Chapter Text
Blue Lock University isn't haunted.
At least, that's what you tell yourself as you slip through campus under the cover of night—hood up, heart racing, sneakers whispering against the pavement like you're on the run. Not haunted, no. Just... unsettling. The way the lamplight flickers like it's watching you. The way the silence feels too clean. Like the kind that hides things.
Like your guilt.
Because right now, you're breaking into the gym.
The cold swipe of your student ID card is the only thing louder than your heartbeat.
Beep. Door unlocked.
The lock clicks open and a blast of cold, sterile air hits your face.
"Look at you," a voice drawls behind you, smug and sharp and unmistakably amused. "Breaking the rules like a real delinquent. I'm proud."
You don't turn around.
If you meet his eyes, you'll either combust in shame or punch that stupid smirk off his face.
"I hate you," you mutter instead.
"Incorrect," Michael Kaiser says breezily, stepping inside like this is his heist and you're just tagging along. "You love me. You just don't know it yet."
You roll your eyes so hard they nearly dislocate.
He's wearing joggers that cost more than your rent and a designer hoodie that doesn't belong in a gym—it belongs on a runway in Milan. His platinum-blond hair is artfully tousled, like he's been personally styled by the wind.
"Keep your voice down," you hiss. "Do you want campus security to drag us to the underworld?"
He flashes a grin, unbothered. "Relax. No one's here. Unless you count the ghost of the janitor who allegedly died squatting too much weight."
You freeze. "That's not funny."
"It kind of is."
Inside, the gym is sterile and humming. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Rubber mats soak up the echo of your steps. The place smells like sweat and ambition—like every PE class you've ever barely survived.
And now? You're here after hours with Michael Kaiser, public menace and part-time fashion icon.
How did this happen?
Let's rewind.
A few months ago, your life was average. Predictable. Safe.
And then you ruined it by falling in love with Sae Itoshi.
Midfield genius. Campus legend. An iceberg disguised as a human being.
You didn't mean to fall for Sae Itoshi.
At first, it was just curiosity. Everyone talked about him like he was more myth than person. The prodigy. The ghost. The genius who spoke with his feet, not his mouth.
You hadn't even seen him up close until that rainy Tuesday.
You'd ducked into the library to escape the downpour after class, soaked and shivering, hoodie dripping onto your notes. Your laptop had just died mid-assignment, and you were this close to a full-blown breakdown. There was nothing romantic about it. Just a mess of wet hair, dead Wi-Fi, and rising academic panic.
And then you saw him.
Alone in the back corner, sitting at a table like it belonged to him. Not reading a textbook or a tactics manual like you'd expected, but an old paperback novel. The kind with yellowed pages and a cracked spine. He held it like it was something delicate, something important.
You told yourself not to stare. But then he looked up.
For a second, your eyes met.
He didn't look away. Not immediately. Just sat there, watching you. Not in a creepy way. Not even curious. Just... calm. Present. Like he actually saw you standing there, soaked and disheveled and on the verge of snapping.
And then, without a word, he reached into his bag and slid his power bank across the table toward you.
No explanation. No small talk. Just a quiet offer.
You blinked, stunned, and reached for it with a murmured thank you. Your fingers brushed. He didn't flinch. He didn't even respond. Just went back to his book like you weren't shaking on the inside.
But something shifted.
That one moment stuck with you longer than it had any right to.
He didn't flirt. He didn't smile. He didn't say your name. But in a week full of noise and stress and people who only noticed you when you messed up, Sae had been silent. Steady. Still.
And somehow, that silence was louder than anything else.
Since then, you haven't been able to stop noticing him. In lectures. On the field. At practice. Every time you looked at him, that rainy afternoon echoed back at you.
You changed your walk schedule to pass by the soccer field. You sat behind him in Econ. You dropped a highlighter near his desk and he kicked it back with surgical precision.
You still have it.
You're so down bad, it's embarrassing.
And according to Kaiser, the solution wasn't self-respect or emotional maturity.
No. According to him, the solution was jealousy.
You don't like Michael Kaiser.
You've never liked him.
You've been dorm neighbors ever since your first year. He borrowed your phone charger exactly three times and never gave it back. He flirted shamelessly with your roommate until she got expelled for allegedly sleeping with not one, but two of her professors.
His friends are loud. His ego is louder. His fashion choices actively offend your eyes.
So when he cornered you in the dorm lounge two weeks ago, smoothie in hand and that look in his eyes — the one that meant chaos was about to happen — you knew immediately you should've walked away.
"You look like someone who needs a miracle," he said, flopping onto the armrest of your chair like he lived there.
