are we in the ‘fake family’ arc? And Rin’s the main character? I’m sorry. I don’t get it. I just—don’t get it…”

Aryu, visibly horrified by the sparkling document, cried out:

“STICKERS. CHIBIS. CAT EARS. They actually committed to the delusion. They gave it PRODUCTION VALUE!!!”

Otoya snickered, giving Rin a patronizing pat on the back, grinning like someone begging to get punched:

“Congrats, Rin. Guess you’re the star of a whole new family drama. Coming soon: Rin Family – The Godfather and His Two Unhinged Sons~”

Karasu… well, Karasu was either laughing, screaming, or actively undergoing a spiritual awakening.

He shrieked, voice cracking:

“SHIDOU!! THIS IS A CULT, ISN’T IT?! YOU’RE STARTING A RIN-WORSHIP CULT!! JUST ADMIT IT!!!
I WANNA JOIN!! I’LL BE THE HEAD OF PR!!!”

The only one who didn’t scream—but acted—was Bachira.

As Rin stood frozen, sandwiched unwillingly between Shidou and Charles, a yellow blur blasted across the courtyard.
Bachira launched himself into the chaos, arms wide, and threw himself into the unsolicited group hug.

“HUGGING WITHOUT ME IS A VIOLATION OF ROOM 309 DORM POLICY!!!
SHIDOU-SAN!! I WANNA BE YOUR SON TOO!! ADOPT MEEE!!!”

Shidou, practically glowing like a cult leader at a recruitment fair, roared back with unholy delight:

“YES!! YESSS!!! LINE UP, YOU LITTLE BRATS!!!
THERE’S STILL ROOM IN THIS FAMILY!!!”

While Japan’s population was apparently spiking thanks to Shidou’s unilateral spree of child adoption, off in a corner stood Ness—a man made of German blood, German logic, and German-grade social order— experiencing the most severe cultural shock of his life.

He stood there, frozen. Eyes wide, jaw slack, hands flailing like broken antennae, his mind clearly blown to pieces in dead silence.

“…Why… why is this happening…?”
Ness gasped out, choked with existential horror, suddenly slipping into German in pure distress:

“Was zum Teufel ist das?!” (What the hell is this?!)
“This is… this is social anarchy. This is a breakdown of basic civic behavior. This is illegal in Germany!!!”

His gaze darted from: Rin, now being clung to by three overly affectionate barnacles, to Bachira screaming something about expanding a monster family, to Charles still happily waving his sparkly family tree, to Shidou spreading his arms like he was founding a new church of emotional chaos—

Finally, Ness looked up at the sky, pleading:

“God… I want to go home. Back to Europe…
Where people don’t randomly assign each other fathers in the middle of a school courtyard…”

“Bro, breathe,” someone said gently. “You look like you’re about to cry.”

“That’s because I AM!!!”

…

Eventually, the chaos simmered down—

Partially because Rin actually pulled out his phone and seriously threatened to call the “Disaster Response Bureau”,
and partially because Tokimitsu nearly fainted from pure emotional overload.

The noise level finally dropped to a range humans could process without inner-ear damage.
Rin stood at the center of it all, arms crossed, looking like a man who had just survived a six-hour parent-teacher conference with no coffee.

Nobody said it aloud, but Rin could feel it in the air:

Rin = part of Shidou’s family = part of Charles’s family = part of everyone’s family.

The logic was warped.
But the infectious spread of that logic? Terrifying.

Shidou, of course, remained oblivious to the spirit-murdering glares Rin kept throwing his way.

Still grinning like he’d just won a lifetime supply of chaos, he finally noticed the massive haul Charles had dragged in.

He bent down and casually picked up a bag that looked like it weighed 4kg—like it was a feather.
Then with his free hand, he yanked Charles in close again and chuckled:

“Earlier I texted Charles to grab some ‘party snacks’ on the way here~! This is a welcome party for my son and his lovely big brothers! What better way to bond than with a midnight feast? Don’t fall in love with me too hard!!!” —Shidou beamed, then started dragging everyone toward a stone table under one of the many shady trees Fuji High had conveniently scattered across campus—likely as chaos-collection points for overly energetic students during breaks.

Charles, one hand in Shidou’s, very naturally grabbed Rin’s hand with the other— despite the unmistakable look of protest on Rin’s face. Bachira giggled like a maniac, seized Rin’s other hand, then grabbed Ness (still clearly soul-detached) with his free hand. Karasu latched on next. Then Otoya, Aryu, and finally Tokimitsu—still trembling and mumbling apologies under his breath.

And so they moved, a long human train of misfits holding hands like some absurd spiritual ritual.
The image was so ridiculous that one late-night student casually snapped a photo—and that photo hit #1 on the school forum for two days straight due to sheer, unexplainable cuteness.

But that’s a story for another time.
Right now, Rin just wanted to dig a hole and disappear.

Shidou plopped down first, effortlessly ripping the bag open like a madman, revealing a chaotic pile of snacks:

– 3 tubs of ice cream (from matcha to strawberry to “Citrus Blast Inferno”—seriously, what kind of marketing genius came up with this flavor? Rin secretly needed to study their evil business strategy)
– A mountain of snack packs, the kind two people could kill off in under ten minutes
– And five cans of “Lightning Thunder Shock” soda—clearly banned for kids after 8PM
– Oh, and… Charles. Why the hell did you buy two sparkly hair clips and a tube of toothpaste!?

Rin stared at the pile with an expression like someone personally offended by the existence of Double-Stuffed Oreo Vanilla.
But before he could say anything, Ness gently picked up a tub of ice cream and sighed:

“…Honestly… a midnight snack doesn’t sound too bad.”

“I’m always pro-midnight snacking!” Bachira raised his hand enthusiastically. “The more the merrier!”

Otoya laughed, leaning on the table.
“With everything that just happened? Not sitting down to eat would be a crime. I’ve been so busy today I barely ate. My brain’s overloaded.”

Karasu, meanwhile, was still eyeing Charles with that “what kind of cryptid is this and how is it biologically linked to Shidou” expression.
But in the end, he quietly pulled out a chair and sat down anyway.

Aryu—unsurprisingly—had already wiped the outdoor table with a tissue, arranged the snacks in perfect symmetry, and even color-coordinated the soda cans: “Aesthetic is not something to be sacrificed, not even for a spontaneous late-night meal,” he declared.

Rin, however, remained frozen in place, watching his so-called friends betray the peace of a quiet evening for some ice cream and chips.
He didn’t move an inch.

Charles clapped excitedly. “Midnight feast! Midnight feast! With even grumpy Nii-chan Rin Rin joining us!”

“There is no feast,” Rin stated flatly, stepping back as Charles gallantly pulled out a chair for him like a dedicated little butler.

Too bad his declaration was drowned out by the unmistakable pop! of a soda can. Bachira, already seated with a wasabi-flavored chip halfway in his mouth, waved a popsicle stick toward Rin with a huge grin: “Duuude, this is soooo good. You gotta try this, Rin-chan—spicy but like, in a soul-awakening kinda way.”

“No, I’m not—”

Charles and Bachira looked up at him, eyes sparkling like springtime anime protagonists.

“Please eat with us, Rin Rin~ It’s the first time I ever met Nii~”

“Don’t be shy, Rin-chan~ Come join us~”

Rin stiffened, the corner of his mouth twitching as he glanced at the group of idiots sending him puppy-dog eyes, and Shidou—grinning like he just won the lottery—watching him quietly from behind.
Then, like someone too tired to argue with the universe anymore, Rin sighed and slowly walked over, plopping down in the one empty seat.

There was a soft cheer. Some giggles.
Someone—probably Bachira—quietly nudged the tub of ice cream toward him.
Aryu adjusted the spoon angle.
Otoya handed him a can of soda.
Tokimitsu sat up straighter and blinked.
Karasu nodded solemnly, as if confirming that “yes, food does help sanity.”

“…Back in the dorm by eleven. We have class tomorrow,” Rin muttered.

Shidou, naturally, flung an arm around his shoulder without hesitation, grinning like a man with everything he ever wanted.

“Look at that. My beautiful big family~”

Before Rin could swat him off, Charles chimed in joyfully:

“Dad Ryuusei was right! A family that eats together is a family that loves together!!”

"I swear I'll ditch this universe before you idiots set up a stage and start singing Disney songs," Rin muttered, voice laced with threat but lacking any real weight—especially when he was shoveling a tiny spoonful of dessert into his mouth.

The atmosphere had finally… settled. Or at least, "sort of settled" by the highly subjective and utterly bizarre standards of the Rin Squad.

And so—under the dim yellow glow of the streetlights, with the cicadas screaming like background noise from a Japanese indie film—the group known as Ego’s unfortunate, fabulous, and dangerously unhinged victims (plus Ness, and two absolutely shameless alien invaders) gathered around a cold stone table to share the weirdest midnight meal of their lives.

Weird in terms of food.
Weird in terms of the guest list.
Weird in terms of the reason they were even there.
And honestly… weird in how their hearts, in the stupidest way possible, felt okay with all of it.

.

.

.

It was late.
The sky had turned a thick velvet black, scattered with a few trembling stars floating in the cool summer breeze. The school courtyard was quiet—too quiet, save for the soft yellow streetlight glowing above a long stone bench under an old tamarind tree—where a group of rowdy kids, who had never once respected curfew, had gathered like this was some kind of illegal midnight picnic.

The table was a chaotic battlefield of opened ice cream tubs, half-crushed snack bags, and soda cans no one remembered bringing. The spicy-salty scent of “explosive chili ice cream” mixed violently with vanilla and chocolate sweetness—forming an assault on the nose that, somehow, no one complained about.

Bachira was sitting cross-legged, licking his popsicle, cheeks full of fish balls, talking at lightning speed as he pushed snack bags closer to Rin:

“—and I swear, I thought Kia was gonna get punched all the way to Korea! Dad Shidou was like, boom! Like a dragon—”

“Shidou is not your dad,” Rin cut in, voice flat, though his eyes were already issuing silent arrest warrants for illegal family registration.

Shidou, currently lounging with his legs propped on a chair, cracking sunflower seeds (where did he even get those?), nodded as if completely onboard with the rejection of Bachira's adoption application.

“Honestly, I had to hold myself back too, y’know? But then this tiny Shidou in my brain showed up, grabbed me by the hair and screamed like, 'Stay cool, now’s the time to be stoic and badass! Be cool and rational!'”

“To be fair, I was kinda scared too. If Shidou lost it and started smashing everything that moved, we wouldn’t be writing just a 2000-word apology letter.” – Otoya nodded solemnly.

“Honestly, I wished Shidou had punched him. Like, screw it, hit first, deal with it later.” – Karasu, as always, advocated for violence with zero hesitation.

“Language, Karasu. If you were my kid, I’d have already smacked you one.” Rin said dryly, arms crossed.

“Aww,” Bachira clutched his chest dramatically. “Classic dad energy from Rin-chan~ so loving and violent!”

Next to Rin, Ness sat quietly, holding a tub of strawberry ice cream with a separate spoon reserved just for Rin, not saying much, but clearly channeling “tired mom waiting for the kids to pass out.”

Charles had made himself comfortable sitting on the backrest, casually stealing snacks from Karasu’s stash without even asking, pointing dramatically mid-bite:
“Don’t let Bachira keep talking or next time he’s gonna say Nii-chan Rin Rin cried in the rain.”

Otoya leaned across the table, raising his soda can like a toast to no one in particular.
“To surviving the day. And to Rin surviving his romantic drama.”

Tokimitsu, biting nervously into a popsicle, looked like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding.
“Guys, are we gonna get punished for eating contraband during prohibited hours? What if the teachers are tracking us by satellite?”

“Relax, Tokimitsu,” Aryu said calmly, dabbing at a smear of ice cream on his hand with a silk handkerchief. “If anyone takes the fall, it’s gonna be Shidou.”

“Exactly,” Shidou said, flicking another sunflower seed. “I’ll take the teacher’s head before I hand in a written apology.”

Laughter erupted from the whole group. Everyone with their own lines, their own expressions, their own vibe. But in that mess of noise, between the icy sting of ice cream, the pop of soda cans opening, and the swirling smell of junk food—there was something strangely... comforting.

Rin said nothing. He leaned back against the stone bench, eyes slowly scanning around as if collecting every scrap of noise and holding it in his own quiet. There was no smile. But in those sharp eyes—once cold as steel—something had softened. When Ness gently held out a spoonful of ice cream, Rin nodded slightly, took it, and let the sweet chill melt silently on his tongue.

Around him, the chaos continued like a distorted but lively symphony—
Bachira howling dramatically because Charles stole the last snack, then pretending to faint like he’d been betrayed on a Shakespearean level.
Otoya being chased by Karasu after knocking soda onto his shoes.
Aryu calmly patting a visibly anxious Tokimitsu, who was still convinced the security cameras had recorded him screaming “THE SNACK IS MINE!” five minutes ago.

And Rin, in the middle of the yelling, the laughter, and the whirlwind that was his friends—sat still. But inside, something felt like it was slowly dissolving.
Like the thundercloud once lodged in his chest… was thinning in the quiet warmth.

Bachira was currently trying to steal another bite of ice cream with his spoon, wrestling with Charles, when Ness pressed a cold soda can to his cheek.

“Use your hands, you primitive creature.”

“Huh? So can I feed Rin-chan with my hands then?” Bachira grinned with a mouthful.

The entire table: “NO!!” (Ness nearly flipped the chair.)

Aryu, now fixing his hair messed up by the evening wind, sighed wearily:
“I thought this late-night snack would be healing, but now I feel like I’ve just played through extra time.”

Charles, munching on seaweed snacks, looked thoughtful:
“So… are you guys Rin’s teammates, fanclub, or cult members?”

Karasu nodded while chewing:
“All three. He’s our captain, our idol, and our cult leader.”

