Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The Blue Lock dorms had settled into a rare evening lull.

Fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead as the air conditioning hummed through the vents. Most players had either hit the showers, knocked out in their rooms, or gathered in cliques to relax after the gruelling day’s training.

In one of the lounge areas near the north wing, Isagi sat with both legs curled under him on the carpet, cheerfully spooning rice into his mouth from a steaming bowl of egg and soy sauce donburi. His hair was damp from a recent shower.

“…And then I swear to god, Kurona tripped over the cone and somehow still kept dribbling without falling—like, I don’t even know how you stayed upright, man,” Isagi said between bites, eyes wide with admiration. “Your balance must be insane. Like seriously, I would've eaten turf.”

Kurona blinked at him from where he sat on the couch, one knee pulled up, casually sipping a lemon soda. “I didn’t trip. I was adjusting my stride, stride.”

“That’s what you’re calling it?” Isagi grinned. “Okay, I’ll write that down in my captain’s report: ‘Kurona heroically adjusted his stride by face planting into the cone.’”

Kurona rolled his eyes, but a faint smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.

At the kitchenette bar, Hiori had just finished reheating tea in the microwave and was politely adding a splash of honey to it. He turned with a soft smile and spoke, “Isagi, you really don’t have to inhale your food like that. No one’s going to steal it from you.”

“I know, I know,” Isagi replied around a mouthful. “But it’s just—man, this sauce? Perfect. Life-saving. I think this is the best thing I’ve eaten all week. And I might have eaten Yukimiya’s yogurt earlier by accident, so this is like, karmic balance.”

From the other end of the couch, Yukimiya, dressed in a velvet-black lounge set, looked up from a fashion magazine. “So you were the one who ate it,” he said coolly.

Isagi froze. “...Hypothetically speaking.”

“You absolute menace.”

“I thought it was mine! I thought—listen, it was dark, and I didn’t have my contacts in and—okay, yeah, no, that’s fair.”

“Next time, touch it and I’ll lace it with wasabi,” Yukimiya said with the polite venom of a man who could destroy someone with both words and skincare.

Isagi just laughed, leaning back on his hands. “You’d still make it look good, Yuki.”

Raichi stomped in from the hallway holding a half-empty protein bar like it had personally offended him. “Why are y’all always lounging around like Ego decided to be merciful and bless us with a break?”

Kurona glanced at him. “Because it basically is, if you don’t suck at practice, practice.”

Raichi squinted like he couldn’t decide if that was a burn. “Whatever. Hey, Isagi, you want to do footwork drills later?”

Isagi’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Wait—like, now? I’m still digesting. Gimme ten minutes. Or maybe twenty. Thirty if I find dessert.”

“Unreal fattie,” Raichi muttered.

“You just don’t want to admit you love spending time with me,” Isagi grinned, pointing a chopstick at him.

Raichi immediately turned to Hiori. “How do you put up with him?”

Hiori looked mildly amused as he sipped his tea. “He’s… enthusiastic. It’s not so bad.”

“Aw, you’re sweet Hiori,” Isagi said, beaming. “See? That’s why we’re friends.”

Just then—

BZZZZZT.

The sharp electric buzz from the ceiling speaker cut through the cozy atmosphere like a blade.

Everyone’s heads snapped up.

“This is Ego.”

The voice of Ego Jinpachi himself rang out over the dorms, harsh and cutting.

“Every single Blue Lock player is to report IMMEDIATELY to the main common room. Emergency meeting. Drop whatever you’re doing. That includes you, Nagi Seishiro—you are not allowed to sleep through this.”

A stunned pause.

“…What?” Isagi said, blinking.

“Emergency meeting?” Hiori echoed, lowering his mug.

“I’m not joking. You have two minutes. If I see anyone slacking, I’ll personally see to it that you never appear in any football league in the future.. Now move it you lumps of talent.”

The speaker clicked off.

A thick silence fell over the room.

“…Okay,” Kurona said finally, standing up. “That’s not ominous at all, all.”

“Did someone die?” Raichi asked bluntly.

Yukimiya gave a dramatic sigh. “It’s always something in this facility. Did Shidou-san finally snap and make an attempt to kill Rin-kun?”

“I just started eating,” Isagi said, holding up his half-finished bowl with a pout. “This is actual tragedy. Emotional devastation.”

“Grab it and go,” Hiori suggested gently.

“Good call. Smart, calm, logical—what would I do without you?” Isagi hopped up and immediately ran into the edge of the coffee table. “Ow. I’m fine.”

They filed into the hallway, joining the crowd of confused and muttering players, some still in slippers and pajamas, others shirtless or brushing their teeth. In the distance, Chigiri and Kunigami walked side by side, tense. Bachira popped out of someone else’s dorm for no apparent reason. Niko looked like he was trying to phase through the wall.

As they all streamed into the main common room, one thing became clear:

Nobody knew what was going on.

And whatever it was—

Ego sounded serious.

The Blue Lock common room was already loud by the time the last players stumbled in—some annoyed, some sleepy, and some, in Charles' case, suspiciously gleeful.

Isagi was one of the first inside, hair still damp from a quick rinse, half a rice ball in his hand as he immediately looked around and chirped, “Guys, what do you think this is about? It’s gotta be serious if Ego’s dragging us all in like this, right? Unless it’s a test. Oh man, what if it’s a trap test?! That’d be kinda fun—”

“Isagi!” Bachira launched himself from a couch like a flying squirrel, landing half-on, half-beside Isagi with a wide grin. “Did you miss me? You look like you missed me. I missed you. We should hold hands.”

“I have rice in my hand, Meguru,” Isagi laughed, trying not to spill sesame everywhere.

“Tragic,” Bachira said dramatically, leaning against him anyway.

Across the room, Rin sat perched on the edge of a bench, glaring at everyone like they personally offended him. His voice cut through the noise, sharp and low:

“Can everyone shut the fuck up for five seconds?”

Everyone ignored him.

Except Chigiri, who tossed his red hair over his shoulder and said, “Maybe if you said ‘please’ once in your life, people might actually listen.”

“Maybe if people had two brain cells to rub together, I wouldn’t have to ask,” Rin snapped.

“I’m not involved,” Kunigami muttered from a corner, arms folded, clearly not in the mood. He’d planted himself as far from everyone as possible, glowering like the very concept of conversation offended him.

“Why is everyone yelling?” Ness whispered to Kaiser, wide-eyed. “Did someone die?”

Kaiser didn’t answer. He was too busy admiring his reflection in the dark screen of the monitor.

“I think this is the moment Ego finally gives me full control,” he said aloud, adjusting his collar. “You’ve all had your fun. Now watch how a real star operates.”

“Delusional,” Barou muttered with a snort, rolling his eyes. “Half of you can’t even spell ‘discipline.’ This room smells like weakness.”

“Barou, literally nobody asked,” Reo called from the back, arms crossed, standing beside Nagi—who, in contrast, looked like he might fall asleep vertically at any second.

Reo elbowed him. “Hey. Stand up straight. This could be important.”

“Mmh. Wake me when he says something that isn’t threatening,” Nagi yawned.

Nearby, Nanase was clutching his pillow like it was a flotation device. “What if something broke? What if someone broke in? Oh god, what if it’s the guy from last time—?”

“It’s never the guy from last time, time,” Kurona said calmly, seated cross-legged beside Hiori on the floor, both of them quietly sipping tea from matching mugs they definitely weren’t supposed to have.

“We're probably fine,” Hiori added, gaze still fixed on the screen. “Probably.”

“Hey Mr. Reo!” Charles shouted suddenly. “Did you tell Ego about the snack bar incident or are we pretending that never happened?”

“What snack bar incident?” Reo snapped, turning.

Shidou cackled beside Charles like a kid who just poured sugar into someone’s gas tank. “He didn’t tell him. I might have. Whoops.”

“You guys are unbelievable,” Yukimiya muttered, voice dangerously quiet as he sat with perfectly polished posture. “And by ‘you guys,’ I specifically mean Charles, Shidou, Otoya, and Karasu. Because you four are the reason my skin broke out last week. Somehow.”

“Allegedly,” Otoya said sweetly, seated on Karasu’s lap with a smug little smile.

“I didn’t do anything,” Karasu said, clearly lying. “Except love my boyfriend. Sorry we’re adorable.”

“You’re feral,” Yukimiya snapped.

“And thriving,” Otoya winked.

Lorenzo, draped across a beanbag with gold rings stacked high on both hands, was quietly counting coins while whispering to himself in Spanish. “If Ego dies in the next three minutes, I get top rank, jackpot, and maybe a free showerhead…”

“Why do you talk like that?” Raichi said, irritated, from a nearby armrest. “Do you even hear yourself? No, don’t answer. You’re all freaks. Every single one of you. I want out.”

“I second that,” muttered Niko from beside him, eyes scanning every exit.

Isagi, still holding Bachira, had sidled over toward Rin—who hadn’t moved or blinked since sitting down. “Hey,” he said gently. “You okay?”

Rin sighed. “If you say one more thing about this being a fun mystery, I’m breaking your rice ball in half.”

Isagi grinned. “Wow. Relationship violence.”

“Consider it mercy.”

Then—

The monitor flickered.

A ripple of static.

Every sound in the room died.

Shidou stopped laughing. Bachira sat upright. Even Otoya stopped chewing his gum.

The screen remained black, but the blue glow against the walls sent a signal through the crowd:

Ego was coming.

Rin’s eyes narrowed.

Reo grabbed Nagi’s sleeve.

Nanase held his breath.

Barou muttered, “About damn time.”

And in the frozen silence, Isagi leaned toward Hiori and whispered, “Okay. This might actually be a little scary.”

Hiori didn’t look away from the screen.

“…Yeah,” he murmured. “I feel that too.”

The monitor’s static crackled one last time before Ego appeared on screen, arms crossed, eyes colder than usual behind his glasses.

“Good. You’re all here. Shut up and listen.”

A ripple of silence swept across the chaotic room. Even Charles stopped cackling. Otoya paused mid-gum pop. Bachira tilted his head in curiosity, half-upside-down on a couch with his legs hooked over the backrest.

Ego continued without ceremony:

“At approximately 4:12 a.m., Blue Lock’s security system detected an unauthorized presence in Simulation Room 3C.”

Reo frowned, exchanging a look with Nagi. “That floor’s been locked for months.”

“Unless you count ghosts,” Nanase whispered, eyes wide.

“We assumed it was a malfunction. Or a prank. But when the team arrived, they found no intruder, no damage—only a child.”

That word hit like a slap. Everyone straightened.

“A what now?” Chigiri said.

Barou scoffed. “What the hell kind of joke is this?”

“This wasn’t just any child,” Ego said calmly. “It was one of you.”

The room fell dead silent.

“An exact replica—biologically and mentally—of one of Blue Lock’s players, at the age of seven.”

The noise that followed was explosive.

“ARE YOU SAYING ONE OF US GOT TURNED INTO A CHILD?!”

“Wait, wait, are we cloning people now?!”

“Please tell me it’s not me. Please, god.”

“What kind of Black Mirror B.S. is this—”

“Is it me? I always knew I was cursed,” Charles whispered, eyes sparkling with chaos.

“Shut up and pay attention,” Ego snapped. “This child arrived with no memory of how they got here and only a single note.”

The screen flickered. The grainy image of a handwritten note appeared:

“They have forgotten their ego. Their pain still shapes them. Help them remember—or lose them forever.”
“You have one week.”

 

“If the original player cannot reconnect with their younger self, confront the trauma that broke their ego, and accept it—the child will disappear.”

“Disappear?” Rin asked sharply. “Define disappear.”

Ego’s gaze was unflinching.

“They will cease to exist. Not just the child. The player.”

“Are you serious?!” Reo gasped, pale. “This is actual erasure! What kind of system is that?!”

Kaiser stared at the screen like it had insulted him personally. “Why the hell are we being punished for having childhood trauma?! We’re athletes, not therapy cases!”

“You guys have trauma?” Otoya said with mock innocence. “Must be hard.”

Karasu snorted. “Speak for yourself, we’re thriving.”

“You’re thriving on being menaces,” Yukimiya growled.

In the corner, Hiori didn’t speak. His grip on his tea mug tightened.

Kurona glanced sideways at him but said nothing.

“This is not a punishment,” Ego continued. “This is a test. A test of the ego at its most primal state. If you cannot face your younger self—the root of your ambition, your fear, your pain—then you have no place on the path to becoming the best striker in the world.”

“Are you saying this is gonna happen again?” Raichi asked in disbelief.

“Yes. A new child will appear every week. You will not be told who until they arrive. If that player fails their task, they will vanish. Permanently. Every one of you is a candidate.”

Even Barou looked rattled now.

“So who’s the first one?” Niko asked, quietly.

The screen flickered again.

Then: a hallway. Dim lights. A barefoot child sitting against a wall, knees tucked to his chest, oversized yellow hoodie drooping over his tiny frame. Messy brunette strands stuck out in all directions. Big, golden eyes looked up at the camera with a mix of wonder and confusion—and a strange, eerie loneliness.

Everyone in the room leaned forward.

“...No way,” Isagi whispered.

“Is that—” Kurona started.

Then, from offscreen, came a faint rustling. The camera shifted.

And into the common room, in real time, stepped Anri—her heels clicking gently on the tile, holding the hand of a tiny, seven-year-old Bachira Meguru.

He looked up at the room of stunned teenagers with wide, blinking eyes and said softly:

“Um… hi?”

The silence was absolute.

Then the real, seventeen-year-old Bachira gasped, launched to his feet, pointed at his younger self and yelled:

“OH MY GOD, I’M ADORABLE!”

Chapter Text

[Day 1]

The entire room stared in stunned, frozen silence.

Seven-year-old Bachira stood beside Anri, blinking up at a group of stunned soccer prodigies as if they were exhibits in a zoo. His brunette hair was wild, his yellow hoodie nearly swallowed his frame, and his tiny fingers were clinging gently to the hem of Anri's pencil skirt.

He smiled shyly and wiggled his fingers in a wave.

“Hi... you're all really tall.”

Seventeen-year-old Bachira gasped again.

“OH MY GOD, HE'S PERFECT.”

“Holy shit,” Chigiri muttered.

Isagi’s mouth was open. “That’s—you—but… smaller. And somehow more cute!”

“I wanna squeeze him,” Karasu whispered.

“Get in line,” Otoya whispered back.

Kunigami, arms folded, scowled like a man watching a puppy pee on his shoes. “I hate this.”

“Wow,” Kaiser muttered, eyeing both versions of Bachira. “There really are two of him now. Humanity is doomed.”

“You’re all acting like you’ve never seen a kid before,” Barou snapped.

“That’s because we haven’t,” Raichi growled. “We don’t have kids in Blue Lock, Barou. We’re not in a damn daycare—”

“Well, we are now,” Yukimiya said with thinly veiled horror.

Seven-year-old Bachira inched closer to Anri and tugged gently at her sleeve. “Miss Anri... um… are they mad at me?”

Anri immediately crouched beside him, smoothing his hair and giving him a soft, reassuring smile. “Not at all, sweetie. They’re just… surprised.”

Behind her, grown-up Bachira was fully melting.

“ISAGI.” He grabbed Isagi’s sleeve. “ISAGIIII—DID YOU SEE HIM? LOOK HOW LITTLE I WAS.”

“I see him, I see him!” Isagi stammered, half-laughing, half-panicking. “Oh my god, you even talked the same—this is so weird—”

“I want to give him so many snacks.”

“I don’t think that’s how this works—”

“Too late. I’m adopting myself.”

At the front of the room, Anri gently stood up and cleared her throat, addressing the crowd in her usual polite but overwhelmed voice.
“Everyone—if I could have your attention—thank you. I’ll be chaperoning this child for the duration of the week.”

“Do not leave him with Shidou,” someone hissed from the back.

Shidou was already crouched on the floor, staring at the kid with an unblinking smile. “He’s got little monster eyes,” he said. “It’s beautiful.”

“Back. Off,” Rin growled. He looked dangerously close to snapping Shidou’s neck out of pure nerves.

Anri continued, clearing her throat louder this time:

“He is, as Ego explained, a manifestation of one of our players’ past selves. In this case—Bachira Meguru, age seven. He is unaware of how he arrived, and he retains no memories beyond that age.”

“I remember a weird dream, though,” the child said suddenly. “There were so many voices. Some of them were mine. Some of them were mad.”He paused. “But I’m okay now. I think.”

Otoya let out a tiny “oof.”

Karasu muttered, “That’s haunting.”

“I will be supervising his care and making sure he remains safe,” Anri added quickly, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “But you are allowed—encouraged, actually—to interact with him. Especially… Bachira Meguru.”

Older Bachira was practically vibrating. “I CAN SHOW HIM ALL THE THINGS I WISH I KNEW.”

Anri looked tired already. “Within reason.”

“Can I introduce him to my monster?” Bachira asked, eyes sparkling.

“...Your what?” Anri blinked.

“Nothing,” Rin cut in flatly, already dragging grown Bachira back by the collar. “He means ‘his internal metaphor.’ Please ignore him.”

“Rinnieeeee,” Bachira whined, feet dragging.

“Don’t make this worse,” Rin hissed through his teeth. “We’re already in a sci-fi trauma purgatory.”

“I just wanna hug him!” Bachira grinned.

“Then hug him like a normal person. Not like a schizophrenic psych ward patient!”

Meanwhile, Reo was clinging to Nagi’s arm, eyes wide. “This could be us next.”

“You think they’d bring me as a kid?” Nagi said lazily. “I’d just be asleep under a vending machine.”

“That’s still trauma!” Reo hissed.

Charles was now sitting criss-cross on the floor, making faces at child-Bachira.

“You ever tried setting fire to something fun?” he asked.

“CHARLES,” Anri snapped.

“I’m just saying, it helped me!”

Behind him, Lorenzo cackled and flipped a gold coin. “I wonder how much the time-child would fetch on the dark web…”

Ness gasped. “Lore, no!”

Kurona, who had not moved from his spot on the floor, took a slow sip of tea. “We’re all going to die.”

Hiori nodded solemnly beside him. “Probably.”

Seven-year-old Bachira wandered a few steps away from Anri and stared up at his older self, who had escaped Rin’s grip and was crouched in front of him with sparkling eyes.

“You’re me?” the kid asked.

“I am you,” older Bachira whispered, tears welling. “But cooler. And taller.”

Child-Bachira smiled. “Are we happy?”

That stunned silence returned like a punch to the lungs.

Older Bachira blinked. Then blinked again. Slowly, he sat back on his heels, smile trembling at the corners.

“I think we’re gonna figure that out,” he said softly.

The kid nodded. “Okay. As long as you still like monsters.”

“I do.”

“I have drawings, do you wanna see—?”

“YES.”

From across the room, Isagi exhaled, smiling faintly… and then flinched when Rin grabbed his wrist without warning.

“Yoichi,” Rin muttered, low and serious. “Don’t ever let them show up with my kid self.”

Isagi blinked. “Why?”

Rin's eyes were deadpan. “Because he bites.”

Isagi can’t tell if Rin’s joking or not.

The moment Anri left the room—after warning them again not to feed the child soda or ask him “philosophical questions” too early—everyone slowly, awkwardly turned toward the tiny Bachira now sitting cross-legged on a beanbag, chewing on a string cheese Anri had given him.

He blinked at them all. Cheerful. Open. Bright.

But a room full of elite soccer players staring silently at you like you're a bomb waiting to explode?

Even for seven-year-old Bachira, that was… a lot.

“Okay,” Isagi said, trying to break the tension. “So we’re supposed to help him resolve his trauma. Right? That doesn’t sound too hard.”

“He’s seven,” Barou said flatly. “You can’t just walk up and ask him, ‘Hey, what’s your deepest emotional wound?” You dumbfuck.”

“Wanna bet?” Raichi said and immediately marched forward like he was heading into a bar fight.

“Raichi,” Hiori warned gently, “please don’t—”

“Oi, kid!” Raichi crouched in front of little Bachira and clapped his hands once. “You got trauma or what?”

The room exploded.

“WHAT THE HELL?”

“YOU CAN’T JUST—”

“RAICHI.”

“HE’S A CHILD!”

“I KNEW you’d mess this up—”

Little Bachira blinked up at Raichi, startled but not upset yet. “Um… I think so? Maybe? Do you mean, like… the monster?”

Raichi froze. “…Monster?”

Big Bachira perked up. “Ooooh, he still sees it! That’s awesome!”

“That’s not awesome, that’s a symptom!” Yukimiya hissed.

“Okay, hold on,” Reo said, stepping in, hands up like a traffic cop. “Let’s just—think this through. If we want to understand his trauma, we should approach it gently, okay? Not like—interrogating him.”

“I agree,” Nanase said. “We should try to get to know him first. He’s still a scared kid.”

“But we’re on a clock,” Chigiri argued, arms crossed. “A week. If we’re too gentle, we won’t learn anything.”

“I say we do a group Q&A,” Charles piped up, bouncing on the couch like a gremlin. “Every person gets one question. No filters. I’m starting with—‘Did your dad ruin your life or what?’”

“CHARLES,” Reo snapped.

Karasu was already laughing. “I second that question, though.”

“Thirded,” Otoya added, upside down on the armrest again.

“Don’t ask him that!” Isagi said, appalled.

“Oh my god,” Rin muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re all idiots.”

Meanwhile, little Bachira was shrinking in on himself. His legs had curled up. His smile had gone a little tight.

They didn’t notice.

Big Bachira’s grin faltered.

“I don’t think we should make him feel like a problem,” he said gently, voice a bit strained. “I mean—it’s not his fault he’s here. We should just… be kind. Play with him! Make him feel safe, you know?”

“That’s sweet,” Hiori said softly.

But Kurona, sharp-eyed, leaned in. “You’re nervous, nervous.”

Big Bachira hesitated. “...I just… I remember what I was like. I don’t wanna scare him.”

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Niko suggested, arms folded. “You’re literally him.”

“Yeah, but I’m also a freak with too much energy and an unpredictable vocabulary—”

“EXACTLY.”

The arguing built up again, louder now—some players pacing, some debating tactics like this was a strategy meeting and not an emotional minefield. Kaiser was going on about mental dominance. Shidou said they should scare the trauma outof him. Barou declared everyone too stupid to understand anything. Ness tried to ask if small Bachira liked magic. No one answered.

In the middle of the noise, little Bachira’s fingers curled in the sleeves of his hoodie.

His shoulders hunched. His legs drew tighter.

No one noticed until his lip began to tremble.

Then, softly:

“...Do they hate me?”

Everything stopped.

Big Bachira looked up so fast his neck cracked.

“What?” he asked, stunned.

“They’re all yelling,” little Bachira whispered, barely audible. “I didn’t mean to make anyone mad. I don’t wanna be a bad kid. I… I can go away if they don’t want me here…”

Silence fell like a dropped piano.

Big Bachira shot to his feet, panic blooming behind his eyes. “No—no no no, hey—hey, no one hates you, I swear! They’re just… being really loud! They’re like this all the time! It’s not your fault, okay?!”

Rin stepped forward and barked, “Everyone shut up!”

Shockingly, they obeyed. Even Shidou paused for a moment.

Big Bachira dropped to his knees beside his younger self, reaching out but stopping just short of grabbing him.

“Hey,” he said, voice softer than usual. “Hey, look at me.”

Little Bachira glanced up, cheeks pink, lower lip wobbling.

“None of them hate you. That’s just how they talk. Loud. Messy. Stupid,” he said with a smile. “But I love you, okay? You’re not bad. You’re not weird. You’re just little me. And little me is awesome.”

Little Bachira sniffled. “But what if they send me back because I’m too weird?”

Big Bachira shook his head. “Weird is good. Weird is strong. Weird is you. Don’t ever let anyone tell you you’re too much, okay?”

The child launched himself into older Bachira’s arms without warning, burying his face in his hoodie.

Everyone was dead silent.

Reo looked like he might cry.

Isagi was actually crying.

Karasu muttered, “Gross, I felt something,” and Yukimiya elbowed him hard.

After a long moment, Kurona exhaled.

“Okay,” he said, “so we’re definitely not ready to solve his trauma. But maybe we can start by shutting the hell up and letting him feel safe.”

“Seconded,” Hiori said.

“Thirded,” said Karasu, still holding Otoya like a lazy cat.

“I’ll get colouring books,” Nagi mumbled, already heading to steal art supplies from the rec room.

Rin looked down at Isagi, who wiped his eyes and sniffled.

“Don’t say it,” Isagi warned.

“I wasn’t gonna,” Rin said. Then added, “You’re too soft.”

“You’re literally holding my hand.”

“Shut up.”

[Day 2]

The day after Ego’s announcement, Blue Lock underwent a strange transformation.

It wasn’t the kind of place built for children—there were no toys, no storybooks, and the vending machines only dispensed protein shakes or black coffee. But by some miracle (and Reo’s bank account), the main common room had been transformed into a makeshift kid-friendly zone.

There was a blanket fort made from stolen towels and futons. A little coloring corner with scattered sketchpads. Someone had hauled in a plush beanbag shaped like a frog. And in the middle of it all, sitting cross-legged and completely absorbed in his own world, was seven-year-old Bachira Meguru, colouring with a green crayon.

“You’re drawing a… snail with flames?” Isagi asked, squinting over his shoulder.

“No, silly,” the child said, without looking up. “It’s a fire monster. He’s fast. He leaves slime trails that burn your enemies.”

“Oh. Obviously.”

Rin, seated beside Isagi, rolled his eyes. “You’re feeding it.”

“I like him,” Isagi muttered defensively.

“I know.”

Across the room, Reo was talking in hushed tones with Hiori and Kurona while Nagi sat nearby, quietly braiding together some multicolored shoelaces into what looked like a bracelet.

“So… what do we know?” Reo asked.

“He talks ta imaginary monsters,” Hiori said gently. “That’s not uncommon for a kid. But… the way he talks about it isn’t just pretend. It’s how he explains loneliness.”

Kurona nodded. “Did you hear what he said earlier when you asked him if he had any pets, pets?”

Reo frowned. “Yeah. He said, ‘Just the monster.’”

“Exactly.”

Elsewhere, Bachira’s older self sat cross-legged beside his child version, matching posture for posture.

“I used to do this exact drawing,” he said quietly, watching the kid color in purple horns. “Same shapes, same faces. No one ever understood it. They said it was creepy.”

Little Bachira looked up. “But the monster helps, doesn’t he?”

Older Bachira smiled softly. “Yeah. He helped me not be alone.”

From the couch, Chigiri and Otoya were watching the interaction with more intensity than either wanted to admit. Karasu was flipping through one of the sketchbooks Bachira had filled during the morning, his face unusually unreadable.

“Look at this one,” he muttered, holding up a page to Yukimiya, who had (somewhat begrudgingly) joined them.

It was a pencil drawing of a boy—lanky, hunched, standing alone under a sky filled with wide, watching monster eyes.

“I… can’t tell if that’s supposed to be scary or sad,” Yukimiya admitted.

“Both,” Chigiri said bluntly.

“I drew that one when I had to sit alone during recess,” little Bachira said suddenly, walking up to them barefoot. He held a second drawing in his hands. “Wanna see the one where the monster saved me from the mean kids?”

There was a long pause.

He handed it to Karasu.

It was messier than the others—angrier. Three stick figures stood around a crying boy. Two of them had big red Xs over their eyes. The monster hovered over the boy like a shadow, baring its teeth.

“They called me creepy,” the child said, still smiling. “But it’s okay. The monster told me I didn’t need them. He said I was special.”

No one knew what to say.

Bachira’s older self stood up slowly, eyes clouded.

“Hey mini-me…” he began gently. “Do you… remember our dad?”

The child flinched.

A tiny movement. Barely perceptible.

But Rin saw it. So did Reo, and Kurona, and Hiori.

Little Bachira's shoulders tensed. His hands crinkled the drawing.

“He went away,” the child said simply. “Mom said he didn’t want to be with us anymore.”

He looked up.

“Is it ‘cause I’m weird?”

“No,” older Bachira said immediately, kneeling down. “No, no, no—it wasn’t about you. Never about you.”

