Chapter Text
The facility buzzed with the usual noise—balls thumping against the turf, cleats scraping, players shouting instructions to each other. Rin moved silently through his stretches near the edge of the field, eyes narrowed and jaw tight. When another player accidentally brushed past him, he didn’t even look at them.
“Piss off,” he muttered under his breath, voice low and sharp. No one dared argue. Rin’s silence was a wall, and most didn’t even try to get past it.
A few meters away, Isagi sat on the turf, legs stretched out in front of him, mimicking Hiori’s careful movements. Hiori adjusted his balance, then glanced toward Rin.
“He’s never gonna change,” Hiori said with a chuckle, Kansai accent thick as ever.
Isagi shook his head lightly, eyes still on Rin. A small smile tugged at his lips. “I know… I just wonder why he’s like that. Like… who hurt him.”
Hiori shrugged, smirking faintly. “You never know people’s backstory. Maybe somethin’ happened.”
“Maybe,” Isagi replied softly, letting his gaze linger on Rin for a heartbeat longer before looking back to Hiori.
Rin, oblivious to their conversation, finished his stretches and adjusted his stance, exuding the same silent intensity he always carried. The faint scrape of cleats and soft thuds of balls hitting turf filled the space.
The shrill blue whistle pierced the hum of the facility, cutting through the steady rhythm of cleats and bouncing balls. Then the intercom buzzed to life, voice calm but commanding:
“Players, form groups of six for today’s practice scrimmage."
Team 1: Isagi, Rin, Shidou, Karasu, Hiori, Bachira.
Team 2: Kunigami, Chigiri, Barou, Reo, Nagi, Gagamaru.
"Begin preparation.”
The chatter around the facility rose instantly—some groans, some laughs, a few muttered curses. Rin didn’t react. He simply walked toward his group, expression unreadable, gaze focused forward.
Shidou was already there, grinning like always. He leaned toward Karasu, voice loud enough to carry. “Looks like we’re stuck with the silent freak,” he said, every word dripping amusement.
Rin’s eyes flicked up, annoyance flashing sharp. “Shut up,” he snapped.
Shidou tilted his head, grin widening. “Calm down, freak.”
Karasu clicked his tongue, half amused, half exasperated. “Man, you two haven’t even started playin’ yet.”
Bachira laughed from the side, rolling the ball under his foot. “Heh, this is gonna be fun.”
Rin ignored them, jaw tight as he moved into position. His movements were efficient, controlled—he wasn’t going to waste energy on Shidou’s nonsense.
Isagi settled into place a few meters away, glancing toward Rin. Even in silence, Rin drew attention—the way he moved, the quiet focus in his eyes, the simmering irritation that somehow made him more magnetic.
On the other side of the field, Team 2 took formation. Kunigami and Chigiri shared a brief grin; Barou stood tall and serious; Reo adjusted his gloves, while Nagi yawned lazily beside him. Gagamaru crouched low, already focused, ready for defense.
The whistle cut through the air—sharp and final.
Rin lunged forward the second it sounded, his body snapping into motion with perfect precision. Bachira burst past him like lightning, snatching the first touch and weaving through Chigiri and Reo with an easy laugh.
“Too slow!” Bachira called, his grin wild.
Reo hissed under his breath and lunged, his foot connecting just enough to nudge the ball away. Nagi stepped in, moving lazy as ever, but his timing was flawless—one tap, and the ball slipped through a narrow gap right to Barou.
Barou didn’t hesitate. He drove forward with sheer force, muscles tense, eyes blazing with that familiar kingly arrogance.
“Outta my way!” he barked.
Karasu intercepted, skidding into his path, cleats grinding against the turf. The impact echoed through the facility when Barou’s kick met Karasu’s block. The ball ricocheted off course, spinning wild—straight toward Isagi.
Isagi was already moving, calculating every angle in an instant. If I get it first, pass left—Rin’s open space—then he can shoot.
He sprinted, feet striking fast. Just before he reached it, Kunigami’s tall frame appeared in front of him. The clash was heavy, shoulder to shoulder. Kunigami won the push, his strength undeniable, and kicked the ball away before Isagi could react.
“Nice try,” Kunigami muttered.
But Rin was already there. He slid in clean, stealing the ball back mid-pass and flicking it behind him without looking. The move was smooth—too smooth. Shidou caught it effortlessly, grinning ear to ear.
“That’s more like it!” Shidou barked, before darting forward with explosive speed.
Barou pivoted, trying to intercept, but Shidou danced around him like it was nothing. His shot looked inevitable—until Chigiri blurred into the frame, that bright flash of red streaking past.
In a blink, the ball was gone.
Shidou’s grin faltered for half a second. “Hah. Cute.”
Chigiri dribbled fast, hair flying behind him, Reo sprinting alongside as support. Their passes were sharp, instinctive, flowing like a single rhythm—until Gagamaru, far in the back, shouted:
“Center!”
Reo crossed it mid-air. The ball curved, but Hiori read the motion early. He dashed in, cutting the pass before it reached its mark.
The field erupted again—shouts, footsteps, the echo of impact.
Isagi was already anticipating the next line of play. He called out, “Rin! Left!”
