Chapter Text
There was no way that just happened.
The final whistle blew, cutting through the heavy evening air. The spectators erupted in jeers and shouts of delight, their voices sharp and overwhelming. Wincing at the loud noise, Isagi collapsed onto the field, trying to catch his breath. Why did that happen?
“Today’s match ends in a 2-0 victory for Matsukaze Kokuo!” The commentator’s voice boomed harshly in his ear. “Matsukaze Kokuo High School has secured its spot in the National Championships!”
Isagi wiped the sweat from his forehead, his pulse still hammering in his ears. His jersey clung uncomfortably to his back, damp with sweat, and was starting to itch. His legs ached, the dull, familiar burn settling in, but it wasn’t just exhaustion weighing on him. The heat from the match also made sweat cling to the inner material of his collar, making it stick unpleasantly. His collar digged tight into his throat and curve of his neck as he swallowed down the weight of defeat.
Isagi’s eyes followed his opponents as they ran towards Kira, surrounding him with jubilant smiles and congratulatory pats for his winning goal. His own teammates were quieter. Some standing with hands on their hips, others crouched down, staring at the grass like it held all the answers. Only when the air carried the scent of rancid vanilla that held a hint of rotting blueberries and stale oats, did Isagi snap out from his daze. Ah, he should really look away before his mood soured further.
Isagi’s body was moving on autopilot as he trudged towards his coach, his voice a muffled blur beneath his thoughts. How had Tada missed his shot? Isagi had assisted him perfectly, with a clean, no-look pass that every receiver would dream of. He had kicked the ball in the perfect spot too — right in the penalty box, with just the right speed for Tada to score.
Around him, the quiet sniffles of his teammates filled the air, their usual scents now tinged sour with the heavy weight of disappointment and frustration. His coach was still going on about something, but Isagi barely heard him. He let his mind drift, anything to keep from drowning in all the negativity.
“Honestly, I’m not that surprised they didn't win. Kira is the Jewel of Japanese Soccer afterall…”
“Heh. It's not just that man. Did you not notice? Ichinan has an omega on their team. Everyone knows omegas aren’t meant to play sports!”
“Dude! You can't just say that! Omegas have better senses and he’s standing so close to us. Also, Ichinan’s omega is also one of those omegas- ”
Annoying.
Isagi clenched his shorts into a ball. Shoulders tensed, he tugged at his collar, a habit he wished he could break whenever he felt too exposed.
So much for 21st century optimism… No matter how much the world changed, some things never changed. The same old prejudices, the same harassment — just wrapped up in different packaging. No matter how much the world around him shifted, omegas were still treated like they didn’t belong. Isagi knew he should be grateful that times are better than they had been in the past. Grateful for the new laws and regulations put in place to protect, the new inventions and resources made to provide for the scarce omegas, but the insults, the whispers, the way people looked too long at him, made him feel small. He huffed. Progress, it seemed, wasn’t enough to erase the deep- seated biases still alive and well in society.
“Isagi-chan!”
He heard his voice before he saw him. The familiar, light buttery scent Isagi has come to associate with him was now layered under a scent of Bourbon — rich and with a depth of sweetness stemming from happiness. It made him pause. Sigh, yet another reminder of his loss today. Mood plummeting a bit more, he braced himself to face Kira’s usual sunny smile.
When Kira stepped in front of him, his smile melted to concern. “Hey, you okay?” he asked, starting to reach out before hesitating and letting his hand drop to his side.
Isagi forced a smile, but it felt stiff. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he muttered, though it didn’t sound convincing at all.
“If you say so…” Kira studied him a second longer before his usual grin reappeared. “Anyway! That pass earlier? The way you read the field is crazy! I swear, you can see the entire field at once.” He laughed, nudging Isagi’s shoulder.
As he shifted from the touch, he caught a faint whiff of Kira’s scent — warm and sweet, carrying that unmistakable happiness. His face heated up before he could stop it.
Isagi chuckled lightly, trying to sound more casual than he felt. “You’re just saying that because you won.”
Kira let out a light chuckle. “Come on, have a little faith in me. I’d still say it even if we lost.” He leaned in slightly, eyes searching Isagi’s face, as if waiting for some sort of acknowledgment, a glimmer of approval. But Isagi didn’t catch it, his gaze distant and preoccupied as he hummed and nodded, the effort to keep up with Kira’s energy tugging at him.
They had met last year during the interschool games. Isagi still remembered how after a tough match, Kira had walked straight up to him — no hesitation, just a bright smile — and started rattling off compliments about his play. At first, Isagi thought he was just being polite as a show of basic sportsmanship, but Kira seemed genuinely impressed.
" Hey! You're a first-year too, right? Damn, and I thought I was the only one carrying my team ," Kira had joked, then grinned. "You’re pretty good.”
