Chapter Text
It’s a horrifying claim to make; That the public’s reaction to the news of the crash had been anything of an uproar. An uproar could only be described as an understatement .
A day after the plane had been reported missing people had already caught word of its disappearance. An had begun forming theories that were nothing but trouble.
Headlines accused the airlines of murder
People speculated that this had been way too close to their match to be considered accidental
Some people framed the head of BLUE LOCK (don’t ask, seriously.)
Others believed the team had committed suicide, and crashed due to the pressure
Some assumed that there was no possibility of survivors and have started to mourn the players
This only brought unwanted attention towards the members of BASTARD, trolls began deep-diving on the internet, in search of their families. Others threatened the people that were merely suspected, and bashed the team that was meant to go against BASTARD.
Suddenly people who didn’t know shit about soccer– scums under the guise of fans– had started mustering up fake sympathy and fingers to point at. Anything and everything .
Players of a different soccer team were targeted, Paris X Gen, Manshine City, if they found any sort of relationship that linked them to BASTARD in some way they were a target of defamation and the public’s overwhelming attention.
They needed to hear what you had to say, they had things to say about you.
So many things to say that the crash had ended up being a Global News, global enough to reach the United States since that had been where the team had intended on arriving. Socials wouldn’t stop dragging the topic. It became a popular conversation, and the algorithm did nothing but direct everyone’s attention towards the crash.
“It makes me sick ,” Chigiri admitted on a call with Bachirou.
“This isn’t some fuckin’ detective game, they’re gone. I don’t care how, or what–” He was exaggerating, he did but that wasn’t the point . The semantics of the before boiled down and became of little worth to him. Not when the chances of any of their survival seemed so low.
He’s curled up on the edge of his hotel room, he’s not home. Since the matches hosted in the United States, Las Vegas have been put on a “temporary hiatus”. He had been instructed into staying there simply for the week after the recent news. It wasn’t much but it was the most any could do to try and get the upper hand in the media’s propaganda.
He could care less about any speculation towards him. He just felt sick with nerves when his thoughts came back to Kunigami.
He needed to do something, anything, to burn off the excess energy that was coiling uncomfortably inside. But he stayed still, he forced himself still. He couldn’t move. He refused to, curling tighter in himself.
“I just want–I just...” He wasn’t sure what he of all people should get to want. Not after all this.
“Hey…I get it.” He clears his throat as if he’s trying to erase his words. Chigiri understands and doesn’t interrupt him.
“Sorry I don’t get it ... not really. But I get what you’re tryna say.” His voice isn’t teasing, it’s calm and it doesn’t help Chigiri as much as he wanted it to. He was so serious after these past 4 days and it felt unnatural. This whole.. This was unnatural.
A selfish part of him, wanted.
He wanted and the desire hurt his gut especially when he was fighting tears. He wanted to talk to him, he wanted Kunigami to be okay. Despite all of this he wanted him , and with that he closed his eyes hard. Wordlessly staying on the call with Bachirou.
He couldn’t bring himself to move.
*
The signal.
“Holy fuck,” Someone calls out. No one tries to maintain professionalism. Not after this.
They had finally traced a faint signal that came in after the plane vanished—garbled, and was considered nearly impossible.
But they did it. The signal had been traced. The latitude -25.3667, longitude -48.5667. Basically, the plane had crashed somewhere in the Atlantic forest in goddamn Brazil .
They couldn’t be sure if any survivors were still by the plane, but those were the last coordinates that they had realized the plane had given. They couldn’t make any assumptions, now that they knew where the plane was.
In Germany, officials worked through on the idea that their soccer players could be alive, however they couldn’t bring them to Germany. Not when there was still uncertainty of the condition of those players. So German’s aviation authorities had already contacted the international airlines and patrol services, specifically with the United States.
They planned on leaving the players there for the time being since Las Vegas, Nevada had been the original destination.
However this was all under the assumption they weren't too late. They are desperate to confirm what they already suspected. But now, they had to reach out to Brazil. They needed permission—not just for information, but for boots on the ground.
The official request had come through diplomatic channels. Germany’s ambassador to Brazil stood before a panel of officials at Itamaraty, the Brazilian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, presenting their case.
“This is a matter of urgency. We believe survivors from the downed aircraft may be in Brazilian territory,” the ambassador stated, his voice measured but tense. Some people had shown photographed evidence of the coordinates they had been able to find.
“We request cooperation in search-and-rescue operations.”
Brazil’s officials exchanged glances. The matter wasn’t simple, of course. Brazilian airspace, its land, its jurisdiction—these weren’t things to be entered freely, even in emergencies. But it wasn’t as if they were unaware of the recent news, they also had to consider the consequences if they were to refuse.
“The Brazilian Air Force will initiate a search,” one of the officials replied. “But we cannot allow foreign personnel to enter without authorization.” He sneers the word foreign.The officers grunted, but no argument could be made.
Still, time was running out.
“We request that a specialized American search team be allowed to assist. Time is of the essence.”