Rin glanced back just long enough to catch it. The pass came perfect, gliding through defenders. His cleat met the ball with a snap, launching it forward toward the goal.
But Gagamaru dove—arms wide, body stretching impossibly far—and blocked it with his fingertips. The ball ricocheted back into open space.
Bachira was there in a heartbeat. “Mine!” he shouted, laughing as he hooked it away from Barou’s reach.
Reo lunged. Bachira twisted mid-dribble, spinning on one foot and kicking backward toward Isagi without looking.
Isagi caught it. Every thought aligned—one more pass, one shot, victory. He turned sharply—
And the ball was gone.
Nagi stood behind him, one hand in his pocket, expression calm. “Predictable,” he murmured, tapping the ball with the outside of his foot to keep it away.
Karasu darted in from the right, slide-tackled hard, and managed to knock it loose again. The sound of the collision echoed—both players hitting the turf, panting.
The ball rolled free.
Rin was already sprinting. His eyes were locked, movements deadly sharp. He reached the ball just before Chigiri and flicked it up with the outside of his foot, spinning past him in one fluid motion.
Isagi’s eyes widened. That technique—pure instinct and precision—was beautiful.
Rin didn’t hesitate. He drew his leg back and fired. The sound of impact echoed like thunder.
The ball rocketed past Reo and Kunigami—past Gagamaru—slamming into the top corner of the net.
For a second, silence. Then—
“Goal!” the intercom blared.
Rin exhaled slowly, lowering his head, sweat running down his neck. His expression was unreadable—calm, cold, almost dismissive.
Shidou’s grin returned instantly. “Not bad, freak.”
Rin didn’t look at him. But Isagi did—eyes lingering on Rin just a moment too long, chest tight with a mix of awe and something else he couldn’t name.
The ball went back to the middle of the field as the next whistle cut through the noise, signaling reset. Sweat clung to the players’ skin, breaths sharp and uneven.
“Back to center!” the intercom called.
Rin and Shidou both stepped up without looking at each other, the air between them charged. Isagi took his spot behind them, scanning the field.
The ball dropped.
Bachira moved first—quick, playful taps, weaving between Chigiri and Kunigami with that signature grin. “Come on, come on! Keep up!”
He sent a short pass to Isagi. Isagi trapped it, pivoted, and immediately looked for his opening. Rin and Shidou were already sprinting forward, both calling for it.
“Pass!” Rin barked.
“Oi, to me!” Shidou shouted, louder, more demanding.
Isagi hesitated—just for a second. Both were open. Both perfect targets. But both were staring at each other, not the ball.
That second cost him everything.
Reo darted in, eyes sharp, cutting straight between Isagi and the two forwards. He stole the ball clean and turned it with practiced ease.
“Nice, Reo!” Nagi’s calm voice carried as he drifted forward effortlessly, reading the pass before it even came.
Reo sent it low across the field—perfect timing. Nagi barely looked; he just lifted his leg, tapping it lightly. The ball curved past Hiori and Karasu, spinning once before sliding straight into the bottom corner of the net.
The intercom blared.
“Goal!”
A cheer erupted from the other side. Chigiri high-fived Reo, Kunigami grinned, and Nagi just yawned, walking back to his side like it was nothing.
Rin’s shoulders tensed immediately. “You should’ve been watching the lane,” he snapped at Shidou, eyes cold.
Shidou’s grin vanished. “Me? You were the one standing in my damn path!”
“I was open, idiot!” Rin shot back, stepping forward.
Shidou matched his pace, chest to chest now. “You were in the way! You think everything’s about you, huh? You and your ‘I’m better than everyone’ act—pathetic.”
“Shut up,” Rin growled, shoving him back.
Shidou stumbled a half-step, then grinned again—sharp and dangerous. “Oh, you wanna go?”
Before anyone could react, Shidou swung first, a quick shove that turned into a hard punch to Rin’s shoulder. Rin’s reflexes snapped; he caught Shidou’s collar and slammed him back, their cleats grinding against the turf.
“Rin, stop—!” Isagi called, but they weren’t listening.
Karasu darted forward with Hiori close behind, both trying to pull them apart. Bachira just stood back, wide-eyed but smiling faintly. “Ah, there it is,” he muttered, almost amused.
Shidou broke free first, swinging again. The hit landed this time—Rin’s jaw snapped sideways, his teeth gritting as he shoved Shidou hard enough that both of them tumbled to the turf.
“Knock it off!” Karasu yelled, grabbing Shidou’s arm.
Rin pushed him off and stood, fists still clenched, chest heaving. Shidou wiped a smear of blood from his lip and laughed, breathless but wild. “You hit like a bitch, freak.”
That word made Rin freeze for half a heartbeat—then he lunged again, only for Hiori and Isagi to grab him this time.
“Rin, stop!” Isagi’s voice cracked with urgency.
The whistle screamed again from the intercom—long, shrill, commanding.
“Enough! Both of you—off the field. Now.”
Silence followed. The rest of the players stood frozen, watching the two of them, adrenaline still buzzing in the air.
