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1. Ego Jinpachi
Ego Jinpachi had seen many things in his time as Blue Lock's tactical mastermind—foolish plays, inexplicable hair dye choices, and egos bigger than entire stadiums. But nothing, nothing, prepared him for what he was about to witness tonight.
Sitting in his dimly lit office, Ego slurped a cup of instant noodles while monitoring the security feeds. Steam curled up from the cup, and the glow of the screens reflected off his glasses as he watched Yoichi Isagi and Meguru Bachira engaged in a late-night practice session.
At first, it seemed normal, or at least as normal as Blue Lock gets. The two were locked in a brutal one-on-one drill, trading passes and shoves like their lives depended on it.
"Good." Ego muttered between mouthfuls of noodles, nodding in approval. “Pushing limits. This is what I like to see.”
Then, things took a turn. And not the good kind.
Isagi set the ball down and wiped sweat from his brow. Bachira stepped closer, that mischievous grin plastered across his face. Ego leaned forward, intrigued. This is where rivalries are forged, he thought. This is where strikers are made.
But Bachira didn’t go for a taunt, a challenge, or even a dramatic monologue. No, instead, he leaned in and whispered something to Isagi. Whatever it was, it made the boy’s face go beet red. Ego frowned. What’s he blushing for? Did Bachira trash-talk him? Did he insult his spatial awareness?
But before Ego could formulate a hypothesis, Bachira did the unthinkable. He threw an arm around Isagi’s shoulders in an overly casual gesture. And then—without warning, hesitation, or a single ounce of shame—Bachira kissed him.
Ego choked violently on his noodles.
He slapped his chest a few times, coughing and sputtering, his glasses sliding down his nose. He stared at the screen, his disbelief palpable. Surely, he thought, the security feed must be malfunctioning. This couldn’t possibly be real.
He clicked a button and replayed the footage. The kiss happened again, just as bold and ridiculous the second time. He hit rewind, watched it again. Still real. Still happening.
“What the actual hell is this?!” Ego screamed at the screen like it was somehow its fault.
But things were getting worse. Much worse. On the screen, Isagi—sweet, unsuspecting Isagi—began leaning into the kiss, hands tentatively resting on Bachira’s waist. Ego’s jaw dropped in abject horror as the kiss deepened.
“No. No, no, no, NO!” he yelled, slamming every button on his keyboard.
Onscreen, Bachira pulled Isagi closer, his hands sliding— oh god, sliding —and Ego smacked the monitor’s power button so hard it nearly broke. He leaned back in his chair, gripping his noodle cup like it was the only thing anchoring him to reality.
“I’m building strikers. Not… not horny idiots with zero concept of privacy.” he muttered to himself as he glared at the now-black monitors.
The next morning, the entire team gathered in the meeting room. The giant screen flickered to life, and there, in all his glory, was Ego Jinpachi, looking like someone who had just found out the universe had officially given up on him.
“Listen up, diamonds in the rough.” he began, pushing up his glasses. “I don’t care what you do in your free time. You can juggle, you can dream of being the best, hell, you can even cry into your pillows about losing. But the practice room is for soccer. Not for…” He paused, visibly disgusted. “… personal distractions. ”
The players exchanged confused glances.
Kunigami raised his hand. “Is… something wrong?”
“Yes!” Ego snapped, pushing up his glasses. “What’s wrong is that I just wasted two hours of my life watching something that looked like the pilot episode of ‘Strikers in Love.’”
A few snickers broke out. Meanwhile, Isagi sat frozen, his face pale. Bachira elbowed him with a mischievous grin. “Think he’s talking about us?”
Isagi’s ears turned bright red. “Shut up.” he hissed back, eyes darting around nervously.
Ego pinched the bridge of his nose, the weight of his newfound existential crisis hitting him all at once. He muttered to himself, his voice barely audible, “Do I… do I even turn the cameras back on tonight?”