Brazil hesitated. Legally, they were under no obligation to let foreign teams into their borders. This wouldn’t be illegal to refuse, they had to put their people first. But at the same time, denying aid outright could be seen as obstruction—especially if Germany escalated the matter through Interpol. The official who had sneered the word foreign had bit the inside of his cheeks, thinking thoughtfully.
Brazilian officials didn’t have much to “debate” their options.
Finally , a compromise was reached.
“American’s personnel may assist,” the final response came, “but only under Brazilian supervision. Your teams will report directly to our authorities, and you will not act independently within our borders.”
With that, an agreement had been made. A late one, but an agreement regardless.
*
Isagi stumbled, his legs were unsteady beneath him, and he gripped the tree beside him, trying to steady himself.
He’d finally woken up from passing out, managing to eat some berries and half of Kunigami’s water.
The burn on his ankle throbbed, the pain sharper now that he was awake. He hadn’t noticed how bad it had gotten—maybe because he hadn’t given himself time to think about it. The previous day had been full of chaos and adrenaline, but now the pain was unbearable, and his head felt light, the fever settling in quickly.
Meanwhile, Kunigami stood a few feet away, his brow furrowed in concern. His usual, easy going demeanor was replaced with a sense of urgency. " Isagi , you need to rest,"
“I’m fine .” Isagi mumbled, trying to wave him off, but his body disagreed. He nearly collapsed, and Kunigami was quick to catch him, his hand firm on Isagi’s shoulder. He guided Isagi to sit down by the tree and he couldn’t bring himself to protest, embarrassed at how exhausted he felt. It was sometime in the afternoon, the sun lowering itself and the sky dimming. Not that Isagi could really tell from the trees towering.
"You’re not fine," Kunigami insisted, his gaze sharp as he inspected Isagi’s ankle. The cloth he had torn from his own shirt now soaked with water, was wrapped around Isagi’s injured foot, but it wasn’t doing much to ease the burning pain.
"I can still…" Isagi argued weakly. "We need food... I can still walk."
Kunigami shook his head. "I’ve got this one," he said, pulling Isagi’s arm over his shoulder, supporting him as he helped him sit. "The only thing you can do right now is rest, Isagi. You’re not going anywhere in this state."
Isagi sighed in frustration, the mix of guilt and weakness crashing over him. It had been his turn to go and find berries after Gin and Jingo's turn. And he hated the guilty feeling residing, like he was failing. Kunigami was right. Even if Isagi hadn’t wanted to admit it, he understood it made him a liability.
"Okay.. I’ll be fine…" He insisted once noticing Kunigami was still lingering by him.
Kunigami didn’t respond immediately, probably not assured in the slightest.
He had simply watched him with an expression that was a little too stern for his liking. "You better be." He grunts. and Isagi tries giving a small, reassuring smile before watching him turn his back and head off in the direction they needed to go for food. He then hears him call out to Hirori.
He couldn’t strain himself to listen to the details, instead he let his head lean back with a sigh.
Isagi could only sit there, the burn on his ankle still hurting prominent after everything. His head was still swimming after passing out and he felt lightheaded, so for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to willingly close his eyes. Just for a brief moment.
*
It ends up being longer than brief.
The sky had darkened by now, he’d noticed when he opened his eyes and seeing the sliver of sky appeared much darker. Even with the trees hovering over, he’d still be able to tell.
Isagi shifted uncomfortably against the tree, his skin prickles with sweat.
His ankles are still throbbing and leaning his head back left him feeling like it was on fire. The constant ache in his body was starting to get old.
Isagi clenched his jaw, frustration rising again, it didn't help when he noticed Kaiser standing stiffly, keeping watch. Everything about the man pissed him off, hell, even Kaiser’s posture was as cocky as always—leaning against a tree, arms crossed, staring off into the dark forest.
"Must be nice," Isagi muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Somehow, Kaiser’s eyes somehow flicked over to him, catching the comment. A smirk crept onto his face. “Keep your whining down Yoichi, there are people trying to sleep.” There was no way he could’ve heard him, meaning he had just noticed Isagi had been waking up and decided to terrorize him.
Isagi let out a sharp breath trying to not let Kaiser get under his skin.
“Try not to be such a drag Yochi” He emphasizes his first name when he notices Isagi hasn’t given him much of a reaction. Isagi grimaces.
“Am I your only entertainment for the night?” He calls out, crossing his arms.
“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s not really a high bar.” Without knowing it Isagi has only invited Kaiser to come closer towards the tree Isagi is leaning in.
“I’m surprised there is a bar.” He admits no longer wanting to stare at Kaiser now that he is only getting closer to where he is. Right now, Kaiser’s standing and he stops where Isagi’s legs are stretched out. He’s still sitting down so he tries to keep his arms crossed, trying to act like Kaiser looming over him while standing doesn’t look as intimidating as Kaiser thinks it does. If anything it’s infuriating. Isagi has half a mind to stretch his legs out further and try kicking his knees.