“But he left after I started talking about monsters,” the boy whispered. “I thought maybe… I scared him away.”

Silence.

Even Shidou looked unsettled.

Barou stood with his arms crossed, jaw tight.

“I think,” said Hiori gently, “yah didn’t scare him. I think he just didn’t know how ta understand yah.”

The boy looked uncertain.

“Sometimes people are afraid of things they don’t understand,” Hiori continued. “But that’s not yer fault.”

“Yeah!” Otoya chimed in, flipping upside down off the couch. “If being weird scared people away, none of us would be here.”

“Especially Charles,” Karasu added.

“HEY.”

Little Bachira smiled faintly at them, but the sadness lingered in his eyes like old dust in corners no one ever cleaned.

The day went on in scattered waves—moments of laughter and chaos, followed by quiet, heavy lulls where the weight of what they were doing settled over the group like a damp blanket.

At one point, Nanase brought the kid a juice box and sat with him quietly while they drew sea monsters. Yukimiya helped brush his hair and quietly taught him how to make slime out of protein powder and lemon juice. Even Kaiser gave him a one-armed hug, though everyone swore it was just because Ego might be watching.

That night, when the common room lights dimmed and most of the players went back to their dorms, Isagi, Rin, and older Bachira stayed behind.

The child was curled under a blanket with a stuffed monster older Bachira had made out of socks and tape. His eyes were half-closed. Drowsy.

“Baby Meguru?” Isagi whispered, kneeling beside him. “You okay?”

The boy nodded. “Today was nice. It’s the first time I’ve had so many people around.”

“You’ve… never had a friend before?” Isagi asked gently.

The child shook his head. “Only the monster. And Mama. But Mama was always tired.”

Isagi swallowed.

He felt Rin’s hand rest quietly on his back. Older Bachira looked like he was barely holding it together.

But the child smiled again.

“I think maybe… now I have friends.”

“Yeah,” older Bachira said softly. “You do.”

“Even if I’m weird?”

“Especially because you’re weird.”

The child giggled and curled tighter into the blanket.

And for the first time since arriving, he fell asleep without any drawings in his hands.

[Day 3]

The next morning, the common room was already bustling.

Someone had pushed all the couches into a semicircle. Shoelace bracelets, sketchpads, and half-empty cereal bowls cluttered every surface. Nagi had somehow turned a yoga mat into a nap cocoon. Barou was glaring at a bottle of dish soap like it personally insulted him.

And at the centre of it all, standing barefoot and holding an empty juice box like it was a sword, was seven-year-old Bachira Meguru, making monster noises at a mildly frightened Ness.

“Raaaaugh! I am the Juice Slime King!” he yelled gleefully. “Swear loyalty or be squished!”

Ness blinked rapidly, clutched his scarf like a lifeline, and said with total sincerity, “Y-Yes, my liege. Your… your acidic reign is beautiful and terrifying.”

“Excellent,” said the Juice Slime King, nodding regally. “You may live.”

“The little monster’s got range,” Charles muttered, chewing bubble gum from the couch arm. “Put him in a horror movie.”

Kaiser, who had walked in just long enough to assess the chaos, turned right back around and began to walk out.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Reo snapped.

Kaiser didn’t stop. “I’m not doing therapy with a toddler.”

“Shocker,” Yukimiya muttered. “What, are you afraid of catching feelings?”

“Afraid of catching whatever this is,” Kaiser shot back, waving vaguely at the child stomping on paper cups and declaring war on invisible kingdoms.

“I think he’s adorable,” Ness offered, still kneeling in fealty to the imaginary slime court. “He’s so creative. It’s like a fairytale in his head. He reminds me of those old magic books I used to read.”

“Thank you, Royal Wizard!” child Bachira beamed, tossing him a wad of lint as a token of honor.

“...I will treasure it forever,” Ness said solemnly.

Isagi, watching from near the hallway door with Rin and Hiori, exhaled and muttered, “Honestly, I think it’s for the best if Kaiser stays the hell away from him.”

“I second that,” Rin said without looking up from his coffee.

“Thirded,” Hiori murmured.

Later, the rest of the players had assembled what might loosely be described as a “strategy meeting,” if strategy included a whiteboard with “BACHIRA’S TRAUMA??” scrawled in bold marker and Otoya sitting on Karasu’s shoulders for no reason.

“All right,” Reo said, tapping the board. “Let’s start mapping what we know.”

“He sees monsters,” Chigiri offered, flipping his hair.

“Not imaginary. Emotional constructs,” Hiori corrected gently.

“He was isolated as a kid, kid,” Kurona added. “Didn’t have friends. Only his mom and his drawings, drawings.”

“He mentioned bullies,” Isagi said. “At recess. Something about kids calling him weird.”

“Did he say what they did?” Otoya asked, leaning upside-down to speak into Karasu’s ear. “Words? Pushing? Lockers?”

“No specifics yet,” Hiori said. “Just enough to know it left a mark.”

“Should we try asking?” Nanase asked, glancing toward the coloring nook where child Bachira now sat building a castle out of stacked juice boxes.

“I think we should keep it light,” Niko said. “Ease into it. Kids are more honest when they’re not scared.”

“Fine,” Barou grunted. “So we stop hovering and act normal.”

“Barou,” Isagi deadpanned, “you can’t even say the word ‘feelings’ without gagging.”

Barou scowled. “Wanna test that?”

“You literally did gag yesterday when Hiori said the word ‘vulnerable,’” Chigiri said.

“I had indigestion!”

The argument was cut off by a sudden shriek of laughter.

“LORENZOOOOO IS THE WORM LORD NOW!” child Bachira yelled, perched on Lorenzo’s shoulders as the man crawled on all fours across the room, hissing in mock snake noises.

“I slither for no one but the king,” Lorenzo declared. “Your kingdom is safe, my liege.”

“You will be rewarded with treasures,” Bachira said seriously, then shoved five crayons into Lorenzo’s hair.

“I accept your currency, as long as I get a raise every time I carry you.”

Older Bachira watched this from a beanbag, smiling.

“He seems happy,” Nagi mumbled from beside him.

“Yeah,” Bachira murmured. “But it’s not just about keeping him happy.”

Nagi blinked. “Then what’s it about?”

Bachira looked toward his child self, now curled up in the middle of the juice-box castle, coloring a big-eyed creature with spiky wings.

“It’s about… helping him not feel wrong for the stuff in his head,” Bachira said quietly. “Because that’s what hurt the most. Not being alone—just thinking I deserved to be alone.”

Isagi heard him. So did Rin.

Rin’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t speak.

Later that afternoon, Hiori gently approached child Bachira with a small stack of blank paper.

“Wanna draw monsters together?” he asked softly.

“Only if you promise not to make fun of them,” the boy said, eyeing him warily.

“I’d never do that,” Hiori said, kneeling beside him. “I think monsters are kinda cool.”

That seemed to unlock something. Bachira nodded quickly and held out a crayon.

They sat and drew quietly for a long time. Eventually, more players joined in—Kurona, Nanase, even Reo and Nagi, who spent most of their time doodling sideways stick figures with terrifying abs. Otoya made a vampire monster. Karasu added fangs. Ness gave his monster wings made of glitter, which made it look more like a fairy.

As they drew, the conversation turned.

“Hey, young Bachira-kun,” Yukimiya asked gently. “You said some kids didn’t like your drawings before. What did they say?”

“They said my monsters were ugly,” the boy murmured. “And scary. And that I was freaky ‘cause I talked to them.”

He paused, coloring in a tail.

“They put glue in my locker once. And ripped one of my monster drawings.”

That silence returned—dark, heavy, cold.

“Did yah tell anyone?” Hiori asked softly.

The child shook his head. “Mama was working a lot. And if I told a teacher, the kids would be mad again. So I stopped showing anyone my monsters. Except the monster himself.”

“God,” Reo whispered. “He was really alone.”

“Not anymore, anymore,” Kurona said firmly.

Later that night, when the drawings had been taped to the wall and the castle had partially collapsed, child Bachira sat cross-legged next to his older self, head resting on his knee.

“Do you think they’ll like me if I show them everything?” he asked sleepily.

Older Bachira hesitated. Then smiled.

“Not everyone will. But the right ones will love it.”

The child smiled faintly. “Like you?”

“Like me,” older Bachira said, brushing his curls from his forehead. “And Isagi. And Rin-chan. And even Barou, probably.”

“Gross,” Barou muttered from across the room.

“See?” Bachira grinned. “Progress.”

[Day 3]

The common room was packed — warm with bodies, loud with voices, heavy with something unspoken just beginning to crack.

And it started, as these things often did, with something simple:

"He's still talking to the monster, monster," Kurona had said quietly, eyes flicking toward the corner where seven-year-old Bachira sat cross-legged on the carpet, humming and whispering softly to a paper drawing with black crayon teeth.

That should’ve been the end of it.

It wasn’t.

“Okay, no. That’s too far,” Yukimiya muttered, pushing his glasses up his nose, pacing like a caged cat. “He’s been here for days and still hasn’t stopped? That’s regression, not healing.”

“Or, wild idea,” Isagi said from the floor, where he and Ness were helping the kid fold paper monsters, “it’s how he feels safe, and that’s kind of the whole point of this stupid trauma curse, isn’t it?”

“He’s seven,” Hiori added, calm but firm. “You don’t get ta decide what safety looks like for him.”

“I’m not deciding anything!” Yukimiya snapped, spinning around. “I’m saying if we let him keep hiding in this delusion, he’ll never process what actually hurt him!”

“Right,” Reo said dryly from the arm of the couch, “because yelling at a traumatized kid to hurry up and process always works wonders.”

Karasu let out a loud scoff. “He’s not gonna grow if we keep validating his imaginary shadow friend.”

“It’s not about validation,” Otoya countered. “It’s about letting him feel. If he needs the monster to say things he’s too scared to say out loud, then let him.”

“He’s not scared,” Kunigami said flatly from the back, arms folded tight across his chest. “He’s avoiding.”

“Wow,” Charles piped up from where he was draped across a beanbag chair, upside-down, twirling a pencil. “Big words from the emotionally constipated ginger hero.”

Kunigami throws a glare at the French boy.

“You want him to get stuck like this?” Chigiri demanded, rounding on Isagi now. “He talks to empty air, draws monsters with claws, and calls it his best friend. That’s not a coping tool. That’s dependency.”

“You want to strip away the only thing that ever made him feel safe?” Isagi shouted back, eyes wide. “Do you even hear yourself?”

“It’s imaginary,” Niko said, voice low but intense. “Not safe. Imaginary.”

“And yet I trust the monster more than half of you,” Ness muttered, folding another paper slime with shaky hands.

Barou grunted from the wall, arms crossed like a fortress. “If it made him strong, it’s useful. If it made him weird, good. Strong and weird beats weak and normal.”

“It’s not about weird,” Raichi said, voice rising. “It’s about the fact that he can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. That’s not healing. That’s called a problem.”

“Do you even like kids?” Otoya snapped. “Because you’re treating him like a failed math equation.”

“My opinion on children has no part in this you dumbass,” Raichi shot back. “All I need to know is that kids don’t need invisible demons whispering in their ear.”

“He’s not unstable,” Reo snapped. “He’s wounded. You don’t amputate a leg before checking if it can heal.”

“It’s been three days,” Yukimiya said, almost pleading now. “Three days and he hasn’t let go of it once.“

“He’s not supposed ta,” Hiori said, gaze steady. “Yah don’t let go of yer monster. Yah learn how to live with it.”

“He shouldn’t have ta,” Karasu hissed.

“Maybe he wants to,” Charles offered, sitting up now. “I still have mine. Her name’s Agatha. She says you all suck.”

“That explains so much,” Chigiri muttered.

“Back off,” Ness barked. “He’s trying.”

“He’s drawing teeth on napkins,” Niko growled. “How is that trying?”

“It’s better than talking to a wall like blind boy,” Charles said.

“You insufferable—!”

“ENOUGH!!”

The word cracked through the chaos like a thunderclap.

Everyone froze.

Present-day Bachira stood in the centre of the room, fists clenched, eyes wild—not playful wild, but wounded and bright.

“You’re all acting like he’s a thing,” he said, voice shaking but loud. “Like if he doesn’t ‘recover’ the way you want him to, then he’s wrong. But he’s not. He’s me. He’s just me before I knew how to survive.”

The silence stretched long and hard.

“I still have the monster,” Bachira continued. “He lives with me. In the corners of the field. In the quiet when no one understands. He doesn’t control me. He just… stays. Because sometimes, I still need him.”

Kaiser, who had been silent until now, scoffed. “Right. This is healthy. Just what we need. More emotionally volatile strikers who talk to shadows.”

“I talk to your shadow and it just says ‘I miss shampoo and when my hair didn’t look like shit,’” Charles mumbled.

“You’re not funny,” Kaiser said coldly.

“You’re not scary,” Charles replied sweetly.

Back near the wall, Kurona leaned over to Nanase. “How long do you think before someone flips a table, table?”

“Depends if Ness-san starts crying again,” Nanase whispered back, anxious.

Nagi groaned. “Why are we even awake…”

And then—

“I’m taking the kid.”

All heads snapped to Shidou, who was already walking across the room, purpose sharp in every step. Child Bachira, who’d gone quiet and smaller with every shout, looked up at him like a deer mid-headlight.

Shidou crouched.

“Hey, little monster,” he said, voice unusually soft. “Wanna get out of here?”

The boy nodded. Fast. Silent.

“Where are you going?” Chigiri asked, alarmed.

“Somewhere people aren’t arguing about how to fix him while he’s in the room,” Shidou snapped. “Jesus. He’s not a thesis paper.”

“Shidou—” Isagi tried, stepping forward.

“I’m not gonna corrupt him,” Shidou said, lifting child Bachira into his arms with surprising ease. “I’m gonna let him be a kid. Y’know. For five minutes.”

As the door swung shut behind them, the only thing that remained was the silence — the guilty, unsettled, furious silence of voices trying to figure out where the hell they went wrong.

The Blue Lock courtyard was quiet in a way the dorms never were.

Wind brushed gently across the turf, carrying the scent of cut grass and sun-warmed plastic. It was still early, the kind of morning where the sun hadn’t quite decided how hot it wanted to be, and the world felt… paused.

Which was exactly what Shidou Ryusei needed.

He dropped the soccer ball onto the field with a soft thunk, then turned to look at the small figure standing beside him, hoodie sleeves bunched over tiny fists, yellow monster teeth hanging over his forehead.

Little Bachira looked up with wide eyes.

“You know how to pass?” Shidou asked, giving the ball a gentle tap with his foot.

The kid nodded immediately, curls bouncing. “Uh-huh! I play at recess sometimes. But the other kids don’t like it when I kick too hard.”

Shidou grinned, wide and feral. “Then they’re weak.”

“Mom said the same thing,” the boy giggled, toeing at the ground.

Shidou stepped back and nudged the ball toward him. “Let’s see what you’ve got, monster boy.”

Little Bachira’s grin returned full-force. “Yes, Monster! Let’s show him our pass!”

He spun dramatically, miming some kind of transformation — arms raised, hands clawed, eyes wild. Then, with an exaggerated roar, he kicked the ball back to Shidou.

It barely reached him.

“Rawr,” Shidou said blandly. “Terrifying.”

“I’m still charging up!” Bachira shouted, already racing after the ball again.

They spent the next twenty minutes like that — chasing, dribbling, shooting wildly at nothing, making up rules and breaking them the next second. The world was reduced to three things: a ball, the field, and two weirdos who didn’t quite fit in anywhere else.

At one point, Bachira grabbed the ball and ran around it in circles, yelling:

“THE MONSTER’S DOING HIS SPECIAL MOVE! THE TORNADO! YOU’LL NEVER ESCAPE IT!”

Shidou flopped to the turf. “Arrgh. He’s… too… strong…”

Bachira collapsed next to him, giggling so hard his sides hurt.

They lay there, side by side, looking up at the clouds — breathless and sweating and alive.

Shidou glanced over. “You know, your monster’s kind of a showoff.”

“He has to be,” Bachira whispered. “No one ever picked us unless we made it fun.”

Shidou said nothing for a moment. The quiet between them stretched.

Then: “Well… he picked me. And I’m insane, so maybe that counts for something.”

Bachira turned his head to him. “You think you have a monster too?”

Shidou grinned at the sky. “Nah. I am the monster.”

Bachira gasped. “You’re like us!”

Shidou laughed, half-sarcastic, half-touched. “Yeah, squirt. I guess I am.”

Silence again. But not the awkward kind. It was warm. Loose. Safe.

The kind of quiet where you could almost hear the thump of a heartbeat in your chest and know it wasn’t alone.

Finally, Bachira sat up, criss-cross applesauce, poking at the turf.

“Do you think the others are mad? For us running away?”

Shidou rolled over, propped himself up on his elbows. “Who gives a shit? They were yelling like idiots.”

“But… were they right? About the monster?”

Shidou tilted his head. “You think they were?”

The boy was quiet. Then:

“I don’t want to let him go. But what if that means something’s wrong with me?”

Shidou’s eyes narrowed—not in anger, but something more jagged.

He sat up, leaned closer, and tapped the middle of Bachira’s chest with two fingers.

“You’ve got that monster in here, right?”

Bachira nodded.

“Then guess what? He’s yours. Not theirs. Not mine. Yours. So you don’t owe anyone an explanation. You wanna keep him, you keep him. You wanna scream with him, scream. You wanna kick a ball and pretend it’s a demon eye—” he flung the ball up in the air “—I’ll be your first cult follower.”

Bachira burst out laughing, hands over his mouth.

“You’re weird,” he said, delighted.

Shidou flashed a toothy grin. “Takes one to know one.”

Then, without warning, Shidou kicked the ball again, hard and soaring, and took off after it like a madman.

Bachira shrieked with glee and chased after him.

No rules. No pressure. Just two monsters under a summer sky, finding peace in the chaos they understood.

[Day 4]

The next day, the guilt clung to Blue Lock like humidity.

No one said it out loud, but it was in every sideways glance, every too-quiet breakfast, every time someone opened their mouth to speak and then didn’t. Shidou hadn’t come back inside until well after midnight, carrying a sleepy child Bachira with grass in his hair and paint smudged across his cheek. They didn’t say anything then, either.

But now, they were all gathered in the courtyard again — uncertain, fidgety, standing in a loose, awkward semicircle around the two Bachiras.

Child Bachira sat on a picnic table, hugging his knees. Present Bachira stood behind him, expression unreadable but guarded.

Isagi was the first to step forward, voice soft and rambling.

“Hey, uh. Hi. Good morning. Or midday, I guess. Sorry. Anyway…” He took a breath. “I just wanted to say I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to let things get so loud. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

He crouched down, smile crooked. “Your monster is really cool. And if he helps you feel brave, then that’s all that matters, right?”

Child Bachira didn’t answer, but his shoulders relaxed a little.

Hiori came next, hands folded in front of him. “I’m sorry too. I wanted to stay calm, but silence didn’t help yah either. Yer allowed to feel what yah feel. The monster isn’t a flaw. It’s… just yah trying to be safe.”

He gave a little bow, his cyan bangs swooping slightly. “And that’s worth respecting.”

Reo tucked his hands into his hoodie pocket and looked at the sky. “Most people don’t know how to deal with their emotions, it’s statistically proven you know? But you—” he looked down at child Bachira with a soft smile “—you turned your fear into something wild and powerful. That’s not weakness. That’s art.”

Charles gave an exaggerated bow, but his tone was sincere. “Hey, tiny Bachira. I was a little brat growing up too, and people told me I was weird. They weren’t wrong, but they were boring. You’re not boring. I’m sorry the others made you feel small. But you know what I did to the people who called me weird? I ate their family—”

Charles had to be dragged out by Lavinho before he gave the child anymore ideas.

Otoya added casually, “Sorry for the noise. I think they all mean well, even if they sound like assholes.”

Karasu elbowed him. “You are one of ‘they.’”

Otoya grinned. “Yeah, but I’m a sexy one.”

Barou stepped forward next, arms folded like a grumpy dad trying his best. “I’m not great at this emotional crap. But I said some crap yesterday that wasn’t cool. You’re weird, sure. But weird’s good. You need weird to be a genius. I just know that I would never let anyone treat my sisters like how you were treated.”

Ness knelt down, voice soft. “I think your monster is magical. And I’m sorry the others made you think it was bad. I still believe in magic. I believe in you.”

Child Bachira blinked. “...Do you do card tricks?”

Ness gasped. “Yes.”

“I like you.”

Yukimiya, stiff and composed, cleared his throat. “I said things out of fear. Fear for your well-being. But I forgot to consider your heart. I’m… sorry Bachira-kun. Truly.”

Raichi scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, uh… same. I got loud. Too loud. That wasn’t cool. You didn’t deserve that.”

“Wow,” Charles had crawled back in to the room and whispered. “He didn’t yell. Character growth.”

Karasu folded his arms. “Look, I stand by the fact that imaginary friends can become dangerous. But I shouldn’t have pushed that onto you. Yer not broken, Bachira. Yer just surviving in yerr own way.”

Niko, hunched and uncomfortable, muttered, “I was scared. That’s all. Sorry.”

Kunigami gave a stiff nod. “I could’ve handled it better.”

Chigiri sighed. “I wanted to help. I just… forgot how to speak gently. I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m also one of your closest friends and I should’ve known better than to behave how I did.”

Child Bachira stared at him. “Your hair is really red.”

Chigiri blinked. “Thanks?”

Nanase, pink-faced, stammered, “I-I didn’t know what to say yesterday… but I’m really sorry we made you upset. You’re very brave.”

Kurona put a hand on his shoulder. “Same here. I’ll try to listen better next time.”

Nagi yawned from the back. “Sorry for napping through your emotional breakdown or whatever.”

“You’re forgiven,” child Bachira said with a bright smile.

Kaiser, arms folded, gave a long sigh. “You’re still weird. But whatever. I probably wasn’t helping.”

Shidou clapped. “Holy hell, he apologized.”

Kaiser glared. “I didn’t say I was sorry.”

“You said ‘wasn’t helping,’ which implies guilt. That’s practically progress.”

The blue rose scoffs, “only because some of you assholes would force me to do it even if I said no.”

And finally, Rin stepped forward. No words at first. Just a slow, respectful crouch beside the kid.

“I didn’t say anything yesterday,” he said simply, “because I didn’t know what to say. But that wasn’t fair to you. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He looked at the older Bachira. “Neither did you.”

A long pause followed. Everyone turned to the younger Bachira, who looked around at all the solemn, fidgety, earnest teenagers.

He fiddled with the sleeves of his hoodie.

“...You’re not mad at me?” he asked quietly.

“Of course not,” Isagi said, voice almost breaking.

Little Bachira sniffled once. Then — he beamed. “Then can we all play soccer later?”

Everyone stared.

Charles was the first to speak. “I call being midfielder!”

Barou grunted. “Only if we get to foul.”

Reo chuckled. “He means no.”

Isagi looked at the younger version of his friend — bright eyes, monster hoodie, mismatched socks — and smiled. “Yeah. We’ll play.”

Older Bachira ruffled his mini-me’s hair.

“Looks like your monster made some friends, huh?”

The dormitory had fallen into a rare hush. The usual hum of restless students was replaced by the gentle whisper of the night, a quiet that seemed to breathe around the corners of the room. Moonlight filtered softly through the window, washing the worn carpet and faded couch in silver.

On the couch, two figures sat close. The younger Bachira — small, vulnerable, the hoodie pulled tight over his bob — leaned against the older Bachira’s side. His fingers nervously twisted the hem of his sleeve, eyes flickering uncertainly in the dim light.

Older Bachira rested a hand gently on the child’s shoulder, feeling the slight tremble beneath his fingertips.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice low enough that it seemed like a secret meant only for the two of them.

Child Bachira looked up, his eyes wide, shining with a mixture of hope and fear.

“I know it’s scary,” older Bachira continued, brushing a stray lock of hair away from the boy’s forehead. “The world feels cold and lonely right now. Like you’re trapped inside a storm you don’t know how to escape.”

The boy nodded, biting his lip. “I see the monster because I’m scared.”

“I know,” the older whispered, voice thick. “You saw something no one else could, and instead of understanding, they pushed you away. They called you weird… a weirdo… lonely…”

Child Bachira’s small hands clenched the fabric of his hoodie, and his eyes glistened with tears he didn’t shed.

“But listen,” older Bachira said, squeezing his shoulder gently. “That’s not the end. That’s just the beginning. You’re not alone. You won’t be.”

The younger’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to believe but wasn’t sure how.

“Someday,” older Bachira said, shifting to face him fully, “you’re going to meet people. Loud, chaotic, kind, and messy people. People who’ll see all the pieces of you — even the parts you think are broken — and still choose to stay.”

Child Bachira blinked slowly. “Friends?”

“Yeah. Friends,” older Bachira smiled, eyes softening. “And more than friends. You’ll find people who become your family. People who’ll fight for you, laugh with you, and sometimes make you so mad you want to scream. But they’ll never leave.”

The boy’s small hands relaxed.

“Your monster,” older Bachira said, voice lowering, “he’s going to be with you for a long time. He’s a part of you, like your shadow. Sometimes, when you feel afraid or hurt, he’ll come roaring out. And that’s okay. You don’t have to fight him off or hide him away.”

Child Bachira pressed his cheek against older Bachira’s arm. “But the monster made people scared of me.”

“Sometimes people are scared of what they don’t understand,” the older said gently. “But that’s their problem, not yours. The monster is your protector — your voice when words won’t come. He kept you safe when no one else would.”

The boy’s eyes closed for a moment, a quiet comfort settling over him.

Older Bachira smiled and pulled him closer into a warm hug.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispered. “For surviving, for fighting, for being brave enough to still dream.”

Child Bachira sniffled, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Promise me,” he said quietly, “that I won’t have to be lonely forever.”

Older Bachira pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

“You won’t be,” he promised, voice steady. “Not ever. I’m here, and so are the people waiting to meet you.”

A soft knock echoed from the hallway.

The younger one looked up sharply.

“It’s okay,” older Bachira said with a small laugh. “We can be quiet now. Tomorrow’s a new day.”

Child Bachira nodded, curling up against him as the night wrapped them both in gentle silence.

The stars outside blinked, steady and watchful — a quiet promise that no one would have to face their monsters alone.

[Day 5: Challenge Completed]

Morning light spilled through the windows of the Blue Lock dormitory, painting the common room in soft gold. The usual morning sounds—clattering dishes, sleepy voices, footsteps—were tinged with a quiet anticipation.

One by one, the players began to stir, rubbing their eyes and stretching limbs stiff from restless sleep.

Isagi was the first to notice.

He blinked, scanning the room with a slight frown.

“Hey,” he said, voice gentle but puzzled. “Where’s little Bachira?”

Hiori looked up from his cup of tea, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“I don’t see him anywhere,” Kurona added, standing and peering toward the hallway.

Present Bachira, already awake and alert, was sitting quietly near the window. His expression was calm, but there was a flicker of something—relief? Sadness?—in his eyes.

Raichi grunted as he sat up on the couch. “I figured the kid wouldn’t stick around forever, but—”

“Did he just leave?” Charles said, half-joking but with an edge of nervousness.

Niko stood next to Isagi, eyebrows furrowed. “Do you think… that means we finished the challenge?”

Rin, who had been silently observing, nodded slowly. “That has to be it. The note said the child would return to the past once the trauma was accepted.”

“Meaning,” Reo said, voice low and serious, “that we helped him. All of us.”

Barou cracked his knuckles, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, I guess the monster wasn’t the problem after all.”

Raichi folded his arms but looked less aggressive than usual. “Does that mean we’re done here?”

Otoya exchanged a glance with Karasu, who shrugged.

“No,” Isagi said quietly, “the note said there’s a new person every week. We have to keep going.”

Present Bachira finally stood, walking to the center of the room. He looked around at the group, his gaze steady.

“Thank you,” he said softly. “For helping me remember who I was. For accepting me — monster and all.”