Rin finally tore his arm free and stalked off toward the sideline, fury simmering beneath his calm mask. Shidou trailed behind him, still smirking like he’d won something.
Isagi stayed frozen for a moment, staring at Rin’s back, chest tight.
This was supposed to be a simple scrimmage. But now, it felt like the start of something much bigger—something that wasn’t going to stay contained on the field.
—
The match ended 52 minutes later in a blur of sweat and noise. Team 1 scraped out a 2–1 win, mostly thanks to Hiori and Karasu holding things together while Rin and Shidou stayed cold and distant.
By the time everyone hit the locker room, the air was thick with steam and silence.
The clang of lockers echoed through the space—metal against metal, sharp and uneven. Bachira hummed softly as he peeled off his jersey, trying to lighten the mood. Karasu muttered something under his breath and tossed a towel at him. Hiori just sighed, rubbing his neck.
Rin sat on the far bench, head bowed, towel draped over his shoulders. His jaw was still faintly red from the punch, knuckles scraped. He didn’t speak. Didn’t even glance up.
Shidou was across the room, leaning back against the lockers with a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Guess we still won, huh?” he said loudly. “Even with that holding us back.”
Karasu groaned. “Man, can you not start again?”
Shidou ignored him, eyes locked on Rin. “What’s wrong, freak? Cat got your tongue? Or you just sulking ’cause you can’t keep up?”
Rin’s grip on his towel tightened.
Isagi glanced between them, his stomach twisting. He’d seen fights before—but this was different. It wasn’t just anger. It was something sharp, buried deeper.
Hiori caught his look and shook his head slightly. “Don’t,” he murmured.
But Isagi couldn’t help it. “Rin,” he said softly, “you played great near the end. That assist—”
“Save it,” Rin cut him off. His tone wasn’t cruel, just… exhausted.
The silence stretched again, punctuated by the sound of the showers hissing in the background. Bachira started whistling to fill it, but even that felt out of place.
Shidou chuckled suddenly, loud and unbothered. “You know what’s funny?” he said, voice echoing off the tile. “You fight like your brother too. Guess being a ‘genius’ runs in the family, huh? Shame you’ll always be number two.”
Rin froze mid-motion, towel still in his hand.
Isagi looked up sharply. “Hey—enough, Shidou.”
But Shidou just laughed again, pushing off the locker. “I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking.”
The tension snapped like a wire. Rin stood abruptly, the bench screeching across the floor. His eyes were dark, breathing shallow. For a moment, it looked like he was going to swing again.
Isagi stepped between them without thinking. “Stop it! Both of you!”
Rin’s fists trembled at his sides. Then, slowly, he turned away.
He grabbed his bag and left without a word, the door slamming behind him.
The sound echoed long after he was gone.
No one moved for a moment. Then Hiori exhaled softly. “You really don’t know when to shut up,” he muttered to Shidou.
Shidou smirked again but didn’t reply.
Isagi sank back onto the bench, staring at the empty doorway. He could still feel the heat of Rin’s frustration, the weight of it lingering in the air.
Something told him this wasn’t the end.
It was just the spark.
—
The hallways of Blue Lock were quieter this late. Most of the players had already cleared out, voices fading into distant echoes.
Rin’s footsteps were soft against the concrete as he slipped into one of the smaller locker rooms on the far end of the facility — one no one bothered using. He tossed his bag down, turned on the shower, undressed, and stepped under the scalding water without hesitation.
The sound drowned out everything else — the earlier yelling, the whistle, Shidou’s laugh echoing in his head.
“Too bad you’ll always be number two.”
Rin’s jaw tightened.
Shut the hell up, antenna-headed bastard.
He pressed his palm to the tiled wall, water running down his face, hot enough to sting. His mind replayed every word, every smirk, every cheap jab — and the fact that Shidou wasn’t wrong. He hated that more than the insult itself.
After a while, he turned off the water, grabbed his towel, and dried off in silence. The steam lingered as he slipped into the bluelock pajamas, hair damp and sticking to his neck.
By the time he reached his dorm, the facility had gone completely still. Rin dropped his bag by the door and sat on the edge of his bed, running a hand through his hair. He thought, briefly, about how stupid it all was. Fighting mid-scrimmage. Letting that idiot get under his skin.
He exhaled, long and quiet.
Then — knock knock.
Rin didn’t move.
Another knock.
Silence.
Then a third.
Rin groaned under his breath and forced himself up to open the door. “…What.”
The door creaked open a fraction, revealing Isagi — also in his bluelock pajamas, hair a little damp and messy, expression uncertain.
“Can I come in?” he asked quietly.
“No.” Rin’s answer came fast, clipped. Already shutting the door.
“Wait—!” Isagi blurted before the door could shut. Rin paused, one hand still on the edge of it.
“Please,” Isagi said softly. “Just for ten minutes.”
Rin stared at him for a beat, then sighed through his nose. “Five.”
Isagi nodded quickly, stepping inside before Rin could change his mind.
Rin shut the door with a dull thud, arms crossing over his chest. “What do you want.”
Isagi hesitated, eyes flicking to Rin’s jaw — the faint bruise still forming there. “Are you okay? From earlier… your face and all.”
