Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Most of the time, Isagi wonders if people can understand him clearly. It's not because he has a hard time explaining himself, but because he wonders if people can understand what he means exactly.

Isagi is not a bad communicator. If he's at fault, he says sorry. If he's pissed, he'll say "damn" or "fuck," depending on how irritated he is. If he's happy, he’ll say that he is joyful. 

The problem, sometimes, is that people simply misunderstand him. And Isagi finds it exhausting to correct whatever notions people form about him. A good example is back before he joined Blue Lock, he said he wanted to be a striker at the nationals; his coach laughed in his face and told him he was better suited to play as a midfielder instead. He communicated exactly what he wanted, but the man still misunderstood him.

A particularly exhausting match had Isagi catching his breath, wheezing as he pumped his lungs full of oxygen, closing his eyes in exasperation. Bundesliga, interviews, magazine photoshoots, and endorsements, one right after the other, Isagi would be lying if he said he wasn't tired.

He’d spend ninety minutes sprinting until his lungs burned like they’d been scrubbed with sandpaper, only to be shoved into a suit for a magazine photoshoot that lasted six hours. 

He is constantly translating himself: translating his plays for his teammates, translating his "ego" for the media, and translating his very existence for a public that wanted to consume him. He felt like a piece of gum that had been chewed for too long; the flavor was gone, and he was just being stretched thinner and thinner.

He was tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix. It was a weary echo in his ears from the constant flash of cameras and the relentless drone of reporters asking the same five questions in three different languages. His brain felt like a browser with fifty tabs open, all of them playing a different video of his own highlights. Every muscle fiber in his legs felt like it was being pulled by a violin bow, taut and vibrating with a fatigue that had moved past sore and straight into numb.

Because of the fame brought to him by Blue Lock and solidified by joining the professional ranks of Bastard München, false news had started spreading. The media was obsessed with Isagi in a borderline creepy way. One tabloid claimed he was spotted in a gay bar; another insisted he was "sleeping his way to the top," which made no fucking sense —he was literally the top-ranked player.

Then came the gala to celebrate the pre-championship of the Bundesliga and by some extent, the Copa del Rey and the UEFA cup. Isagi, as always, was invited. He was tired of the suit pinching his shoulders, tired of the fake pleasantries, and most of all, tired of the world projecting a version of Isagi Yoichi that he didn’t recognize. He just wanted the noise to stop.

Fuck, maybe Isagi could take more time off next season.

Looking around, he saw the chaos of the world's elite. Bachira was busy holding a one-sided, high-energy conversation with Bunny Iglesias, who only responded with a tight-lipped, pained smile as if he were praying for someone to take away his misery. 

At a nearby table, a literal disaster is brewing: Kaiser, Rin, and Sae were actually sitting at the same fucking table while Leonardo Luna chirped away about something. He didn't even want to look for the other coaches, but in the periphery of his vision, he could see Nagi, who's seated beside Hiori, Reo, Kunigami and Yukimiya, staring at him with that blank, unblinking intensity. 

Across the table, he can also see Hugo sitting perfectly, a book in his hands. While Loki is striking up a conversation with Shidou and Charles. 

Further to the right, Barou and Aiku are leaning over to Karasu, who's showing them something on his phone.

The room was spacious, but the music wasn't loud enough to mask the rising murmurs of gossip. A waltz played in the background, making it feel like a stiff private gala rather than a real party. Isagi checked his watch: quarter to midnight. He bit his lip, already dreaming of a quick bath and passing out straight to his bed.

Erik Gesner, one of his Bastard München teammates, sauntered over. Out of the corner of his eye, Isagi saw Ness clutching a glass of wine so hard it looked like the stem might snap. 

Gesner approached Isagi, who was sitting alone; he had already told Bachira he needed space, and Bachira, bless him, had announced loudly to everyone that "Isagi is exhausted, so leave him alone!" before skipping off to strike a conversation Bunny and Lavinho.

Gesner had been genuinely bothered by the "gay bar" article. He wasn't homophobic —atleast that's what he thinks (nevermind he calls people and the Blue Lock guys, smegma), and honestly, it wouldn't be a surprise if Isagi were into men, or if men are into Isagi Yoichi. 

Isagi is, objectively speaking, damn pretty— but curiosity was eating Gesner alive.

“So Isagi, how are you?”

Isagi blinked, offering a polite, practiced smile. 

“I’m okay. Just tired.”

Gesner laughed, “Yeah, no wonder no one wanted to approach you.” He noticed several pairs of eyes, including Rin’s and Kaiser’s, darting toward their table. He saw the white haired lazy guy and Bunny gave him a cautious loom. Hugo's posture is stiffening and Shidou raising an eyebrow. There is a smug confidence in Gesner's stance, enjoying the fact that he is the only one Isagi was talking to.

Isagi stood up, fully intending to go home, but Gesner followed suit, leaning in with a hush-hush tone. 

“Hey, do you know that article? About that... uhm, gay bar you were seen at? Is it true?”

Isagi stopped. The fatigue hit a boiling point. He didn't have the energy to explain that the gay bar rumor was only a half-truth born from being hopelessly lost in the winding streets of Munich at 2 AM. He didn't have the energy to explain that the only establishment open had been that club, or that he’d only gone inside to ask for a taxi, because his phone died and no one was stopping to accommodate him.

He especially didn’t have the energy to explain his actual secret.

The truth was, Isagi didn't even have an active sex life; he was too busy dreaming about goals to bother with another person. Instead, his bedside drawer held a collection of toys and lube. 

For Isagi, it is purely a stress reliever, a way to force his high-strung nervous system to shut down after a match. He’d discovered that internal stimulation, whenever he plugs two fingers in his hole, hits a specific nerve that relaxes his pelvis and melts the tension in his lower back better than any sports massage ever could. 

And the orgasm that follows after anal stimulation is better than any relaxant he could take. But does that make Isagi gay? He's not sure and it doesn't really matter, because he meant what he said in an interview that gender, labels, or orientation doesn't matter to him. 

What only matters to him is the ego of a person.

But looking at Gesner’s prying face, Isagi realized that explaining the nuances of his fingering-my-ass recovery therapy would only make things a thousand times worse. 

He was done explaining himself. If they wanted a story, he’d give them one they’d never forget.

He looked Gesner dead in the eyes, his expression flat and dangerously sassy.

“Does it matter whose dick I ride?” Isagi snapped, exasperation in his voice. He did not mean to be rude but he really just wants to sleep for the next twenty-four hours.

“I’m still going to be the best striker in the world.”

The silence that followed is a vacuum of pure shock. As if the waltz dramatically stopped.

Sae merely arched an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Isagi’s retreating back with a newfound interest in the striker's ass. No fucking shame in Sae’s part.

Rin’s fork clang to the expensive ceramic plate, Kaiser looked like he'd been slapped, surprise on both of their features. Their usual arrogance is gone as they stare at the spot where Isagi used to be. Ness, shakily put his wine glass down the table, gulping as he did so.

Bunny’s deep red eyes are uncharacteristically dilated, and Bachira lets out a rugged intake of breath.

Luna let out a dark, delighted chuckle, musing aloud if the little egoist was that aggressive in every position. At the Manshine table, Nagi stared blankly at Isagi's back. Shit, shit, he wants to grab Isagi's waist.

Reo felt his hand tremble. What the fuck was that.

Chigiri stares dumbfounded. Kunigami stood like a crumbling statue of moral confusion, Hiori let out a gasp, eyes blinking trying to repeat what Isagi just said, and Kurona began vibrating, muttering about "positions, positions" as he struggled to process the information Isagi just dropped.

Further across the room, the chaos only intensified. Yukimiya adjusted his fogged-up glasses, he hadn't seen that coming, while Loki had a stunned look on his face to the sheer balls it took to end a career-ending rumor by making it a threat. 

Charles Chevalier kicked his feet in a manic fit of giggles, desperate to see how this "wildcard" would play and he loudly exclaimed that Isagi looks pretty as a “bottom!”. Shidou, who truly felt the spark, said something along the lines of "I'm coming for you, I'll make you burst, Isagi!".

Barou, Aiku, and Karasu damn near plummet to each other when they caught what Isagi said.

Even in the shadows of the periphery, players like Hugo looked on in utter bewilderment, and a distant Kira Ryosuke, who joined from side B and is now playing for a league in France, clutched the table napkin in his hands.

Without another word, Isagi turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the entire professional football world, from Real Madrid to Bastard München, to lose their collective minds in his wake.

Fuck it.

His reputation be damned. It didn't matter; he’d score his goals and climb his way to the top regardless of what they thought happened behind closed doors. But to devour the world tomorrow, he needed to shut his brain off tonight. Because even the demi-god of soccer needs a recharge.

He had a bed to get to, and he wasn't planning on sharing it with anyone.

Chapter Text

“Isagi is gay.” Reo paces back and forth in the lounge of a Mikage-owned building in Germany, having stayed there to handle some personal matters that required his attention. Along with him are his friends— err, rivals. 

Nagi is sprawled on the sofa staring at the ceiling after finishing a game on his phone, palms a little sweaty. Chigiri sighs as he grabs another cup of chai tea, and Hugo, his teammate from Arsenaly, sits in a chair across from them, blank book between his fingers.

Hugo is no stranger anymore, having been around them enough since the wee days of the U-20 World Cup, which is already two seasons ago. Naturally they'll always meet in the same environment, and the future world cup. The next league starts in about two weeks, which leaves them with nothing but more training, and more media appearances.

“It’s not like it’s bad,” Chigiri sighs, nearly spilling his chai, as he frowns. “Isagi has this magnet around him that just pulls people in. Men are no exception.”

“He just said he rides cocks. A penis,” Hugo replies to no one in particular. It doesn’t necessarily mean Isagi is gay, but the implications are there. “If he finds it stimulating to do so, I don’t see a problem.”

“Huh, probably why people say the French are good at fucking,” Chigiri muses. “Not like I’ve experienced it. Hell no.”

Hugo lets out a tiny smirk, uncharacteristic given how he is usually one giant personification of 'I don't give a fuck.' “If given the chance, I’d love to be the one Isagi rides.”

Nagi suddenly sits up straight. Reo pauses to send Hugo a deep frown, while Chigiri looks ready to chuck a sofa pillow across the room.

“I’ll be the one to fuck Isagi,” Nagi declared. It wasn't a question; it was a statement of fact, delivered with the same flat tone he used to describe a tap-in goal.

​Reo’s entire body went rigid. He swung a velvet throw pillow with enough force to make a thwack sound against Nagi’s head. “The hell are you saying so casually?!” Reo’s eyebrow was twitching violently. “You think you’re the only one who’s thought about it, you lazy genius?”

​Nagi didn't even flinch, just adjusted his shoulder that was almost hit. “So you want to fuck Isagi first then, Reo? Is that why you’re so loud?”

Before Reo can even retort, Chigiri and Hugo are already interjecting. This stupid conversation is making Reo's blood simmer in irritation, as to the reason why, Reo himself is not sure.

“Don’t leave me out,” Chigiri adds, leaning back with a competitive glint in his eyes. “If we’re talking about who Isagi chooses, I think I’ve got a better lead than a lazy bone, a European guy, and a rich kid.”

Hugo didn't look offended. Instead, he raised an elegant eyebrow, his long lashes fluttering against his cheek in a way that looked almost mocking. “Didn't Yoichi say it doesn't matter whose cock he rides?”

​The French midfielder frowned then, his expression shifting into something more serious. “So the rumors are true that he's seeing someone then.”

​The silence that followed is heavy.

​Reo felt a vein pop in his forehead. The irritation that had been simmering was now a full-blown boil. He hated how they were all dissecting Isagi’s words like they were analyzing game matches.

​“He was exhausted!” Reo snapped, throwing his hands up in frustration. “He probably didn't even know what he was saying. You guys are acting like he just dropped a sex tape.”

It had to be the exhaustion, Reo gnaws at his bottom lip. Fuck, it had to be.

​Nagi, who was still sitting up, looked between Hugo and Reo with a dull stare. “But he said it so clearly. Isagi doesn't usually lie when he's that angry.” He paused, his brain actually working for once, then a frown spread across his handsome face. “If he is seeing someone... I’ll just have to make him forget them.”

​“In your dreams, Nagi,” Chigiri huffed, crossing his arms. He looked annoyed now too. The idea of some random person having Isagi's attention while they were all stuck in training was actually grating. “If he’s seeing some nobody from a bar, then his standards have hit rock bottom.”

​Hugo hummed, tapping a finger against his chin. “Or maybe he just wants someone who isn't a teammate. Someone who will work him out to his full potential.” He looked at Reo, Nagi, Chigiri and smirked. 

“Which means most of you are already disqualified.”

Chigiri narrowed his eyes at Vivian, “You're one to talk to.”

​Reo groaned, burying his face in his hands as he slumped back into his chair. The poised, billionaire-heir persona is now completely gone, replaced by a guy who looked like he was one headline away from a nervous breakdown.

​Reo can practically see it: Isagi, usually so composed, completely undone. He imagines the way Isagi’s thighs would tremble as he tried to keep his balance, his fingers digging into someone's shoulders for leverage. 

He’d be breathless, making those small, sharp sounds, the kind of ego-shattering noises that would make any man lose his mind.

​He pictures Isagi’s back arched, his sweat-slicked skin glistening under soft lights, his usual pretty face melting into something hazy and vulnerable as he ride, ass bouncing up and down to whoever the lucky bastard was. 

Isagi wouldn't be passive; even in bed, he’d probably try to take control, moving with a desperate intensity until he is completely spent.

Shit. Reo clenches his fist. “I am seriously going to lose my mind because of him.”

Ness has no particular feelings towards Isagi Yoichi. Sure, he wished that Yoichi would just grovel and die at his feet because Kaiser had an interest in him, but that wasn't the whole story.

The truth probably stems from Alexis thinking that Isagi should have an interest in him instead. Was he jealous that Michael was obsessed with Yoichi in the NEL? That’s not the whole truth of it. Alexis is fucking pissed because he’s not the only one now who thinks the doe-eyed striker is interesting. 

And yes, Alexis Ness is only admitting it to himself now. Because he’s not feeling like himself for the last few weeks after Yoichi officially joined Bastard München.

“Ness.” Isagi saunters over to him, completely unaware of the fact that he looks infuriatingly sexy, his shorts are taking up the shape of his thighs… and his ass.

Isagi arches an eyebrow, blinking in that really pretty way that Ness can’t help but store in the I Hate Isagi Yoichi files in his brain.

“Alexis, are you alright?”

To say his breath hitched is a fucking understatement. Ness is sweaty and nervous, his palms itching beneath his athletic gloves.

Wait, what the hell did Yoichi just call him? Since when are they on a first name basis? Shit?! Didn’t people in Japan make a big deal out of that?

