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i.
There’s that saying that the opposite of love isn’t hate but rather apathy, and Hiori Yo is nothing but apathetic towards soccer. He is living proof that being good at something and liking it are as separate as oil and water. The others at the Bambi Osaka Youth team summer camp love soccer like a dolphin loves the water. Karasu Tabito, most of all.
Soccer tastes like sweat and smells like freshly cut grass and stings like teardrops on an open wound when you lose and the match is close, Karasu says when he and Hiori talk for the first time. They first meet over dinner, where they’re each required to eat at least three bowls of rice. Karasu eats slowly. Not like the rest of the boys, who are tired from a long day of practice. Karasu finds Hiori first. He sits down next to Hiori. Hiori intentionally sat far from the others, a respite from all the soccer thrown in his face. Hiori discovers that Karasu has remembered him from their other games, has marked him as someone to watch. Karasu calls him remarkable to his face. Karasu is too much of soccer for Hiori to like him.
“Nice to meet ya,” Karasu says, before Hiori can say anything. He is tall, dark, and just a tad too angular to be handsome. Slightly too corvid-like, much like his name. “Something tells me we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”
“If you say so,” Hiori says. “Hey, Karasu-kun, do you like Tetris?”
*
Turns out Karasu does like Tetris, although he sucks. Hiori beats him, three for three. They stay up past the curfew, hiding in the supply closet at camp to keep the others from waking up. Soccer and secrets, the two things they both share.
The camp is in the countryside, outside the sprawling city of Osaka, or at least what Hiori, a city boy from Kyoto, would consider the countryside. The training complex is far enough away from the cars and trains that the song of the cicadas is the background music to their Tetris session.
“You’re so bad.” Hiori laughs. “You even had the app on your phone before today. How in the world are you this bad at Tetris when you play all the time?”
“You can like something you’re bad at, don’t you know?”
“I guess. What do ya like other than Tetris?” Hiori asks.
“I like to read. It’s my best subject at school.”
“You’re a nerd. Should have figured, with your analytical nerdery when it comes to soccer.”
Karasu raises his arms. “Busted.”
“Got any recs?”
“Have you read Murata Sayaka’s Convenience Store Woman?” Karasu asks. For some reason, he says it like it’s a secret, as if he doesn’t share books with many people. Karasu is more than just soccer, Hiori realizes.
“No,” Hiori says. “I don’t read much. I mostly play video games.”
“Well,” Karasu says, “if you ever have free time, I recommend it.”
ii.
The camp ends. They stay in touch. Hiori finds a site online that lets you play Tetris with your friends. Even though he doesn’t agree with Karasu on soccer, they can agree on Tetris.
Hiori does read Convenience Store Woman after beating Karasu a hundred times at Tetris. He wonders if Karasu was thinking of him, recommending this book about a woman who goes about her job with full awareness that she is nothing more than a cog in a giant machine yet still strives to be the best combini employee.
The next day, they are supposed to be playing Tetris online together again. Hiori gets a letter in the mail.
“Hey,” he says, on voice chat with Karasu. “I got invited to this training camp.”
“So did I,” Karasu says. “You gonna go?”
Hiori’s parents have threatened to divorce if he doesn’t make it to the very top of soccer. He doesn’t have the privilege of options or even the illusion of free will. He will do what it takes to escape from them.
“Duh,” he says. “You thought I was gonna chicken out? Guess again, Karasu-kun.”
iii.
Milestones of most people’s lives: first kisses, high school graduations, university graduations, first jobs, marriages, children, divorces.
Milestones of Hiori Yo’s life: first soccer goal, first soccer loss, meeting Karasu, going to Blue Lock, surviving Blue Lock, graduating Blue Lock.
Before Blue Lock, Hiori never thought of himself as a soccer player. He played soccer. He was good at soccer. He wasn’t a soccer player, instead merely someone who played a lot of soccer. He was, first and foremost, a gamer. But thanks to Blue Lock, he thinks of himself as a soccer player—Isagi and Karasu got him to realize that. Then after Blue Lock, offers came in. He and Karasu talked the salaries and terms and conditions over while playing Tetris together in-person, Hiori so distracted that Karasu won once.
Hiori chooses Germany, to be on Bastard München. Karasu does the same thing Hiori does. He stays on Paris X Gen and moves to Paris. Munich is a two hour flight from Paris, Hiori learns. He visits Karasu the first weekend of odd months of the year for Tetris, Karasu visits him the first weekend even months of the year for German beer and more Tetris. Isagi teases him about Karasu, calls them cute when he runs into Hiori learning to rollerblade on a cloudy August afternoon in a park in Munich, leaning against Karasu and the scent of his vanilla detergent to keep from falling. (“Let me know when I’m invited to the wedding,” Isagi says carelessly, as Hiori again loses his balance and crashes into Karasu.) They both have had growth spurts in their late teens, and Karasu has filled out in a way that Hiori can’t help but notice.