Rin’s expression didn’t change. He leaned back against the wall, gaze cold but not entirely unkind.
“It’s nothing,” he muttered flatly. “I’ve had worse.”
When Isagi didn’t respond right away, Rin tilted his head slightly, his tone growing sharper. “If you came here just to pity me, leave. I don’t need it.”
Isagi shook his head quickly. “It’s not pity. I just… wanted to check on you.”
Rin clicked his tongue, looking away. “Tch. You waste your time on stupid things.”
But his voice was quieter at the end, almost lost beneath the hum of the dorm light.
Finally, Isagi spoke. “You know… I don’t get you sometimes.”
Rin’s head lifted slightly, a warning flickering in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean.”
“You’re always shutting people out,” Isagi said, voice careful but firm. “Even when someone’s just trying to help. You act like you don’t care about anyone, but you do. I see it. You just don’t want anyone to see you.”
Rin’s jaw tensed. “You done?”
Isagi took a small step closer. “And whenever someone mentions your brother, you—”
The shift was immediate. Rin’s entire body went rigid, eyes narrowing into something sharp and dangerous.
“Don’t,” he muttered, voice low.
But Isagi pressed on, frustration creeping into his tone. “Why does it make you so mad? He’s your brother, right? What happened between you two that makes you—”
Rin moved before Isagi could finish. In one swift motion, he grabbed Isagi’s wrist, fingers tight and unyielding, and shoved him backward toward the door.
“Stop talking.”
Isagi stumbled but caught himself, refusing to back down. “Rin, I’m just trying to understand—”
“I said stop.”
Rin’s voice was sharper now, his breathing low and controlled — but his eyes were anything but calm.
Isagi tried again, softer this time. “You don’t have to fight everyone. You don’t have to fight me.”
Rin’s patience snapped. He reached forward and gripped a handful of Isagi’s hair — the short strands that fell over his forehead — forcing Isagi to meet his gaze.
“My past is none of your damn business, stupid ahoge freak.”
The words came out like venom, quiet but cutting deep. His eyes burned — not with anger alone, but something heavier underneath.
Isagi winced, frowning as Rin’s grip tightened for a moment before shoving him back — out the door, hard enough that it clicked shut between them.
The slam echoed down the empty hallway.
For a moment, Isagi just stood there, staring at the closed door, his chest rising and falling. Then he sighed softly, rubbing his head where Rin had grabbed him.
“…Okay,” he muttered under his breath.
The hallway lights buzzed quietly as he walked off, hands in his pockets, the weight of the argument still heavy on his shoulders.
Rin stayed inside, still standing by the door, fingers flexing unconsciously — like he wanted to punch something. Or maybe like he already regretted it.
ISAGI'S DORM
Isagi didn’t fall asleep right away.
He lay in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, replaying every second of that argument. The look in Rin’s eyes — cold, angry, but also… pained — stuck with him.
He could’ve walked away. Should’ve.
But he couldn’t shake the thought that there was more behind Rin’s walls than anyone realized.
“Tomorrow,” he muttered to himself, voice low. “I’ll get through to him tomorrow.”
—
Morning came early, light seeping weakly through the facility’s high vents. Players were already gathering for warm-ups, the sound of cleats squeaking on the turf echoing faintly.
Rin was there — early as usual, already stretching alone, earbuds in, gaze fixed somewhere far away.
Isagi spotted him and walked over before he could stop himself. “Hey, Rin.”
Rin didn’t look up. “I thought I told you to stay out of my business.”
Isagi frowned. “I’m not here to fight. I just—”
“Then stop talking.”
The tone wasn’t angry this time. Just tired. Closed off.
Isagi sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really don’t make it easy, you know that?”
Before Rin could reply, a familiar voice cut through the tension.
“Well, well, well. The dynamic duo.”
Shidou strode across the field, grinning like he owned the place. “Didn’t think I’d find you two together again. What’s the deal? Trying to fix your little lover’s quarrel?”
Rin’s head snapped up, expression sharp as glass. “Don’t start.”
Shidou tilted his head mockingly. “What, too early for you, emo freak? Or are you just mad ‘cause someone reminded you that you’ll never get out of big brother’s shadow?”
That last part landed like a hit. Rin’s jaw clenched, every muscle going taut.
Shidou smirked wider, clearly enjoying himself. “Face it — he left you behind, and you’ve been chasing ghosts ever since. There’s no point trying to talk to someone like you. Isn’t that right, Isagi?”
“Shut up,” Rin muttered, stepping closer.
“Make me.”
The words were barely out before Rin’s hand twitched, his body already tensing to swing.
Shidou grinned, eyes flashing. “There it is.”
He swung first.
But before his fist could connect, Isagi stepped in instinctively — and the punch landed squarely across his face instead.
The sound cracked through the air.
Isagi stumbled back, hand flying to his nose as blood started to drip down.
Shidou froze, his grin faltering. “…Oops.”
The entire field went silent.
Rin stood there, eyes wide for a second before his anger snapped back. “Why the hell did you get in the way?” His voice was low, sharp — but not angry at Isagi. Angry because of him.
Isagi frowned, wincing as he pressed a hand against his nose. “Both of you… stop already. It’s annoying.”