Isagi sighs, but nonetheless, he continues. “I know we didn't have the best cooperation in the NEL, but it doesn't have to stay that way—”

Ness is zoning out. What the actual hell? Does Yoichi always smell this good? They’re supposed to be sweaty and disgusting; as a matter of fact, Ness is used to stank body odor given how much time he spends around other guys, but why the fuck does Yoichi smell so pleasant?

Is he born smelling like this, or what? He smells of fresh linen with a subtle note of something sweet that Ness can’t quite pinpoint.

“—the last game was good, Ness. But I suggest reading my position from the left side of the field. That way, I feel like we can both visualize the same goal—”

Wait, didn't Yoichi just admit that he’s gay? Or that he loves to ride a dick? Shit. Ness’s eyes trace the subtle baby fat of Yoichi’s cheek. Disgusting. Cute. Distracting. Those doe-eyes look like they’ll swallow you whole if you so much as look at them. And those lips— pouty at the bottom and perfectly balanced at the top.

He imagines Yoichi’s pink lips wrapped around a cock, and Ness disgustingly feels himself strain against his boxers. God damn it.

Ness mentally slaps himself. Since when did he find Yoichi… attractive?

What the fuck.

“—I hope you don't take this the wrong way. I'm merely suggesting we can up our play so we can beat Real Madrid next season. You have skills, Ness—”

At this, Ness’s distracted eyes perk up. Is he complimenting him?

What? What.

“My skills?” Ness squeaks out, his voice cracking in a way that makes him want to swallow his own tongue. Tone baritone as he felt his cock twitch at the sudden compliment from this, not-so-very attractive striker.

Isagi nods, looking far too sincere. Eyes blinking up at him. “Yeah. Your technical passing is top-tier. If we synchronize our vision, we’d be unstoppable. Think about it, Ness. Just the two of us, dismantling the world's best defense.”

Just the two of us.

The phrase echoes in Ness’s head, colliding violently with his loyalty to Kaiser, who is now in Real Madrid, and well, Alexis is still keeping in touch with him (can’t teach an old dog new tricks after all). He looks at Isagi— really looks at him, and notices a stray bead of sweat rolling down the side of Isagi’s neck. His brain immediately suggests licking it off.

“I,” Ness stammers. “I don't take orders from you!” Ness finally snaps, though it lacks his usual bite. He takes a frantic step back, tripping over a nearby ball. Fuck, he’s pathetic. “And stop calling me by my first name! We aren't friends, Yoichi!”

Isagi blinks, a small, amused smile tugging at his lips. “Okay, Alexis. I’ll see you at the meeting later.”

As Isagi walks away, giving a casual wave, Ness stands there frozen. His heart is doing backflips, and his mind is a dumpster fire of conflicting emotions. He needs to find Kaiser. He needs to tell Michael how much he hates Isagi.

He needs to visualize how to kill Yoichi, not how to bend him over the mattress, or how pathetic he– Ness, will look once Yoichi ride him.

But as he watches the way the striker’s shorts cling to his thighs with every step, Ness realizes with a sinking feeling that he’s in deep, deep trouble.

“Shit, damn it,” Ness whispers to the empty field, his face burning. “I’m going to need a very cold shower.”

Noel Noa let out a long, heavy breath as he rubbed his temples. He was supposed to be a man of pure logic, but trying to manage this team or hormonal young adults is like trying to calculate a trajectory in the eye of a hurricane. 

He could feel a migraine pulsing behind his eyes.

"I know that this is probably my fault!" Erik Gesner exploded, his face turning a blotchy red as he pointed a trembling finger at himself while talking to Bachman who genuinely looks confused and concerned. "If I hadn't cornered Isagi about that rumor, I wouldn't have had to hear it! I wouldn't have known that he rides dicks! That he's fucking gay!"

Birkenstock didn't even look up from his locker. He just blinked slowly with his usual deadpan expression. "If you don't like Isagi, why are you so bothered by his sexual preferences? It doesn't change his goal count."

"It changes the locker room atmosphere!" Gesner scoffed, looking like his head might actually pop off.

Theo Sachs, the team's designated pretty boy, leaned back against the wall. He had that model-perfect jawline and hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo commercial, a shame really that he kept it in a band back in BLTV. He watched the chaos with a thoughtful look on his face.

"Huh. Come to think of it," Theo mused, his voice sounding entirely too calm for the situation. "Doesn't Isagi kind of look like, hmmm, feminine?"

"He's got those huge eyes," Theo continued, tilting his head as if he were analyzing a painting. "And he's quite small compared to the rest of us. But sill quite muscular. He looks like a doll until he starts insulting everyone on the field,” Theo bit his lower lip as he rolled his shoulder, “but damn, he looks so pretty even when he’s insulting us. If he's as aggressive as he says he is, I can see why he’s so confident being at the top–“

Theo wiggles his eyebrow, “–riding.”

"Shut up, Sachs!" Gesner barked, though he looked like he was suddenly picturing it too.

In the corner, Ness looked like he was suffering through a total system failure. He was gripping his water bottle so hard it made a loud, plastic crunching sound. His face was a messy mix of horror and a very visible, very awkward flush.

"Enough," Noa finally snapped, his voice cold enough to drop the temperature in the room. "We are here to play football. I don't care who Isagi rides as long as he’s in position for the next drill. Now get out there before I bench the lot of you."

But as the players filed out, the silence was way too heavy. Theo was still smirking, and half the guys were looking everywhere but at each other. 

The egoist had won. Isagi had dropped a bombshell and walked away, leaving the most rational team in the world in a state of complete sexual confusion.

Noa looked at the boy standing in the doorway, and for the first time in his professional career, his Master Striker brain struggled to find a logical path forward. 

Isagi stood there with a slight tilt of his head, his dark hair slightly messy, and those wide, clear eyes blinking in genuine confusion.

He looked entirely too innocent for a man who had just told Gesner what he likes to do.

“What was that about?” Isagi asked, stepping further into the room. “The guys are all bright red. I passed Gesner in the hall and he looked like he was about to faint. Did I miss a position change?”

Noa closed his eyes in exasperation. He took a long inhale of air, letting the silence hang until the only sound was the hum of the locker room air conditioning.

“You need to be careful with what you say, Isagi Yoichi,” Noa finally said, his voice flat but carrying a weight that made Isagi pause.

“Sorry?” Isagi let out a confused sound, his brow furrowing. 

Noa didn't respond immediately. Instead, he allowed himself a single second to actually look at the striker. He saw the soft curve of Isagi’s jawline, the way his training shirt hung off a frame that was deceptively lean, and the pouty set of his lower lip as he waited for an answer.

He internally agreed with what the team is saying earlier, Isagi Yoichi is attractive. 

Noa is a man of cold facts. The fact is, Isagi had a face that looked like it belonged on a porcelain shelf, paired with a personality that wanted to tear the world apart. It is a jarring, high-contrast combination. The kind of honey trap that you’ll want to keep licking even after falling into it.

The kind of aesthetic that made people, apparently his entire team, lose their ability to think rationally.

Noa knew exactly why they were all spiraling. He could see the magnetism everyone kept whispering about.

“Is it about the ride thing?” Isagi asked, his eyes widening as he finally caught on. “I was just tired, Master Noa. I wanted Gesner, and like, everyone to stop asking about my personal life.”

“The method you chose was... inefficient,” Noa replied, finally opening his eyes. He saw Isagi’s throat bob as he swallowed, the movement drawing attention to the soft skin of his neck.

God help this team, Noa thought silently.

“Just go to the field, I’ll handle the meeting later,” Noa sighed, giving him a look that bordered on pity. “And try to keep your mouth shut. For the sake of the team’s mental health, if not your own.”

As Isagi turned to leave, Noa watched the way the other players in the room tracked his movement like heat-seeking missiles. Noa felt a rare spark of sympathy for them. It was hard to play rational football when the ace striker was walking around looking like a doll and talking like a deviant.

Isagi shrugged, still looking like he didn't quite get the gravity of the situation. 

“Whatever you say, Master.”

Noa felt his eyes widen for just a second. In any other context, it was a title of respect, a recognition of his position as the world’s best. 

But coming from Isagi right now as he left, with his lips still slightly parted and that realization as to why everyone is hooked on Isagi Yoichi, it sounds inappropriate to Noa. 

Fuck, maybe he’s the problem and his student is just being grateful. But the way he said the word ‘Master’…

It made Noel logically understand the way his team is struggling at the possibility that Isagi is attracted to the same sex. His grip tightened on the board where he was explaining their strategy earlier. 

If Isagi Yoichi is looking for a Master, Noel would just have to ensure he remained the only one qualified for the job. 

After all, it was only logical to keep the team's most valuable asset under the strictest possible supervision.

Chapter Text

The atmosphere outside the cafe near the PIFA headquarters in Europe is, well, kind of suffocating. Less than two weeks before the league officially starts, the media presence requires a series of joint sessions and press tours. 

That is how PXG’s Karasu Tabito and Shidou Ryusei ended up meeting with Hiori, Kurona, Yukimiya, who were all playing for teams across Europe.

Otoya didn’t bother with their little get-together, having busied himself on a date with women of varied nationalities. He said something about tasting the world since he can’t bag Isagi from Japan, and at that point, Karasu didn’t bother with him anymore.

None of them fully acknowledge that the only reason they were gathered in this specific outdoor seating area, whispering like conspirators, was because Isagi Yoichi had recently announced that he rides dicks.

Karasu snickered as he watched Shidou saunter over. Shidou is dressed in a casual black shirt that clung to his masculine physique, paired with an Adidas jacket. Further to the left, Karasu raised an eyebrow because he had not expected Kira Ryosuke to be here.

It wasn't like Karasu hated the guy. In fact, Karasu thought Kira was not ordinary. He had the looks and that National Treasure aura. But still, the guy had lost in the first selection of Blue Lock, so his ego was clearly lacking– err, a work in progress.

Despite Ego Jinpachi saying he’s not letting Kira play, eventually he relented during their match in U-20 against England, and that’s all Karasu bothered to know, because that’s all there is to know about Kira Ryosuke anyway.

Besides, Karasu ain’t nearly as interested in him as he is in a certain other doe-eyed striker.

They had all been right there when it happened. No cameras or reporters, just an unfiltered moment in the party where Isagi had been cornered by his teammate asking about his gay bar presence and certain distractions.

“I still can't believe he actually said it,” Yukimiya murmured. He adjusted his glasses, though his eyes were still wide. Even now, he can feel his cheeks heat up. “Directly to our faces.”

“Does it matter whose dick I ride? I’m still going to be the best striker in the world,’” Shidou repeated. He tasted the words like they were a five-star meal. He let out a sharp cackle and leaned his head back with his hands in his pockets. “Damn, Isagi is a total freak! He looked so bored when he said it, too.”

Shidou whistles.

“Fuck, he was so sexy when he said that.”

Kira sat right beside Kurona. He looked like his entire worldview had been dismantled. He was the golden boy who played clean football. To hear Isagi, the person who had crushed his dreams, casually drop a line like that was short-circuiting his brain.

“It was the way he looked when he said it,” Kira muttered. His voice was a little lower than usual. “He looked... I don't know. He has such a delicate face. You don't expect those words to come out of someone who looks like that.”

Karasu’s grin widened. He could see the gears turning in Kira’s head. “That’s the ordinary Kira Ryosuke talkin’,” he drawled, his Kansai lilt thickening with amusement.

“You’re stuck on the contrast, aren't ya? That face versus the absolute worst of his mouth. It’s high-level psychological warfare, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“He knows, he knows,” Kurona chimed in. He nodded his pink braided hair bouncing rapidly. “Calculated, calculated... or not?”

Hiori let out a soft sigh and leaned his cheek on his hand. “I don't think it was calculated at all, y’know?” he said, his soft, polite Kansai-Kyoto accent smoothing over the tension. “That’s just Isagi. He’s so focused on his ego that he doesn't realize how much of a rocket of information he’s just droppin’ on us. He thinks he’s being logical.”

“Logical?” Karasu barked a laugh. “There’s nothin’ logical about the way the room went silent. Did you see the look on the German guys' faces? Half of ‘em looked like they were suddenly re-evaluatin’ their entire weekend plans.”

“To get in his pants, probably.” Shidou mumbled as he crossed his arms, clearly irritated at the thought, ignoring the glare Yukimiya and Kira sent his way.

“He’s got everyone hooked,” Yukimiya replied after he sighed. His tone thoughtful. “It’s one thing to be a great player, but to be that bold? It makes people look at him differently.”

Karasu crossed his arms and looked at the table. “The guy isn't even my type,” Hiori snickers in a really sarcastic way (as if saying that the extraordinary Karasu Tabito is a liar) that had the Crow glaring at him.  

“Too much ego. But,” Karasu coughed and looked away, his voice dropping into a rough mumble, “I guess when he gets all flustered after a goal and his face turns that bright pink color... he’s got a bit of a cute side. Just a bit, mind ‘ya.”

Hiori let out a soft, knowing sigh. “A bit? Isagi is a dangerous person ‘cause he has no idea what he does to people.”

Hiori pulls out his phone and scrolls through his screen. “I mean, look at this. I was supposed to be analyzin’ his off-the-ball movement, but I always get distracted.”

He turns the screen around. Multiple gasps are heard around the table.

It is a massive gallery folder simply titled 'Isagi Yoichi.' It is filled with high-definition shots: Isagi wiping sweat from his neck, Isagi biting his lip while looking at a monitor, and a devastating photo of him sleeping with his mouth slightly open.

Another picture was of Isagi doing a particular yoga pose that had his round ass up in the air. The blue uniform they usually wear looks so tight against his tight ass, and thick thighs.

Fuck, he looks so cute. 

“Hiori!?” Yukimiya chokes. His glasses fog up instantly. “Is that... is that him in his training underwear? Why is it so zoomed in on his waist?”

“Wait, swipe left!” Kurona scrambles over. His eyes are sparkling. “Quality, quality! Best angles, angles!”

Kira leans in. His face is a mix of horror and intense fascination. He is supposed to hate Isagi, he already declared himself as the king of Isagi haters, but as he stares at the photo of Isagi Yoichi looking up with those big, watery eyes, a pout on his lips, as if he is in the middle of begging for something… Shit. Kira feels his knees go weak.

He really does look like a doll.

“Give me that!” Shidou lunges for the phone, but Hiori expertly swipes it back.

“No sharin’. This is for my personal study, y’hear?” Hiori says. His eyes curve into a terrifyingly sweet smile.

Yukimiya narrowed his eyes at Hiori, while Kurona huffs with a pout on his lips. The midfielder is really sadistic.

“You’re all pathetic,” Karasu mutters, even though his eyes are glued to the last image he catches a glimpse of. He pauses and then whispers, “Hiori... AirDrop me that shower one later, will ya?”

Yukimiya bit his lower lip, “Uh, Hiori add me on that too.”

