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Reo takes a deep breath before exiting the limo. Nagi follows, and Reo rests a hand on the roof, offering his other to help Isagi out. Not that Isagi needs help, but who is Reo to pass up a chance to hold his hand?
From Isagi’s raised brow, he knows he’s been caught.
“Please take care of Choki for me,” Nagi tells Ba-ya, holding out his cactus. He obviously wants to hold Isagi’s hand too, but Choki’s still in his arms. “You just have to water it every two to three weeks.”
Ba-ya nods, smiling as Nagi instantly proceeds to hug Isagi from behind. “So be careful not to lavish it with affection. Can the same be said about Seishiro-sama?”
Nagi tilts his head. Reo wants to question that ominous phrasing, but Isagi just grins while casually removes Nagi’s arms from his shoulders. “Don’t worry, Ba-ya-san. I got it.”
Nagi pouts, reaching for Isagi again. Reo slaps his hand away with a shake of his head.
Isagi had been clear: don’t be too clingy, don’t let their relationship interfere with the camp. They’re here to become better players. They won’t hide their relationship—Reo crushed anyone who dared to bring it up at Hakuho—but they have to keep it professional now.
You two better keep your hands to yourselves, as Isagi had put it.
Isagi pokes Choki before murmuring a soft, “See you later.”
Nagi gently slaps Reo’s hand before he can reach for Isagi’s face. When Reo glares at him, Nagi just mouths you did it too and sticks out his tongue.
Reo rolls his eyes.
After their goodbyes, they walk through the gates. Right before the main door, Reo adjusts his tie, then proceeds to fix Isagi’s.
“Is this job hunting?” Nagi asks.
“Just want to make a good impression,” Reo replies. “Before we kick their asses.”
“Don’t antagonize others too much,” Isagi warns.
Reo raises a brow. “That’s rich coming from you.”
Nagi hums. “Yeah. That poor guy quit after you trash-talked him.”
“I— well, he wasn’t playing seriously anyway!”
“Sure,” Reo drawls, pushing the doors open, then pauses. The room is packed. Wait, is that Aomori’s Messi—
“Is everyone here a striker?” Isagi muses, and Reo stops his mental attendance check of the rest of the popular high schoolers based on popularity and instead checks their positions—and yeah, that seems to be the case.
It’s amazing how Isagi clocks it right at the bat, but then again, he’s Isagi.
As they settle in a corner, the door opens again to reveal— “Kira Ryousuke?” Reo gasps. “He’s rumored to be in the U-18 Japan National Team! They call him…”
While Reo rattles off accolades, Nagi pulls Isagi to the floor between his outstretched legs. “Hmph. That guy? Isagi looks more like a jewel.”
Isagi flushes and squirms away. Nagi reaches for him again, but the lights dim and a spotlight hits the stage.
A man calls himself Ego.
(“Congratulations, you unpolished gems. According to my personal judgment and biases, the best strikers under 18 are the 300 of you.”)
…Huh? An experiment to create the world’s best striker? No going back? What the hell is this guy saying? This guy must have a few screws loose. It’s bad to be acquainted with this kind of person.
This doesn’t feel good.
They can win the World Cup even without this ridiculous camp anyway.
“Hey, Isagi, Nagi, let’s leave—”
Reo stops.
In Isagi’s eyes burns a fire Reo’s seen before, when Reo first got a glimpse of Isagi’s soccer skills.
Is it just because it’s dark in here that it appears to be even brighter?
“…Isagi?”
Isagi turns, and Reo nearly recoils from the intensity of his gaze.
“We need to join,” Isagi says.
There’s a sound of clothes being shuffled, then Nagi appears from behind Isagi, placing a hand on his head. “But Isagi, that guy said we gotta fight until only one of us is left.”
Reo agrees and says he can have the best coach in the world in Hakuho anyway, Reo will provide that for them. That they don’t need to listen to this nonsense.
But Isagi isn’t listening to them. He’s listening to him, who then asks them to imagine a scenario where they’re at the final match of the World Cup. Reo finds it difficult to fully visualize it—because all the soccer he knows is with these two, and that’s all the soccer he wants to know.
If Isagi is asking for a pass, why shouldn’t he give him a pass? He wants him to shine.
(“At such a critical point in the championship, you shoot without hesitation. Only such crazy egoists may proceed ahead.”)
The doors behind Ego open in smoke. Reo frowns, unable to take it any longer. He’s no longer the kid who will only follow what the adults tell him to do.
(“Take place in your own goals above all else... and live only for that moment. Isn’t that what it means to be a striker?”)