“I mean it’s not like you’re any better than me. You hardly have much of an excuse for doing jack shit, I’m the only one stuck here.” He makes a dig at comparing the two of them to rile him up, it works.
Kaiser snorted, his face neutral; aiming to show he is clearly unbothered. But Isagi knows he’s clearly bothered by the comparison. “Oh really? I’m on watch, genius. I’m stuck here for the night shift.” Isagi rolls his eyes.
“I wasn’t talking about that,” Isagi snapped, sitting up straighter despite the pain in his leg. “I’m talking about the fact that you’ve been standing in that exact same spot.” He realizes he’s hit some sort of unknown nerve when Kaiser leaves his hand by his side, he doesn’t clench his fist. Instead it looks as if he’s trying hard to relax his posture.
“All you’ve done is stand around. You were there when I picked up Alexis and you were there watching Noel. And you were during your night shift. Hell, the only time you left is when trying to pick a fight with me. So yeah, I’d say you're doing jack shit.”
Kaiser raised an eyebrow, and if Isagi had caught him by surprise he wouldn’t be able to tell now that his smirk only widened. “I didn’t know you’ve been keeping tabs on me.” He muses dryly. Isagi scoffs.
“And I’ll have you know I am better than everyone else. It's not my fault if your only entertainment is watching my every move. It’d do you some good if you could just try and keep up.” He doesn’t gesture towards Isagi’s apparent injury, but Isagi’s still surprised he hasn’t tried to make a non-subtle jab, not as if he needs him to. Message received. Isagi tries and keeps himself from fuming.
Instead his hands tightened into fists.
“You can’t be serious,” He scoffs, crossing his arms and tightening his grip. “This is starting to get old. We’re off the field too so there’s no real need to keep that stick up your ass.”
“Oh, poor Isagi, getting all upset,” Kaiser taunted, it’s Isagi now.
“Tell me, what do you think you're gonna do about it? You can barely even stand” And there it is.
Isagi rolls his eyes and tries hiding the flare of pain that had inconveniently passed through him. “I may not be able to do everything right now, but I’m not the one sitting here acting like the world revolves around me. You’re not that great, Kaiser. You’re just a guy with a big mouth and a bigger ego.”
Kaiser’s eyes narrowed. He takes a few steps closer, and Isagi’s aware of how close Kaiser’s shoes are to his leg. His smirk drops into something more dangerous and Isagi wonders if he’d actually do it. “Maybe you should stop talking, Isagi. You might hurt yourself more by moving your mouth.”
Isagi didn’t flinch. “Is that a threat? You’re not as untouchable as you think. You can keep telling yourself you’re the best, but it doesn’t change the fact that you’re alone in that mindset.”
Kaiser’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, Isagi thought he saw something shift behind those cold eyes—maybe irritation, maybe something deeper. But just as quickly, it was gone, replaced by a sharp sneer. “What’s with the cryptic analysis? Do you think this little trip has gotten you to think you know me?”
Isagi’s gaze hardened, though his tone remained cool. “Well it’s not as if you're better off without us. You just don’t get it yet. You’re so obsessed with being the best, you’ve forgotten what it means to actually work together —to rely on people, not push them away. Get your head out of your ass, this isn’t soccer so stop treating this like a game”
Kaiser snorts at that. “Rely on people? I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I’ve already done my fair share of babysitting the concussed legend.”
“You don’t know how long we’ll be here” Isagi suddenly said, his voice cutting through the night air.
For a moment, Kaiser didn’t speak. He looked away, as if pondering something, and Isagi almost thought he’d won, but then Kaiser’s lips curled into a slow, dangerous smile.
“I don’t need a lecture from you,” he said, his voice laced with an edge of finality.
“Death must scare you if you think you can bother reconciling with me.”
Isagi met his gaze steadily. “Reconciling is a bit of a stretch, I could care less if you stayed stubborn. Sooner or later, that attitude’s going to get old. ‘Sides we’re not going to die.” He couldn’t tell which part had been a lie.
Kaiser just shrugged, a dismissive gesture that sent a final, sharp wave of frustration through Isagi’s chest. “Maybe.” He also wasn’t sure which part Kaiser was agreeing to.
But Isagi stayed silent as Kaiser turned away, his back facing him, and he looked away knowing Kaiser’s going back to the same tree. His eyes scanned the darkened woods once more. He let out a long breath, leaning back against the tree.
The ordeal between the two of them had been exhausting.
His body still ached, and the new headache made his vision swim, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He closed his eyes and expected a dreamless sleep.
*
The thick air of the forest clung to Kunigami and Hiori as they walked, baskets in hand, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them. They were straying off their usual path, but it was getting late and they needed to find some sort of food.
The sky had been casting long shadows through the trees, and they both knew it was time to head back. But neither of them was in any rush to break the stillness, not with the tension that had lingered since they’d started berry picking.