Shidou nudged Rin’s shoulder, whispering not-so-quietly:
“Hey, cult leader, should we actually start a real cult? Let big bro Ryuusei be the vice leader?”

Rin gave him a flat look: “You’re only allowed the title of ‘bottom-tier disciple.’”

“Bottom-tier disciples get to kiss the cult leader though, right?” Shidou smirked.

Cue three soda cans flying in from multiple directions.

Charles clapped loudly, cutting through the chaos:
“Alright, team! If you’re done eating, help me clean up! This healing spot is not turning into a battlefield!”

Ness muttered, “Honestly, with this gang, anywhere can turn into a battlefield…”

Right on cue, Bachira suddenly shouted, “We MUST preserve this night as a symbol of our triumph over curfews and tears!”

“A symbol of chaos, more like,” Otoya smirked.

“How about a photo titled ‘The Day Before Mass Expulsion’?” Karasu suggested, still fighting Aryu over a bag of snacks.

Otoya immediately whipped out his phone and, somehow, a selfie stick—probably standard gear for flirting. “Alright! Everyone line up! Rin in the middle!”

Chaos erupted again as everyone scrambled to sit beside Rin, nearly starting another war.

Click!
The flash went off, capturing a scene of complete disorder—messy, loud, but bursting with life.

Rin, in the center, ice cream cup in hand, head tilted slightly.
Ness on his left, grinning like a cat.
Bachira on his right, cheeks smeared with ice cream, naturally hugging Rin around the waist.
Karasu flashing a wobbly peace sign.
Aryu checking himself out in the phone’s reflection for the sixth time.
Tokimitsu forcing a shaky smile.
Otoya photobombing from under the table—only his face and a half-eaten snack stuck to his teeth visible.
Behind them, Shidou held Charles on his shoulders; both waving tissue paper like victory flags.

Rin looked at the photo afterward, brows slightly furrowed.
“…Why is Shidou shirtless?”

Ness deadpanned: “Don’t ask. Just… think of it as a mandatory sacrifice for the cult.”

.

.

.

And so, finally—after a conflict worthy of an organizational summit and a midnight feast seemingly sponsored by Shidou & Charles Inc.—the group saw Shidou off. He revved his flashy motorbike to a chorus of wide-eyed awe from the kids. On the back, Charles waved goodbye in dramatic French with tissue flags still flapping.

The others reluctantly retreated to their rooms, each armed with two cans of soda and a bag of snacks, still nibbling and whispering as though the day hadn’t already been chaotic enough.

“A complete disaster,” Rin muttered, shoving a trash bag into the bin.

Beside him, Bachira was all goofy smiles, eyes sparkling like a thousand falling stars.
“But wasn’t it amazing, Rin-chan? So much happened today, but we just wrote the perfect ending!!”

Rin didn’t reply. But his mouth curled ever so slightly as he murmured, “Alright, let’s go. Don’t forget to shower first.”

“Yes, Rin-chaaan!!” Bachira clung to his arm, skipping along and humming some made-up tune with no lyrics.

.

TING!

FROM: BEST FRIEND SHIDOU RYUUSEI

✨ “Hey Din Din!!! You were freakin' amazing today!!! I’m ultra-mega-super proud of you 😎🔥🔥”

“From now on, DAD RYUUSEI and your lil' bro Chevalier are on your side forever, got that?! Even those noisy little gremlins got forced (even voluntarily) into Team You thanks to me 🤪👾💥”

 “You’re never alone, okay? I love you. And you gotta learn to love yourself too, you gorgeous crybaby 💖”

🌙 “Sleep tight and dream big, alrighty... I’ll try to dream of you too, though it’ll probably be you in full Chevalier armor shooting heart beams everywhere 😴💤⚔️💘”

Rin glanced at the screen lighting up the dark. His eyes quietly followed the lines of chaos—Shidou-style chaos—but somehow, it left him feeling impossibly light. His lips twitched upward, not quite a smile… but genuine.

From the bed beside him, Bachira’s drowsy voice piped up, slurred with sleep:
“G’night, Rin-chaaan… sweet dreeeaams…”

Rin turned his head. Bachira had burrowed under the blankets, only a mop of curly hair visible.

He smiled—properly, softly this time—and replied: “Good night, Bachira.”

Then his fingers moved quickly across the keyboard:

FROM ME:
“Good night, Shidou. :)”

Click.

The screen went dark.
The lights turned off.
And the room fell into silence.

But not the cold, lonely kind.

It was the gentle kind—the kind of dark that wraps you like a blanket.

The first day of the new school year came to an end.

With a scratch on the cheek.
A 5000-word written apology left unwritten.
A one-day detention sentence.
And one blurry, crooked, chaotic group photo—carefully tucked away between page 58 of Modern Football Techniques, the page Rin flipped open to every single night like clockwork.

Tomorrow would begin again.

But tonight, for the first time, he felt:

I’m okay now, Rin .

Chapter Text

To sum it up: after the complete disaster that was his first day at school, Rin was sentenced to write a 5,000-word self-reflection essay and placed under dorm arrest for a day to “repent for his impulsiveness.” Below is a short excerpt from his thoroughly “sincere” confession:

“I extend my deepest apologies for disturbing the peaceful, virtuous, and morally pristine environment of this institution — a place where getting an entire bowl of ochazuke nearly dumped on your face is apparently a time-honored tradition, and reacting like a normal human being is treated like a federal offense.”

“It was clearly a lapse in judgment to let emotion take over. Obviously, the proper response should’ve been a warm smile, a polite bow, and a kind request for a second helping — just to make sure both sides of my hair matched.”

“I solemnly swear to spend all 24 hours of this dorm confinement reflecting on my flawed character — the kind of person who disrupts sacred order over something as minor as a bowl of rice.”

“I trust the school will recognize the depth of my remorse, which I’ve painstakingly packed into every line of this 5,000-word essay — longer than most theses, yet somehow still not enough to express the full weight of my ‘regret.’”

Ness — who demanded a copy of Rin’s draft to “borrow a few phrases” for his own 2,000-word essay (courtesy of voluntarily inserting himself into the chaos) — stared at the screen for a long moment. Eventually, he gave Rin a silent thumbs-up and quietly dragged the file into a folder labeled:
“Japanese Linguistic Artistry: One Day I’ll Understand. Or Not.”

A full day of dorm arrest didn’t bother Rin. If anything, he was almost grateful for it. He wasn’t entirely sure that, if he stepped outside and ran into certain people, he’d have the strength to calmly recite his essay in his head — or if he’d just spontaneously combust on the spot to avoid writing a 10,000-word sequel.

And so, a day of “intense self-reflection and growth” passed in a way that… no official school handbook would ever recommend.

Morning.
Rin sat cross-legged at his desk, breathing slow and steady as he wrote his self-criticism. The A4 paper trembled slightly in his hand, either from guilt or suppressed irritation — hard to say. One hand scribbled out carefully worded regret; the other gripped the pen like he was trying to strangle the past version of himself that thought reacting was a good idea.

Noon.
He poured hot water into his cup noodles in silence, weighing the pros and cons of pouring the entire thing over his roommate’s head instead — the same roommate currently massacring “Let It Go” with such awful pitch, butchered lyrics, and mangled grammar that even Elsa might claw her way back from the grave just to put him on ice.

Afternoon.
Rin moved on to what he called “emotional regulation”: a session that included yoga (to stretch out the stress in his jaw from gritting his teeth) and push-ups (to channel his lingering rage somewhere useful).
Across the room, the flash of a phone camera kept blinking, followed by a whisper that barely tried to be subtle:
“We’re sending this to Papa Shidou. Rin-chan is both a bendy cat and a muscle freak. We’ve truly raised a modern wonder.”

Evening.
Dinner was scavenged by the human tornado his friends called “help.” The food was slightly dented but still edible. Rin ate while forwarding his 5,000-word essay to five unfortunate souls who got caught in yesterday’s disaster with him. The replies came in quickly:
“666 👏”
“Actually kind of amazing.”
“Rin, open a writing course: Self-Criticism for Beginners.”
“Put me on the waitlist.”

No one asked if he was okay. But everyone agreed — his essay slapped.

Night.
Rin lay in bed, arm tucked behind his head, staring at the dotted ceiling. A quiet thought floated through:
“Maybe tomorrow will be peaceful.”

He drifted off.

Spoiler: It won’t be.
(Because “peaceful” has never been part of Rin Itoshi’s personal brand. And life, unlike cup noodles, rarely goes according to plan.)

.

.

.

Early morning.
Sunlight streamed gently through the leaves, glinting off the dew still clinging to the tips of grass blades. A peaceful, picturesque scene—
...right up until you step on it and realize every drop of that poetic beauty is now soaking into your socks.

Rin stared at the damp patch of grass beneath his feet, exhaled slowly, and muttered to himself,

“Truly romantic. If I were a frog.”

Today’s schedule was simple: two science lectures in the morning, two math classes in the afternoon. Embracing the motto “simplify the start of your day”, Rin hurled a crumpled paper ball straight at Bachira’s forehead—the latter currently sitting cross-legged, whistling like he was hosting a solo spiritual picnic.
Unconventional? Yes. But this daily ritual, while never officially endorsed by any school curriculum, had long served as Rin’s personal emotional recalibration system.

He then strolled leisurely toward the lecture hall, exuding the calm, mildly smug air of a warrior fresh off a victory—
even if the battle had been fought entirely in his mind over whether or not to skip school altogether.

And then, shockingly… the class went smoothly.
Suspiciously smoothly.

No unexpected guests popping up from behind corners.
No hallway drama.
No flying beverages midair.

Just a professor, a mountain of slides, a voice so monotone it could tranquilize livestock, and a torrent of information that shriveled Rin’s brain like a raisin under a heat lamp.

Everything was… too quiet.
Unsettlingly quiet.
The kind of eerie calm that made Rin suspect the universe was backstage somewhere, huddling in the dark, conspiring to slap him with a plot twist.

He silently hoped he was just being paranoid—but come on. When had life ever let Rin Itoshi exist in peace?

Afternoon arrived in the blink of an eye. Rin and Bachira strolled toward the E.G. clubroom, unaware that destiny was already warming up in the wings, cracking its knuckles, and flashing him the kind of wink that said:

“Welcome to hell, sweetheart.”

Rin pushed open the clubroom door. Beside him, Bachira—an unrelenting ball of energy—bounced along on the tips of his toes like he was about to perform an interpretive ballet titled “Chaos, but make it art.”

Click.

The door creaked open—
And Rin froze.
As if someone had just flung him back to his very first practice session.
Why?

Well, he had two afternoon classes, so it wasn’t until 2:40 PM that he finally showed up.
Meanwhile, Bachira—who had no classes whatsoever—slept like a hibernating caterpillar until 2:30, then used the last ten minutes to drag Rin out of his lecture by the collar.

(How did Bachira know exactly which class Rin was in? Who knows. Divine whisper? GPS powered by fate? Possibly both.)

But unlike the two of them, who barely stumbled in at the last minute, the rest of the “We Suffer Because Ego Said So” Club had been there since 1 PM sharp.
And now, they lay scattered across the training field like debris after a survival horror movie.

Rin frowned.
The sight before him looked like the aftermath of a natural disaster:

Karasu was slumped over the goalpost, one arm dramatically draped over his forehead like a tragic poet.
Otoya had face-planted into the grass, unmoving, his status between alive and no longer our problem unclear.
Aryu, true to brand, had carefully laid his hair across a bench covered with a cloth—while the rest of his body collapsed like a doll someone forgot to charge.
And Tokimitsu—bless him—was sitting against the wall chugging water like he’d just crawled out of the Sahara Desert.

Rin’s eyebrows were in civil war.
He’d been stuck in dorm arrest yesterday and missed training, so he had no idea what kind of apocalyptic drill he’d just walked in on.
Some higher existential being, he thought bitterly, could really do him a favor and explain:

“Did my poor teammates just fight off 100 zombies? Or was it, perhaps, a swamp monster with a grudge?”

After three full minutes of stunned silence, Rin finally spoke—his voice not loud, but in the eerie stillness, it echoed like a death knell:

“What the hell happened? What is wrong with you guys?”

The words, like some kind of cursed incantation, caused the fallen souls on the field to… stir.

Otoya—who Rin had nearly accepted as canonically dead—groaned and raised his head like a reanimated mummy.
He rasped, “Help… my damn leg… it’s gone…”

Karasu, still speaking from under the arm slung over his face, let out a ghostly moan:

“Since yesterday… we’ve run… 37 laps. Thirty-seven. Full. Laps. I’m not kidding… holy sh—”

Aryu, ever the tragic artiste, didn’t open his eyes. He just lay there like an expired wax figure, murmuring:

“Ego… is a magnificent coach…A magnificent demon… I can’t tell anymore…”

Only Tokimitsu still had the remaining motor skills of a living person. He half-crawled to his feet, his smile twisted at a 45-degree angle between polite greeting and silent scream, and waved feebly at Rin and Bachira:

“Hi Rin… Bachira… Ego was just here… He went to fetch… um… the new training schedule…”

Translation: “We’re going to run again. We’re going to die again. Smile through the pain.”

Rin frowned and shook his head, wearing the expression of someone questioning both reality and the meaning of life.

“No, but… Kappa-head here didn’t even look that tired after practice yesterday?”

Otoya—who had just managed to rise like an elderly man escaping a nursing home—raised one trembling arm, swaying like a strand of seaweed caught in a hurricane:

“Rin… that’s Bachira. BACHIRA. The guy who could swim two laps around the planet and still sprint to the cafeteria for porridge before swimming back. He doesn’t count.”