Isagi had blinked, caught off guard. It wasn’t everyday the Jewel of Japanese Soccer would come up to strike conversation after all. Isagi’s eyes flickered towards the boy walking up to him, and before he could process what was happening, Kira Ryosuke was right in front of him, grinning wide.
“You were incredible out there!” The boy said, his voice upbeat, almost too energetic for how exhausted Isagi felt. “ That pass — man, you really saw the whole field huh. It’s a shame they only subbed you in during the second half though… ” Recovering quickly, he continued, “ I’ve never met an omega before, are all of them this good? How did you do that?! ”
Isagi blinked, thrown off for a mument. His chest still felt tight from the match, and the praise only flustered him more. Kira Ryosuke was… well, he was Kira Ryosuke — widely regarded as a young rising star in Japanese soccer, his name gaining more attention lately thanks to the increasing media exposure. He had that effortless kind of charm, the kind that made people gravitate towards him, with sharp alphan yet warm features and a smile that girls swooned over looking like it belonged to a magazine cover. Up close, he smelled faintly of butter, rich and smooth, but there was something deeper to it, something more grounded.
And, apparently, he didn’t know what personal space was.
“ Ah, thanks, ” he muttered, his hand drifting to the back of his neck. Kira was close — closer than expected — and the mix of his buttery scent and the heat of the match made it harder to focus. He lowered his gaze, shifting slightly. “ I just… kicked the ball where it needed to go .” The words felt a little rushed, and he hoped his face wasn’t as warm as it felt.
Kira flashed him a grin, clearly undeterred by Isagi’s modesty. “ I’m Kira, by the way. I don’t think we’ve really met before, huh? But I’ve been watching you play just now. You’re good!”
“ Oh… thanks! ” Isagi had said after a beat, rubbing the back of his neck. He wasn’t used to being singled out like this, especially not by someone from an opposing team. Usually, all he got were begrudging nods of acknowledgement or half-hearted comments muttered by the people walking past his practices. But Kira was looking right at him, like he actually wanted a response.
“ I- I’m Isagi, Isagi Yoichi .” He felt a heat rise to his cheeks, unsure of how to respond to the praise. He wasn’t used to getting so much attention for his plays, especially not by someone as well known like Kira. “ Ah, um… you were great too! ” Isagi replied to the comment earlier, rubbing the back of his neck, hands itching to tug at his collar. “ You really pulled your team together earlier, Kira-san! ”
Kira gave him a quick, appraising glance, but there was no pressure, no push. “ You don’t have to talk so formally, Isagi ,” Kira said with a laugh, nudging him slightly with his elbow. “ We’re the same age, right? Just call me Kira. ”
Isagi nodded, a little thrown off by Kira’s easy-going nature. “ Yeah, sure. Kira ,” he repeated softly, feeling the awkwardness still linger between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Just new. He wasn’t used to being so open with someone he barely knew, but Kira didn’t seem to mind.
“ You know ,” Kira continued, giving him a once-over like he was sizing him up. Isagi felt his cheeks growing hotter- “ you’ve got awesome soccer sense! During our game I was thinking that you’d give me some crazy good passes if we were on the same team! I’d love to play against you again .”
So backhanded. He’s insulting us. You don’t say that to another striker.
Isagi blinked, then nodded, a little hesitant but intrigued. “ Mm! I’d like that too, ” he said quietly, not quite sure how to keep up with Kira’s infectious energy, but not wanting to back down from the challenge either. Something about Kira made him feel like he wanted to try, even if it meant stepping out of his comfort zone.
Isagi’s grin was easy, a little lopsided, the corners of his mouth curving up just enough to soften his expression. “ I’d like that .” He repeated. Kira wasn’t just giving compliments to be polite — he seemed genuinely interested in getting to know him.
Kira’s grin widened, as if he’d won something. “ Alright, Isagi .”
There was always something open about the way Kira spoke to him, something that made it hard to refuse.
That was how it all began — their first meeting, casual and easy. After that, they didn’t meet again until now. Time passed, and things moved on, but here they were, picking up from where they left off.
“Ay, look at them,” one of Isagi’s teammates, Yoko, muttered.
Another scoffed. “Why’s he acting all friendly after causing us to lose? Man, he’s so shameless.”
“You sure it’s not ‘cause he’s got a thing for pretty omegas?” Tada laughed.
Isagi stiffened for a mument before shaking it off, telling himself it was just how things went. His status always seemed to be the first thing people latched onto when they were upset. He understood — losing sucked, and it was easier to take it out on someone else.
But it didn’t make it sting any less.
Kira’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he turned towards Isagi’s teammates, his tone casual but firm. “Honestly, I don’t get why people think secondary gender has anything to do with football.” His eyes took on a hardened gaze. “It’s Isagi’s skill that got him here. Nothing else.”
A few of them shifted uncomfortably, their irritation dulling into something else.
Isagi let out a soft sigh. He didn’t need Kira defending him, it usually resulted in more trouble, but… he appreciated it.