Reo lifts his head. He’s going to be willing to tell them no, just like how Isagi taught him. “That’s not—”
Isagi runs.
The crowd parts from him as he makes his way to the front, and Reo can only stand there frozen as he watches Isagi’s back. He’s reminded of the times before, how he hated being behind them, but this time, he knows he’s not the only one confused. Beside him, Nagi’s also murmuring Isagi’s name like a confused prayer.
Just before he reaches the stage, Isagi looks back. He finds the two of them instantly, and with that confident smile Reo loves, he seems to be wordlessly saying, let’s go.
He turns around, and the crowd swallows him as the rest of the people in the room runs after him. Isagi’s smile is still the same as ever, but his eyes...
“Hey, Reo.”
Reo blinks and turns to Nagi, subconsciously noting the room is nearly empty. They lock gazes, and their next course of action instantly hits.
It’s obvious.
With a nod, they run forward.
Nagi passes by Ego on his left, with Reo to the right. He thought he imagined seeing that madman hide a grin behind his hand as he pushes his glasses up, but who the fuck cares about him anyway?
All Reo cares about is soccer—with them.
Wherever Isagi goes, they’ll follow.
Reo won’t deny the relief that sank into his body when he saw Isagi waiting for them in the next room. He figured they’d meet again eventually, but for a brief, terrifying moment, he feared they’d been separated for a longer period.
After all, what else could’ve convinced Nagi to willingly hand over his phone to that assistant girl if not the promise of seeing Isagi again?
After being handed their bodysuits, they head toward Room V. Despite Isagi’s clear instructions not to get too clingy, Reo keeps his hand on Isagi as they walk down the halls. It’s one thing to be clingy; it’s another to just make sure he doesn’t get lost. Really.
They open the door to a large, spacious room that reminds Reo of—
“It’s like Squid Game,” Isagi says.
Reo and Nagi nod. “Definitely like Squid Game.”
Some guy spawns from the right, strutting toward them with a smug look on his face. “If it isn’t the Hakuho trio. We underestimated you before but—”
“Who is this guy?” Nagi asks, pointing at him as he glances between Reo and Isagi.
Reo shrugs. Isagi shakes his head and heads toward the lockers.
In perfect sync, like always, Reo and Nagi flank him from behind. They stare down anyone who dares approach while Isagi changes into the bodysuit. From the corner of his eye, Reo sees Nagi’s gaze darken—undeniably fixed on the curve of Isagi’s hips before the suit zips up.
Well, good thing Reo already burned the image from last night into memory.
Not that the suit hides much. It clings to every line, every dip of Isagi’s figure.
Just as Reo’s thinking that, someone else enters his periphery. He scowls, ready to tell whoever it is to get lost, only to pause at the sight of some guy who looks like an alien.
The weirdo starts complaining about how he can’t breathe. Real pathetic energy.
“Hey,” Isagi says. “You guys should help him out.”
Reo makes sure Isagi’s fully suited up—but seriously, isn’t that clingy fabric too erotic?—and then pulls the guy’s shirt off his legs while Nagi removes the pants off his head to save him from suffocating himself.
Later, Ego’s face appears on the monitor, announcing he’s ranked them according to his “personal judgment.” Reo instantly feels suspicious then. They’re in Team V, ranked that low, because of this guy? Even Isagi is at 241?
He already calls it bullshit that losing means losing the right to represent Japan, because who the hell does this Ego guy thinks he is?
But whatever. Like Nagi often says, it’s too troublesome to think about it for long. They’ll just do what they’ve always done, which is to consistently prove they’re the best.
After the rules of the tag game are explained, Reo can practically hear Nagi complain about the hassle of playing some childish game, but they’re all surely thinking the same thing.
One of them being locked off would be even worse.
The game starts, and taking control of the ball is easy. Reo and Isagi exchange glances—it’s obvious they’re thinking the same thing. Just pass the ball around between the three of them, then hit someone before time’s up.
They do exactly that. With three seconds left, Reo sends a fast pass to Isagi, who immediately fires off a direct shot, straight to someone’s face.
Oof.
The sound of glasses cracking echoes across the room, quickly followed by Ego’s announcement of the guy’s elimination. Reo doesn’t bother remembering his name. If he was that dumb with the bodysuit earlier, he wouldn’t last long anyway. He had some speed, sure, but it was no match for Isagi’s shot—especially in such a tight space.
And the rest of Team V? Not much better. Reo can already see how to bend the system to his advantage, just like back in Hakuho.
First, they need to score 5 goals so they can exchange it for a deluxe bed. Should be pretty easy enough.