From somewhere beneath the carefully preserved shrine of his hair, Aryu’s voice emerged—soft and mournful, like a ghost lamenting his fate:

“Yesterday was only twenty laps… Then today, another seventeen… We… we’re dying… But make it fabulous…”

Meanwhile, “the demon” Bachira was still glued to Rin’s arm like a decorative barnacle, grinning ear to ear with the energy of someone who’s never once heard of fatigue:

“Actually, I was super tired yesterday! Don’t you remember, Rin? I took a shower, and I didn’t even open TikTok! I didn’t dance! I went to bed at 7 PM sharp!”

Rin gave him a sideways glance, the kind that activates the mental security camera.
...Yeah, now that he thought about it, that was true. Rarely did Bachira go to bed without first flailing his legs against the wall like a possessed insect.

Rin sighed.
Honestly? This was still considered light. At PXG, Loki had once made them run until their organs staged a rebellion and declared independence—no one was allowed to sit, let alone rest, until they'd coughed up every ounce of stamina in a variety of unpleasant colors.
Still… he had to admit. Getting dragged into a surprise marathon while minding your own business was a different kind of cruel.

Click.
The door opened again—
Sounding suspiciously like the second death knell of the day.

Ego walked in, holding a thick stack of A4 papers—about the size of a small novel or an air fryer manual.
His gaze swept across the field like an industrial scanner, finally landing on Rin—who, despite having just arrived, already looked like someone recovering from a messy divorce.

And then came the voice. Calm, monotone, emotionless—like a man reading tomorrow’s weather:

“Ten more minutes. Then ten more laps.”

Otoya faceplanted into the ground with the acceptance of someone who had made peace with being buried in grass.
Karasu? Didn’t even twitch.
Aryu cracked one eye open, sent Ego a stare containing three thousand questions and a metric ton of resignation, then closed it again like a fallen angel taking his final nap.
Even Tokimitsu clung to his manners till the bitter end, dragging himself onto a plastic chair and whispering an apology to no one in particular.

And then—like always—Bachira’s laugh cut through the despair, sharp and cheerful, like a little gremlin who had just been handed a longer leash:

“Ego-sensei, you really aren’t gonna let us live, huh?!”

Rin looked around the field, eyes weary—like a father of three who’d just gotten home and discovered the house was still on fire.
Then he sighed. For the third time, and he’d only been in the clubroom for exactly… two minutes.

He tugged Bachira by the arm, muttering under his breath:

“Go haul them up. Stretch, loosen up, warm-up properly before the run.
At the very least, don’t throw up on the field, collapse, and then fall down the stairs and lose your teeth.”

And with that, he strolled over to a plastic chair like none of this chaos concerned him, calmly set down his bag, took off his jacket, pulled out a towel and spare water bottle—the methodical grace of someone who had just come straight from class, hadn’t even had time to swallow the bitterness of life yet, and was already preparing for a hell-level marathon.

His brain flicked back to the earlier chaos.
Obviously, their technique was still garbage.
It wasn’t like they had any solid foundations—they were just charging at the ball like gremlins, all instincts, no structure.
So of course a few laps were enough to leave them flattened like pancakes.

Rin didn’t particularly care for half-hearted players.
But, right now, these guys were the only ones who could play alongside him.
And he couldn’t exactly let the whole team drop dead before even making it to their first actual match.

After a revival process that looked suspiciously like a ritual sacrifice in reverse, Bachira—cheerful as ever, even while dragging three semi-conscious bodies upright—finally managed to assemble the squad into some semblance of a line.

Or rather, a wobbly, tragic parody of a line.
They stood (barely), teetering like fragile saplings in a level-12 monsoon.
Karasu was leaning so hard on Otoya they looked like twin statues seconds away from collapsing in artistic unison.

Rin sighed again—he’d lost count of how many times at this point—then crouched down to strap on his last knee brace with all the seriousness of a man about to star in a Live Broadcast of Remedial P.E. for Emotionally Broken Teens.

He stepped forward, straightened up, and with the air of a real gym teacher pushed to the edge of despair, announced:

“Follow me. At the very least… stop shaking like boiled chickens.”

Then he turned his back to them and began the warm-up routine.
Shoulder rolls, neck circles, calf stretches, and a gentle flow into a beginner-level yoga pose.
Every movement was crisp, steady, and carried the quiet pain of someone who’s done this a thousand times and has long since run out of feelings about it.

Behind him, the pitiful lineup of students—one barely able to stand, another clearly still wondering who they were and why they existed—followed along with the enthusiasm of wilted lettuce.
It looked less like a football club and more like a special rehab program for physically neglected delinquents.

Rin glanced over his shoulder.

Otoya was lifting his left hand while his right leg curled like he was trying to catch a Wi-Fi signal.
Karasu was taking it seriously, but his face was scrunched like someone trying to pass a kidney stone.
Aryu moved with utmost delicacy, clearly prioritizing hair integrity over spinal alignment.
And Tokimitsu… was inhaling with shaky determination while whispering apologies—to the air itself.

“Alright. 1… 2… 3… inhale… exhale… slowly…
And stop breathing like you’re in labor, Karasu.”

And so, the official training session began—led by none other than Coach Rin Itoshi. A title he never signed up for, never wanted, but couldn’t bring himself to decline either… not when his friends were withering under the summer sun like limp lettuce leaves left out too long.

Karasu, valiantly attempting the arm stretch behind the head, somehow managed to twist sideways—like he was trying to hail a cab.
Rin glanced over, brow furrowed. “Karasu, this isn’t a drive-thru. Stretch your arms, not your neck.”

Karasu let out a pitiful whimper, adjusting his pose, though his face was scrunched up like an oversteamed bun.

A few feet away, Otoya was trying his best to do a forward bend and touch his toes, but barely made it halfway before freezing in place, cheeks flushed tomato-red.
“Rin… I see the light… I’m going ahead without you…”

“You’re bending wrong. From the hips, not like a boiled shrimp. Here, let me—”Rin stepped in, firmly corrected Otoya’s posture, and with the kind of tough love reserved for overconfident idiots, shoved his back down. Otoya's fingers miraculously touched his toes… at the cost of a third-degree childbirth simulation.

“AAAAAHH MY HIPSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!”

Meanwhile, in an entirely different universe, Aryu was stretching with noble grace—strictly within limits that wouldn’t endanger his hair. Head tilted elegantly back, one hand gently stretched his neck… while the other remained protectively on his bun.
One look and Rin knew. “Aryu. Your hair is not at war with the atmosphere. Stretch your neck—not pose for a magazine shoot.”

Aryu sighed wistfully, voice soft and refined. “It’s just… the wind is a little wild today. I forgot my hairspray…”

Tokimitsu, as always, was the model student. Following every move with trembling limbs, smiling through rivers of sweat. “Rin, I’m breathing in… and out like this, right? I’m sorry if… I breathed wrong… I’ll do better next breath…”

“You’re stretching, Tokimitsu. Not repenting.”

And finally, there was the one creature who somehow turned warm-ups into a solo concert—Bachira, swaying like a belly dancer as he sang to the rhythm:
“One… two… threeee~ inhale~~ exhaaaale~~ try not to pukeeee~”
“Bachira, if you sing one more time, you’re stretching alone for an extra hour after this.”
“But Rin-chaaan is sooo cute when he’s angryyy~ even cuter than normal~”
Bachira shrieked playfully, then ducked behind Otoya like a toddler who knew the spanking was coming but didn’t regret a thing.

Rin said nothing. Just resumed counting.
“All right. One… two… three… inhale… exhale… slow and steady… Nobody faints, got it? If you do, crawl to the infirmary yourself.”

Across the field, sitting comfortably on a bench, Ego scrolled through his phone with one hand, a draft report in the other. Watching the chaos unfold like an odd yoga livestream, he muttered under his breath.

“This is for data collection. Research purposes. Research. Not… some weirdly effective stress relief video. Seriously.”

Finally, after a solid ten minutes of groaning and half-baked poses, the group somehow managed to stand upright again. Otoya stretched with a wince, then sighed in relief, “Damn, Rin. That actually helped. I feel way less like a human pretzel now.”

Aryu—still immersed in what could only be described as the artistic expression of a leg stretch—nodded in agreement. “Indeed. Turns out, we’ve been doing warm-ups wrong our whole lives.”

“THANK YOU, RIN-CHAAAAAN SENSEIIII!! RIN-CHAN IS THE BESTEST BESTEST BEST!!”

No surprise there. Bachira, the only person capable of screaming like that while still clinging to Rin’s arm like a baby koala, was practically vibrating with excitement.

He started hopping around Rin like a trainee idol in a debut MV, flailing his limbs in joy. “Rin-chan, you should open your own class! I’ll be your top student! I’ll buy the uniform! I’ll even write reflection essays after every session!!”

Rin stood in the middle of the field, face unreadable… though his ears had betrayed him by turning a faint shade of pink. He let out a breath—not the usual kind of exhausted sigh, but something closer to resignation. The peaceful kind.

Resignation to his fate: temporary gym coach, savior of sore joints, the reluctant team mom in a sport fueled by madness.

Far off on the sidelines, Ego paused the video recording, satisfied, and scribbled a quick note in his folder:

Observation: Itoshi Rin – leading warm-up group – Effectiveness: 9/10. Recommendation: consider promotion to Assistant Physical Coach if trend continues.

And so, thanks to Rin—the coach nobody asked for but everyone needed—they all survived the warm-up phase.

What came next was another story: sprints, passing drills, dribbling circuits, juggling, long-range shooting... all elevated to Olympic-tier suffering courtesy of Ego's vision for global dominance.

By late afternoon, the only sounds echoing across the training pitch were labored breathing, pitiful groans, the occasional scream drifting like a seasonal breeze—and the laughter of one blissfully unaware creature: Bachira, still spinning in circles like this was a fun day out.

Even Rin—fresh off his rehabilitation vacation (or more accurately, a near-death experience for his neuromuscular system)—was hunched over and panting. Sure, his brain kept chanting “This is good. This is productive.” But his body… his body hadn’t quite caught up with Ego’s “sweat-for-breakfast, oxygen-for-dinner” routine.

When the clock struck exactly 6:00 p.m., it was as if someone had taken a sniper rifle to the entire team.

Bodies collapsed one by one onto the grass, a mass casualty scene of limbs sprawled and souls halfway to the afterlife. They lay scattered like the wreckage of ships washed ashore after a storm, eyes glazed over, spirits halfway logged out.

“Shit… thank god we did that warm-up with Rin earlier…” Karasu mumbled, his voice as faint as the last sigh of a long-suffering man.

“If not… we’d probably need the med team to carry us off one by one.”

Next to him, Otoya was splayed out like a broken training dummy, chest rising in weak bursts as if every breath cost him a decade of life.

“I… don’t wanna… get up anymore… Someone… unlock my phone… text the first contact in my list… tell my crush… to come pick up my corpse…”

One beat of silence.

“Already deleted the contact,” Karasu replied flatly, without even turning his head.

Three seconds of stunned silence followed.

“…Goddamn it,” Otoya wheezed, the last sliver of dignity slipping out of his body.

A late-afternoon breeze swept gently over the field, carrying with it the scent of sweat and… the ghostly breath of survivors.

Aryu lay still, eyes closed, as if meditating amidst the ruins of battle. He murmured solemnly, “Now I understand. True beauty doesn’t come from skin care… it comes from endurance.”

A few meters away, Tokimitsu stared up at the drifting clouds, shivering as he whispered, “I think… I just saw… my grandpa waving at me… from the sideline…”

And amid that apocalyptic scene of destruction, only one person remained intact—well, mostly intact.

Bachira sat cross-legged, face flushed and shirt soaked in sweat, but still humming to himself as he drew lazy circles in the grass. He watched his fallen teammates like he was tuning into a lighthearted reality show.

“Eh? You guys are all fine, right~?” he giggled, tilting his head toward Rin, who was lying motionless beside him under the fading sunlight.

Rin opened one eye, looked up at the cloudy sky, and exhaled deeply.

“…Don’t talk. I’m done.”

Practice ended on a rare note of quiet—everyone lying still, breathing the same air, sharing the same dull ache in their muscles. Every single one of them was exhausted, completely drained, and yet… no one regretted it. Because somewhere amidst the insane laps, the collective groaning, the cramps and awkward stumbles, and Rin’s unexpectedly serious stint as their temporary “P.E. teacher”… something felt real. Alive.

Karasu remained flat on his back, but the corner of his mouth curled into a grin.
“Hey, not gonna lie… today was actually kinda fun.”

Otoya, still bitter over the loss of his crush’s number, muttered,
“Fun my ass… But yeah… not bad.”

Aryu rolled out his calves with all the grace of a luxury spa ad, murmuring,
“Feels like I just got murdered. Artistically.”

Tokimitsu gave a shaky laugh, tears almost welling up from sheer relief.
“You guys… didn’t leave me behind…”

Bachira, of course, had been laughing this whole time. Now he was skipping around, doodling random shapes on their backs with dried grass, completely untouched by fatigue.

Ego, who had been pretending to review data the whole time (but was in fact sneakily recording a video), sniffed and smiled like a documentary filmmaker watching his magnum opus.
“Effort. Spirit. Bonding. Excellent.”

And Rin—finally sitting up—brushed the grass off his shirt and gave a small stretch. His eyes swept the field, taking in the stupid, annoying, ridiculous people who somehow always showed up when he needed them. Then he said softly,

“…Next time, warm up properly with me first.”

No one answered.

But the slight smiles that appeared on every face were all the promise he needed.

There was no need to say anything more, no need to look back. One by one, they slowly got up, each in their own worn-out way, silently gathering their things. Shirts slung over shoulders, water bottles rolling across the field, shoes dragging slightly on the turf—it all blended into the quiet of the day’s end, like the exhaustion itself had become a reward.

No more complaints. No one rushing. Everything moved at its own, natural pace.

Rin gave Ego a slight nod before leaving last. Beside him was Bachira, still rambling cheerfully about dinner plans: seaweed soup, boiled eggs, bear-shaped rice balls, and pudding for dessert.

