Chapter Text
Returning to Japan was calm and peaceful. He returned full of sweets, with peace of mind and enough tranquility to do justice to the peaceful upbringing his parents had given him at home. There was no room in him for any kind of bad mood, stress, or anxiety.
Of course, all of this was only true if he played dumb and tried to avoid any memory of that redhead. That night, he couldn't sleep, and for days afterward, he couldn't either. He had ruined his vacation! Well, not in a... bad way. But partly, a small part of it, yes! He had been left thinking from a totally different perspective than the resentment from that first match. Now he only remembered how good he looked playing, the great skills he had, and the fact that he was just as irritating as he was smart.
At the memory, Yoichi slapped his own face. When he arrived in his country, he was able to stop by to say hello to his parents and leave them souvenirs from his travels, only to return minutes later to his prison (Blue Lock) to keep working and enduring every single lunatic you could possibly think of. Well, it was a necessary evil, he consoled himself.
He walked in with headphones on, listening to music peacefully—a catchy melody by a certain current pop fashionista blonde. Sometimes, and in secret, he liked to listen to English music with fun beats because it helped him not lose his mind from anxiety, stress, or both. So he was walking in with (considerably) plenty of attitude, dragging his suitcase.
But there was something very strange. Why was there nobody in the hallways? In the rooms?
He hadn't run into any of his teammates, and at that moment, Isagi started to suspect something. He frowned a bit and, heading to his room, started putting his things away in the best possible order again. He distracted himself with that for a while, fixing his bed to maybe lie down and sleep for a few minutes whenever he finally managed to find where the hell everyone went.
Just as he took off his headphones, he heard a familiar, well-known voice. Ego told him to change and to get to the pitch quickly, without wasting time, to practice.
Well, unfortunately, he had to say no to the nap.
He changed, no problem (he told himself), and once dressed to train, he found himself face-to-face with all his teammates. The heavy atmosphere after the defeat had dissipated, and he managed to stimulate a bit of camaraderie among the vast majority. They talked; some told him the vacation had done him good because of a slight tan and because he looked happier, and there was a light moment of peace that Isagi continued to value.
— And in the end?
— Nobody knows why they gathered us again if we weren't supposed to be in season other than just training.
Chigiri continued carefully making his half-braid while answering him, pointing with his eyes toward the screens where Ego would probably appear with some challenge or something similar. And exactly that happened; the sudden sound startled more than one of them, and the lack of friends on his face (more than usual for Ego, to everyone's surprise) presented by the coach of everyone there was twice as worrying.
The black-haired boy took a breath, looked with determination, and remembered that the vacation they took was exactly for this: to return calm and give everything on the field with the necessary serenity and fierceness at the same time during those 90 minutes.
— You should know that your last performance was pathetic and bad enough to irritate me every time I remember it. Many of you, even my aces in the game, disappointed me.
Yoichi clenched his fists. It was obvious the hint was aimed at him, and it weighed heavily on his shoulders. He hadn't scored any goals, and his doubt had destabilized the team. He carried that guilt, and in fact, that was exactly why he had fled, even if only for a few days.
What would Ego do to fix it?
— So I decided you're playing France again. A rematch, let's say. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to prepare. I wanted you to face it cold, with more skill than preparation. The French national team did me the favor of putting you to the test, to see again where you fail and where you succeed. Good luck, they're already here.
Yoichi felt like he might faint. Before he could yell anything at Ego—maybe a reproach that this was mindless madness just to get humiliated again—the door where the visiting team was supposed to come from opened, revealing the French national team.
The blue-eyed boy felt everything shift from football tension to romantic tension. He locked eyes with those dark eyes instantly, as it was very hard not to notice him right away with how much attention he drew. And, pathetically (he told himself and scolded himself), Yoichi felt his cheeks warm up into a blush.
Tall, handsome, imposing. Yoichi looked down instantly, like a lovesick schoolgirl, and averted his gaze as if his life depended on it.
— They're going to tear us a new one —Meguru murmured happily through laughter that implied both amusement and suffering while stretching.