Now, more importantly—
I wonder if that bed can fit three people?
Despite all of Ego’s freaky, suspicious energy—and the whole ominous prison-like setup—Reo would say things are going well.
It’s actually kind of fun.
With the three of them together, it’s not even an exaggeration to say Team V is the strongest team in this stratum.
There was the self-proclaimed king from Team X, the one Isagi praised, which naturally made Nagi antagonize him. Reo didn’t bother. Seriously, why waste energy on nobodies? They’re the strongest here. Period.
He isn’t bothered. At all.
(Reo can fool everyone except Nagi, who raised an eyebrow when Reo kissed Isagi in the showers and left hickeys along his neck. Isagi didn’t complain then; one, because the bodysuit would cover it anyway, and two, he was too busy moaning.)
(Nagi left his own marks too, of course, much to Isagi’s chagrin.)
(Isagi should be grateful they’re holding back and leaving it at just that.)
They’re on a clear, easy, no-brainer path to victory—which is exactly why it’s annoying when some guy from Team Z tries to bribe them as if they needed it.
Their recent matches have at least been mildly entertaining thanks to Isagi. Somehow, he always finds something new in each game to use to level up. That, in turn, pushes Reo and Nagi to keep growing too.
But if they had full knowledge of every opponent’s playstyle, just like what this guy is offering? It would be so easy that playing might actually get boring.
“Don’t underestimate soccer!”
Reo jolts at Isagi’s sharp tone. For a moment, he thinks Isagi’s talking to him, reading his mind again. It wouldn’t be the first time Isagi was five steps ahead of them on the field, after all.
But no, Isagi’s glare is fixed on the loser across from them.
“I’m relieved your teammates don’t look happy either, at least,” Isagi adds, glancing toward the door.
Reo follows his line of sight, and huh, he hadn’t even noticed the rest of Team Z peeking in from the left.
Damn. Isagi’s spatial awareness really is something else.
“Good talk,” Reo says, standing and gathering their trays. “Come on, let’s go back.”
Isagi nods. Nagi stands as well, wrapping his arms around Isagi from behind and resting his chin on his head. After Reo drops the trays off, he walks beside Isagi, their hands brushing. Reo wants to grab Isagi’s hand already, but he’ll just wait until they’re in the hallways.
As they head toward the other door leading to the Team V room, Reo frowns. Some guy with a bobcut is staring at Isagi way too intently.
...Or maybe he’s just overthinking it? Isagi did say they’ve been a little overbearing lately. But still, that guy from before didn’t need to touch Isagi like that.
(“Oi, Nagi, don’t— I mean, we’re literally playing soccer! That would happen! Reo, come on—”)
Well, if that’s the case, then Nagi’s overthinking it too, judging by how tightly his arms are squeezing around Isagi’s waist.
Oh well, Reo thinks as he grabs Isagi’s hand, interlocking their fingers. Isagi won’t stays mad for long anyway.
Isagi turns to him, frowns, opens his mouth—
“Hey, you.”
The wave of relief Reo feels—realizing Isagi’s annoyance isn’t aimed at him—is short-lived as Bobcut continues the rest of his sentence. “You have a monster too, don’t you?”
Reo blinks. “Okay, what?”
“My monster is saying I should beat you.”
Okay— seriously, what the fuck?
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Isagi coolly. “But go ahead and try.”
“Try what?” Reo mutters. “Failing at pickup lines?”
“You realize his hands are full, right?” Nagi gestures lazily at where he’s still wrapped around Isagi. “Literally.”
“Also metaphorically,” Reo adds.
Isagi groans. “Can we not turn everything into a confrontation? Especially with me in the middle?”
Nagi huffs. “But I don’t get what this chibi is talking about.”
“Hey!”
Reo snorts at Isagi’s indignant shout. Yeah, he’s about the same height as the other from Team Z. But it’s what makes Isagi so cute, the perfect height for hugging, as evident in Nagi’s use of his head as a pillow.
Reo slings his arm over Isagi’s shoulder and starts steering them toward their room, while Nagi nudges him forward from behind. He ignores the stares he can feel boring onto their backs.
Maybe they should leave a visible mark, after all.
The match starts like usual: easy.
But instead of getting discouraged, the way most teams do after suffering goal after goal from Team V, Meguru Bachira’s eyes grow more wild, more unhinged—like despair itself is fuel.
“Hey, Isagi! Take a look at what my monster and I can do.”
It seems to be exactly the case.