Hiori adjusted his grip on his basket, casting a sidelong glance at Kunigami, who was moving with his usual quiet confidence. Despite their differences, they’d found themselves working together more often lately. Still, the awkwardness was undeniable. They didn’t know each other well—not like Isagi, who somehow made even strangers feel like friends.
“So,” Hiori started, trying to make conversation
“Noel’s been faring well, I think he’s gotten a concussion and a fever on top of it.” Kunigami hums, so Hiori takes it as permission to continue talking.
“Isagi might’ve gotten something similar, he seems faint and dehydrated. I’m not too sure on his leg though..” He trails off apologetically.
Kunigami didn’t immediately respond, instead reaching up to pluck a few more berries from a vine. “Isagi’s tough,” he said finally, his tone casual.
“But yeah, that burn on his ankle isn't helping.”
Hiori gave him a faint, understanding nod before turning his attention back to the path ahead. But just as the two of them walked a little deeper into the forest, something shifted in the air—an uneasy stillness, like the forest had gone quiet all of a sudden. Kunigami tensed, his eyes scanning the surroundings with growing unease.
Then, the unmistakable rustle of leaves. Something large moving, just beyond the trees.
Kunigami stopped in his tracks, holding up a hand to signal for Hiori to do the same. He turned, his voice low but urgent. “Don’t move.”
Hiori froze, his breath caught in his chest. “What?”
He doesn’t respond.
“ What is it?”
“Stay calm,” Kunigami cut him off, his voice low and slightly trembling. It makes it harder to stay calm. Still, he kept his body tense and didn't move as Kunigami’s gaze seemed to be looking past him.
Kunigami’s eyes flicked around rapidly, narrowing as he tried to locate the source of the movement. “I think…I think it’s a predator... or something big.” It comes off as a mumble, before Hiori could respond a growl startles him to silence.
There was a sudden flash of movement. A low growl reverberated through the trees, followed by the unmistakable sound of large paws padding over the earth.
Then, the figure emerged from the shadows, its body sleek and powerful. A jaguar. A fucking jaguar.
Hiori’s breath hitched as he saw the creature’s golden eyes lock onto him. The jaguar’s muscles rippled as it crouched, staring at him as though sizing him up. The creature’s growl was deeper now, rumbling through the air. It was getting closer.
Kunigami moved instinctively to shield Hiori, his hand gripping the back of his arm. He wasn’t sure what he’d be able to do, especially when it had leapt in front of Hiori’s sight and facing Kunigami’s back.
“Don’t run,” he whispered urgently.
“It’ll chase you if you do.”
Hiori’s eyes widened, panic bubbling up. He’d never seen an animal like this so close.
“What? But—”
The jaguar took another slow step forward, its eyes never leaving Hiori. Kunigami’s grip on Hiori’s arm tightened as the tension in the air thickened. The bigass cat was clearly focused on Hiori.
“Stay still,” Kunigami muttered, watching the jaguar carefully. His muscles were coiled, ready for anything, but his eyes never left the jaguar’s predatory gaze.
Hiori, heart pounding, felt the sweat on his brow. “I can’t just stand here , Kunigami! What if—?”
“Just trust me. Don’t move.”
The jaguar let out a low, rumbling growl, its body shifting ever so slightly, preparing to lunge. Hiori's chest tightened, his heart racing.
Every instinct screamed at him to run—to get away—but Kunigami’s grip was firm, his warning clear. The jaguar was still, watching. It wasn’t moving yet, but Hiori could feel the tension in the air, like it was waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Time felt like it was stretching out, and Hiori could barely breathe.
He fought the urge to dart off, to flee, Kunigami’s calm demeanor gave him a strange sense of focus. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to remain still.
Then, with a sudden flash of motion, the jaguar leapt forward, its body moving quick.
Kunigami reacted faster.
With a single, swift motion, Kunigami shoved Hiori to the side, pushing him out of the jaguar’s immediate path. The animal was fast—too fast—but the sudden movement seemed to throw it off. It misjudged, and instead of connecting with Hiori’s left chest, it ended up tearing something by his shoulder.
He couldn’t help it, he screamed.
Kunigami’s eyes were wide with shock, but he didn’t hesitate shoving Hiori a second time. “Run!”
Hiori didn’t need to be told twice. He spun on his heel, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and sprinted in the opposite direction, his heart hammering in his chest. He could hear the jaguar’s growl growing louder behind him, but he didn’t dare look back.
Kunigami stayed close, never losing sight of Hiori. His eyes remained focused on the animal, making sure it didn’t follow them. “Keep going!” he shouted over the sound of the jaguar’s pursuit. There was a thud and several grunts but he couldn’t look back.
Hiori ran as fast as he could, the sound of the jaguar’s claws scraping against the forest floor echoing in his ears.
He didn’t dare slow down, pushing himself harder than he ever had before, until the distant sound of the predator’s growls finally faded.
And so did Kunigami.