Child Bachira’s absence was like an empty space in the room, but somehow, it was filled with something new—hope, maybe.

The room was still thick with the quiet weight of realization when suddenly, the large screen mounted on the wall flickered to life with a sharp buzz.

Ego’s cold, unmistakable voice cut through the air like a whip.

“Congratulations,” Ego sneered, lips curling into a smirk that seemed to drip with sarcasm. “You’ve somehow managed to complete the first challenge. Honestly, I’m almost impressed — though mostly surprised you didn’t completely mess it up.”

A pause, then his eyes scanned the room with that infuriating glare.

“But don’t get too comfortable. This is only the beginning. The real work has just started.”

The players exchanged tense looks. Present Bachira clenched his fists quietly, while Isagi’s brow furrowed in frustration.

Then the screen shifted, and Anri appeared, her expression soft and genuine, a stark contrast to Ego’s harshness.

“Well done, everyone,” she said warmly, her voice calm and encouraging. “Seeing you all come together — especially helping little Bachira — shows just how strong you are. Keep supporting each other like this.”

She smiled kindly at the group, then glanced toward where child Bachira had been moments before, her eyes twinkling.

“We believe in you.”

The screen faded to black, leaving a quiet but lingering warmth in the room.

Isagi looked around at the faces of his teammates — tired but determined.

“Alright,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Let’s get ready for whoever’s next.”

Chapter Text

[Day 1]

The morning had barely started when the loudspeaker shrieked to life again.

“Everyone,” came Ego’s dry, cutting voice, “common room. Now.”

A few groans echoed through the hallways. Someone knocked over a chair. Lorenzo let out a muffled “I was brushing my gold tooth,” and Bachira could be heard skipping and humming as if this were the most exciting part of his morning.

In less than five minutes, the common room was packed with bodies — some alert, others draped lazily over furniture. Most looked mildly annoyed.

After all, they’d just finished the Bachira Incident.

The screen on the far wall flickered on. Ego’s sharp face snapped into view, his expression flat and slightly irritated, as usual.

“Let’s not waste time. As you’ve probably guessed, your next ‘guest’ has arrived.”

Several players shifted, casting glances toward each other.

“The second past self to appear in Blue Lock is…” Ego paused for dramatic effect, “—Nagi Seishiro. Age fourteen.”

Every head turned, slowly, toward present-day Nagi, who was slumped sideways in a beanbag with his hood up and one sock missing.

He didn’t even look up.

“Seriously?” Nagi mumbled.

A beat of silence passed.

Kaiser raised a brow. “Is this a joke?”

“Like, what trauma does he have?” Raichi asked flatly. “He doesn’t even give a shit about anything.”

“Yeah,” Kunigami muttered. “Isn’t Nagi just a chill guy with zero problems?”

Barou, arms crossed, huffed. “You have to care about life to get traumatized.”

Charles shrugged. “He looks like he got left behind in a loading screen.”

Chigiri stood from his seat, frowning slightly. “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Before anyone could respond, the doors hissed open.

Anri walked in, composed as always, guiding a quiet, slight figure into the room.

It was Nagi. Again.

Only smaller.

Fourteen years old, maybe five inches shorter, with the same pale skin, shaggy white hair, and unbothered posture. Except this version… wasn’t quite unbothered. Not in the relaxed way the present Nagi was.

There was a stillness to him that felt less sleepy and more… disconnected.

Blank.

He looked around the room with unreadable gray eyes and said nothing.

No blink of recognition. No flicker of confusion. No fear. Just silence.

“Okay, wow,” Karasu muttered under his breath. “That’s… uncanny.”

“Like a Funko Pop version of Nagi,” Otoya added, narrowing his eyes. “But somehow creepier.”

“Why does he look like he hasn’t blinked in three days?” Yukimiya whispered.

Isagi stood up slowly, gaze flickering between both Nagi’s. “That’s not right…”

Chigiri nodded. “He looks… hollow.”

“Creepy,” Niko murmured, trying not to sound unsettled.

Present Nagi finally sat up a little straighter. He gave the younger version a casual once-over, as if he were inspecting an outfit someone told him he wore last week.

“Huh,” he said, deadpan. “I guess that is me.”

The younger version didn’t react.

“You’re really not freaked out?” Reo asked softly, stepping closer to his boyfriend.

Nagi shrugged. “Why would I be? I don’t have trauma.”

“You sure about that?” Chigiri asked, arms crossed.

“Yeah,” Nagi replied, genuinely confused. “I just played games and avoided people. It was nice.”

“You avoided people?” Isagi echoed. “That might be the trauma.”

“It was fine,” Nagi said flatly.

Reo stood beside him now, watching the younger version stand still like he wasn’t fully there.

“Nagi,” he said gently, “you were alone all the time. Didn’t that ever feel… empty?”

Nagi blinked slowly. “No?”

Reo’s expression tightened just slightly.

From the back of the room, Bachira tilted his head at the mini-Nagi. “I think his soul's still buffering…”

“He’s like if someone erased the emotion slider,” Charles added.

Kurona leaned in toward Hiori. “He’s not acting scared like Bachira did. It’s something else. Like he doesn’t even realize something’s missing.”

“Detachment,” Hiori murmured, frowning. “It’s not always loud.”

Anri rested a hand on fourteen-year-old Nagi’s shoulder. “We don’t expect you to talk right away. Just stay with us.”

Young Nagi didn’t look at her. Just stared blankly ahead.

Ego’s voice returned through the speakers once more, sharp and final.

“One week,” he said. “Figure out what this version of Nagi is missing. Or lose him forever.”

The screen shut off.

For a long time, the only sound was the buzz of the lights overhead.

Then Nagi scratched his head lazily and said, “...Guess we’re doing this.”

“Yay!” Bachira cheered, throwing an arm around Isagi. “Trauma round two!”

“Not a game, Bachira,” Rin muttered.

But Reo never looked away from the fourteen-year-old version of his boyfriend, a quiet worry flickering behind his eyes.

He looked identical. Unbothered. Perfectly quiet.

But somehow, it felt like the younger version of Nagi wasn’t all there.

And that… was worse than fear.

The group had broken off into loose clusters across the common room, attempting to make conversation with 14-year-old Nagi like he was just a younger cousin who dropped by unexpectedly — not a ticking trauma time bomb sent by the multiverse to be emotionally reconciled in under a week.

He sat stiffly on the couch, hands folded in his lap, posture eerily straight. Though his hair was slightly shorter and his frame slimmer, the resemblance to present-day Nagi was nearly unsettling. Same lazy gray eyes, same bored half-lidded stare. Only his feet didn’t quite reach the floor.

“Hey, lil’ nagicchi,” Bachira said as he plopped down beside him, upside-down and backward on the couch. “You wanna play a game? We got like… a whole closet of consoles and nothing but chaos.”

Young Nagi blinked at him, slow and unbothered. “...No thanks.”

“Aw, come on,” Bachira grinned. “You’ve got gamer energy. Like, heavy introvert but elite reflexes.”

“I guess,” the boy replied vaguely, eyes drifting to a dust mote floating by. “Are you always this loud?”

Isagi crouched in front of the couch with a cheerful grin. “Only when he’s had sugar. Or air. Or ideas.”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi tilted his head. “You people are weird.”

“Wait ‘til Charles starts rapping about pineapple cake,” Chigiri muttered nearby, arms crossed, but watching with subtle concern.

“Don’t tempt me,” Charles replied from the kitchen.

“So…” Kurona asked from behind his book, “you’re really from the past?”

Younger Nagi nodded slowly. “That’s what the scary dude on the screen said.”

He looked around the room with vague interest, eyes landing on the older version of himself for a brief second before looking away.

“This is the future?” he asked. “I thought there’d be more robots.”

“No robots,” Reo said gently, walking over. “Just a bunch of emotionally repressed soccer guys with trauma problems.”

Young Nagi blinked. “Oh. Okay.”

He didn’t laugh. Or question it. He just accepted the surreal information with the same sleepy indifference he gave to everything else.

Which is exactly what made Reo’s stomach twist.

Because it wasn’t normal.

Not at fourteen. Not even for Nagi.

The older Nagi was currently seated in a beanbag nearby, phone in hand, one earbud in, completely unfazed. He glanced over once or twice, but mostly just let the group flounder.

“He’s fine,” Nagi muttered lazily. “Just a little smaller and more... early access.”

Reo ignored him. His focus was locked on the younger version — who was now looking at his own hands, then at the others in the room, and finally at Reo.

“This is real?” he asked, as if still confirming it. “I really time traveled?”

“You did,” Reo said gently.

“That’s so weird,” young Nagi said flatly. “Is that legal?”

“Honestly?” Karasu called from across the room. “We’re still trying to figure that out.”

A few snorts of laughter followed. Even Otoya leaned into Yukimiya and whispered something snide.

But Reo wasn’t laughing. He crouched in front of the younger boy and looked him in the eyes.

“You don’t seem… upset.”

“I’m not,” 14-year-old Nagi replied simply.

“You’re not surprised? Confused? Scared?” Reo asked.

Young Nagi shrugged. “Stuff just happens.”

“Stuff like waking up in a dorm full of soccer psychos and meeting your twenty other selves?”

“I don’t feel anything about it,” the boy said quietly, but not coldly. Just… plainly.

It was honest. And that’s what unsettled Reo the most.

The others saw a chill, unbothered kid. Classic Nagi.

But Reo saw the lack.

The younger Nagi didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh. Didn’t even question much. He was just… floating. Detached.

It was the same way Nagi had been when they first met. Before Reo pulled him into the world. Before Nagi had a reason to care about anything.

Reo stood slowly, heart a little heavy.

“He’s not fine,” he murmured to himself. “He’s just numb.”

Nearby, Isagi shot him a glance, catching the concern on Reo’s face.

“You feel it too?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Reo said. “It’s not that he doesn’t care. It’s that he doesn’t know how to.”

Isagi nodded slowly. “Then we have to help him remember.”

Behind them, fourteen-year-old Nagi leaned back on the couch and stared at the ceiling like it held some secret he couldn’t be bothered to decipher.

“Do you guys have snacks?” he asked flatly. “This future stuff is kind of exhausting.”

Bachira burst out laughing. “I love this kid.”

But Reo’s heart ached just a little more.

It was early evening, and the common room looked like the scene of a murder mystery where the victim had been “emotionally unavailable.”

Everyone was gathered, slouched on couches, cross-legged on the floor, or pacing. A whiteboard had been rolled in (stolen from Ego’s planning room), and someone had dramatically written in red:

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH NAGI???”

Reo was sitting in a desk chair, one foot bouncing restlessly, arms crossed tight. Isagi was pacing near the window. Chigiri was perched on a table with his chin resting in one hand. Bachira sat on the floor upside-down, his hair trailing across his own face like a curtain of defeat.

Kurona, Hiori, and Nanase had taken to scribbling on paper, trying to organize clues like it was a crime scene. Otoya and Karasu were throwing stale popcorn at each other. Charles had somehow already given up and was drawing fake glasses and devil horns on the whiteboard version of Nagi.

Meanwhile, present-day Nagi was off to the side, napping in a blanket fort made of beanbags. And fourteen-year-old Nagi? Sitting silently with a juice box, staring at a corner of the ceiling like he was trying to access a parallel dimension.

“I don’t get it,” Isagi muttered, scratching at his scalp. “With Bachira it was obvious. Imaginary monster, neglect, bullying, classic childhood isolation trauma. We had something to work with.”

“Exactly,” Chigiri agreed, flicking his fingers. “He showed emotion. He cried. He freaked out. You know—kid stuff.”

“But Nagi-kun?” Yukimiya sighed, arms crossed. “He's just... fine.”

“He’s not fine,” Reo snapped, louder than he meant to. “He’s numb. That’s worse.”

“Well, what kind of numb?” Charles asked unhelpfully. “Existential numb? Social numb? Ennui-of-capitalism numb?”

“I think he’s just naturally like that,” Kunigami grunted from the corner. “Maybe there’s no trauma.”

“That defeats the whole point of this time-travel soul-therapy death game we’re in,” Karasu said flatly.

“Maybe the trauma is the nothingness,” Kurona offered. “Maybe he grew up thinking nothing mattered, mattered.”

“That’s not trauma,” Raichi huffed. “That’s just being a lazy-ass gamer.”

Reo stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly across the floor. “He wasn’t lazy. He was just—alone.”

Everyone quieted for a beat.

Reo continued, his voice softer. “When I met him, he wasn’t even playing soccer because he liked it. He did it because he had nothing else to do.”

“And nothing else ta feel,” Hiori added, thoughtful. “That kind of emotional disconnect usually starts young.”

“Isn’t it weird?” Nanase piped up from the couch. “He hasn’t even asked how to go home. Not once.”

“And the whole time he’s been here, he’s just... existed,” Isagi said. “No curiosity. No fear. No wants.”

“He didn’t even want to play a game with me,” Bachira added with exaggerated horror, hand to his chest. “That’s, like, sacrilege.”

“Maybe…” Chigiri started slowly, “his trauma isn’t something that happened to him. Maybe it’s what didn’t happen.”

Silence.

They all turned to look at fourteen-year-old Nagi, who was now trying to squish a grape jelly packet without making eye contact.

“But how do you fix that?” Otoya asked, clearly frustrated now. “You can’t just lecture someone into caring about life.”

“I tried that once,” Charles added solemnly. “Didn’t work. Got slapped with a math textbook.”

Barou, who’d been silently leaning against the wall this whole time, finally spoke.

“You don’t fix it,” he said flatly. “You show him there’s more. You let him want something real.”

“For the first time,” Reo murmured.

The group went quiet again.

Everyone looked toward young Nagi. Still quiet. Still sipping his juice. Still staring off into nowhere.

And yet, something felt different now.

The question wasn’t what happened to him.

It was what never did.

And the clock was ticking.

The air in the common room felt heavier tonight.

Not tense—just tired.

Most of the players sat scattered across the sofas, floor cushions, or leaning against the walls, voices low and brows furrowed. The second challenge was turning out to be nothing like the first. With little Bachira, the trauma had eventually shown itself in cracks and sobs and imaginary friends.

But with Nagi?

They weren’t even sure there was a surface to crack.

Fourteen-year-old Nagi sat in the armchair, legs folded under him, arms tucked into the sleeves of an oversized hoodie. His expression was blank, head tilted faintly to one side like he was trying to figure out why people kept asking him what was wrong when he didn’t feel wrong.

His present self was curled on the floor nearby, using a blanket as a half-assed cocoon. He wasn’t asleep, but he might as well have been, eyes open and uninterested.

“Well, this is a waste of my time,” Kaiser said loudly, standing up and brushing imaginary lint off his sleeve.

All heads turned.

Reo frowned. “You’re leaving?”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” Kaiser snapped, tone sharp. “He’s the same boring loaf he is now. Just shorter.”

“He’s not boring,” Reo said quickly.

Kaiser raised a brow. “You sure? This baby chick has got the emotional range of a fridge.”

“That’s not—” Isagi started, then sighed, dragging a hand down his face.

“He’s a void,” Kaiser said, waving a hand at young Nagi. “How are we supposed to fix nothing?”

“He’s not nothing,” Chigiri muttered, biting back harder than he intended.

“I didn’t say he was nothing,” Kaiser shot back. “I said he feels nothing.”

“You don’t know that!” Bachira called out from his upside-down position on the couch.

“I do know that. Look at him.” Kaiser jabbed a finger toward the younger Nagi, who blinked at the gesture but didn’t react beyond that. “No sadness. No fear. No anger. Just static. I’m not wasting my time on a brick wall.”

“Kaiser…” Ness said softly from the side of the room.

Kaiser turned to him, eyes narrowed. “You coming or not?”

Ness hesitated, gaze flicking between the others and young Nagi. Then, with a quiet sigh, he stood.

“Sorry,” he mumbled to the room. “He’s just—he doesn’t mean it like that.”

“Like hell I don’t,” Kaiser muttered, and the two walked out without another word.

Silence fell. Long. Uncomfortable.

“I really hate that guy,” Raichi grunted.

“Join the club,” muttered Yukimiya.

Even Barou looked irritated.

But their annoyance faded fast. Because when the door slid shut behind Kaiser and Ness, the room felt even quieter. Even more lost.

Isagi leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “Okay. Forget them. Let’s refocus.”

Reo rubbed at his temples. “He doesn’t react to anything.”

“We tried asking about school, friends, hobbies…” Nanase ticked them off with his fingers.

“Nothing, nothing,” Kurona said. “Just the same ‘I played games and went home’ line.”

“His emotional flatness could be a defense,” Hiori said. “Or it could just be the result of neglect—”

“We don’t know if he was neglected,” Chigiri said carefully.

“Yeah, well, he doesn’t talk about his family at all,” Otoya pointed out. “That’s gotta mean something.”

“Could be nothing, he doesn’t talk about a lot of things,” Karasu added, but his voice was less sure now.

Fourteen-year-old Nagi shifted slightly in his seat, pulling the hoodie over his hands a little more.

“Do you remember your room?” Reo asked, quiet and steady.

“Yeah,” came the small reply.

“Was it nice?”

“I guess. It had a bed. And a desk.”

“Did anyone decorate it with you? Like—did you get to pick posters or toys?”

Young Nagi blinked. “No. I didn’t care.”

“Did someone tuck you in at night?” Bachira asked, a little too directly.

Nagi stared at him blankly. “Why would they do that?”

Bachira opened his mouth, paused, then closed it again.

No one said anything for a long stretch of time.

Reo looked between them—two Nagis, side by side. One asleep with his face turned to the floor, the other awake and barely engaging. Both quiet. Both elusive. Like fog: untouchable, untouching.

He didn’t get it. He didn’t get how someone could be so disconnected from themselves.

But still.

He didn’t feel frustrated. He just felt… protective.

Reo let out a slow breath, leaned back, and whispered, mostly to himself, “We’ll figure it out. Even if you don’t tell us.”

And beside him, fourteen-year-old Nagi finally looked at him.

Not confused. Not scared.

Just—watching.

And though he didn’t say a word, he didn’t look away.

Not for a long, long time.

[Day 2]

Panic had taken on a new flavor—subdued, but sharp. Not shouting, not chaos. Just quiet muttering, rapid pacing, and enough scribbled notes and charts on whiteboards to look like a conspiracy bunker.

Both Nagi’s were asleep in the far corner of the room. The fourteen-year-old curled up on a beanbag like a content cat, hoodie sleeves draped over his hands. Present-day Nagi lay half on top of him, face buried in a pillow, unbothered by the bustle around them.

The others, however, were unraveling.

“Nothing works,” Chigiri said for the fifth time, arms crossed as he leaned against the window. “We’ve asked about school, his family, his routine. It’s like trying to emotionally analyze a vending machine.”

“He doesn’t get upset. Or defensive. Or nostalgic,” Kurona said, flipping through a notebook. “He just… agrees and shrugs.”

“Maybe he’s a ghost,” Charles muttered. “That would explain a lot.”

“No ghosts!” Raichi growled. “No magic! No monsters! No—what the hell is even going on anymore?!”

Meanwhile, Isagi was pacing near the kitchen counter, rambling furiously to the one person who hadn’t moved in twenty minutes: Rin.

Rin sat cross-legged on a bench, iPad on his lap, one AirPod in, stylus in hand, scrolling with bored efficiency.

“Okay, okay, listen,” Isagi said, waving a hand. “We’ve covered everything. Food, school, friends, feelings. Nothing sticks.”

Rin made a noncommittal hum.

“But then—get this—I remembered something. And it’s been bugging me for hours.”

“Mm.”

“You know what it is?” Isagi said, pointing both index fingers at the ceiling.

“...No.” Rin didn’t look up.

“He never asked.”

Rin blinked once.

“Asked what?” he said flatly, still scrolling.

Isagi leaned in. “About the future, Rin.”

That made Rin pause.

“I mean—think about it!” Isagi said, voice rising with sudden energy. “When Bachira’s kid self showed up, he had a million questions. Who we were, where we were, what happened to him. What his life became.”

Isagi started pacing again, waving his arms for emphasis.

“But Nagi? Nothing. He didn’t ask if he made it into Blue Lock. Didn’t ask who any of us are. Didn’t even look surprised.He just went, ‘oh, okay, I time traveled,’ and moved on like someone told him the weather.”

Rin finally looked up, mildly curious.

“Maybe he just doesn’t care?”

“No!” Isagi said, a spark of something fierce in his eyes. “That’s the point. He didn’t care because he never expected to have a future. He’s not curious because he didn’t believe he’d get there.”

Rin raised a brow. “So you think the trauma is…”

“That he saw no point in tomorrow,” Isagi finished. “That he didn’t imagine growing up, or improving, or even surviving. Maybe no one ever gave him a reason to believe he’d get anywhere at all.”

The room went quiet.

Rin stared at him for a second. Then, wordlessly, went back to scrolling.

“Rin!” Isagi said, exasperated.

“I’m listening,” Rin said calmly.

Isagi huffed, but a smile pulled at his lips. With an impulsive grin, he leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Rin’s cheek.

Rin didn’t react, but his scrolling slowed just a little.

Reinvigorated, Isagi spun on his heel and marched toward the others, clapping his hands together for attention.

“Everyone! Listen up! I have an idea!”

Half the room blinked in surprise. Chigiri nearly dropped the whiteboard marker.

Reo looked up from where he was crouched beside the younger Nagi. “Seriously?”

Isagi nodded, hands on hips. “I think we’ve been asking the wrong questions.”

“Well, we’ve asked all of them,” Karasu muttered.

“Exactly! And not once did he ask any in return.”

That got some attention.

“He never asked about what happens to him,” Isagi continued. “Never asked if he makes it into Blue Lock. Or becomes a striker. Or gets famous. Or even if he’s happy.”

Bachira frowned, tilting his head. “That is kind of weird…”

“It’s more than weird,” Isagi said. “I think… he never expected a future. Not because he didn’t want one—but because he didn’t believe there’d be one.”

The silence that followed was heavier than before—but sharper now. Focused.

Reo stood slowly. “You think he lived like that?”

Isagi nodded. “Like nothing was waiting for him. Like every day was just… filler.”

A beat. Then, softly, from Hiori: “That would explain why he was so detached. So uninterested in everything.”

Charles exhaled, looking genuinely thoughtful. “He didn’t check out emotionally. He was never checked in.”

Yukimiya crossed his arms, gaze flicking toward the sleeping teen. “So… how do we show him that there is a future worth caring about?”

Reo looked at Isagi, eyes burning now with new resolve. “We give him reasons to want tomorrow.”

And in the corner, both versions of Nagi remained asleep.

Unaware that the people around them were finally, finally, beginning to understand what had been missing.

[Day 3]

The room was quieter now. Not relaxed—but focused.

Someone had written "FUTURE DISCONNECT?" in large, messy letters on the whiteboard, and beneath it: “no curiosity → no belief → no purpose?” followed by a string of scrawled question marks.

Kurona, Yukimiya, and Reo were sorting through observations and questions. Isagi and Hiori had broken off into a corner to discuss how to gently talk to fourteen-year-old Nagi when he woke. Chigiri was chewing a pen cap. Nanase was muttering into his phone, trying to calculate how many days they had left.

And in the middle of it all, present-day Nagi suddenly sat up on the beanbag, blinking blearily.

“...ugh whats happening’?”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Hey,” Isagi said, startled. “You’re awake.”

Nagi stretched his arms above his head, blanket falling off his shoulder. “Mm. Kinda.”

“You were out for like three hours,” Reo said softly, crouching beside him.

Nagi shrugged. “I was bored.”

Charles snorted from the couch. “You nap like it’s an Olympic sport.”

Otoya leaned in, eyes glinting. “So, since you’re up—mind if we ask a few things?”

Nagi blinked slowly. “Do I have to answer?”

“You don’t have to do anything,” Rin said without looking up from his iPad, “but it would save us some time.”

Reo rubbed the back of his neck. “We’re trying to figure out your younger self’s trauma.”

“Trauma?” Nagi echoed, blankly.

“You know,” Karasu said, “the reason your fourteen-year-old self time-traveled here and stares at walls like they offended him.”

Nagi yawned. “He’s just like that.”

“You’re just like that,” Raichi muttered.

“We’ve asked a lot of stuff already,” Isagi jumped in, “but we hit a wall. You don’t talk much about home. What were your parents like when you were fourteen?”

Nagi blinked again, then rubbed his eye.

“Dunno,” he said simply. “Didn’t see them much.”

Reo frowned. “Did they work late?”

“They just didn’t bother,” Nagi said with a little shrug, as if describing the weather. “They weren’t around. I was fine.”

The silence that followed wasn’t loud, but it was immediate.

Even Charles, who had been balancing a spoon on his nose, stopped moving.

“They didn’t come home?” Chigiri asked, voice carefully neutral.

“Sometimes they did,” Nagi replied. “But they didn’t talk much. I think they forgot my birthday once? Maybe twice.”

“Did they ever visit you during school stuff?” Hiori asked, gently.

“No. But it’s not like I joined clubs or anything. I didn’t give them a reason to.”

Isagi slowly turned to look at Rin, who simply gave him a deadpan stare and mouthed, don’t.

Isagi ignored him.

“That doesn’t… bother you?” he asked Nagi carefully.

“Why would it?” Nagi looked genuinely confused. “I had food. A TV. Games. It was fine.”

Reo looked stricken.

“That’s not—” he began, but Hiori gently touched his arm.

Isagi’s voice was gentler now. “Nagi, that’s called emotional neglect.”

Nagi tilted his head. “What?”

“Emotional neglect,” Hiori repeated. “It’s not just about being fed or having a roof. It’s about not being seen. Not being cared for emotionally. No warmth. No guidance.”

“I didn’t need it,” Nagi said. “I turned out fine.”

“You’re emotionally flat and you nap to escape basic interaction,” Yukimiya muttered.

“And yet people love you,” Otoya added, with a nudge toward Reo.

Reo, for once, didn’t smile at the tease.

“Okay,” Chigiri said, straightening. “Let’s list it out.”

He moved to the whiteboard and started scribbling:

• Lack of curiosity about the future

• No questions about self-worth

• No mention of parents

• No mention of anyone

• No emotional reflection

• Detached from joy, pain, expectation

• Says ‘fine’ a lot

“And,” Kurona added from behind him, “doesn’t understand that being ignored by your own parents isn’t normal.”

Nagi was staring at the list now.

He looked more puzzled than hurt. As if he’d walked into a conversation and everyone was speaking a language he barely understood.

“I didn’t really think about it,” he said at last.

“That might be the trauma,” Reo whispered.

And something about that sentence made the room settle into a thoughtful stillness.

Because maybe it wasn’t dramatic. Maybe it wasn’t loud.

Maybe it was just a slow, quiet growing up in a space that never gave him enough to feel like he mattered. And he adapted to that. Shrunk to fit into it.

Until “fine” was the only emotion he knew how to name.

[Day 3]

The vibe was different.

Less panicked, less scattered. Everyone had slept on the revelation—emotional neglect, no sense of future, no belief that life would change—and now they were back in the common room, trying to figure out what the hell to do with it.

Fourteen-year-old Nagi was in the corner with a blanket over his shoulders and a Switch in his lap, still mostly silent. He wasn’t ignoring them—just… disconnected. Detached. Like a game NPC waiting for someone to hit the right dialogue option.

Present-day Nagi was laid out on the couch like a bored cat, one arm covering his eyes. He had offered no advice, no insight, no help.

Because, in his words: “If I didn’t care then, why would I remember how to fix it? I still don’t really care now, you know?”

At the centre of the room, Chigiri stood in front of the whiteboard, marker in hand. Bullet points from the night before still hung in the air like a ghost:

TRAUMA THEORY:

• Emotional neglect

• No encouragement

• No interest in future

• “Fine” = baseline survival

“We need ideas,” Chigiri said, turning to face the room. “Concrete ones.”

“I say we try and get fourteen-year-old Nagi to talk more,” Karasu said. “Casual conversations. Just hang out with him, slowly chip away at the silence.”

“He doesn’t respond to casual,” Raichi muttered.