Rin didn’t answer. He just walked beside him in silence, letting the stream of chattering words swirl around him like familiar background music.

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the field, stretching their silhouettes. The air was strangely still, filled only with the rustling of wind through the trees and the faint scent of dried grass lingering in each breath. The shadows—slender, tangled, overlapping—were a quiet reminder that some kinds of tiredness are meant to be shared as you grow.

And just like that, the two of them disappeared around the corner of the hallway, leaving behind a training ground full of sweat, laughter—
—and something unspoken, quietly beginning to bloom.

.

Day by day, Rin slowly adjusted to his new life — chaotic, exhausting, but oddly enough… peaceful. Gone were the meaningless mind games, the high-strung rivalries that felt like walking on a tightrope. Now, there were coffee-scented lectures, training sessions soaked in sweat under Ego’s iron command, and midnight knocks on his dorm door just to show off a new flavor of snack or debate the chewiness of dried beef from the nearest convenience store.

Some nights, the "vocal disaster" that shared his room would randomly start singing off-key like he was summoning spirits. Rin could only pull the blanket over his head and curse silently, too tired to throw the guy out.

Some mornings, his phone would vibrate non-stop with messages from a group chat that had a name as long as a college thesis: “The Unfortunate, Fabulous, Irresistibly Cool Victims of Ego plus Ness.” Recently, two new hurricanes had joined the mix: Shidou and Charles.

The messages were... varied, to say the least. From “Shidou got kicked out of the cafeteria for arguing with the vending machine” to a flood of cursed images—embarrassing memes, cosplay fails, and a scandalous photo of Ego sleeping with a pair of ripped slippers. There was even a video titled: “Pretty sure Ego smiled yesterday.”

Rin still sighed every time he scrolled through their nonsense. He still grumbled, still complained. But somewhere along the way, in the middle of all that ridiculousness, something gentle had started to bloom — something light, something that didn’t hurt.

The world, for once, seemed to be going easy on him.

…Or not.

.

.

.

It was Day 13 since Rin had set foot in the club — a number no one in their right mind would call lucky.
Still, he walked in with his friends, head held high, mood steady, confident like a warrior who’d learned to survive in hell (with Wi-Fi).

Click.

The door opened.

Inside, Ego was already there, as usual. But today was different—no papers, no laptop, no sign of the next incoming storm.
His hands were empty.
The table? Bare.
Only a blank, unreadable stare.

Rin frowned. That prickling unease bubbled up like soda fizz from the bottom of a glass.

This silence… didn’t suit Ego.

Ego looked up, eyes cold as ever, sweeping across the group one by one.

“Alright, my rough-cut diamonds. Today… no training.”

…

“…Huh?”

The entire room collectively glitched.

Bachira reacted first — arms thrown up to the ceiling, eyes wide like he’d just been declared innocent after ten years of wrongful imprisonment.

“Huhhhhh?! Did I mishear that? Ego-sensei — the man who made us run until we saw hallucinations?? You’re giving us a break?? Or wait… have you been replaced?!”

Otoya leaned over to Karasu, whispering in a suspicious, low tone:

“Maybe ‘break’ here means sprinting on your head… or push-ups while hanging from resistance bands.”

Karasu muttered under his breath, “This has to be a dream. Gotta check—”

He actually bent down and pinched his calf.

“Ow… shit, that hurts. Wait, so this is…”

Aryu let out a long, elegant sigh, stretching his neck as he spoke calmly:

“This could be psychological warfare. A break… to mess with our minds.”

Meanwhile, Tokimitsu was glancing around the room like he suspected a hidden camera crew was about to jump out for a reality TV show prank.

Ego rested his chin on one hand, sharp gaze scanning the chattering group like a hawk circling confused chickens. Then, without a word, he snapped his fingers — the sound crisp and sharp like the crack of a starting pistol.

“We’re going to watch N.O.’s friendly match. Move it.”

.

The whole room held its breath for a beat… then collectively exhaled in relief.

At least it wasn’t a hellish test, or another 3PM marathon under a 40-degree sun, or one of those “self-discovery” drills involving blindfolded soccer and a watermelon instead of a ball.
Which meant—
They got to live another day.
A genuine blessing.

Rin frowned.
N.O.—that was the other football club at Fuji, the official one. Legit.
Unlike the place currently housing him and the rest of these poor souls—a backwater facility so far off the grid even Google Maps gave up, surrounded by dense forest, jagged rocks, and only discoverable if you’d once gotten lost there… or were a gas delivery guy.

If one had to compare, N.O. was like a goddess in a flowing gown straight out of a fairy tale: regulation uniforms, sharp logos, fields lush with green grass, crisp white lines, and balls pumped exactly to FIFA standards.
E.G.—short for Ego’s Graveyard, as the guys liked to joke—was an old janitor lady in a faded blue uniform, dragging a mop and bucket, muttering curses at the hooligan kids dirtying up her hallway again.

Worse still, while N.O. had cheer squads and green tea promo girls handing out flyers at the gate, E.G.’s goal celebrations consisted of… Tokimitsu sneezing.
That was it. Just a sneeze.
Perfectly timed, but still just a sneeze.

And when the balls deflated?
They all sat around watching Tokimitsu pump them by hand, veins bulging like he was lifting weights instead of inflating a football.

To sum it up in one image:
N.O. was a football magazine cover model.
E.G.… was the grumpy neighborhood auntie with a cane, mumbling “Football my ass” while chasing kids off her porch.

Wait—
Rin paused.
What the hell. Why does my brain keep throwing up these ridiculous images lately? Damn that Shidou. This is exactly the kind of crap he sends in the group chat.
Gotta block that blond cockroach when I get back.

Before anyone could ask why Rin was suddenly glaring into thin air and muttering curses to himself, Ego turned on his heel and started walking off the shabby field without another word.
Rin let out a slow breath, shrugged, and followed.

Bachira immediately skipped along beside him, dragging the rest of the group behind like ducklings strung together on a leash.

.

.

On the definitely-not-short road ahead, Rin’s so-called teammates started rambling about every nonsense topic no one asked for.

“Hey, have you guys seen the meditating cat meme?” Bachira swayed as he walked, holding out his phone to Karasu like it was treasure.

“Yeah. But it’s not as funny as that meme of Rin wearing a pink wig. Who made that one?” Karasu glanced at it, casually dropping a comment that made Rin snap his head around, eyes sharp enough to slice onions.

“Shut up,” Rin hissed—quiet, but deadly.

“That would be me,” Otoya said sweetly, hands in his pockets, gazing at the sky with an innocent expression that couldn’t hide the pure pride glittering in his eyes. “Oh, by the way, Rin, I sent you twelve more versions of ‘Princess Rin sleeping with an Ochazuke body pillow’ last night. Checked them yet?”

“No. And I’m going to set you on fire.”

“Thanks for the compliment! I’ll make more.”

Tokimitsu asked nervously, “Th-those photos... they’re not, like, leaked, right...?”

Otoya grinned. “Not yet. But I’m considering using them for a Psychological Warfare class. Title of the lesson: Activate Humiliation, Awaken Potential.”

Aryu, still wearing one earbud, nodded along. “Hey, the new single from Brokenhearted Cheerleaders Club would be perfect for a warm-up jog. Ego should totally play it tomorrow.”

“What the hell is that name?” Rin frowned, a silent dread building in his chest.

Karasu shrugged. “Oh, it’s a band formed by people who had a crush on Reo and got rejected. They now write healing breakup songs.”

“Sad boy vibes,” Bachira nodded sagely. “Do they have a track like ‘Left Behind on a Ruined Soccer Field’?”

“They’ve got a remix called First Love Shattered on the Penalty Spot,” Aryu replied with alarming seriousness.

Rin groaned internally. This group was a sentient trash pile with just enough organization to be dangerous.

He sped up, trying to leave the deranged herd behind, but—

“We eating later or what? Don’t tell me it’s dry bread and soy sauce again,” Karasu whined like Ego had personally poisoned him with that combo.

“Hope there’s takoyaki…” Tokimitsu muttered dreamily.

“I need to stop by the supermarket—ran out of face masks,” Aryu added solemnly.

Bachira flailed his arms. “Doubt it! If Ego’s dragging us out like this, something’s up! Everyone stay alert. If we get kidnapped, remember our code: IF YOU’RE ON TEAM RIN, SHOUT ‘NO PICTURES!’”

“SHUT UP.” Rin turned and growled. The whole group burst into cackles.

And so, the Victims of Ego Squad marched on in glorious chaos, amid laughter, imaginary butterflies, and a vague, lingering feeling:

Today... was definitely not going to be peaceful.

.

.

.

Clack — the heavy gate of the main stadium swung open.

Immediately, the group behind Rin erupted with a chorus of awe:

“Woah.”

“Waooo.”

“Wheeeee—”

…Wait. Who the hell just went “wheeee”?

Rin lowered his head, feeling a subtle flush rise to his cheeks. God. These idiots… Could they please stop acting like country bumpkins seeing a city for the first time? Utterly embarrassing.

He quickly raised his head again, masking the slight fluster behind his usual poker face—cool, blank, entirely unbothered. But still, Rin had to admit, the sight in front of him was impressive enough to make him flinch, just a little.

Even though it was “just” a friendly match, the stadium was alive with energy. The stands were packed tight with roaring fans, the noise loud enough to rattle your skull. Down on the sidelines, a full cheer squad dressed in matching, sparkling uniforms moved in perfect unison, shaking pom-poms like it was a national competition.

Rin cast a side glance at his crew.

He deadpanned, “Otoya, your drool’s about to hit the floor.”

“Excuse me!! I’m not allowed to appreciate beauty now!?”

Before the bickering could escalate, Ego’s icy gaze sliced through the group like a knife—sharp enough to silence even the dumbest of them mid-sentence. One look was all it took for the entire squad to freeze in place, like they’d just been stabbed with invisible stilettos. Wordlessly, they fell in line behind Ego, following him toward the rear of the grandstands.

“Ego-san! Over here!” — Anri’s voice rang out cheerfully through the crowd. The coordinator of special events waved with a bright, unfailing smile.

Ego offered nothing more than a curt nod. But the moment Anri appeared, the chaotic gaggle behind him bowed in unison and yelled:

“Good afternoon, Anri-saaaaaan!!”

They weren’t strangers to Anri. She had occasionally visited during training sessions—and had, on more than one occasion, rescued them mid-torture by whisking Ego away for some “urgent matter,” all while sending the boys a knowing wink like an angel descending from heaven.

Thanks to those moments, a few of the more emotionally unstable ones (cough Bachira cough) had elevated her to divine status—affectionately nicknaming her “Holy Mother.”

Anri chuckled, waving lightly to signal them to go on. Ego, still saying nothing, turned on his heel and led the squad to the reserved bench seating—the special area only for those deemed “worthy” of observing the match from the closest range.

The six boys trailed behind in a straight line, like a row of ducklings following their mother—silent, obedient, not daring to make a sound. Since the match hadn’t started yet, they were temporarily seated on the bench lining the tunnel to the pitch. They had barely settled down—seats still cold beneath them—when a cheerful voice suddenly shattered the silence:

“Rin! Bachira! My broooooos!!”

A figure burst out from the technical area, sprinting like a rocket. His voice reached them even before his footsteps did.

Bachira instantly sprang up and waved his arms like a maniac.
“Ness!!! Babe!! We came to cheer you onnnn!!!”

Of course, it was none other than Ness—chaotic, offbeat, but irreplaceable in their wildly dysfunctional group chat “Ego’s Victims”. Hair like a bird’s nest, eyes glowing red with joy, smile stretched from ear to ear, he bolted over like a storm… only to be stopped cold as Rin raised a hand and blocked his enthusiastic hug with a firm palm to the forehead.

Ness instantly pouted, eyes teary:
“What the hell!! Hugs are a totally normal German greeting! Rin, when are you gonna adapt to the culture, huhhh!!?”

“In Japanese culture, the answer is no fucking way.”

Otoya, sitting nearby, shot a glance at Ness and commented flatly,
“This stupid biased octopus… ‘My bros’ my ass. Say our names one by one, will ya?”

“Facts. If you’re not calling our names anymore, that means you’re bored of us. Just admit it already, make life easier,” Karasu added with a nod.

Ness just grinned, unfazed:
“Bold words from people who photoshopped me drowning in a swamp and still expect courtesy from me. Dream on.”

While the verbal sparring unfolded, Bachira ignored it all, eyes fixed on Ness like a child seeing candy. He circled around him in awe:
“Holy crap, looking so good today! Is that a new uniform? Damn, that’s sick!”

“Indeed. Quite stunning,” Aryu nodded in agreement, eyes gleaming with aesthetic approval.

Ness was clad in a striking red-and-black uniform, trimmed with gold details at the sleeves, shorts, and socks—every seam clean and stylish. On his chest was the N.O. team logo: two crossed swords, crisp and bold, beside the number 8, and beneath it, his name in capital letters.

Ness beamed proudly, arms crossed:
“Looks awesome, right? When you guys finally get your own uniforms, be sure to copy ours. That way we’ll all look badass together!”

Immediately, the entire group turned in unison to stare at Ego—pure reflex. The legendary coach pretended to be blind, calmly chatting away with Anri as if he’d heard nothing. Karasu muttered under his breath:

“Pretty sure our coach spent the entire budget on printer paper.”

“Or on flirting with women.”

“Or on buying hair gel.”

“Or…” —Bachira opened his mouth to add something else, but shut it immediately when Ego’s knife-sharp glare landed on him. He slumped back into his seat beside Rin in silence. Rin glanced sideways and shot him a look that said, “Serves you right.”

Rin turned to Ness, who clearly hadn’t realized he had landed himself on Ego’s blacklist in under twenty seconds.

“What team are you guys playing against?”

“Mitsubi International! They’re really strong— their captain even got scouted for the national youth team. Pretty wild, huh?”