All hell breaks loose as Shidou tries to tackle Hiori for the phone. Kira, sitting near a now-bouncing Kurona, clutches his chest while staring at the cafe entrance. He looks as if he is waiting for his executioner to walk in at any moment, waiting to be looked at with that same expression he saw before they first entered Blue Lock’s doors together. He remembers being enthralled by the complete, utter fascination forming on Isagi’s face when Ego presented his philosophy.

Well, damn it.

The former National Treasure of Japan is falling, and he is falling hard.

Shidou cackles and reaches into his jacket with a feral grin. With a sharp thwack, he slams a matte-black American Express Centurion Card onto the table right over Hiori's coffee.

"Alright, Hiori, name your price," Shidou purrs, his eyes wide and manic, calling Hiori by his name means serious business. "Anything. Just send me that sleeping beauty and his yoga pictures right now."

Hiori doesn't even blink. He just tilts his head, his Kyoto accent coming out smooth as silk. "It’s a temptin' offer, Shidou. Really, it is. But y’know... some things are just priceless. Money can’t buy the way Yoichi looks when he's half-asleep and reachin' for a pillow."

"Damn!" Shidou pouts, slamming his fist on the table and making the spoons rattle. "I'll let you kick near the penalty next match! Free goal! Just give me Isagi’s pics!"

Karasu leans in, his eyes darting between the Black Card and the phone. "Oi, Hiori... if you're not gonna take the bribe, let me at least negotiate a middleman fee. I'll help you organize the folder if you give me a copy."

"Karasu, what?" Kira gasps, though he is still staring at the screen from a distance, his face a bright, tomato red. "We shouldn't be... we shouldn't be monetizing Isagi's…” Kira’s brain refused to cooperate, torn between hating Isagi and desiring him, “this is wrong."

"Shut it, National Treasure," Karasu snaps, mole moving with his sneer. "Your pupils are dilated. You're down worse than any of us. You ain’t the one doing the right thing here."

Rumors of Isagi’s dick-riding declaration have clearly traveled from the private gala to the Ubers headquarters in Italy, carried, of course, by the football players themselves. 

Barou Shoei is currently scowling at his locker, his thumb hovering over a text thread from the Ubers group chat that is blowing up with hearsay.

Another fucking-peasant-of-a-teammate is sending pictures from a particular photoshoot for a popsicle brand featuring Isagi. The idiot is saying some shit along the lines of asking the Japanese members for help in asking Isagi out. 

Barou remembers his name, Peron. That son of a bitch is declaring his intent to court Isagi? The fucking audacity.

Beside him, Oliver Aiku is leaning against a locker, slinging a towel over his nape and watching the King’s expression with a lazy and knowing smirk.

"You’ve been staring at that screen for ten minutes, King," Aiku says, his voice smooth and teasing. "Should I ban them from sending Isagi’s pictures? Snuffy gave me the power, anyway."

Aiku laughs as he catches another glimpse of the photos. In one shot, Isagi is posing with the popsicle in his mouth, his expression deceptively innocent. Aiku has to bite his inner cheek; the visual is doing far too much for his imagination, and it isn't a popsicle he's picturing in Isagi’s mouth right now.

Barou’s grip on his phone tightens until the casing groans under his hand. "Shut up. That peasant is just talking nonsense to get a rise out of people." Barou is about to say me, but he’ll be caught dead before he ever admits that. "It’s disgusting. It’s pathetic."

“Is it?" Aiku laughs, stepping closer to catch a glimpse of the message from Barou’s phone. 

Peron is subtly asking if Isagi’s favorite food is indeed kintsuba, as he apparently plans to surprise him at their next friendly match. "Because your pupils are blown, and you've saved the photo of Isagi sucking on a popsicle already."

Aiku whistles low, “I respect that for personal use.”

He can't even blame his fellow Uber players in the group chat for losing their minds. With those beautiful, deep-blue eyes and that surprisingly lean frame partnered with his kind demeanor outside the field, Isagi is, objectively speaking, infuriatingly pretty. 

"Though, I can't really fault them," Aiku adds, his voice dropping to a hum. "He's got a face that makes you want to see just how much it takes to break that composure."

Aiku laughs as he shakes his head, regret masking his tone, "Should've collared him when I had the chance.”

Barou hisses, “Fuck you.” 

His thumb twitches, nearly dropping the phone. Before he can bark a worse retort, Don Lorenzo skids into the locker room, his gold teeth glinting under the lights. He’s holding his own phone up, cackling as he scrolls through the same chat. 

"Oi, Barou! Did you see? Peron is asking what kind of food and flowers Isagi Yoichi likes!" Lorenzo leans over Barou's shoulder, his lanky frame draped like a zombie shadow. "I told him to buy him a diamond collar instead! A high-spec egoist needs a high-spec leash, right?"

"I am going to kill you and him," Barou mutters, his aura beginning to swirl like a suffocating cloud as he properly organizes the inside of his locker, anything to distract his hands from accidentally finding Lorenzo and Aiku’s faces. 

"I am going to kill Peron, and then I am going to find Isagi and grind him to pieces."

“Jealousy is a heavy crown,” Aiku chirps, thoroughly enjoying the shit show. He leans in, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on the latest photo Peron forwarded to the chat, a candid shot of Isagi laughing, his eyes bright and far too inviting. “But I have to agree with them on one thing. In that lighting, Isagi really does look like something you'd want to get home to after a football match.”

Aiku suddenly gets a bright idea, chuckling. “Like a wife.”

Lorenzo cocks his head, his golden teeth catching the light. “Hmmm, you have a point.” The Ace Eater grins, “Wouldn’t mind for Isagi to take care of me.”

“Doesn’t Isagi clean well, too? I always see him during the Neo Egoist League cleaning after München,” Lorenzo chuckles, “This is why the other New Gen Eleven are probably after him, huh?”

The thought Aiku plants in their heads takes root instantly. Barou’s mind traitorously supplies an image of Isagi, pretty with an apron and looking domestic, cleaning the house and welcoming him home after a long day on the football field.

The mental image makes Barou feel like he is burning alive from the inside out. Balls tightening against his boxers. What the fuck is up with him?

Shit, damn it.

Barou seethes, holding a fresh towel. He needs to take a hot bath, scrub away all the thought of Isagi Yoichi being his wife, and renaming the worst rival (love) of his life to Barou Yoichi. 

"Isagi is a fucking parasite!"

Snuffy adjusts his grip on his phone. He wipes the sweat forming on his forehead with a towel etched with the Ubers logo. For the last ten minutes, he has been on a call with Chris Prince, of all people.

“I’m telling you, Snuffy!” Chris is actually complaining to one of his rivals, now that raises flags for Snuffy, he can’t decide whether it’s a green or a red one. “He apparently said it at the private gala!”

Yes, the Master Striker from Ubers had heard of it, from Don Lorenzo who was teasing a pissed off Barou. He had to step in because Barou threatened Lorenzo that he would ‘punch him so hard his golden teeth will become bronze,’ and Oliver Aiku, in all his big and muscular glory, was actually struggling in holding back the King.

He inwardly sighs, these brats are actually cutting into Marc Snuffy’s lifespan.

He watches as Chris Prince groans, looking just as distraught as he did the last time he lost a championship to Noa.

“Now two of my players are not functioning! Especially Nagi, that kid! He has completely lost his motivation!” Chris exclaims, his English accent sounding particularly strained. “He just sleeps in the middle of the field, he threatened to transfer to Noa’s team once. God save me, Marc!”

Chris dramatically wails as he poses for a camera.

Snuffy sighed, again. That man is complaining while in the middle of a photoshoot.

Snuffy rubs the bridge of his nose. "It's the same here, Chris. The rumor has poisoned the well. Though, looking at it..." Snuffy pauses, he remembers the pictures of Isagi that were sent as a meme to the Ubers group chat, even before Peron showed interest. He recalls Lorenzo sending one that focuses on Isagi Yoichi’s pretty face. He recalls Oliver Aiku sending a flood of hearts. Which is followed by Barou sending an angry voice message telling Lorenzo and the rest to pretty much, fuck off. 

"You have to admit, the boy has a certain... aesthetic appeal."

Chris stops mid-flex, his expression shifting from frantic to uncharacteristically quiet.

He leans closer to the phone camera.

"Right? I thought it was just me. There’s something about those eyes. They’re far too large and too adorable for someone who talks about ending football careers."

"Isagi has a nice bone structure," Snuffy agrees, his voice lowering instinctively. "Almost feminine, if you ignore the homicidal look he gets on the game."

"Exactly!" Chris whispers, suddenly looking over his shoulder toward the door as his assistants walk out. "But keep your voice down. If Noa hears us talking about his pupil like this, he’ll find a way to logically explain why we both deserve to be benched for the rest of our careers."

Snuffy nods solemnly. "Noa is terrifying when he's protective. Let’s just agree that the boy is a talented menace, and a very, very attractive one. Let’s leave it at that."

"Agreed," Chris sighs, finally relaxing his bicep as he prepares for another round of camera flashes. He pauses, a hungry look entering his eyes. 

"You think I can borrow Isagi for a while?"

Snuffy actually laughs, a dry, pitying sound. "My kids and your brats would actually bury you alive before you can touch a hair on Isagi's head. And Noa?” 

Snuffy shakes his head.

“Noa would eat you alive, Chris. Don't be stupid."

Isagi’s favorite pastime is his alone time. It’s not like he hates his teammates from Bastard München, or that he dislikes his teammates… friends? from Japan, but deep down, once in a while, he needs a moment of respite. 

No one actually stays in the Bastard München dorms anymore. Sachs, Gesner, Birkenstock, and even Ness all have apartments and houses near the headquarters, but Isagi still chose to stay here. He prefers waking up to football, and sleeping from exhaustion due to football.

He bit his lip as he stretched himself out. Two fingers trying to massage his prostate, his gummy walls wantonly making a squelching sound.

Fuck, the stress is really getting to him. 

He could watch porn; he already had a site open, his search history filled with bottom getting cock POV. He preferrs not to see actual people fucking.

As for why? He wasn't even sure himself. Maybe he just liked to imagine himself being the one getting fucked down instead.

“Ah, ughhh,” Isagi moaned, throwing his head back as he inserted an average-sized dildo. The fullness and stimulation, he had come to realize, was the only thing that could really make him cum. 

He bit his lip; the stretch is so delicious. The video showed a masculine top hitting the tight ass of a bottom, and Isagi imagined a faceless figure doing the same thing to him.

Isagi wasn't even picky; he just wanted someone, something, to relieve the stress. But as a top athlete, if people were to find him with a partner, no one could really tell what would happen. It’s like the football world has internalized homophobia. There’s still a stigma around sleeping with men, as if people haven't been doing it throughout history. (Cue the Romans and Greeks' "best friends.")

He tightened his grip on his phone, his knuckles white as he watched the rhythm on the screen. He didn't want a face, didn't want a name, and he did not need a boyfriend. Those things carried expectations and baggage he didn't have the energy for. He just wanted the weight, the heat, and that specific, overwhelming sense of being taken over.

"Please," he whimpered, his voice cracking in the empty dorm room.

He pumped the toy faster, his hips arching off the bed as he chased that mounting pressure. His vision began to blur, the pixels on the screen merging into a haze of skin and movement.

In Isagi’s mind, the faceless figure leaned over him, pinning his wrists to the mattress with a grip that felt like iron. He could almost feel the phantom heat of a chest pressing against his own, the heavy friction of someone fucking him until he couldn't breathe.

His breath came in ragged hitches. The internal stretch was hitting that perfect spot with every thrust, sending jolts of electricity straight to his spine and his now weeping cock. He felt his toes curl, his body trembling on the edge of a cliff he’d been climbing all day. His cute dick now starting to spurt precum.

“Right... there...” he gasped, his eyes rolling back.

The video reached its climax, the top on the screen letting out a guttural sound that Isagi mirrored perfectly. He didn't even have to touch himself; the sheer intensity of the simulation and the friction inside him were enough. 

With one final, deep thrust that he made against the toy, his entire frame shudders, and Isagi’s world went white. He let out a choked-off cry, his back arching into a bow as his muscles spasmed. The release is violent and hot, a total system override that washed away every ounce of stress.

Perfect. Just exactly what he needs.

He slumped back into the pillows, his chest heaving, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. The dildo remained inside of him, a heavy reminder of the fullness he craved. As the silence of the room returned, Isagi stayed still, staring up at the ceiling with glazed eyes and a messy, yet satisfied smile.

His limbs felt like jelly as he blindly reached out, his heavy, post-orgasm fingers clumsily fumbling around the nightstand to plug his phone into the charger. 

He had no clue his thumb clipped the screen in his haze, completely oblivious to the interface flashing as he accidentally tapped the shortcut widget for the Blue Lock official app, instantly initiating a verified player live-stream.

The phone slipped from his loose grip, landing face-down on the soft blanket right beside his pillow. The camera was completely blacked out by the fabric, but the microphone remained wide open, broadcasting audio directly to the global server.

For thirty agonizing seconds, thousands of fans and every single awake egoist on the planet were hit with a notification that shattered the app.

Isagi Yoichi is LIVE.

What followed was half a minute of breathless audio from post-orgasm of Isagi Yoichi. 

“Ah, mhmmm,” Isagi moans as the squelch of the toy against the warm lube drags along his gummy walls. 

The world listened to the erotic sound of Isagi's cute whimpers as he slowly removes the dildo inside of him, the soft rustle of sheets, and a low, dripping-wet whine as he shifted against the mattress, letting out one final, shuddering sigh of pure ecstasy before his body completely relaxed.

As the app’s safety timer automatically cut the stream due to inactivity, Isagi closed his eyes, drifting off into a deep sleep.

Isagi didn't need a boyfriend, a fuckbuddy, or a scandal. 

He just needed this, to lose himself in the dark where the only thing that mattered was how good it felt to be completely undone. People could whisper all they wanted about his personal life, but he had absolutely no intention of sharing the title to be the number one striker. 

Because when the lights came back on, Isagi Yoichi belonged entirely to himself, and he is going to keep it that way.

Apparently, it only takes thirty seconds for the entirety of the Blue Lock app, or rather, project to crash.

What…

What the fuck was that?

Across a hundred-plus screens, almost fifty-plus egos shattered simultaneously. The football world completely lost its mind, brought to a grinding halt by a mere thirty seconds of their beautiful egoist moaning and breathing into an open mic.

Is Isagi with someone? Is he riding the lucky fucker? 

Across Europe, one striker tightened his grip until his phone casing shattered into cracks. Two phones were smashed directly into locker room walls in a fit of violent denial, and three devices were thrown to the ground in sheer disbelief. 

In Madrid, a striker’s jaw dropped so hard his breath hitched, his eyes blown wide with possessiveness, screen cracked in the middle. The other striker from Madrid crushed the phone in his hands, veins angry at the sheer thought of Isagi fucking someone other than himself. The smash of a phone into a wall was heard from the locker room, where a midfielder is trying to calm his nerves.