“Maybe we show him different versions of the future?” Nanase offered. “Like—talk about where he could go. Inspire him.”

“He doesn’t know what he wants,” Kurona said. “That’s the root of it. You can’t picture a future if you’ve never been taught to want one.”

“So we give him options,” Hiori said. “Let him explore. Let him feel what it’s like to want things.”

“Or,” Charles piped up, “we overwhelm him with absurd success stories so he thinks he becomes a rockstar. We tell him he gets a private jet, a gamer mansion, ten cats, and a gold PlayStation.”

“Charles, no,” Yukimiya said flatly.

“No, wait,” Bachira said brightly, “I kinda love that. What if we each show him something we personally love about our own lives? Like—introduce him to our passions?”

“Hmm,” Isagi murmured, tapping his chin. “It’d be kind of like building a menu of futures. Showing him he’s allowed to choose. That life has flavor.”

Otoya perked up. “I can teach him how to pick up some girls.”

Karasu grinned. “Or how ta steal all the strawberry yogurt from the cafeteria before breakfast.”

“Those are crimes,” Chigiri said.

“Crimes of passion,” Charles added.

Reo, quiet until now, finally stood.

“I think we need to show him relationships.”

That got attention.

Reo’s voice stayed soft, but there was conviction in it.

“Not just friendship. Not just hobbies. I mean connection. He needs to feel what it’s like to matter to someone. To be cared for. To feel chosen.”

Eyes shifted toward where both Nagi’s sat, still in that sleepy corner.

Young Nagi was now watching quietly from under his blanket, the Switch forgotten in his lap.

He wasn’t reacting. Not visibly. But he was listening.

“Okay,” Isagi said, voice steady. “So we split up. Some of us hang out with him, bring him into our routines. Others try one-on-one talks. Show him joy, connection, choices.”

“And love,” Reo added, not looking at anyone but Nagi.

“Even if he doesn’t know how to ask for it,” Barou muttered quietly, from where he leaned against the wall, arms crossed.

“Especially then,” Reo replied.

Silence stretched for a moment as everyone absorbed the plan.

Then—

“I call dibs on showing him fashion,” Yukimiya said immediately.

“I’m going to teach him how to draw monsters,” Bachira grinned, hopping up.

“I’ll get him into reading,” Hiori said.

“Karasu and I can try cooking with him,” Otoya offered. “Even if he stares at the pot the whole time.”

“We’ll make him care,” Isagi said. “One day at a time.”

And in the corner, fourteen-year-old Nagi stared down at the Switch, fingers still.

He didn’t say anything.

But when Reo passed by and gently set a pair of wireless headphones beside him—loud enough to hear the world, quiet enough to still have a choice—young Nagi didn’t push them away.

Not this time.

It started, like all unhinged things did in Blue Lock, with Bachira skipping down the hallway carrying a box full of paint bottles and yelling, “ART ATTACK!!”

“Come on, Nagis!” Bachira called, grinning like a kid on a sugar high. “Today we’re gonna discover the spark of creative chaos!”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi blinked from his spot on the rec room beanbag, still swaddled in his hoodie like a burrito. Present-day Nagi lay half-asleep beside him, a headphone dangling from one ear.

“Is this optional?” present Nagi mumbled.

“Nope!” Otoya sang, kicking the door open behind Bachira with a bag full of glitter and neon feathers. “Mandatory soul enrichment hour.”

Lorenzo slithered in next, grinning with his gold tooth gleaming, lugging a box labeled PLAY MONEY & INFLATABLE TROPHIES. “Time to teach you boys the sweet taste of success,” he said, licking his lips like someone who’d just robbed a bank.

“And capitalism,” Charles added, strutting in with his arms full of LED lights and a fog machine remote. “Let’s not forget capitalism.”

“Why is there a fog machine?” Ness asked, trailing in more calmly with a stack of magic trick kits. “I thought we were doing this to help.”

“We are,” Charles replied. “Help them learn ✨the thrill of spectacle.✨”

Shidou followed, casually bouncing a soccer ball on one knee while sipping something deeply suspicious out of a thermos. “This is either going to be genius or a disaster.”

“I’m betting both,” Otoya said cheerfully.

Within Ten Minutes:

The room had become a mess of conflicting stimuli.

There were splashes of color on every surface, play money flying through the air like confetti, the fog machine was blasting low-budget concert smoke, and Bachira was painting a monster with three heads on the wall using only his hands and glitter glue.

Fourteen-year-old Nagi was seated on a stool wearing a sparkly feather boa and holding a paintbrush, looking like someone who had been told he’d win a Nintendo if he played along. He stared at the paint. Then at the canvas. Then back at the paint.

Present-day Nagi sat next to him with his head tilted, face unreadable, holding a blank sheet of paper and a pencil.

“Try drawing anything,” Bachira encouraged, smearing green across his own cheek. “A monster, a spaceship, a microwave that can time travel!”

“...Why?” young Nagi asked.

“Because art is your soul puking rainbows,” Bachira beamed. “It doesn’t need to make sense!”

Ness sat across from him doing sleight-of-hand card tricks. “Or, you know, it can be quiet and focused too. Watch—pick a card, any card.”

Young Nagi blinked slowly. “They’re all Jokers.”

Ness looked offended. “I was improvising.”

Meanwhile, Charles had turned the fog machine up.

“Welcome to your future!” he shouted over the fake fog, gesturing wildly with a plastic crown and wearing a cape made from recycled advertising banners. “You are Prince Nagi of the United States of Cashflow!”

Lorenzo cackled and dumped a bag of fake money on both Nagis like he was making it rain in a tax-free offshore casino.

“This is what it feels like to have leverage!” he said, stuffing gold-painted plastic coins into young Nagi’s hoodie pockets.

“Technically I own you now,” Charles added with a wink.

“You guys,” Ness said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “this is not how trauma healing works.”

“It’s how fun works,” Shidou replied, now trying to balance the soccer ball on top of the fog machine while teaching both Nagis how to laugh at their

own failed trick shots. “And fun rewires the brain. Probably.”

Present Nagi finally moved. He drew one faint line across his blank paper.

Then stopped.

Young Nagi glanced at him, then down at his own canvas. Slowly, hesitantly, he dipped his brush in blue and dabbed a single spot near the corner.

“Art,” he said flatly.

Bachira gasped. “Yes. That’s the beginning of a beast! Look at you go, Nagi #1!”

Young Nagi tilted his head. “I still don’t get it.”

“You’re not supposed to,” Charles said, popping out from behind a cardboard throne. “That’s the point.”

“We’re just showing you,” Otoya added more gently now, “that there’s more to life than… being fine.”

Young Nagi didn’t answer.

But for the next few minutes, he quietly added two more dabs of color. Yellow. Then green.

No one said anything.

But when Reo arrived a little later, walking into the chaotic room and stopping mid-step at the glitter-smeared fog swirling beneath a giant cardboard crown—he paused when he saw them.

Both versions of Nagi.

Sitting side by side.

Each with a paintbrush in hand.

Not smiling. Not laughing.

But present.

Participating.

And that, in Reo’s eyes, was a damn good start.

[Day 4]

The room was well-lit, clean, and… weirdly sterile.

Someone had taken the time to wipe the whiteboard clear, stack notebooks on the table, and set out extra pens, post-it notes, and a few career handouts from God-knows-where. Yukimiya had even brought coffee—black, strong, and depressingly untouched.

Seated at the table: Karasu, Raichi, Yukimiya, Hiori, Niko, and Isagi. Seated across from them, side by side: Fourteen-year-old Nagi and Seventeen-year-old Nagi.

Both of them slouched. Both of them expressionless.

It was like trying to emotionally interrogate two ghosts.

“…So,” Yukimiya said, clasping his hands together in front of him. “We’re here because we want to help you think about what kind of future you want. And maybe figure out why… you didn’t think you’d have one.”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi blinked slowly. “I didn’t think I’d need to.”

“You didn’t think you’d… live this long?” Niko asked carefully.

“No, I just didn’t think about it at all.”

Karasu raised an eyebrow. “What about sports? Or being famous? Or even just like… retiring ta a beach house with ten cats?”

“I don’t like cats.”

“Okay,” Karasu muttered, “so he has preferences, that’s something.”

Raichi leaned forward. “C’mon, kid. Didn’t you ever wanna be anything? Astronaut? Superhero? Pro-gamer?”

“I just liked staying home and playing games.”

Isagi piped up, a little too brightly, “Well—what kind of games? Do you want to make one someday? Review them? Stream?”

Young Nagi stared at him for a second. “…That sounds like effort.”

Raichi made a frustrated noise and leaned back in his chair like he’d just lost five years of his life. “How the hell are we supposed to inspire a rock.”

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Hiori murmured.

“Why not? He doesn’t even care!” Raichi snapped, then froze when he realized both Nagis were now staring at him.

The older Nagi, lying across two chairs with a pen tucked behind one ear, sighed. “He’s not wrong. I didn’t care back then. And I don’t really remember why.”

“You’re not helping,” Yukimiya said sharply.

“I’m not trying to,” Seventeen-year-old Nagi replied with a lazy shrug. “I don’t think you can ‘fix’ someone into caring.”

Hiori was silent for a beat. “…But you care now.”

Seventeen-year-old Nagi tilted his head lazily toward Reo’s name mentioned across the room earlier and said nothing.

The silence that followed was awkward and heavy. Even the air in the room felt a little slower, more still.

“I just don’t see the point,” fourteen-year-old Nagi said after a while, quiet but honest. “People talk about goals and dreams like it matters. But it’s not like the world waits for you.”

Karasu sat up straighter. “That’s exactly why yah need goals.”

“But what if you’re fine without them?” Nagi asked, not challenging—genuinely curious. “What if I don’t mind being a background character?”

The others exchanged looks.

Raichi looked like he was trying not to shout again.

Niko sighed and crossed something off the list.

Yukimiya rubbed his temple.

Hiori looked down at the page he’d been taking notes on and tapped the end of his pen.

Isagi’s voice was softer now. “It’s not about being a main character. It’s about knowing you’re allowed to want something. That tomorrow can mean something.”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi blinked slowly. “…I don’t think I ever expected anything good out of tomorrow.”

And that—more than anything—was what made the others go quiet again.

Present-day Nagi stared at the ceiling like it held secrets. Then said, “I think I thought that too. I just didn’t know how to say it.”

The silence this time was deeper.

It wasn’t dramatic.

It wasn’t angry.

Just… defeated.

Because for the first time, the group understood:

This wasn’t a boy waiting to be told to dream.

This was a boy who never learned that dreaming was for him.

[Day 5]

It was hot. The sky was mercilessly blue. And the turf underfoot practically shimmered in the sunlight.

“Alright,” Chigiri clapped his hands, hair tied up and eyes glinting with focus. “Since nothing else is working, we’re doing this our way.”

“This,” Kunigami said gruffly, crossing his arms, “is Operation: Muscle Memory. Time to kickstart those under-stimulated brains.”

“Through exercise?” Young Nagi asked, deadpan.

“Damn right,” Barou grunted, stretching his neck until it cracked. “The only thing worse than a weak body is a weak mind that doesn’t want anything.”

“Why are you talking like a prison warden?” Chigiri asked, rolling his eyes.

“Because it’s true.”

Nearby, present-day Nagi was sitting on the grass with his chin resting on his knees, watching his younger self wipe sleep from his eyes like he’d just wandered into the wrong anime.

“I’m not really a running guy,” young Nagi mumbled.

“You don’t have to be,” Chigiri said with a grin. “You just have to move.”

“And sweat,” Kunigami added.

“And suffer,” Barou growled.

From the bleachers, Kaiser was reclining in the shade like a Roman emperor, sipping from a bottle of imported electrolyte water and looking vaguely disgusted.

“This is so stupid,” he said loudly to Ness, who sat beside him in awkward silence. “You’re all acting like a jog is going to cure apathy.”

“It helps stimulate the frontal cortex,” Ness offered weakly, glancing toward the field. “It could work…”

Kaiser scoffed and laid back fully. “No one can help Nagi. He’s a vacant bean sprout in human form. This is a waste of everyone’s time.”

Back on the field:

“Okay,” Chigiri said, setting up orange cones along a 20-meter stretch. “We’re doing relay sprints. Young Nagi, you start. Just run to the end, slap your older self’s hand, and he runs back.”

Young Nagi stared at the cones like they were abstract art. “But why?”

Kunigami gestured firmly. “Just do it.”

Nagi blinked, then walked slowly to the start. “So I just run… there?”

“Yes,” Chigiri said through clenched teeth.

Young Nagi stood still.

“Now,” Barou barked.

Nagi flinched slightly and broke into a slow jog. Not athletic. Not energetic. Just… existing.

Barou facepalmed. “What kind of insult to movement was that?!”

“He’s pacing himself,” Kunigami said, though he sounded less sure with every second.

Young Nagi reached the end, gently tapped his older self’s hand.

Present-day Nagi blinked. “Is it my turn?”

“Yes,” Chigiri snapped. “Run.”

Nagi sighed, stood up, and jogged back with the exact same limp energy, hair bouncing once, shoes making soft flapping sounds on the turf.

Kaiser laughed from the bleachers. “Pathetic.”

“Hey, shut the hell up, royal brat!” Barou snapped.

“I’m just saying,” Kaiser called, smug as ever, “you can’t muscle someone into ambition. This one’s a dud. Toss him and try again.”

Kunigami looked like he was actively resisting the urge to throw a cone at him.

“Alright, new plan,” Chigiri said, visibly forcing cheer. “We’ll do some ball control drills. Nagi, you like touching the ball, right?”

“I guess,” Nagi said.

“Wrong tone,” Barou muttered.

“Dribbling drill, now,” Kunigami barked.

Both Nagis lazily kicked their balls around the cones, looking like it took great effort not to collapse and take a nap mid-dribble.

Chigiri, now visibly vibrating with frustration, tried not to scream.

“We’re trying to wake your brain up!” he shouted. “Exercise releases dopamine! Dopamine makes people feel good!”

“I feel sleepy,” young Nagi said honestly.

Kaiser was wheezing with laughter in the distance.

“Wow,” he called. “They’re failing at running. This is honestly impressive.”

“Say that one more time, and I’m launching a dumbbell at your smug face,” Kunigami muttered.

Eventually, both Nagis collapsed on the grass in perfect sync, eyes half-lidded, faces damp with sweat—not from effort, but from heat and mild inconvenience.

Chigiri crouched down beside them, glaring.

“You’re not even trying.”

“I’m horizontal now,” Nagi replied.

“You have no drive,” Barou barked.

“I have gravity,” Nagi said.

“…I’m going to scream,” Chigiri muttered.

Behind them, Ness glanced nervously toward the field. “Maybe this was a bit too aggressive…”

Kaiser leaned into his palm with a smirk. “Nah. Watching them fail is the best entertainment I’ve had all week.”

“Do we tell the others it didn’t work?” Kunigami grunted.

“No,” Chigiri sighed, standing up. “We just keep trying. Maybe the next thing clicks.”

“Or maybe we physically knock ambition into them,” Barou offered.

Kunigami nodded solemnly. “Later. We try push-ups.”

From the grass, both Nagi’s groaned in quiet unison.

[Day 6: 2 days left before elimination]

It was hell.

Hot, suffocating, tension-packed hell.

The walls seemed closer than usual. The overhead lights too bright. And the sound of people yelling was unrelenting.

“We’re running out of time!” Isagi shouted, slamming his palm against the whiteboard, rattling the already-doomed dry-erase markers to the floor. “We’ve wasted days doing everything except what matters!”

“And what the hell is that supposed to mean!?” Raichi barked from across the room, fists clenched at his sides. “We tried talking, teaching, exercising, and babying him! Nothing works!”

“Maybe because none of yah know what the hell yer doing!” Karasu shouted, standing beside Otoya, who had both hands on Yukimiya’s shoulders trying to hold him back. The brunette model looked so close to just tackling Raichi down.

“I’m doing my best!” Reo’s voice cracked as he spun to face them all, eyes wide and glassy. “He’s my boyfriend—I’m trying, I’m trying so hard, and none of you—none of you are helping—!”

“Reo,” Chigiri said quickly, reaching for him. “Hey—”

“Don’t touch me!” Reo snapped, jerking away, the sudden action makes Niko flinch back. “Do you understand what’s going to happen if we fail?! He’s gone. He disappears. Just—just gone!”

“Maybe if you weren’t emotionally clouded—” Kaiser started.

“Shut the fuck up, Kaiser!” Reo screamed, pointing a shaking finger at him. “You haven’t done a damn thing since this started!”

Kaiser smirked, lounging on the back of the couch. “Because I’m not wasting time on a lost cause.”

“You arrogant—”

“He’s right here,” Ness cut in quickly, tugging on Kaiser’s sleeve. “Reo, please calm down—”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Reo’s voice cracked again, and this time it stuck. His hands were trembling. “He doesn’t even know what’s wrong with him—he doesn’t know how to care!”

Charles threw his arms out, sticking his tongue out while pretending to be exhausted. “Yeah, well, no one does! We’ve tried art, money, magic, ambition, muscle—what’s next, an exorcism?!”

“I could try screaming into a bottle,” Shidou pitched in with a sharp smile.

“Why not just scream at him,” Barou growled. “It’s not like tiptoeing worked.”

“You yell at him and I’ll deck you,” Reo spat.

“Deck me and I’ll break your teeth,” Barou snapped.

“Try it, you useless maid—”

“ENOUGH!!!” Hiori slammed the table hard. “We’re turning on each other while nothing is getting better!”

The yelling hadn’t stopped. If anything, it had escalated.

“I’m telling you, we need to go back to basics,” Chigiri was saying, breath short and hair sticking to his temples. “He needs physical stimulation—he responds better when he moves!”

“He literally fell asleep mid-stretch!” Yukimiya shouted.

Raichi banged the table. “He doesn’t care! How do you fix someone who doesn’t want to be fixed?!”

“That’s not how trauma works!” Hiori cut in, voice sharper than usual. “You don’t just solve it like a math problem—”

“Where’s Nagi?” Isagi’s voice cut through the air like a whip.

Everyone froze.

Hiori blinked. “…What?”

Isagi was standing now, eyes wide, glancing around the room like his soul had left the building. “Where’s Nagi?! Where’s—where’s small Nagi?”

“You mean the fourteen-year-old?” Chigiri asked quickly, already turning his head to scan—

“Both! Both of them! They were right there five minutes ago!”

The silence lasted exactly one half-second before Reo shot upright, nearly tripping over the couch.

“What—what do you mean they’re GONE?!”

“They were on the couch!” Charles yelped, pointing. “I—I swear they were just—”

“Oh my god,” Isagi hissed, grabbing his hair, eyes frantic. “Wait—wait—where the hell is Rin?!”

Yukimiya’s eyebrows furrowed. “Wait, he was here—wasn’t he? He was leaning on the wall—wasn’t he?”

“No—he—he vanished?!” Isagi gasped. “How did my boyfriend vanish?!”

Ness whispered, “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Raichi whipped around. “Small shark boy is gone too.”

Hiori blinked. “...And so is Nanase.”

“WHAT?!” Reo shrieked, spinning. “Are you telling me while we were all arguing and screaming at each other—THEY TOOK MY BOYFRIEND AND NOBODY SAW?!”

“They didn’t take him, Reo,” Otoya said, hands raised in surrender. “They probably… borrowed him.”

“WHY WOULD YOU BORROW A HUMAN?!” Reo was seconds away from combusting. “WE HAVE TWO DAYS LEFT! TWO!”

“They probably wanted peace,” Hiori said quietly, rubbing his temple.

“Oh, so they get peace while I get a MENTAL COLLAPSE—”

“Okay, okay, calm down,” Niko said, trying and failing to soothe the panic.

“NO! I WILL NOT BE CALM! MY NAGI IS MISSING, AND I AM ONE SNAPPED SYNAPSE AWAY FROM BECOMING A VILLAIN!”

“Don’t do that,” Yukimiya muttered. “We have too many already.”

Isagi was spinning in circles. “Okay, so Rin’s gone, Nagi’s gone, little Nagi’s gone, Kurona’s gone, Nanase’s gone—this is bad. Like end-of-anime-season bad. This is when the music swells and the lights go out and someone dies!”

“Dude, breathe,” Bachira said, patting him on the back. “It’s okay. Rin-chan probably took them somewhere chill.”

“He could be unconscious in a ditch!”

“Rin? No. Too grumpy to die.”

“Not helping, Bachira!”

Barou grunted from his corner. “I told you—too many voices. That’s why they bailed, my sisters are like that too.”

“And now we’ve got no way of tracking them,” Yukimiya muttered, exasperated.

“I can track them,” Charles announced proudly. “I have a sixth sense for Kurona’s aura.”

“Charles, you said that about the cafeteria tray last week,” Otoya deadpanned.

“And I was right,” Charles huffed.

While chaos bloomed again—Reo pacing, Isagi spiraling, Raichi barking accusations at everyone—Hiori slowly sat down in his chair and stared at the now-vacant couch.

“They left quietly,” he murmured. “I should’ve noticed.”

“None of us noticed,” Niko said beside him.

“…And maybe that’s why they left.”

The sound of yelling echoed faintly behind them, but out here, it was dull—like distant thunder behind thick walls.

Rin Itoshi walked steadily, hands in his hoodie pockets, his expression unreadable. Every few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder to make sure the two half-asleep Nagi’s were still following.

“Come on,” he muttered, “keep walking.”

“I don’t see why,” said Seventeen-year-old Nagi, dragging his feet.

“You’ll thank us when your ears stop bleeding, bleeding,” Kurona said flatly from the side.

Fourteen-year-old Nagi was walking like a ghost, hoodie sleeves swallowed in his palms, eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused. Nanase walked beside him, gently steering him every time he tilted too far left.

“I didn’t know people could fight that loud,” young Nagi mumbled.

“They don’t usually,” Nanase said softly. “They’re just scared.”

“Of me?”

Rin didn’t answer.

Kurona sighed. “Of losing you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No,” Rin said plainly, “you’re not.”

The hallway turned, opening up into one of the small side gardens Blue Lock rarely used. It was quiet out here. There was a tree. A bench. The smell of freshly mowed grass.

Rin walked over and sat without a word. Kurona flopped beside him. Nanase ushered both Nagis onto the grass.

No one said anything for a while.

There was peace in the silence. The kind none of the others had managed to give either version of Nagi all week.

After a long while, Fourteen-year-old Nagi sat cross-legged and asked quietly, “Are they really that mad?”

“No,” Kurona said. “They’re scared.”

“Why?”

“Because they think you’re going to disappear.”

“Will I?”

No one answered.

Seventeen-year-old Nagi stretched out on the grass and yawned. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing.”

Rin threw a blade of grass at him. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Mm.”

Nanase glanced between them, then back toward the building.

“Do you think they’ll notice we’re gone?”

“Not yet,” Rin said, leaning back. “They’re too busy yelling to look behind them.”

The door clicked softly behind them.

It was quiet. No shouting. No pressure. Just the distant hum of a ceiling fan, and a narrow stream of sunlight through the cracked blinds.

Fourteen-year-old Nagi sank down onto the rug like a half-deflated beanbag. Present-day Nagi leaned lazily against the bookshelf, arms dangling at his sides like gravity pulled harder on him than everyone else.

Rin stood with his arms crossed, eyes sharp and jaw tight, glaring at both of them like they’d personally offended the universe.

Kurona leaned on the wall beside the window. Nanase sat on the floor near the younger Nagi, quiet and gentle, waiting for Rin to start. He could tell — Rin had something to say.

And when Rin spoke, it was cutting.

“God, you’re pathetic.”

Neither Nagi blinked.

“I’m serious,” Rin said, voice rising slightly. “You’ve got people fighting tooth and nail to keep you here — breaking down, arguing, crying — and all you do is sit there like none of it touches you.”

“I didn’t ask them to do that,” present-day Nagi said mildly.

“That doesn’t make it better!” Rin snapped, stepping closer. “Reo — your billionaire boyfriend — is losing his mind trying to keep you from disappearing, and you can’t even act like it matters.”

Nagi blinked, eyes slow and unreadable.

Fourteen-year-old Nagi tilted his head. “Who’s Reo?”

Rin stared at him. His mouth curled in disgust.

“Unbelievable.”

Kurona spoke up, voice steady. “That’s not his fault, fault, Rin. The kid version hasn’t met him yet, yet.”

“That’s exactly my point,” Rin bit out. “You—” he jabbed a finger toward Seventeen-year-old Nagi “—should be doing everything you can to make sure he understands how much that guy means.”

“I never said Reo doesn’t matter,” Nagi mumbled.

“You didn’t have to. That silence is loud as hell.”

Nanase gently raised a hand. “Maybe he just doesn’t know how to say it—”

“No,” Rin said, without looking at him. “This isn’t about poetic words or comfort. This is about effort. The bare minimum of giving a damn.”

The two Nagi’s looked back at him, calm and slow-blinking.

Rin clenched his fists.

“Do you even care if Reo gets hurt trying to save you? Hm?” He stared directly at the older Nagi. “Do you even careabout him?”

A long pause.

Then—softly—present-day Nagi spoke.

“…Yeah.”

“Then act like it!” Rin barked. “He’s running around begging for help, shouldering your future like it’s his personal project, and you don’t even try to meet him halfway. You think people like that are common? Like you’ll find another one?”

Nagi’s gaze flickered just barely to the side.

“Let me be clear,” Rin said, voice lower now but more dangerous. “People like Reo don’t show up twice. And if you lose him because you’re too lazy to care, you’ll regret it. For the rest of your life — if you even get one.”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi was quiet, watching his older self now with something almost like curiosity.

Nanase glanced at Kurona.

Kurona nodded slightly and added, “He’s right, right. You don’t have to be loud. You don’t have to turn into Reo. But if someone’s pouring their heart out for you, you, the least you can do is meet them halfway. That’s what it means to value someone, someone.”

“It’s not just about you anymore,” Nanase added gently. “If you want a future, even a small one… it’s going to be built with the people around you. And Reo… he’s offering to help you build it.”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi looked confused. “Why?”

“Because he loves you,” Rin snapped. “And if you weren’t so fucking stupid and actually put in some half-assed effort, maybe you’d understand how rare that is.”

“I don’t remember being loved.”

“Then look fucking closer dipshit,” Rin said, stabbing a finger toward his older self. “Because he has it. And he’s wasting it on some pathetic loser like you who won’t care enough to even talk about him.”

Present-day Nagi didn’t speak for a long time. His eyes were still half-lidded. He still looked bored.

But his hand twitched slightly. His throat worked in a quiet swallow.

“…He really said he’d cry if I vanished?” Nagi asked.

Rin’s voice was steel. “No. He didn’t say it. He is crying.”

The room fell quiet.

Nanase leaned forward, voice soft. “Don’t you want to stay? If not for you… for him?”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi didn’t answer.

But he looked down at his own hands.

And for once — even just for a moment — they weren’t relaxed.

The quiet was heavy — not tense like before, but contemplative. No one moved for a moment. The only sound was the slow whirl of the old ceiling fan, spinning gently overhead.

Fourteen-year-old Nagi still had his knees hugged to his chest, chin resting on them, but his eyes had shifted. Less distant. Less fogged. He wasn’t tuning them out anymore.

Seventeen-year-old Nagi sat against the wall, one arm propped on his bent knee. His face looked the same — relaxed, blank — but his fingers were fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

Rin let out a long breath and sat down finally, dropping against the wall with a dull thud, arms still crossed tightly over his chest.

“…Well,” Rin said, quieter now. “You gonna try now?”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi blinked. “At what?”

“Anything,” Rin snapped, though the heat had mostly left his voice. “Pick something. Dream. Care. Try. Look that boyfriend of yours in the eye and say one fucking sincere thing.

”Seventeen-year-old Nagi tilted his head back. “That’s more than one thing.”

Rin’s eyes narrowed. “Pick one.”

There was a pause.

“…Okay,” said the younger Nagi.

Rin blinked.

Kurona leaned forward slightly. “Yes, yes?”

“Okay,” the boy repeated, quieter this time. “I can try.”