As the conversation shifted, some of his teammates began muttering among themselves, the tone far from friendly.
“Of course he’s gotta say something,” Masako sneered. “This is some typical drama type of shit.”
Yuko scoffed. “Yeah, I mean, what’s an omega even doing on the field?” He half-heartedly whispered to Masako standing beside him. “Honestly we could have had a chance at making it to nationals if Isagi wasn’t on the starting lineup.”
Isagi clenched his jaw. It was getting harder to try to keep his face neutral. It was always those two talking about him whenever the team lost. He was sure that he had been in the starting lineup more times than both of them, and deep down, he knew he was a better player. Not that he could ever say it out loud, he mused bitterly, pushing down these feelings and the uncomfortable urge to hiss at the predictable monkeys to shut up before it shows in his scent. He knew why they were upset; they had just lost to Kira's team even after weeks of practicing hard. But it still stung to hear those words from his own teammates, especially when they seemed to. Drag his status into it. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t really argue. It was just easier to just… ignore it.
Kira, however, wasn’t as quiet. He turned toward them, eyes sharp. “You know, being an omega doesn’t take away from his skill on the field,” Kira said firmly. “Isagi’s the one who made that assist earlier, not his status. He’s just as good as any of you , if not better.”
The air grew heavy, a brief silence settling between the two sides. Isagi could feel the tension rising, the subtle shift in the scents around him — his teammates’ frustrations had started to sour, their natural scents sharpening, a sign they were gearing up for a confrontation. Kira’s scent, usually light and smooth, had started to sharpen as well, the bitterness creeping in as they faced off. The combination of those underlying scents had Isagi’s chest tightening, almost as if the air was getting thinner. It felt like he was about to run out of breath.
Danger. Danger! Alpha angry. Careful!
His gaze flicked from teammate to teammate, noticing how each one seemed to subtly bristle. It was only a matter of time before something snapped.
“Hey, come on,” Isagi said, his voice coming out a little more strained than he intended as he stepped in to cut the tension. “We’re all on the same team, right? Let's just forget about this and focus on the next game. We’ll do better next time.”
He released some of his calming scent just for good measure.
The room seemed to hold its breath for a mument before the mood shifted. His teammates slowly relaxed, though there was still a touch of bitterness in the air. It was easier to breathe now, Kira gave a nod, his gaze softening, as though acknowledging Isagi’s attempt to smooth things over.
“Your coach should be calling you back soon, right? We should get going,” Isagi said, turning to him. “Thanks again, Kira.”
Kira smiled, his tone still casual but warm. “No worries! Remember what I said yeah? Let's play again sometime.”
“Yeah, definitely,” Isagi replied with a small smile, though it was more reserved now, his mind a little preoccupied with everything that had just happened. He waved as Kira turned to leave, watching him for a mument before heading back to his teammates.
Kira returned a little wave before jogging off back to his team, his scent still lingering in the air.
The river bank was quiet, the soft rush of water barely audible against the chirping of the evening birds. The sky was painted in hues of orange and pink, the kind of sunset people took photos of, the kind people admired while walking along the water’s edge. But for Isagi, it felt distant, like it wasn’t his mument to appreciate it. His shoulders were slumped, the weight of missing his chance to nationals still hanging over him, pulling him down.
He walked along the path, feet dragging with every step. His phone buzzed in his pocket. A text.
senpai!!⚽️
How did it go?
Isagi paused for a mument, looking down at the screen. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, but he didn’t type anything. The guilt gnawed at him. The match hadn’t gone well. He knew he had let his senpai down. Isagi couldn’t shake the feeling that he had wasted his senpai’s precious time during the times he came back.
All those evenings spent practicing together — staying past the 7pm curfew he begged his mother to extend just to run drills one more time, the extra laps when his senpai ran beside him even when he didn’t have to, Isagi felt like he had wasted them.
The countless videos they watched side by side in his room pausing, rewinding, dissecting every move then jotted down in the strategy book his senpai lent him, dog-eared and highlighted, filled with notes written in both his own clean rounded handwriting and his senpai’s own chicken scratch with chibi doodles of the players they were watching meant to make the lessons stick. The way he caught him once, awkwardly hunched in the stands during one of the lower-tier matches. Cap down, arms crossed, fidgeting like he wasn’t sure why the hell he was even there — or how to sit like a normal person. Like just showing up for him was unfamiliar territory. The advice he’d given — honest, sometimes too honest it actually bordered on being brutal, but always tailored for him. And when Isagi had started doubting himself, the guy barely looked up and muttered, “ Who gives a damn what those idiots think? You’re not here to be liked, you’re here to prove them wrong .”
It felt like he hadn’t earned it. Maybe, in the end, his teammates and others had a point. After all, stereotypes existed for a reason, didn’t they? He had hoped for more, but maybe they were right all along.
The memory of their disappointed gazes and the silence that had hung in the air after the game came back to him. There were no harsh words — they had not needed to say anything. Their looks, those glances filled with judgment, had been enough.