This year, he and Karasu are using the break in between soccer seasons to camp out at Karasu’s sunny family home in Osaka. Karasu’s family is loud. Hiori’s Karasu is the quietest one. He has an older sister who loves gossip and parents who love to laugh. They are the perfect stereotypical Kansai family, the kind that Kanto people would point to and say this is what a family from Kansai should look like, loud and welcoming and joking and funny. Karasu turns out to be the sneakiest, quietest one, the one who plays tricks on his sister and waits to see when she figured out he swapped her shampoo with his in an empty bottle of her preferred brand after she said combined shampoo and conditioner was a travesty. They are twenty and it is so hot even Karasu, who never complains about running in nearly thirty degree centigrade weather on a soccer field, objects to going outside.
“Hiori-kun, Tabito has told us so much about you,” Karasu’s sister says. “He’s so lucky to have a good friend with him overseas.”
“Look at our Kansai boys conquering the world.” Karasu’s father belly-laughs. “Don’t forget about us when you’re out there representing Japan in the World Cup next time, won’t ya? We’ll be cheering you on.”
Hiori unrolls the futon in Karasu’s bedroom. The aircon unit on the window stutters as the fan whirrs, and both of them will fight over who gets to be in front of the fan. Hiori isn’t sure when Karasu became his closest friend, at what point did he cease being that meddlesome guy at camp whose feints were the best Hiori had seen and has ever seen and instead become that meddlesome guy who plays video games and bar hops with Hiori and is the reason why he owns a queen-sized air mattress after Karasu complained the couch wasn’t long enough for his height.
“Hey, Hiori,” Karasu says, after he loses at Mario Kart again. “Were my parents annoying?”
“Nah, they were fine.” Hiori prefers them to his own parents, who he has cut off after Blue Lock. He calls them maybe once a year. His parents cry about how proud they are to see him on the world stage and achieving their dreams. There is nothing to talk about with his parents. They don’t care about Europe, how English and German vowels and diphthongs twist and shape themselves in Hiori’s mouth, how he got lost on the Paris Metro once and ended up calling Karasu for help. Hiori has nothing to say anymore to his parents, and the only person who understands why, the whole reason why, is the man in front of him. Not even Isagi knows the whole truth about his family. Hiori likes to keep it that way.
“What, were you afraid that your parents would come across as annoying?” Hiori reaches for the nearest paper fan and his water bottle, as he’s probably coating the tatami flooring with his sweat. Karasu doesn’t seem to have noticed. “Karasu Tabito, afraid of anything?”
Karasu gives him a sly smile. “Wanna know my biggest fear?”
“Sure.”
“I’m scared of water,” Karasu says.
“What? You know how to swim. We’ve been to the beach together.”
“Water scares me because it’s out of your control. Now you’ve got to tell me a secret, too. It’s only fair.”
“For a long time,” Hiori says, “I was scared of liking soccer. I was scared it’d mean I was nothing more than what my parents made me to be.”
“Makes sense,” Karasu says, no pity or anything. “Are you still?”
“I think you know the answer to that.” Hiori turns on the TV, boots up his console. “Wanna go to the aquarium tomorrow for some exposure therapy?”
“I’m afraid of the ocean, not fish.” Karasu fiddles with his Switch controller, not looking at Hiori. “I guess I don’t like the unknown or anything uncertain, like people with ulterior motives. I’m guilty of treating people like chess pieces sometimes, though. My sister says I should be more straightforward with you, not treat you like someone to pull a feint on.”
“I think you’re plenty straightforward,” Hiori says.
“Do you,” Karasu says, leaving it a statement and not a question.
iv.
Hiori thinks that all the cities of Europe blend together, their old stone architecture looking more similar than different. Paris, though, stands out as Karasu’s home away from home. They’ve visited the Musée d’Orsay together countless times, since Hiori prefers it to the Louvre. They laugh over reality TV, as Karasu has become a devotee of Love Island, following the throughlines and plotlines with as much zeal as he has devoted to soccer statistics.
Hiori has been thinking about what Karasu said about treating his friends like chess pieces last month. He and Karasu are at this café that serves great pastries near Karasu’s apartment, overdosing on the scent of milk and coffee and sugar. A random man with a British accent flirts with Karasu in English, only to be rebuffed gently.
“Oh, didn’t realize you were with your boyfriend,” the man says. “How cute.”
Hiori watches the man leave the café. He then turns to Karasu. Karasu didn’t look offended that the man thought they were an item.
“Hey, Karasu-kun,” Hiori says. “I heard Isagi said you had a crush on someone.” Isagi had let that bit of gossip drop while they were out for drinks together.