Seventeen-year-old Nagi scratched his head. “If he’s gonna try… I guess I can too.”

Nanase smiled gently. “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“Not expecting miracles,” Rin muttered. “Just effort.”

“I don’t really know where to start,” young Nagi admitted, brow creasing for the first time all day.

“Anywhere is fine,” Kurona said simply. “Ask questions, question. Talk to people, people. Ask yourself what you want, even if it’s something small or dumb, dumb.”

“Like snacks?” Nagi blinked.

“Sure,” Nanase chuckled. “Snacks count.”

Present-day Nagi blinked slowly. “I wouldn’t mind… trying to think about the future. A little.”

Rin didn’t respond right away.

But his expression softened by a fraction.

“That’s more than you gave anyone in six days,” he said. “Don’t make them regret it.”

“I won’t,” the older Nagi mumbled.

Nanase reached out and gently bumped his shoulder against the younger Nagi’s. “We’ll help you. You don’t have to figure everything out alone.”

Kurona added, “You’re not as empty as you think, think. You’re just quiet, quiet.”

“I don’t like talking much,” said the boy.

“No shit,” Rin muttered under his breath.

“But…” the younger Nagi hesitated, then glanced toward his older self. “I’d like to talk to Reo.”

Seventeen-year-old Nagi blinked. “Why?”

“I want to know why he stuck around.”

A silence passed between them, but it felt warmer this time. Like the lights had shifted slightly. Like the cold in the room had thawed just a little.

Present Nagi gave a slow, tired sigh.

“…Yeah. I think I wanna ask him that too.”

Kurona gave the barest smile. “There it is, is.”

“Good,” Rin said, standing up again. “Because the second you’re ready to talk to him, he’s going to be halfway to your door.”

Nanase stood too, stretching. “We should probably let them know you’re okay. Before Reo tears the walls down.”

“Or Isagi sets off the fire alarm,” Kurona added.

Rin’s mouth twitched.

The younger Nagi reached out, gently tugging at Nanase’s sleeve. “…Will he cry if he sees me?”

“Reo?” Nanase asked softly. “He might. But not because he’s sad.”

“Okay.” The boy’s eyes flicked down. “That’s fine then.”

“—They’ve been gone for almost half an hour!” Reo’s voice cracked through the room as he tugged on his own hair, pacing in a frantic circle near the back wall. “What if he ran away?! What if—what if something happened?! What if both Nagis disappeared because the rules changed and we don’t even know?!”

“Would you stop spiraling for like two seconds—” Chigiri hissed.

“Reo, calm down,” Yukimiya tried, stepping toward him.

“Don’t tell me to calm down!” Reo snapped, eyes wild, practically vibrating with stress. “My boyfriend and his miniature clone vanished into the void—what part of that sounds okay to you?!”

Barou groaned, arms crossed. “Maybe they left to get away from your screeching.”

“Say that again and I swear to god I’ll bite you,” Reo growled.

“They wouldn’t just disappear without telling someone,” Isagi added quickly, trying to be the voice of reason, but he looked frazzled too. “Right? Right?! Right—?”

“Where’s Rin?!” he suddenly blurted. “And Kurona?! And Nanase?!” His eyes darted around wildly. “Oh god, what if Rin is gone too—we just started dating! I would never recover!”

Bachira was upside down on the couch, hugging a pillow over his face. “Everyone’s losing their minds. I think I’m gonna throw up in a spiral.”

“You think this is funny?!” Raichi barked.

“No, I think you look like a tomato and it’s hilarious.”

“I’m going to snap someone’s spine—”

“ENOUGH!” Yukimiya barked, voice sharp and cutting. “Everyone just—just stop talking for five seconds!”

Silence slammed down like a wave.

Until—

Click.

The main door opened.

Rin stepped in first, hands in his hoodie pocket, face bored and unimpressed as always. He raised an eyebrow at the room full of feral chaos.

Behind him came Kurona, tired but calm. Then Nanase, looking vaguely guilty.

And then—

Both Nagis.

The taller, present-day version walked with his usual lazy shuffle, eyes half-lidded, sleeves tugged down. Fourteen-year-old Nagi trailed beside him, hoodie sleeves bunched in his hands, head lowered—but he wasn’t being dragged.

He was walking on his own.

The entire room froze.

“...Nagi?” Reo said, voice hoarse, stunned. He took a single step forward. “Wha—Where were you?!”

“You’re alive!” Bachira squeaked.

“Oh, thank god,” Chigiri breathed.

“Where the hell did you go?!” Reo shouted again, full of emotion. “You vanished! I thought—you could’ve been dead or—or erased or—something! You idiot!”

Seventeen-year-old Nagi blinked at him. “I took a nap.”

“I—!” Reo looked like he was going to faint. “I’m going to scream into a jar.”

“Reo,” Nanase said gently, stepping forward. “They’re okay. Promise.”

Kurona added, “We needed space, space. To think, think. To talk, talk.”

Rin gave a low exhale. “You all were yelling too loud to notice us leave anyway.”

Isagi stepped forward beside Reo, scanning both Nagi’s quickly. “You guys okay? Did something happen?”

Younger Nagi looked at the crowd, eyes wide and nervous, then up at his older self.

Nagi blinked slowly. “...We decided to try.”

A silence fell over the room.

Reo stared, blinking. “What?”

“I mean,” present Nagi said, rubbing his neck, “I’m not promising anything huge. But I can… try.”

The fourteen-year-old nodded. “Me too.”

Reo made a noise that sounded like a dying car.

Then lunged forward and hugged them both at once, like he was trying to fuse them together into one mega-boyfriend and never let go.

“I THOUGHT I LOST YOU,” he sobbed.

“Too tight,” older Nagi muttered.

“Squishy,” the younger one squeaked.

“Never let go,” Reo sniffled, clutching harder. “I’m so proud of you. You tried. You tried! That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever heard—”

“Okay, fucking lukewarm idiots,” Rin muttered, moving past them.

Isagi pulled him into a side hug. “You’re the best boyfriend in the world.”

“Don’t get mushy.”

“You disappeared on me!”

“You were yelling about sniping the blue rose while his magician pet watches. I did us both a favor.”

Isagi sniffled. “Still scary.”

Kurona looked around at the room still stuck in stunned silence.

“Well?” he said calmly. “You gonna keep fighting or take the win, win?”

Everyone relaxed. Just a little.

The storm had passed.

For now.

[Day 7: 1 day left before elimination]

It was almost unsettling how quiet the common room was.

Not tense. Not awkward. Just… peaceful.

No one was yelling. No one was threatening to strangle anyone. Even Rin, curled on the armrest of the couch with his earbuds in, looked vaguely unbothered.

In the centre of the room, Reo sat cross-legged on the floor, beaming so hard his face might’ve split open.

“Okay,” he said, bright and fast and uncontainable excitement. “You said you wanted to try, right? So we can start simple. Like—what’s one thing you think might be cool in the future?”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi blinked up at him from where he sat with his knees tucked under his oversized hoodie. “Cool?”

“Yeah. Like… something you want to do. Or see. Or maybe something you’d want to keep.”

A long pause.

Then: “I want a bed that’s soft.”

Reo blinked. “You don’t have one?”

Fourteen-year-old Nagi shrugged. “Mine’s okay. But I want the kind that sinks in.”

“You mean a memory foam mattress?” Reo lit up. “We’re putting that on the Future List. What else?”

The boy squinted at the ceiling. “…And socks with clouds on them.”

“Excellent choice.”

Across from them, seventeen-year-old Nagi slumped against the couch with a juice box. “I want a chair that turns into a bed.”

“That exists?” Nanase blinked from the sidelines.

“It will,” Nagi said lazily. “Manifesting.”

Reo was nearly vibrating. “See? This is good! This is growth! I’m going to cry again, don’t look at me—”

“You already cried this morning,” Nagi pointed out.

“And I’ll do it again,” Reo shot back, wiping his eye. “Because my beautiful talented boyfriend is engaging with life! I’m overwhelmed!”

Isagi, leaning on the counter beside Bachira, grinned. “They’re adorable.”

“Mmhm,” Bachira agreed, kicking his feet. “Tiny Nagi is like a quiet little cat. You have to let him sniff you before you pet him.”

Rin snorted without looking up.

“Alright,” Reo said, clapping his hands. “Now something weirder. What’s something you’d never say out loud but kinda want anyway?”

“Money,” both Nagi’s said at once.

Reo froze. “Okay. Wow. Same braincell.”

“Why’s that weird?” Nanase asked.

Fourteen-year-old Nagi mumbled, “Adults say money’s selfish.”

Rin, from the couch: “Adults are selfish.”

“Facts, facts,” Kurona said.

Lorenzo made a patronized squeak from afar.

Reo grinned. “Money’s not selfish. Money gets you cloud socks and memory foam mattresses and gamer chairs that let you lie down while playing soccer. Dream bigger, my sleepy kings.”

The older Nagi gave the tiniest smirk. “I want a ramen sponsorship.”

Reo beamed. “YES. Let’s go!”

Nearby, Chigiri nudged Kunigami. “They’re like two noodles with matching personalities.”

Kunigami shrugged. “At least they’re not in a coma anymore.”

“I’m calling this a win,” Yukimiya murmured, sipping his tea.

Hiori and Kurona sat together, noting how both Nagi’s were looking more engaged. Present Nagi still spoke with his usual detached drawl, but he answered questions. Participated. And the younger one… he was watching everyone. Blinking slow, but present.

Even if he didn’t fully understand why he was trying, he was still doing it.

And for now, that was enough.

[Day 8]

It was Reo who noticed it first.

He had come by early, bleary-eyed and carrying a tray of breakfast pastries like a proud, devoted boyfriend. He even had a pair of cloud-print socks in his hoodie pocket, ready to gift to the youngest Nagi as a “you survived your trauma” present.

But when he opened the door to the side room where the fourteen-year-old had been sleeping—

It was empty.

The pillow was still dented. The hoodie he’d been borrowing was folded neatly on the bed. But the room was quiet. Still. Peaceful in a way it hadn’t been since he arrived.

Gone.

“...He’s gone,” Reo whispered, blinking in disbelief. “He’s… really gone.”

Half an hour later, the entire dorm had gathered in the common room.

Everyone was awake now, gathered in mismatched pajamas and rumpled hoodies, looking between each other in quiet awe. Reo stood near the middle, eyes still wide, holding the untouched socks in both hands like a fragile artifact.

“He didn’t say goodbye,” Nanase said softly.

“He didn’t have to,” Barou replied.

“I think that was his goodbye,” Isagi said, sitting on the back of the couch with his chin in his hands. “He stayed until he didn’t have to anymore.”

The large screen above the common room flared to life with a sudden bzzt! and sharp white static before it lit up with Ego’s deadpan face.

“Congratulations,” Ego said flatly. “You managed to keep another past self from vanishing into the void. A feat I did not believe most of you were mentally stable enough to accomplish.”

“Wow, thank you so much,” Chigiri muttered with a dramatic eye-roll.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Ego continued, adjusting his glasses. “Because while this round was a success, you should know that any hesitation, any lack of progress, and any emotional cowardice will result in the permanent erasure of the next subject. This is not a friendship exercise. This is life or death for someone. Remember that.”

“Could’ve just said ‘good job’ and moved on,” Raichi grumbled.

“You’re welcome,” Ego said dryly. “And now—”

The screen split, and the calmer, much warmer face of Anri appeared beside him, bright-eyed and visibly relieved.

“I just wanted to say that I’m proud of all of you,” Anri said, hands clasped in front of her. “The teamwork, the care, the effort you put into understanding Nagi’s emotional detachment and finding even small ways to help him connect to the future… it was beautiful. I hope you’re all proud of yourselves too.”

“I am,” Reo whispered, clutching his socks tighter.

Nagi, seated on the couch with his legs folded beneath him, gave a soft, sleepy-sounding: “Thanks, I guess.”

“Your next subject will arrive soon,” Ego cut in sharply. “Until then, recover. Regroup. And try not to set the building on fire while I’m off-screen.”

The screen went black.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then: “...Cloud socks,” Reo murmured, holding them up like an offering. “Wherever you are, I hope you’re wearing them.”

Chapter Text

[Day 1]

“Not again,” Isagi groaned, staring at the flickering screen like it was the harbinger of doom.

Rin didn’t look up from his protein bar. “I swear to god, if it’s me this time, I’m leaving.”

“Wouldn’t even notice,” Kunigami muttered. “You already act like a trauma ghost.”

The screen burst into static, then sharpened into Ego’s sour glare. He adjusted his glasses with a click that echoed through the room like a gun cocking.

“I see you’re all still incapable of looking dignified for longer than a minute,” he said. “Shut up and listen.”

Raichi huffed. “Coulda just said good morning, jackass.”

“The next subject has arrived,” Ego continued coolly. “And based on how painfully soft some of you are, I’m fully expecting at least two breakdowns by the end of this one.”

“Encouraging as ever,” Yukimiya muttered.

“You have one week,” Ego said. “Same rules. Same stakes. Save the past or lose the future.”

Anri’s softer face appeared beside his, as always, offering a counterbalance of kindness and sanity.

“I’ll be bringing him in now,” she said gently. “Please be open-minded.”

The door to the hall creaked open.

And then—

He walked in.

Not trudged. Not shuffled. Walked, with the steady grace of someone who had already learned how to dominate rooms.

Fourteen-year-old Reo Mikage looked like he had just stepped off the front page of a luxury teen magazine. Pristine lavender dress shirt tucked into cream slacks. Immaculate white loafers. A tailored vest and a faint shimmer of cologne that screamed prestige. His violet hair was slicked back, a single elegant strand falling perfectly into place.

He stopped in the middle of the room, scanned every person present, and tilted his head—like a prince surveying his kingdom… only to find it disappointing.

“…Is this really the future?” he asked crisply. “I thought it would be more… refined.”

The silence was deafening.

“Bro,” Karasu whispered, “he looks like he runs an empire.”

“I think he does,” Otoya whispered back.

Present-day Reo was frozen. Absolutely pale. A pastry halfway to his mouth.

“Oh god,” he whispered. “I remember that shirt. I remember those shoes. I remember being that—that intense.”

“You were like this?” Isagi gawked. “Since fourteen?!”

“I came out of the womb with a brand deal,” Reo whispered, horrified.

Younger Reo looked directly at him. “You look exhausted. I assume you've finally found something worth it?”

“U-Uh…” Present Reo laughed nervously. “Y-Yeah. Kinda.”

“Hm.” The boy’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You slouch. And your sneakers are creased.”

“Oh my god, he’s judging you,” Nagi muttered.

“He’s correct,” muttered Yukimiya.

Fourteen-year-old Reo turned to Anri. “Am I allowed to request proper accommodations? This furniture is… decidedly common.”

“We all use the same dorm beds,” Rin said, arms crossed. “Get over it.”

“That explains the posture,” the boy replied flatly.

Rin blinked. “I will throw you out a window.”

“You’d scuff your reputation before mine,” young Reo said with a soft smile.

Charles let out an impressed whistle. “Okay, I like this one.”

“I’m scared,” Ness whispered.

Anri chuckled softly, placing a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Everyone, this is Reo Mikage—age fourteen. Please treat him kindly.”

The boy straightened his already-perfect posture. “I intend to treat all of you with the civility expected of me by my name and my family.”

Barou snorted. “I hate him.”

“Same,” muttered Chigiri, watching him circle the room like he was measuring everyone for worth.

“I’m curious,” young Reo added, pausing in front of Hiori. “Are all the future strikers this… casual?”

“Depends,” Hiori said mildly, flipping a page in his book. “Are all fourteen-year-olds this punchable?”

Present Reo collapsed into a seat beside Nagi, face in his hands. “I was such a little freak.”

Nagi sipped his juice box. “Still are.”

The younger Reo turned again, eyes gleaming. “Well. If I’m here, I assume there’s something to fix. That’s fine. I enjoy fixing things. And I’m very good at it.”

Anri smiled, still impossibly patient. “Let’s take it one step at a time.”

But Rin had narrowed his eyes. “No one that polished is that perfect.”

Kurona nodded once. “Something’s buried under all that ambition, ambition.”

The fourteen-year-old took a seat. Straight-backed. Elegant. Still and watching.

He didn’t fidget.

He didn’t blink much.

He didn’t look confused to be in the future — only curious why it wasn’t better.

Everyone was still trying to process the fact that fourteen-year-old Reo Mikage wasn’t just ambitious — he was a walking venture capitalist in limited edition loafers.

“Have you ever thought about modelling full-time?” he asked Yukimiya, tilting his head, scanning him like a high-end mannequin. “You’ve got the bone structure for a premium fragrance line. Or something anti-aging. We could position you as timeless.”

Yukimiya raised an eyebrow. “I already do some modelling. Also, are you trying to rebrand me into a skincare line?”

“It’s lucrative,” Reo replied with a smile. “Your bone symmetry is wasted on just soccer.”

Yukimiya blinked. “I have no idea if that was a compliment or an insult.”

“It was both,” Chigiri muttered.

“You too,” the younger Reo added, suddenly pointing at Chigiri. “Hair that long? With that face? You’re a sponsor’s dream. Have you ever thought of working with an athletic wear brand? You could carry a whole campaign on jawline alone.”

Chigiri narrowed his eyes. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re a little too aloof, though,” Reo said, tilting his head. “You’d need media training. But I can arrange that.”

Chigiri raised a single, warning brow.

Across the room, Otoya was trying (and failing) to keep a straight face as young Reo scanned him like a specimen.

“You’ve got a romanticized girl crush appearance,” Reo declared. “Appeals to the rebellious demographic. You and that friend of yours could sell dangerously expensive cologne together.”

“I am dangerous,” Otoya said proudly.

“You’re marketable,” Reo said. “That’s more powerful.”

From the couch, Rin glared up as young Reo moved in on him next.

“You could model for Mikage Corporation,” Reo offered. “We’d sell out on day one. You’ve got the ethereal cold and detached aesthetic nailed down. We pair you with icy palettes and high-end winter collections.”

“I will kill you,” Rin replied.

“That’s the face!” Reo grinned. “Keep that for the promo shots.”

Ness, meanwhile, looked oddly excited. “He said my magic tricks were good!”

“He also said he could package them into a ‘seasonal whimsy bundle’ for entertainment licensing,” Isagi pointed out.

Ness blinked. “…Which sounds amazing?”

Kaiser casted Ness a sideway glance that just felt patronizing.

“And the rest of us?” Isagi asked.

“He told me I have ‘high relatability,’” Hiori deadpanned, sipping his tea. “He wants to pitch me as the human face of balanced nutrition bars.”

“I got offered a ‘speech optimization course, course,’” Kurona added, frowning. “Because apparently my ‘deadpan respective speech rhythm limits brand engagement, engagement.’”

“I liked your rhythm,” Isagi said sincerely.

“He also tried to take my headband,” Nanase mumbled. “Said he’d get me one ‘less middle-class.’”

“...Okay, that one felt personal,” Hiori muttered.

Over by the vending machine, Charles was shrieking with laughter. “He told me I’d make great circus talent! Said I ‘radiate chaos and unhinged unpredictability. Oh Loki is going to freak!’”

“He’s not wrong,” said Otoya.

“Nope,” added Karasu.

“I liked him instantly,” Lorenzo announced, grinning with all his teeth. “He asked me if I wanted to co-found a sports gambling empire in ten

years.”

“Of course he did,” Raichi grunted. “One freak to another.”

Reo — the present-day one — had retreated to the corner, curled into Nagi’s shoulder with wide, haunted eyes.

“He told Shidou and Bachira we should be selling their art,” he whispered. “Said we could digitize it and make them the faces of a whole urban streetwear line.”

“Bachira just giggled,” Nagi replied, sipping his juice. “Shidou asked if he could light the clothes on fire first.”

“I think I’m having an identity crisis,” Reo mumbled.

In the middle of the chaos, fourteen-year-old Reo sat back in a chair like a prince watching the peasants scramble.

He folded his hands. “You’re all very talented,” he said, bright and even. “Just underdeveloped. But I see potential.”

Silence.

Absolute, heavy silence.

“Huh,” Barou muttered. “He’s not even being a dick. He just… is like this.”

“Do you think he sleeps, sleeps?” Kurona whispered.

“Not without scheduled affirmation,” Hiori said.

“He means well,” Isagi insisted.

“Sure,” said Yukimiya. “So do cult leaders.”

[Day 2]

“…So he’s not evil,” Isagi started, gesturing vaguely as if that would help. “He’s not sad. He’s not angry. He’s just… aggressively supportive?”

“He told me I was ‘surprisingly quick for my build,’” Raichi growled from the couch, furiously unwrapping a protein bar. “What does that even mean?!”

“It means he insulted you in a compliment sandwich,” Chigiri offered dryly. “He did the same to me. Said I was ‘marketable despite looking like I could snap in the wind.’”

“I think he’s sweet,” Nanase said, though he sounded more like he was trying to convince himself. “He offered to get me a ‘sport-appropriate headband that doesn’t look like it came from a gas station.’”

“That’s a hate crime,” muttered Niko.

Across the room, fourteen-year-old Reo had commandeered the coffee table. He sat perfectly straight, tablet balanced on his knees, a color-coded spreadsheet open to “Potential Growth Metrics for Blue Lock Members.”

“I’m not trying to offend,” he said pleasantly. “I’m simply identifying areas of improvement.”

“You called me underdeveloped,” Raichi snapped.

“You interpreted that with negative bias,” Reo replied. “I meant physically. It’s just numbers.”

“Kid,” Raichi growled. “I swear on all the whey powder in this building, I will punt your head like a medicine ball—”

“He’s a child,” Hiori reminded.

“He’s a spoiled brat,” Raichi shot back.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was already gone.

“He took one look at Reo and walked out,” Isagi explained, throwing a thumb toward the exit. “Said he doesn’t deal with preppy rich kids with ‘god complexes and PowerPoint personalities.’”

“He said that verbatim?” Bachira asked, hanging upside down from the back of the couch.

“No, he just said ‘get this trust fund spawn away from me’ and walked out.”

“Makes sense, sense,” Kurona added calmly. “Reo did suggest Kaiser’s aesthetic was ‘wasted on soccer and better suited to fragrance ad campaigns.’”

“It was a compliment,” young Reo insisted from the center of the chaos. “You’re all very talented. I just think you could be… refined.”

Rin let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Yeah. That’s what every rich dad says before sending his kid to etiquette boot camp.”

Reo — the present one — was pacing now, visibly stressed. “There has to be something we can focus on. A crack. A hint. A clue. Anything.”

“Well, he’s not mean,” Ness said helpfully. “That’s something.”

“He’s not sad either,” Yukimiya added, eyes narrowed. “Not in the way Bachira was. Not in any way we can see.”

“And he’s definitely not stupid,” Otoya grinned. “He tried to buy the rights to my snake doodle and turn it into a NFT line.”

Karasu’s eyes bulged. “He WHAT?”

“I respect the hustle,” Lorenzo said.

“I don’t,” Raichi muttered. “This kid makes my blood pressure rise.”

Isagi ran both hands through his hair and sighed. “Okay, okay. Let’s review. He’s helpful. Polite. Professional. Super ambitious. A little passive-aggressive. Weirdly mature. Gives feedback nobody asked for. Kind of talks like a lawyer.”

“He said my life needed better structuring,” muttered Niko. “And asked if I had a five-year plan.”

Everyone fell quiet.

Then Chigiri said, “Guys… what if the trauma is that he doesn’t know how to be a kid?”

They all turned to look at young Reo, still calmly typing on his tablet, blissfully unbothered by the chaos around him.

“I asked him if he wanted to watch anime with us,” Nanase said softly. “He said, ‘Only if I can turn it into a review series for ad revenue.’”

Isagi groaned. “Why is this the one we can’t figure out?”

“I think we are figuring it out,” Hiori murmured. “We just don’t know how ta fix it yet.”

“And we only have five more days,” Reo whispered, watching his younger self laugh while trying to sell Charles to a circus.

“…I hate time travel,” Chigiri said.

“Same,” muttered everyone in unison.

[Day 3]

Fourteen-year-old Reo Mikage sat perfectly poised on the couch like he was awaiting a scheduled interview. He looked so clean, so curated—like someone had peeled him straight off a prep school admissions brochure.

And he was driving everyone insane.

Chigiri tried first. Arms crossed, one ankle over the other, he stared at Reo.

“So, what do you do when you’re not giving TED Talks?”

Reo smiled politely. “I allocate free time toward passion projects. Recently I’ve been working on a streamlined youth mentorship network for sport and finance.”

“That sounds like code for 'I never relax,’” Chigiri replied, dry.

Reo tilted his head. “Relaxation is important. I plan for it.”

“You plan for it?”

“Four-minute meditation intervals and a weekly bubble bath with lavender oil.”

Chigiri got up, muttering something about “robot energy.”

Raichi didn’t bother with subtlety. He threw himself into the chair opposite Reo and slammed both hands on the table.

“What was your worst memory?”

Reo blinked. “I once spilled sparkling water on my father’s quarterly review notes.”

“That’s not a trauma, that’s a beverage malfunction!”

Reo nodded thoughtfully. “Still taught me valuable lessons in damage control.”

Raichi snarled. “Kid, if I shook you, would anything fall out besides stock portfolios?”

Hiori tried the gentle approach.

He sat quietly next to Reo and simply asked, “What makes yah feel safe?”

Reo’s expression didn’t change. “Security in stability. Consistency in progress.”

“Not people?”

“I believe in reliability. Whether that comes from others or from oneself depends on the context.”

Hiori’s brows furrowed. “But what person do yah rely on?”

“I aim to be self-sufficient,” Reo answered, like he was quoting from a textbook. “It’s a mark of maturity.”

“Yer fourteen.”

“And aspiring.”

Hiori’s gaze softened with concern.

Ness tried, in his clumsy, well-meaning way. He held out a sparkly magician’s wand.

“Want to learn a trick?”

Reo inspected the wand, turning it in his hands like an investor considering equity.

“It’s charming,” he said. “I think with some refinement, it could be marketed toward party entertainment packages.”

Ness laughed, but it sounded thin. “It’s not for selling, it’s for fun, Reo.”

Reo nodded seriously. “Fun with a monetization plan.”

Ness gave up and backed away slowly.

Otoya dropped onto the couch and flopped his arm over Reo’s shoulder.

“If you weren’t a billionaire heir,” he said, “what would you be?”

Reo tilted his head. “That’s not a productive line of thought.”

Otoya blinked. “It’s a hypothetical.”

“I prefer to focus on actual outcomes.”

Charles leaned in from the other side. “He’s avoiding the question.”

Reo smiled. “I’m redirecting to relevant data.”

Otoya groaned. “God, he’s like if ambition got possessed by a ghost in a boardroom.”

Kurona just stared.

“You’re like a screen, screen,” he said. “Nice to look at. But I don’t know what’s behind it, it.”

Reo’s smile twitched. Just for a moment. “That’s a design feature.”

And then came Isagi.

He had been watching quietly from the back. But now he stepped forward, dragging a chair in front of Reo, spinning it backwards and sitting in it like he was about to interrogate a suspect.

“All right, Reo,” Isagi said, folding his arms on the chair’s backrest. “Let’s talk.”

Reo blinked. “Certainly. Would you like to discuss your personal brand development? I have notes.”

“Nope. We’re gonna talk about you.”

“I’m always open to collaborative analysis.”

Isagi narrowed his eyes. “What are you scared of?”

Reo hesitated. “Complacency.”

“No. What really scares you?”

Reo’s hands folded in his lap. “Wasted potential.”

Isagi leaned forward. “Try again.”

Reo’s fingers twitched. “…Mediocrity.”

“Still not it.”

A pause.

“I’m not scared,” Reo said calmly. “I’m focused.”

“Yeah?” Isagi said. “Then why can’t you give a single real answer?”

Reo opened his mouth.

“—And don’t say ‘legacy’ or ‘efficiency’ or whatever motivational quote you’ve tattooed on your frontal lobe.”

Reo blinked. “I don’t have any tattoos.”