Another midfielder in Germany nearly dropped his laptop into his lap in sheer disbelief. The other ginger-haired muscular man playing for a different team, nearly dropped the barbell to the ground, almost crushing his feet, taken by surprise when he tuned in to Isagi’s thirty-second live.

In Italy, someone cracked the phone with his blank screen, his face a furious, burning crimson, while a zombie-like defender cackled hysterically in the background, and a heterochromatic captain had to close his eyes and bite his lip to steady his own racing pulse. 

In England, a red-headed speedster froze mid-stride hands tightening around the small device. A purple-haired heir dropped his smooth facade entirely as his eyes narrowed into a fierce glare, jealousy and irritation simmering in his veins. While a lazy genius blinked at the notification in mute shock, his indifference instantly replaced by a tight, uncomfortable knot in his chest, without noticing the screen of his phone fracturing under his grip. 

Another genius midfielder playing for a team in England, slammed his phone into the table where a blank book is open, the screen smashing into pieces. 

Over in Barcelona, a creative prodigy stared with wide, unblinking eyes, completely forgetting his music that he usually plays when he’s practicing dribbling, while his teammate’s jaw tightened into a rigid and dangerous line, the phone now destroyed to bits against his big, scarred hands.

Over at the PXG facility, things went from zero to a hundred real quick. The wild demon is literally tearing at his roots, letting out this crazy, breathless laugh like he was losing his mind. The contrarian followed suit, laughing at the absurdity, joining the demon, irrational jealousy now simmering in their belly.

Right next to them, the normally chill and smart midfielder totally lost his cool, clicking his tongue and gripping his phone so hard his knuckles turned white, a cracking sound can be heard. Right in front of them, their French master striker during the NEL, and now their teammate, the fastest prodigy in the world— completely froze, his calculated mind short-circuiting as he stared at the screen in stunned silence. 

Even miles away, the guy who got kicked out of the program early on, now playing for a team in France, could only stare at the notification, his jaw locked as a toxic mix of bitterness and pure jealousy completely ate him up inside.

It didn't stop with the youth. 

Even the world's elite were dragged into the broadcast's pull. 

In Germany, at his private gym, the world’s number one striker paused his midnight weight training, his normally stoic, unreadable face twitching as he stared down at the now inactive live-stream on the bench. 

It seems the master striker from Italy is the only one that shows his concern, as he quickly sent a message to Isagi regarding his circumstances, offering his help to the poor boy should he need it.

In England, a hot-headed master striker nearly choked on his protein shake, his loud boasting cutting off into a stunned, wide-eyed silence. 

In Barcelona, a flamboyant veteran burst out laughing, though his eyes narrowed with a sudden, dangerous curiosity. The scion of Madrid, runs a hand through his hair, citing that he desires to play with him again.

Even deep within the monitors of the Blue Lock control room, a cynical, shaggy-haired director stopped typing mid-sentence, his hand freezing over his coffee cup as his dark eyes locked onto the spiking global server metrics. 

Interactions are good, more engagement, more money. Yet the mere thought of the striker he’s been building from scratch debasing himself… 

It’s fucking annoying. 

Clearly, Isagi Yoichi needs to be disciplined.

Chapter Text

In his dream, Isagi is being thoroughly pampered, spoiled to the brim. 

A faceless figure dressed in a loose yukata, one that is practically slipping off his shoulders to reveal broad shoulders and a well-defined chest. The man tenses his abs as his imaginary hands grip Isagi’s waist with a bruising intensity. He cannot make out the skin color of the man, all Isagi knows is the fullness he feels between his thighs.

Isagi pants, reaching down to touch the man beneath him with pure and lustful want. He shakes, a thrill running down his spine. His thighs tremble violently as he impales himself again and again on the man’s cock, entirely in control. The faceless man just lets him, completely yielding because he absolutely loves it when Isagi dominates.

Below him, the figure lets out a low, needy groan, attempting to flip him over to take the lead.

Isagi hisses, slapping the man's hands away and pressing him firmly back into the mattress. “No,” Isagi growls, his eyes flashing with a dark egoistic hunger.

And the faceless man, pathetic as he is, will keep his hands to himself. Not wanting to disappoint the beauty that’s blessing him by riding his cock.

“You’re such a good boy,” Isagi croons, as he rolls his hips, taking the cock deeper, the man’s heavy balls slapping the round cheeks of his ass. And Isagi delights in it. Because the power dynamic is intoxicating.

The faceless man completely melts under his command, whimpering as Isagi rides him mercilessly, demanding every ounce of his submission.

The one in control here is not the one whose cock is inside the beautiful egoist. And the man is sure damn lucky that Isagi is riding him.

The figure pants, his voice a gravelly whisper. “Isagi Yoichi,” he moans, completely broken.

“…Sagi Yoichi…”

“Yoi..”

“Yoichi…”

“Yoichi!”

Isagi jolts awake, a harsh gasp tearing from his throat. He immediately groans, squinting through the dim light only to find the crusty reality staring back at him: dried cum is smeared all over his thighs and abdomen. He shivers, the cold Munich air from his barely-opened window passing by his naked lower half.

Fuck, damn it.

Suddenly, his brain registers the absolute war zone happening outside his subconsciousness. 

Someone is violently banging on his door, the doorbell is ringing because some fucker is pushing it every two seconds, and his phone on his side is buzzing so hard it is practically vibrating itself off the edge of his bed. 

Everything is loud, everything is sticky, and everything feels completely overwhelming. Because as his memory sluggishly kicks into gear, he realizes he has apparently passed out the night right after masturbating himself into oblivion with a flesh-colored dildo.

Damn it.

Holding his breath, Isagi swings his sticky legs over the side of the bed, grabbing his aggressively vibrating phone just to make the screen shut up.

He taps it open.

Isagi stares at the glowing screen. His heart stops. His fingers frozen into place because the more he scrolls through the notification badges, the more it seems like it’s never ending. The dried cum on his body suddenly feels like the least of his problems.

From the other side of the front door, a very familiar, urgent voice laced with concern speaks. Voice muffled by the wood.

"Yoichi! Open up!”

What could this even be? What the actual fuck happened last night?! Isagi’s trembling hands turned his phone to his drawer, screen down. He turned off the alarm. Up until now, someone is still calling him. His phone is still vibrating like the vibrator that’s been in his cart for weeks now that he’s eyeing to purchase.

Did he accidentally post his nudes? That can’t fucking be it because he’s careful with that kind of shit. Why did Noa sent him a message? Is he going to finally get kicked out of the starting line? He’d rather bury himself alive.

Or maybe if he grovels at Noa’s feet and pleads with Ego he’ll still be a starter striker for Bastard München.

Panic surges through his veins, he had never felt this way before even when his career hangs by a thread back in the first selection in Blue Lock, but he’s certainly feeling it now. Did I leak something? Isagi thinks.

 No, that’s impossible. It can't be.

Isagi haphazardly runs to the bathroom, almost slipping on his own rug in the process.

“Wait! Just a moment!” he shouts toward the front door, his voice cracking from sheer anxiety.

His heart slams violently against his ribs. He sprints back to the bed, snatches the lube and the offending flesh-colored dildo, and shoves them into the very back of his deepest drawer, slamming it shut with a loud thud.

Then, he bolts into the bathroom. He doesn't have time for a full shower, so he turns the faucet on full blast, cupping freezing water in his hands and aggressively, furiously scrubbing with soap the dried fluid off his stomach and thighs. He wipes his skin raw with a towel until it turns a bright, irritated pink, then yanks a pair of wrinkled sweatpants over his damp legs.

He removes his cum-stained shirt and throws it on the laundry basket.

Realizing the bedroom smells faintly of sweat and sin, he grabs a bottle of Febreze Textilerfrischer off the counter. Hands shaking, he frantically sprays the entire room like a madman, coating the bed, the curtains, and the air in a suffocating cloud of Aprilfrische (April Fresh) scent.

He opened the window, letting some air in for ventilation.

Coughing through the mist, he takes one deep, terrified breath, walks over to the front door, and clicks the lock open.

Standing on his doorstep is Alexis Ness.

The Bastard München midfielder looks completely out of his mind. His hair is disheveled, his face is pale, and his magenta eyes are wide with a frantic, unhinged mixture of desperation and sheer disbelief. He’s gripping his phone like a lifeline.

"Yoichi," Ness breathes out, his voice trembling as he pushes his way past the doorframe before Isagi can even stop him.

​He immediately sniffs the air, his nose wrinkling as the overwhelming, chemical scent of Aprilfrische that hits him like bricks smacking his face. His eyes dart around the messy room, tracking the unmade bed, the discarded clothes, and the heavy atmosphere.

​“Is someone here with you?” 

Ness asks, looking at Isagi’s panicked (but still pretty) face, his voice dropping into a desperate whisper. Shit, he shouldn't make it so obvious. He's not the old, pathetic dog wagging its tail for its master anymore.

​Isagi opens his mouth, blinks, and then tries to open his mouth again, completely thrown off by the bizarre question. He scrunches his eyebrows in total confusion as Ness begins frantically scanning the space like a bloodhound on a trail.

​Before Isagi can even yell at him, Ness lunges forward and yanks open the nightstand drawer. Isagi gawks at him, his soul nearly leaving his body. 

What the fuck?! This is a massive invasion of privacy! 

Panic striking him anew, Isagi awkwardly shuffles backward, desperately trying to block Ness’s view of the drawer with his own body, praying to whatever god is listening that the football magician doesn't look deep enough to see the hidden toys.

​If Alexis is here acting this unhinged, Isagi knows he is probably in deep, catastrophic shit.

Shit.

​From Ness's perspective, his entire world is tilting on its axis. He had spent the last nine minutes speeding through the streets of Germany. He was preparing for bed at around twelve-thirty AM, his laptop open and playing the previous matches of Bastard München against their opponents, and Ness was actually studying their formation and strategies. Trying to formulate theories that can help them win the cup.

He has no choice but to consider Isagi Yoichi now, he's a striker for München, handpicked by Noa himself after proving his abilities in the Neo Egoist League and the U20 World Cup.

He’ll never forget the defeat Germany tasted against Japan, the team immediately devouring any country that is after them after their loss to France. As if a switch is flipped and every single match since then had been won by Blue Lock Japan, and how Yoichi, after passing by his distressed soul in the hallway after they beat him for the championship, casually waved and told him, ‘see you soon, Ness!’

It's not like Alexis thinks that Yoichi doesn't deserve to be a striker, as a matter of fact he thinks the opposite. His subconscious whispers to him that this… pretty man, smaller than him, with a sprout on top of his head is a striker, through and through.

He saw the way Isagi shakes his head, placing his hand on his bed as he sits down. “No one is here, it’s just me.”

Ness heaved a sigh of relief he didn’t even know he was holding. Suddenly Yoichi’s phone had the caller ringtone again, the device, now in the wooden nightstand, practically vibrates itself off the wood.

Ness pursed his lips. 

“Aren’t you going to answer your phone, Yoichi?”

Isagi turns to him, he bites his lip anxiously deep in thought. Scheiße, Ness really tried not to let that image burn in his mind. 

Yoichi biting his lip while his pink nipples are out—

Wait? 

Why is he not wearing any shirt?

The German’s knees suddenly give out, and Isagi lets out a surprised noise as he scrambles to catch Ness.

What the fuck, Yoichi’s chest is well defined from years of honing it to become the number one striker in the world. Ness really tried his best to not stare at how cute Yoichi’s nipples are. He tried to not let his eyes roam around Yoichi’s body. Nope. He’s definitely not trying to see how well-defined his abs are. Or the smooth, soft skin of his navel leading down below his sweatpants–

“Ness?” Isagi helps him to seat on a chair as he runs to the kitchen to grab a bottle of water that he got from Bastard München, he gives it to Ness. “Are you alright?”

"Are you alright, Yoichi?" Ness quips back. His fingers twist open the cap and he downs the whole thing, trying to squash his disappointment when Yoichi grabs a white shirt to cover himself up.

"I’m not the one whose knees suddenly gave out," Isagi says, raising an eyebrow. "Besides, what are you doing here in my room at—" his eyes trail to his wall clock. "7:25 AM?"

"Morning practice."

It is not far from the truth.

Alexis tried to play it cool as he shakily closes his laptop after tuning in to Yoichi’s live. The laptop now has a crack on its side from him smashing it to close quickly. 

Alexis often jerks off to Yoichi’s face (as much as it made him want to vomit the first time he realized his dick got erect after seeing that Yoichi has tears of frustration on his eyes, when they first lost to Dortmmund), especially when it exudes that loneliness on the pitch.

That exact isolated expression always drives Alexis completely insane.

That is why after hearing Yoichi’s moans and whimpers, Alexis grabbed a cold bottle of water, drank the whole thing, splashed his face with the leftovers from the bottle, and slowly walked to his bed. He pulled the duvet up to his chin and practically stared into nothingness for almost six hours, completely haunted by the audio, until he gave in to the temptation and frantically grip his dick until he came pathetically on his own hands. 

Until the sun breaking into the dawn sprawled him into action. To run into Yoichi’s dorm. Because the thought that he’s with someone, moaning wantonly as he swallows the man’s cock, is such a…

A knock at the door startles Yoichi. His still-vibrating phone, which he finally leaves on Do Not Disturb, is still popping notifications across the blinking screen.

Ness stands up. He avoids Yoichi's confused eyes. The German said, “I’ll open it.” 

“Isagi?”

Isagi scrunched his eyebrows. He does not expect the familiar voice of the man he once shared steak with.

He immediately stands up, looks at Ness in confusion, and struts over to open the door himself.

There Kunigami stands, all big and burly, his muscles bulging underneath his black jacket. He takes one step into the room, and his eyes lock instantly onto Ness. 

The air in the dorm turns heavy and hostile.

"What are you doing here?" Kunigami asks. His voice deep.

Ness doesn't back down. He steps right into Kunigami's space, his usual cheerful mask completely gone. "I could ask you the same thing. This is the Bastard München block. You belong in Dortmmund. Why are you knocking here in Yoichi's room so early?"

Kunigami purses his lips, his massive frame towering over them. He doesn’t bark a reply to Ness, instead fixing his eyes on Isagi.

Ness scoffs with the way Kunigami’s eyes soften.

“How are you, Isagi?”

Isagi, for the second time, gawks. Eyes wide and dark, practically eating his corneas. If the two most unexpected people to visit him are actually here…

Shit.

“What…” Isagi starts, he glances at his phone, he sees Chigiri’s name flashing, calling him.

“What the fuck did I do?”

He looks between the two people in his room, his confusion turning into frustration when he receives no reply from them. 

"Did I do something? Why are you guys acting like absolute psychos at seven in the morning?"

Kunigami and Ness halts in their step, the german taking a seat, as the taller one leaned back on the wall. They turn their heads simultaneously to look at Isagi.

"You really don't know?" Ness asks, his voice tight and strained.