Otoya frowned, suspicious. “You don’t sound the least bit worried though.”

Ness shrugged, a sly grin playing on his lips. He casually pulled out a bag of soft drinks and handed them out to everyone, winking as he said, “That’s because our team isn’t half bad either. I told you, there’ll come a day when your lot plays against us— and you might not even win.”

“EXCUSE ME?! This guy’s looking down on us!!!” Bachira cried dramatically, crumpling the plastic bag he just got and chucking it straight at Ness. “Get him, boys!!”

Karasu and Otoya immediately joined in, grabbing whatever was within reach—including the tactic sheet Ego had handed out just moments ago—crumpling it into makeshift ammo and hurling it at Ness like a bunch of middle-schoolers.

Only Tokimitsu panicked, chasing after the flying sheets with a horrified look on his face.
“No—stop! No littering! If Ego sees this, he’s gonna slam our heads into the pavement…”

Meanwhile, Ness casually dodged the barrage like a pro, just about to launch a witty comeback when—

“Ness, we’re heading to the field now. We still need to go over our strategy.”

Everyone immediately turned to the voice.

A group of players approached. In an instant, the atmosphere changed.

Rin raised an eyebrow. Bachira glared. Otoya went stone cold. Karasu turned away like he’d never seen Ness in his life. Aryu paused mid-hairbrush. And Tokimitsu promptly ducked behind the others and covered his face.

Rin was far too familiar with situations like this. So familiar, in fact, that he had learned to purify his mind, to prepare a soul untouched by worldly dust, to raise a translucent barrier that filtered emotions. Like a stone statue—still, unmoving, neither fleeing nor charging into battle. He simply exhaled softly, waiting for the storm to pass.

Leading the opposing group was Isagi, with Reo and Nagi following close behind, their steps deliberate, as if arranging themselves for formation. In the center was Kia, and at the rear, Chigiri—visibly uncomfortable.

Truth be told, ever since “the final battle”—the day everything collapsed like a flipped chessboard—they hadn’t seen each other for a long time. If they bumped into each other in the cafeteria, Ness would immediately grab Rin’s wrist and drag him out back. If they happened to share a class, Rin would sit in the farthest corner, shutting down all emotional interfaces. If they crossed paths in the hallway, Bachira would promptly raise a hand over Rin’s eyes, mumbling, “Didn’t see anything. Doesn’t exist.”

Strangely enough, Kia also started avoiding him after that. Rin never said anything, but in his mind, he quietly gave him one point for effort.

And yet now, here they were. Face to face. In broad daylight. Rin felt his eyelid twitch slightly, the universal sign of a divine-grade eye-roll incoming. But before he could deliver it, someone beat him to it—Ness.

With a sigh full of indescribable weariness, Ness rolled his eyes skyward, then bent down slightly to murmur to the others (or maybe not even bothering to whisper—just speaking loud enough for everyone to hear):

“I really, really don’t want to play on the same team as that lot… But for the sake of our shared future… I will endure. Wish me luck.”

Bachira let out a soft giggle, patting Ness on the shoulder like he was slapping a cursed talisman for good luck.

“God bless you.”

“Don’t die.” – Karasu said, as if bidding farewell to a soldier heading off to war.

“Try not to kick the ball into anyone’s face.” – Otoya warned, as if that had happened before (and it had).

“Watch your language, or you’ll end up on the ‘Problematic Quotes’ group chat again.” – Aryu added, adjusting his tone like a legal disclaimer.

Ness smiled, nodding solemnly like a model student who had memorized all the vital survival notes before an exam. Then, he turned back toward his team, face serious—like he was about to walk into a world summit.

Isagi glanced over at Rin’s group. Seeing that they had all taken their seats, he mustered every ounce of courage he had and tried to speak in a friendly tone:

“Um… thanks for coming to support us.”

“Oh, no no,” Otoya replied with a smile that bloomed like a flower in the wrong season. He winked once—just enough to double the urge to punch him. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. We’re just here to cheer for our beloved friend.”

Isagi turned red instantly. His mouth opened, ready to deny it, but his own embarrassment knocked the words right back down his throat. He stayed quiet, awkward as a chicken caught in the rain.

“That’s right, that’s right!!” Bachira nodded enthusiastically like a woodpecker, cracking open a can of soda. The hiss of gas escaped as foam bubbled to the top. He waited for it to settle before offering it to Rin with a bright voice: “Here, Rin-chan! Try this~ It’s Vietnamese blueberry coffee flavor! Sounds wild, huh? Must be good!”

Rin frowned. What the hell was that supposed to be? It already sounded nauseating. But like a reluctant knight answering a call to duty, he reached out, took the can, and drank a sip.

…Only to immediately grimace like he’d just swallowed charcoal dust. The entire group burst into laughter, completely ignoring the stiff, awkward expressions of the people standing across from them. Karasu even took a sip himself, and made a face like he’d just bitten into a live cockroach.

“I gotta respect the dude who invented this Frankenstein flavor. Peak insanity,” he muttered.

Ness giggled and tossed over a can labeled “Honey Black Tea.” Having learned his lesson, Rin carefully read the label this time, confirmed it looked normal, then calmly popped the top and took a cautious sip. Hmm. Next time, just drink plain water.

It wasn’t poison, but the weird aftertaste clung to his throat like dust, making it hard to like. Just as Rin was debating whether to force it down or spit it out as gracefully as possible, Kia—who had miraculously stayed quiet for a full thirty seconds—spoke up again:

“Um, Rin... no need to be so hostile, y’know… Ness is part of our team too, technically, so we’re kind of like family, right?”

“…”

What the hell? I haven’t even said anything, alright? Why do you keep slapping my name at the start of every sentence like it’s the damn subject of an essay? Rin turned his head slowly, afraid he might actually spit the drink in Kia’s face if he moved too fast. He swallowed hard. For the sake of civility. For the sake of humanity.

No one said anything.

Rin stayed silent. E.G. stayed silent. A strange kind of mutual understanding passed through the group—like “you guys can scream all you want, we literally don’t care.”

Out of the five people standing opposite them, two were already red in the face, like overripe tomatoes—though it was unclear if it was out of anger, embarrassment, or the painful realization that they were being treated like empty air.

The atmosphere froze. Heavy, as if someone had just switched off the sun.

.

.

.

Clack. Clack. Clack.

Footsteps. Crisp. Measured. Unapologetically loud — like someone announcing their entrance with the confidence of a man who’d never been told no in his life.

The room shifted. Conversations halted. Every head turned, as if pulled by instinct.

So did Rin’s.

And the moment he looked up, he knew.

He froze.

The world didn’t blur or darken — it just… stopped. Froze over like a screen buffering mid-chaos. His breath snagged somewhere between his lungs and his throat, refusing to move.

Striding through the doorway like the floor owed him rent, the man walked with a level of self-assurance that bordered on delusion — except it wasn’t.
Because he could back it up.

Slicked blond hair, flawless, not a strand out of place.
Sea-blue tips trailing behind like they were painted on for dramatic effect.
Sunlight hit him at just the right angle — of course it did — catching in every line and edge like he came with his own lighting crew.

And that face—
Too sharp, too smug, too clean.
Those eyes — ice-blue, undercut with a thin blade of crimson eyeliner that screamed intention. Not just style. Statement. A declaration.

Then there was the smile.
Lazy, tilted, all sharp teeth and quiet mockery.
The kind of smile you could punch five times and still not wipe off.

His presence didn’t just draw attention — it bent the room around it.
Like space itself made room for him. Like gravity took a break so he could walk with more drama.

Rin stared, silent.

His brain finally caught up.

Michael Kaiser.

Of course. Of course it had to be him.

And for one full second, Rin’s mind went blank.
Not angry. Not flustered. Just—blank.

Like someone had kicked open a door in his head, thrown glitter everywhere, and walked off laughing.

He didn't sigh. He didn’t curse. He didn’t move.
He just stood there, with the sharp realization sinking in like ice water down his spine:

It was Michael fucking Kaiser.
And his peaceful day?
Officially over.

Chapter Text

Kaiser strutted in like some emperor on a casual royal tour—no disguise, no humility, just pure, unfiltered arrogance. All that was missing was a crown and someone fanning him with palm leaves. He walked right up to the group, arms folded, trademark smirk plastered across his face like he’d just won the world, again. His gaze swept lazily over everyone, like he was evaluating background extras on his personal stage.

Then he spoke. And unlike back in Blue Lock, where a translator might’ve helped soften the blow, this was straight-up Japanese—with a touch of German twang and, of course, a weirdly mystical echo.

“Well, well. Isagi, you look like you're about to burst into flames.”

Isagi raised an eyebrow, then burst out laughing like someone had just told him the world’s funniest joke. He walked over and gave Kaiser a friendly pat on the shoulder, looking way too at ease.
“Kaiser, goddamn it, I’m not that close to exploding, alright?”

“Relax,” Kaiser drawled. “Just saw a crowd and figured I’d grace it with my presence.”

Kaiser said with a shrug, his gaze drifting past Isagi to the crowd of “E.G. peasants” behind him—curious, even a little judgmental.
“And who are these guys?”

“Uhhh… well…” Isagi stammered, clearly scrambling to define whatever vague, accidental connection existed here.

Ness leaned in, whispered like he was delivering insider celebrity gossip:
“That’s Michael Kaiser. The star of our team.”

Bachira tilted his head. “Why does he look like he’s flirting with antenna-boy over there?”

“Oh, they’re best friends,” Ness said with all the casual confidence of a delusional narrator.

Kh-kh—

Rin choked. Not emotionally. Physically. His body simply refused to accept this version of reality. His throat clenched, the ghost of that awful “honey black tea” rising like acid, and he coughed a few times, dry and stunned.

Best… friends?

Wait. What the hell was happening?
Kaiser and Isagi—friends?

Rin froze like someone had hit his internal "pause" button. His brain began making that ominous humming sound, like a hard drive short-circuiting while trying to process incompatible data.

No. He knew the world had its fair share of nonsense. But this? This was stretching the definition of sanity.

Kaiser and Isagi? The two people who, if left alone in a room, would last three minutes max before one of them climbed on the table and the other started breaking furniture?

Absolutely not.

He could still hear Isagi’s greatest hits echoing in his head, like a cursed Spotify playlist stuck on repeat:

“Goddamn it, Kaiser is a freaking lunatic. Every time I see him, I wanna punch him in the face.”
“Rin, you don’t understand—I’d rather quit football than pass the ball to that clown!!”

And Rin remembered the look in Isagi’s eyes when he said it—like someone who’d just discovered an unidentifiable stain on the sheets in a five-star hotel: bitter, repulsed, and full of vengeance.

And now? Best friends?

Haha. Right.

Rin and Shidou are best friends.
Now Isagi and Kaiser are best friends.

What’s next? Ego marrying Noel Noa?
Spectacular.

Rin silently bowed his head in mourning for the “Isagi of that other universe,” wherever he may be. Hopefully, that version was still clinging to some shred of sanity—or if not, then at least had gone mad peacefully.

His coughing—sharp and abrupt—sliced through the group’s conversation like a flare going off at midnight.

Bachira spun around instantly, pure reflex, dropping whatever topic he'd been half-talking about. He leaned forward, patting Rin’s back with the kind of panic people usually reserved for choking toddlers or possessed friends in horror films. His eyes were wide, worried, as if Rin had just accidentally swallowed a cosmic glitch.

“Rin-chaan, what’s wrong? If you’re gonna puke, just let it out! I brought a plastic bag! It’s pink!”

Rin winced, swallowing down the bitter aftertaste—though he wasn’t quite sure if it came from that godawful “tea” or from this warped version of reality he was currently choking on. His voice came out low and strained, his face contorting like he’d just bitten into a lemon soaked in regret:

“I’m fine… that demonic water’s already been illegally absorbed by my stomach. It’s too late for an undo.”

Tokimitsu panicked too, fumbling to hand Rin some tissues with trembling hands. Rin took them, muttering a quick thanks under his breath, barely managing to reassemble his mental faculties in time.

When he looked up again, he realized the entire group was staring at him. Like—directly. Like they had nothing better to do. His expression immediately soured.

“What the fuck are you all staring at? Want me to gouge your damn eyes out or what?”

Isagi quickly looked away, clearly regretting his life choices.

Kia, obviously—just rolled his eyes slightly. Subtle. Controlled. As if this entire planet and everyone on it were merely a mildly amusing sitcom for him to skim through. Then he turned to Kaiser, smile blooming like morning mist on the edge of a dagger:

“Kaiser-san, this is the E.G. club team I told you about. And this—” he gestured elegantly toward Rin, voice as sweet as spring water trickling over cold stone, “—this is Rin. My older brother. I believe I’ve mentioned him to you before.”

“Older brother”—the moment those words dropped, a few of the E.G. members visibly rolled their eyes.

Rin, however, didn’t move.

He didn’t even bother correcting it.

Trying to reason with someone who didn’t speak human was like arguing with gravity—pointless and only made your IQ drop by the minute. So really, the only proper response was full emotional shutdown.

Kaiser turned his head, tilting it slightly like he was trying to recall a name accidentally saved to the wrong memory slot. After a pause, he spoke with all the emotional investment of someone reading the back of a cereal box.

“Nah, don’t remember.”

Rin frowned, his eyes dripping with disdain—the kind that screamed, Oh, I didn’t realize I borrowed your brain to etch my name into it, mutt. He didn’t even bother wasting oxygen on a response. Instead, he turned to his own teammates, his voice dripping with the exhaustion of someone too tired for this alternate universe nonsense:

“Ego gave you guys paper to take notes. If he sees anyone leaving without a single word written down, just know you're getting booted on the spot.”

Karasu flinched like someone had just poured ice water down his spine, while Otoya’s eyes widened like he’d just woken up from a coma.