His phone sat heavy in his pocket, the unanswered message lingering in his mind. He sighed, staring down at the pavement. The reply never came. He couldn’t bring himself to type it. Not now. Not when the weight of his failure felt so fresh.
Looks like his dream will still be a dream.
Isagi pushed his bike along the quiet street, the rhythmic creak of the pedals filling the silence.
They were just a team that could not take that last step to nationals. And Isagi — he was just a no-name second-year forward on that team. A faceless player in a sport where only the best alphas or betas got remembered.
He used to dream so much bigger. He still remembered that day when he was six years old, cross-legged in front of the television, arms wrapped around his soccer ball. His dad had been flipping through channels, looking for something to watch, when he landed on a match. A blur of blue and red streaking across the screen, the name ‘Noel Noa’ flashing at the bottom. Isagi had been entranced. He tugged gently at his dad’s sleeve, his small fingers grasping it with a quiet urgency, eyes wide with excitement. And from that mument, he kept watching, kept playing. Through recess matches where he weaved through his friends, through junior high games where his teammates cheered his goals and through harassment in high school.
“Ichinan High is a team that aims for nationals together! Don’t think soccer is a sport you can win on your own! It’s one for all, and all for one!” His coach’s words echoed in his head, but they felt so far away now. His dream of representing Japan, becoming an ace striker, winning the World Cup, had all seemed so real before. But now… it looked like his dream would end while still a dream.
If only… he had taken the shot instead of passing. Would it have changed everything? Could he have changed his destiny?
His grip on the handlebars tightened, his vision blurring as heat welled up behind his eyes. He barely noticed the group of kids on the sidewalk ahead, whispering among themselves as they eyed him warily. He didn’t care. He didn’t even hear them.
The frustration, the disappointment, the sheer helplessness surged all at once. Isagi’s hands gripped the handlebars so tightly his knuckles turned white. His chest tightened, and without thinking, the words burst out of him, raw and unfiltered, his voice straining against the weight of it all.
“Damn... I wanted to win…”
Isagi entered his home, his shoulders slumped with the weight of the day. At least in his home, the tarty blueberry scent of his dad and lightly spiced cinnamon of his mum’s mixed with his own, made for a cozy, homey fragrance that reminded Isagi of the homemade fresh-goods his mother would bake when he was younger helped eased the tension in his shoulders. As he tugged off his shoes, his mum’s voice rang out from the kitchen, “Welcome home! How was the game?”
“We lost. We lost… we lost… and I’m hungry.”
His mum’s gaze softened. “That’s too bad! I even made pork cutlets for you!”
“You’re supposed to eat those on the day before the match though…”
His dad, clearly oblivious to the tone of the conversation, continued shoveling food into his mouth. “Really? Well, they’re good though. Neither of us really care about soccer, but I thought you’d like it. Sorry about that.”
Isagi huffed a laugh. His dad’s usual indifference did not bother him — if anything, it was kind of comforting. Home was home, untouched by the highs and lows of soccer. He could lose, stumble, and still come home to the same warm, familiar space.
"By the way, Isagi,” his mum added, “you got a letter from the Japanese Football Union. It's in the mail." She handed him the letter as she returned to the kitchen, looking somewhat distracted by the sound of sizzling food.
His gaze drifted to the envelope his mum had handed him. The sting of the match lingered at the back of his mind, but curiosity flickered to life. Whatever this was, it had to be important.
Yoichi Isagi-sama
You’ve been selected for a special training programme.
His heart skipped a beat. Blue Lock? Reading through the letter once more with greater attention, he sifted out its vague details. This could be his chance to get scouted, to stand out from the rest. It could be his debut for something great.
“So what will you do, Yocchan?”
“I- I’m not sure…,” he muttered. “If I go to Blue Lock, I miss going to school and the Centre for months.”
The Centre. A nickname by the people for the Omega Development & Rehabilitation Hub. While its name on its building was stiff and bureaucratic, Isagi thought that it didn’t feel like an institution at all once he passed through the tinted glass doors. The walls were warm, the air always smelled like chrysanthemum tea or some omega’s half-decent attempt at cinnamon bread from the kitchen down the hall, and the people — well, they weren’t always kind, but they were honest , and that was something he hadn’t realised he craved.
There were branches like this all over the world now, created after everything — the protests held by omegas, their increasing suicides, the governments scrambling to save face once it was already too late. Every centre around the world served the same purpose: to support, protect, and guide omegas who had been caught in systems that were never built for them. Some had been pushed there by trauma, others by choice. A few were just trying to breathe easier.
Most omegas blended into everyday life now. With scent blockers being cheap, subtle and government-approved worldwide, they could go unnoticed unless they wanted to be known. However, with what little omegas present, they would always be in the center of attention of one thing or another. But collars were something else. Collars marked the ones who were on record—those under government observation, rehabilitation, or enrolled in the global Omega Protection Organisation’s support system. Not everyone with a collar was dangerous or unstable. But there were always people who still looked at them like they were.