The air felt thick, suffocating, as the jaguar’s growls reverberated through the trees. Hiori’s heart pounded in his chest, his legs burning from the strain of running. He could hear Kunigami’s voice, low and urgent, shouting something behind him, but all Hiori’s could focus on was the sound of the jaguar’s claws digging into the earth, drawing closer.
Just keep going, just keep going, he told himself over and over, but panic was setting in. His breath came in ragged gasps, his legs screaming in protest, his thoughts jumbled and frantic. The only thing in his mind was the animal chasing him—the hunger in its growl, the sharpness in its eyes.
Pain exploded in his side, sharp and unrelenting. His breath was knocked out of him, and for a moment, he could only lay there, dazed.
No, no, no…
A desperate scream built in his throat, but he swallowed it down, pushing himself up with trembling arms. His ankle twisted beneath him, and he cried out in pain, his vision swimming with dizziness. Blood was rushing to his head, the forest spinning around him like a blur of green and brown.
But he didn’t have time to think about it. He had to run.
He pushed off the ground, stumbling to his feet, his legs shaking, and forced himself to keep going. Every step felt like it was costing him more than he had to give. His heart hammered in his chest, his breathing erratic, and still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that the jaguar was right behind him.
I can’t—I can’t outrun it. I’m.. shit. I’m not fast enough.
His thoughts were fractured, his body betraying him as the pain in his side and ankle grew worse with every step. He wanted to scream. He wanted to curl up and hide, but he couldn’t. The jaguar was still out there.
It was still hunting him .
His vision blurred again, the trees twisting and shifting around him. He could hear the jaguar now, its low growls growing louder, its footsteps too close. His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he thought he was going to collapse from the panic alone.
I can’t stop. I can’t stop.
His foot landed awkwardly, and then his body lurched to the side. His legs buckled beneath him, and before he could even register what happened, the world tipped sideways. His hands scraped against the rough ground as he fell, his body crashing down hard. The pain was immediate, sharp and burning through his limbs. He hit the ground with a sickening thud, his cheek scraping against the dirt, and the air was knocked out of him again.
For a moment, all he could do was lie there, gasping for breath, too stunned to move. He felt the jaguar’s presence—so close, so imminent—and the tears started to well up in his eyes.
Please, please, no…
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push through the haze of fear, the overwhelming ache in his chest. He couldn’t stop himself from crying, the desperate sobs rising from his throat despite his attempts to stay quiet.
The jaguar’s growl was louder now. It was just behind him.
The sound of it was deafening. It was so close. Too close.
Hiori barely had the strength to lift his head before his body was seized by another wave of pain. His ankle throbbed with each passing second, and his chest felt tight, constricted. But he couldn’t stay on the ground—he couldn’t let the jaguar win. He had to keep moving.
With everything he had left, he pushed himself up, stumbling forward again. But this time, he didn’t have the strength to run properly. His legs buckled beneath him once more, and he fell into the dirt. His hands scraped against the soil as he tried to push himself upright again, but the world felt like it was closing in on him.
I’m not going to make it.
The jaguar’s growl was nearly upon him, too loud to ignore, too terrifying to deny. The primal fear was overtaking him, and the tears started to fall freely, his breath ragged and uneven. He wanted to scream again, to call for help, but he knew it was pointless. He was alone. Kunigami was nowhere to be seen. He had left him behind. He was going to die out here, alone, in the dark, with nothing but the sound of the jaguar closing in.
I don’t want to die.
Hiori’s head spun as he pushed his body forward, his limbs aching, but it was all too much. He collapsed again, a jagged sob ripping from his chest. He couldn’t move anymore.
*
The team advanced in tight formation, machetes cutting through the suffocating vegetation.
The deeper they pushed, the more the forest resisted—vines clung to their gear, unseen roots threatened to trip them, and the air grew thick, stifling. Above, the canopy blocked out most of the sunlight, plunging them into a perpetual twilight.
A drone buzzed overhead, its infrared scanner sweeping the forest floor. Static crackled through the radio.
“Possible heat signature—half a klick northeast,” the operator’s voice came through, distorted.
Elias nodded. “Move.”
The team pressed on, every sense on edge.
Sofia stopped. “Something’s wrong.”
Elias turned just as she crouched, fingers brushing the damp earth.
“Footprints.” Her voice was low, tense. “More than one person. And—” She trailed off.
Elias followed her gaze to another set of tracks. Wider. Deeper. Not human.
“Definitely some sort of predator,” one of the men muttered.
But I couldn't be too sure of it yet, they were search team not a fucking zoologist.
Elias clenched his jaw. “We need to keep moving. C’mon.”
*
It should be quiet at a time like this.
Instead the forest practically came alive with sounds—chirps, clicks, distant howls. But underneath it all, something else. A whisper of movement. Stalking.
Then, through the dense hum of the forest—
A sound.
Elias halted, raising a fist. The team froze.
It came again. A voice. Weak.
He ran.
Branches tore at his face, roots caught at his boots, but he didn’t stop. The others followed, their flashlight beams cutting through the darkness. Then—an opening. A rocky overhang, a fire long burned out. And beneath it—
A figure. Huddled. Barely conscious.