The words wouldn't come out for Yoichi, and he couldn't tear his eyes away from the synthetic turf. He looked up only when Chigiri snapped his fingers at him to 'fall in.' The match was about to begin, and even though it was behind closed doors and unbroadcasted, for those at Blue Lock, winning, losing, or drawing would mean their future in the project.
— Oh, for God's sake.
The blue-haired boy muttered. Meanwhile, the gaze of those dark eyes didn't stop running through his brain. Both had been so busy that the text messages had never arrived. But they hung there, pending.
Between Chevalier's laughter, Loki's arrogant murmurs, and the heavy gaze of that (attractive and very annoying) giant, Yoichi felt like he wanted to die.
The match began with an unmatched and completely unfair rhythm. These bastards were seriously running. Everyone was fast, elusive, and for someone like Yoichi who didn't stand out in that aspect, it was hell.
Routes, routes, routes. Open a path. Trust only in himself and in a pass. Don't get distracted. He can't get distracted!
The tension in his jaw tightened and didn't loosen, even less after Gagamaru couldn't stop two goals when only 15 minutes had passed. In all those moments, however, Hugo hadn't come near him.
*Fine, maybe he got infatuated with annoying someone else in the match,* he thought, wiping away his sweat.
On an opportunity at the 30th minute, he smelled a goal with such certainty that he knew he could focus and score the fucking ball. He needed to do something for the sake of his football future.
He ran with so much force he felt like he was tearing up pieces of the grass, and he could swear he saw the pitch and the goal already made.
— It's a pleasure to see you again, Isagi.
A voice whispered. Naturally with an accent that ran through and caressed his nerves with too much boldness. It was masculine, sensual even, without necessarily being deep or anything like that. It was perfect, and it suited him very well.
The translator earbuds managed to perfectly capture the grace of that voice, and maybe he wouldn't be so bitter to hear it if it weren't because his back slammed into the chest—strong as fucking concrete—of someone else he knew very well. What a stroke of terrible deja vu.
— Vivian—
He looked at him sideways, clearly sulking. The mentioned boy could only show him a very slight smile; there was no bravado or anything like before, but there was a spark of 'I won't let you win.'
You bastard!
They fought to the death for that ball, or at least Yoichi did at a clear physical disadvantage. It annoyed him more and more to see that stupid, attractive face.
Hugo managed to steal the ball and deliver a thunderbolt that, once again, Gagamaru couldn't stop. Nobody could stop a goal as beautiful and well-executed as that one.
He heard his own team's groans and the insults they hurled. The taller boy looked at him sideways, smiling a bit more than he already was before.
— I'm sorry, they forbade me from playing soft with you.
This guy drove him crazy. Yoichi could only shake his head in disgust and click his tongue. —Tsk.—
— I'm not losing to you a second time.
The taller boy just shrugged his shoulders, turning his back on him again.
Minutes 40 and 43, strangely Japan managed to make a comeback thanks to Meguru and Karasu. 3-2. Halftime in the locker room was chaos, but Yoichi's brain and body were too occupied to think about those foolish things of blaming each other.
He wanted to beat France. He wanted to beat Hugo. He squeezed the water bottle in his hands and smirked. That match wasn't going to end without a goal of his. Impossible.
The second half was much tighter, and they no longer looked like a joke. They managed to defend and stay 3-2 for most of the second half.
Until they reached the 85th minute and Isagi had to gamble everything. He wasn't going to be a loser again. He refused to. He refused to give Jinpachi anything to talk about.
Once again, amid a tangle of strategies and a state of Flow, he managed to take control of the blessed ball. And just as he took it, he immediately felt the offensive weight and control of the damn redhead.
Ugh, he didn't curse him only because his mother said that was a very bad thing to do.
And though they fought again, a single kick that accumulated pure luck and a desire not to lose managed to slip into the corner like a simple miracle.
Isagi managed to score the goal. 3-3, they managed to defend that draw with tooth and nail, and the whistle blew.
Neither the Japanese nor the French could believe it. It was crazy. Yoichi was so tired that instead of celebrating, he threw himself onto the grass. He couldn't feel his legs from the superhuman overexertion he had put into that whole match. He was sweating so much he felt like he had lost all his electrolytes, felt like he had lost 5 years of hydration, and that the rest from his vacation had gone out the window.