You didn't even glance up from your laptop. "I look like someone who needs noise-canceling headphones."
"I'll offer you a deal," he continued, completely unfazed. "You sneak me into the gym after hours. In return, I help you get Sae Itoshi."
That got your attention.
You blinked slowly. "How do you even know I like Sae?"
"I didn't. Until now." He grinned, sipping from his smoothie like he'd just won something. "But honestly? I had a hunch. You have the exact expression of someone who's been emotionally ignored by a hot, emotionally unavailable man. It's a very specific brand of suffering."
You stared at him, trying to decide if he was joking. He wasn't.
"And why do you care?" you asked. "You bored or just being annoying for sport?"
He leaned in, elbows on his knees, eyes glinting with something that could only be described as pure, unfiltered mischief.
"Both. But mostly because this? Has potential for drama. And I live for drama."
He stood up with a shrug, as if that explained everything. "Also, you clearly need help. Watching you try to flirt is like watching someone microwave a fork."
You scoffed. "I don't need your help."
And that was supposed to be the end of it.
Until one night.
You're scrolling on your phone, wrapped in a blanket cocoon, pretending not to be stalking Sae's Instagram.
And then, it happens.
A party post. Dim basement lighting. Red solo cups. Laughter.
And Sae. On the couch.
Smiling.
He's sandwiched between two girls—effortlessly hot, carefree, glowing. His arm draped casually behind one of them. Your heart stops.
It's not a stab—it's a wrecking ball through your chest.
You freeze. You zoom in. You stare too long.
Then?
You throw your phone across the room like it bit you.
Face-first in a pillow, you scream. Muffled. Raw. Gut-level pathetic.
Because you'll never be that girl.
You're not the one who gets noticed. You're not the one who belongs at those parties, in those selfies, in his orbit.
Guys like Sae only go for girls who are perfect. Flawless. Loud in all the right ways.
You are... not that.
Your phone buzzes. You look again.
And that's when you see him.
Kaiser.
In the background of the photo, tossing popcorn in the air like he's the star of a coming-of-age film.
Of course he was there. He and Sae are teammates.
You stare at the screen for a long time before it goes black.
And then something shifts.
Something desperate.
Something electric.
Because maybe... just maybe... Kaiser is the answer.
The next morning, you find him in the dorm lounge. Sitting like a king. Legs stretched across two cushions. Smoothie in hand. Sunglasses indoors.
"Hey," you say.
He lifts an eyebrow. "Well, well. Thought you'd never come crawling."
"I want in."
"In what?"
"Your plan," you say, throat dry. "The one where I make Sae jealous."
He blinks once. Then grins like a wolf offered fresh meat.
"I knew you'd cave."
"I didn't cave."
"Sure you didn't."
You glare. He drinks his smoothie.
"What's in it for you?" you ask.
Kaiser's grin sharpens. "Entertainment. Chaos. Also, I need a gym partner."
"...What?"
"Coach benched me for violating team curfew. So now I train at night.And I need someone to spot me while I bench."
You stare at him.
He stares back.
And somehow, you say: "Alright."
Because what else is there to lose?
You're tired of playing background character in your own story.
You're tired of watching from the sidelines.
You want Sae to see you. Really see you.
And if the only way to make that happen is by teaming up with your sworn nemesis?
Then so be it.
Which brings us back to tonight.
Breaking into the gym. After curfew. With Kaiser smirking beside you like the devil on your shoulder.
Your life is officially out of control.
And weirdly?
You don't hate it.
"I need someone to spot me while benching."
You blink. "Spot you? Like... make sure you don't drop a barbell on your neck and die?"
Kaiser smirks, already stripping off his hoodie to reveal a sleeveless compression shirt and a disgustingly perfect torso. "Exactly. And maybe pass me my water bottle when I yell dramatically mid-set."
You mutter something about wishing the barbell would slip anyway, but step toward the bench regardless. The gym smells sharper now—rubber mats, metal, faintly citrus detergent. Your heart is still pounding, not from fear this time, but something else. Adrenaline. Maybe dread.
Kaiser slaps a couple plates onto the bar like they're made of styrofoam. "Alright. You stand there." He nods to the head of the bench. "If I look like I'm about to die, you pull the bar up. Easy."
"I've never done this before," you mutter, already regretting every decision that's led you here.
"I have," he says, reclining on the bench like he's about to take a nap. "Just pretend you care."
You plant your feet, hovering behind him as he grips the bar, flexing his wrists. "Ready?"
"No," you say, but he lifts anyway.
The weights clink. His arms strain. You're hyper-aware of how close you are to him. His breathing deepens as he starts the reps, smooth and powerful.