“Who… the hell.. are y’all?” His voice was nothing but breath.
“I found another one!” Someone calls out, another one hollers to steady the guy properly.
Elias dropped to his knees, unscrewing a canteen. “Drink.”
He wrinkled his nose, refusing to, and wincing at Elias touching his shoulder. He eased up on his grip.
A rustle. A low, measured exhale just beyond the tree line.
Sofia’s hand went to her rifle. “We need to be quick, we’re not alone.”
Elias turned toward the darkness. The forest was watching. And something inside it wasn’t ready to let them go.
“We need to leave,” he said, voice steady. “Now.”
“Hold on, they might be others.”
“Hey kid,” Sofia says, looking into the blue hair kid’s lidded eyes. He grunts like he can hear her.
“Are there any other survivors here?”
*
Kunigami couldn’t remember everything.
A jaguar—maybe?
The details blurred, slipping through his grasp like water through trembling fingers.
He thought he had died at some point—assumed it, even. Maybe it was after he’d tried to distract the jaguar, only to realize too late that he was too slow, too tired, and too human.
He thought of Chigiri in the midst of this, wondering how pissed he would be if he died.
His arm was bleeding. He thinks.
He didn’t remember how it happened. The dull throb of pain pulsed in sync with his sluggish heartbeat, a rhythmic reminder that he was still here. Somehow.
His breathing was ragged, each inhale scraping against his ribs. His legs wobbled, and before he could stop himself, his knees buckled. The ground met him with an unforgiving embrace, dirt pressing into his skin as he exhaled shakily.
Footsteps.
For a moment, he forgot where he was. Who he was.
The sound felt distant, like something from a dream. His body tensed on instinct, but his mind lagged behind, struggling to bridge the gaps between thought and action.
Should he be scared that footsteps are coming closer?
He wanted to call out, to warn someone—to say something, anything —but his lips wouldn’t move. His body had given up before his mind had caught on.
The world swayed, a haze of green and brown, and his vision narrowed. The tension in his muscles unraveled thread by thread, he couldn’t help it. Exhaustion swallowed him whole.
He wouldn’t hear it, but someone had reached his side and had called out: I found another one!
*
Isagi blinks sluggishly. His lashes feel weighted, like they’ve been dipped in lead, and every slow flicker of his eyes sends ripples through the hazy fog clouding his mind.
His vision swims, warped and unfocused, the harsh fluorescent lights above stretching into long, blinding streaks. The ceiling is too white, too sterile, like freshly fallen snow untouched by footsteps. It feels unfamiliar, foreign.
A tremor stirs in his chest—panic, light as a breath at first, then clawing, twisting. Where is he? What happened?
The dull ache in his limbs pulses in time with the distant, metronomic beeping that fills the silence. When he shifts, even slightly, pain lances through his legs, sharp enough to snatch the air from his lungs. His fingers twitch against something thin and plastic—an IV line. A cool prick at the back of his hand.
There had also been a strange weight pressed against his ankle, soft and tight—bandages?
The memories slip through his grasp like sand. He’d remembered sleeping, only to wake up here.
He exhales, but the sound is strange, muffled. Like it doesn’t quite belong to him. The room tilts and wavers, blurring at the edges, as if he’s caught between one world and another.
The thought drifts lazily through his mind, untethered, as if it doesn’t fully belong to him. He figures he must be dead. The whiteness of the room is too bright, too empty. He half expects it to stretch forever, swallowing him whole. His ears ring with something distant, something that isn’t the steady beeping of the monitor.
He’s somewhere between waking and dreaming.
A flicker of movement in the corner of his eye—a shadow, shifting. But when he turns his head, wincing at the sharp jolt in his neck, there’s nothing. Just the blinding lights. Just the empty white.
Dreaming something like this was surprising. He ends up wondering how he died.
“You’re not dead” The know-it-all seems to tell him. His heart stutters when a voice, firm and unmistakable, cuts through the haze.
“What the hell are you doing here?” He mumbled to the figure blinking blearily, in retrospect it must’ve sounded like (Wha ta huh) He then saw dark blue hair lean closer towards him.
“I told them we’re related, your parents asked me to.” This one is quieter than the first, almost as if it had been a confession. For a second, Isagi just stares, the words struggling to process in his sluggish, fogged-up brain. Rin ? Oh it’s Rin.
Oh. Right. Of course he was here.
Where was he?
“United States.” The figure, Rin, answers gruffly. Before he can wonder why he’s here, he hears Rin sigh and explain to him something about how Bastard München wasn’t the only team that had traveled to the United States.
A groan escapes him as he shifts away from the noise, his sore muscles protesting the movement. He’s being loud again. His head throbs, his ribs feel like they’ve been replaced with bricks, and even the effort of breathing feels exhausting.
“Shut up” He mumbles.
