Chapter Text
“If you ask that one more time, I swear to God I’ll throw you out the window, Kiwiho.”
The threat, as usual, didn’t faze his longtime friend, who was now sitting cross-legged on the floor of Isagi’s apartment, holding a suspiciously shiny piercing needle.
“Come on, man! I worked so hard in my course. Help your friend out. You know I’m just starting out in this field.”
“You mean stabbing people with metal?”
Kiwiho had recently discovered his true calling: body modification. Tattoos. Piercings. Needles and ink were his new religion. The only problem? He needed victims, clients, as he liked to call them. Preferably victims who wouldn’t sue him.
“You act like it’s murder,” Kiwiho muttered, holding up a sterilized clamp with a grin. “Come on, it’s just a nipple piercing. Something quick and done, you’ll be ten percent hotter.”
Yoichi narrowed his eyes. “You want to stab my nipple for your portfolio, and why exactly the nipple? I have ears for earrings!”
“Hey, why can’t it be both? I brought everything we need! Besides, you’re not close-minded enough to think nipple piercings are outdated, are you?”
Isagi groaned, tossing his phone onto the couch with the kind of exasperation only a friend could provoke. “Fine. One piercing. Somewhere no one can see. If I feel pain, you’re dead.”
He’d thought about getting piercings before, sure. But not like this. Not in the living room of his newly bought apartment. Not with a guy who once cut his own bangs in elementary school and ended up looking like a half-plucked chicken.
“Trust me,” Kiwiho said, putting on gloves. “I have a light touch.”
“That’s exactly what you said before trying to cut earwax out of your ear with scissors.”
The living room was not exactly a clinic. Isagi had earned a lot after the under-20 World Cup, where he’d won and scored the winning goal, but it was still just a normal apartment, with air conditioning probably set lower than any clinic would recommend. Still, his friend had clearly made an effort. A work surface, which was actually Isagi’s coffee table, held sterilized gloves, a catheter, and other tools. Isagi decided to ignore the Pokémon band-aids.
“Take your shirt off. Lie down,” Kiwiho instructed, like a fifth-rate surgeon.
Yoichi lay back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, his shirt tossed aside. The cold touch of alcohol on his chest made him shiver. Then came the metal clamp, squeezing his nipple harder than he expected.
“You didn’t say it would hurt this much.”
“It’s part of the process, and I haven’t even pierced it yet. Take a deep breath.”
He barely had time to breathe.
Then came a sharp, incandescent wave of pain. Like a lightning bolt focused into a single point, tearing through his chest. His body jerked involuntarily, fists clenching into the cushions as a string of curses exploded from his mouth.
“SON OF A B—!”
“Done!” His eyes sparkled. “Now we just need the other side.”
“What!? No! You’re not touching me again!” He still felt the pain, but realized it was only on his right side. The left was still untouched.
Yoichi suddenly sat up, eyes wide, staring down at what, if seen without context, might look like a gunshot wound. His nipple was red, inflamed, and now adorned with a beautiful piece of jewelry.
“Isn’t it gorgeous? Now lie back down, let’s finish this.” His hand touched Isagi’s stomach and shoved him back onto the stupidly large couch.
“I said no, this hurts like hell!” he shouted.
His friend rolled his eyes as if it were nothing, then held up a small hand mirror. “So I should assume you like keeping just one?”
Now seeing it in the mirror instead of just his own eyes, Isagi saw the small strip of metal piercing the tip of his nipple, which was, incidentally, red and slightly swollen already. “Just do it.” He sighed in defeat, hugging a Miffy bunny pillow Nagi had given him as a gift.
The second piercing came quickly, and somehow hurt more than the first. Isagi bit down hard on his lip to avoid noise complaints from the building, even though it was still within permitted hours. The pain robbed him of coherent thought.
“You didn’t pass out, so I’d say it was a success!”
Yoichi glared at him but didn’t respond. Deep down, beneath the pain and regret, he felt oddly proud. No one would see it, but he’d gone through what he’d call hell to get these piercings, and whether he liked it or not, they looked good on his nipples.
… He really had lost consciousness from the pain.
And the same would happen to Kiwiho.
Unfortunately.
“I swear, as soon as the pain stops, I’m smashing every plate in this house over your head.”