"Know what?" Isagi snaps. "Just tell me!"

Kunigami pulls his phone out of his pocket. "You left your mic active when you went to sleep, Isagi. Your official Blue Lock account automatically started a livestream at around midnight."

Isagi blinks. "Okay? So people saw me sleeping. Not a big deal."

"You weren't just sleeping, Yoichi," Ness quips, his eyes darting to the floor. "It was quick, but—“ Ness can’t meet his eyes. His ears are pink, and Yoichi can actually see the dust of freckles on his blushing cheeks.

“You were moaning. Loudly. On a global livestream."

Isagi freezes. 

The words hit him like a physical blow. Like a soccer ball jammed straight to his face.

"It's trending number one worldwide," Kunigami grunts, crossing his arms. His ears are red. "Chigiri, Bachira, Barou, Rin, the coaches— everyone who joined probably heard it. You sound like you're getting absolutely wrecked."

The realization drops on Isagi like a cold bucket of ice. It wasn't a dream, then. Was it? At this point, he’s not sure where his fantasies started and his dream ends.

His face turns a deep, violent shade of crimson. The heat radiates all the way to the tips of his ears. In that exact second, Isagi wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole. He wants to disappear from Germany, from Blue Lock Japan, from the sport of soccer entirely.

And then he adapts, because he is Isagi “the god of adaptation” Yoichi, he’ll quickly recover.

Is it his fault he was horny? It’s a perfectly human thing to do—

Right?

Right. Being horny is completely normal, it’s one of the most basic, primal urges any normal human being could have.

This is nothing to be ashamed of, his pride kicks in. His jaw hardens, and his eyes flash with a defensive fire. He refuses to look weak in front of his rivals.

"I was exercising!" Isagi lies loudly, his voice cracking slightly as he glares at them, his chest heaving. "When I did a push up, I hit my elbow on the wall! If the internet wants to be perverted about a striker's recovery noises, that's their problem!”

Isagi grits his teeth. This is the gay-gala-question situation all over again. This time it’s much worse. He’s irritated that he’s woken up before his intended time to wake up. Both of his rivals— whom he barely talks to — are now in his room in the early morning, with a tone as if they’re saying you’re whoring yourself out Isagi Yoichi. What’s the big deal if he rides a dick? Would that make him so repulsive that no one wants to pass to him anymore? 

Whatever. Fuck.

“Why are you guy making a big deal out of this?” This time he sends a knowing look to Ness and Kunigami, “I appreciate that you’re just probably looking out for me, but I can handle myself just fine.”

Ness stares at him while Kunigami purses his lips, crossing his arms in a gesture that heavily emphasizes his muscles.

"Alright, look. I’ll be honest, I was having my own 'me-time,'" Isagi shrugs, completely nonchalant. He tries to be. "Sure, I accidentally turned on the Blue Lock live. But you said it was quick, right?"

Ness wears an unreadable expression. "Yeah. It was less than a minute."

"Then I can just say I was hacked," Isagi scoffs. God damn right— he is the fucking adaptable learner, after all. "Did I show my face?"

This time Kunigami shakes his head. "It was dark, but I could clearly hear you..." Kunigami stops mid-sentence as he feels Ness’s glare turning into hot fire directed straight at him. What the fuck is this German hostile for? Kunigami glares at Ness in return.

"Oh, then that's good," Isagi nods, completely ignoring their silent standoff as he flops back down onto his bed. He props himself up on his elbows, looking at them with a smug, razor-sharp smile. "Besides, it's not like people are actually going to make a big deal out of me moaning."

"What?" Kunigami mutters, stunned by the sheer audacity.

"You heard me, guys. My sex life is my own business, right?" Isagi says, an egoistic spark lighting up his eyes. "If I want to sleep with someone, that's entirely my prerogative. They'll be the one kneeling for me, not the other way around. I dominate on the pitch, and I dominate off it."

But as the echo of his own bold words settles in the room, the heat of the situation finally catches up to him. Heat creeps up the back of Isagi's neck, a flash of sheepishness breaking through.

He clears his throat, shifting uncomfortably under their heavy gazes, before his lips twitch back into a teasing grin.

"Wow. You guys are really staring," Isagi scoffs lightly, looking between Kunigami's tense jaw and Ness's bright red ears. 

"What, did the audio turn you both into my biggest fans or something? If you wanted a front-row seat to how the future number one striker handles his stamina, you could have just asked."

Isagi teases, wagging his finger in front of them.

Ness, now standing up, chokes on his breath, taking an abrupt step back, while Kunigami’s brow furrows deeply, red blush darkening his own cheekbones.

"Anyway," Isagi sighs, rolling off the bed and stretching his arms over his head. "The show is over. I need to get prepped for the day, which means you two need to clear out of my space."

Isagi gave them a smile, “Thanks for the concern guys, I'll see you both later.”

Kunigami looks like he wants to argue, his eyes scanning Isagi's unbothered posture one last time, but he ultimately lets out a low grunt and turns toward the exit. Ness lingers for a split second, his gaze shyly looking at Yoichi’s face, before he reluctantly follows the wildcard's lead.

With a final click, the dorm door shuts, leaving Isagi alone to finally drop his head into his hands with an exhausted groan.

Now, he glances at his phone. 

What will Isagi Yoichi do?

Analyze and recover, of course!

Chapter Text

Shidou seemed to be in an exceptionally good mood today, judging by the whistle on his lips and the sheer lightness of his steps. Whatever the reason was, Karasu already knew it.

“Sleep well?” the crow asked, rolling his shoulders as he warmed up for their upcoming friendly match against Bastard München— out of all the fucking teams. Karasu had to prepare himself to face the very player that he…

He refused to complete that thought, a sudden heat of shame flushing the tips of his ears red. 

Karasu Tabito is not a pervert. Nope. He prided himself on being a gentleman. A rational, logical, analytical gentleman who simply appreciated world-class talent. He just happened to possess a very vivid memory. And an internet connection. And when a certain indigo-eyed striker accidentally started a live broadcast sounding so, so sexy —well, a man's analytical brain had to release the tension somehow.

Karasu cleared his throat, desperately trying to ignore the way his own hand felt slightly heavy just remembering the frantic pacing of his… palm against his cock, the bedroom hours prior.

"You're awfully quiet, crow-boy," Shidou chuckled, a knowing glint in his bright pink eyes as he stretched his long arms overhead. 

"What's the matter? You wore your wrist out before the match even started?"

Karasu choked on his own breath, his entire face flashing an aggressive crimson. "Shut the hell up, Shidou. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure you don't," Shidou grinned. "But just so we're clear— I came a hell of a lot louder than you did.”

“Ya fucking pervert,” Karasu mumbles under his breath.

“Could say the same to you, spiky-head,” Shidou cackled, checking his reflection. “He sounds good, no?”

“Like an angel coming down from heaven! I can feel my cells wanting to get him pregnant—”

“Nobody wants to hear that at eight o'clock in the morning, Shidou,” Loki interrupted, sauntering into the locker room. He pulled on his PXG jersey with fluid motion.

As always, straight to the point.

Charles followed right behind him, cackling loudly as he jumped straight onto Shidou’s back. The demon caught him effortlessly, and the two burst into shared laughter.

“I wanna hear Shidou say it! You want to get Isagi Yoichi pregnant?!” Charles laughed manically.

Whenever the two of them were together, they moved with the exact same chaotic rhythm —birds of a feather, brothers cut from the same cloth.

“Fuck, yeah!” Shidou grinned, letting Charles slide down before watching the younger boy tie his shoelaces.

Karasu leaned against the lockers, shifting his gaze. His biceps, flexing against PXG’s jersey “What about ya, Charles? What did you think about that little show?”

The question was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Charles grinned broadly, while Shidou took a slow drink from his water bottle, watching for the answer. Loki didn't even bother to look up, focusing on his gear.

“It’s hot, hehe,” Charles admitted. He looked like a proper young adult now, standing a little taller than he had during the Neo Egoist League. Even Shidou and Karasu had filled out, looking broader and manlier, carrying the distinct and sharp charm of young professional athletes at the peak of their careers.

Charles’s grin widened with mischief as he looked toward their Captain. 

“Loki even listened to it!”

Loki froze mid-motion, his hand still holding his gym bag inside his locker.

Shidou grinned, his eyes flashing with pure malice as he leaned forward, “Loki, did you lowkey jerk off to Isagi Yoichi too?”

Loki slowly finishes placing his bag in the locker, his back still turned to the room. The silence stretches just long enough to make Karasu snicker behind his athletic glove, while Shidou and Charles exchange eager grins, completely delighted by their own audacity.

When Loki finally turns around, his face is a mask of ice-cold professionalism. He closes his locker door with a firm click and locks eyes with Shidou.

"I am a professional athlete and your Captain, Shidou," Loki says, his voice smooth, even, and completely devoid of emotion. He crosses his arms, looking down at the two chaotic players. 

Julien shakes his head, they always seem to incite trouble.

"My focus is entirely on our team’s execution and our upcoming season. I do not spend my mornings engaging in... whatever it is you're implying."

Charles lets out a dramatic, exaggerated groan, flopping backward onto a bench. "Boriiiing! Loki, you're totally lying! Your ears are turning pink!"

"They are not," Loki counters instantly, his jaw tightening just a fraction. He shifts his gaze to the whiteboard, desperately trying to steer the conversation back to the pitch. "Now, if you three are finished discussing the German league's audio show, we have a match to prepare for. Bastard München’s midfield is aggressive, and—"

"Oh, look at him go!" Shidou cackles, completely ignoring the strategy lecture as he steps directly into Loki's space, a knowing smirk splitting his face. 

"You're using your press-conference voice, Captain! That means you're totally guilty!” Shidou goads, boyish charm radiating off of him. 

“Come on, Julien, even a prodigy gets lonely in France, right?"

"Shidou, that's enough," Loki mutters, his professional facade finally showing a tiny crack as he adjusts his collar.

Karasu lets out a sharp sigh, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks at the ceiling. "Hey, leave the captain alone. If the media hears you talking a lot about getting the German league's golden boy pregnant at eight in the morning, our sponsors are gonna pull out before halftime."

"Who cares about the sponsors?!" Charles laughs, kicking his legs out. "I want to see Isagi's face when Shidou tackles him today! Hey, Loki, if Isagi scores, are you going to ask for his number?"

Loki takes a slow, deep breath, picking up his clipboard. His eyes narrow slightly as he looks at his unhinged team. 

"If any of you lose focus on the pitch today because you're too busy staring at Isagi Yoichi... I will personally bench you for the rest of the month. Am I understood?"

"Aww, the Captain is getting possessive now too!" Shidou roars with laughter, slinging an arm around Charles’s shoulders as they head toward the tunnel. Karasu follows suit, amusement in his eyes. His mole moved with the smirk on his face.

"Let's go, contrarian! Let's see if our little Isagi Yoichi can handle a real French welcome!"

Isagi is very good at pretending, but most of the time, he is terrible at holding himself back. Ego burns faster than what his mouth can handle.

He was fully aware of how much shit-talking he did back on Blue Lock TV. Football is a sport where blood ran cold and violence ran hot, so he was bound to release his on-pitch frustration somewhere.

Right now, the Bastard München locker room was drowning in a thick and agonizing silence. Isagi could feel multiple pairs of eyes locking onto him, but the second he looked up, everyone instantly snapped their heads away, suddenly fascinated by their shoelaces or the floor tiles. 

The suffocating awkwardness was palpable. 

Unbeknownst to Isagi, they had all tuned into that livestream. They had all heard their usually wholesome, intensely focused teammate let out a breathless and sexy, moan on a hot mic, and nobody knew how to look him in the eye.

Theo Sachs was the first to approach, though Isagi found it quite annoying that the German absolutely refused to meet his gaze, his face a bright pink.

“Uhm,” Theo started, clearing his throat nervously while staring intensely at Isagi’s collarbone. Wow, his bone looks interesting. 

“Did you... have a good sleep?”

In the background, Erik Gesner let out a muffled groan and banged his forehead directly against his metal locker door— whether it was intentional or not, Isagi chose to not acknowledge it. 

Isagi knew he was going to get cornered about the livestream. He had already seen the thousands of notifications on his phone and hadn't even bothered checking the Bastard München team chat, knowing he is the topic of the said chat.

He’d rather not add other people’s opinions of him to his mounting embarrassment.

“Yes, I did,” Isagi smiled. A hint of amusement trailed off him when Theo suddenly faltered, his knees nearly giving out from tension while Isagi just stood there perfectly still.

“Ah, haha, ja.” Theo rubbed the back of his neck furiously, his eyes darting anywhere but Isagi's face. “Good to hear. I slept well too.”

Isagi giggles, unaware of how one midfielder is practically hooked on the sound.

“Good for you, Sachs.” 

Isagi continues glancing around the team. Damn, Isagi needs to do something before half of them faint before the match even starts.

“Look, sorry about the livestream, guys, if you received a notification and tuned into it,” Isagi laughed lightly, masking his nervousness, looking completely oblivious and devastatingly pretty as he scratched his cheek. 

“But I'm sure most of you didn't even catch it. It was really short.”

The entire room collectively swallowed hard. 

Oh.

They caught it. 

Every single second of it was burned into their memories.

“It was, well... me,” Isagi admitted, deciding honesty was best since they already knew his voice. There was no point in lying to his own teammates, even if the public was a different story. He turned to the rest of the room, intentionally softening his expression to look meek and harmless. “The PR team is going to announce that my account got hacked. So please, I ask that we keep this strictly under an NDA. Let's just keep it between us.”

At the mention of an NDA, the flustered tension in the room broke into a protective and quiet possessiveness.

“Don't worry, Yoichi,” Ness said, stepping forward with a smile, his eyes burning with an intense heat as he stared directly into Isagi's. 

“Bastard München will keep our mouths shut. You're one of us, after all.” Ness smiles with his eyes closed, “Nobody outside this room needs to know what you sound like.”

“Ja!” Birkenstock exclaimed quickly, nodding aggressively as his face finally returned to its normal color. “Your private life is yours, Isagi. Don't worry about anything. We've got your back.”

Isagi smiles, so dazzling and pretty that it took a lot of self-control, especially from Ness, to not kiss him on the lips right then and there.

“Thank you, everyone.” Isagi bows in humility, a gesture that speaks I trust that you will cover for me, “I really appreciate it.”

The friendly match ended with a 2-2 a tie, but still in favor of Bastard München’s performance. Loki, Shidou, Noa and Isagi all scored the points. 

Fortunately, since it was just a warm-up friendly with zero stakes, the stadium wasn't filled to the brim. Still, as Isagi stood panting on the pitch after shooting the tying goal, he couldn't help but feel a rush of satisfaction. Even if no trophies awaited them, it always felt spectacular to rub a victory right in PXG’s face.

To his utter surprise, it wasn't one of his Bastard München teammates who ran up to congratulate him first.