“That’s not—” Isagi pinched the bridge of his nose. “Forget it. Reo. When was the last time someone asked how you were and you told the truth?”

“…I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

“It is relevant!” Isagi snapped. “Because everyone here is trying to help you and you won’t give us a damn inch!”

Reo’s mouth pressed into a tight line.

“Isagi—” Hiori started, but Isagi raised a hand.

“No, let me finish,” Isagi said. “You dodge, you charm, you offer everyone shiny distractions and startup proposals, but never once have you told anyone how you feel.”

“I feel… fine.”

“That’s not a real feeling!”

Reo’s fingers curled against his knee.

“You ever cried in front of someone?” Isagi pressed.

“No.”

“You ever been hugged and believed it?”

A longer silence.

“…I’m not sure.”

Isagi’s voice softened. “You’re not supposed to live your life like it’s a résumé.”

Reo looked away.

For the first time, he looked… fourteen.

“…If I don’t succeed,” he said quietly, “then who am I?”

The room stilled.

Isagi stared at him, heart thudding. “That,” he said. “That’s the question.”

[Day 4]

The conversation with young Reo had ended on something raw, something real.

If I don’t succeed, then who am I?

The words haunted Isagi like a riddle with teeth.

But by the time Isagi looked up from that stunned silence, young Reo had already returned to his neatly composed posture—back to smiling and thanking people for their “feedback” like they were coworkers, not concerned teammates trying to keep his soul from falling into a black hole of ambition.

And worse? Present-day Reo was nowhere in sight.

“Where the hell did he go?” Isagi muttered, pacing the hallway near the dorm kitchens.

“Who?” came a flat voice from behind him.

Isagi whirled around to see Rin, hoodie pulled low over his head, holding a half-full water bottle and looking like he deeply regretted leaving his room.

“Reo! The current one!” Isagi said, eyes wild. “He vanished right after I cracked something open with his kid self! Just vanished!”

“Maybe he’s allergic to vulnerability,” Rin said, unscrewing the cap and taking a long sip.

“Nagi went with him,” Isagi added, ignoring Rin’s sarcasm. “Like he just grabbed Nagi like a bodyguard-slash-escape-hatch and ghosted.”

Rin leaned against the wall and sighed. “So what, you’re on a rescue mission now?”

“I don’t think it’s about rescuing him,” Isagi said, running both hands through his hair, pacing again. “I think… I think Reo doesn’t know how to handle his younger self. Not because he doesn’t care—because he does, but he doesn’t want to admit it.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m serious, Rin!”

“You always are.”

Isagi stopped pacing and pointed at Rin. “Okay, you’re going to listen, because if I don’t talk this out, my brain will explode and then you won’t have a boyfriend anymore, just a mess of anxiety goo.”

“…Charming.”

“I’m freaking out because Reo’s fourteen-year-old self isn’t wrong. He’s smart, confident, well-mannered—but he’s searching for something. He keeps pitching business models and improvement plans like he’s trying to fix everyone, but I think he’s really trying to fix himself.”

Rin stared at him.

“Fix… himself?” Rin repeated slowly.

“Yeah,” Isagi said, waving his hands around. “Like, he keeps trying to make people better and more successful, but maybe that’s because he thinks that’s the only way he’s allowed to connect with others. Like he’s offering usefulness instead of asking to be wanted.”

“…Jesus,” Rin muttered. “You really do think about this shit all day.”

“I do!” Isagi barked. “Because if we don’t figure it out, his younger self is going to disappear, and then so will the present one!”

“I didn’t realize we were in an episode of Blue Lock: Time Trauma Edition.”

“Rin.”

“What.”

“I love you, but shut up and help me find them.”

Rin rolled his eyes but pushed off the wall, finishing the water and tossing the bottle perfectly into a bin across the hall. “Fine. But if I have to listen to fourteen-year-olds talk about strategic capital allocation again, I’m shoving someone into a trash can.”

“That’s the spirit,” Isagi muttered, grabbing Rin’s hand and marching down the hallway.

Meanwhile…

Somewhere two floors up, in one of the empty video analysis lounges, Reo sat cross-legged on a couch, arms folded, gaze fixed on the wall-mounted screen playing a silent loop of Blue Lock matches.

Nagi lay beside him with a pillow over his face.

“You’re hiding,” Nagi said flatly.

“I’m taking a break,” Reo replied.

“From your trauma?”

Reo glared at him. “You make it sound like a sport.”

Nagi shrugged beneath the pillow. “Kinda feels like one.”

“I just… I can’t look at him,” Reo muttered, eyes dropping. “He’s so much like I was—and still am—and he’s trying so hard. I don’t even know what he wants. What I wanted.”

“…Maybe you wanted someone to tell you it was okay to want something besides success.”

Reo blinked. Then, softly: “…Like what?”

Nagi lifted the pillow just enough to peek out. “I dunno. A friend.”

“…I had money.”

“Yeah, and now you have me,” Nagi mumbled. “And I don’t cost anything.”

Reo smiled faintly. “That’s… sweet. Weirdly.”

“Wanna go back down there and deal with your childhood issues?”

“Absolutely not.”

Just then, the door slammed open.

“FOUND YOU!” Isagi declared, dragging Rin behind him.

“I told you I didn’t want to be here,” Rin said, staring into the void.

“You can go back to brooding later,” Isagi snapped. “Reo, we need to talk.”

“I’m not ready to—”

“Nope! Doesn’t matter!” Isagi sat cross-legged on the floor in front of Reo. “Because whether you’re ready or not, we’ve got less than five days before your fourteen-year-old self gets erased from the timeline, and I am not losing one of my closest friends to ego death just because he’s too emotionally constipated to admit he had a weird childhood!”

Reo blinked.

Nagi lifted the pillow again. “Told you he was spiraling.”

Rin, leaning against the doorframe, sighed and muttered, “I want a refund on this entire experience.”

Isagi turned back to Reo, gaze focused, hands firm in his lap. “You don’t have to be perfect, Reo. Not for us. Not for him. You just have to be honest. Because I swear, your younger self is searching for something. If you don’t talk to him, he’s going to keep looking—and he’s never going to find it.”

Reo looked down.

And for once…

He didn’t have a rehearsed answer.

Everyone was there.

It had been decided—no more tiptoeing around. No more avoidance. No more guesswork. Reo had finally agreed to sit down with his younger self.

The lights were dimmed a little, shadows curling in the corners of the large room. Most of the players sat on couches or leaned on walls. Quiet. Waiting. Watching.

Fourteen-year-old Reo sat perfectly straight on the centre couch, hands folded in his lap, back not even grazing the cushions. There was a faint, pleasant smile on his face. Like a polite guest. Like someone attending a formal dinner party, not a confrontation with his future self and a room full of unpredictable soccer maniacs.

Present-day Reo stood across from him. Not sitting. Not hiding. But not ready to speak yet either. His fingers twitched slightly at his sides. He was never this nervous. Never this unsure. Not when facing press. Not when presenting polished pitches to corporate funders at age twelve. But this?

This was himself.

“Yah don’t have ta do this,” murmured Hiori softly from the side.

Reo nodded once. “I do.”

He took a slow breath, walked over, and sat across from his younger self. The silence in the room was thick as fog.

“…Hi,” Reo said.

The younger him offered a small, rehearsed smile. “Hello. Thank you for organizing this.”

“Jesus, yah sound like an email,” muttered Karasu from the corner.

“Let him talk,” Otoya nudged him.

Reo looked his younger self over—really looked.

Clean. Poised. Controlled. Expensive. Everything tailored and perfect. He hadn’t changed much in looks, but the eyes—God, the eyes—were so much emptier.

“You don’t remember this,” Reo said quietly, “but I used to hate mirrors.”

The boy blinked. “…Why?”

“Because I could never tell what was real.”

The younger version tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Reo hesitated. His voice tightened. “Everyone around me said I was incredible. A genius. A prodigy. That I had a destiny. I got called ‘the golden child’ more times than I could count. My parents never asked what I wanted. They just… expected. Expected me to lead, to excel, to build an empire before I hit eighteen.”

The boy nodded, as if hearing a list of school subjects.

“That didn’t feel wrong to you?” Reo asked.

“No,” the boy said earnestly. “It felt… normal. It was the plan.”

Reo inhaled sharply. “Yeah. The plan.”

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low and raw.

“But here’s the thing: no one ever explained why I was worth so much. Just that I was. That I had value. That I was important. But I didn’t feel it. I didn’t understand what that meant. They said I’d build a legacy, but I didn’t know what mine was. I didn’t have anything.”

The boy’s hands curled in his lap.

“I was trying to buy worth,” Reo said, voice breaking a little. “Trying to earn it. Every club. Every trophy. Every investment. Every school I transferred to. I thought if I built enough, succeeded enough, I’d finally feel like I mattered. Not because they said so—but because I knew so.”

He looked the boy in the eyes.

“But it never worked.”

The boy’s mouth opened, then shut.

“You know what changed?” Reo asked, softer now. “It wasn’t some corporation. Or a speech. Or an award.”

He smiled—genuine, tired, and bright all at once.

“It was a sport. Soccer.”

The younger him blinked. “Soccer?”

“Yeah. I came here, to Blue Lock. And for the first time in my life, there weren’t rules that were made for me to win. I wasn’t above anyone. I wasn’t pre-picked or praised or polished. I was just a player. Like everyone else.”

There were subtle nods from around the room. Some of the others leaned in.

“And I loved it,” Reo said. “The chaos. The sweat. The pain. The way nothing could be predicted. It wasn’t clean or curated. It wasn’t part of a plan. But it made me feel alive.”

The boy was staring, wide-eyed now.

“I started playing with this guy back in high school,” Reo went on, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. “His name’s Nagi. At first, I thought he was annoying. Lazy. Barely said anything. But he was so good and so talented. The way he played was like nothing I’d ever seen. No formality. Just instinct.”

The younger Reo’s eyebrows furrowed.

“I started passing to him. Playing with him. Pushing him to rise higher. He didn’t care about the legacy, or the brand, or even his own potential. He just played. For fun. And being next to that? Seeing it, feeding off it?”

Reo swallowed thickly.

“It made me feel worth something. Not because he praised me. Not because I was rich. But because we played together.And I realized… he was my treasure.”

The boy froze.

“He was mine,” Reo whispered. “Not bought. Not branded. Just… chosen. The one thing I found, not inherited.”

There was a long silence.

The younger Reo finally, softly asked: “And he chose you back?”

A pause. Then, “Yeah. He did.”

The boy’s expression began to falter. His voice shook. “I don’t think… I’ve ever had something that wasn’t given to me.”

Reo nodded. “I know.”

“I want something real,” the boy admitted. “Something that doesn’t come with strings. Something that makes me feel like I earned it.”

Reo reached forward, placing a hand on his younger self’s knee.

“You will,” he said. “It starts with this—learning to play for yourself. Not for them. Not for value. Just because you want to.”

Tears welled up in the boy’s eyes, but he wiped them away with practiced hands.

Reo smiled. “It’s okay to cry. No one here’s judging you.”

From across the room, Isagi gave a quiet thumbs up. Rin gave a thumbs down. Isagi elbowed him. Rin scowled.

The boy took a breath. A real one. Deep and shaky and alive.

“I want to play,” he said. “For me.”

Reo’s smile widened, watery. “That’s all I ever wanted to hear.”

The room stayed quiet, but not with tension anymore. It was the kind of quiet that came after a storm, when the clouds break and the sun just starts to peek through.

A quiet that meant hope.

[Day 5]

The dorms were still hazy with sleep when the news spread.

It started with Chigiri, who’d wandered out into the hall with his hair half-tied and muttering something about stealing Kunigami’s protein powder. But when he passed the small room where young Reo had been staying, he slowed to a stop.

The bed was made.

The window open.

The room... empty.

“Hey…” Chigiri called, a bit louder, suddenly more awake. “He’s gone.”

Within five minutes, the entire dormitory was alive with motion.

Doors opened. Slippers slapped the tile. Someone yelled that Barou was already doing squats and didn’t care, but even he eventually emerged, towel slung over his shoulders and brow furrowed.

“Gone?” Isagi echoed, standing in the hallway with bedhead and a spoon still in his mouth. “Like—gone gone?”

“Yes, Yoichi,” Rin said dryly behind him, scrolling through his notifications. “Vanished. Like everyone’s football skills this month.”

“...You’re weirdly poetic when you haven’t had coffee,” Isagi muttered.

In the next few minutes, players gathered in the common room, one by one, all buzzing with the same question—was it over? Had they finally succeeded again?

It wasn’t long before the flatscreen on the wall flickered to life.

And there he was.

Ego Jinpachi, arms folded, glasses gleaming like twin judgmental moons, appearing on-screen with his usual scowl.

“Tch. You morons actually managed to pull off another one.”

“Charming as always, always,” Kurona murmured under his breath.

“Let’s be clear,” Ego continued, tone sharp, “you didn’t solve Reo Mikage’s trauma because you’re brilliant psychologists. You got lucky. You cracked his armour just enough, right before the clock ran out.”

He pushed up his glasses, and the screen glitched slightly for dramatic effect.

“Nonetheless. Congratulations, Blue Lock. You’ve completed the second trial.”

There was a mix of relieved sighs, high-fives (Charles tried to fist bump Lorenzo and almost lost a finger), and even a soft smile exchanged between Reo and Nagi—though Reo quickly looked away like he hadn’t definitely just had a character development arc.

Then the screen split.

Anri’s face appeared beside Ego’s, her expression warm and soft in contrast to his.

“I just want to say…” she began, looking at all of them, “I’m proud of you. These past few weeks have been strange, emotional, and challenging, but each time, you’ve come together. That means something.”

“Sentimental nonsense,” Ego barked. “They’re doing the bare minimum not to emotionally implode.”

“Still,” Anri smiled gently. “You’re growing. I can see it.”

Someone sniffled. It might’ve been Ness.

“I will remind you,” Ego said, loudly enough to snap everyone to attention again, “this is far from over.”

A low murmur rippled through the group.

“You still have teammates with unresolved trauma buried in their pathetic, squishy little psyches,” Ego said, eyes gleaming like a threat. “Some of which will be far messier than what you’ve already faced.”

“Messier than Bachira?” Yukimiya muttered. “God help us.”

“And I’m not just picking the obvious ones,” Ego added cryptically. “Some of you are hiding things even you don’t know yet. So stay on your toes.”

“Great,” Raichi grumbled. “More time bombs.”

Ego leaned forward, deadpan and dangerous. “This is not a game. Fail, and your past self vanishes. Fail too many times… and Blue Lock fails entirely.”

The room went still.

Then, abruptly, the screen shut off.

Anri remained for a second longer, giving them all an encouraging wave.

“We’ll be in touch,” she said, and disappeared.

In the aftermath, the room relaxed just slightly.

“Well,” Bachira stretched his arms up high, grinning. “At least we’re three-for-three.”

“For now,” Niko muttered.

Karasu clapped Reo on the back. “I didn’t think yah would actually talk ta yerself.”

Reo shrugged, a little sheepish. “Yeah, well… turned out I’m a bit more messed up than I thought.”

“You and everyone else here,” Otoya said, draped over Karasu’s shoulder like a cat.

“Who’s next?” Barou asked, arms crossed, looking at Ego’s empty screen like he could punch it into revealing the answer.

No one knew.

But for the first time, they weren’t panicking.

They were preparing.

Chapter Text

[Day 1]

The last few days had lulled the players into a false sense of security. No glitchy screens. No dramatic time-warp children. No breakdowns in the gym showers or philosophical arguments about monsters and self-worth.

Which was why, when the overhead speakers crackled again, nearly everyone flinched.

BZZZT—

“Common room. Now. I’m not repeating myself, you oversized disappointments.”

BZZZT

“…Well, shit,” muttered Karasu, dropping his phone into Otoya’s lap. “Here we go again.”

“I just woke up,” Reo mumbled.

“I just went to sleep,” Barou snapped, storming out of the gym with protein powder in hand.

“Do you think it’s another cute one?” Bachira whispered as he skipped beside Isagi on the way down the hall.

“Please don’t jinx it,” Isagi begged. “We’ve had too many emotions this month.”

By the time the full roster crammed into the common room, there was a buzz of unease in the air.

Kaiser was already leaning against the wall, arms folded, jaw tense like he was being forced to watch an elementary school play.

Charles was blowing dirt off his palms.

Hiori and Kurona had already brought notebooks. Otoya had brought popcorn.

The screen lit up a harsh lighting.

Ego’s face filled the room.

And for once, he didn’t even bother with flair.

“Next subject,” he barked. “Seven-year-old Alexis Ness.”

The room blinked.

“…Wait, me?” Ness gasped, perking up so hard it was like someone hit his happy switch.

The screen split—one side showing Ego, the other revealing Anri gently guiding in a very tiny, very anxious little wizard.

Seven-year-old Ness, clad in a soft, oversized purple robe with silver stars, was clutching a wand made out of cardboard, glitter, and what looked suspiciously like tape from a stationery set. His little magenta eyes were wide, scared, and sparkling as he scanned the bright lights and metal walls of Blue Lock’s facility.

He blinked.

“Am I… in the future?” he whispered.

The room stayed still.

And then—

“OH MY GOD,” Ness shrieked, leaping off the couch with the force of a thousand rainbows.

Everyone jolted.

“LOOK AT HIM—LOOK AT ME!!” Eighteen-year-old Ness cried, running forward with the joy of a man seeing his childhood dog again. “You’re me! I’m you! THIS IS MAGIC. THIS IS PROOF!”

Seven-year-old Ness made a soft “eep” sound and instinctively hid behind Anri’s leg.

“Don’t be afraid! I’m not scary! We’re best friends! You’re me! I remember this! I remember this outfit! You’re wearing the first wizard robe I ever made!”

Present Ness was practically vibrating with excitement, crouching to the child’s level, hands fluttering like he didn’t know whether to hug him or cry.

Young Ness peeked out slowly, eyes welling up. “You… look like magic…”

Eighteen-year-old Ness burst into sparkles. Emotionally.

“I am magic,” he whispered, hugging his younger self delicately. “Ohhh you precious, tiny, anxious little baby. I want to wrap you in bubble wrap and feed you marshmallows. You’re perfect.”

Everyone else just stared.

“…What the hell is going on,” Raichi whispered, looking mildly horrified.

“Is he… crying?” Reo said slowly.

“Tears of joy,” Ness beamed, turning around while still holding his tiny counterpart. “This is the greatest moment of my life.”

“Someone’s gonna throw up,” Yukimiya muttered.

Kaiser blinked like someone had just hit him in the face with a stuffed animal.

“What… is this.”

“You,” Niko deadpanned, “have just witnessed your pet puppy double”

Kaiser looked around at the sparkly hug pile on the floor. “Is he going to explode?”

“I kind of want to see if he does,” Shidou said, casually.

Back up on the screen, Ego’s face twitched with visible disgust.

“Oh, fantastic,” he said flatly. “We’ve crossed into pure sugar territory.”

“Everyone, please be gentle,” Anri said, adjusting the tiny wizard hat on young Ness’s head.

“I refuse. This one’s an emotional teacup, and you all know it.”

Seven-year-old Ness waved his glitter wand.

“I’m going to cast a protection spell so you stop saying mean things.”

“I will file a restraining order against your wand.”

“Ignore him,” present Ness whispered to his younger self, gently patting his back. “He’s not a dark wizard, he’s just emotionally repressed.”

Anri beamed. “Everyone, please be welcoming. Ness will be staying here for the next seven days until the trauma is resolved.”

“…Wait, what trauma?” Isagi asked slowly, watching Ness twirl his wand like he was summoning fairy dust. “He looks like a human cupcake.”

“Exactly,” Ego said with a knowing glare. “You’ll figure it out. Or you’ll fail. Either works for me.”

The screen snapped off.

Seven-year-old Ness was now poking at Rin’s sleeve, very quietly asking if flying brooms are legal in the future.

[Day 2]

“You know,” Karasu muttered, leaning against the vending machine and sipping from a protein shake, “this might be the least painful one.”

“No breakdowns, no blank stares, adorable” Otoya added, watching as seven-year-old Ness twirled in his sparkly robe, wand extended like he was defending Hogwarts. “He’s like… a jittery little fairy.”

“Better than a dead-eyed Nagi or Bachira’s inner monster,” Reo sighed, settling onto the couch.

In the center of the room, small Ness was flitting from player to player, asking rapid-fire questions between awe-struck gasps.

“Do you have floating houses yet?”

“Can you time travel on purpose now?”

“Wait—is that—are you wearing… colourful glasses? Does that mean you're royalty?!”

That last one was directed at Yukimiya, who blinked slowly, then smirked.

“Well, not officially,” he said, flicking his hair. “But I suppose I give that impression.”

“Oh! I knew it!” Ness clapped both hands around his wand. “I can tell who’s noble based on their clothes.”

Yukimiya beamed.

“Okay, I like this one,” Bachira grinned, crouching beside the child and shaking a glitter jar. “Want to help me enchant the weight room?”

“I so badly do!” Ness lit up. “Do you think it’s protected against cursed objects?”

“We can find out!” Bachira yelled, dragging him by the hand.

Reo and Chigiri both leapt up.

“DON’T BRING HIM INTO THE WEIGHT ROOM!”

“HE’S SEVEN!”

From across the room, older Ness watched it all with stars in his eyes, hand to his chest.

“He’s just so… pure,” he whispered. “And terrified. And sparkly. It’s like watching my soul learn how to walk.”

“Your soul has glitter glue on it?” Kiyora deadpanned.

“I know!” Ness chirped.

Isagi laughed, nudging Rin’s side. “He’s cute. It’s weirdly easy this time.”

“I don’t trust it,” Rin muttered, scrolling through his tablet.

Meanwhile, Charles was attempting to have a serious talk with the boy, crouched at eye level.

“So, Ness,” Charles said, flicking his lollipop between fingers. “What’s it like being a time-traveling wizard?”

“Oh, it’s so much pressure!” young Ness whined dramatically, throwing his arms out. “Everyone expects me to have answers, and I just want to learn how to turn invisible.”

Charles blinked. “Wow. Same.”

Raichi hovered nearby, arms crossed.

“So, Ness,” he said gruffly. “Anything feel weird lately? Dreams? Nightmares? Strange feelings?”

“Oh, all the time,” little Ness answered cheerfully. “But that’s just part of being magical, right?”

Raichi squinted. “That’s not—no. That’s not normal.”

“I dream of spark storms and talking goats,” Ness continued. “And once I dreamed my pencils tried to attack my classroom. But I banished them with a spell.”

Raichi turned around and walked away.

Across the room, Barou was sitting with Kunigami and watching the chaos unfold, scowling like the sight of Ness in a wizard hat physically hurt him.

“I’m gonna say it,” Barou muttered. “That kid needs discipline.”

“He’s just enthusiastic,” Kunigami offered.

“He thinks his shoelaces talk.”

“He’s seven.”

“He’s going to summon a demon if we’re not careful.”

“Let him try,” Shidou called from the side. “Might make things fun.”

Meanwhile, present Ness was crouched beside his childhood self, showing him how to spin a glitter pen like a wand.

“And this,” he said proudly, “is your first-ever journal. You started writing spells in here when you were six and a half. Remember?”

Little Ness gasped like it was the holy grail. “I DO! I wrote the one that was supposed to make broccoli disappear!”

“It did disappear.”

“Because I threw it under the table!”

They both burst into giggles.

From the sidelines, Nanase, Kurona, and Hiori watched quietly.

“…He’s so easy to talk to,” Nanase said, blinking.

“I feel like we’re missing something,” Hiori murmured, eyes narrowed.

Kurona nodded. “He answers everything. But doesn’t say much, much.”

“How can he answer everything and say nothing?” Nanase asked.

“He’s… keeping it all sparkly, sparkly,” Kurona said after a moment. “Like a filter, filter. Glitter instead of truth, truth.”

As the evening wore on, the Blue Lock players found themselves swept up in young Ness’s weirdly contagious enthusiasm.

He taught Kurona a dance that supposedly “warded off sadness demons.”

He drew a protection circle in the hallway with chalk and begged Chigiri not to step on it.

He told Isagi he had “a heart made of sky,” and Isagi almost teared up.

And still, despite all the warmth and curiosity, none of them had even a clue what his trauma could be.

“Did you ever get scared as a kid?” Hiori had asked gently earlier.

“I was scared all the time!” young Ness chirped. “Still am! That’s why I wear magic socks.”

“…Magic… socks,” Hiori repeated.

“Protection spells. I made them myself. They’re good for loneliness.”

He smiled brightly.

Then changed the subject.

[Day 3]

The common room had settled into a rare moment of calm. Most of the players were spread around, trying not to burn out their brains while they quietly debated Ness’s possible trauma in pairs and small clusters. Others just gave up entirely and were now watching Bachira build a blanket fortress with Charles and Lorenzo.

But at the back corner of the room, by the vending machines and beanbags, present-day Alexis Ness was having a quiet moment with his younger self. His voice was soft, low—sprinkled with just enough wonder to make a child listen.

“I know the world still feels kinda scary right now,” older Ness murmured, absently adjusting the tiny wizard hat that kept flopping over his younger self’s eyes. “But there’s something you haven’t discovered yet. Something that’s going to change everything.”

Seven-year-old Ness tilted his head. “A new spell?”

“Even better,” said Ness, eyes sparkling. “It’s called… soccer.”

The child blinked.

“…What kind of magic word is that?”

“It’s not a word, silly.” Ness chuckled. “It’s a game. But more than that, it’s… a world of magic you get to create.”

He paused, tapping his chest. “With this.”

“My heart?” the little Ness asked.

“Yup.” Older Ness leaned in closer, eyes glowing. “Soccer is where I first learned how to make real magic. Like summoning storms with passes, teleporting with positioning, reading people’s minds—without any spells at all.”

Seven-year-old Ness’s jaw dropped. “You… you learned mind-reading?!”

“In a way,” older Ness grinned. “When the field is quiet and you’re focused… it feels like the ball listens to you. Like everything becomes possible.”

“That’s… so cool,” the younger Ness whispered, almost reverently.

“And the best part?” Ness added, voice dipping. “Magic gets stronger when you find someone to create it with. Like… a spell partner. A familiar. Someone who makes your power grow just by being near.”

The kid looked like he was about to pass out from excitement. “Did you… find someone like that?!”

“I did,” older Ness said with a dreamy sigh. “Someone completely impossible and oh so talented.”

“…Is he an elf prince?”

“No, he’s German like us and from Berlin.”

“…That’s the biggest place in Germany! He sounds like an elf prince.”

Older Ness laughed. “His name’s Kaiser. And… he's not always kind, or easy to understand. But when we play soccer together, when we sync up…? It’s like our spells combine. Like real magic.”

Seven-year-old Ness gasped. Then immediately turned.

Across the room, Kaiser was lounging on the armrest of a couch, scrolling on his phone, looking like he was half-asleep and bored out of his mind.

Seven-year-old Ness squinted.

That was the man?

That was the legendary magic partner?

He looked… grumpy.

And mean.

But… also powerful.

Like a dragon that had been forced into human form.

Young Ness stood, quietly straightening his wizard hat.

“What are you doing?” older Ness asked warily.

The child pointed dramatically.

“I must commune with the chosen one.”

“…Oh no.”

Kaiser was halfway through reading an article titled ’Surrounded by idiots’ —yes its an actual book— when he heard a tiny voice beside him.

“Are you the Great Wizard Kaiser?”

“…Excuse me?”

He looked down.

And froze.

Seven-year-old Ness was standing there in full wizard attire, wand in hand, eyes wide with awe.

“My future self told me all about you,” the kid declared. “He said you’re his partner. That means we’re soulmates.”

Kaiser blinked. “What the hell did you just say.”

“I brought you a gift.” Ness presented a crayon drawing of a unicorn playing soccer. “So you know our destinies are entwined.”

“What the hell is this.”

The rest of the room had gone quiet. Most people had turned to watch, trying not to laugh.

Charles was wheezing in the corner. “Oh my god, he’s going to melt.”