The searing pain radiating from his newly pierced nipples made even the idea of putting on a shirt unbearable. Yoichi Isagi sat half-naked on the edge of the couch, hunched forward, afraid to move too much. Every sudden movement sent a jolt through his chest, like sparks dancing over exposed nerves.
“They look good, so what’s the problem?” Kiwiho asked casually, sprawled on the floor as if he hadn’t just committed assault with a needle.
“Good” was an understatement. The small silver hoop earrings looked divine, dangerously so. But beauty didn’t lessen the frustration.
“What is it?” It’s burning, and I have a game with Bastard München in two weeks.” Isagi sighed, knowing arguing now was pointless. The hole was already there. The damage was done. “Anyway… how do I fix this?”
“Saline solution after training,” Kiwiho said like a doctor. “Use mild soap and, above all, don’t let anyone suck on them or touch them too much. At least not while they’re healing. After that? Do whatever you want.” He shrugged at the last part.
“What? Of course no one’s going to touch them! Why would you even suggest that?!” His voice cracked in panic, his face turning almost as red as his chest.
Kiwiho snorted. “Oh, sure. No one’s going to want to stare at the nipple piercings of Japan’s rising soccer star. Definitely no man or woman fantasizing about taking you to bed.” His voice dripped with sarcasm, and for a brief moment Isagi deeply questioned all his life choices, especially those involving this friend.
It was obvious to Isagi that no one fantasized about him that much. He was attractive, on a fairly average level. And although he’d gained fame and recognition, he was still just a twenty-six-year-old man extremely obsessed with soccer and little else.
“If I weren’t such a peaceful man, I swear I’d throw you out the window or feed you to the neighbor’s dogs.”
Unbothered, Kiwiho got up and went to the kitchen. Moments later, he returned with a bottle of cold saline solution from the freezer and a clean gauze pad.
“Hey, this will help.”
Without warning, he pressed the cold, soaked gauze against both nipples, because apparently balance was important.
“YOU IDIOT—!”
Purely on reflex, Isagi slapped him across the cheek with surprising force. Kiwiho stumbled back, falling onto the rug with a theatrical groan.
“Come on, man! I’m just trying to help!”
The cold sensation eased the throbbing burn, and Yoichi couldn’t suppress a small groan of relief. It was humiliating.
“Help? You’re fixing the disaster you caused,” he grumbled, eyes closed, still radiating menace. Kiwiho knew that tone well. It was the I’ll bury you if you stay near me tone.
“If you hate it that much, I can just take the jewelry out.”
He stood up slowly, walking cautiously toward the couch, only to be met with a fierce glare and a sharp shout.
“DON’T. TOUCH. ME.”
Isagi’s voice was low and threatening, his jaw tight with pain. His nipples were far too sensitive to risk removing the jewelry now. And honestly, after seeing himself in the mirror, it wasn’t that bad.
The silver hoops gleamed under the warm light, a stark contrast to the inflamed, reddish skin. Even his pale, nearly flawless complexion looked ethereal. A strange mix of pain and beauty.
“Can I take a picture?” Kiwiho asked, raising his phone. “Just the nipple! I promise, not your face. I want to post it on Instagram. Think about it. Your nipple, my work, instant followers.” He crossed his fingers behind his back. He wasn’t just thinking about influence. He was dreaming of it. A photo tagged by Japan’s golden boy could skyrocket his clientele.
Isagi slowly turned his head, eyes full of threat. “If you even think about taking a picture of my nipple, I guarantee you’ll never use your fingers again.”
Message received.
“…” Kiwiho hesitated after that last threat, but if he didn’t say what he needed to, he wouldn’t sleep that night.
From the corner of his eye, Isagi noticed how restless his friend was, fiddling with strands of his hair, a habit Isagi had long associated with nervousness.
“Spit it out.”
“Can I pierce your ears? I brought more jewelry for that, I swear it hurts way less!” He clasped his hands in front of his face like a prayer, partly sincere, mostly to avoid being hit again.
Silence.
Kiwiho didn’t dare look up or move his hands, but curiosity won out when two full minutes passed without an answer.
“Isagi?” When he finally looked, he saw an image that would probably be worth millions if photographed.
Isagi was sprawled on the couch, shirtless, wearing shorts that rose with each breath. His breathing was heavy, labored, his torso flushed and gleaming with the bright jewelry in his nipples, his face heated in a way that didn’t match the cold air conditioning. His lips were parted, red and swollen from holding back screams, one hand resting over his eyes.