Isagi’s collar was black(it went with any colour afterall), snug against his throat. He rarely reached for it nowadays, but he still felt it sometimes, like a phantom weight. He didn’t mind how it looked. It covered up the raised, jagged marks around his nape anyway… What he hated was how it stayed as a reminder of why he was wearing it in the first place.
He didn’t talk about what had happened. Not in detail anyway. He’d been walking home after an extra solo practice. Same route as always. Then, a hand. A voice. Stop. The stench of something too sweet. The alley had no lights. There was blood under his nails when they found him. STOP! His scent was ALL over the walls. STOP REMEMBERING!-
After that night, the government stepped in. One night, and suddenly he was ‘a candidate for omega protection programming.’ Which really meant he was deemed fragile and needed to be put somewhere they could keep an eye on him.
He wore the collar now — smooth, matte, government-issued. Didn’t beep, didn’t glow, just sat cold on his neck like a reminder. A label. Registered.
At least the discomfort he felt now was leagues better than what omegas of the past endured.
Decades ago, they weren’t even seen as people. Breeders, property, livestock. Used until they broke. The backlash came late and hard — four out of five choosing death over a life like that. Entire cities were gutted. Now, omegas make up just 4% of the population. Male omegas? One.
Things were better now — at least on paper. They had laws, jobs, choices. But people still stared too long. Locked doors when one walked past. In some parts of the world, protests were still burning.
And here Isagi was, sixteen, registered, and trying not to be swallowed by the weight of it all. Cooking classes on Mondays. Therapy on Wednesdays. Self defence(his favourite!) on Saturdays. He could recite the weekly schedule better than his old football formations.
He didn’t hate the place, not really. Some of the staff cared. Some of the other kids were decent. But it still felt like being told: You broke the rules of what people expect you to be. So we’re going to fix you.
He didn’t need fixing. What he needed was a ball, a field, and maybe — just maybe — proof that he could still take up space and not apologise for it.
“ -chan, Blue Lock will be a big opportunity for you.” His mum’s voice brought him back to the present. “Okasan can see how much you love soccer. I think you should go for it. You can take a break from the Centre for now. You’ve been getting better, but soccer... a chance like Blue Lock comes only once.”
Isagi nodded, feeling the weight of her words. His fingers toyed with the edges of the envelope. He knew what his mum meant and what his heart was telling him too. He couldn’t keep putting this off forever.
With a deep breath, he set the letter down and made his choice.
The wind nipped at his cheeks as he stepped off the train, his scarf puffed up around his face like a poorly tied bow. Cool autumn air curled around his jacket sleeves and tugged at his ears, sharp and dry, biting through the layers no matter how much his mum had bundled him up that morning. “You’ll catch a cold if you go out without a scarf!” she’d scolded, looping the ugly thing around his neck with a firm tug. She hadn’t been wrong — the sky above was a washed-out grey, the kind that made buildings look taller, colder, more serious than they actually were.
Isagi squinted up at the JFU building as he approached. It wasn’t flashy or modern like he had half-expected — just a tall, stern rectangle of glass and concrete, the kind that looked like it was always in shadow no matter the time of day. A metal plaque by the entrance quietly announced its presence, as if it did not need to impress you. As if being important was enough.
He slowed to a stop just outside the doors, lips in a small pout as he eyed the building with faint suspicion. His brows drew together, lashes fluttering against the cold wind.
“…I hope this isn’t one of Tada-chan’s grand pranks,” he muttered under his breath, nose crinkling slightly. The thought of his teammate somehow forging a fake letter and sending him to the middle of Tokyo on a wild goose chase had definitely crossed his mind more than once. But no one else had gotten one. Just him.
He shifted his weight from foot to foot, fingers curling tighter around the strap of his bag. The letter’s contents didn’t have any details at all… Was this where they were supposed to meet? Regardless, he was still happy that someone has noticed him. His breath fogged up in front of him, disappearing quickly in the air. Whether it was nerves or the cold, he couldn’t quite tell.
“Huh? Isagi-chan?”
Isagi blinked and turned toward the voice, caught off guard.
There stood Kira Ryosuke, perfectly put together as always. Well groomed, posture too good for someone their age and sporting a coat that he knew his parents could never afford to buy for him. And as usual, his smile was bright enough to cut through the boring grey of the JFU building in front of them.
“So you got called here too!” Kira beamed, jogging up to him with easy steps like they were just meeting at the convenience store instead of… well, here.
“Uhm, yes…,” Isagi said, rubbing the back of his neck, voice a little more shy than usual.
“You didn’t reply to my messages, you know,” Kira added with a slight puff of his cheeks, mock-offended. “I asked if you got an invite to Blue Lock like, three times!”