It is Shidou Ryuusei.

“Nice bang, Isagi!” Shidou cackled, effortlessly lifting the smaller man right off his feet. Hands tightening against Isagi’s waist. The demon laughs in delight when Isagi’s hand grabs his broad shoulders for support. “My cells are celebrating!”

Isagi laughed, though the sheer shock was evident in his voice as his feet dangled in the air. “Shidou, put me down! You're not even on my team. But thanks, though.”

Karasu sauntered over next, a lazy smirk on his face as he reached out and casually gave Isagi a fond headpat. “Not bad, little crow. You're still as sharp as ever.”

Totally unexpected skinship.

It seemed like everyone was determined to catch Isagi Yoichi off guard today. 

Isagi blinked, his cheeks a little flushed from the exertion and the unexpected affection from his former Blue Lock rivals.

“Hey, Contrarian! Get over here!” Shidou yelled, turning toward the midfield line and waving aggressively. “Come tell Isagi how much he made you explode!”

Usually, a provocative prompt like that would have Charles Chevalier sprinting over to cause absolute chaos. But Charles was a textbook contrarian. Now that his actual crush was standing right there; sweaty, obliviously pretty, and looking directly at him— the prodigy completely short-circuited.

Instead of being his usual smug self, Charles froze. A furious, bright red blush exploded across his cheeks, climbing all the way to the tips of his ears. He looked utterly flustered, suddenly finding his neon cleats incredibly fascinating as he kicked at a loose blade of grass.

How is he supposed to tell Isagi Yoichi he fantasized about him with the audio live? Besides, beyond football, Charles and Isagi have never interacted much. Except that one time at a party where Isagi helped Charles steal the sweets at the PXG table. Or during the off season where Isagi bumped into him in a café in France and actually bought him a box of macaroons, saying it’s nice to see him. Which is insane for Charles since he’s the french one! He's supposed to give Isagi the french pastry, not the other way around.

But even then, they share the same set of friends so there’s bound to be familiarity. 

“Shut up, Shidou! I didn't say that!” Charles snapped, his voice cracking slightly with awkward defense as he refused to meet Isagi’s amused eyes.

Before Shidou could tease him into oblivion, Julien Loki stepped up to the group. The PXG captain looked remarkably composed, though his eyes lingered on Isagi a second longer than necessary.

“An excellent finish, Isagi,” Loki said, his voice smooth and professional as he offered a polite nod. “Your off-the-ball movement has evolved significantly since the Neo Egoist League and U-20 World Cup.”

That's… surprising.

“Ah, thank you,” Isagi smiled warmly, a dimple showing as his eyes brightened at the compliment from a world-class talent like Loki.

The soft atmosphere lasted all of two seconds before the German side of the pitch aggressively reclaimed their striker.

“Yoichi!” Ness’s voice rang out, dripping with an overly sweet tone as he practically sprinted over to slice through the PXG crowd, firmly grabbing Isagi’s shoulder. “Noa is calling for the post-match debrief. We need to leave for the tunnel right now.”

Further down the pitch, Noel Noa stood with his arms crossed, his deadpan gaze fixed on the French team as he gave Isagi a single, demanding nod to hurry up.

“Ah, right! Sorry, guys, I gotta go!” Isagi called out, completely oblivious to the lingering stares as Ness quickly escorted him away, leaving the PXG boys standing in a frustrated circle while Charles silently continued to burn alive in his own shyness.

But just before Ness could drag him entirely out of arm's reach, Shidou suddenly leaned forward. With a lightning-fast, teasing grin, his tanned fingers swept down, lightly brushing a stray speck of grass off Isagi’s flushed chubby cheeks, his touch lingering for a brief second. 

Cute. Shidou think, so fucking cute.

Isagi blinked, his heart skipping a beat as his face flushed a deeper pink, completely caught off guard by the sudden closeness before Ness pulled him away.

“So,” Shidou starts, a grin on his handsome, tanned face, strands of blonde hair falling to the side.

“What do you think of Isagi? He's pretty cute, huh?”

“Yeah, no wonder you sketch him.” Karasu snickers in return. "What's next, demon boy? Ya gonna start color-coding his eyelashes in your little notebook, or is the charcoal enough to capture your explosion?"

Shidou’s grin only widens, completely unbothered by the callout as he slowly brings his fingers up to his nose, sniffing the clean scent of Isagi's sweat and face moisturizer. Smells like a baby. His eyes darken with a fiercely satisfied hunger as he watches the back of the red and black jersey finally disappear down the tunnel.

"Shut up, crow," Shidou chuckled, a buzzing thrill vibrating in his chest. 

"Art requires a perfect muse.”

Meanwhile, across Europe, the morning sun hits the training facility of Real Madrid.

Inside the private player lounge, the silence is thick enough to choke a person to death.

Michael Kaiser sits on the far edge of the leather sofa, his long legs crossed, his fingers tapped against his chin as he stares blankly at the wall. 

A few feet away, Itoshi Sae leans against the marble countertop, holding a cup of tea, his gaze fixed entirely on the floor. 

On the opposite side of the room, Itoshi Rin sits on a bench, his hands gripping his knees so tightly his knuckles are stark white, his eyes boring a murderous hole into his own shoelaces.

Nobody is speaking. Nobody is even breathing loudly.

But since when Kaiser, Rin, and Sae talked to each other? 

Since… never.

The air in the room is heavy with a deeply hidden shame. 

None of them will ever admit that the moment the notification popped up at midnight, they had tuned in quickly, like the pathetic Isagi Yoichi simps that they are. 

None of them will ever admit to the frantic minutes spent huddled over their screens, or how the sound of Isagi’s unhinged moans and delicious whimpers had driven them to absolute ruin right into their own palms. 

Shameful enough that after the ordeal, when realization had sunk in, their phones ended up smashed against walls, or crushed into their palms.

Kaiser had torn open his silk robe the second that wet gasp looped through his earbuds, not minding a bit that there were shards of broken glass down on the floor from his phone.

His grip frantic and needy, his mind violently overlaying the audio with the image of him pinning Yoichi down on that cheap mattress, stuffing his fingers into Yoichi’s mouth to catch his spit while slamming into him. He stroked his angry, and veiny cock with a brutal speed, imagining the exact moment he would conquer the egoist. Until he blew a heavy load across his own stomach, panting Yoichi’s name into the empty room, his tattooed hand gripping his penis, imagining it is Yoichi’s tight hole instead. 

Pathetic.

Sae handled it with an unusually intense focus. Sitting on the edge of his bed, his hand moved slowly, building friction that matched the wet thuds in the livestream. His mind went entirely filthy, picturing Isagi on his knees, pretty doe-like eyes wide and glassy with tears, helplessly choking on Sae's fat cock. 

Fuck, Sae would not forget to pay attention to Isagi’s round ass. He’d knead it, feeling its softness. If Isagi gives him a chance, Sae would eat him up, stuffing his face between Isagi’s cheeks, he swears he will leave bite marks. The sheer thought of breaking Blue Lock's golden boy and turning his brilliant mind into nothing but a shivering, greedy mess sent Sae over the edge, spilling hot cum between his fingers, a trail of white sliding down his testicles.

So tepid.

Rin had completely lost his mind— entered flow state like he’s in the middle of a fucking game. The audio triggered a possessive fury. He clawed at his own sheets, his teeth gritting so hard that he tasted metal as he jerked off his cock with violent up-down motions, white foaming at the tip. He wanted to tear Isagi apart. He pictured driving into him so deeply that Isagi couldn't even breathe, letting out an angry guttural groan as his semen splattered aggressively across his own hand and chest, leaving him shaking and furious at how completely Isagi controlled his body.

Lukewarm.

Pathetic cowards, a lot of them. Jacking off like schoolboys.

The silence stretches on, agonizing and tense, until the heavy glass doors swing open.

Leonardo Luna strolls into the lounge, a mocking grin stretched across his face as he holds up his tablet.

“Are you guys ready for our Barcha friendly kick off?”

Kaiser scoffs, Rin lets out a sharp tch, and Sae doesn't even bother replying. 

Luna chuckles, leaning back with a thoroughly amused smirk. “You guys work well on the field, but off it? You barely interact at all.” He adjusts his white Real Madrid jersey over his muscular frame, flexing slightly as he stretches his arms. 

“The youth these days are as intense as ever, huh?”

The three prodigies keep their faces entirely blank, but Luna isn't done playing with his food. He tilts his head, his eyes glittering with pure mischief.

“Come on, don't play innocent with me,” Luna teases, his voice dropping a tone. “I know exactly why the three of you look like walking corpses. Every single one of you joined Isagi Yoichi’s live stream right?”

Luna chuckles as he sees the three of his most popular players tense.

“Did you really think you could hide it? You all got completely turned on by a little Japanese boy's noises, didn't you? It's okay to admit you got horny, boys. We're teammates!”

Ah. Now that gets their attention.

Kaiser abruptly stands up from the leather sofa, his face contorting into a mask of irritation. 

“Fuck off, shitty captain,” he snarls.

Without waiting for a reply, Kaiser storms toward the glass doors leading to the pitch, his fingers aggressively scratching the blue rose tattoo on his neck to release his sudden spike of tension. Luna finds the reaction hilarious (and kind of concerning), but before he can even laugh, Rin has already followed suit. The younger Itoshi stands up and sends Luna a parting glare hot enough to set a person on fire— a look that clearly says go burn in hell, you sack of shit.

Luna merely chuckles at the young adults’ fury and turns his gaze to Sae. As usual, the genius midfielder completely ignores him. Calmly, Sae sets his cup down on the counter, turns on his heel, and silently follows both Kaiser and Rin out the door.

Luna scratches the back of his head, watching the heavy glass doors swing shut behind them. "Damn. And here I was, just trying to offer them some consolation by calling Isagi for them."

Bunny Iglesias stands in front of the locker room mirror, adjusting his Barcha jersey over his massive muscular frame. The fabric stretches tightly across the broad expanse of his chest and the sharp lines of his shoulders. He runs a hand through his light hair and tugs at the collar of his shirt, his jaw locking as a sudden wave of heat rushes through him.

Absent-mindedly, he traces the scarred tissue of his face. 

Mierde, Isagi’s fingers, though calloused from gripping the grass on the pitch in frustration, will probably be softer than his own scarred ones. He’ll let Isagi do anything to him, if it means he can have the doe-eyed boy all to himself.

As much as it loathes Bunny to admit it, he is only human.

When that live stream notification had flashed across his screen at midnight, he was actually in the middle of a late-night gym session, right across the football pitch. The second he heard the audio, his Spanish pride hadn't saved him from the sudden spike of desire. 

He bolted straight to his room, locking the door behind him, phone broken into pieces into his hands, but the sound was etched into his mind.

The sound of Isagi’s breathless gasp looping through his earbuds had driven him completely insane. He pumped his leaking cock once, twice, setting up a smooth rhythm to his imagination. Bunny just know that Isagi will look so happy while he is fucking him. He would look so, so pretty taking a big cock up his ass. 

Shit, speaking of his ass, Bunny swears he’d worship it. The innocent look on Isagi's face would be enough for Bunny to blow his load deep inside him. 

He let out a hiss, rhythm faltering.

Bunny let out a deep groan, his abs tensing as he blew his load across his own stomach, hot cum coating the outline of his abs, panting out a low curse as he tried to catch his breath in the dark.

When did Iglesias start liking Isagi Yoichi? Even he is not sure. But when a man spends his entire life in loneliness, said man tends to hold on to the first ray of hope that enters his life.

It just so happened that Isagi Yoichi is a very interesting ray of sunshine.

Bunny is pretty sure he isn't the only one in the room who spent his night in sin.

He glances over at Meguru Bachira. The usually hyperactive and talkative teammate is completely quiet right now, silently adjusting his yellow-and-blue socks with an eerie hyper-focused intensity. 

There is no humming or random dancing from the boy today. 

Bachira runs a hand through his damp hair, his yellow eyes clouded with a feral energy that screams obsession. Bunny knows that Bachira must have spent his night curled under his sheets, stroking himself to the sound of his favorite friend sounding so thoroughly devoured.

Well, Iglesias is not wrong.

When he heard the live, Bachira curled under his blankets, his hand moving in a frustrated rhythm. A heavy wave of guilt twisted his stomach; this was Isagi, his best friend, and using him to get off felt completely dirty. His grip slowed with shame until the thought shifted, realizing Isagi might actually be letting someone else touch him. 

In an instant, the guilt burned away into an ugly flare of jealousy. The idea of another guy owning Isagi and making him make those sounds made Bachira's blood run hot. His grip tightened with urgency, chasing the release just to drown out the anger of someone else taking what was supposed to be his.

Bunny stands straight up to his full height just as the locker room door swings open.

“You runts ready?” Lavinho chuckles, breaking the heavy atmosphere as he balance-kicks a football on his heel. “This is just a friendly practice, so don't get so heated.”

The two players did not say a word, their rigid postures telling the master striker everything he needed to know.

“I’m sure you guys heard what happened,” their mentor laughs, his eyes glittering with amusement at how incredibly tense his star players are acting.

“Have you heard from Isagi yet, Bachira?”

Bachira freezes, his eyes instantly darting to the floor in a rare flash of shame and frustration.

Bunny doesn't bother clarifying what exactly is going through his head, but the heavy silence speaks volumes.

“I haven't heard from Isagi yet,” Bachira frowns, his voice dropping into a murmur. “He’s not answering my calls or my messages.”

“I’m sure you’re not the only one messaging him, sí?” Lavinho teases, spinning the ball on his finger.

At those words, Bachira snaps his head up, his gaze locking directly onto Bunny. 

Bunny’s eyes harden in response, an intense flare of possessiveness igniting in his chest. 

The mere thought of the rest of the world; especially the elite players over in the Re Al lounge, clogging up Isagi's phone with desperate texts makes Bunny's blood boil. He glares back at Bachira, silently declaring that it doesn't matter who else is chasing the egoist. 

When they get out on that pitch, Bunny is going to claim that little blue jewel for himself.

At the 90-minute mark, the field is nothing short of an absolute war zone.

The friendly match has devolved into an egoistic bloodbath. The sexual frustration from the live has transformed into violence on the grass. Nobody is playing for a friendly handshake; they are playing like the winner gets to claim Isagi Yoichi himself.

The scoreboard flashes a brutal 3–3.

Re Al Madrid’s goals are a testament to perfection. Michael Kaiser had scored the first with a blinding Kaiser Impact that nearly tore the net open, screaming a declaration of war into the stadium. 

Itoshi Sae had executed the second, a calculating and flawless drive that left the Barcha defense frozen in his wake. No mistake in the way the best midfielder of Re Al Madrid moves.

The third came from Itoshi Rin, who had entered his flow state, practically trampling over three defenders to blast the ball into the top corner, his face twisted in a murderous snarl.

But FC Barcha refused to back down. 