Bachira slips past defenders one by one with nothing but his dribbling skills. Even from several feet away, Reo hears Nagi click his tongue. He feels it too, that low, simmering irritation, as he narrows his eyes on Bachira.
Objectively, the guy is decent. Pretty good, actually. Isagi would definitely say that. He already praised the guy once before, when they were reviewing Team Z’s matches. And that makes it even more annoying.
Isagi slips out from Nagi’s shadow to block Bachira’s flashy rabona—hah, take that!—and the irritation drains away, replaced with cold satisfaction. Isagi plows forward, effortlessly bypassing defenders and shoving the long-haired guy out of his way before kicking the ball into the net.
“What are you even doing here? If you don’t want to play soccer, then just quit. Don’t be wishy-washy. If you’re going to give up, then give up properly, you scaredy-cat.”
Reo might’ve winced at Isagi’s words if he hadn’t heard worse. On the field, Isagi becomes someone else entirely—not like how Reo changes when mimicking someone’s technique, but like something inside him simply transforms. Even the way he speaks and his words hit different: sharp, cutting, necessary.
Maybe that should’ve been the clue. The way Isagi speaks on the field, commands them, has weight. Reo knows from experience, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that instead of retreating into himself, Hyoma Chigiri’s eyes flare to life. He slams a hand against his bent knee and stares up at Isagi as if accepting his words as a challenge, eyes wild with rage, pride— with resolve.
And the guy Reo had mentally filed away as some nobody moves.
Chigiri runs.
There’s nothing in their strategy accounting for speed. No one they’ve faced, inside or outside their team, has used it as a weapon like this. It’s a completely new thing that catches them off guard, leaves them scrambling—literally and figuratively—as Chigiri flies past their defense like he’s tearing through paper.
Even when Nagi appears near the goal just in time, it’s not enough. The orange-haired guy appears and holds him off while Chigiri passes the ball straight into the net.
Isagi’s eyes are wide with something close to awe, that bright spark lighting up his expression. Reo’s seen it before. In Hakuho. During the moment they discovered Nagi’s trapping skills.
A familiar ache settles in his chest.
(Stop, no, don’t look—)
“Don’t look away, Isagi,” Nagi says right before the final kickoff.
For the first time since they’ve started playing soccer, Nagi initiates the play. Aggressively. Isagi’s always scolded him for leaning too hard on their support, told him to start using his creativity. To use that genius brain of his instead of just waiting around. Nagi always answered with a pout, saying Reo and Isagi made things more fun, so what was the point of going solo?
But now he moves like he’s got something to prove, which is something that shouldn’t be in their enemies’ plans either.
Reo gets it.
Other players can be impressive. Sure. They’ve all heard Isagi go on and on about Noel Noa a million times at this point. Sometimes even in totally inappropriate contexts because seriously, why is there a poster of that guy staring right at them in the room where they—
Anyway.
Noel Noa is one thing. Fellow high schoolers? Hell nah. Heck, if there’s even a slim chance they’ll one day face the #1 striker in the world, Reo’s answer will still be the same: They’ll crush them.
Reo and Nagi won’t let Isagi look at others. Isagi only needs to keep his eyes on them.
They won’t let anyone take him away.
The match ends in a crushing defeat for Team Z, which was not surprising at all. As Isagi walks toward the other team, Reo’s gaze lingers on his back, eyes flicking to the number 11 stitched across his jersey. Is he going to do it again? The same thing he pulled with Team Y?
(Isagi had once confessed to them—quietly, guiltily—that watching the heart of Team Y look up at him with tears in his eyes had felt good. That he was worried about that part of himself, about liking that feeling. About liking the power that came from ruining someone’s soccer career.)
But no, Isagi doesn’t approach them with that same energy this time.
Nagi starts to say something, but trails off, going quiet as he follows Reo’s line of sight.
They both silently watch what Isagi does next: how he steps toward Hyoma Chigiri and offers a hand to pull him up. How he gives Rensuke Kunigami a curt nod, a quick compliment on his strength. How he blinks, confused and wide-eyed, when Meguru Bachira pokes him in the cheek.
Reo exhales slowly, jaw tightening. His hand curls, fingers folding into a fist at his side.
You don’t need to worry about that feeling, he thinks, eyes still locked on Isagi. It’s good to crush pests.
The Second Selection starts off almost the same.
The three of them breeze through the little game Ego sets up—just like always, just like expected. They choose each other again, of course, after knowing they need to form a group of three. Because it makes sense. Because they are the strongest when they’re together.
And maybe it does feel unfair to everyone else.
But it’s not their fault that they—Reo, Isagi, Nagi—are simply better.
