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Reo still remembers when it was just the two of them.
They had carved their place in Blue Lock together, cutting through opponents like they were destined to win. Reo passed, Nagi scored—it was that simple, that perfect.
The dream had been real then, tangible, something Reo could hold onto.
But somewhere along the way, things started to shift. It wasn't immediate, and that's what made it worse. It wasn't a clean break, but an obvious betrayal.
It started off as small things.
Nagi turning to Isagi first, listening to his plays, his ideas. The way his game adapted, little by little, until Reo wasn't the only one who could bring out Nagi's genius. Until Reo 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 the one he looked out for anymore.
Reo noticed, of course he did. He wasn't stupid. He could see Nagi slipping away from him, could feel the distance growing between them like an open wound.
But he told himself it was temporary.
He brushed it off, convinced himself that Nagi would come back to him, that this was just part of both of them growing stronger.
𝘋𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦.
But then—then the talking stopped. The training together, the late night talks, the casual way Nagi used to lean against him like it was second nature—it all faded into nothing.
And Reo was left standing alone, pretending he wasn't waiting for something that would never return.
----
Reo doesn't even know when the dream started to slip through his fingers. Maybe it was the first time Nagi turned his back on him in favor of Isagi. Maybe it was long before that, hidden in the way Nagi never needed to try, never needed Reo the way Reo needed him.
He had spent so much time holding onto something that he thought was his—something that was never his to begin with.
Now, standing under the cold fluorescent lights of the locker room, Reo watches as Nagi peels off his jersey, the fabric sticking to his sweat-damp skin.
He should say something.
He should scream, beg, demand an answer for all the ways he's been left behind. But he just stares, hands curling into fists at his sides.
"Nagi." His voice is quieter than he wants it to be. It's not the comforting voice he once had, the one that used to pull Nagi along. Now, it was just—tired.
"Was it ever..casual to you?" His throat feels tight, his voice barely above a whisper when he repeats again, almost to himself. "Was it ever casual?"
Nagi, halfway through untying his cleats, pauses. His fingers still against the laces, but he doesn't look up.
Reo swallows hard. "All of it. Every match, every goal, every second we spent together—was it ever just…casual to you?"
Nagi exhales through his nose, expression unreadable. "I don't know."
Reo's breath catches.
He doesn't know. Not yes, not no. Just indifference. As if the question isn't worth thinking about. As if all those years, all those moments that meant everything to Reo, were just fleeting to him.
Nagi goes back to untying his cleats. "But if you have to ask, then yeah. Maybe it was."
And that's it. That was all Reo needed to hear.
His hands shake at his sides as he forces himself to nod, to pretend like that answer doesn't rip through him like a blade. He sucks in a sharp breath, blinking up at the ceiling in a last-ditch effort to keep himself together.
Then he exhales, lets his shoulders drop.
A smile spreads across his face as he forces himself to look at Nagi in the face. "That's it Nagi. You're free now. You don't belong to me anymore."
Nagi pauses, his head tilting slightly. His white hair is messy, strands falling over his dull, lidded eyes. There's no hesitation in his voice when he replies. No weight to his words, no guilt, no second thoughts.
"𝘐 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴."
Reo feels the words cut into him like a blade, sharp and final. He wants to argue, to say that he built Nagi from the ground up, that none of this—none of him—would have existed without him.
But the truth is right there, staring him in the face. Nagi never belonged to him. Not really.
Reo lets out a breath that shakes more than it should. He forces a laugh, but it's hollow. "Yeah. I guess I was the only idiot who thought that."
Nagi doesn't say anything. He just finishes changing, grabbing his duffel bag like this is just another game, just another moment that doesn't matter. And maybe to him, it isn't.
Maybe it never was.
"Reo." Nagi says after a moment, his voice still indifferent, still Nagi. "I didn't ask for you to do any of this for me."
Reo grits his teeth.
"𝘐 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵."
And maybe that's what hurts the most.
----
Reo walks out of the locker room alone, swallowing down the lump in his throat. He knows he'll see Nagi on the field tomorrow, moving forward like nothing happened. Like Reo was just another stop along the way, another player in his story. And that's what shatters him the most.
Because Nagi was Reo's whole story. But Reo was never 𝘩𝘪𝘴.