Bunny Iglesias dominated physically, scoring two incredible goals. First, he slammed a powerful header past Madrid’s defense, hands in his iconic Bunny pose (\m/). In the halftime, he blasted past Kaiser, kicking an unstoppable shot that left the goalkeeper frozen. And Kaiser seething from irritation.

The tying goal from overtime came from Meguru Bachira, who went completely wild, dribbling past Rin and Kaiser so fast it left them on the grass before kicking the ball perfectly into the net.

Now, both teams stand at the center circle, panting heavily and covered in sweat. 

They stare each other down with pure hatred. 

Kaiser looks ready to murder Bunny, Bunny in return is frowning, Bachira's left eye is twitching violently, Rin’s aura is pitch black, and Sae is glaring at everyone with absolute malice.

The Re Al Madrid vs. FC Barcha game was just a charity match. Usually, teams did these to hype up the upcoming season and give the fans a show, but the five had treated it like a life-or-death battle.

“Come to the meeting room, Blue Lock boys,” Lavinho called out, noticing the other regular members of Real and Barcha were already heading back to their respective training rooms. He then pointed a finger directly at Bunny.

“You come too, Iglesias! Got a surprise for you all! Since you all played hard, we're going to party hard!”

A few minutes later, the group — (at this point the other members of Re Al and Barcha went their separate ways, clearly not wanting to interact with the insanity) —was gathered in the meeting room, and the vibe is… 

Incredibly awkward.

Kaiser, Sae, Rin, Bunny, and Bachira sat scattered across the chairs, completely exhausted and refusing to look at one another or speak. 

They were all too proud to say a word, completely locked in a mutual tension over the same guy.

Breaking the silence, Lavinho and Luna stood near the front projector screen.

"Alright, let's settle a bet," Lavinho laughed, nudging Luna with his elbow. "Luna here thinks he's a big shot because he's the captain of Real Madrid. He claims he can get Isagi to pick up his call."

Bachira scrunched his eyebrows, whether in confusion and annoyance, it's hard to tell. Kaiser scowls, his handsome face marred with irritation, and Sae is even frowning.

This is bad. 

“What does that mean?” Bunny voices out, staring incredulously at Luna, “You're also reaching out to him?”

“Creep.” Rin mutters under his breath, the man is literally years ahead of Isagi. 

Sure, they're of legal age but something about Luna having an interest in Isagi is making their skin crawl.

Lavinho laughs, “Haha! Luna was whispering in the pitch earlier about how Isagi Yoichi will answer his call! Ridiculous!”

“Isagi doesn't even answer my calls since midnight,” Bachira mumbles, eyes glowing a bright neon yellow, “and I'm the best friend.”

"He's a professional, he'll answer me," Luna muttered, rolling his eyes as he pulled out his phone. He dialed Isagi's number and put it on speaker.

The room went dead quiet. 

Five pairs of eyes stealthily locked onto Luna's phone.

Ring... 

Ring... 

Ring…

It rang all the way out. No answer.

Lavinho instantly burst into laughter, pointing a finger at Luna's annoyed face. "Ghosted! The great Leonardo Luna gets completely ignored!” His laugh got louder when Luna frowned.

“Step aside, let a Master Striker show you how it's done. Watch this."

Lavinho quickly connected his own phone to the widescreen TV interface and hit the FaceTime button. The ringing echoed loudly through the room's speakers.

Ring…

Ring..

Click.

The screen flashed, and the video connected instantly. 

Lavinho cheered, throwing his hands up in absolute victory. "Ha! What did I tell you?! He answered me!"

"Master Lavinho? Ah, hello!" Isagi Yoichi’s voice boomed through the meeting room speakers.

Because it was a Neo Egoist League Master calling, Isagi answered right away, his tone polite. 

Or because Lavinho’s calls were the only one who somehow got through in Isagi's laptop.

Either way, it's not more important than the view they have of Isagi Yoichi right now.

He is wearing nothing but a tight grey training compression shirt that clung heavily to his torso, emphasizing the lean lines of his shoulders and his slightly muscular physique. 

His skin was completely flushed and glowing from the heat— he’s probably out from a football match or practice, and his indigo eyes were bright.

Pretty.

Typical Isagi Yoichi.

"Hey, Isagi! Look at you, looking all sweaty!" Lavinho beamed, completely shameless. "I'm here with the Madrid and Barcha boys. We just tied 3-3 in our friendly!"

"Oh, a tie? Wow, that sounds like it was an intense match," Isagi said, blinking at the screen, trying to take in the faces of everyone in the room.

His eyes widened, “Sorry I just got back from our match against P.X.G, I left my phone in my room. I didn't know Luna called me, uhm…”

“Woah, did München win?” Lavinho asks.

Isagi shrugs, “Well we also had a tie. Both have two goals each.”

“That's nice,” Luna interjects, “Maybe Re Al can scout you for our team next season, Isagi.”

The said boy blinks his eyes in shock, is Luna scouting him for Re Al? The great Scion of Madrid? Into one of the most expensive and best teams in the world?

“If that's the case, then Barcha should counter Re Al’s offer no?” Lavinho chuckles.

“I appreciate it but I'm doing good in Bastard München, so I'll have to think about the offer…” Isagi pouts, having realized something, and it took all of Luna’s strength to not tease him to death. 

“You captains are so mean, don't play with me like that.” Isagi heard the loud laugh of Lavinho and the chuckles of Luna, while the rest of their team was frowning.

Isagi looked apologetic, his expression softening as he rubbed the back of his neck, the movement pulling the tight fabric of his shirt even tauter across his chest. 

"Ah... actually, Master Lavinho, I'm really sorry if I missed any calls or if I haven't replied to messages from anyone over there yet. My phone has been ringing completely off the hook since midnight.”

Isagi shyly scratched his cheeks.

“There are so many people calling and texting me at the exact same time that my notifications are totally frozen. I can barely open my apps right now."

Isagi continues, “Also, you’ve probably heard of the live audio, I was…hacked.” he sounded a little nervous on the last part.

“I’m really sorry—“

“No need to explain Isagi,” Luna replied. A little too smooth. “I’m sure your management will explain everything.”

The entire meeting room went completely silent.

Isagi nodded sheepishly, “Uhm, thank you.”

Nobody could actually bring themselves to speak. Their shitty pride and overwhelming tension kept their throats tight, leaving them to just silently thirst and vie for his attention through the screen.

Bachira leaned forward, his beanbag hissed, his yellow eyes wide and dilated as he practically memorized every damp strand of Isagi's hair. He wants to call out to him, like the old times, but how is one supposed to tell their best friend that he jerked off to them? Should he do something like, hey Isagi I missed you so much so when I heard you moaning i thought someone was fucking you and it made me sad and angry and jealous that it's not me. 

Shit, Bachira heaved a sigh. 

He practically imagined the first friend he made on his knees taking his cock. At most, if Isagi is indeed hacked, then that makes things a thousand times worse for Bachira, because he can no longer suppress the affection he feels for Isagi.

Kaiser’s jaw tightened, leaning his chin on his hand as his blue eyes tracked the sharp line of Isagi's collarbone with a heavy gaze. Usually, he’ll throw a snarky remark on Yoichi’s way, but somehow he just can’t find it in him to do so. It's fuck, well, complicated. Don't get him wrong, he still hates Yoichi to death. But it's another instance if you want to have mind-blowing sex with your greatest nemesis. Somewhere along the hazy relationship they have, bloodlust turned into lust; at least on Kaiser’s part.

Rin’s expression is… blank. Desperately wanting to look away but entirely unable to. It grates him, for some reason. Like sticky honey on his fingertips that he somehow just can't wash away. It's Isagi’s fault isn't it? He always stuck by him, even back in Blue Lock, and now Rin is suffering the damned consequences. 

Sae merely leaned back against the headboard, his cold teal eyes tracking the pink blush staining the skin of Isagi's neck. He watched the way Isagi’s fingers brushed through his own damp hair, clumsily pushing the dark strands straight back from his forehead.

​Call Sae delusional, but he thought it was genuinely cute the way Isagi is, perhaps, subconsciously trying to imitate his hairstyle.

Then, Isagi's eyes shifted on the screen, squinting slightly at the wide-angle view of the room until they landed on the towering figure of Bunny, who's manspreading on the sofa. 

Big thighs all wide for Isagi to see.

"Oh... Bunny?" Isagi blinked, his voice tilting into a curious note. "I saw your goals on the Bundesliga feed earlier. You were incredible today."

“I'm here too Isagi!” Bachira waved his hand, he tried not to snarl at the way Bunny stared and smiled at Isagi when he mentioned his name.

“Hi, Bachira! You also did great!”

“Don't forget me, Isagi,” Sae speaks, uncrossing his arms. “You didn't answer my calls nor my messages.”

Isagi scratched the back of his ears, wincing at the tone Sae used. Gosh, he feels so guilty for passing out. “Uhm, I’m sorry Sae. I will give you back the money that you sent.”

“What?” Kaiser turned to glare at Sae, “what money?”

Isagi grimaces, “Bunny and Sae sent me money because they uhh— I don't know how to word this properly, uhm, because they're trying to talk to me…?”

The entire room dropped into a suffocating silence. On the other side of the video call, sitting in his German dorm room, Isagi looked entirely oblivious to the fact that he had just dropped a literal bomb into a room full of heavily armed egos.

"Money?" Kaiser repeated, his voice dropping into a low tone. His blue eyes slowly slid from the screen over to Sae, and then down to Bunny, who was still sitting on the couch with a satisfied smirk plastered across his scarred face. Kaiser’s palms itch. Fuckers.

"You two bought your way into his notifications?" Kaiser sneered. “Stooping so fucking low that you're buying him out like a whore?”

"I didn't buy anything, Kaiser," Sae replied, his voice entirely flat and devoid of emotion as he glares back at the German striker, “and watch your fucking tone.”

He didn't even blink under Kaiser's homicidal glare. Teal eyes coldly meeting electric blue ones.

Bunny shrugs, big shoulders rolling. An infuriating smirk on his face, scar moving with the motion.

"Isagi’s phone has a good spam filter.” He starts, “every time I attempt to call him, his device flags me as spam. It was... inefficient. Depositing funds into his verified bank account with a transaction memo was the only logical alternative."

Bunny… smiles, and it made Kaiser and Sae boil with irritation. “Not my fault you're dumb enough to not think of it, aleman.”

Kaiser clenched his fists as he stood up. Shitty. Fucking. Bunny—

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" Rin exploded, his aura violently flaring. He took a step toward his older brother, his teeth bared in an absolute expression of hatred.

"You used a bank transfer to messge him?! You’re pathetic and lukewarm! How desperate can you possibly get, Sae?!"

"It's not desperation, Rin. It's called thinking outside the box," Sae countered calmly, though the slight twitch in his jaw showed he was pushing back against his brother's rage. 

"If you had a real contract and an actual salary, perhaps you would understand how to utilize your assets properly."

"Oh, this is good!" Lavinho cackled loudly, throwing his head back as he slapped his knee. He practically danced around the back of the sofa, pointing an amused finger at Sae and Bunny. 

Isagi blinked from the other side of the screen, what the hell is going on?!

"The great genius of Japan and the Spanish golden boy have to pay a toll just to get a reply back!” He guffaws. “Hey, Isagi! How much did they send you? If I wire you enough for a brand new sports car, will you answer my FaceTime calls on the first ring?!"

"Lavinho, please, your vulgarity is showing," Leonardo Luna scoffed, crossing his arms, frowning. Shit, why didn't he think of that? When it comes to money, Luna has plenty to spare. 

All of a sudden, Kaiser stepped right up to the camera lens, his face nearly blocking the view as he stared intently at the Japanese boy. 

"Yoichi, look at me.” 

Isagi squinted his eyes behind the screen. What the hell? Is Kaiser sulking? 

“Block them. Block their numbers. If you need financial support, I got you. You do not accept charity from pests."

“I— I, what?” Isagi stutters, “It wasn't charity! And I didn't accept it!” Isagi yelped through the speakers, his hands waving frantically on screen as his face turned an embarrassed shade of pink. “They just… I don't know?! I thought I was getting scammed or hacked! I already sent their money back—”

“Aww, Isagi, that’s so unfair!” Bachira whined, his golden eyes completely dark as he pouted heavily, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach through the screen and drag Isagi to Spain. “I don’t have your bank details! Sae, you’re a cheater! Bunny too! Rin-Rin, give me your phone, let’s find Isagi’s account together so I can send him all my salary!”

“B-Bachira?! The hell? Don't do that!”

“Don't touch my phone, you psycho, and don't call me that!” Rin roared, his arm swinging back to keep Bachira away. He shoved past Kaiser, his face taking over the screen now, his dark eyes wide and terrifyingly intense. 

“Isagi. Listen to me carefully. If you keep their money, I will personally fly to Germany tonight and tear your dorm room apart with my bare hands. You don't take anything from them, especially that shitty brother.”

“Rin, your dependency issues are becoming a public nuisance,” Sae muttered, his voice cold as ice.

Isagi’s eyes are practically bulging out of his sockets, is he hearing things right? They're all extra rude to each other today…?

Why?!

“Wait, wait,” Isagi stammers. “Hold on, how in the world did you guys even got my bank details—”

The room is on the verge of a physical brawl. Kaiser was practically vibrating with fury, Rin looked ready to commit fratricide, Bachira was trying to steal Sae’s phone, and Bunny was just sitting there, looking entirely smug and victorious because Isagi had actually complimented his play.

And then Bunny frowned when Luna said something in Spanish that his translator buds didn't catch.

But right as the tension reached a crescendo—

Knock.

Knock.

Bam!

A crash rattled through the audio feed on Isagi's side of the call.

The camera on Isagi’s laptop violently jerked, tilting sideways as a loud scuffle erupted in the background of his German dorm room. The sudden noise was so sharp that everyone in the Spanish league instantly went dead silent, their eyes locking onto the screen.

"Whoa— hey! What the hell?!" Isagi’s voice shrieked from the speakers.

Through the wide-angle lens of the tilted camera, the door to Isagi’s room wasn't just open, it had been completely thrown back against the wall.

"How are you, Isagi Yoichi?" a gentle voice with a French lilt in the tone spoke.

Suddenly, a towering figure practically threw himself into the frame, muscular and big arms wrapping around Isagi’s shoulders. 

Somewhere along the video call in Spain, Isagi heard a loud crash.

The person currently draped behind him now is Vivien Hugo, his broad shoulders easily taking up half the screen as he… caresses Isagi’s face.

Isagi practically gawks at him, mouth wide open as to what the fuck is happening right now.

Hugo is wearing his Arsenaly gear. The jacket emphasized how huge he is, all muscular in all the right aspects. The grey sweatpants carve out over his big, thick thighs. 

Hugo immediately reaches out to throw a heavy arm around Isagi’s neck, dragging the smaller striker down into a rough back-hug.