Bachira—whose instincts had always operated on the endangered-animal level of survival—rushed to Tokimitsu, snatching a crumpled stack of paper that looked like it had been fished from a tragic backstory. He dashed back to the others and started distributing like a panicked monk handing out last rites.

“Quick, quick, flatten them out—hurry, man, hurry! If Ego sees this, he’s gonna snap our necks and feed us to the cones!”

And so, the three of them—fully ignoring the tension in the air and the mutual death-stares between the two rival groups—began frantically smoothing out the papers with their bare hands like they were trying to appease an angry pagan god named Ego.

The whole thing looked suspiciously like a paper-based exorcism, except there was no priest.
There was Rin, though—arms crossed, sitting with all the indifference of a winter storm watching three fools try to light a match.

Ness hovered beside him, waiting patiently for the realization to dawn. Once it became clear that the others could not flatten the paper like they could flatten their braincells, he let out a giggle and said,

“You idiots could’ve just asked for a new sheet. I brought my notebook. Why suffer like this?”

All three guinea pigs snapped their heads up in unison, wide-eyed, and promptly exploded.

Bachira balled up the one minute and twenty seconds of his hard work and chucked it at Ness:
“Dude, seriously?! You had paper this whole time and didn’t say anything?! That’s so messed up!”

Otoya followed up: “What the hell, we looked like three mentally deficient gremlins over here!”

Ness, under heavy fire, shot back immediately:
“Screw you guys! I was being nice and you came at me with this attitude? Fine, no more paper. Go flatten your destiny yourselves!”

“Wait wait wait—Ness, love, darling—we're a family!” Otoya pivoted at record speed, scrambled to pick up the crumpled page and shoved it back into his pocket, wearing a smile so fake it deserved its own Oscar.

Bachira launched himself over, latching onto Ness’s shoulder, shaking him like a human maraca.
“Buddyyy, come on, you can’t let Ego punish us with upside-down tree pose soccer, right?! If I suffer, Rin-chan will suffer too!”

“I won’t.” Rin said flatly, not even looking up.

“YOU WILL! I KNOW IT! RIN-CHAN LOVES ME THE MOST, I CAN FEEL IT!!”

Watching the absurd spectacle unfold in front of them, the opposing team stood frozen—like someone had hit the pause button on their collective brain.

Kaiser squinted at the scene: three guys flailing around like desperate street performers begging for paper scraps, Rin standing there cold and unmoving like the dark lord of some gothic kingdom handing out exile notices, and Ness grinning so brightly he looked like a part-time faith merchant.

The whole thing resembled a spontaneous comedy skit performed for an invisible crowd—only missing a flashing neon sign that read “Laugh Here.”

Kia smiled—polite, gentle, head tilted just slightly, as if savoring a once-in-a-lifetime moment of pure human absurdity. But his eyes were oddly hollow, with a glint of something quietly unhinged flickering at the bottom.

Reo had his arms crossed, face a blank canvas. He stared at the E.G. group like they were the subject of some new zoological study on undiscovered species. Then his lips curled slightly, and he muttered—quietly enough that only he could hear it: “What kind of creature even are they…?”

Isagi looked… lost. Eyes trailing from Bachira’s overly intense shoulder-shaking hug, to Ness being assaulted with weaponized affection, then back to Rin—the one who had just publicly declared he didn’t care, wasn’t hurt, and absolutely would not be helping anyone.

And somehow, in that moment, Isagi felt like his life had just lost signal.

He opened his mouth to say something. Thought better of it.
Paused.
And shut down.

Silence

.

.

.

Before order could return, a cool voice suddenly cut through the air from behind:

“Let’s go. The match is about to start. Also—Bachira, Otoya, Karasu. +3 laps tomorrow.”

Everyone froze, heads whipping around.

Ego stood dramatically backlit, the breeze catching his long cloak and making it flap like a villain in an action movie. Beside him, Anri offered a tight-lipped smile like she’d just witnessed an accidental comedy show.

Ego walked forward slowly, gaze briefly sweeping across the N.O. group without sparing more than a second. He gave a small nod to Ness—someone he’d met a few times in tactical meetings. But when his eyes landed on the E.G. crew—each face trying hard to look innocent despite the chaos moments earlier—he paused, just for half a beat.

“Ego-senseii, we—”

“+5.”

Bachira shut up like someone had just grabbed his throat, then silently retreated, clutching the hem of Rin’s shirt like a child being punished by the teacher.

Rin sighed, patted Bachira’s head like soothing a puppy, then quietly followed Ego toward the bleachers. The rest trailed after them, like a flock of baby chicks waddling behind their bald eagle boss.

After a few steps, Rin turned back to Ness, voice soft but sincere:

“Good luck, Ness.”

Bachira spun around and shouted, “If you score or assist one, Otoya’ll buy you the biggest bag of snacks!!”

“Hey hey hey, wait a minute—!!” Otoya flailed. “That’s not happening!! But… don’t worry! Karasu’s paying!!”

Karasu didn’t even look back. He just elbowed Otoya lightly in the ribs—part warning, part punishment—then lazily raised a hand in a vague wave. Half goodbye, half encouragement, half ‘good luck, sucker, we’re outta here’.

Aryu and Tokimitsu, the last to go, each tossed over their own brand of support:

“Do your best—and score something fabulous~.”

“I-I’ll pray for you… actually, I’ll ask my ancestors to pray for you…”

Ness burst out laughing, then called back, “You better mean it! I’m recording this!!!”

Once the group disappeared from view, he turned back to face his own team.

Chigiri raised an eyebrow, muttering, “You look like you’d rather be playing with them.”

“I would,” Ness said with a shrug. “Missed one second, now I’m stuck here with you guys.”

Kaiser arched a brow, gaze still following the E.G. crew as he scoffed, “They look weak. Too weak to be fun.”

Ness didn’t reply. No point. No one would believe a compliment without proof. But that was fine —They will find out soon.

No one underestimated his family.

Turning away, he spoke with quiet resolve:

“Let’s go regroup and revise the strategy. I’m not losing today. Not when Rin is watching.”

3:00 PM.
The sky was clear, sunlight soft—more a pale veil of gold than anything harsh. It lay across the school courtyard like a delicate stage light. The air carried the kind of gentle, early-autumn chill that made people feel poetic for no good reason.

At the heart of it all was Fuji High’s athletic field, already buzzing with life. Known for its over-the-top extracurricular spirit and absurdly elaborate school events, Fuji was now, unsurprisingly, turning its stadium into the loudest place in the district.

The soccer field itself was modeled after a scaled-down international stadium, complete with four-sided stands and seating for 3,000—a touch dramatic for a high school, but Fuji never did anything subtly. Though not yet full, the bleachers were already packed with students from all grades, grouped in class-colored T-shirts, proudly wielding their excuse to postpone homework or bail on a campus tour.

The tension was rising—not sharply, but with the steady swell of a tide. Laughter, cheers, idle gossip, and pockets of whispered strategy rippled through the stands. Everyone was either excited, pretending to be, or at least pretending to be too cool to care.

Today’s match was a friendly—on paper, anyway—between Fuji’s own N.O. team and the powerhouse Mitsubi International, another top-ranking school in Kanagawa. A kickoff match to open the semester, sure. But just saying “Mitsubi” was enough to raise eyebrows and expectations. This wasn’t just a game—it was a litmus test, a spotlight, and, for some, a battlefield with certain names you just couldn’t ignore.

3:05 PM.
The speakers crackled obnoxiously to life, blaring some chaotic remix of a vaguely familiar pop anthem, as if volume could make up for taste. Bursts of applause, names shouted with rabid enthusiasm, and whistles from overly-energetic students filled the space.

“LEFT SIDE, MAKE SOME NOOOISEEEE!!”
“TEAM N.O.! TEAM N.O.!!”
“COME ON MITSUBI, MAKE ‘EM WISH THEY STAYED HOME!!!”

Down on the field, the referee checked the goal nets like it was life-or-death. The emcee—clearly a nervous student with a microphone he wasn’t quite qualified to hold—shouted into the crowd, voice cracking with effort:

“Get ready to welcome—our school’s pride—Team N.O.!!!”

Another screech from the speakers, followed by music turned up to a volume that could rattle teeth.

For a beat, the chaos dulled—like the stadium collectively held its breath. The sun bore down mercilessly, setting the grass ablaze in golden light, catching on every glint of sweat, every sharp glint in a player's eye.

And then, from the tunnel—
One step.
Two steps.
They began to emerge.
Not so much stepping into the light as separating from the shadows, cloaked in an unmistakable aura.
Each of them wore the sharp red-black uniform that gleamed under the stadium lights, gold trims catching every glint like warriors forged from steel.

Kenyu Yukimiya led the charge.
His proportions were absurdly perfect—like someone sculpted for magazine covers, not turf battles. He smiled faintly and raised a hand toward the stands, sparking a wave of wild screams and cheers that erupted like fireworks across the air.

Ranze Kurona followed close behind. Smaller in stature, he moved with slow, assured steps, his jacket collar pulled high. From somewhere in the bleachers came a thunderous:
“RANZEEEEEE, YOU'LL ALWAYS BE MAMA’S BABYYYYY!!”
…which set off a round of uncontrollable giggles nearby.

Next was Hiori Yo.
Eyes as still and blue as a hidden lake. Hair soft and lightly tousled by the breeze. He was calmly rewrapping his wrist tape mid-walk, radiating complete ease. From the East stands, a group of girls screamed in unison:
“HIORI-SAAANNNN!!!”

Gagamaru Gin came in next—
A giant whose shadow could block out a quarter of the pitch. The grass seemed to thrum beneath every step. Applause broke out wherever he passed, like the return of a beloved fortress.

Then there was Reo Mikage, still fixing his hair mid-stride. He practically glowed with that “heir of a luxury empire” energy. A quick wave, his gaze not quite landing on anyone in particular—just enough to drive fans wild.
“MI-KA-GE! MI-KA-GE!” the crowd chanted, and somewhere in the chaos, a few voices cracked from screaming too hard.

Nagi Seishiro drifted beside Reo, who murmured something to him—Nagi didn’t respond, half-lidded eyes suggesting he'd just been dragged out of a nap and hadn’t forgiven anyone for it yet. But everyone knew: the moment the whistle blew, that lazy grace would become untouchable genius.

Then came Chigiri Hyoma.
His red hair fluttered like fire, spine straight, his lean frame practically humming with tension. He moved like a storm cloud about to snap.

Itoshi Kia stepped onto the field like a portrait come to life. Head tilted slightly, eyes shimmering with a soft light—gentle, too gentle. He walked not like an athlete entering battle, but a dreamer strolling through a flower field. A faint smile rested on his lips—not arrogance, not mockery, just that disarming, “I love all of you. I'm here to make friends, not win” kind of peace. A small white band-aid clung to one side of his jaw, like an accidental detail that only made him more unreal.

Then—Alexis Ness.
Confidence was practically stitched into the seams of his uniform. His jacket hung loose, fluttering behind him just enough to reveal the clean collar lines and the snug fit of his numbered shirt underneath. His red-violet hair sparked under the floodlights, every strand a flame. He tilted his mouth in a half-smile—just the right mix of arrogant and charming.
His eyes swept over the crowd, then landed exactly where the E.G. bench was, where a group of familiar misfits were slouching into their seats with zero decorum.
He waved cheerfully, like he’d just spotted family. His eyes curved into smiling crescents, sparkling with silent amusement.

Rin, mid-sip of water, gave a lazy glance and curved his lips into a barely-there smirk.
He didn’t even get the chance to respond before—

“NESSSSSSS!!! KICK THEIR ASSESSSSS!!!” Bachira, of course—shouting like a stadium speaker on steroids.
“I SWEAR I’LL SEND YOU THAT PICTURE OF RIN DOZING OFF WITH THE CAT-EAR FILTER IF YOU SCORE!!”

The bench practically exploded.

Rin almost choked.

And Ness?
Grinned even wider. Like he'd just received the best possible gift before heading into war.

Isagi Yoichi — one of the last to arrive.
He strode out with a steady, deliberate gait, each step pounding into the grass like a declaration of war.
His eyes — sharp, electric blue — didn’t chill the air; they ignited it, sparking like a flame lit at just the right moment.

And on his lips, a wide, confident smile.
One of those smiles that says: I know exactly what I’m doing.

He raised a hand toward the audience, said something — no one heard what, not with the roaring chaos crashing around them — but it didn’t matter.
It was as if a bolt of lightning tore through the stands.

And then, it erupted:
"I-SA-GI! I-SA-GI! I-SA-GI!"
The sound crashed like waves.
Fans leapt from their seats, flags flying, drums pounding, whistles shrieking — the whole stadium pulsing with a single, thunderous heartbeat.

But the storm hadn’t truly arrived yet.
They were all still waiting for the last man.

BOOMMMMM!!
A single drumbeat shook the air.
Every light slammed toward the entrance tunnel — slicing open the dark with ruthless clarity.
And from that gaping shadow... he emerged.

Michael Kaiser.

Alone.
No teammates flanking him, no music to herald his name.
Just the sound of his footsteps, crisp and measured against the stone.

That golden hair — practically glowing against the void — drifted ever so slightly in the manufactured wind, like even the arena itself conspired to make his entrance theatrical.
Those glacial blue eyes, sharp as blades, pierced through the field.
That streak of red only made the arrogance worse.
His mouth curled—not in a smile, not quite.
It looked more like a challenge. Like he was saying: So, who dares?

Hands in pockets.
Stride as casual as a man walking into his own coronation.
A lone king stepping onto the stage carved for him and him alone — and clearly, he preferred it that way.

Then the stadium detonated.

No cue. No prompt. No command.

Just instinct.

"KAISERRRRR!!!"
"KAISER-SAMAAAAAA!!!"
"KAISER! KAISER! KAISER!!!"

