Chapter Text
Canada. Early July 2007.
The evening at the hotel met the young player of the Brazilian national team with stuffiness. About two weeks have passed since arriving in Montreal – the city chosen to host football games among boys under 20 from the national teams of different countries, such as: France, Germany, Spain, Argentina, Japan and many others. Yesterday's training session before the upcoming game against the French knocked out all the strength from the young body.
Lavinho is a name, nickname, his personal designation, call it whatever you want. He was a rather smart young man with a strong physique, a good growth of a football career and a knocking down charisma.
He was lying lazily on the bed of the hotel room, all wrapped in a white sheet. Because of the hot summer, it was impossible to sleep under a blanket, and the air conditioning in the bedroom did not help at all. Today was a day off, so as not to overload the athletes before the match, which should take place the next day.
It confuses him.
The kid begins to toss and turn, tries to change his position, to fall asleep somehow, but to no avail. Dark thick eyebrows are distorted by irritation, which causes mimic wrinkles on the forehead. His mother told him to get rid of this habit, otherwise everything would manifest itself by old age.
Mom...
An electric current passed through his body, there was a feeling that he had not seen her for a long time, but he was seventeen, not even a month had passed since their last meeting, why did he suddenly think about it?
He doesn't like it.
He gets out of bed, wearing only boxers, stepping on the carpet with his bare heels towards the bathroom. Stupid bangs fall right into your eyes, preventing you from fully focusing your attention on the situation. Soft beige sofas led him into the living room, a small plasma stood in the corner, very strange for 2019. Usually, in expensive hotels, everything is new and relevant.
Strangely.
His feet lead him to the bathroom, finally stepping from the soft carpet onto the cold tile, which makes him shudder. Is he really in his room?
Images of gray concrete slabs begin to appear in my head, sheathed throughout the building of the sports complex, where does this come from?
Almond-shaped eyes finally open, looking at their reflection in the mirror. A dark malet, a thin toned body, a single tattoo on his chest and bright amethyst eyes. The swarthy skin tone seems darker than usual. When did he get a tan?
His eyes quickly study the mirror, and saliva treacherously rises to his throat.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
He steps back in fear, hiding his face in his hot hands.
–It's impossible. - He whispers quietly to himself, afraid to pull his hands away. That's not him. HE can't be him. – Fuck!
The Brazilian looked at himself convulsively, pulled his hair, believing that he was wearing a wig and all this was just a cruel joke of his teammates, it was not so.
He pinched himself, but did not wake up. Everything was really like that. Nothing changed. Ravinho rushed to look for the phone, at least somehow, he needed to find out what year it was.
In my hands was the very first iPhone, small and black. Lavinho turned it on and began to remember the password. I managed to pick it up 2 times, lucky that it rarely changes its passwords.
The guy went to the Internet, not getting into the letters from the cramp. Seeing the year that was 12 years ago by his standards, the footballer clutched his head.
All the thoughts in his head changed quickly and he could not keep up with them. There were so many questions and so few answers that the boy jerked his leg to the point where he made a lot of noise.
When his head began to hurt from stress and there was not enough air, he leaned back, rubbing his eyes again until they sparkled and patterned, hoping that this ceiling seemed to him and he would see gray again, the same as in Blue Lock.
Blue Lock. Noa.
Jumping up from his seat, the Brazilian picked up his phone and went into his notebook to look for the number of the French footballer. After scrolling through the contacts as many as 5 times, carefully looking for familiar initials, but all to no avail. It means that they still don't know each other.
Ravinho calculated that now he is 17 years old, which means that this is the beginning of his career as a football player.
And now what? Is it forever? To go all the way again?
Panic was creeping up on the Brazilian again, but a knock on the door made him jump up from the bed in fright. Even though he was in the past, it was better not to change anything. Who knows what would happen if he changed any events, so it was better to play it safe and do everything as he would have done 12 years ago.
Quickly putting on a white terry robe, Lavinho opened the door, where his old acquaintance Lucas, a teenager like him, was standing. It was unusual to see a young Lucas, especially considering that he wasn't the best person in the future, which Ravinho didn't understand in the past.
– Why are you standing there, Lavinho? Let's go eat at the cafe we found yesterday. - the guy smiled, stepping away from the door and looking at his phone while waiting for the Brazilian.
It wouldn't hurt to eat and distract himself right now. Lavinho quickly found some clothes in his bag, pulling out bright outfits and tight jeans.
Fuck.
The guy put on his clothes, trying to look like his usual self, even though he didn't think his new look was as cool or fashionable as it used to be, and instead considered it a complete disgrace to his sense of fashion.
Lucas was still standing in the hallway, waiting for his teammate, scrolling through the popular social media platform Facebook and leaning against the hotel wall, as if it wouldn't have been able to support its structural purpose without his assistance.