When he could finally get up, however, the first thing he did—with a noticeable limp from the exhaustion in his leg—was go toward where Hugo was. He was standing away from Loki (a miracle), drinking water.
Isagi, not caring about being in everyone's sight, stood before this Frenchman who stood a whole head taller than him and yanked his jersey until he had him hunched over near his face. The sudden movement almost made the other boy curse until he realized it was the black-haired teen.
Both looked at each other for a minute in silence. Yoichi admired that attractive face and those dark eyes adorned by long eyelashes, blinking in a way that showed his great surprise. It even seemed like his opponent was holding his breath.
Yoichi, unexpectedly, smiled and laughed right in his face.
— Okay, I think I finally got that thorn out of my side. Now you can actually take me out to dinner.
Hugo blinked again, confused, as he felt a blush burn up his face. Clumsily, his gaze wandered from those big blue eyes, down to his lips, down to his legs (out of growing concern at seeing how much they trembled from the overexertion), and back to his eyes.
Yoichi let go of the other's jersey, letting out a sigh of contentment with himself as he kept watching him. He laughed again, and now he was the one turning his back on a Frenchman who remained clumsily blushing. Practically speechless.
Everyone dispersed shortly after that, and Isagi went back to playing dumb at the stares from his teammates over the clear demonstration of 'friendliness' toward a rival. Ego only said they had done well, but not before reproaching that they had to play like that in the match that *was* televised, and that they were lucky that heads weren't going to roll this time.
Already in his bed and with a bunch of gel to relieve the muscle tension in his legs, he distracted himself looking at different ads on his phone. Surfing social media, at one point, helped him distract himself even more and calm the discomfort in his muscles.
Until an ad flooded his screen while browsing Instagram. Adidas. The New Gen 11. He scrunched his nose when they focused on a certain blonde.
But his eyes shone upon seeing a certain redhead. Handsome—he looked very handsome. Wearing the brand's signature coats, his pale skin contrasted with the clothes' colors and his beautiful red hair that had impressed him from the very first moment. He looked as big as usual.
There was a moment, an angle, where they focused on his face in profile. A sharp jawline, straight nose, long eyelashes, and those striking dark wells. Suddenly Yoichi found himself staring at that single screenshot for minutes, burning the image into his mind over a slow fire with a hot face, a racing heart, butterflies in his stomach, and a smile.
'Definitively after today, I feel like the chances with him are more fair,' he thought, so happy that for a moment, he slapped his face to focus. Okay, he was being a bit more childish than necessary. He couldn't be so OBVIOUS and melt SO easily.
Until a notification arrived.
— Hello, I'm Hugo.
— I asked that guy with the weird streaks for your number.
— You played very well today. But I didn't know how to react to that approach. I hope I didn't look too foolish, well.
— If I were to invite you to a very luxurious restaurant with limited reservations so nobody would recognize us and we could eat peacefully and get to know each other better, you wouldn't get scared thinking it's too intense?
Yoichi let out such a clumsy little laugh. As if he were a little kid, he turned off the screen and brought his hand against his lips. He squirmed in a mix of embarrassment and excitement against the pillow, as it was hard for him to imagine that someone so handsome and smart for so many things could be so romantically clumsy. He found it endearing.
He needed 10 minutes amid excited squeals and blushes to compose himself and reply with the most serious look possible.
— Hello. It wouldn't bother me and I wouldn't think you're intense. Let's just wait for a day when we're both free and go.
— By the way. Is it not hard for you to understand what I write?
Immediate 'Read'. Yoichi raised an eyebrow. Was he that attentive to his replies?
— Why had you left? I thought something had failed in the way I expressed myself and conveyed my idea of a date with you.
— Please do not disappear like that again after an important message.
— I use Google Translate.
Yoichi laughed. He was even worried about whether he replied or not? Wow.
— It was only 10 minutes.
— I admit those were 10 minutes of panic. I recognize that I do not like feeling that I am not achieving something according to plan. I am trying to improve that, but you should know it causes me a tremendous scare mixed with irritation and helplessness.
The thousandth laugh escaped the blue-eyed boy's lips again. Vivian Hugo promised to be a completely different person from how his serious, focused persona was on the field. Something more behind the simple famous, mechanical football player.