That broke the spell.
Hiori and Karasu came running from the sidelines, with Kunigami and Gagamaru close behind.
“Oi! What the hell happened?!” Karasu barked.
Hiori’s eyes darted from Shidou’s clenched fist to Rin’s trembling one. “Shidou. Enough.”
Shidou didn’t answer, just clicked his tongue and looked away.
Kunigami crouched beside Isagi, carefully checking his nose. “You’re bleeding, man.”
“I can see that,” Isagi muttered, trying to steady his breathing.
Gagamaru handed him a towel from his bag, quiet but watchful.
Karasu stepped between Rin and Shidou before it could start again. “Both of you need to cool off.”
Rin didn’t respond. His fists were still clenched, chest rising and falling with sharp, uneven breaths.
Karasu laid a hand on his shoulder, trying to steer him away. “Come on, man. Before you do something you regret.”
Rin didn’t resist, but his eyes stayed locked on Shidou until the very last second.
Shidou smirked faintly, voice low. “Heh. Didn’t think you’d need a bodyguard, freak.”
“Shut up,” Hiori snapped before Rin could turn back around. “You’ve done enough.”
As Karasu guided Rin toward the lockeroom and Kunigami helped Isagi off the field, the tension still lingered — thick, raw, electric.
The locker room door slammed open as Karasu guided Rin inside.
Rin jerked his shoulder free but didn’t leave. His breathing was still uneven, every inhale sharp like it burned.
Karasu shut the door behind them, letting the silence stretch before saying anything. The hum of the fluorescent lights filled the space — steady, low, grounding.
“What the hell was that, Rin?” Karasu finally muttered. “You trying to get benched again?”
Rin didn’t answer. He sat on the nearest bench, elbows on his knees, head low. His hair hung in his face.
Karasu sighed. “You could’ve decked Shidou and no one would’ve blamed you, but hitting Isagi—”
“I didn’t hit him.” Rin’s voice came out cold, clipped.
“Yeah, well, you might as well have,” Karasu shot back. “You think that makes it any better? He got between you two because he didn’t want another fight.”
Rin’s jaw tightened. He didn’t look up. “He shouldn’t have.”
“Maybe not,” Karasu said, leaning against the lockers, arms crossed. “But he did. Because he cares.”
Rin’s glare lifted, sharp and immediate. “Tch. That’s his problem.”
Karasu met his stare evenly. “No. That’s yours.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The air felt heavier somehow — not from shouting, but from everything Rin wasn’t saying.
Karasu rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling. “You know, it’s fine to be pissed off. You and Shidou are oil and fire — no one’s surprised you blew up. But you can’t keep acting like the world’s against you, man. Not everyone’s your enemy.”
Rin’s hands tightened into fists, the faint tremor betraying him. “You don’t get it.”
“Then make me get it,” Karasu said calmly.
Rin finally looked up, eyes hard, words low and deliberate. “People don’t listen. They just talk. They pretend to understand, then use it against you later.”
Karasu didn’t interrupt. He knew better.
Rin looked away again, voice quieter now. “That’s why I don’t say anything. It’s easier.”
Karasu’s expression softened, just slightly. “And how’s that working out for you?”
Rin didn’t answer.
His fingers flexed once against his knee, then stilled again. His reflection stared back faintly from the locker door — tired, bruised, and guarded.
“…He shouldn’t have stepped in,” Rin muttered finally. “Idiot could’ve gotten hurt worse.”
Karasu gave a faint huff. “He did get hurt. But he still stepped in, didn’t he?”
That shut Rin up completely.
After a long pause, Karasu stood straight and headed for the door. “You should apologize. Not because you owe him, but because he’ll actually listen if you do.”
Rin stayed silent.
Karasu sighed and pushed the door open. “You’re lucky he cares enough to get in your way. Most people wouldn’t.”
When the door closed behind him, Rin sat there for a long time — silent, jaw tight, the faintest flicker of something complicated in his eyes.
He wasn’t angry anymore. Not really.
Just… unsettled.
And even if he’d never admit it out loud, the thought of Isagi getting hurt because of him made his chest feel tight.
IN THE INFIRMARY
The infirmary smelled faintly of antiseptic and cold metal. Isagi sat on the bed, one hand pressing a folded towel to his nose while Hiori rummaged through a drawer.
Kunigami stood nearby, arms crossed, his expression hovering between concern and exasperation. “You seriously need to stop throwing yourself into fights that aren’t yours, man.”
Isagi sniffed lightly, voice muffled. “I wasn’t fighting. I was stopping one.”
Hiori turned back, holding up a small packet. “Uh-huh. And how’s that working out for you?”
Isagi frowned as Hiori opened the packet and pulled out a nosebleed plug. “Hold still.”
“I can do it myself—”
“Yeah, sure.” Hiori leaned in anyway and carefully inserted the plug into Isagi’s left nostril. “There. All fixed, hero.”
Kunigami huffed a quiet laugh. “You look ridiculous.”
“Shut up,” Isagi muttered, half-smiling despite himself.
Gagamaru appeared briefly in the doorway, towel around his neck. “Ego wants both Rin and Shidou to cool off for the rest of the day. You’re fine to rest.”