“Huh? What did you say?” He seemed to finally return from another plane, only to realize a flash had gone off. “Did you take a picture of me?” Indignation crept back into his voice.
“Of course not! So, will you consider my offer?” He crossed his fingers behind his back again. That photo would stay safely on his phone until the right moment.
“Sure, whatever, do what you want,” he probably hadn’t even heard what his traitorous friend had said earlier, agreeing without much care.
The following week was a little more bearable than the last. Just a little. Isagi still felt occasional discomfort and now more than ever clung to loose shirts and hoodies like a second skin, except for the times he stayed shirtless at home to avoid any friction that might interfere with healing.
His ears, which had tragically been used as study material and test subjects, were much easier to deal with than his nipples. Definitely.
He had just received the news. As soon as the break ended, he would travel to South Korea for a match against the English team Tottenham Hotspur at the Seoul World Cup Stadium. Normally, that would have filled him with excitement. Lately, though, something bothered him.
“I swear, one of these days I’m going to burn all your shirts. Maybe then you’ll stop hiding my masterpiece.”
Ah yes. The source of his irritation had a name and surname and was currently living in his apartment rent-free. Yoichi snatched the phone from his friend’s hand, sighing deeply.
“When are you leaving again?”
“When my masterpiece is completely healed. I’m not taking any risks.” He wasn’t. Finding an apartment in Japan these days was more expensive than his barely adult brain could handle.
Stop calling my nipples your masterpiece, you absolute pervert!
“Shut up. I have a flight in two days, I need to start packing, and you’re not helping at all.”
He immediately regretted saying that. Kiwiho bolted out of the room like an overexcited child, probably to invade his closet.
“Can’t you wear something tighter at least once? It would show off the piercing, it’d look amazing!” he shouted from a room that was definitely not his own.
Isagi buried his face in his hands, torn between exhaustion and secondhand embarrassment. “If you touch my stuff, I’ll kill you!”
Yoichi took a taxi to the airport. Since officially joining Bastard, his fame had grown even more. Not that it had been small after winning championships in Japan and internationally, plus the victory immortalized as his phone’s lock screen. Fame was a shadow that followed him everywhere, and with it came the burden of caution. No train rides. No flashy clothes. Just a long white coat with elegant black details and a black cap pulled low over his eyes.
Thank God he didn’t have to travel alone. Anri and Ego were already waiting at the terminal, which made little sense since they weren’t part of the German team, but honestly, he wasn’t complaining. Noa had probably specifically asked Ego to help with this friendly match, if you know what I mean. Unfortunately, judging by Ego’s irritated expression, Yoichi was a bit late.
“Sorry for the delay. Everything okay?” he asked, slinging his backpack over one shoulder.
“It’s fine. You’re right on time,” Anri said calmly, though visibly tired. Yoichi assumed it was the stress of international travel or simply having to deal with Ego for hours. A valid reason for exhaustion.
They headed toward check-in. Yoichi handed over his large black backpack and watched Ego, as neutral as ever, hurry through security. Anri followed soon after. Then it was Yoichi’s turn.
“Please walk through the metal detector. Standard procedure,” said a kindly looking security agent, gesturing politely toward the gate.
“Of course,” he replied, completely unaware of what was about to happen.
The moment he passed through the detector, a sharp beep echoed through the area. Yoichi froze mid-step. His stomach dropped. Then it hit him. The small ice-cold ring he was still wearing. Attached to a very specific and very intimate part of his anatomy.
“Hmm… that’s strange,” the officer murmured. “Your bag was clear. Are you wearing any rings or a watch?”
He nearly broke into a sweat. Does a nipple piercing count as a ring? he thought, cursing Kiwiho in every language he could remember. Then he recalled one specific detail hidden under his cap.
Ego, a few steps ahead, turned slightly, suddenly interested in the delay. Anri, now beside him, raised a curious eyebrow.
Yoichi took a deep breath, leaned toward the officer, and removed his cap.
“It must be my piercings,” he explained shyly, pointing to his ears, which had more than four earrings each.
The agent’s eyes widened for a moment before she looked confused. “But ear piercings are stainless steel. They have low concentration and don’t trigger the machine.” She pointed to her own ears, where a cute heart-shaped conch piercing gleamed.
Isagi turned even redder. Then he remembered a certain conversation with the reason he was stuck there.