"Hugo?! Put me down! I'm on a call!" Isagi yelled, his voice muffled against Hugo's massive chest as he struggled to break free.

"My apologies,” Hugo chuckles, his face looking handsome, “it's been a while since I last saw you, I couldn't help myself.”

"Move aside, you big robot, you're suffocating him," a smooth voice sighed from the doorway.

Mikage Reo walked calmly into the frame, wearing an Arsenaly jacket and black sweatpants, just like Hugo. Though his purple eyes were sharp and bright, they completely scanned the room with an air of absolute ownership.

Reo was carrying a paper bag filled with high-end takeout. The logo on the box belonged to a Michelin-star restaurant that Isagi was only familiar with because he had been invited to have dinner with Ray Dark once (a story for another time). He set the bag down on Isagi’s desk right next to the laptop, his eyes casually dropping to the screen.

Reo's eyebrows shot up as he recognized the faces staring back at him from the video call. A smug smirk instantly played on his lips.

"Oh? Look at this," Reo’s voice was smooth, a little too smooth for Isagi’s liking, because it sounded borderline condescending. "It seems Isagi was busy entertaining the international league. Hello. Glad to see you're all keeping an eye on what's mine."

"Isagi..." a lazy and slurred voice whined from the hallway.

Nagi Seishiro dragged his feet into the room, looking completely exhausted, his white hair an unruly nest. But that was exactly what gave him his charm. He was wearing a fresh Manshine City jersey, and his dark blue sweatpants, much like Hugo's, clung heavily to his big thighs.

Nagi didn't even acknowledge anyone in the room except for the sprout he kept dreaming about.

The moment his eyes landed on Isagi sitting on his desk chair, currently being hugged by Hugo, or rather, smothering Isagi’s chubby cheeks against his biceps, Nagi’s expression went completely blank and possessive. He walked over, steps heavy, and ruthlessly wedged his entire massive frame right between Hugo and the side of Isagi's chair.

“What the fuck are those two shitty bastards doing?!” Kaiser’s voice seethed through the laptop speakers, he shoved Rin and Bachira back, his face pressed terrifyingly close to the camera lens back in Spain.

Nagi merely yawned, completely ignoring the screaming from the laptop as he shamelessly inhaled the clean scent of Isagi’s hair. 

“Ah... who's that talking, Isagi? They're noisy.”

Hugo grunted, tightening his grip from behind the backrest and trying to hog Isagi all to himself.

“Move.”

The white-haired man responded with a dismissive low groan in return, refusing to budge an inch as he practically tried to climb into the limited space of the desk chair.

"Isagi is tired," Nagi mumbled. His long arms wrapped firmly around Isagi’s waist from behind, burying his face directly into the right crook of Isagi’s neck, effectively marking his territory right in front of the camera.

"Nagi! You're heavy! Get off!" Isagi gasped, his face turning a shade of red as he found himself completely trapped on his own chair by two massive football players right in front of the Spanish league. His head throbs, fuck.

“No, ughhh! Hugo, please!”

Instead of letting go, Hugo just tightened his arm around Isagi’s waist from over the backrest, resting his heavy chin on the smaller man’s left shoulder.

“Ughh, you're both heavy! Let go!”

Meanwhile, Reo remained completely unfazed by whatever was happening in front of him, or at least trying to be. He casually began unpacking the premium wagyu beef right next to Isagi’s laptop, the savory aroma immediately filling the dorm room. 

Then, all of a sudden, he leaned over the desk. His long fingers gently brushed away the stray bangs from Isagi’s flustered face and, with deliberate malice intended for the viewers on the screen, or if he intended to declare something—

Chu.

Reo pressed a soft and lingering kiss right onto Isagi’s forehead.

Isagi gawks at him, his entire body stiffening as his mind completely short-circuited. Blood rushing to his head, and his now pink cheeks.

What was that?

What was that. What the hell was THAT.

Actually, what the FUCK IS HAPPENING.

Isagi Yoichi is weirded out. 

It was one thing to deal with their typical football-brained aggression on the pitch, but this bizarre display of physical affection in front of half the international league was making his skin crawl in the most frantic way possible.

Come to think of it, everything had been fucking wrong the moment he woke up. The irrational behaviour from all the players he encountered and interacted with today, are not helping him either. 

Ness and Kunigami showing up at the wee hours of the morning, the messages and missed calls, the weird (not normally weird) behaviour from Shidou, the praise from Loki, Karasu, the interaction with Charles, and even the voice message Hiori sent him is weird; because he sounded so out of breath. What the fuck? Even Barou, Lorenzo, Sendou, and Aiku are sending him messages. 

And don't get him started on the email from Ego and the multiple communications attempts of the master strikers.

He frantically struggled under their combined touch, his limbs flailing as he tried to push himself away from the tight desk space. 

"Reo! What the hell are you doing?! Stop kissing my face! Nagi, let go, your hair is tickling my neck! Hugo, your bicep is choking me!” Isagi groans, “get off, seriously, you guys are being so weird!"

Before he could even pry Nagi’s heavy arms from his waist, shake off Hugo who's now breathing in his neck, and dodge another kiss from Reo, the shadow of yet another towering figure slipped through the open doorway.

Sprinting quietly into the room is Teddy Knight. 

The tall English stratum player practically let out an “Oh,” the moment he saw the chaotic huddle around the desk chair. Being remarkably tall and carrying that distinct Premier League build, his sudden presence completely swallowed up the remaining space in the small german dorm.

“What the fuck is he doing there?!” This time it is Bachira who shrieks. Even Bunny’s dead, red eyes are wide and he looks to be more irritated than confused.

“You're too unguarded Isagi,” Sae muttered under his breath, sounding stressed, but the mic still captured his voice.

"Isagi Yoichi. Brilliant, I am the one that found you, I am." Teddy cheered— in the most bizarre way possible. Face emotionless like a doll, if not for his eyes lighting up. Completely ignoring the absolute meltdown happening through the laptop speakers (slurs of fuck you! and die!). Without a single shred of hesitation, he threw his massive frame right into the huddle, but right as Teddy was about to touch Isagi’s shoulders—

Hugo plants a hand on his chest, akin to a football match where the genius midfielder is protecting the ball from getting snatched away from him.

“Don’t get too close, Knight.” Hugo said, though Isagi can't see his face (seeing as he is currently being smothered by two giants and Reo) he still shudders just thinking about how Hugo looks and sounds threatening.

Nagi frowns, shoving off Teddy’s arms that are starting to touch him. Ew. “Get off Isagi.”

“Hmm, what should I do then?” Teddy puts a finger on his chin, “I called him when I heard Isagi Yoichi’s Live, and he's going to come here too.”

Isagi blinks, does he mean Fox? That other creepy bastard.

Teddy shrugs his shoulders as Isagi finally breaks free, enough for Teddy to see his cute face, “I want to see you again, I really do. For old times sake.”

Isagi snorts, “You mean in U20 when Japan beat England? Hope you're better than you are then, Teddy.”

“Stop getting all chummy! Disgusting!” Kaiser’s voice completely shattered what was left of Isagi's sanity, screeching through the tiny laptop speakers.

Suddenly, it becomes an absolute physical brawl to touch him. Nagi whines loudly, his long legs practically wrapping around the base of the desk chair as he tries to yank Isagi closer to his chest. "Isagi is mine, go away."

"I am merely seeking a greeting, I am," Teddy insists, his doll-like face entirely blank even as his giant hands reach over Nagi's shoulders, trying to playfully pinch Isagi's flushed cheek.

Hugo damn near swats his hand away, if not for Isagi squirming, keeping his limbs busy.

“Let go,” Hugo said, voice neutral but with a hint of irritation, “you people are pestering Isagi Yoichi.” 

Hugo changes his position, his massive bicep tightening hard around Isagi's left side as he tries to push both Nagi and Teddy away at the same time. Isagi is literally caught in the middle, his ribs compressed as three giant Premier league players use his body like a football they're trying to shield.

"Hey! Stop it! You're breaking the chair!" Isagi yelps, his hands flailing, completely trapped.

"All of you, back off. You're acting like uneducated animals," Reo reprimands them sharply, his voice dripping with that wealthy-heir tone as he steps in. 

He uses his hands to firmly shove Teddy's wrists, pull Isagi away from Hugo, and get Nagi's arms away from Isagi's waist. But the exact second he clears a space, Reo smoothly slides his own arms around Isagi's shoulders from behind, leaning down to trap Isagi completely against his chest.

"Isagi needs to eat the wagyu I bought. Move."

"Reo, ugh! You're touching me too!" Isagi cried out, completely weirded out by the sheer audacity.

Back in Spain, the video feed goes absolutely mental. 

The sight of the English league boys physically fighting over Isagi drives the players into an unhinged fury.

"These English league bastards can't stop conquering, no?" Bunny chuckles dryly, slamming his massive fist onto the sofa cushion, his thighs tensing as he glares at the screen with simmering irritation (jealousy). 

"You're all an eyesore," Sae speaks up, his teal eyes narrowing into slits as he stares at Reo's arms around Isagi. 

"Mikage, if you don't remove your hands from Isagi's shoulders in the next three seconds, I will personally ensure your family's company loses its European distribution rights."

"Die! All of you!" Rin screams, his aura exploding into a demonic black wall that practically shakes the camera lens. He's (foaming at the mouth) completely losing his mind at the sight of Isagi being swarmed. 

"Isagi is my prey. Only I get to destroy him! Disgusting lukewarm freaks!"

"No, no, no! That's my spot! Isagi, throw them out! Throw them out or I'm going to bite someone!" Bachira wails, his golden eyes completely unhinged as he violently claws at the air. "Let go of him! Isagi, oh no, I'm coming to Germany right now!"

Lavinho scrunches his eyebrows, this is a bit too much for his liking. While Luna, although silent, purses his lips in annoyance.

"How unrefined," Leonardo Luna muttered, though his dark eyes were burning as he watched Reo casually lean over Isagi to wipe a stray strand of hair from his forehead. 

Between the deafening and jealous roaring of Kaiser, Rin, Bunny, Sae, Bachira vibrating out of the screen, the premium wagyu beef aroma clogging his lungs, Nagi’s hot breath damp on his neck, Hugo's massive bicep crushing his side, Teddy's doll face hovering above him, and Reo shamelessly holding him hostage—

Isagi’s brain is completely on its limit. He is violently overstimulated. Everything is a total sensory nightmare.

"STOP!” 

Isagi suddenly shrieked at the top of his lungs, throwing his hands up in a desperate gesture as he practically threw himself out of the desk chair, knocking his own knees against the wood.

“Fuck!” He cursed, clutching his knees, Hugo reached out, concerned that he hurt himself, but Isagi’s had enough.

He is weirded the fuck out to his absolute limit.

He scrambled backward until his spine hit his wardrobe, chest heaving as his indigo eyes darted wildly between the giant English league players in his room and the furious Spanish league elites on his screen.

Nagi immediately pouts, his lower lip cutting out as he reaches an open hand back out toward him, looking entirely kicked and miserable. 

"Isagi is mean. Why are you running away..."

The sight of Nagi looking like a giant abandoned puppy instantly triggers Isagi's built-in people-pleasing panic, but his brain is so thoroughly fried that it comes out entirely unhinged. 

He bows, a polite but terrifyingly wide smile plastered on his face as his eye twitches.

"I— I am incredibly sorry for shouting! I don't mean to be rude, thank you so much for coming over!" Isagi stammers out, his voice overly polite. Damn it, he can't talk shit outside the pitch.

"Thank you so much for the wagyu, Reo, it looks absolutely exquisite and your generosity is unmatched!—”

Reo blinks at him, astonishment on his handsome face.

“Teddy, thank you for visiting, it’s a pleasure to witness your growth!—”

Teddy stares at him, wide-eyed.

“Hugo, thanks for the hugs you and Nagi gave me!”

The two giants flutter their eyes, blinking at him.

Isagi laughs, clawing at his hair, “Please, please make yourselves completely at home!” Isagi laughs sardonically, “Sleep in my bed! Eat the meat! Burn the building down! I don't give a shit!"

His polite bow instantly snapping into a feral sprint toward the computer. "You guys are being so weird! This isn't normal! Reo, take your stupidly expensive meat and leave! Nagi, go back to England! Hugo, go to France or somewhere! Teddy, do not let Fox into this building! And you guys—"

He lunged forward like an animal, completely ignoring Kaiser’s furious shouting and Rin’s murder litanies. Sae heaved a sigh. Bunny grimaces, while Bachira wails. 

As much as Isagi doesn't want to be rude to a former master striker and Re Al’s captain, this had to be done.

With a gasp, Isagi slammed both of his palms onto the laptop screen, desperately hitting the power button to off.

"Goodbye!"

CLICK.

The screen instantly cut to black, leaving the room in spain in an agonizingly quiet standoff as the elite players sat in frustrated silence— completely ruined, cut off, and left wanting more.

Before the four players in his room could even process his meltdown, Isagi whirled around, and completely bolted into the German hallway like a man running for his life.

Fuck?! What the heck was happening? Isagi was used to crazy fans, having been stalked once by an obsessed lady who had somehow managed to find his room to slip handwritten love letters underneath his door. It had been a  paranoid week of checking under his bed and locking his windows three times a night.

Shit. During that stalking incident, Isagi, fearing for his life and completely losing his mind from sleep deprivation, had actually signed an emergency security waiver. In his panic, he had given official permission for any registered Blue Lock, or just any football player that he knows — to bypass the front desk and enter his dorm as they pleased, just so he wouldn't be left alone if she broke in again.

He had completely forgotten about that stupid piece of paper.

That was most likely the exact reason why Ness, Kunigami, Reo, Hugo, Nagi, and Teddy were able to just barge into his private quarters whenever they felt like it. They weren't breaking the rules; he had literally invited the entire international league into his safe space on legal documentation. Damn it.

So Isagi sat in the empty conference room of Bastard München, burying his face in his hands as he tried to catch his breath. He was so utterly exhausted. His skin still felt flushed, his heart hammering against his ribs in a mix of lingering panic and pure sensory overload. 

He desperately told himself that this madness wouldn't affect his football performance, because if his metavision on the pitch dropped even a single percent over this drama, he would literally claw at his own scalp.

Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the conference room clicked, swinging open with a creak.

Isagi gaped when his eyes darted to the entrance.

Standing there, looking tall and imposing, was none other than his mentor. The harsh fluorescent lights caught the frames of his glasses, obscuring his eyes in a blinding white glare. 

His mentor stepped into the room, his black turtleneck framing a jawline that looked sharper than usual. Isagi was too busy panicking to notice the slight, dangerous bulge of veins on Jinpachi Ego's neck, or the way the man's long fingers gripped his tablet tightly, as if he were actively restraining himself from doing something drastic.

“Long time no see, my diamond striker.”

Ego smirked, the corners of his lips curling into an unreadable expression as Isagi gulped.

Oh, no. He is in deep trouble, isn't he?