“Got it,” Isagi said, waving faintly.
As the others filtered out to go back to practice, the room grew quiet again. Isagi sat there for a moment, rubbing his neck, mind wandering back to Rin’s face — the fury, the regret that flashed too fast for anyone else to notice.
He sighed softly. “He’s impossible.”
But his voice carried something closer to admiration than frustration.
—
Night fell fast over Blue Lock. The main field was dark, save for a handful of overhead lights flickering across the turf. The hum of the goalie bots echoed through the space — mechanical, precise, relentless.
Isagi walked out onto the field, stretching his shoulders, deciding he’d train a bit before turning in. Maybe clear his head.
But someone else was already there.
Rin stood near the center, firing a ball cleanly past one of the moving goalie bots. His movements were sharp — every strike smooth, measured, as if he’d been at it for hours.
Isagi slowed his steps, watching for a second before finally calling out. “Rin.”
Rin didn’t look up right away, just retrieved the ball and lined up another shot.
Isagi took a few more steps forward, voice softer this time. “Could I… practice with you?”
The ball stilled under Rin’s foot. His brow furrowed slightly, the memory of Karasu’s words flashing back. You should apologize.
He wouldn’t. He didn’t do apologies. But maybe this… this was close enough.
“Fine,” he muttered, still not meeting Isagi’s eyes. “But only because of earlier.”
It wasn’t much.
But coming from Rin Itoshi, it was everything.
Isagi’s whole face lit up — a small, honest smile breaking through, his cheeks faintly pink under the lights.
Something that simple — that quiet permission — meant the world to him.
Because it was Rin Itoshi who said it.
—
Rin took his shot first — a clean strike that sliced through the air, hitting the top left corner of the net. The bot dove, but too slow.
Isagi watched, impressed but careful not to show it too much. “You never miss, huh.”
Rin didn’t respond. He just retrieved another ball, adjusted his footing, and kicked again — this time harder, faster. The impact echoed across the field.
Isagi set down a ball beside him, stretching his shoulders. “Do you always practice this late?”
Rin didn’t answer. He just kicked again — the ball slamming into the top corner of the net, perfect placement. The bot froze too late.
Isagi lined up his own shot and fired. His ball curved wide, just missing the mark.
“Tch.” He grit his teeth, stepping forward to grab it.
“Too much spin,” Rin muttered without looking. “You’re trying too hard.”
Isagi shot him a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Rin finally turned, his tone flat. “You’re thinking about everything but the goal. That’s why you miss.”
“Then what are you thinking about?”
Rin’s eyes flicked up, sharp, cutting. “Winning. What else?”
Isagi couldn’t help but huff a small laugh, half from frustration. “You really don’t know how to turn it off, do you?”
Rin ignored that, lining up again. His next kick was brutal — fast enough to make the bot’s sensors glitch before it even reacted. The impact echoed across the steel walls.
Isagi stepped closer, picking up another ball. “You’re not the only one trying to win, you know.”
Rin’s jaw tightened. “Then prove it.”
They both fired at once. Two blurs cutting through the air — Rin’s slicing left, Isagi’s bending right. Both goals hit. The scoreboard lit up with two near-identical timestamps.
Neither said anything, but the tension in the air grew heavier — not rivalry in words, but in silence, in the unspoken need to outdo the other.
They kept shooting. Again. And again.
Rin’s control, Isagi’s calculation.
Each one trying to break the other’s rhythm.
The sound of impact echoed through the facility, faster, louder — until it was impossible to tell whose ball hit first anymore.
When the last one flew past the bot, Rin caught his breath, sweat dripping down his temple. He turned away, muttering, “That’s enough. Go back to your dorm.”
Isagi hesitated. “You really hate losing, huh.”
Rin shot him a glare that could’ve cut glass. “I don’t lose.”
And just like that, he turned his back, retrieving another ball.
Isagi stood there for a moment longer, jaw tight, eyes fixed on Rin’s silhouette under the bright lights.
Then he exhaled softly — half in disbelief, half in admiration.
“…Right. You don’t.”
He left the field quietly, and as the doors shut behind him, another sharp strike echoed through the empty space —
cold, precise, relentless.
ONE HOUR LATER
The ball hit the net with a heavy thunk. Rin exhaled through his nose, muscles burning. The field lights buzzed overhead, pale and harsh against the empty space.
That was enough.
He picked up his towel and left without looking back.
The shower hissed to life, steam rising around him. Hot water hit his skin, washing away the sweat and the noise that still lingered from earlier — Shidou’s laugh, Isagi’s voice, the split-second flash of blood.
He scrubbed harder than needed, jaw tight. The heat didn’t help. Neither did thinking.
When he finally turned the water off, everything went quiet.
Too quiet.
He stared at his reflection in the mirror — tired eyes, wet hair sticking to his forehead, that same blank look he hated.
He muttered to himself, barely audible.
“Pathetic.”
The dorm hall was empty when he walked back. Lights dim. The air cold. His footsteps echoed as he pushed open his door.
Inside, everything was still — clean, organized, empty.