“Why are my ear jewelry different from my nipple ones?”
Kiwiho shrugged. “The nipple is more sensitive. We have to use a specific metal to avoid contamination or rejection. It’s surgical steel.” He laughed nervously before adding, “I also bought a gold-plated one with your card.”
“How dare you, you bastard!” And a fight had started in the apartment.
Isagi snapped back to the present after that bitter memory. Shy, hesitant, and extremely nervous, he leaned closer to the agent and whispered in her ear.
“I… have a piercing there. In that place.” The words came out so stiff he could’ve died of embarrassment.
“Oh, it’s okay, you can go,” she said with a small laugh, her face slightly red as well, waving him through. Her coworkers glanced sideways, curious but not interfering.
Isagi kept his head down, face burning. He was going to murder Kiwiho. Slowly.
As soon as they boarded the plane, the interrogation began.
“What was that?” Ego asked, eyebrow raised. “You got ear piercings? Since when do you care about style?” Sarcasm dripped from his voice. Typical Ego.
“Uh… something like that,” Isagi muttered, pulling his hood over his head and sinking into the seat.
He pretended to take a nap, but in reality, he was just hiding the deep red flush spreading across his cheeks.
The flight itself was smooth, but for Yoichi, it was a never-ending nightmare.
He sat rigidly, arms awkwardly crossed over his chest as if protecting a sacred treasure, or in his case, a very painful and very intimate mistake. Every movement sent a wave of discomfort straight to the center of his chest, where the freshly placed nipple piercing throbbed as if it had a life of its own.
He regretted everything. Absolutely everything.
In front of him, Anri flipped through the in-flight magazine, serene and unbothered. Beside her, Ego furiously scribbled in a leather notebook, probably planning some insane training regimen involving sword fights on treadmills or underwater penalty kicks.
They hadn’t mentioned the airport incident again, and Yoichi prayed they would forget it forever. Still, he could hear the beep of the metal detector, feel the intense heat flooding his face as he leaned toward the security agent to whisper, “It’s a piercing… down there.”
He had nearly died on the spot.
“You look uncomfortable,” Anri suddenly said, casting him a neutral glance that somehow made him feel like she could read his soul.
“The seat’s a bit stiff,” he lied shamelessly. They were in first class. He shifted slightly to the left and immediately regretted it when the piercing brushed lightly against his shirt.
Anri nodded, convinced by the lie. Then she looked up as if remembering something. “By the way, I noticed you got a piercing, didn’t you?”
Isagi froze.
He was certain his blood had completely stopped circulating.
“What are you talking about?” Even he didn’t know how his voice came out so naturally.
Anri pointed to his ears. “Your new piercings. Did you get them recently? When I was younger, I always wanted to get some too. Did it hurt a lot?” Isagi hoped she hadn’t noticed him dragging his soul back down from its ascent to heaven.
“Oh, right, those.” He gestured to himself. “It was like going to hell and back, it hurt a lot. But I liked it. They look pretty nice.” Isagi wasn’t even sure which piercing he was talking about anymore.
“You look flushed,” Ego commented without looking up. “Also, that sort of thing isn’t very well regarded by South Koreans.”
Anri scoffed. “Korea is far less conservative than we are. A piercing won’t make any difference. Honestly, I think they’ll like your new look even more, Isagi!” He wanted to cry, from both pain and happiness. That woman was so kind.
“I’m fine,” Yoichi murmured in response to Ego’s comment about his redness. “Thank you for the compliment, Anri.”
“You’re welcome, dear.” The former director of the Blue Lock project very clearly had a favorite.
He stared out the window, trying to distract himself with the clouds. Soft. Painless. Floating. Unlike the searing hell consuming his chest. With every movement of the fabric of his hoodie, it felt as if his entire soul were being pierced, not just his nipple.
And he still had eight hours left inside that metal tube.
“I’m skipping meals,” he said when the flight attendant offered him snacks, shrimp ones at that. Which were inflammatory for a certain area.
“What? Why?” Anri asked, slightly concerned.
“I’m just not hungry.”
He was starving. But the last thing he needed was an even more painful piercing reaction in his ears and nipples. A true test of endurance, knowing seafood was delicious.
When the attendant came by again offering drinks, Yoichi shook his head.
“No, thank you.”
“Are you sure, sir?” she smiled. “We have juice, soda, tea—"
“I’m fasting for spiritual reasons,” he blurted out, and immediately wanted to die.