I'd rather not see his face again. Although... Maybe having dinner with him will clarify what's going on?
Lavinho left the room, taking his handbag with him, which included a wallet with cash and electronic money. It's a relief that he was already more or less financially secure, at least for someone his age.
- Bro, why are you taking so long? We had a deal. - Lucas glances at him, noticing the remnants of his sleepiness, and decides not to continue the conversation.
Ravinho shrugged, putting his hands in his pocket and following the man he had once considered a comrade. He vaguely remembered that cafe and dinner.
On leaving the hotel, he found a beautiful "Welcome to Montreal" booth.
That's right, Canada. A match between the Youth Teams... I think we lost to the French national team then.
The cafe was quite close and turned out to be an unremarkable eatery, but quite good to kill time in a strange city with delicious food. The Brazilians walked to the outdoor tables and took their seats in wicker chairs. The aroma of hot food reminded Lavinho's stomach of hunger, tickling it with spasms. Looking at the menu, the guy chose barbecue and a vegetable salad, at which Lucas raised an eyebrow.
What's wrong now? And as if reading his mind, the neighbor at the table burst into laughter and announced the order to the waitress, with a vulgar look in his eyes, watching her figure, after which he turned his attention back to Lavinho:
– You won't survive the game tomorrow, with your stomach.
Actually, I did, idiot, thanks for your concern.
"Fuck it," Lavinho replied, leaning back in his chair. Everyone seemed familiar, but at the same time, they were repulsive due to their inferiority, as it was 2007.
Panic faded into the background, but it still resurfaced from time to time. When the food arrived, Ravinho swallowed, picked up his cutlery, and sliced the delicious meat. He often indulged in expensive dishes, but his young body craved them with great hunger.
A couple of minutes later, the waitress brought them a drink, smiling flirtatiously at Lucas, who was clearly enjoying the attention of the waitress. He took a napkin, pulled a pen out of his bag, and quickly wrote something on the paper, then winked at the girl as he handed her the napkin. Lavinho watched them with a hint of disgust, as he was 29 years old and had long since passed through the stage of sperm-induced infatuation. For a second, the Brazilian froze, realizing that he was 17 again, which meant that his body would experience the same things. After accepting the fact that he would have to deal with acne and get new tattoos, he took the first bite of the tender meat, chewed it with satisfaction, and washed it down with iced cranberry juice. Surprisingly, the combination was delicious. Ravinho licked his lips and continued eating until his teammate started a conversation.
– Do you remember who we're going to play against? – the guy said calmly, as if preparing his friend for something.
Against France? - The Brazilian replied uncomprehendingly, taking another sip of juice. In this heat, I just wanted to put ice in my mouth.
– Oh, Captain obvious, – the curly-haired boy with a silver earring in his ear and the same brightly shining watch on his hand rolled his eyes, – I'm talking about that garbage rat, Noa.
At the mention of the Frenchman, Ravinho choked on his juice, splattering some on the table and his food. He coughed, wiping the table with a napkin. He didn't like the way his companion had spoken about Noel.
You're a sewer rat yourself.
– I remember, yes, – Ravinho replied, smiling sweetly to get caught.
– So... – Moraes looked warily at the tanned youngster younger than himself, – I heard that if we beat him, we might get into a cool club in Spain. I heard it when the coach was on the phone, man.
Ravinho made a surprised face, but he remembered perfectly well that they hadn't won that match, and they hadn't received any offers from Spanish clubs. In fact, Morales had never received any offers from Spanish clubs, and they had been avoiding him for some reason. Allegedly inspired, they toasted with their non-alcoholic drinks and clinked glasses, laughing and celebrating what Lucas believed would be a quick victory.
When they were walking around the city in search of entertainment, the guys passed by a nightclub that was closed because it was not yet late at night. Lucas took Lavigne in his arms, pointing with his index finger at the doors of the club.
– This is where all the cool guys will gather after the match! We are invited as special guests. There's going to be a lot of booze and chicks, so we have to go there, man! – ruffling his colleague’s hair, Moraes said enthusiastically, already imagining himself sitting on the couch with some pretty girls and drinking some whiskey. 12 years ago, Ravinho would have agreed to this without a second thought, but now it seemed like a tedious idea.
What party? Was there even a party? Damn, I have to go to that stinking party.
– Yeah, let's light it up! - Lavinho just replied cheerfully, supporting the idea of a teammate and pretending that he was really interested in it.
After saying goodbye to Lucas because I needed to rest before the game, Ravinho returned to the hotel. Surprisingly, the managers did a good job of ridding the aspiring stars of the crowd of journalists. Lavinho couldn't help but rejoice at this, in the present a man can't even do without protection.
Freedom.
The Brazilian walked calmly to the elevator and pressed the call button, waiting for the metal box to finally arrive at the first floor. As soon as the elevator descended, the brunette heard a hum, and then the doors opened. The French team, almost in full force, were loudly discussing something, and the white head in the corner made the young man shudder.