He tossed the towel on the chair and dropped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling.
His mind kept circling back.
Isagi stepping between him and Shidou.
The blood.
That stupid expression on his face — worry mixed with something else Rin couldn’t name.
He rolled onto his side, pressing his face into the pillow.
“Tch.”
Sleep came slow.
—
The next morning was heavy with fog from morning showers. Players filed into the training hall, the sound of cleats scraping against the floor breaking the stillness.
Rin was already there, tying his laces. Same neutral expression. Same silence.
Isagi walked in a few minutes later with Hiori, both mid-conversation. Their voices dropped the second they saw him.
Rin didn’t look up.
The intercom crackled: “Pairs assemble for one-on-one drills.”
Everyone moved into place. The usual chatter started — Karasu teasing Hiori, Chigiri stretching beside Kunigami, Nagi and Reo talking, Gagamaru and Bachira sharing water bottles, Barou muttering something about idiots wasting time.
Rin tuned it all out. He just focused on the ball in front of him.
Across the field, Shidou’s voice cut through the noise. “Morning, freak.”
Rin didn’t reply. Didn’t even glance his way.
Shidou snorted. “Silent treatment again, huh? Whatever.”
Karasu gave Shidou a look, muttering under his breath, “Not the time, man.”
Shidou just smirked, jogging off to pair with someone.
The whistle blared. The one-on-ones started.
The other players split apart, pairing up fast.
Barou’s eyes locked with Rin’s. A silent agreement — or challenge. Either way, it was happening.
The King vs the Prodigy.
Hiori muttered under his breath, “Oh boy.”
Isagi glanced between them, unease flickering in his chest.
The field fell quiet as they stepped into the center.
Barou rolled his shoulders, smirking. “You sure you’re up for this, Itoshi? Don’t wanna get embarrassed in front of everyone, do ya?”
Rin didn’t reply. He adjusted his wristband, eyes cold, unblinking.
Barou’s grin widened. “Figures. All ice, no talk.”
Rin’s gaze sharpened — but still, silence.
The whistle cut through the air.
Barou started first, charging forward, raw power behind every stride. The ball stayed glued to his foot as he angled in.
Rin met him halfway. The collision was brutal — shoulder against shoulder, cleats scraping the floor.
Barou snarled, forcing his way through. Rin matched him, low and focused, reading every twitch in his movement.
Barou feinted right. Rin didn’t bite. He kicked out, clean and precise, stealing the ball mid-motion and spinning away.
“Too slow,” Rin muttered.
Barou turned, teeth grit, sprinting back. Rin was already gone — slicing through space, calculating angles.
One touch. Two. He set up for the shot — lightning-fast — but Barou slammed into him from the side.
The ball ricocheted off Rin’s foot and rolled wide.
Barou let out a dark laugh. “Not so perfect now, huh?”
Rin straightened, breathing steady. “You rely on force because you don’t have precision.”
Barou stepped closer, grin fading. “And you rely on being better than everyone else to feel something.”
The tension cracked in the air. For a second, it looked like they’d argue.
Then the whistle cut through again. “Reset!”
They backed off — but neither turned away.
Karasu leaned toward Isagi and whispered, “It’s like watching two lions fight over air.”
Isagi didn’t respond. His eyes were on Rin — the way his jaw clenched, the faint tremor in his hands.
The next round started. This time, Rin had the ball.
Barou crouched low, ready. “Come on.”
Rin moved — sharp, surgical. Every step calculated, cold. He cut left, then right, slicing through Barou’s defense.
Barou lunged to intercept, but Rin flicked the ball past him in one clean motion — a ruthless nutmeg.
Gasps and low whistles rippled through the field.
Barou’s eyes widened, fury flashing red.
Rin didn’t stop. One more stride, one more shift — then a shot that thundered into the top corner of the net.
The hall echoed with the sound.
Rin didn’t celebrate. He just turned away, muttering, “Know your place.”
Barou’s glare could’ve burned holes through the floor.
Isagi couldn’t help but feel it — admiration, tension, maybe even fear. Rin was terrifying when he wanted to be.
The whistle blew again. Rotation switch.
Barou stomped off, muttering curses. Rin brushed past without a word.
Isagi watched him go, something heavy settling in his chest.
That wall around Rin wasn’t cracking — it was just getting taller.
The next whistle cut through the buzz of the room.
“Next pair!”
Nobody moved.
Eyes flicked toward Shidou, who stood dead center, grinning like he owned the place.
He spun the ball on his fingertip, pink-streaked hair sticking out in every direction. “Aw, what’s wrong? No volunteers?”
Silence.
Karasu scratched his neck, murmuring, “No one wants to die today, huh…”
Shidou laughed, sharp and loud. “Guess I’ll have to pick myself—”
“I’ll go,” Isagi said suddenly.
Heads turned. Even Rin looked up from across the field.
Shidou’s grin widened like a shark’s. “Ohhh, Ego-boy wants a shot at me? This’ll be fun.”
Hiori whispered, “Isagi, are you—”
But it was too late. Isagi was already stepping forward, steady but tense.
⸻
They squared off at the center line.