"You're staring," he grunts around rep five.
"I'm making sure you don't die."
"Uh-huh. Sure."
Rep eight. Nine. Ten.
He racks the bar with a sharp exhale and sits up, towel already in hand. His hair is slightly damp. He takes a long sip from his water bottle, then glances at you.
"So," he says casually, "let's talk about lover boy."
Your stomach drops. "Do we have to?"
"Yes. Because watching you pine is physically painful for me. I might sue."
"...What changed your mind?"
You blink. "What?"
He straightens, water bottle dangling from his fingers. "Back then. When I made the offer in the lounge—you turned me down. You said you didn't need my help. So what happened?"
You hesitate.
The air feels colder now. Not because of the gym's vents, but because of how close the truth sits behind your teeth.
You think of the photo. Of Sae on that couch. Arm behind someone else. Smiling. Not at you.
You think of what it felt like to scroll through it in the dark, alone, and realize that maybe quiet admiration doesn't win anyone's attention—not someone like him.
You swallow. "I saw something that made it clear I was never going to be... on his radar. Not like this. Not as I am."
Kaiser's expression doesn't change, but something in his posture softens.
"I don't want to wait around hoping he notices me one day," you add quietly. "I want to be someone people see. I want to be the reason he turns his head."
There's a long pause.
You cross your arms. "You said this was about jealousy. What exactly am I supposed to do?"
Kaiser leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Well, first, we need to get to the root of it. Why him?"
You freeze.
He watches you.
And then—because maybe you're tired, or off-balance from seeing Sae in that stupid party photo, or just sick of holding everything in—you answer.
"Because he was kind when he didn't have to be," you say, voice low. "He noticed me when I felt invisible. And he didn't try to fix me. He just... existed. Calm. Quiet. And it felt like that calm made space for me to breathe."
Kaiser's expression shifts—not mocking, not smug. Just... observant.
"You like him because he didn't try to make you smaller," he says, voice a little softer than before.
You nod. "Yeah."
A pause.
"Okay. Fair. He's a weirdly hot iceberg with decent taste in books. But let's be real—he doesn't know you exist like that."
You wince. "Thanks."
"I mean," Kaiser continues, standing to stretch, "you don't exactly scream 'look at me.' You lurk. Like a cryptid."
"I do not lurk."
"You lurk," he says, smug again. "And you flinch every time someone talks to you. You blush when the Starbucks guy calls your name."
You scowl. "Maybe I'm just... not confident like that."
"No kidding." He grabs a towel, tossing it over his shoulder. "You've got the social energy of a deer at a rave."
You sit on the bench, staring at the floor.
"I just... I've never really done the whole... flirting thing. Or parties. Or whatever."
Kaiser stops mid-wipe. Turns slowly.
You can almost hear the gears turning behind his pretty-boy smirk.
"Wait." His voice drops an octave. "Are you telling me—" He points at you like you're a rare museum artifact. "You've never—like, ever—?"
You glance away. "No. Not like that."
Silence.
And then—
He almost drops his water bottle.
"Shut u-"
"Don't say anything," you cut in quickly, cheeks burning. "It's not like it's some moral thing or whatever. I just never really... had the chance."
He's staring. And not in a gross way. In a stunned, almost analytical way.
"You're telling me," he says slowly, like he's solving an equation, "that nobody's ever taken you out? Kissed you? Anything?"
"I've kissed," you mutter, fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie. "But like... nothing serious. Never anything more."
His mouth hangs open for a beat too long. You toss your towel at him.
"Stop looking at me like I'm a tragedy."
"I'm not!" he insists, holding up his hands. "I'm just—genuinely shocked. You're—"
He cuts himself off. Looks at you again. This time, really looks.
You. Hoodie three sizes too big. Hair thrown up. Face bare. A little hunched. A little hesitant.
And it hits him.
"Oh my god," he says, voice low. "You're wasted potential."
You blink. "Excuse me?"
"I mean, like—look at you. You're cute."
Your brain short-circuits. "I—what—"
"But you hide it," he continues, circling like a predator with a theory. "You don't do your makeup. You wear clothes that say 'please ignore me.' You slouch. You apologize too much. You're like a hot girl in stealth mode."
You gape at him. "You cannot just say that to people."
"I can and I will," he says, stopping in front of you. "Because now I'm invested."
"In what?"
He grins.
"You."
Your eyebrows shoot up.
"No. Absolutely not. Whatever plan just clicked into your chaos brain—"
"Let me finish," he says, holding up a finger. "You want Sae to notice you, right?"
You nod slowly.