Isagi flinched a little, his breath catching in his throat. “Ah…”
His mind flashed back to the messages: paragraphs of text, a rainbow forest of emojis dancing across the screen — soccer balls, stars, the weird eyes emoji for some reason, all from Kira. He remembered squinting at his phone, tilting his head like he was trying to decode hieroglyphics, before just… locking the screen and letting the headache take over.
“Sorry… I kind of… got a headache,” he mumbled sheepishly, eyes dropping to the sidewalk. “There were so many emojis…”
Kira laughed, not offended, just amused. “You could’ve at least liked the message or something, you know.”
Isagi groaned softly under his breath. That reminder tugged at another part of his brain — he hadn’t replied to his senpai either. A quiet guilt nipped at his stomach.
“You don’t have to be all stiff with me either,” Kira added, nudging him lightly with an elbow. “We’re the same age, aren’t we? Just call me Kira.”
Isagi blinked, lips pressing into a pout for a second before he gave a small nod. “Okay… Kira.”
Together, they turned toward the building. From a distance, the Japan Football Union headquarters looked plain, almost underwhelming — just a tall, unmarked grey slab tucked into the edge of a business district. But up close, it was a different story. The glass was too clean, the silence too complete, the air colder even though it was only early autumn.
With each step closer towards the doors, Isagi’s inner omega started getting more and more agitated, causing the hair on his skin to stand.
Don’t go in. Turn around please please. Too many alphas! Danger!
His heart thumped loud in his chest as his instincts screamed at him, and for a split second, his feet nearly stopped. He saw Kira sneaking a glance at him.
But… he had already come this far. If he couldn’t even endure through the presence of many alphas and betas before he had even met them, how was he to become the best striker in the world?
He tightened his grip on his bag strap, forcing his foot forward. One step. Then another.
The doors were pushed open, and immediately, everything hit him at once.
A wall of scents rushed out to assault his senses, dense and unfamiliar — icy mint, smoky charcoal, spicy scents. Heavy. Suffocating. The kind of musk that clung to your skin and crawled down your throat. There were no omega scents he could detect… or maybe they were just buried beneath everything else.
DANGER DANGER DANGER GET OUTGETOUTGETOUT-
Without realising it, Isagi had stepped back, muscles locked, knees bent slightly in a runner’s stance. His heart pounded, and his fingers twitched, ready to bolt.
“Isagi-chan?”
A warm hand gripped his shoulder gently but firmly. Kira’s voice cut through the static, grounding him. “Hey — you good?”
Isagi blinked. He hadn’t even noticed he was trembling until Kira steadied him. The taller boy studied him with quiet concern, his brows knitting together before his gaze flicked toward the scarf still hanging loosely around Isagi’s neck.
“Please excuse me for a moment,” Kira said, unusually polite.
His voice was muffed to Isagi’s ears and before he could ask what he meant, Kira reached forward and carefully unwound the scarf. Cool air rushed against the back of his neck, making him jump slightly.
Then, with a gentle touch, Kira wrapped it back. This time more snugly, tugging the ends up until they covered the lower half of Isagi’s face. Soft wool muffled the world, dulled the sharp edges of the scents. Having so many alphas must have sparked irritation into their scents.
The instincts dulled too. Danger faded to caution. The panic ebbed into something quieter. Something… manageable.
“There,” Kira said softly. “This should help you feel better.”
Isagi blinked up at him, momentarily speechless. With the scarf covering most of his face, he was aware he probably looked like a baby penguin — bundled up and round-cheeked and very, very flustered.
“...It does,” he said at last, voice low and a little shy. Not quite a whisper. Not quite confident either.
“Thanks.”
He smiled under the fabric — small, warm — and hoped Kira could sense it somehow. Maybe in the way his eyes curved, maybe in the faint shift of his scent through the layers of wool. Just enough to say ‘I mean it’ .
Kira’s eyes widened for a second, just a flicker, then he looked away with an awkward cough. “It’s nothing… I just… read somewhere that covering the nose helps omegas when they’re overwhelmed.” His voice dipped slightly, tone bashful. Cheeks dusted pink.
Hmm… or maybe the air conditioner in the lobby was just really aggressive.
“Stay behind me,” Kira said, shifting his body just a little in front of Isagi’s, shielding him without making a fuss about it.
They must have drawn attention earlier. Isagi’s moment of instinct flaring had likely been loud enough, even scent-muted. Omegan scents tend to have that effect on others. A few heads had turned their way. Curious glances. Lingering ones. Eyes that didn’t know what they were seeing but still stared anyway. Among them, Isagi could see a handsome purple haired boy with his sleepyhead companion( he’s not unfortunate looking too- ) blinking blearily at them. Isagi felt his cheeks heating up and subconsciously gripped at the edges of Kira’s coat, wishing he could melt into the fabric and disappear. He really damn hopes he doesn’t see them around anytime soon.
“Congratulations, you unpolished lumps of talent.” The speaker crackled to life.