“..thanks.” He decides to add, realizing how worried his parents must be. Also thanking him for the sudden silence. His tired brain takes a moment to register the sound of a camera shutter. Slowly, he turns his head toward Rin, who is standing awkwardly, phone in hand, eyes wide. The flash. He forgot to mute it.
Isagi blinks. Then snorts. Then chuckles, even though it sends another wave of soreness through his ribs. Rin’s face reddens, but he tries to play it off with a halfhearted shrug.
Isagi grins through the pain. “You’re such an idiot.” Rin clicks his tongue at him.
“Bachairou couldn’t come so I’ve been forced, he also says hi.” He says with a deadpan, Isagi’s head is fuzzy.
Right.. Right
“Righhhhhthtt” He falls back to sleep.
*
Noel’s consciousness returns in fragments—first, the distant hum of machines, then the crisp scent of antiseptic, and finally, the weight of his own body pressing into an unfamiliar bed. His eyes flutter open, squinting against the fluorescent lights above. White ceiling. Stiff sheets.
The steady beep of a heart monitor.
A hospital. Of course.
His body feels sluggish, as though weighed down by lead. But he still manages to startle himself awake. He then groans, attempting to properly sit up, then a sharp pain radiates through his limbs, reminding him he was in the hospital for a reason.
Immediately, a nurse rushes to his side, gently pressing a hand to his shoulder to ease him back down. "You need to rest," she says firmly.
Noel exhales sharply, shaking his head. "All I’ve done is rest," he mutters, voice rough from disuse.
"What I need is to move."
The nurse purses her lips, clearly prepared to argue, but after a pause, she sighs. "You’re in a private recovery area. There aren’t many people around, so as long as you don’t push yourself too hard, you’re allowed to walk—carefully."
That’s all Noel needs to hear. He throws the blanket off, ignoring the ache in his muscles as he swings his legs over the bed. He wants to rip the IV that has been stuck to his hand but the nurse insists on him bringing the IV rail with him.
He agrees to get her to shut up and holds the IV pole when getting down the bed. His feet touch the cold floor, and for a moment, the world tilts. He steadies himself with slow breaths before taking a cautious step forward.
The hall outside is quiet, the walls a sterile shade of white with soft overhead lighting.
He walks with careful, measured steps, his body still stiff from what must have been days of inactivity. As he rounds a corner, he spots a figure sitting near a window. He decides to follow the figure.
The figure ends up being an older woman who looks up as Noel approaches, her usually sharp eyes slightly weary. Her name tag reads Doctor so he assumes she’s the one responsible for treating the players. "Didn’t think you’d be up so soon," she remarks brightly.
Noel exhales.
"You probably don’t remember much," The doctor starts, rubbing a hand over her face. "I heard you have been unconscious for most of the time during the aftermath of your crash. Search teams found you 2 days ago, it’s Sunday 2:04 pm right now. Eastern Time Zone." She’s careful when neglecting to mention how long he’s been there, but Noel refuses to ask.
Noel’s breath catches in his throat. The crash. The chaos. The blaring alarms and the sickening jolt of impact. His fingers curl slightly, his body instinctively tensing.
"Where…?" He swallows, voice quieter this time. "Where are we?"
"Nevada, United States," She answers. "Thankfully your team is accounted for. But… some are still in… recovery."
Noel leans back, his head swimming with the weight of the information. So the plane had crashed. But they were found.
They survived. It seemed like something that should be more of an exclamatory statement, they survived! But it doesn’t feel like a celebratory moment, not when he hardly remembered anything that had happened in between.
He looks down at both his hands and stares.
He exhales slowly, and the IV besides him drips.
*
Most of them were discharged.
IV fluids, scans for brain bleeding, and burn treatments—standard precautions after what they had been through. Malnourishment had been addressed, electrolytes replenished. They weren’t at their peak, but they were stable. That was enough for now.
While some still had a few days left under medical supervision, those who were cleared were eager to leave.
“We can’t just walk out,” someone muttered, running a hand through his disheveled hair.
“We’ll be swarmed before we even reach the car.”
They weren’t wrong. The press had been camped outside the hospital for days, reporters desperate for a statement, a photo, anything. The world had been waiting to see them again.
A man in a black suit—lean, composed, and expressionless—stood by the door. He wasn't a hospital staff member. He was in crisis management.
“You won’t be walking out,” he said. “Not through the front entrance, at least.”
“HERE ON TODAY NEWS, TODAY AT 11:45 PM, an ambulance with flashing lights is pulled up to the hospital’s main doors. A team of paramedics rushed out, pushing a stretcher concealed beneath thick privacy screens. Could they be BASTARD’S team?”
Reporters surged forward, pressing against the barricades.
“Is that them?”
“Where are they being taken?”
“Are they well enough to speak?”
A convoy of black SUVs followed, their tinted windows reflecting the chaos. The scene was exactly what the media expected—an urgent, high-profile hospital departure.
Inside the cars? There was no one.