People screamed, howled, climbed onto their seats, slammed palms against barricades — desperate to make sure he heard his name just one meter farther, five meters, ten —
as if, if they weren’t loud enough, he might not acknowledge them.

LED screens spun “KAISER” around the stadium in dizzying loops.
Posters waved like banners on a battlefield.
Light sticks thrust into the air, forming a sea of blazing gold — dazzling, overwhelming, divine.

The MC nearly tore his own throat out yelling over the frenzy:
"AND FINALLY — OUR KING HIMSELF — MICHAEL!! KAISER!!"

He stopped dead center.
Right where the lights converged.
Right where every eye could see him, but none could touch him.

He tilted his head, gaze sweeping the entire coliseum — not to invite them in, but to remind them just how far below they stood.

And then...

He smiled.

Arrogant. Daring. Unapologetic.
A smile that said:

"Go ahead. Try me. Every last one of you."

“Team N.O. – in position.”

Kaiser’s lips curled into a smirk. Hiori, tightening the tape on his wrist, muttered under his breath, “Why does he show up like some idol?”
Isagi exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “He’s not an idol. He’s a religion.”

As the entire squad stepped onto the field, the school’s announcement speakers crackled to life with a polite buzz:

“And here comes Team N.O – representing Fuji High! Today’s match, though a friendly, promises to be a technical feast between two of the prefecture’s top-tier teams. Facing them is Mitsubi International – a school with an equally long-standing tradition, and last year’s top 3 finisher!”

One by one, the Mitsubi players stepped onto the opposite side of the pitch—less loud, more refined. Their uniforms were crisp, movements disciplined. No rowdy energy, no dramatic flair like N.O, but their sharp eyes and quiet confidence made one thing clear: they didn’t show up to lose.

Above, a kite drifted across the breezy sky.
Below, cleats hit turf with rhythmic thuds.
And then the crowd roared, rising like a wave.

.

.

.

The Sub Bench — far end of the stadium, tucked under the shadow of a sun-bleached awning.

No one paid attention to that corner — a gathering of students that looked no different from your run-of-the-mill group of overzealous spectators. Except… they weren’t holding banners, snacks, or confetti.
Each one was armed with suspiciously serious gear: color-coded clipboards, highlighters, tactical notebooks, and, bafflingly, half-melted ice creams dying slow deaths under the merciless afternoon heat.

Bachira, crouching on his seat like a caffeinated monkey, reached for his second matcha popsicle from the box Anri was holding. He muttered theatrically,
“Ego-san definitely gave each of us a notebook, right? So why are we still being punished like this, huh? Is this what betrayal feels like? Are student-teacher bonds just lies now?”

Rin, expression as blank as the sky above, didn’t bother looking over. He was holding a popsicle in each hand like dual-wielded weapons and replied flatly,
“Keep stuffing your face and you’ll end up blaming the sun for your sore throat.”

Bachira snapped back, “Rin-chan, look at yourself before preachingggg!!”

Next to them, Ego Jinpachi sat with the composure of a villain in his final form — back straight, dressed in full black, sunglasses on, one leg crossed.
He clutched his tablet like it contained nuclear launch codes, and his gaze cut through the field like a scalpel, analyzing every poor soul on the N.O team entering the pitch.

Anri, seated beside him, offered a nervous laugh.
“It’s just a friendly match, sir... Do you maybe want to unclench a little?”

Ego didn’t answer. His finger swiped across the screen with surgical precision as he murmured like a sentient surveillance drone:
“Yukimya – left-footed. Tends to backtrack when possession is lost. Record that.”
“Chigiri – left wing. Accelerates on third cycle. Note hand gestures. Record that.”
“Kia – glanced at Isagi when Kaiser talked to Ness. Signs of displeasure. Record that.”

Karasu was practically horizontal, sprawled across the bench like he was recovering from trauma. His notepad was littered with mysterious scribbles that could either be tactical shorthand or alien Morse code.

Otoya was glued to a pair of binoculars, whispering under his breath,
“Wait—Gagamaru’s eyes keep darting all over… is he scanning shooting angles or just malfunctioning?”

Bachira, chin resting on the back of Rin’s seat, eyes sparkling like a kid at a boyband concert, sighed dreamily,
“Uaaaa~ That red-haired guy’s hair is criminally gorgeous. Otoya, write down: ‘Too handsome, causes opponent distraction.’ Add that for meee~”

Otoya didn’t even blink. “Write your own damn notes.”

Tokimitsu was shaking like a leaf in a wind tunnel, but was still diligently jotting things down like this was the final exam of his life.
Every bullet point ended with: “…sorry if this is incorrect.”

Meanwhile, Aryu balanced a mirror in one hand and subtly flipped through his strategy notebook with the other, like he was hiding state secrets in his palm.
“...I suspect Kaiser uses pomade for hold. Should we, uh, record that…?”

Between Ego and Bachira, Rin was the only one who hadn’t written a single thing. Arms crossed, eyes locked on the field, his gaze bored — like he’d already seen it all before anyone even showed up. He didn’t say a word, but his look was sharp enough to cut steel.
And yet, he calmly bit into his popsicle — cold, blue, and utterly out of place — like this whole thing was a joke only he was in on.

Then—Kaiser walked out.

The stadium exploded.

Screams layered over screams. Lights flared. His name was chanted like some unholy prayer. The air itself vibrated.

Ego tilted his chin, didn’t even need to turn around.
“Watch the expressions of the N.O. team as he enters. Who tenses up. Who zones out. Who stays locked in. That’s your power structure right there.”

Otoya gave a low whistle.
“Damn… that’s like psychological warfare or something.”

Ego didn’t even blink.
“If you don’t want to get eaten alive out there, learn. A friendly match isn’t an excuse to play stupid.”

Silence fell like a hammer.

A minute later—
Pens scratched paper. Quiet whispers flew back and forth.

“Yo, did you note down when Yukimiya bent down to adjust his shoe…?”
“Dude, I can’t tell if that was fake or real…”
“Not gonna lie, that half-smirk of Kaiser’s? That was pure I know you’re watching me and I’m disgusted by it energy…”

Bachira let out a long, dramatic sigh.
“This feels less like scouting and more like spying on the mafia…”

Rin snorted softly, eyes still locked on the field.
“No. It’s war.”

Ego raised an eyebrow. And then, just slightly, nodded.

Sure, these kids were a mess—
But they also were the kind of monsters he’d built from scratch.

.

.

.

15:15 PM.
The kickoff whistle blew—soft, yet it felt like the ignition of a monstrous machine.
Within mere touches, the tempo skyrocketed. It was like someone had slammed the accelerator without warning, and the match plunged headfirst into chaos.

Mitsubi, clad in white, lined up in their signature 4-1-4-1. The ball rolled to No. 8—the midfield maestro—and instantly, both wingers peeled wide, forming triangle passing lanes and triggering a central overload.
Not a single touch wasted.
Pass. Move. One-touch. Accelerate.
Each sequence played out like pre-installed code.

But the build-up was shut down—clean and clinical.

Chigiri, starting at left back, shot out like a red arrow through the gap between midfield and defense. His timing was impeccable. He curved his run behind Mitsubi’s No. 11 and executed a tackle—crisp, ruthless, yet textbook clean.
The ball was stripped just as the striker drew his leg back.

The stands erupted with a collective “Oh!”—whether in awe or shock, it was hard to tell.

“Chigiri’s just… too fast,” Karasu muttered under his breath, scribbling frantically on his clipboard.

Mitsubi immediately shifted gears—from structured build-up to aggressive high press, locking down N.O’s entire midfield.

Isagi—
He didn’t need the ball. Just a few ghost-like off-the-ball runs, a faint body feint here and there, and the opposing shape cracked. Two Mitsubi defenders instinctively tracked him, leaving a soft gap between the lines.

Reo spotted it first.

One beat.
Then—a diagonal switch. A laser-guided diagonal, splitting the pitch and unlocking the right flank.

Nagi didn’t look. Didn’t need to. He trapped the ball with his left foot like gluing it to the turf.
One beat.
Then a feather-light backheel—flicking the ball inward just as the defensive line was scrambling to recover.

Kaiser arrived like a glitch in the matrix.
Somehow already between three defenders, slicing in from the right half-space toward the center. One fluid motion—
Strike.

It was a bullet. Clean trajectory. Just a tad underpowered—
Over the bar.

The crowd exploded—cheers, gasps, groans, all folding into a wave of noise.
Barely three minutes had passed.

And N.O had already sent shockwaves through Mitsubi’s ironclad defense.

.

In the stands—

The lid of the matcha ice cream tub remained open, a few sticks half-finished, the softening cream yielding under the relentless heat pouring in from the stadium. But no one cared anymore.

Just a minute ago, they’d been snickering over Chigiri’s hair, Kaiser’s perpetual disdain, and the way Tokimitsu trembled like a leaf in a thunderstorm. A minute later—everyone straightened their backs in sync, silent, focused.

Anri quietly looked down at the melting ice cream, then leaned over and gently sealed the cooling box shut. No one said a word, but something had shifted—like an invisible switch had been flipped.

“Chigiri moved a bit too early,” Karasu muttered, eyes glued to the field, fingers scribbling down symbols only he could interpret.

“Yukimiya was a beat late reacting—but Reo’s pass was clean,” Aryu frowned, dragging a decisive line across the tactical map.

Bachira chewed on the end of his pen, redrawing the running pattern like he was tracing the wind. Tokimitsu still trembled, but his hand moved steadily—diligently—like every motion on the pitch carried the weight of life or death.

Ego glanced at his kids. No one spoke, but he knew—they were shifting into gear.

“Don’t just follow the ball,” he said softly, voice low but ringing clear like a bell striking cold stone. “Watch the space. Watch how they create chances. And watch the mistakes—before they happen.”

Then he looked back down at the field.

“And above all... watch Kaiser.”

Right at that moment—

Kaiser turned.

A simple, decisive move. He nudged the ball just out of reach from the two defenders closing in, slipping through like water slipping sideways down a stone—opening a sliver of space on the right wing.

The entire E.G squad bent forward.

The sound of pens hitting paper rose up, a crisp rustle like dry grass whispering in the wind.

Rin narrowed his eyes.

Bachira bit his lip, adjusting his sketch, changing the angle.

Aryu rotated the paper, marking the spot where Kaiser had “vanished” in the opponent’s formation.

“That movement…” Otoya tilted his head, voice low, “...it’s not from the second line. It’s from the seam between central mid and wide lane.”

“Positional mirage,” Ego said, eyes fixed. “Log it. He’s testing Mitsubi’s defensive reflex.”

All around them, the stadium roared—cheers, flags, blinding lights, chaos incarnate—but in this high, narrow corner, they sat like an island in the storm.

Still.

Cold.

Sharp, like a blade waiting to be sheathed.

Ego’s kids weren’t just watching a match.

They were decoding it.

They were remembering.

And they were getting ready to strike.

.

7th minute.
Mitsubi began to rise.

From a team overwhelmed in the opening minutes, they made a quiet shift: from a 4-2-3-1 pressing shape into a deeper, wider, more controlled formation. Not a headlong charge—but a cold, calculated saw blade: steady, sharp, and merciless.

The axis of it all was their number 10—the captain, a seasoned central midfielder once scouted for pro training. He wasn’t explosive. He didn’t need to be. He controlled tempo. A sideways pass that looked meaningless, a half-second delay that felt indulgent—they were calculated. He slowed the rhythm, baited the press, and made N.O dance to his subtle tune, step by step.

Mitsubi was bleeding them slowly.

Kurona and Hiori, N.O’s usual transition points, began to feel it. They pressed harder, cut passing lanes with renewed urgency—but Mitsubi weren’t amateurs. They didn’t flinch.

11th minute.
A seemingly simple play: number 10 dropped deep to pull a mark, tapped it back to number 6—then instantly curved forward again, slicing right through N.O’s midfield seam.

Their main striker—tall, powerful, surgical—received it and fired from just outside the box.
The shot was low, fast, and deadly—destined for the bottom corner.

Gagamaru—
Dove the moment it passed the defenders’ heads.
Instinct, not calculation.
A flick of his fingertip—just enough to tilt the ball’s path, make it bounce, skid off course, and fly wide over the sideline.

“…Oh my god,” Tokimitsu mumbled. Sweat trickled down his face, though he hadn’t moved from the bench.
“He deflected that… with a fingertip…” he whispered.
“That’s not eyesight. That’s pure instinct.”
“Intuition,” Ego muttered without glancing up, still scribbling across his tactical board. His pen moved like a programmer hammering out code.
“Gagamaru is still the final wall.”

From the coaching row, Rin sat upright, pen scratching rapidly over his notebook.
Expression unreadable. Chin resting in his hand. Eyes fixed on the pitch.

“Mitsubi’s execution is clean. No rush, no gaps,” he said, voice low, even.
“But N.O’s not a tactical team. They’re the kind of team that shatters tactics.”

He finished just as Kaiser dropped from the second line to collect the ball—eyes half-lidded in feigned disinterest, body already coiled for the counter.

The match had never paused.
And the tide had only just begun to turn.

.

15th minute.
The ball drifted back to midfield.
The game shifted into a clear deadlock.

No more overwhelming attacks.
No more passes opening up space.
Instead, it was a steady rain of small clashes:

— A sliding tackle.
— A sneaky jersey tug behind the referee's back.
— A rushed pass bouncing off an opponent’s foot.
— A clearance skimming the sideline, slamming into the ad boards.

No one wanted to lose ground—not even in a single step.
No one gave up a fraction of a second of control.
The entire pitch felt like a stretched steel wire—one tug, and it’d snap.

18th minute.
A shift in rhythm—like wind stirring in a breathless sky.

Ness.
He had been nearly invisible until now—maintaining the tempo, recycling possession, acting as a silent relay in midfield.
Then, out of nowhere, he changed direction.

He received the ball from Yukimya. No adjustment. Immediate acceleration.