Standing atop a short stage at the front of the hall was a man dressed entirely in black. Tall. Gaunt. Probably an alpha then. He also had the worse eyebags isagi had ever seen on a human face.
“According to my personal judgement, the three hundred of you are the best strikers under eighteen.”
“My name is Jinpachi Ego. I was hired to give Japan a World Cup victory.”
The hall started buzzing with hushed commotion. The previously irritated scents slowly morphed into something more akin to curiosity and wary. Kira too looked over to Isagi and asked, “who is this guy… have you heard of him?”
“Nope… not at all…” As Isagi replied he thought about what the strange man had said. A World Cup victory?
Isagi and Kira listened intently as the man spoke, his voice calm but filled with purpose. Isagi’s. heart skipped a beat the more he talked. He had never heard of anything like this before. Such a bold, ridiculous concept that somehow piqued his curiosity. The idea of competing with 299 other boys(alphas and betas no less), all striving for one spot, felt insane… but also strangely captivating. His inner omega stirred too, causing them to share a feeling of uncertainty and anticipation at the challenge that awaited.
Around him, the other boys looked just as interested, but their faces were a mix of confusion and skepticism. A few exchanged glances, eyebrows furrowed in disbelief, while others tried to stifle smirks, as though they thought the whole thing was just some madman’s fantasy. A few of them seemed to think the idea was too outlandish, almost laughable, but the gleam in their eyes betrayed a different story. They were intrigued, even if they wouldn’t admit it just yet.
The more Ego spoke, the more convinced Isagi became that the man was probably a soccer obsessed lunatic that escaped from a psych ward. He had gotten a gist of what Blue Lock was about when he read the letter but hearing it laid out like this so bold and unapologetically, was a whole different level. Even as Kira stood up to challenge Ego’s ideals, bringing up the spirit of Nationals, and a few other boys began to find their voices as well, Isagi remained trapped in his own thoughts, spiraling deeper with every word Ego said.
“Whoever scored the most points is the best. If you want to play at ‘getting along’, then piss off.”
“…I disagree.” Isagi blinked in surprise as Kira’s voice cut through the tension in the room. His words echoed across the hall, and Isagi’s gaze instinctively turned to him, wondering why he was speaking up. He didn’t understand what had triggered this reaction. The entire room had gone so silent that even Kira’s regular speaking voice seemed amplified. Everyone turned to look at him, their eyes wide and expectant.
“Please take that back…”
Kira lifted his chin slightly, his gaze locking with Ego’s, unflinching. Isagi felt his heart flutter in his chest, unsure of what to think. Kira looked so brave, and that left Isagi feeling conflicted. His inner omega squirmed. Weakling. He’s a weak one. Why was he doing this? Twice too. Why was Kira defying Ego in front of 299 other boys who will be waiting for any excuse to tear him down later in Blue Lock?
Isagi instinctively let go of the sleeve he had been clutching — a soft, involuntary motion.
But I’m not sure if he’s making the right choice, Isagi thought, feeling a little lost in the moment. Kira had always seemed so sure of himself, but now he was challenging a man who could make or break their futures.
“Players like Honda, or Kagawa… and there are plenty of others…” Kira continued, his voice strong, though it faltered slightly. “Watching eleven people battle together… we grew up watching Japanese teams cooperate!”
Isagi's gaze lingered on Kira, unable to tear himself away. This was so unlike Kira. His usual carefree, laid-back attitude had transformed into something fierce, something intense. But Isagi wasn't sure if this was a good thing. He held his breath as Kira’s buttery scent gave way to his spicy Bourbon one that was growing in intensity every second.
Ego’s reaction was immediate. His grin stretched wider, a manic gleam dancing in his eyes. It was unsettling, the way his mouth seemed to split open in a crazed smile. Isagi’s spine tingled. He didn’t need to guess. Without a doubt, Ego was an alpha. The way he carried himself, the way his words dripped with conviction made him shiver and activated his omegan fight or flight instincts.
None of the teams Kira mentioned had ever won the World Cup, Ego said coolly, his words sharp and biting. The room was still. Kira’s gaze hardened, but there was nothing more to say. Ego was right.
A few boys around them exchanged glances, some of them even frowning. There was a slight shift in the atmosphere. The scent in the room had changed. It was no longer just the usual nervous tension but also the scent of uncertainty, mingling with the curiosity of the others. They were trying to make sense of the words they had just heard. Some of them were growing uneasy, unsure whether to side with Kira or follow the voice of authority.
Ego pressed on, voice growing more animated. He spoke about the best players in the world, along with Noel Noa, Isagi’s favorite player, highlighting all the selfish things they had said. “Instead of assisting my teammates to win by 1-0, it feels better to pull off a hat trick and lose 3-4.”
Isagi froze. His stomach sank, and his pulse quickened. No… he couldn’t believe it. He never thought Noel Noa would say something like that. The shock left him speechless, and for a moment, he felt his omega instincts stir. He wasn’t sure if he was angry or if he was just confused, but the voice of Ego kept seeping in, like a poison in his thoughts.