"Then you need to stop hiding. You've got the raw material,kleine. You just need a little—" he snaps his fingers, "—refinement. Confidence. Style. Vibes."
You squint at him. "Did you just say 'vibes' with a straight face?"
"I'm dead serious. You want him to see you? Then give him something to look at."
He walks over to the dumbbell rack and starts organizing weights like he's building a syllabus.
"You don't need to be loud," he says, voice low but direct. "You don't need to flirt like a Love Island contestant. You just need to stop disappearing into the background."
He takes a step closer.
"You want a guide?"
You hesitate. "Are you seriously offering to be my... what, glow-up coach?"
He grins, maddening. "Guide. Teacher. Agent of chaos. Call it what you want."
You open your mouth to protest—but something inside you shifts. A flicker of hope. Of wanting. Of something you've never really let yourself want out loud before.
He sees it. Of course he does. He always sees more than you want him to.
His brow arches. "What do you say?"
You think about Sae. His silence. That rainy afternoon.
Then you think about the party photo. The girls. The confidence.
And then you look at Kaiser.
Blazing. Sharp-edged. Impossible to ignore.
"...Okay," you say.
He beams, slow and dangerous.
"Oh, this is going to be fun."
He claps his hands together, sharp and deliberate. "Lesson one: seduction."
Your brain short-circuits. "Excuse me?"
He steps closer, circling like a predator with an edge of playful arrogance. "You want him to want you, right? Then stop carrying yourself like you'd apologize just for breathing in his space."
You open your mouth to protest, but he cuts you off with a low, amused laugh. "Don't argue. You walk around like there's a stick shoved so far up your ass you can barely move."
You bristle. "I do not!"
He grins wider, that dangerous glint lighting his eyes. "Exactly the reaction of someone with a stick up their ass."
You glare, but he just leans back against the bench press like he owns the entire gym. "Alright. We're starting with the basics. Body language. Confidence. Proximity. Eye contact. All the things that don't just make people look at you, but make them want to keep looking."
He steps toward you—slowly, deliberately—and your breath hitches. He's close enough now you catch the scent of his cologne—Bleu de Chanel. Classic.
His eyes lock onto yours, unblinking, unyielding.
"First rule," he murmurs, voice low, rough with something that makes your pulse skip, "Confidence isn't always loud. Sometimes it's just knowing you're worth the stare."
His hand rises, fingers ghosting inches from your jaw, deliberately close but never touching. His gaze flicks down to your mouth, then back up, sharp and intense.
You flinch.
"You flinch," he says softly, his breath warm against your skin. "You shrink when you should own your space."
Your heart stammers.
He's so close, you can feel the heat radiating off him—close enough to kiss.
Your whole body freezes. Time slows.
His lips tilt—
Then he pulls back.
You blink, stunned.
"That," he says with a crooked smile, "was you shutting down. Like someone hit pause on the best part of you."
Your cheeks burn, raw and exposed.
"I wasn't—"
"Yeah, you were," he cuts in gently.
You turn away, cheeks flaming, but his hand closes lightly over your wrist—firm, but not harsh.
"Hey," he says, voice softer now, almost tender. "Relax. This isn't about turning you into some fake version of yourself."
You risk a glance. His eyes don't mock or judge. They're deep, like he's reading the chaos inside you—the fear, the doubt, the quiet fire you're afraid to show.
"I'm not here to change you," he says, voice low and intimate. "Just to help you stop hiding what's already burning beneath."
You want to believe him.
You want to lean in.
But words catch in your throat.
He finally lets go, stepping back.
"And when I said I'd teach you everything?" His grin turns wicked. "I meant every damn thing."
You frown. "Everything?"
He narrows his eyes. "You told me you've never really been with someone, right?"
Your stomach twists. "I—I didn't say that—"
"No need." His smile deepens, almost hungry. "That tightness you get when I'm close? The way you stiffen? It's written all over you."
Your pulse thrums, raw and exposed.
He steps in again, closer this time, and you can feel the heat between you like a live wire.
"You're wasted potential," he breathes, voice dropping to a growl. "You've got a killer body, eyes that could stop traffic... and zero clue how to use either."
His hand brushes against your hip—light, teasing, but electric.
"You're like a Ferrari parked in the garage, revving, begging to be unleashed."
You stare, breath shallow, caught in the gravity of his touch.
"And if you want," he murmurs, "I can teach you how to make him need you."
Your mouth goes dry.
"You mean—?"
He leans in close enough for your lips to brush. "Exactly."
The world shrinks to the space between you, charged and crackling.
You don't say yes.
But you don't say no.
Not yet.