Shidou rolled his neck, still smiling. “You should’ve stayed on the sidelines, pretty boy. I don’t play nice.”
Isagi’s voice came quiet but firm. “I’m not here to play nice. I’m here to win.”
The whistle blew.
Shidou exploded forward—pure chaos and speed. His movement was unpredictable, all jagged angles and raw instinct.
Isagi read the first feint, but Shidou switched legs mid-step, snapping past him with a burst of acceleration.
He’s faster than before, Isagi thought, spinning on his heel. He sprinted back, cutting off Shidou’s lane.
Shidou stopped, chuckled, then kicked the ball up—high—and volleyed it without looking.
It slammed into the top bar and dropped straight down, inches over the line. Goal.
The others let out low whistles.
Shidou smirked, pointing his thumb at himself. “That’s how you do it. Art, baby.”
Isagi’s jaw tightened. “Again.”
Shidou tilted his head. “Huh?”
“Again,” Isagi repeated, fire in his eyes.
The whistle blew a second time.
This round, Isagi started with the ball. His mind raced, gears turning—predicting, adapting, anticipating Shidou’s madness.
He sprinted in, baiting Shidou to press. At the last second, he cut right—Shidou followed too fast, leaving a sliver of space.
Isagi took it, charging in for the shot.
“Gotcha,” Shidou muttered, lunging sideways.
His foot blocked the ball mid-kick. The rebound shot upward. In a flash, Shidou twisted mid-air and slammed it toward the goal—his body arched like some kind of monster.
Bang.
Another score.
Isagi froze, panting. His heart hammered. I saw it—but couldn’t stop it.
Shidou landed, laughing low and breathless. “You’re fun, Isagi. But you still think too much. Soccer’s not chess, it’s blood.”
Isagi glared, frustrated. “Then why are you here? To bleed everyone dry?”
“Exactly,” Shidou said with a grin, walking off.
Isagi stood alone for a moment, the sting of defeat burning under his skin. Across the field, Rin watched silently.
Their eyes met for half a second—Rin’s cold, unreadable; Isagi’s sharp, determined.
Then Rin turned away first.
The whistle blew again. “Rotation!”
35 MINUTES LATER
After the rotations were done, the scores flickered onto the massive digital screen above the field, glowing bright against the dim training hall lights:
Rin 1 – 0 Barou
Shidou 2 – 0 Isagi
Hiori 2 – 1 Gagamaru
Bachira 1 – 0 Karasu
Nagi 3 – 1 Reo
Chigiri 1 - 1 Kunigami
A tense silence settled over the room — only the sound of cleats shifting on the floor and quiet breathing filled the air.
Then Ego’s voice crackled through the speakers, cold and precise:
“Hello, my little diamonds in the rough. I want you to look at those scores and reflect on why you lost.”
The room froze.
“If you won, ask yourself if it was luck — or ego. If you lost, figure out what you lacked. And then fix it. Because in Blue Lock, weakness isn’t forgiven — it’s erased.”
A long pause.
“Dismissed.”
The intercom clicked off, leaving only the hum of silence behind.
Some players walked off muttering; others stayed still, eyes glued to the board.
Isagi exhaled, shoulders tense.
Rin didn’t even look up. He already knew his score — and to him, that was all that mattered.
LOCKER ROOM
The locker room was thick with steam and silence. The usual chatter was gone — replaced by the soft hum of showers and the dull thud of cleats hitting the floor.
Isagi sat on the bench, towel draped around his neck, staring down at his hands.
Hiori was across from him, drying his hair with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t take it too hard, man. You went against a lunatic.”
Isagi chuckled weakly. “Yeah… I noticed.”
Karasu passed by, tossing his shirt into his locker. “No shame in losing to Shidou. The guy plays like a damn animal.”
“Still doesn’t make it easier,” Isagi muttered, rubbing his temple.
Across the room, Rin stood at his locker, back turned to everyone. He moved quietly — methodically — peeling off his sweat-soaked shirt and pulling on his jacket.
He didn’t say a word.
The sound of running water stopped as one by one, players left.
Barou stormed out first, muttering curses under his breath. Shidou followed soon after, grinning to himself, humming some off-key tune as he vanished down the hall.
Only a few remained — Hiori, Isagi, Rin.
Hiori glanced at Isagi. “You gonna be alright?”
Isagi nodded faintly. “Yeah…”
“Alright then,” Hiori said softly. “Don’t lose sleep over it. You're a good player.”
“Thanks..” Isagi said, though his eyes stayed on his hands.
Rin finally shut his locker, slipping his bag over his shoulder. His expression was unreadable, movements calm, distant. He didn’t even glance at them as he left — just brushed past, the scent of soap and cold air trailing after him.
Isagi watched him go until the door clicked shut.
Hiori nudged him. “Still thinking about him?”
Isagi sighed. “It’s hard not to.”
“Then stop thinking,” Hiori said with a faint smirk. “Start doing.”
Isagi laughed under his breath but didn’t answer. His thoughts lingered on Rin’s back as it disappeared down the hallway — the same rigid posture, the same invisible wall no one could climb.
He clenched his fists lightly. I’ll figure you out, Rin Itoshi. Even if you hate me for it.