“And whether you are an alpha, beta, or omega,” Ego continued, his tone taking on an edge as his eyes seem to flick briefly toward Isagi, almost as if the words were meant for him, “none of that matters. Who gives a damn about secondary gender when the only thing that matters is winning?”
Isagi felt a chill wash over him at that moment. He knew Ego was looking at him, even though it had been a split second. There was something cold in those eyes, something that made his stomach twist. Does it really not matter? Isagi’s thoughts spun. In this world of ruthless competition, was he just… another player, with nothing more to offer than his skill? Was his omega status really irrelevant?
“If you’re not the world’s top egoist, you can never become the world’s best striker,” Ego declared with a finality that chilled the air.
Isagi’s mind raced. He couldn’t stop thinking about Ego’s words. He can’t be right, can he? Nobody had ever said things like this to him before. I’m just a nameless striker with no achievements to my name, Isagi realised, his inner omega flaring up, reminded of everything he had been taught. An omega is meant to be the weakest. Everything he had been conditioned to believe, everything society told him, was built on the idea that omegas like him didn’t belong in sports, arts, politics, that they were meant to stay at home and stay out of the spotlight.
Ego continued, his voice growing more intense, more hypnotic. He painted a scenario for them all. “The score is 0-0. The game has gone into overtime. It’s the last play. You’ve broken through and received a pass from your teammate. There’s a teammate twenty feet to your right. You can pass. You can almost certainly get a point if you do… but you gamble on your nation’s hopes. You shoot without hesitation. Only those sorts of crazy egoists may proceed ahead.”
Isagi’s breath caught in his throat. He could almost see it all—the ball at his feet, the goalkeeper narrowing his eyes, the game hanging by a thread. I’m a striker , Isagi thought desperately. I AM.
And then, as though his body had a mind of its own, Isagi’s feet moved. He pushed past the crowd, sprinting toward the doors.
His heart hammered in his chest as he ran, and everything around him faded into the background. He barely registered the surprised looks of the boys around him as his vanilla and blueberry scent spiked sweetly, surprising the boys nearly with its determined density, the murmurs of confusion as they parted to let him through. They were staring, some of them unsure whether to follow an omega or just let him go. But Isagi was too focused, too absorbed in his thoughts.
“Isagi-kun?!” Kira’s voice broke through the fog of his thoughts, but Isagi didn’t hear him. He didn’t register the confusion in the air, nor the fact that he had just set off a ripple effect in the room — others were already starting to chase after him.
With the doors ahead of him in sight, Isagi felt a sudden rush of determination. Whatever came next, he was going to face it head on.
And he wasn’t going to let anyone — or anything — stop him.
Blue Lock Additional Time:
“Really? Tell me when you’re done.” Nagi muttered, not even glancing at Reo, who was mid-rant about something or other — probably the usual. He tapped at his game lazily until Reo suddenly stopped talking. Hm? The doors opened. Just some flashy blond alpha... no, not quite. His inner alpha slowly stirred awake, which almost never happened. This day seemed to keep getting weirder, first Blue Lock’s invitation and now this strange alpha.
Nagi glanced up and paused. Behind the blond guy, barely peeking out was someone else. As Reo began rambling about the newest arrival in the room, Nagi’s sleepy inner alpha was getting more and more awake now. Weird. “The Jewel of Japan…” Nagi mumbled, “that average looking shorty?” he pointed to the figure that finally revealed himself behind the so-called Jewel of Japan.
Nagi titled his head. Actually... the more he looked, the boy was not average at all. He had a quiet kind of grace, the kind that made people look twice and keep looking without knowing why. The boy was a whole head shorter than his partner and Nagi thought he reminded him a little of a wind-blown winter bunny. Cheeks flushed from the cold, wide storm-blue eyes shining with quiet nerves, fair skin that peeked from his scarf, and a single sprout of hair curled stubbornly atop his head that bobbed when he moved. Nagi sat up straighter. Definitely an omega. He inhaled deeply. Vanilla, blueberry, oat milk and… butter? His inner alpha huffed at this, now fully awake. How curious.
“That’s Isagi Yoichi! He’s one of the best, if not only, omega soccer players our age! I can’t believe he got invited too, he’s also as pretty as they say too…” Reo whispered like he just saw a celebrity, cheeked tinted pink. Was that a blush…? Never mind, ignorance was bliss. Apparently, he was kind of a big deal. Nagi didn’t really care about that. But he did care about how the omega seemed to shrink back and pale at the scent-heavy air, until the blond adjusted his scarf. That’s when Nagi caught a glimpse — faint scars hidden under his collar. Serious ones.
Only omegas who’ve been through hell get those. Nagi blinked. Their eyes met. The omega flushed. His alpha hummed. Yeah… this was going to be different.