2. Chigiri Hyoma
Chigiri Hyoma had a simple midnight ritual: wash, condition, and take meticulous care of his hair. For most people, hair was just hair. But for Chigiri, it was his crowning glory, a shimmering waterfall of perfection that had seen more compliments than most Blue Lock players had scored goals. It was basically his ego, but shinier and better smelling.
So, there he was, in the shared shower at an ungodly hour, minding his own business, when the sound of shuffling footsteps pulled him from his peaceful routine.
Chigiri peeked out from behind his shower just in time to see Bachira and Isagi enter the locker room, like two guys who were definitely up to something suspicious.
“What the hell are you two doing here?” Chigiri asked, towel draped around his shoulders. Nobody willingly came to the showers at this hour unless they’d lost a bet.
Isagi froze, his face turned the shade of a tomato being boiled alive. Bachira, however, was unfazed. "Oh, you know, just... a late-night cooldown. Post-practice recovery."
“A cooldown? At midnight?”
Bachira grinned. “Yup! Helps with muscle relaxation.” He gave Isagi a playful nudge. “Right, Isagi?”
“R-right.” Isagi stammered, nodding so furiously it looked like his head might fall off.
Chigiri stared at them, every fiber of his being screaming that something was very, very off. But he sighed and waved them off with a flick of his perfectly moisturized hand. “Fine. Just don’t take forever. Some of us have hair to dry.”
Satisfied they weren’t about to break anything (or so he thought), Chigiri turned back to his conditioner. Yet, something about the way Bachira winked at Isagi kept nagging at him, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.
The first sound came minutes later. A muffled moan.
Chigiri froze, his hand mid-pump on his leave-in conditioner. No. Absolutely not. That wasn’t what I think it was.
But then there was another moan. Louder this time. Followed by a sharp, rhythmic slapping sound.
Chigiri’s brain went into overdrive. He clutched the shower curtain, debating whether to run or drown himself on the spot. Are they…? No. No way. They wouldn’t. They couldn’t. Not here. Not while I’m conditioning!
The moans were interrupted by Bachira’s laugh, a devilish cackle, and then Isagi muttered something in a tone that made Chigiri’s soul leave his body.
He squeezed his eyes shut, begging for it to stop. Why is this happening? Why am I still here?
The slapping sound picked up speed.
Chigiri’s willpower shattered. He turned off the water with the ferocity of a man whose hair was in mortal danger, grabbed his towel, and bolted from the shower with the speed of a man fleeing a crime scene.
The next morning at breakfast, Chigiri sat as far away from Isagi and Bachira as possible, refusing to even glance in their direction.
Bachira, of course, couldn’t let it slide. “Chigirin, you look tense! Did you sleep okay?”
Chigiri glared at his bowl of yogurt. “I’m fine.”
“You sure?” Bachira leaned closer, a devious glint in his eye. “You didn’t hear anything… interesting last night, did you?”
Chigiri’s spoon clattered against the table. “Nope!” he said quickly.
Isagi, who had been silently praying for death, groaned into his hands. “Why are you like this?” he muttered to Bachira.
Bachira only grinned.
Meanwhile, Chigiri swore two things under his breath:
One, he was never going near the showers past 10 p.m. again.
And two, Bachira owed him a lot of conditioner.
3. Kunigami Rensuke
Chigiri had warned Kunigami—repeatedly, desperately —to avoid the showers, locker room, or sauna after 10 p.m. Chigiri’s warnings were dramatic, with ominous phrases like, “For the sake of your sanity!” and “You’ll never look at Isagi the same way again!”
Kunigami, being the rational, no-nonsense guy he was, dismissed it all as Chigiri being Chigiri. Nothing was going to interfere with his sacred nightly sauna ritual, a time-honored tradition of sweating out the day’s stress and pretending his teammates weren’t lunatics.
So there he was, muscles aching, steam curling lazily around him like the comforting embrace of a well-earned break. Kunigami leaned back, finally at peace. Until he wasn’t.