Except—
(“You. You remind me of the person I want to crush the most.”)
(“Come on, Yoichi Isagi. You’ll be the closest to me while you watch me become the best in the world.”)
—except they lose.
…They lose?
No. No, that’s not—
Reo slumps down, legs giving out under him, the world going numb around the edges. His gaze drops to the ground, blinking hard like it’ll change something.
They didn’t lose.
They can’t lose.
They’re the strongest. They are.
“Looks like we weren’t the strongest after all,” Isagi says.
Reo’s head snaps up so fast his neck twinges. His eyes burn, and it’s not from exertion. His throat tightens with something sharp and sickly. Losing already sucks, but Isagi accepting it? That feels even worse.
But Isagi has always been the stronger one between them. He kneels in front of them, breath unsteady, and offers a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Without a word, he reaches out, one hand for each of them.
His fingers curl around Reo’s first, firm and grounding, the contact sending a jolt through Reo’s chest. Then, Isagi’s other hand finds Nagi’s before squeezing both of their hands like he’s trying to pass something on through skin and bone.
“But it’s all right,” Isagi says. “It’s good. It simply means we can grow even stronger.”
Reo doesn’t answer. He can’t. The words catch somewhere deep in his chest, stuck behind a dam of rising grief—the burning, bitter bite on his tongue too raw to speak around.
Nagi shifts to where he’s seated next to him, unusually quiet. Even he can’t hide the sting of it, fingers twitching against his thigh like they don’t know what to.
“Oi,” Rin Itoshi calls. “Yoichi Isagi. Stop dilly-dallying.”
Isagi lets go.
The warmth of his hands leaves like a ghost.
Isagi glances over his shoulder, at his new team waiting by the doors, and looks back at Reo and Nagi. His gaze lingers, and that’s when it becomes evident he feels the same way. He just knows how to carry it better.
Tears slip down Reo’s cheeks before he can stop them. Fine. He’ll just have to cry for all three of them then.
Isagi’s eyes glisten, but he blinks, and any trace of it is gone—replaced by resolve that cuts like steel.
“Let’s all get stronger,” he says, stepping back, spine straight. “Chase after me.”
It’s not a request. It’s a declaration. A challenge. A belief.
Isagi believes they can, and so they will.
“Yes, boss,” Nagi murmurs, eyes fixed on Isagi’s retreating form like he can carve it into memory.
“Just wait for us,” Reo whispers, not blinking, not taking his eyes off him.
Isagi doesn’t look back.
The doors close.
They move quietly into the second stage’s waiting room. The silence wraps around them, thick and bitter, full of all the things left unsaid.
Reo sits down slowly, exhaling through his teeth. He forces himself to focus, to push past the heaviness in his chest.
They need a plan. They need steps. They need to take Isagi back.
“Hey, Reo,” Nagi says, sinking into one of the chairs. “We need to be stronger.”
“I know,” Reo answers, his voice low, jaw clenched.
They sit in silence again, broken only by the faint mechanical hum of the facility.
“I don’t like this,” Nagi mumbles. “It’s boring without him.”
Reo laughs—dry and humorless. “Sorry for boring you right now.”
Nagi doesn’t answer and instead leans back, eyes tracking some unseen shape on the ceiling. “I didn’t think we’d lose.”
Reo glances at him. “Is that your version of crying?”
“You already did that for the three of us.”
“…Right. Don’t bring it up again.”
“I just—” Nagi stops, then huffs. “I wanted to keep playing beside him. With you. I thought that was enough.”
Reo finally turns to look at him, hating the way his eyes sting, but it serves as a good reminder. “Then we fight. We catch up. We make sure we’re stronger next time… strong enough that he has no choice but to look at us again.”
Nagi tilts his head slightly toward him. “He’ll keep his eyes on us.”
There’s something heavier in Nagi’s tone than usual. Like he’s made a promise to himself, not just Reo.
“And when he does,” Nagi continues, “we’ll already be right there. Waiting.”
Before Reo can give his response, the doors open, and a new presence fills the room like a static charge. The self-proclaimed king from before enters, chin high, posture smug. Behind him trails a background character Reo doesn’t know or remember.
Reo stands, eyes narrowing, fire rekindling in his chest. This is his response to Nagi’s declaration.
Isagi isn’t here, but Reo knows exactly what he would, and that seems like a good place to start in this chase after him. Isagi would challenge the strongest. He’d push forward without fear.
Since they’ve tasted loss, they don’t get to be lax anymore.
This isn’t just about soccer anymore.
Isagi told them to chase after him—
And wherever Isagi goes, they’ll follow.