First touch—nudged the ball away from the pressing defender.
Second touch—slipped between two players closing the angle.
Third touch—broke the line.

The entire Mitsubi bench stood up in unison.
Their coach shouted something—but no one caught the words.

Ness pushed forward to the edge of the box, then angled the ball left.

Isagi—
No one saw when he started his run.
No one knew how he got there.
But as if the position had been drawn out beforehand, he was right where he needed to be.

One touch.
Left foot. Just enough to set the ball up.

A curled shot.
Perfect form.
The arc bent like it was traced by a compass.

The opposing keeper didn’t react in time.

CLANG!!
The ball smashed into the post.
A sharp, metallic echo tore through the air.

The whole stadium held its breath.

E.G. corner.
No one shouted.
No one clapped.
Only the sound of pens scribbling. Pages flipping.

Ego turned to Rin. “Thoughts?”
Rin answered calmly, “Beautiful shot. But wrong position. One step closer—or half a second later.”

“If he’s late, the window’s gone.” Ego adjusted his glasses.
“And if he’s early, it’s read and blocked,” Rin nodded.

A second of silence passed between them—
like the stillness between two crashing waves.

On the field, the ball began to roll again.

.

20th minute.

No goals yet.
But every eye was glued to the field—not with the usual anticipation of a score, but with the taut, breathless tension of a grandmaster chess match, where every move might just flip the board.

Mitsubi and N.O were no longer "teams."
They had transformed into beasts—silent predators dissecting each other’s strategy, clawing at the edges, peeling away each layer of positioning to expose a single, fatal flaw.

From the bench—
E.G. was still writing.
Still recording.
Still watching.
Their eyes were magnifying glasses. Their pens, scalpels.

21st minute.

The post was still ringing when Mitsubi flipped the switch.
Counterattack.
Fast. Sharp. Without a flicker of hesitation.

Player No. 6—small, wiry, hair tied back, not exactly someone you’d spot in a crowd—got the ball and instantly sliced across the pitch like lightning.
Running like water, the ball glued to his foot, each stride like a piano key struck in rapid tempo—creating a rhythm that shredded the deadlock of the past ten minutes.

Yukimiya was on his heels.
Two steps behind. No fouls. No gaps.
His face unreadable, as if he was calculating the opponent’s heartbeat with every touch.

Kurona cut in from the right. Diagonal run. Surgical.
But Mitsubi had seen it coming.
Switched flanks.

A blazing side-pass.
Player No. 14—tall, long legs—was already there, waiting like a train on a rail.
One touch to adjust. Leaned in for the shot!

Gagamaru didn’t wait.
Didn’t hesitate.
Launched himself like a damn wall and threw his body in front of goal.

“THUMP!”
The shot slammed straight into his chest.
He staggered back half a step, caught himself—but the ball shot upwards like it hit a springboard.

The air froze.
A Mitsubi player rose into the sky.
A header—no pause, no mercy. Angle sharp. Brutal.

CRASH!
Crossbar.

The metal sang with the force of a hammer strike.
The stands: “AAAAHH—!!”

A roar of disappointment.
And a wave of undeniable thrill.

Now this was a match.

E.G.'s corner.

Aryu sat cross-legged, calmly updating the diagram with colored pens.
“Midfield line’s height is meh… but their third line’s a damn fortress.”

His fingers slid over the paper, adding a few more marks.

Otoya didn’t say a word.
He flipped the page. Sketched out the latest flank play. Circled the clash between Kurona and No. 6.

Tokimitsu—who had been sweating nonstop since kickoff—narrowed his eyes, staring hard at every pass and touch.
“I… I think they’re baiting the left wing.”

Ego didn’t argue.
Just nodded once, arms crossed, eyes locked on the tactical board.
He was tracing the rhythm of Mitsubi’s buildup, cross-checking every development against prior analysis.

No one else spoke.
No one needed to.

Because the hunt was still on.

.

32nd minute.
N.O. counterattack.
Not many advanced. Just three names. But each touch—precise, suffocating, like an undercurrent dragging you beneath calm waves. Right tempo. Right position. Right amount of pain.

Isagi—pivot of the whole axis.
Receives the ball from Reo after a midfield bounce.
One clean touch. Doesn’t even glance forward. Instead, tilts his shoulder right—where Nagi is gliding, smooth as a ghost across the grass.

Mitsubi’s defenders—predictably—shift their line.
A trap?
Wrong.
Isagi spins.
A full 90-degree turn. No signal. No pause.
THE SHOT!

Straight on. From outside the box.
The ball cuts through the air like a bullet, grazing the turf, curling ever so slightly toward the left post.
Mitsubi’s goalkeeper launches, fingertips just barely—
“THWACK!”

The stands erupt—
But not for long.
Because someone is already there.

Ness.

By some miracle—or some very boring, clinical calculation—he’s exactly where the ball lands.
No dramatic dive. No acrobatic leap.
He’s just… there.
Like he’d been part of the blueprint all along.

One simple touch.
Not a shot. Not even a finish, really.
Just a flick—a soft reversal of the keeper’s momentum, sketching a delicate curve into the yawning space that had just opened.

The ball slides in.
“GOAAAAAL——!!”
The crowd detonates.
A wall of noise crashes down.

“ALEXIS NESS!!!!!!!! I KNOW ITTTTTTTTT!!!”

“MY DEARRRRRR!!!!”

“NESS!!! NESSS!!!!”

“HOLYSHTTTTTTTTTTTT”

“COME ONNNNNNNNN!!!”

WHISTLE.
Score: N.O – 1, Mitsubi International – 0.

.

In the commentary booth, a voice, half-laughing in awe, breaks through:

“That’s not luck. That’s math. Isagi distorted the line, Kaiser pulled the axis wide with his diagonal drag, and Ness—Ness just signed it off like a final sentence.”

On the Mitsubi bench, the coach clenches his fists.

“We’re not losing on skill. We’re losing because they read the game faster than we do.”

.

.

E.G. Stands.
The moment the ball hit the net, the previously cold, dead-silent section of the crowd erupted like someone had set off a bomb.

“NEEEEESSSSS!!”
“OH MY GOD MY BABY BOY—!!”
“DID ANYONE GET THE SHOT? PHOTOS?! NOW?!”

Otoya screamed like he was summoning war gods, slapping his game-plan notebook on his thigh like it was a war drum.
Beside him, Tokimitsu had his hands clasped together, trembling. “I said it! I told you he’d be there! I swear I said it!!”

Aryu leapt to his feet like a runway model mid-walk, tossing aside his pen and doing a full spin: “Timing. Position. Pure elegance. This is fashion.”

Karasu climbed straight onto his chair, waving his notes like a flag: “YOU SEE THIS?! HE’S A GIFT FROM US! YOU’RE BORROWING HIM, YOU HEAR ME?!”

Meanwhile, Bachira was shrieking in incoherent noises, bear-hugging Rin while violently kicking at the seat in front like a cat trapped in a box.

And in the middle of the chaos—Ego remained silent.
He didn’t scold the kids for their outburst.
He just calmly pushed his glasses up and turned to Rin.

“That flick... not many can pull that off.”
Rin gave a subtle nod, eyes still locked on the slow-motion replay on the screen.

“It wasn’t luck. Ness always knows where to be. He was already moving the second Isagi received the ball.”

“And... turning his back to the keeper, hiding his intention,” Ego added. “Only someone who knows they’re not taking the shot would choose that angle.”

Rin didn’t respond.
But the corner of his lips tugged upward—just slightly.
Just enough to be called: pride.

On the pitch, after the goal...
Ness didn’t celebrate wildly.
He just jogged back, heart pounding, sweat dripping down his temple.

But then he looked up.
His gaze—almost involuntarily—drifted toward the E.G. stands, to the mess of black and grey shirts stuffed together.

And then... he froze for a beat.
Because what he saw was—
Otoya and Karasu hugging, bouncing like monkeys on crack.
Bachira screaming “THAT’S MY PRINCESS!!” like a banshee.
Tokimitsu praying like he was watching a miracle, face bright red, mumbling “So proud… I’m so proud…”
Aryu, now sporting a pair of sunglasses, holding up a perfect 10 scorecard like a runway judge.

And Rin—
Rin was looking straight at him.
With the smallest smile.
A nod.
Eyes lit up like sunbeams dancing across the field.

Ness blinked.

Then… he pressed his lips together and let out a breathless chuckle.
A small smile, soft as candy melting on the tongue.
No teeth, no theatrics.
But the light in his eyes—
reflected the sun behind him.

.

.

.

Tweet!!
The referee’s whistle pierced the air—
A blade slicing through the rhythm of the match.
On the scoreboard:

36^th minute.

Mitsubi was starting to unravel.

A poorly timed pass through the center skidded right past their No. 10.
A clumsy attempt at link-up play ended in a shot—
weak, directionless, and awkward.

And then—
A crude challenge near the center circle.

The yellow card was raised.
Mitsubi’s No. 5 defensive midfielder—
face blank, jersey streaked with mud—
was booked for an overly blatant shirt pull on Kaiser.

Kaiser stood.
No complaint. No protests.
Just calmly dusted himself off,
turned his head—
and smiled.
A slight tilt of the lips. Quiet mockery in pure form.

38^th minute
N.O shifted into high press.

The left wing became a blade.
Chigiri shot down the flank like a fired arrow,
his speed ripping open the wide channel.
Yukimiya followed closely behind, slipping into the role of an inverted fullback,
cutting off any retreat toward the midfield.

Each time the ball touched the sideline,
Mitsubi found themselves caged—
like mice in a wire trap.

In the center,
Reo and Hiori began weaving their axis-play web.
Short pass—pull back—pause—pivot.
Their rhythm twisted the entire field,
like twisting the neck of a bottle until it cracked.

Mitsubi’s defense was lured, drawn out,
their formation stretched thin—
a tightrope strained to the edge of snapping.

A gap opened.

Nagi moved.
No hand signal. No glance.
Just a perfectly-timed run—
and Reo, reading him like muscle memory, flicked a soft chip over the defense.

Nagi reached—
But the Mitsubi center-back had predicted it.
Closed in.
Tackled at the last split-second.

A sharp thud.
The ball ricocheted.

Three seconds—maybe less—
Isagi broke in.
He caught the loose ball from second line—
no hesitation, no adjustment—
a left-footed strike,
a clean half-volley, spinning at mid-height.

But—
the ball hit a defender,
changed direction,
and flew out over the byline.

Corner for N.O.

.

The E.G bench stirred.

Aryu unrolled the revised set-piece formation.
Tokimitsu, clutching two markers, whispered,
“There's definitely… definitely a trap…”

In the front row,
Bachira leaned toward Rin, his voice low, nearly amused:
“This is Isagi’s moment.
Dead balls like this…
It’s his stage.”

Rin didn’t respond.
His gaze fixed on the shrinking goal at the far end, bathed in late afternoon light.

In his hand, a pen spun once—then stopped.
Rin scribbled into the corner of his analysis sheet:
“If it were me… I’d strike on the second beat. When the defense shifts too hard to the near post.”

His eyes narrowed.
A hand rose to his cheek, elbow on knee.
He stared, as if through the net—
tracing the trajectory of where the ball might fall…

.

39^th minute
N.O. kept up the pressure, passing with lightning speed, each one-two like a live wire sparking down the field.
Mitsubi held firm, pulling back into a tight 5-4-1 block, sealing every gap with precision and grit.

The match had shifted into a deadlock.
Stamina began to drain. Players’ breaths fogged in the golden afternoon light like smoke from smoldering coals.
Their steps lost some sharpness, but… no one gave in.

All it would take—was a moment.
Just one perfectly timed counterattack—
And the tide could flip instantly.

41^st minute
N.O. was awarded a free kick, just off to the left, near the edge of the 18-yard box.
Not the best angle…
But far from hopeless.

Isagi stepped up.
He stood over the ball, which rested still on the neatly trimmed grass.
His dark-blue hair, damp with sweat, clung to his forehead.
The slanted sunlight cast his shadow long across the pitch—his sea-glass eyes sharpened with a glint of steel.

No one spoke.
No one moved.

The wind picked up, rustling his jersey behind him like a sail waiting to catch the breeze.
But Isagi didn’t look at the ball.
He was looking at the goal.
Not like a striker lining up a shot—
More like a man preparing to seal someone’s fate.

He stepped back.
Just one pace. No long run-up.
Only a single beat—
He struck.

A wicked curve.
An in-swinger with the inside of the foot, carving in from outside the box toward the far post.

Mitsubi’s keeper launched himself.
Arms fully stretched—
Fingertips reached!
He deflected it—just barely off its path. But not out.

The ball hit the ground.
Bounced up—right at the edge of the six-yard box.

Yukimiya came charging in, leg cocked for a volley—
But a Mitsubi defender lunged in and smashed the ball out of bounds!
It was a clumsy clearance, but powerful—
The ball soared past midfield, almost into the technical area.

.

E.G Stands.
Silence lasted exactly half a second.
Then—
“Holy hell! Who the hell plays like that?!”
“Thought it was a shot! Who knew it’d trap four defenders?!”

Bachira let out a long whistle, shaking his head slowly. “He wasn’t trying to score. That shot? Bait.”

Karasu—still sketching formation lines on his phone—nodded slightly.
“Yeah. Drop zone was right where the chaos was... He dragged everyone toward Kurona. On purpose.”

Aryu—fixing his hair in the reflection of his phone screen—huffed quietly.
“That guy’s got vision, I’ll give him that.”

42^nd minute
Mitsubi was regaining its shape.
After minutes under siege, they dropped deeper, stacking up a midline press and waiting to counter.

Number 12—nothing flashy about him, but the moment the ball hit his feet, the tempo changed.
A direct pass to the right flank—then Number 10 immediately burst forward, cutting inside in a crescent run, one arm lifting subtly as a signal.