Because then he saw them.
Bachira and Isagi.
Already in the sauna.
Kunigami blinked. Once. Twice. Surely, the steam was playing tricks on him. But no, there they were, sitting far too close, hunched together, whispering like middle schoolers passing notes in class.
Kunigami frowned, his brow knitting together. Weird, but fine, he thought. It’s a big sauna. Just ignore them.
But then Bachira shifted. Subtly. Suspiciously. And that’s when Kunigami’s world came crashing down.
Bachira’s hand slipped beneath the water.
And then Isagi’s hand followed.
Kunigami’s brain screeched to a halt. His eyes widened in sheer horror as he realized the truth. They’re holding hands. Under the water. IN THE SAUNA.
A gasp nearly escaped his lips, but he swallowed it back, his face a perfect blend of shock, betrayal, and existential dread. What is this? What the hell is going on?!
He tried to look away, he wanted to look away, but his eyes betrayed him, drawn to the unholy sight like a moth to a flame.
Bachira, of course, didn’t help. He leaned closer to Isagi, resting his head on his shoulder in a move so casual it screamed we’ve done this before.
Kunigami’s fists clenched, his face twitching. He sat straight, sweat pouring down his face, though whether it was from the sauna or his growing discomfort, he couldn’t say. This is not my business. This is not my problem. I am here to relax, not to bear witness to whatever unholy PDA is happening ten feet away.
But curiosity—and morbid fascination—got the better of him. He leaned forward, just slightly, squinting through the steam.
Big mistake.
“Oh! Hey, Kunigami!” Bachira’s voice rang out, far too loud and chipper for someone who had just been caught red-handed (literally, probably).
Kunigami flinched, his whole body jerking in surprise. “Uh… Hey, Bachira.” He forced a smile, but his mind was scrambling. How do I salvage this?
“What’s up?” Bachira asked, his tone dripping with mischief. His eyes sparkled with the devilish glee of a man who knew he was causing chaos and loved every second of it.
Kunigami cleared his throat, trying to keep his cool. “Just… didn’t expect you two to be in the sauna this late.”
Isagi, who had been successfully avoiding eye contact up until now, finally glanced over. His face instantly turned the color of a ripe tomato, and he stammered something unintelligible about “cooling down after practice.”
Bachira, ever the troublemaker, leaned back and gave Kunigami a teasing smirk. “You know, Kunigami, you should join us. It’s nice to have company in here.”
Kunigami’s eye twitched. “No, I’m good. I just wanted to—”
Before he could finish, he suddenly heard it again. That unmistakable sound—soft murmurs, a low laugh… and—yes, unmistakably—a quiet, muffled moan.
Kunigami’s soul left his body. He stared straight ahead, willing himself to become one with the steam. If I don’t look at them, they don’t exist. If I don’t look at them, they don’t exist.
But the sounds continued. Murmurs. Laughter. A soft slap of water.
Kunigami couldn’t take it anymore. He stood abruptly, nearly knocking over the bench in his haste. “I—uh—forgot something. Important. Gotta go. Bye.”
4. Nagi Seishiro
Nagi wasn’t one to get involved in other people’s drama. Too much effort. Bachira and Isagi’s constant antics? Background noise. Their weird closeness? Meh. It wasn’t his problem. If anything, it reminded him of Reo and himself—piggyback rides, sneaking off for snacks, being dramatic for no reason.
So when lunchtime rolled around and Bachira started his usual nonsense, Nagi barely looked up from his curry.
“Say ahh, Isagi!” Bachira grinned, holding up a spoonful of curry like it was some rare delicacy only he had the honor of serving.
Isagi leaned back in his chair, waving his hands frantically. “Bachira, stop. I can feed myself!”
“But it tastes better when I feed you.”
“That's not how taste works!” Isagi hissed, scooting further back like it was a life-or-death situation.