The attendant blinked. “…Alright, then.”
Anri narrowed her eyes slightly, as if she had just uncovered a new layer of suspicion. Yoichi pulled his hood further down and leaned toward the window.
Ego finally spoke again.
“Yoichi,” he said dryly. “You’d better not be hiding some kind of injury.”
Yoichi’s heart stopped. Slowly, he turned his head. “Why would you say that?”
“You’re twitching like a squirrel after an energy drink. Either you’re dying, or you did something stupid.”
Yoichi stared at the tray table. “I’m just meditating.” He wasn’t even religious. He closed his eyes, letting the low hum of the plane and the burning sensation in his chest lull him into a miserable, shame-filled haze.
The truth was simple.
He had a nipple piercing, in addition to the ones in visible places.
No one knew.
No one could ever know.
And if Kiwiho dared to post anything on Instagram, Yoichi would break into his apartment and throw him out the window.
The plane landed more smoothly than Yoichi expected, which he found somewhat comforting. Only somewhat. Because unlike the gentle landing, every tiny movement he made sent a sharp stab of pain from the shiny metal lodged in his left nipple.
He tried to stand up like a normal person, but his spine locked halfway, as if rebooting.
“Are you okay?” Anri asked casually as she slung her bag over her shoulder with goddess-like elegance.
“Yes, yes. Just stretching,” he muttered through clenched teeth, leaning sideways like an old man with hip pain.
Ego didn’t even look at him. “If you didn’t break anything on the plane, tomorrow’s training will fix it.”
Fix it? Man, I’m already a broken man, Yoichi thought, dead inside.
The narrow aisle felt like a trial path. Every step was a painful drag, the hoodie clinging to his chest as if it held a personal grudge. He discreetly tugged the fabric away from his body, giving the impression he was hiding a small raccoon under his shirt.
Things only got worse at baggage claim.
He reached for his backpack, and the waistband of his sweatpants shifted, brushing against the fresh piercing.
He saw God.
Who was probably laughing his ass off.
A muffled groan escaped him, something between a dying animal and a malfunctioning printer.
“Sir, are you alright?” an airport employee asked, visibly concerned.
Thumbs up. That was all he could manage. Outside the terminal, fans were already gathered, some phones pointed toward them.
If someone hugs me, I will die right here. The headline will read: “Japan’s rising star dies from nipple trauma.” Thankfully, security intervened just in time.
On the way to the training center, Yoichi sat bolt upright like a soldier, resembling an anxious mummy. Anri glanced at him strangely but said nothing. She probably thought he was mentally preparing.
If only she knew he was protecting his dignity from total collapse.
“The old man said almost everyone’s already at the hotel. Kaiser’s flight was delayed, so he won’t arrive until tomorrow morning,” Ego explained while typing on his phone. Isagi liked to think it was something between trainer updates, having noticed how Ego had looked at Noa.
Isagi nodded, discreetly blowing air into his shirt to distract himself from the infernal heat spreading through his body.
The three headed toward the hotel. Isagi had been to many countries and places, but he would never get used to the luxurious hotels that housed players.
“I heard you’re going back to Germany soon,” Ego murmured, looking him in the eyes.
“My contract still has six months left, and they’ll probably want to renew early,” Isagi admitted. He liked being wanted by football clubs. The countless emails his team handled were almost all offers.
Ego clicked his tongue at the sparkle in the boy’s eyes. “Don’t accept.”
“What?”
“Just let the contract end and come back to Japan. You’re better here than there.” He meant Asia, and his tone made his disdain for European teams clear. Even more than six years after Blue Lock ended, Ego’s patriotism had never died.
Isagi looked confused. “But you agreed to partner with my coach.”
“Actually…” Anri stepped closer with a nervous smile. “I accepted Noel Noa’s email before Ego could see it.”
That explained a lot.
Yoichi almost moaned in relief when he took his shirt off as soon as he entered his hotel room. Thank the gods of football for small mercies. He had managed to get a private room. The air conditioning brushed against his sweat-damp skin, and the absence of wool scraping against his freshly pierced nipple was a true blessing.
He staggered to the bathroom like a wounded soldier and went straight for the shower. Cold water hit his skin, sending a shock down his spine as he fought the urge to scream at the sensation of metal on his chest.