Kaiser slowly looked around, like this was a setup.

“Did someone do this?”

“I warned you!” older Ness called from behind a couch, peeking out like a guilty gremlin. “He imprints like a puppy!”

“I’m not a puppy,” the little Ness pouted. “I’m a time wizard.”

Kaiser stared down at him. “Kid. I don’t know how to talk to… tiny people.”

“That’s okay,” young Ness said, already climbing onto the couch beside him. “I’ll do the talking for both of us.”

“Dear god.”

“We’ll make so many spells together.”

“I’m leaving.”

“No you’re not!” the child grabbed his sleeve. “You’re my future partner!”

“I am going to commit a crime.”

As the room devolved into laughter and disbelief, older Ness simply smiled from his spot beside Hiori and Reo, eyes misty with emotion.

“…He finally found someone worth attaching to,” he whispered proudly.

“Yeah,” Reo muttered. “Unfortunately for all of us… it’s Kaiser.”

[Day 4]

It started early.

Too early.

Before breakfast even hit the table, Kaiser was already suffering.

"Why is there glitter in my shoe," he growled, holding up his cleat like it had betrayed him. "Why is there glitter in my toothpaste?!"

“You should’ve rinsed the wand better,” chirped a tiny voice from below.

Kaiser looked down.

Seven-year-old Ness beamed up at him, proudly holding a plastic star wand like it was a divine artifact.

“I enchanted your hygiene routine,” he explained. “So you’ll have +3 Charisma all day!”

“I don’t need more charisma,” Kaiser muttered through gritted teeth, already walking toward the mess hall.

“You do when you’re fighting Dark Lords.”

“What the ever loving fuck is a Dark Lord?”

Behind him, older Ness glided into step, sipping a smoothie and sighing dreamily. “He’s always like this in the morning. So grumpy. Isn’t it charming?”

Kaiser turned and stared at both of them like they were alien parasites.

The Ness Sandwich didn’t budge.

Kaiser sat at his usual table, elbow on the wood, jaw resting in one palm, dead-eyed and muttering curses in German under his breath.

On his left: present Ness, humming while doodling what looked like spell sigils on his toast with jelly.

On his right: small Ness, aggressively telling his banana how to behave.

“You must ripen properly,” he whispered to it. “Or you will be banished to the mold realm.”

“Bananas don’t have a realm,” Kaiser groaned.

“Yours does.”

“Why is he sitting next to me,” Kaiser hissed at nobody.

“You’re his magical partner,” said older Ness, winking. “You can’t just abandon your soulmate.”

“I didn’t agree to this!”

“Well he did,” Ness smiled serenely, stabbing his toast with a tiny umbrella.

Across the cafeteria, Barou stared in horror.

“This is actually painful to watch.”

“I know,” Yukimiya muttered, brow furrowed. “Kaiser’s got the emotional awareness of a rusty nail.”

“That’s not a child-safe environment,” Hiori added quietly, sipping tea beside Kurona.

Kurona nodded. “That kid’s gonna learn tax fraud before empathy.”

“Was he always like this with kids?” Isagi asked from their table, arms crossed as he scowled across the room.

“He’s worse than usual,” Karasu muttered. “It’s like watching a cat try to babysit a puppy.”

“I don’t like it,” Barou growled. “It’s wrong. Someone remove the child from the walking lawsuit.”

“I feel like Ness is too sparkly to notice how dangerously close he is to being emotionally detonated,” Yukimiya said.

“His younger self might,” Hiori added, eyes narrowing. “That’s what I’m worried about.”

Kaiser jogged lazily toward the goalposts, stretching one arm as he prepared for solo drills.

He hadn’t even touched the ball when a tiny voice called out:

“Can I enchant the ball so it curves better?!”

He turned. Both Ness versions stood at the edge of the field. The child had glitter, tape, and a glue stick.

“Don’t you dare,” Kaiser warned.

“I read in my journal that hex runes increase goal-scoring potential!”

“That’s not science.”

“It’s wizard science!”

“It’s nonsense!”

“That’s what Ego said, but Mr. Bachira told me he’s a known villain.”

Before Kaiser could reply, the kid had already sprinted toward the ball, smacking it gently with his wand.

“Boom. Now it’s +5 Lightning Damage.”

“It’s a soccer ball!”

From the bleachers, the others watched with varying degrees of horror.

“He’s going to snap, snap,” Kurona said flatly.

“I give it two more hours,” said Karasu.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t kicked the kid,” muttered Barou.

“Because Ness won’t stop smiling at him,” Isagi said, arms still crossed, seething. “That kid treats Kaiser like he invented fire.”

“I don’t think Kaiser’s ever been liked like this,” Hiori murmured. “He doesn’t know what to do.”

“He’s got no soft settings,” Yukimiya added. “Just ‘score goals’ and ‘start fights.’”

“Rin would’ve just told the kid to shut up,” Karasu said.

“Yeah,” Isagi muttered. “And that would’ve been better.”

Kaiser stood in the middle of the room like a man on trial.

He was visibly disheveled, muttering about wizard curses and losing all patience.

“Okay,” he snapped, pointing at older Ness. “You. Fix this.”

“Fix what?” Ness blinked innocently. “He’s happy!”

“He’s attached to my leg!”

Indeed, small Ness was latched to Kaiser’s shin like a limpet.

“Because he loves you,” Ness smiled.

“And I fucking despite it,” Kaiser growled. “I’m not anyone’s comfort object.”

“You’re his chosen one!”

“WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!”

“Chosen. For destiny. Love. Future. All of it.”

Kaiser stared into the middle distance.

“I’m going to fake my own death.”

“I’ll resurrect you,” young Ness whispered from his shin. “I know the spell.”

There was no escape.

Not in the gym.

Not in the dorm hallway.

Not even in the bathroom stall, which Kaiser had barricaded with a vending machine and a broom.

Yet somehow…

Ness still found him.

“Great Wizard Kaiser! I brought you your potion!” seven-year-old Ness beamed, holding out a bottle of fruit punch like it was divine nectar. He was in full costume again—wizard robe, light-up sneakers, glitter on his face, and a smile that could melt titanium.

“I don’t want a potion,” Kaiser growled from where he sat slumped in the hallway, hair unstyled and soul halfway to fleeing his body. “I want peace.”

“You need mana restoration,” the child insisted, patting his head. “You must replenish your spell slot points!”

“…What the hell is a spell slot point.”

Older Ness wandered into view with a proud smile. “Don’t worry. I’ve been explaining our magical class system to him. You’re a Level 18 Arcane Striker.”

“I’m going to punch a wall.”

“And we’re your magical support unit!” older Ness added brightly, pulling out a hand-drawn stat sheet. “He’s a junior Mage Assistant, and I’m your  Mana Source.”

“YOU ARE NOT.”

Kaiser attempted to sit down and exist.

Small Ness immediately sat beside him.

So did older Ness.

Isagi passed by, pausing with his breakfast tray.

“…Still happening?” he asked, though it’s clearly less of concern and more to mock.

Kaiser didn't even look up. “Everywhere I go.”

“Why don’t you just… tell them to leave you alone?”

“I have.”

Kaiser turned, locking eyes with Isagi, dead serious.

“I told the kid I don’t like children. I told him I don’t participate in such childish activities. I told him I hate glitter.”

“And?”

“He made me a crown.”

He pointed.

Sure enough, perched on his head was a crooked construction-paper crown that said “KING KAISER” in glue and rhinestones.

Isagi tried very, very hard not to laugh at Kaiser’s misery.

“Did you… throw it away?”

“I tried. He cried and said I was cursed to reject love.”

“You are cursed,” muttered Rin, walking by with a coffee.

“Say that again and I’ll set fire to your clown of a boyfriend.”

“Do it. I want to sleep.”

”Rin! I thought you loved me!”

”I love sleep more, you lukewarm idiot.”

The issue now wasn’t just that small Ness was attached.

It was that he refused to interact with anyone else.

“Wanna paint, Ness?” Bachira offered brightly, holding out a glittery brush.

“No thank you,” Ness said sweetly. “I must polish Kaiser’s armor first.”

“I—what armor—”

“Ness-san?” Nanase tried, crouching to his level. “Want to play a mini-scrimmage?”

“Sir Kaiser is the only one I battle alongside,” Ness replied solemnly.

Karasu crouched in next. “Hey kiddo, wanna hear a cool story about how Charles set Lorenzo’s shampoo on fire?”

“No. I only study history relevant to Sir Kaiser.”

Barou groaned. “The hell does that even mean.”

Hiori, Yukimiya, Kurona, and Chigiri were gathered with furrowed brows and heavy sighs.

“Okay, this isn’t cute anymore,” Yukimiya said. “He’s emotionally isolating himself.”

“And Kaiser’s not helping,” Kurona muttered. “He’s been mean. Not abusive, but like—cruelly blunt.”

“I don’t think the kid knows how to read that,” Hiori added softly. “He interprets it like it’s a wizard’s trial or something.”

Chigiri crossed his arms. “And older Ness is just enabling it. Like this is romantic.”

“It’s like watching someone cheerfully help a child build a bomb,” Yukimiya muttered. “A love bomb.”

Kaiser was found slouched on the training bench, water bottle over his eyes, muttering in German.

“Your grace,” came the softest, most earnest voice. “I brought your enchanted shin guards.”

Kaiser groaned.

“Did you bless them with eternal silence?” he muttered.

“No. But I did glue on rhinestones that ward off injury.”

“I hate rhinestones.”

“I love you.”

Kaiser sat up.

“I don’t even like myself, kid.”

Young Ness nodded solemnly. “That’s okay. That’s what I’m here for.”

“I hate this timeline.”

“You’re my timeline now,” Ness said happily, climbing onto the bench beside him. “It’s our fate.”

The other players watched like it was a live soap opera.

“This has gone beyond weird,” Karasu muttered.

“It’s a psychological minefield,” Yukimiya added.

“We’re watching a child psychologically bond to a man who threatens to throw him off a balcony at least once an hour,” Hiori said flatly.

“And he likes it,” Chigiri whispered.

“He loves it, it,” Kurona corrected.

“Should we intervene?”

Barou stood behind them, arms crossed. “I tried. He tried to put a cloak on me and said I was ‘not emotionally refined enough to join the Kaiser court.’”

“That’s fair, far,” Kurona muttered.

It was supposed to be quiet time.

Kaiser had just come back from training, sweaty, irritable, and absolutely done with the fact that two Ness-shaped barnacles had followed him the entire way back from the pitch.

Seven-year-old Ness was now on his third hour of trailing Kaiser room-to-room like a personal wizard assistant.

“Sir Kaiser,” the kid beamed, holding up a piece of construction paper. “I drew us as a tag-team summon spell. Look, your sword is made of blue roses, and I cast sparkles and crowns—”

“Not. Now.”

Older Ness was trailing behind, humming like none of this was weird. “You need to be gentler with him,” he said, setting a juice box on the coffee table. “He’s a sensitive child, as most are.”

Kaiser ignored him. He threw himself onto the couch like a man fleeing the universe, dragging a pillow over his face.

The couch shifted under extra weight. Tiny Ness had climbed up beside him.

“I added rhinestones to your shoes earlier,” he whispered with pride. “They raise your luck.”

Kaiser let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a snarl.

The kid blinked. “Did I do something wrong?”

That was it.

The pillow was thrown.

Kaiser sat up, scowling, all patience gone.

“YES. You exist! That’s what’s wrong.”

The whole room went silent.

“I don’t like kids. I don’t want to be part of your delusions. I don’t want to be anyone’s magical partner. I’m not your friend. I’m not your dad. I’m not your chosen one. I’m just a soccer player who made the mistake of not telling you to get lost on day one.”

Tiny Ness flinched.

Kaiser kept going.

“You’re annoying, clingy, and your stupid wizard talk makes my ears bleed! Stop following me. Stop talking to me. I’m not your hero, I’m not your family, and I don’t want you near me. Ever.”

The paper spell drawing slipped out of the kid’s hand.

Older Ness had gone completely still.

Seven-year-old Ness looked stunned. His little lip quivered. He blinked up at Kaiser like something was cracking in real time behind his eyes.

“You… don’t want magic anymore?” he whispered.

Kaiser stood, brushing past both Ness’s.

“I believe in the impossible. I just don’t believe in you.”

Everyone had stopped.

Barou stood halfway through a set of pushups, fists clenched.

Isagi was seated across the room, frozen. Hiori’s pencil had stopped moving. Kurona looked up from his sudoku. Even Shidou paused mid-knife toss. Bachira who was supposed to catch it just went in shock, he gave a side glance to what appears to be nothing. (It was his monster who both came to a mutual understanding to not say anything this time.)

Charles gasped from his space on top of the shelf. Lorenzo raised a slight eyebrow, knowing well that Snuffy would not appreciate this kind of behaviour.

Barou was the first to move.

“Hey.”

His voice dropped like a hammer.

Barou’s walk wasn’t fast, but it was heavy. Controlled. Dangerous.

“You don’t have to like kids,” Barou said coldly as he stopped in front of Kaiser. “But you don’t get to talk to them like that.”

Kaiser scoffed, already brushing past.

“I didn’t sign up to babysit some wizard-obsessed charity case.”

Barou grabbed his shoulder, spun him around.

“You’re lucky Ego punishes violence,” he growled, nose to nose. “Because if he didn’t? You’d be chewing your meals through a straw.”

“I’d rather chew glass than listen to more magic nonsense.”

“Yeah? Then leave. You’re poison, and even you’re not worth the kind of damage you just did. I don’t care who the hell you are, but you never talk to a child like that.”

Isagi stood up next.

Normally, he didn’t get involved. He wasn’t fond of Ness—always found him a little much.

But this?

This was a line too far.

“Hey, asshole.”

Kaiser turned. “Oh good. The second dumbest person in this building.”

“You just told a seven-year-old he shouldn’t exist,” Isagi said flatly, walking forward. “And for what? Because likes you?”

Kaiser shrugged. “I didn’t ask to be his obsession.”

“You didn’t have to. He’s a kid. That’s how kids are. They cling to the first thing that feels like safety.”

“He needs therapy.”

“He needed kindness,” Isagi snapped. “But you’re too much of a narcissist to see that.”

Everyone stared.

Isagi stepped forward again. “You pretend like you’re above everyone. But you can’t even handle a child telling you you’re special. In fact, he might be the only one who thinks you are what you say you are.”

Kaiser’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t think I won’t hit you just because you’re Blue Lock’s hot shot.”

“Oh, I know you won’t,” Isagi said, tone deathly calm. “Because if you do, I’ll bury you.”

Rin sat idly against the far wall, one arm holding a pillow, the other idly holding his iPad.

He wasn’t smiling. Of course not.

But his sharp turquoise eyes twitched upward the tiniest bit as he sipped from his coffee and muttered:

“…Hilarious.”

The silence was thick, broken only by the hiccuping sobs of a child whose dream had just died.

Seven-year-old Ness sat curled up on a beanbag in one of the private lounge rooms, his wizard hat slipping off his head, wand clenched in one trembling hand. His face was blotchy and tear-streaked, his shoulders shaking under the weight of something too big for someone so small.

Hiori knelt beside him, gently patting his back in small, steady circles.

Yukimiya sat across, carefully dabbing at the boy’s cheeks with a tissue. “You’re safe now,” he said, voice soft. “No one here thinks you’re wrong for believing in magic.”

“I-It wasn’t just magic…” the boy sobbed. “I thought he was real. Like… like all the stories said. Someone who looks scary but is actually special and powerful and good.”

Reo knelt down as well, eyes flickering with something deeper than his usual gentleness. “I think he is powerful, Ness,” he said slowly. “But not good. At least not in the way you thought.”

“He’s just like them!” Ness wailed suddenly, a loud, gut-punched cry that made even Hiori flinch. “My dad—my mom—they said I was weird, too! That I talk too much, and I believe in things that aren't real, and that I should just be normal!”

His wand clattered to the floor.

“Does no one want to make magic with me?” Ness whimpered. “Am I the problem?”

Hiori didn’t say anything. He simply reached over and gently pulled the little boy into a hug.

Ness clung to him, burying his face in Hiori’s chest, tears soaking through the fabric.

Older Ness stood against the rooftop railing, wizard robe clutched tightly around himself despite the soft breeze.

Charles, lounging nearby on the ground with his arms crossed behind his head, blew a bubble from his gum and let it pop lazily.

“You know you should be pissed, right?” he said.

“I’m not,” Ness replied, voice calm.

Lorenzo was nearby, flipping a coin over his knuckles. “You should be,” he agreed. “He yelled at a literal child version of you like you were a diseased pigeon.”

Ness didn’t move.

Kurona stood beside him quietly, hands in his hoodie pockets. “That kid is hurting, hurting,” he said plainly. “And I think you are too, too, whether you admit it or not, not.”

“I’m not letting him go,” Ness said firmly.

Charles raised a brow. “Why?”

“Because I already know what it’s like to be rejected over and over again,” Ness murmured. “I know how easy it is to start believing that love is conditional. That it only comes if you’re quiet, or useful, or if you shine hard enough to impress someone who won’t ever really see you.”

His grip on the railing tightened.

“Kaiser saw me once,” he said. “That’s all it took. I latched on. I know it wasn’t healthy. I know that. But… for someone like me, who’s been overlooked and shoved aside my whole life? That moment felt like magic.”

Charles blew out a slow breath. “Damn. That’s the saddest simp shit I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t care,” Ness whispered. “I made myself a home out of it.”

Lorenzo finally stopped flipping his coin and looked up. “But now your kid self thinks that home is on fire.”

“He’ll get over it,” Ness said hollowly. “We always do.”

Kurona’s expression flickered. “That’s not something to be proud of, of.”

There was a long silence.

Then Charles muttered, “You can’t keep giving your heart to people who throw it back in your face.”

Ness didn’t answer.

He just stood there, staring out over the Blue Lock facility like he was still searching for something… or someone to make the magic feel real again.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Until it wasn’t.

A loud, wet hiccup echoed from under the snack bar counter.

“...K-Kaiser doesn’t want to make magic with me anymore…”

And just like that, seven-year-old Alexis Ness dissolved into tears. The kind of tears that made his whole body shake, sobs wracking his small frame as his wizard robe bunched around him like a soaked blanket. His wand had been dropped nearby — snapped from being clutched too tight.

“I was supposed to be his mage,” he cried. “I was gonna help him slay soccer dragons and build castles and cast sparkles and—he lied!”

He buried his face into the glittery folds of his cape.

“I was gonna make him invincible...”

“Okay, okay, we’ve got a full-blown magical crisis,” Reo muttered as he darted over. He crouched down beside the child with practiced calm, though his hands trembled a bit. “Breathe, buddy. Come on. In on two, out on—wait, do different age ranges breathe differently? Charles, help.”

Charles appeared like a chaotic wind, skidding into the scene. His shirt was inside-out and his eyeliner slightly smeared. “Reo, step aside! He needs his imagination saved, not breathing exercises! Kid!”

He got on all fours and peered under the counter.

“I will summon the greatest magicians of all time if that’s what it takes, just stop crying. I’ll sell Shidou to a traveling circus if it helps.”

Shidou, standing with a plush dragon under one arm and a juice box in the other, blinked and smiled.

“I think I’d look hot as fuck as a clown. I can already imagine the adrenaline rush from the tight rope…”

Bachira flopped onto his stomach dramatically beside baby Ness and whispered, “Hey… wanna draw your feelings with scented markers? Rin-chan got them for me. I’ve got ‘frostbite blueberry’ and ‘pirate banana’—I don’t know what it means but it smells intense.”

But Ness didn’t lift his head. His voice came out a shaky whisper.

“He was supposed to believe in me…”

Lorenzo, always strutting, slowed as he approached. He crouched lower, unwrapping a gold-foil chocolate coin and placing it in the small hand.

“This has thirty percent cocoa and seventy percent ancient magic,” he said, flashing his teeth. “Use it wisely, my little wizard. The great mage Snuffy bestowed it upon me.”

The chocolate slid from Ness’s hand.

He didn’t react.

Didn’t even blink.

“He said he believed in impossible things,” Ness sobbed, muffled. “Am I just not magical? Do I not have what it takes to make magic?”

His voice cracked mid-sentence.

“I thought I mattered to him…”

Reo rubbed his forehead with both hands. “Jesus…”

“He’s seven,” Charles whispered, stunned.

“Yeah, and so was I when I found out adults lie,” Older Alexis choked out from afar. Shidou raises an eyebrow, casting a side-ways glance to the eighteen year old midfielder on the other end of the room.

“Maybe magic isn’t real,” the child Ness whimpered. “Maybe it never was. Maybe… maybe no one ever meant it.”

Charles’s voice cracked. “Don’t say that, little guy. You’re the most magical thing in this whole place.”

“He doesn’t think so…” Ness whispered. “He said I was annoying. Just like my parents did. Just like everyone else always does.”

Reo sucked in a breath, like he’d been stabbed.

“I don’t wanna believe in dreams anymore.”

Across the room is an eighteen year old Alexis. He sat on the far couch like a shadow of himself — hands resting on his knees, back stiff, lips pressed in a firm, silent line. No humming. No flutters of his cloak. His robe drooped over one shoulder like it was too heavy now.

He stared at the crying child under the counter.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t speak.

Didn’t move.

He remembered this feeling.

The exact same weight on his chest when his parents brushed off his stories about magic.

The sting when teachers laughed at his star-covered notebooks.

The first time someone rolled their eyes and said, “You need to grow up.”

But nothing had hurt quite like this. Not even then.

Because back then, there had still been hope.

This?

This was the one person he had placed that hope into — throwing it like confetti into the wind.

And that person had thrown it back like trash.

Yukimiya stood a few feet away, arms crossed, silent. Watching Alexis like he was a cracked window one stiff breeze from shattering. No one spoke to Ness. Definitely not Nagi, who was stretched out sideways beside him on the couch, tossing his phone between his hands, head tilted toward the sound of the child’s sobs.

“...It’s the silence that’s weird,” Nagi murmured suddenly.

Yukimiya turned.

“Hm?”

“That Ness isn’t talking.”

The older Ness didn’t react to the comment.

Didn’t even blink.

Alexis inhaled through his nose, deep and shaky, and looked down at his own hands.

They were trembling.

Just slightly.

He tightened them into fists.

Gritted his teeth.

And still didn’t move.

Not toward the boy.

Not toward the sound of his broken voice.

But his whole body ached to.

[Day 5]

The sunlight filtering through the Blue Lock common room windows had shifted into that soft, fading gold of late morning. Outside, somewhere far off, a whistle blew. Maybe from training. Maybe from nothing.

Inside, the air felt still and fragile. Like everyone was tiptoeing through a room full of broken glass.

And sitting right in the middle of that fragile quiet was Michael Kaiser.

Slouched in his usual throne-like position on the window bench, one arm thrown lazily across the backrest, his legs crossed, posture too perfect for someone who claimed not to care. A glossy magazine lay open in his lap — unread, unmoving. His eyes weren’t on the pages. They weren’t even tracking anything.

They were distant.

Unfocused.

His thumb pressed so tightly on the corner of the page it had crinkled the edge. He hadn't flipped it in forty-three minutes.

Occasionally, he blinked. But it was slow. Mechanical. Like his body remembered to function, even if his mind had checked out.

He wasn’t tapping his foot. He wasn’t checking his reflection in the glass. He wasn’t brushing a hand through his hair or loudly announcing the mediocrity of everyone within a ten-meter radius.

He wasn’t being Kaiser.

Not really.

He was just sitting there, like someone had pressed pause.

And that silence? The kind that wrapped around him now? It wasn’t majestic or arrogant the way it usually was.

It was lonely.

And though he wore that same sharp-cut jersey, the same cocky earring glinting in his ear, the same perfectly disheveled hair — it didn’t look like armour anymore.

It looked like a costume.

A shell.

Across the room, glances bounced like nervous echoes.

No one said it outright, but everyone noticed.

They noticed the emptiness beside Kaiser on the bench — a space usually occupied by the tiny blur of a seven-year-old in a wizard costume, all stardust and sparkles and hopeful rambling. A space where laughter used to bounce off the walls like pinballs, where the magic of imagination used to hum like static in the air.

That magic was gone.

And the silence it left behind felt louder than anything.

The vending machine hummed softly behind them, the rhythmic clunk of the cooling fan buzzing beneath the quiet tension of the room. Isagi stood next to it, gripping a paper cup of now-forgotten tea. His jaw was tight. His leg bounced.

His eyes hadn’t left Kaiser once.

That bastard just sat there.

Like nothing had happened.

No guilt. No apology. Not a word of regret for screaming at a kid in a wizard costume like he’d committed high treason instead of just trying to make friends with his favourite striker.

“I’m going to punch him,” Isagi muttered, steam practically radiating from his forehead.

“Sure you are,” came Rin’s voice from beside him, dry as salt. His back leaned against the wall, arms crossed, black hair falling slightly over his eyes as he stared at his phone with a detached air.

“I’m serious, Rin. Like—actually. I’m going to punch him.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I could do it.”

“You could.”

“He made Ness cry.”

“That he did.”

“Like, ugly-cry.”

“I saw.”

“And now he’s just—sitting there. Pretending it didn’t happen! Like it was some Tuesday inconvenience and not, you know, yelling at a literal child until he cried his stupid glitter off!”

Rin finally looked up from his phone. “He’s not wearing glitter.”

“He was!” Isagi snapped. “You just didn’t see it because you refuse to look at anything that sparkles unless it’s on me.”

Rin blinked slowly, one brow arching. “That’s fair.”

Isagi took a deep breath. Then another.

He took a sip of the tea and immediately winced.

“Cold,” he muttered, then slammed the paper cup on the counter with too much force. “Damn it!”

Rin tilted his head. “You sure you’re mad at Kaiser, and not just the universe?”

“Oh, I’m mad at both.”

“Impressive.”

Isagi turned to him fully now, eyebrows twisted into a storm of frustration. “Do you even care that he made a kid cry?!”

Rin sighed. “Of course I care. I’m not Sae.”

“Then say something! Do something! You’re the number one—!”

“First of all, you’re also number one. Secondly, I’m not that magician’s therapist.”

“You don’t have to be! But maybe someone should slap the Kaiser Complex out of him!”

“Are you asking for permission?” Rin said, calm and unreadable.

Isagi opened his mouth.

Stopped.

Glared.

“You’re enabling me.”

Rin shrugged. “You’re amusing when you’re mad.”

“I knew it—”

“But,” Rin cut in, gaze sharp, tone shifting, “you also need to calm down.”

Isagi paused, brows still furrowed but heart beating a little slower now.

Rin pushed off the wall, stepped in close, reached up and gently tucked a loose strand of Isagi’s hair behind his ear with one hand. The movement was soft. Weirdly intimate. Enough to make Isagi blink, caught off guard.

“You’re too attractive to have your face scrunched like that,” Rin said simply. “It’s tragic.”

Isagi spluttered. “What—what does that have to do with anything?!”

“Nothing,” Rin said. “But you calmed down.”

“I didn’t calm down—!”

“You’re yelling less.”

Isagi pressed his lips together, eyes darting back to Kaiser, who hadn’t moved.

“…I still want to punch him.”

“That’s fine.”

“Can I?”

“Not right now.”

“Later?”

“Sure,” Rin said. “We’ll make a list.”

Isagi stared.

Then, finally—finally—sighed. He let his shoulders relax, rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“I hate that he always wins, Rin.”

“He didn’t win anything today.”

Isagi looked down at the tea, then back at Kaiser.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “I guess not.”

”Don’t sulk.”

”I’m not sulking!”

”Okay.”

”I will slap you silly!”

”Did you learn that one from Bachira?”

”Maybe”

They weren’t huddled together like some official unit, but they gravitated to the same end of the common room all the same. A small scattering of bodies across couches and stools — Kurona sat on the edge of a low table, knees up, hoodie sleeves bunched at his elbows; Hiori sat beside him, quietly flipping through a psychology book, only half reading; Chigiri stretched on the carpet with his hands braced behind him, eyes sharp despite the relaxed posture. Niko had taken the spot by the far window, hoodie pulled up, face mostly obscured. Kunigami leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight, eyes flickering between Isagi’s heated outburst and Kaiser’s eerie silence. Nanase sat on the floor, scribbling in a notebook but not really writing anything at all.