Nagi blinked, chewing slowly. Weird, but whatever.
Then it happened.
As Isagi squirmed to escape Bachira’s relentless "parenting," his shirt collar shifted just enough to reveal a suspicious red mark on his neck.
Nagi’s chopsticks paused mid-air. “Huh.” He tilted his head, eyes lazily narrowing. “You get bitten by a mosquito or something?”
The room froze.
Isagi immediately slapped his hand over his neck, trying to hide his exposed neck in failed attempt. “Uh… yeah. Mosquito. Totally a mosquito.”
Bachira’s grin stretched wider than should’ve been humanly possible “Oh yeah? Must’ve been a big mosquito, huh, Yoichi?” He raised his hand, mimicking an exaggerated pinch. “Like this big!”
“Bachira, stop!”
Nagi, still blissfully unaware of the situation, tilted his head thoughtfully. “Never seen a mosquito bite during winter before.”
Bachira leaned back, his smirk growing wider. “Oh, it’s not just any mosquito. It’s the rare and elusive Bachi-quito. Very persistent. Only comes out when it’s really… hungry.”
“Bachira, I swear—”
Nagi chewed his curry slowly, his gaze drifting back to Isagi. “Must be tough. You should get bug spray or something.” He popped another spoonful into his mouth, thoroughly unbothered. “Reo never gets mosquito bites. Guess it’s a Tokyo thing.”
Isagi glared at his plate, visibly debating whether to flip the whole thing onto Bachira’s head. Bachira, for his part, was shoveling curry into his mouth like nothing happened, clearly pleased with himself.
Nagi, meanwhile, finished his meal in peace, his brain already wandering off to thoughts of afternoon naps and video games.
As far as he was concerned, nothing strange had happened at all.
5. Rin Itoshi
Practice was supposed to be sacred. A place of discipline. A battlefield where effort carved the path to victory. Not… this.
Rin had never considered himself the type to care about other people’s nonsense. But the nonsense happening between Isagi and Bachira was impossible to ignore.
Because Bachira and Isagi weren’t just looking at each other. No. They were out here, on the field, eye-fucking each other with the enthusiasm of two teenagers who had just discovered what hormones were, while everyone else was trying to focus on actual soccer.
Rin froze mid-drill, watching the two of them like a horrified bystander at a train wreck. Bachira, eyes glinting with a feral sort of mischief, tilted his head slightly, his expression practically purring, Come and get me, Yoichi.
And Isagi—God help him— answered that call. His eyes darkened with a determination far too intense for anything soccer-related. Their eyes locked so fiercely it was like Rin could feel the heavy breathing that wasn’t even happening, like the weight of their mutual pining had somehow infected the air.
And the worst part? They weren’t even subtle about it.
A casual shoulder bump here. A lingering touch disguised as an "accidental" graze there. It was so blatant even the soccer ball probably felt violated.
“What the hell am I witnessing?” Rin muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing. He felt like a spectator to some twisted sports edition of Fifty Shades of Soccer.
When Isagi tripped over his own feet because Bachira had winked at him mid-sprint, Rin decided enough was enough.
“Isagi!” he barked, his voice sharp enough to make everyone else on the field freeze.
Isagi scrambled to his feet, his face redder than ever. “Y-Yeah, Rin?”
“What the hell is wrong with you? Get your head in the game, or I’ll kick you off the field myself.”
“I’m fine!” Isagi stammered, his voice cracking as he waved his hands in frantic denial. “It’s nothing!”
“Fine?” Rin spat. “You’ve tripped over the ball three times because Bachira keeps—” He gestured wildly toward Bachira, “— doing whatever that is! ”
Bachira tilted his head innocently. “What? I’m just passing the ball.”
“You winked at him.” Rin deadpanned.
“Winking’s not illegal.”
“It should be.”
Later, in the locker room, Rin cornered Isagi. He couldn’t let this go on.
“Isagi.”
