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The wind wandered through the empty stands of the Santiago Bernabéu, twisting scraps of newspaper and fallen leaves into whimsical whirlwinds. The evening sky over Madrid had taken on a leaden gray hue, promising imminent rain. The air carried that peculiar, penetrating dampness that seeps into the bones, so characteristic of a Spanish winter.
On the pristine pitch, already cleared of traces from the recent derby, Sae stood at the center circle, his slender figure seeming like a foreign object on this empty green field. He kept his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance, beyond the stadium, but his thoughts were clearly hovering right here. He had flown in incognito. No interviews, no official statements. He simply watched the match from a neutral stand, hidden behind dark glasses and a high collar. A training session for the Japan national team. They had come during the off-season for something like a friendly training camp, or preparation for stronger opponents.
Sae slowly walked along the touchline, his expensive leather boots softly rustling on the synthetic track. His face, usually a model of cold, almost sculptural detachment, today betrayed a slight tension. The corners of his mouth were pressed a little tighter than usual, and a barely noticeable furrow had settled between his eyebrows.
He was thinking about Rin.
His younger brother. A football genius. His eternal project and… disappointment. Rin had played fiercely today, with that animalistic, uncontrolled rage that always irritated Sae. He scored two goals, both in flashy, elaborate solo runs, ignoring open teammates. Sae saw how Shidou yelled at Rin after the very first goal, how he demonstratively turned away. He's still a child, Sae concluded to himself, and there wasn't a drop of brotherly tenderness in that thought. It was merely a weary statement of fact. He felt nothing watching Rin. No pride, no anger, no longing. Emptiness. That same comfortable, familiar emptiness that had filled him since he finally decided that his path and his brother's had diverged forever. He didn't miss Rin. He didn't miss people at all. It was inefficient.
But then his gaze slid to the penalty area, where, leaning against the goalpost, stood Shidou Ryusei.
Shidou. Wild, untamable, unpredictable Shidou. His former partner in the Japanese U-20 team, the only one whose hunger for goals somehow matched his own. The one with whom he once understood each other without words, a connection built not on liking, but on mutual recognition of a predatory nature.
Shidou was without a jacket, in just a t-shirt, despite the cold. Let's just hope he doesn't take it off again, like last time. His pink hair, wet with sweat, seemed like a bright spot in the gathering twilight. He was muttering something to himself, stretching his shoulder, and suddenly, as if sensing his gaze, sharply turned his head.
Their eyes met across half the stadium.
Sae didn't move. Shidou froze for a moment, then his face broke into a wide, insolent, familiar smirk. He shouted something, but the wind carried the words away. He didn't need to hear. Sae understood anyway. Something like, ”Well, look who decided to grace us?” or ”Missed me, eyelashes?”
And strange thing — deep within the icy fortress of his mind, something shifted.
He missed it. He missed that feeling. The absolute synchrony of two egoists on the pitch. He missed Shidou. He missed how Shidou would read his most amoral, risky schemes and execute them with wild delight. He missed that incredible efficiency born from their mutual contempt and absolute understanding of the game. Shidou was the perfect instrument in his hands. An instrument with its own dangerous will, but an instrument.
They hadn't seen each other since Blue Lock took the victory from the Nigerian U-20 team. He'd kept half an eye on Shidou's career, watched, and waited to see if their partnership or rivalry would happen, how quickly their little project would fail. Irony of fate, Sae thought then. Now his brother and his former partner were forced to share one field, one team, one ball. Two predators in one cage.
Shidou was already running across the pitch, his movements swift, a bit swaggering, full of that rough energy that contrasted so sharply with Sae's precise elegance.
— Itoshi Sae! — he shouted, stopping a couple of meters away. His breath came out in plumes of steam in the cold air. — Don't tell me you came all this way to watch your little brother? Pathetic sight, isn't he? He still thinks he's the alpha wolf.
Sae slowly took his hand out of his pocket, adjusted his glove.
— I was observing the game,— he replied neutrally, his voice even, emotionless. — You were inefficient today. Your only goal was due to a defender's mistake, not your skill.
Shidou laughed, but a familiar fire of excitement and challenge flashed in his eyes.
— Yeah, and you're still the same killjoy. But I saw you watching me. Miss the real game? Miss how we tore those mediocrities apart?
Sae didn't answer. He looked at Shidou, at this untamable, living being, and for the first time in a long while, his mind painted pictures that weren't isolated, but paired. He imagined how they would play together today at the World Cup. Inside Sae, in that depth where he never allowed anyone, something clicked. The icy mechanism of his soul, which had worked for years in a mode of emotionless efficiency, gave its first glitch — a tiny crack from which seeped a strange, almost forgotten anticipation. He took a couple of steps, but was stopped by Shidou's hoarse laughter.
— Hey, hey, wait! — Shidou bounced closer, his eyes gleaming with indecent excitement. — Leaving already? Don't wanna have a heart-to-heart, big brother Itoshi? Or are you scared your precious little brother will see his great big brother talking to a rude guy like me?
Sae turned his head slightly, indicating he was listening but not granting Shidou his full attention. Shidou just snorted and leaned in a bit closer, lowering his voice to an intentionally intimate whisper, full of bawdy mirth.
— Or maybe you're just cold? I could warm you up... I noticed something, — he nodded somewhere behind Sae, towards the tunnel, where, like a shadow, Rin was watching. The younger Itoshi stood motionless, his dark figure stark against the bright light of the locker rooms. — Your sour little brother is staring at us like we're having a date right in front of him. Jealous, huh? Want me to wave at him? Give him a hug for good measure?