It was Kurona who spoke first.

“Is he really not going to apologize?”

“Apparently not,” Hiori murmured, eyes still on his book. “Classic narcissistic retreat.”

Kurona snorted. “What, like ‘I’m not sorry, I’m just going to sulk until everyone forgets I suck, suck’?”

“More or less,” Hiori said. “He’s probably rationalizing it already. Pretending it wasn’t a big deal. That Ness was too sensitive. That the others are overreacting.”

“Or maybe he’s embarrassed,” Nanase offered from the floor, voice tentative.

Chigiri gave him a sideways glance. “Kaiser? Embarrassed?”

“He’s still human,” Nanase mumbled.

Kunigami let out a sharp exhale, low and dry. “Barely.”

“Do you think he feels guilty?” Niko asked suddenly. His voice was soft, thoughtful. “I mean, it’s hard to tell. I always thought people like him didn’t get guilt. They get angry. Or bored.”

“He’s not angry,” Kurona said. “He’s... off.”

“Detached,” Hiori agreed.

Chigiri looked over at Kaiser, lips twitching in distaste. “He hasn’t said a word all day. Not even to Ness. Not even something smug.”

“Maybe Ness scares him, him,” Kurona muttered. “That’s valid, valid. The kid’s been wearing a wizard hat for days, days.”

Kunigami didn’t laugh. “He’s a kid. He was just excited.”

“Yeah,” Chigiri said, quieter. “And now he’s heartbroken.”

They fell into silence again.

The kind that wasn’t heavy, but not light either.

Hiori finally closed his book and laid it on the table, fingers pressed to the cover.

“You ever think about what it takes to break someone like Ness?”

Everyone looked at him.

He continued softly, “He’s always smiling. Always optimistic to people who aren’t Isagi. Kind to literally Kaiser, even though he doesn’t deserve it. And yet... he’s been crying on and off for hours straight. He won’t even talk unless someone sits beside him for long enough. That’s not just sadness. That’s something deeper.”

Kurona’s expression darkened. “Yeah, yeah. That’s the kind of break that hits old wounds, wounds.”

“Neglect,” Nanase said, like it just came out. “It has to be. He clings to magic and fantasy because reality didn’t treat him well.”

Kunigami nodded slowly. “And now the one person he trusted, the one he thought made that magic real, yelled at him like he was nothing.”

“And still,” Niko added, “he defends him.”

They all looked over at Ness. The seven-year-old was curled in a corner on a bean bag, clutching a pillow almost the size of himself. Shidou, Reo, and Bachira were sitting nearby, trying to cheer him up. The child wasn’t crying now, but he wasn’t smiling either. His eyes were red. His Hogwarts scarf was rumpled.

He looked small.

So small.

Across the room, Kaiser still hadn’t moved.

“He looks like a statue,” Chigiri muttered. “A pretty, arrogant statue who deserves to be drop-kicked.”

“I’d pay to see Isagi do it, it,” Kurona said.

Hiori exhaled slowly and looked at the others.

“He messed up. But if he regrets it, even a little, someone needs to tell him there’s still time to fix it.”

“Don’t look at me,” Kunigami said. “I’d punch him before I lecture him.”

“I’ll write a pamphlet, pamphlet. Shidou taught me, me.” Kurona offered, deadpan.

“I could try,” Nanase said, hesitant.

“Or…” Hiori looked at Kaiser again, his voice gentler now, “...maybe he just needs to realize that silence doesn’t fix pain.”

Raichi sat up on the bleachers overlooking the indoor pitch, chewing the cap of a water bottle with a scowl deepening across his face. His cleats tapped a restless rhythm on the metal step below him, echoing faintly in the empty space.

Down below, a small group of players still lingered in the common room. Even from here, Raichi could see the drooped shoulders of seven-year-old Ness, sitting alone despite the best efforts of people like Shidou and Charles flitting in and out of his personal orbit. The kid wasn’t crying anymore — but he had that hollow-eyed look kids got when they were thinking too hard and feeling worse for it.

And across the room, Kaiser lounged with his usual arrogance, not a single crack in the armor of his disinterest.

Raichi’s jaw flexed.

He wasn’t even close to Ness. In fact, Ness got on his nerves nine out of ten times. The guy was too clingy, too smiley, too obsessed with his stuck-up German striker.

But he was a kid.

And Kaiser had treated him like a punching bag.

Raichi rubbed a hand over his buzzed head and scoffed. “Man, my sister would’ve decked him.”

His sister was a few years older and an iron wall of no-nonsense morality. Growing up, she laid the rules down straight: “Don’t hit people smaller than you. Don’t talk down to someone who can’t fight back. And if someone’s crying because of you, you better damn well fix it.”

That had stuck. Hard.

And watching Kaiser act like a child’s tears were a him problem? Like Ness was the one who’d done something wrong for believing in someone? And now the kid looked like someone kicked the wand out of his hand and told him Santa was dead.

That was the kind of thing that made Raichi’s fists itch.

“Asshole,” he muttered to himself.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t confront. Not yet. He just sat and watched, waiting to see if anyone would make it right.

Because if they didn’t, he’d start losing faith in everyone in this shit hole of a facility.

Raichi spat the bottle cap into his palm and growled.

He wasn’t going to coddle Ness. That wasn’t his style.

But if Kaiser opened his mouth again and even hinted at that tone — Raichi would break something, and it wouldn’t be plastic this time.

Meanwhile, on the opposite side of the compound, Barou was on the turf field by himself, driving a ball into the net with precision that only came from anger.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Each shot was sharp, deadly, like a cannon blast. The net trembled with every strike.

Barou didn’t care for most people. He didn’t need to. He operated on logic and self-worth, on power and the need to improve. Ness had always seemed like a background character in his world. Too soft. Too bright. Too childish.

But a kid was a kid.

Barou had two younger sisters——and he knew exactly how much words could destroy if they were delivered wrong. One harsh voice, one bad day, one moment of someone making them feel small could wreck an entire week of confidence.

And Ness?

Ness had idolized Kaiser.

Barou hadn’t missed the way that little kid had clung to him, practically glowing every time the striker walked into the room. It had been pathetic, yeah, but also kind of... sweet. Innocent.

And now that glow was gone.

Thud.

The ball slammed into the crossbar and bounced.

Barou exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling.

“I don’t like brats,” he muttered to the empty field. “But I hate cowards more.”

He wasn’t going to comfort Ness. That wasn’t his style. But if Kaiser didn’t fix what he broke, Barou would remember it. And he’d never pass the ball to someone who couldn’t even own their actions.

Ever.

“God, I hate kids.”

Otoya flopped face-first onto their bed, limbs splayed out like a fallen starfish, his voice muffled by the pillow. “They’re tiny, emotional, sticky. And then they cry. And then everyone cries. And then I want to cry because it’s contagious.”

Karasu, sitting cross-legged at the foot of the bed in sweatpants and someone’s stolen Blue Lock hoodie, looked up from the sudoku puzzle app on his phone. “You say that, and yet I saw you hand-feed small Ness a chocolate muffin this morning.”

“I’m a hypocrite, not a monster.”

“You dabbed his face with a napkin.”

“Parental instincts kicked in. It was horrifying.”

Karasu let out a soft laugh, leaning back on his hands. “He’s not so bad. The kid version, I mean.”

Otoya groaned again and rolled over onto his back, flopping dramatically across Karasu’s legs like a cat needing attention. “Yeah, well, not when you’re the one he imprinted on. Kaiser this, Kaiser that, magic partner, spell of destiny—and then Kaiser goes and emotionally punts the poor kid across the stratosphere.”

Karasu smiled faintly, brushing a hand through Otoya’s hair in idle circles. “That part sucked.”

“Mm.”

Silence lingered, warm and quiet. The room smelled like Otoya’s shampoo and those weird strawberry mochi gummies Karasu kept hoarding under the bed.

“I don’t even like Ness,” Otoya muttered.

Karasu nodded. “Same.”

“But I kinda wanted to punch Kaiser in the jaw for that.”

Karasu laughed. “Babe. That’s called empathy. You’re growing.”

“Ew. Take it back.”

Karasu leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Otoya’s forehead.

“Nope.”

Otoya blinked up at him, then dramatically threw an arm across his eyes like a soap opera star. “You kiss me and yet let a child’s dreams be crushed in front of us.”

Karasu snorted. “You’re the one who said you hated kids.”

“I do! But that one was wearing a wizard costume. And he believed. You don’t just crush that.”

Karasu sobered slightly. “Yeah... it was kinda brutal.”

They both let that settle in the quiet for a beat. The laughter faded just a little.

Otoya’s voice, now softer, broke the silence. “Do you think Kaiser even regrets it?”

“I think he’s used to people doing the chasing. And when they stop, he doesn’t know what to do except act like he never needed them.”

“That’s a very poetic way to say ‘he’s a bastard.’”

Karasu smirked. “Also true.”

They stayed like that for a while, legs tangled, the quiet a little sad but not unbearable. The world outside their room felt chaotic — crying children, tense teammates, moral confusion — but here, they found a calm spot in the storm.

Eventually, Otoya rolled onto his side and pressed his face to Karasu’s chest.

“If a baby version of me shows up next,” he mumbled, “I want you to throw it into the sun before it embarrasses me.”

Karasu rested his chin atop Otoya’s head and grinned.

“Not a chance,” he whispered. “I’d probably fall in love with you all over again.”

“…Gross.”

“Love you too.”

The hallway just outside the training dorm was quiet but not peaceful. It was the kind of quiet that came after someone cried too hard and ran out of tears. The kind of quiet that made laughter feel like a bad imitation of joy.

Seven-year-old Ness, still in his slightly wrinkled wizard costume — purple with tiny embroidered moons — was curled on one of the hallway beanbags like a deflated balloon. His tiny wizard hat drooped pitifully to the side. His eyes were swollen and red, small fists pressed against his knees, cloak wrapped tight like a barrier from the world.

“Alright, we’ve tried juggling, balloon animals, and I even offered to eat a crayon—for nothing! Even purple Mr. Crabs left for a breath of fresh air!” Charles huffed, flopping backward beside Ness with all the drama of someone betrayed by fate.

“Maybe you should’ve actually eaten the crayon,” Shidou snickers. “Kids love chaos. Bleeding from the mouth? That’s entertainment.”

“You’re not bleeding from the mouth,” Charles replied. “You’re just bleeding testosterone.”

Shidou smirked. “You’re welcome.”

Lorenzo, crouched in front of Ness with a toothy grin, held out a glimmering gold coin in both hands like an offering to a tiny sorcerer. “This is real gold, pequeño mago. Snuffy got it for me himself. You want it? You can buy candy, or power, or—both.”

Ness didn’t even blink.

“…He rejected gold,” Lorenzo whispered, eyes wide. “This is dark magic.”

Bachira was sitting criss-cross in front of Ness, mimicking his posture with a grin. “You wanna build a monster together? Mine likes screaming and does backflips. Yours can wear a hat.”

Ness slowly turned his head toward him. “Monsters aren’t real…”

Bachira leaned in, grinning. “So? Neither is Kaiser’s humility and he still gets away with it.”

A watery laugh almost escaped small Ness, but it fizzled out and disappeared into another sniffle.

And that was when Reo stormed around the corner, having returned from his short break.

Hair slightly disheveled. Hoodie half-zipped. Determination written all over his face like a CEO whose stocks had just plummeted due to bad PR and who was ready to sue the universe.

He stopped when he saw Ness.

The sight of the sobbing little wizard-boy cracked something wide open in him.

“Okay. No. Nope. I am not letting this continue,” Reo said, pointing an accusatory finger at everyone but the sobbing child. “You four are trying your best. I appreciate that. But this—this is not working. And you know why? Because the jackass that broke his heart isn’t even here.”

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. “You're gonna bring Michael?”

“Drag him if I have to,” Reo hissed. “I don’t care how many egos he’s killed over the years, he’s about to meet mine.”

Charles blinked and smiled. “That was so alpha core.”

“I’m emotional and rich,” Reo growled. “Do not test me.”

Ness sniffled loudly from the beanbag. “Don’t… don’t make him come if he doesn’t wanna.”

Reo knelt down, eyes going soft. “No, Ness. He should want to. Because you’re amazing. You believe in magic. You smiled even when everyone thought you were silly. And you believed in him.”

Ness rubbed at his eyes. “He doesn’t believe in me…”

Reo exhaled hard through his nose. “Then he’s an idiot. But idiots can still be taught. And if he doesn’t learn after this, then we’ll all believe in you so hard he won’t be able to look away.”

Small Ness blinked up at him.

Then, very softly, “…You promise?”

Reo smiled, fierce and warm. “On my net worth.”

Charles gave a low whistle. “He does mean it.”

Lorenzo crossed himself like a priest. “And I believe it.”

Shidou looked up from balancing a grape on his nose. “So. Who’s grabbing pompous blue rose?”

Reo stood up and cracked his knuckles.

“I am.”

And with that, Reo turned, cape practically billowing behind him despite not wearing one, striding off like a knight prepared to verbally slaughter a dragon.

Back on the beanbag, Ness blinked, then whispered to Bachira, “...Do you think he’ll really come?”

Bachira grinned, reaching out to poke Ness on the forehead.

“If Reo’s the hero of this story? Then yeah. He’s dragging the villain back by the hair.”

Charles giggles, “Kaiser’s like if Hitler decided to take up soccer instead of art school and genocide.”

Ego’s voice quickly sounds through the announcement:

”Don’t ever fucking say that again, Noa’s bitchass is going to sue me for defamation.”

Shidou cackles and Charles only gives a toothy grin.

The hallway was unusually quiet for once — a peaceful corridor lit by warm afternoon light from the high windows. On a bench beneath one of them sat Rin, legs crossed neatly, earbuds looped around his neck, tablet in hand, watching something silently. His expression was, as usual, unreadable — but tranquil. He was the image of a guy trying very, very hard to enjoy a moment of peace in a house filled with soccer-obsessed chaos goblins.

Unfortunately, Isagi was sitting beside him.

And Isagi was talking.

A lot.

“—and then Barou told Lorenzo he’d shove the mop somewhere unpleasant if he touched his shampoo again, and Lorenzo said, ‘Relax, it’s for science,’ like that made it better!” Isagi said, arms flailing in the air. “Like bro, what kind of science involves stealing hair care products?”

Rin didn’t look up. He didn’t even blink. “You’ve told me this story twice.”

“Yeah, but now I’ve added dramatic flair,” Isagi said proudly, practically bouncing in his seat.

“You’ve added volume. And nonsense.”

“You love it.”

“I’m trying to be calm,” Rin muttered, glancing sideways. “That means not dealing with your enemies or your daily tragedies. And definitely not dealing with shitty blue rose”

Isagi blinked. “What? I wasn’t even talking about Kaiser.”

“You always circle back to him.”

“Only because he’s the human embodiment of a blister,” Isagi muttered. “Anyway, I’m not thinking about him right now. I’m thinking about you. My gorgeous, divine, annoyingly calm boyfriend.”

Rin visibly tensed. “Stop complimenting me when you’re about to do something dumb.”

“I’m not gonna do anything dumb!”

“You’re always about to do something dumb when you look at me like that.”

Isagi leaned in with a cheeky grin. “Like what?”

“Like you’re trying to get forgiveness before the crime.”

“I would never—!”

BANG.

The hallway door flung open so hard it hit the wall.

Reo stormed in like a man possessed, looking breathless and emotionally disheveled, hoodie sleeves pushed up, eyes wild.

“ISAGI.”

Isagi’s grin evaporated. “Oh no.”

Rin’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”

“We’re confronting Kaiser!” Reo snapped, stomping toward them. “Right now. I need backup. Emotional support. Verbal violence. You.”

Isagi opened his mouth.

Rin grits his teeth. “Don’t.”

Reo sighs. “Please, he respects you just enough to listen before telling you to go to hell.”

Isagi pleads “Babe, just for a few minutes, I’ll be civil—”

Rin slammed his tablet closed. “No. You already have enemies. You don’t need to start a war with Kaiser again.”

“I don’t want to start a war,” Isagi said innocently. “I want to finish one.”

Reo threw his hands up. “Rin, please. Kaiser yelled at a child in a wizard costume. You’re dating Isagi Yoichi, you knew what you signed up for!”

“I signed up for football,” Rin muttered darkly, rubbing his temple. “And somehow ended up with commentary, chaos, and magical trauma. This is fucking ridiculous.”

“I’m being serious!” Isagi said, standing now, pacing in front of Rin. “He made Ness cry, and now Reo’s trying to do the right thing, and I’m just trying to support my friend.”

Rin stood, taller and visibly exasperated. “Supporting your friend doesn’t mean jumping into every dramatic situation like you’re auditioning for a shounen anime.”

“I am the protagonist!”

“You’re the side character who causes fifty percent of the plot.”

Reo gave a strangled sound. “Please. Just let him come. Kaiser’s already got a superiority complex the size of Germany, and you know Isagi is the only one annoying enough to match his ego word-for-word.”

Rin looked at Isagi. “You promise not to escalate?”

Isagi put a hand on his heart. “I solemnly swear to only be a passive-aggressive thorn and not a flaming sword of justice.”

“…You have twenty minutes,” Rin said with a sigh. “If you aren’t back, I’m blaming both of you when the blue rose throws a ball at your head.”

Isagi grinned and leaned in quickly to peck Rin on the cheek. “You’re my favorite person.”

Rin blinked. “You just want permission to start shit.”

“Yeah, but like now I have your permission so it makes me feel better when things go to shit.”

Reo grabbed Isagi’s wrist like a kid at recess who just saw a fight starting. “Let’s go, Blue Lock’s Hero.”

Rin watched them march off, sighed, then sat back down, re-opening his tablet.

He set a timer for exactly twenty minutes.

And muttered, “If Kaiser throws them into a trash can, I’m not helping.”

Chapter Text

Kaiser is alone, shirt half off, sweat glistening along his arms, hair tousled, sitting on a bench in front of a goal net. His boots were off, untied beside him, and he was lacing tape around his wrist with the same focused indifference of someone who didn’t want to be disturbed.

Which was too bad.

Because he was about to be.

“KAISER!” Reo shouted, flinging the door open like a man possessed.

Kaiser didn’t flinch. Didn’t even look up. “You again.”

“Yeah, me again,” Reo snapped, stomping toward him. “Because you emotionally traumatized a seven-year-old and don’t seem to give a shit.”

Kaiser sighed. “Is this the part where you start sobbing again?”

Then came Isagi, behind Reo, silent at first — not his usual storm. He closed the door behind him, quietly, his eyes locked on Kaiser like the tip of a blade. “You’re going to fix this.”

Kaiser finally looked up, slow and lazy. “Oh good. The rest of the circus has arrived.”

“Don’t start,” Isagi warned.

“You two were practically foaming at the mouth last time. Do you ever take a break from righteousness, or is this your foreplay?”

Reo lunged, and Isagi held out an arm to stop him.

“Don’t,” Isagi said, not looking away from Kaiser. “He’s baiting you.”

“I don’t care! He yelled at a child!”

“Oh please,” Kaiser muttered, standing up slowly. “It wasn’t yelling. It was a reality check. That kid needed to hear the truth.”

“That kid worships you!” Reo hissed, voice cracking from anger. “He came here thinking you were proof that magic existed, that the future was real and bright, and you crushed it. You don’t get to decide what’s good for him—”

“Neither do you,” Kaiser snapped. “He’s not your kid. He’s a delusional little sponge who sees sparkles and glitter and thinks it’s worth something.”

“He’s seven!” Reo screamed.

Kaiser shrugged. “Then let him grow up.”

Isagi stepped forward. “You’re unbelievable.”

Kaiser’s gaze flicked to him, sharp. “You don’t like me, Yoichi. That’s fine. You think I’m cruel, loud, narcissistic—”

“You’re not cruel,” Isagi cut in, voice tight. “You’re cowardly.”

Kaiser blinked.

“You want to act above everyone,” Isagi said, stepping closer, now face-to-face, “because that’s easier than admitting you’re scared of being needed.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t know how to be vulnerable. You can’t handle someone depending on you. So you blow them off. You insult them. Push them away. Because if you actually gave a damn about someone like Ness, you’d have to face the fact that you matter to someone. And I think that scares you.”

The silence was deafening.

Kaiser’s jaw clenched. “You don’t know me.”

“I know you better than you think,” Isagi said, low and lethal. “I’ve been watching you from across the field, across the dorm, across every match we’ve had since day one. And you are terrified of connection.”

“Shut up,” Kaiser muttered.

“Make me,” Isagi challenged. “You think you’re above all this? That just because Ness follows you around like a lovesick puppy, you’re entitled to act like an untouchable god? Then why do you look like shit without him?”

Kaiser’s fists balled at his sides.

Reo was trembling now, visibly distressed. “If you don’t fix this—if you don’t go talk to him, then he’s gone, Kaiser. The child and the eighteen-year-old Ness. Both of them. You might not care, but we do.”

“I never asked anyone to care,” Kaiser bit back.

Isagi didn’t let up. “But he did. That kid walked in here with stars in his eyes, wearing a wizard costume, and all he wanted was someone to believe in. And you—you let him believe in you.”

Kaiser looked away.

Isagi’s voice broke slightly, quiet but cutting: “And now you’re going to let him break. Unless you fix it.”

Kaiser was silent for a long time.

His shoulders rose and fell. His throat bobbed with a swallow. Something flickered — barely — behind his stormy blue eyes. Not guilt. Not sadness. Something heavier. Older.

Regret.

Finally, he said, “He shouldn’t have picked me to believe in.”

“He already did,” Reo said. “And now it’s too late to undo that. All you can do now is decide what to do with it.”

Kaiser didn’t move.

So Isagi added, coldly: “Or stay here. Be a coward.”

Kaiser’s hand flexed at his side.

Isagi didn’t let up. “You know what the worst part is?”

Kaiser didn’t answer.

“It’s that you could’ve been the magic he needed. You’re not incapable. You’re just selfish. And scared.”

Kaiser’s fists clenched.

“He’s not going to get another week. This is it,” Reo said, quieter now. “That kid still believes in you, even after what you said. And older Ness is hurting too. He’s withdrawing for the first time since I’ve known him. You made him believe he was wrong for trusting you. That’s on you.”

“...You don’t understand,” Kaiser muttered.

“Then make us understand,” Isagi said. “Otherwise, you’re just the villain in both their stories.”

Something broke in Kaiser’s expression—nothing big, nothing dramatic. Just the tiniest flicker of something behind his eyes. Something old. Regret-shaped.

“I’m not good with kids,” he said finally. “I don’t… I don’t know how to be what he wants.”

“You don’t have to be,” Reo said gently. “You just have to try.”

Kaiser then exhaled, long and shaky.

A long pause

“…Where is he?”

Isagi blinked. “What?”

Kaiser exhaled through his nose. Frustrated. Bitter. “The brat. Where is he.”

Reo stared. “Are you— Are you saying—?”

“Don’t make me say it twice.”

Isagi narrowed his eyes. “You’re going to apologize?”

“I’ll try,” Kaiser muttered. “That’s all I’m giving you.”

“Good,” Isagi said. “Because that’s all he wants.”

“…This is stupid,” Kaiser muttered, brushing past them and pulling his sweatshirt on. “If he cries again, I’m blaming you both.”

“You can try,” Reo said, stunned but a little lighter now. “But you’re the one walking toward him, not away.”

Kaiser didn’t respond.

The common area was quiet.

Not silent—never truly silent in Blue Lock—but there was a hush to the space now. A lull, like everyone was holding their breath.

Seven-year-old Ness sat cross-legged on the couch, still in his wizard costume, the pointy hat lopsided on his curls. His small hands twisted at the sleeves of his robe. His red-rimmed eyes were fixed on the floor.

Older Ness sat beside him, not smiling. He hadn't smiled in hours.

Charles lounged nearby with his feet up on the coffee table, a tense smirk stretched too thin. Shidou was on the floor doodling on Ness’s napkin with a crayon, stealing glances. Lorenzo leaned over the couch like a hungry crow, chewing gold-plated gum and muttering things no one was sure were reassuring.

Everyone else nearby—Hiori, Yukimiya, Bachira, Chigiri, Kurona, Nanase, even Barou—hovered like a protective wall.

So when the door opened and Kaiser stepped in, the air snapped.

Yukimiya stood up immediately, jaw set. Barou glared. Bachira’s head tilted in eerie silence. Hiori stopped reading. Kurona looked up from his phone. Chigiri crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

Even little Ness flinched and grabbed at his older self’s sleeve.

“Absolutely not,” Yukimiya said flatly.

“No way,” said Kurona, sharp for once.

“Turn around,” Barou growled.

“Not after what he did,” Hiori added, voice quiet but firm.

Charles tensed, eyes flicking to Ness. “Yeah… you might wanna back off, blondie.”

“I’m just here to talk,” Kaiser said, voice low but clear. “To them.”

“No,” Yukimiya said again. “Not until hell freezes over.”

“Try again in your next life,” Chigiri snapped.

Little Ness was clutching his older self’s arm now. “I don’t want him here…”

The present Ness hesitated, visibly torn.

That’s when Isagi stepped in behind Kaiser, looking apologetic but unwavering.

“Let him try.”

The group turned toward him like he'd just committed treason.

Isagi raised both hands. “I’m not saying he deserves it. I’m saying that Ness does. He deserves someone trying.”

Kaiser winced.

Then Reo stepped forward too, looking as uncomfortable as he was determined. “We asked him to try. He said he would.”

“That doesn’t mean he gets a parade,” muttered Raichi from a corner.

“He won’t get one,” Reo said. “But if he doesn’t get any chance, that kid disappears. That’s the reality.”

There was a silence. Uneasy. Sharp.

Then, slowly, older Ness gave a soft nod. “…Let him.”

Barou growled, but turned away. Yukimiya stayed stiff. Hiori looked like he was calculating the risk. Shidou stopped doodling and finally leaned back.

Reluctantly, everyone moved aside.

Kaiser stood there like the world was daring him to take one step.

Then he did.

One.

Two.

He knelt on the floor in front of the two Nesses.

Small Ness shrunk back, barely peeking over his knees.

Kaiser didn’t smile. Didn’t soften.

He looked like someone who had no idea what to say.

“…I was wrong,” he said stiffly.

Older Ness blinked. Small Ness didn’t respond.

Kaiser exhaled hard. “I wasn’t fair. I… I don’t know how to talk to kids. You scared me. Not in a bad way, just—because you believed in me. That’s a lot.”

Small Ness blinked. “…You were scary.”

“I know,” Kaiser admitted. “I still kind of am. That’s on me.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. The air was dense with silence.

“I thought… if I pushed you away, you’d stop thinking I was some magic knight or whatever. I thought I was protecting you from disappointment.” He swallowed. “I didn’t realize I was just hurting you worse.”

He looked at small Ness, then older Ness.

“I don’t do feelings. I don’t do—comfort. But I don’t want you to disappear. Either of you.”

Small Ness sniffled. His hands curled tighter. “…You yelled.”

Kaiser nodded. “I did. And I’m sorry.”

“You said magic isn’t real.”

A pause.

“…I think maybe I was wrong about that, too.”

That earned a blink from both Nesses.

Kaiser glanced at his feet. “I mean… you believed in something. Someone. You imagined a world better than what you had. That’s kind of magic. That’s what football is sometimes. Creation, belief. Movement.”

“You said it was stupid,” little Ness whispered.

“It wasn’t,” Kaiser said. “I was.”

The silence sat between them like a heartbeat.

Then a small hand reached out and gently touched Kaiser’s sleeve.

He looked up.

Seven-year-old Ness’s face was wet, red-eyed, trembling—but he nodded.

“…You can still be my magic partner,” he whispered.

Kaiser blinked, stunned.

Older Ness finally smiled again.

And someone—probably Reo—exhaled so hard it was a wheeze.