“Did he?” Karasu’s eyebrow is raised, and he is ready to feint his way out of this one.
“Yeah.” Hiori sits up, leaning against Karasu’s shoulder for support. “So. Who’s the lucky person?”
Right after their time in Blue Lock, they roomed together briefly while traveling through France and Britain, and that was when Karasu came out to Hiori as bi, when they had one too many drinks at a bar. And that was when Hiori decided Karasu would be a safe choice, the first person in the world that he came out as gay to.
“Are you sure you want to know?” Karasu asks.
“It’s someone we both know, isn’t it?” Hiori smiles, because he can play this game. “It is, isn’t it? It has to be someone from Blue Lock then.”
“Hiori. Promise me you won’t get mad or anything.”
“Let me guess,” Hiori says. “Is it Isagi? Isagi could have a reverse harem if he really wanted to, with Barou’s and Kaiser’s weird obsession with him.”
Karasu chuckles. “Isagi Yoichi? That’s your best guess?”
“I don’t know—maybe Yukimiya? He’s the heroic type.”
Karasu finishes the rest of his coffee before placing his mug decisively on the table. “Hiori Yo, would you like to get dinner with me tonight?”
“What? Why would I not want to get dinner with you?”
“As in, like a date and not as friends. Not just as friends, at least.”
Hiori puzzles this over, and the Tetris pieces all fall into place. This is why you keep playing video games with me even though you lose every time, he thinks, and this is why I read the books you recommend every time even though I don’t always understand them. This is why Karasu is Hiori’s emergency contact over his own parents, why Hiori has always felt safe around him and the way Karasu’s sly, subtle sense of humor reminds him of home, of Kansai. This is why whenever he catches the scent of vanilla detergent on a stranger while out in Munich he has to turn around and check for Karasu.
“Of course,” Hiori says. “Of course I would. I’ll let you decide the restaurant, since you’re a fancy Parisian now.”
v.
They are twenty-two. Twenty-two means listening to Taylor Swift’s song “22” on repeat and full-blast during your birthday party and complaining that you’re now old, stretching out that word the way only twenty-somethings can. Twenty-two means Karasu and Hiori become Tabito-and-Yo and Yo-and-Tabito. Twenty-two means Karasu becomes one more thing other than Tetris buddy, Love Island watching buddy, and best friend. The others from Blue Lock call them the cutest couple to come out of Blue Lock, nothing like the weirdly intense rivalry turned friends with benefits thing Isagi and Rin have and the infamous divorced and back together couple that is Reo and Nagi and the stumbling their way into a relationship that Chigiri and Kunigami end up doing. No, Karasu and Hiori are the drama-free couple, with no scandalous tabloid reveals of their relationship. Hiori simply posts a photo of him and Karasu holding hands and laughing as the sun is setting, skateboards under their arms after a trip to the skate park with the caption Happy 1 year anniversary. The fans eat it up. Reo’s comment your life is a 100k friends to lovers slowburn gets the most likes.
They fly back to Japan for the holidays that winter, staying with the Karasu family. Hiori has emailed his parents and told them that he had a boyfriend and he would be in town if they were interested in meeting him. They said they would. He was sure they knew who he was dating already since his relationship reveal post made the news in Japan. Hiori had never come out to his parents and hasn’t seen them in several years, hasn’t interacted with them outside of clipped phone calls. The real issue is that Karasu plays soccer and is also an athlete. His parents would be all over Karasu if they get over the gay thing. He isn’t sure if he’s ready. But. Small steps.
“What are you wishing for?” Hiori asks, as they leave the bustling shrine. His parents are currently in Osaka as well, as Hiori’s paternal grandparents live in the city. “For your favorite author to come out with a new book this year?”
“No,” Karasu says. “My wish was that we would be here at this shrine together next year.”
“How did you know my wish?” Hiori smiles, and Karasu smiles back. He grabs Karasu’s gloved hand. “Hey, how about we go to that bakery your sister was talking about before meeting up with my parents? Keep it a secret from my team’s personal trainers. It’s New Year’s, you know?”
“Would love to sabotage your team before our practice match coming up—”
Hiori laughs, pushes Karasu playfully. “You—you evil schemer. You guys had better know that Bastard München is going to be the best team in Europe this year.”
Karasu barks a laugh. “Right, right. By the way, we can pick up milk bread for my parents while we’re at the bakery. And maybe some for your parents, too.”
And Hiori is filled with this warmth, this gratefulness that this boy struck up a conversation with him at the training camp all those years ago, explained to him that soccer could be more than the lack of feeling, how soccer tastes like sweat and smells like freshly cut grass and stings like teardrops on an open wound when you lose and the match is close. Hiori can’t wait to see Karasu on the field again, even on the other side. And maybe, just maybe, his parents will see that Karasu is so much more than just soccer, too.