Isagi jumped, clutching his towel like it might save him. “Rin! Uh… hey! What’s up?”
Rin folded his arms. “What the hell is going on with you and Bachira?”
Isagi froze, his eyes darting around like a cornered animal. “W-We’re just teammates!”
“Teammates don’t look at each other like they’re about to rip each other’s clothes off in the middle of practice.”
Isagi went pale. “What?! No! I swear it’s not like that!”
“I don’t care!” Rin snapped. “I don’t want to see it. I don’t want to feel it. And I sure as hell don’t want to have to explain to Ego why my teammates can’t keep their horny death stares to themselves.”
With that, he turned and stalked out of the locker room, leaving Isagi to collapse onto the bench in mortified defeat.
As Rin headed back to his room, he tried to shove the incident out of his mind. but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the memory of their ridiculous, shameless eye-sex.
Some things couldn’t be unseen.
And this was definitely one of them.
+ 1
The usual chaotic energy filled the Blue Lock facility, players grumbling about drills and general mayhem in every corner. But suddenly, the loudest interruption came from the screens that flashed on all over the facility
A dramatic pause, then Ego’s face appeared. His expression was a mix of exhaustion and barely-contained rage, as if the world had just handed him a load of problems he didn’t want to deal with.
“HEY, DIAMONDS IN THE ROUGH” he sighed, letting the words drag out like he was addressing a bunch of toddlers. “Listen up, because I have something to say, and I’m only saying it once.”
A long, dramatic beat.
“As much as I wish I could un-know this information, it has come to my attention that Isagi Yoichi and Bachira Meguru are… something.”
The silence that followed wasn’t the kind of shocked silence one might expect. No, this was a deeply uncomfortable silence. A silence filled with the unspoken realization that everyone already knew but didn’t want to think about.
“I don’t know what you’re calling it—lovebirds, soulmates, horny rivals, or whatever unholy pairing this is—but I’m DONE.” Ego’s expression darkened further, his voice dropping into the tone of someone who had seen too much. "So, effective immediately, I am restricting all access to the locker rooms, sauna, practice rooms, or ANYWHERE you think you can sneak off at 10 PM like horny teenagers. I’ve had it. And I’m cutting the cameras. I’m tired of NOT seeing egos and instead seeing… whatever the hell it is I’ve been seeing.”
A muffled gasp came from the direction of Nagi, who muttered, “Wait, we’re being recorded?”
Ego ignored him entirely, his rant gaining momentum. “This is not Blue Horny Lock! This is a program to develop egos, not... relationships! I can’t train strikers when I’m being forced to witness... unspeakable acts.”
Meanwhile, in the cafeteria, Isagi and Bachira were completely oblivious to the broadcast that had just rocked Blue Lock to its very core.
They were deep in their own little world—again, completely unaware of the chaos brewing around them. Just as they were about to lean in for yet another round of shenanigans, a loud bang echoed from the cafeteria door. The two froze, hearts racing for a second, had someone caught them?
But when the door opened, it was just the janitor, mopping the floor in silence. He glanced at the two with a look that could only be described as done and shuffled away, muttering to himself.
“No one’s even here.” Bachira grinned again, as if proud of their audacity.
The janitor, hearing the murmurs, muttered louder than he probably intended, “Yeah, and I wish I wasn’t...”
Back in the Blue Lock facility, Ego was still on his rant, but this time, there was a sense of finality in his tone. “I’ll take my job seriously, thank you very much. And for those of you curious about what’s happening in the cafeteria? Just... don't. Now, if you all will excuse me, I need to go bleach my eyes. For the good of humanity.”
The screens went dark, leaving an eerie silence in the building. The tension in the air was almost palpable as everyone waited for some kind of resolution—yet, nothing came. The announcement had been made, and now it was just… over.
And with that, Bachira and Isagi continued their antics, much to the horror, confusion, and utter existential crisis of the entire Blue Lock.