“Why the hell did I wear wool on a flight?” he muttered with a grimace. Every fiber of that shirt had declared war on his nipple midair, every tug a one-way ticket to purgatory.
Afterward, he eased into the bathtub, letting the foam envelop him like a cloud. Finally calm, nipples protected, dignity intact.
Until—
“ISAGI!”
The synchronized shout echoed from outside his room.
If he hadn’t been blessed with above-average hearing, the sound would’ve been lost among bubbles and bathroom acoustics. Unfortunately, sharp senses were a cruel gift.
He groaned, dragging himself out of the tub like a reluctant cryptid. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he thanked every god that the hotel had installed locks on the bathroom doors.
“Hiori and Kurona?” he called, frowning. The voices were familiar, muffled but unmistakable.
“I was taking a shower. What do you want?” He could’ve sworn the door moved slightly forward after that comment, but he chose to ignore it.
“We’re going to explore Korea before the match,” Hiori shouted back, his excitement obvious even through the door. “Erik offered to be our guide!”
“It’ll be fun, fun!” Kurona chimed in from behind the door, his soft voice practically vibrating with excitement. Isagi couldn’t suppress a smile. Kurona’s peculiar way of speaking, with that distinctive echo, was absurdly adorable.
“Alright, sounds fun. Let me get dressed first.” Though he didn’t recall Erik ever mentioning having been to Korea before, and he vaguely remembered Raichi mocking Erik’s sense of direction.
He rummaged through his bag and chose a loose, soft black T-shirt, nothing rough, no risks. He threw on a comfortable jacket around his waist and picked wide-legged pants that made him look like he’d stepped out of a Pinterest aesthetic board titled “Cool Boyfriend.” He noticed a few clothing items he didn’t remember packing, but ignored them for now.
Before opening the door, he checked himself twice in the mirror. Piercing covered. Shirt loose. He was fine.
He opened the door to find Hiori and Kurona waiting.
“You took forever. Yukimiya and the others are already waiting downstairs.”
“So,” he said brightly, “where are we going first?”
The busy streets of Seoul buzzed with vibrant colors and tempting aromas. Everyone kept as low-profile as possible. They knew how famous they were now. Isagi felt a shiver when someone touched his ear.
“Hey, Blue Lock boy, didn’t expect you to get a piercing,” Erik teased, noticing the earrings. Nothing provoked the Japanese more than those old nicknames. They were so embarrassing.
If you could see the other places, you’d be even more surprised.
The others perked up when Erik spoke.
“That’s cool, Isagi! It looks really nice,” Kurona complimented him with pure innocence. How Isagi adored that adorable boy.
“True. I still think you should pose next to me,” Yukimiya added. It wasn’t the first time he’d suggested Isagi model, and he never seemed discouraged by Isagi’s constant refusals.
Isagi’s attention drifted as a delicious scent reached his nose. “Do you smell that? It’s amazing.”
Erik, acting as guide, pointed to a stall sending out clouds of fragrant steam. “That’s tteokbokki,” he explained, referring to spicy rice cakes.
Isagi hesitated, still adjusting to the barrage of scents. “Is it very spicy?”
Raichi laughed. “Why? Think you can’t handle it?” Isagi was used to his teammates’ teasing. He was secretly glad Kunigami had agreed to come, so he wouldn’t ruin the moment, even though he wanted to snap back at Raichi.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Erik pulled him closer to the stall.
They approached the vendor, an elderly woman with a warm smile. She served the glowing red cylinders into small bowls, steam rising in inviting spirals.
Hiori took the first bite, eyes widening. “It’s kind of spicy, but I like it.”
Isagi blew on his portion and took a cautious bite. The initial sweetness was deceptive, followed by rising heat that made his eyes water. He coughed, reaching blindly for a bottle of water.
“Here.” His eyes were still closed from the tears, so he didn’t see who handed it to him. He flushed slightly when he realized it was Kunigami offering his own bottle.
“Weakling!” Raichi mocked, only to burn his own tongue shortly after.
Gesner was already eyeing the next stall. “They’ve got hotteok there. Sweet pancakes filled with brown sugar and nuts.”
The mention of something sweet was a welcome relief. They moved as one, drawn by the promise of sugary comfort.
The vendor, a young man with a mischievous glint in his eyes, flipped the golden pancakes with impressive ease. “Careful,” he warned as he handed them over wrapped in thin paper. “The filling is melted.”