Beneath the privacy screen was an empty stretcher, rigged with IV bags for authenticity. The paramedics were hired decoys, trained to sell the performance. They loaded the stretcher, slammed the doors shut, and sped off into the night.
The press followed. Even helicopters took flight. The news chased after a ghost.
Meanwhile, at the back of the hospital, a different set of doors opened.
The underground service exit—normally used for maintenance and medical waste disposal—had been cleared in advance. The security cameras had gone “under maintenance” for the night, a quiet favor from hospital administration.
Then, another blacked-out SUVs were idled nearby. They were real transport.
A nurse wheeled the first player out in a standard hospital wheelchair—head down, hood up, face obscured. No unnecessary movement. Just a quiet, calculated departure.
The second and third followed, identical in their disguises—surgical masks, hooded sweatshirts, their identities reduced to anonymity.
The crisis manager checked his watch. Seventeen seconds. That’s all it took.
By the time the ambulance decoy reached the freeway, the real convoy had already disappeared into the city, slipping past the press unnoticed.
No grand exit. No cameras. No spectacle.
Just a quiet ride to temporary seclusion, away from flashing lights and prying eyes.
By the time the publicists released a statement— The survivors are still receiving treatment and will not be discharged at this time. We ask for privacy during their recovery —most of them had already left the hospital.
*
Kunigami stepped into the polished lobby of the fancy hotel, the sterile smell of the place mixing with the faint hum of voices in the background.
The first thing he had done when he had woken up was to try and receive a phone, he’d been able to borrow Rin’s when he had briefly visited them and tried calling Chigiri. He’d insisted he couldn’t come mostly due to the fear that he’d be recognized by the public. Not to mention he doubted if he’d be allowed in, and Chigiri had surprisingly not pressed further simply telling him the hotel he was currently in.
And now?
Now his body ached only slightly, but the hospital had let him go earlier than expected. They told him to rest, but rest was the last thing on his mind. He just needed to get out of there, away from the sterile walls.
His thoughts were a little fuzzy, still caught in the haze of lingering exhaustion and the discomfort from his injuries. But as he turned the corner, his eyes locked on something.
There, standing just a few feet away at the entrance, was Chigiri.
Kunigami’s breath caught in his throat.
He froze for a second, blinking as if trying to clear his head. He had expected to see him here, but it had been… a long time.
"Chigiri?" Kunigami’s voice cracked slightly as he said his name, the surprise obvious in his tone. He hadn’t realized it until now, but the sight of Chigiri in front of him hit him harder than he expected.
Chigiri’s eyes widened in disbelief, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Kunigami only slowly made his way towards him.
Kunigami, trying to regain his composure, put on his usual smirk, even though the pain from his injuries was beginning to flare up. “Well what are you doing here?” Kunigami tries to joke knowing fully well they had intended to meet each other. Still, his words were forced in an attempt to hide the lingering shock.
Chigiri’s eyes didn’t leave his face. Kunigami barely had time to process the shift in his expression before Chigiri stepped forward, closing the distance between them in an instant.
Without warning, an outside a hotel, Chigiri pulled him into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around Kunigami with surprising force. Kunigami tensed, caught off guard by the sudden contact. He was still a little dizzy from the hospital, and the pain in his body made it hard to keep his balance.
He wanted to say something, but his mind was a mess of confusion and emotion.
“Chigiri?” Kunigami managed to mutter, still stiff from the unexpected embrace.
But Chigiri just held him tighter, his voice barely a whisper against his ear.
“I thought you were dead ,” The words were barely audible but carrying so much weight, so much that it made Kunigami’s heart tighten. He tried squeezing back.
Kunigami’s hand instinctively reached up, resting on Chigiri’s back, though his chest felt hollow at the realization.
“I’m here,” Kunigami said softly, his voice breaking through the heavy silence between them. “I’m alive, Chigiri.” It wasn’t a promise, but it felt dangerously close to one.
Chigiri pulled back slightly, but his hands remained on Kunigami’s shoulders, his gaze searching Kunigami’s face as though he needed to verify that this was real. His lips quivered slightly, and Kunigami could see the tears that were barely held back in Chigiri’s eyes.
“You’re a damn idiot, y’know that?” Chigiri muttered, shaking his head with a weak laugh that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Kunigami chuckled softly, though it was strained by the pain in his body. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, smiling despite himself.
“But on the brightside, I guess you’re stuck with me now, huh?”
Chigiri’s grip on him loosened just enough for him to look up, his eyes now glimmering with the faintest hint of humor. “Yeah, you’re lucky I didn’t strangle you the second I saw you,” he said with a teasing smirk, though the relief in his voice was unmistakable. He’d been about to make another remark when he noticed Chigiri reached his arms out again.
“Shut up” He’s tentative when reaching to hug him, so Kunigami ends up being the one to wrap their arms together. He doesn’t make any remark, not when he feels his arm’s start to tremble slightly.
“Just.. shut up.” And with that he takes a staggering sigh and hugs him a bit more tighter. In all honesty, he’s scared of letting go.