Noa?
Standing aside, he let the team go ahead, exchanging not the most friendly glances with each other. Stupid competition. The last one to get out of the elevator was him, like an angel descending from heaven, Noah remained the same muscular, except that he was a little taller than the Brazilian himself, about ten centimeters.
NO, I DON'T WANT TO WAIT AGAIN FOR THIS DAMN BODY TO GROW!
As a teenager, he was very self-conscious about this, and being shorter than his opponent made him furious. The Brazilian snorted as he watched the French striker's back, who had briefly locked eyes with Ravinho a few seconds earlier, as if studying him.
Tsk. It was just a figment of his imagination.
Finally entering the elevator and reaching the third floor, he returned to his room. The unexpected encounter with him made him feel different.
Oh, no, fuck no.
He leaned against the door of his hotel room, his heart racing, unable to suppress the emotions that brought back memories of his youth and innocence.
Just stop thinking about it.
He pleaded with himself and sighed wearily.
That's not what I need to be thinking about right now. How can I get back?
He doesn't know. After taking a shower before bed, Lavigneau climbed into bed. During his absence from the room, the bedroom had managed to cool down under the air conditioning, and the blanket now beckoned him into sleep.
Please let me go back. I don't want to live this again. This is a bad, realistic dream, right?
And with those thoughts, his mind shut down, allowing his hot body to finally relax and forget about everything that had happened today. Tomorrow, he'll wake up and be in Blue Lock, and there won't be any U-20 match, just his coaching duties, his kids, and Noa, whom he hates with all his heart. Probably.
He couldn't sleep all night, maybe because he'd only slept a couple of hours earlier, or maybe because he still couldn't wrap his head around the current situation. He didn't know how much time had passed since he closed his eyes, but when someone pounded on the door and Lavigne lifted his bruised face from the pillow, he realized that nothing had changed. It's still the same hotel room.
- Lavinho, quick, before I break down that damn door, have you seen the time?! - shouted a rough male voice, which the Brazilian recognized as the voice of his old coach, who always kept him in check.
Ravinho jumped out of bed, running to the bathroom, where he quickly washed and brushed his teeth, and then put on the same clothes he had worn the day before, as he didn’t feel like digging through his bag. Picking up his bag for the match, which was quite heavy, he left the room, his eyes still half-open, and he looked as if he had fallen asleep an hour ago, which might have been true.
A few minutes later, he was sitting on a bus, looking out the window at the people who were probably on their way to the match. Among them were a bunch of children wearing T-shirts of their favorite football players, and Lavigne saw a couple of his own T-shirts, which made him smile, as it was always nice to be loved.
The opponents' bus was no longer there, and it was likely that they had already arrived at the stadium. Lavinho vividly remembered this match, his first encounter with Noah, and his first attempt at getting to know him, which was unsuccessful.
The Canadian stadium greeted them with its beautiful appearance and the cheers of fans who were trying to break through the security. Ravinho and the other members of the team gave a few autographs and took photos before moving on. In the locker room, a guy with purple eyes discovered that he hadn't taken out his football uniform in a long time, and it was all wrinkled up. The coach looked at it and just rubbed the bridge of his nose, saying that if the team didn't win, he would make them run 50 laps around the entire stadium.
The moment had come to enter the field. Both teams lined up as the announcer gave his speech. All the guys stood and waited, looking at each other and communicating with each other, occasionally throwing a look of dislike at the opposite team. Lavinho was not the tallest in the team, in fact, one of the shortest. Ravinho's eyes searched for the white top and he found it just before entering. He would have liked to exchange glances with him, to speak to him again for the first time, but he didn't have the opportunity, and his teammates would have been casting curious glances.
Soon, the grand opening of the game began. Each team wished each other luck, although it was evident from the outside that this was a hypocritical gesture. No one wanted to lose.
When the marching music began, the players lined up in columns and entered the playing field to the cheers of the fans.
Lavinho tried not to look around, although his own gaze was trying to stray. Noel Noa still had the number 9, and they were almost equal, while the Brazilian wore the even, binary number 10 on his back.
Unexpectedly, the blond head turned slightly, looking directly at him with a golden gaze, staring at his opponents, certainly not at him.
Twelve years could have changed him. – Lavinho thinks, but in reality, he believes otherwise. There's no reason for Noa to do so.
When everyone lined up in the center of the football field, both countries took turns singing their national anthems with the fans. Ravinho smiled every time he experienced such moments in his life. He felt a sense of unity as they all came together.
As the opening ceremony came to a close, all the players lined up in their positions. The Brazilian stood on the right side of the field, closer to the center, as he was a right winger. The Frenchman was now much closer than before. He was in the middle, playing as a center forward. There was nothing on his face.
And then the whistle blew.
The game had begun.