Gagamaru, lost in thought, ignored the warning and took a generous bite, instantly regretting it. “Hot! Hot!” he fanned his mouth.
“You idiot,” Erik laughed, but helped him anyway.
Isagi laughed, the camaraderie easing his earlier discomfort. He took a more careful bite, the crispy shell giving way to a sweet, creamy center. “This is amazing.”
Yukimiya nodded, savoring his pancake. “Street food here is unmatched.”
As they continued their culinary journey, they sampled various delights: crispy fried chicken with sweet-spicy sauce, skewered fish cakes floating in savory broth, and delicate pastries filled with sweet red bean paste.
Feeling adventurous, Isagi pointed to a stall with a long line. “What’s everyone waiting for?”
Erik looked ahead. “Ah, that’s bungeoppang. Fish-shaped pastries with different fillings. Traditionally red bean, but there’s also custard and chocolate.” Isagi could’ve sworn he’d read that off Google after snapping a photo, which explained the slightly robotic tone.
As the line moved, Isagi wondered about the missing players. “Erik,” he called to the distracted blond scrolling through his phone. “Where are Ness and Kaiser?”
Erik looked up. “Kaiser’s flight was delayed, and since Ness came with us, he decided not to leave the hotel until Kaiser arrives.” He remembered Ego saying something similar, but he was too busy focusing on the pain in his torso to pay attention.
Isagi felt a bead of sweat roll down his cheek. Ridiculous. Even after everything that happened in the NEL, Ness still dutifully served the clown Isagi had defeated.
The line moved quickly, and soon they were all holding warm fish-shaped sweets. Isagi chose custard, biting into the soft dough to reveal the creamy filling. Noa would probably scold them for all the sugar before a friendly match.
As they kept walking, the group came across a stall with a sign reading “Mystery Dumplings.” The vendor, a very young man, perhaps even younger than the players, waved them over.
“Want to test your luck?” he challenged. “Some are sweet, some are spicy. It’s a gamble!” He looked Isagi up and down. “Pretty boys don’t pay.” He smiled and winked at the Japanese boy.
Ignoring the others’ murderous glares, the vendor watched Erik approach with a grin that nearly closed his eyes.
“See? I knew bringing Yoichi to places like this would pay off.” He reached for one and got his hand slapped.
“For you, it’s 9,000 won.”
“Huh? How much is that in euros?” Erik only had German currency on him and slapped down the only dollars he had, not caring that it was ninety dollars.
Never one to be intimidated, Raichi took the challenge. He picked a dumpling and bit into it, his face contorting from the intense heat. “Holy shit! This is spicier than the other one!” he exclaimed, fanning his mouth.
Kunigami watched cautiously, choosing carefully. His expression stayed neutral as he chewed. “Mine is… strangely sour.”
Amused by his friends’ reactions, Isagi went to grab one too, but the vendor gently took his hand as if it were glass and placed a different dumpling in it.
“Here, prince. I’m sure this one will be to your taste,” he smiled sincerely, watching Isagi flush slightly at the nickname.
“Thank you.” He popped it into his mouth, sweetness immediately flooding his palate. He felt lucky to be the only one who got the sweet dumpling.
The others glared at the vendor. Raichi clenched his jaw after eating something spicy while someone else got the sweet one. The rest were angry too, though not for the same reason.
“Isagi, I think that’s enough dumplings,” Yukimiya said carefully to the boy still chewing happily.
“Yes, yes! Let’s see other places,” Kurona insisted.
“Come on, guys. I haven’t even tried all of them—” Erik shut up when Kunigami’s hand landed on his shoulder.
The vendor looked even happier and grew bolder. “Before you go, dear, could I get your number?” Isagi wasn’t one to be swayed by looks, but the man was quite handsome. Slightly tanned skin, dark hair, a small lip piercing.
Isagi was about to take out his phone and say yes when he was interrupted.
“Isagi! We need to go now. Raichi isn’t feeling well. I think he ate too much spicy food!” Hiori warned, pointing at their teammate.
“Huh? Me?” Raichi pointed at himself. “I’m fine—” Erik accidentally jabbed Raichi’s ribs, making everything he’d eaten churn violently.
“Sorry, man. It’s for the greater good,” Erik whispered, leaving out the part where he was very happy to hit Raichi, a born provocateur who’d annoyed him countless times.