Sae's lips twitched. That stupid, vulgar, absolutely Shidou-esque joke was like a blow from a blunt object to a rusty lock. It didn't open anything, but it made the mechanisms groan. For a moment, he imagined Rin's face, distorted with rage at such a scene. He turned back.
— We've seen and spoken before, Shidou, — Sae said, and for the first time that evening, a live note sounded in his voice. — Your jokes are as primitive as your play today. But there is a certain... value in that. Don't be late for your training tomorrow, demon.
And he left, this time for good, leaving Shidou alone on the darkening pitch. He walked away with one clear thought crystallized in his mind: if anything could ignite his interest besides the upcoming hunt for Bunny at the World Cup, it was the prospect of pitting his honed, cold elegance against this crude, untamable chaos named Shidou Ryusei again.
And behind his back, Shidou, still grinning, waved his hand in the direction of Rin's gloomy silhouette before turning and stretching, radiating a wild, impatient pleasure.
---
The cold morning air over the Japanese national team's training base was fresh and sharp, like a blade. The sun had just begun to melt the frost on the immaculate pitch where the team had already gathered. Attendance was mandatory, and by the excited, confused murmur, it was clear — everyone already knew. Eri stepped forward, and the murmurs died down.
— Starting today, your World Cup preparations will be supervised by a person whose football IQ is unparalleled in Japan. Sae Itoshi.
All heads turned. Eri continued talking, but no one, it seemed, even paid it any mind. He walked onto the pitch not as a player, but as the man in charge, and all eyes, naturally, went to his red hair. His amethyst gaze, cold and scanning, slowly swept over everyone present, as if reading barcodes. The reaction came in a wave: some froze in reverential fear, others, like Rin, straightened up as if standing at attention. And only Shidou Ryusei stood, legs apart, hands on his hips. On his face was a wide, insolent smirk. But he was silent. He didn't yell, "Oh! Sae-chan, missed my genius passes?" He didn't coo, "Ahhh, your eyelashes have gotten even longer!" He just smirked, and a strange, patient expectation shone in his eyes. It was unnaturally quiet.
Sae began without preamble, his voice cutting through the air like metal.
— The football you consider the pinnacle is child's play. At the World Cup, you'll be swept aside in the first week. I am here to prevent that. I will be your coordinator, your diagnostician, and, if necessary, your surgeon.
He paused, and his gaze slid to Shidou again, seemingly against his will. The latter just winked back but didn't open his mouth.
— Today we begin with a control match, — Sae continued, averting his eyes. "The lineups have been determined by me based on preliminary data. — I will give instructions from the touchline. Every wrong decision, every inefficient run will be stopped and broken down to its atoms. Begin.
The whistle blew. The ball came into motion. And almost immediately, Sae engaged, his voice sounding cold and clear, carrying across the field. He gave various pieces of advice that seemed obvious to him. He was doing his job, but to be honest, there was no chemistry, it was all formalities. His attention, like a compass needle, kept straying to one player. To Shidou. He was playing. Playing well, powerfully, destructively. He interacted with Reo, making sharp, accurate passes, making goal-scoring runs. But he wasn't yelling, not cracking bawdy jokes at the defenders, not threatening, not spouting nonsense about pregnancy or anything like his usual self, not teasing Rin. He was focused. Too focused. And this silence from him rang in Sae's ears louder than any shout. Being apart from Shidou had affected him.
At one point, when the ball went out of play near the touchline where Sae stood, Shidou approached to get it. Their eyes met for a second.
Shidou didn't even look up.
Sae felt something clench inside.
Why is he silent? The thought, obsessive and irrational, pierced the cold calculations in Sae's head. He watched the game, giving commands, but part of his consciousness was fixated on this pink-haired enigma. Where were his stupid jokes? Where was that idiotic, drawn-out sigh when he scores? Why wasn't he calling him "eyelashes"? Where was his succubus nature?
Sae caught himself looking for any hint of the familiar, mad chaos in Shidou's every movement. And finding none. There was only focused, rough efficiency. It was unbearable. It distracted from the entire perfectly built system.
The match was nearing its end, the score was level. Rin and Shidou's team had the initiative. Rin, burning with cold fury, demanded the ball, trying to solve everything solo. Shidou, however, receiving a pass from Reo on the edge of the box, instead of shooting first time, made a short, deceptive move that sent the ball precisely into the corner. Goal. Clean, almost intellectual play, not an explosion of instinct.
The whistle blew. The game was over.
The final whistle for Sae was not the end of the match, but a signal to act. It hadn't even finished sounding when Sae sharply, almost mechanically, pivoted on his cleat. His gaze, icy and focused, zeroed in on the pink head of hair among the green field. He gestured with a command—a short, abrupt flick of the wrist, leaving no room for disobedience. Shidou, still with the same frozen, meaningless smirk on his face, slowly, almost lazily shuffled towards him, dragging his feet across the grass. He seemed to be savoring the moment, stretching it out. Coming within arm's reach, he only opened his mouth, probably to deliver another flat remark, but Sae didn't give him the chance.
Sae's hand shot forward swiftly. He didn't grab his arm, didn't shove his back. His fingers dug into the sweat-dampened fabric of Shidou's t-shirt on his chest, just below the collarbone, with such force that the seams groaned. With a sharp, powerful jerk, he pulled him forward and then immediately to the side, using all his incredible strength for a playmaker, forcing Shidou to stumble and take an awkward step to keep his balance.
— Hey, careful with the kit, it's team property...
Shidou began, but Sae was already dragging him along, not listening. He walked with a fast, wide stride, not looking back, holding Shidou behind him like some inconvenient but necessary burden. His hand, clutching the wad of fabric, didn't waver for a moment. They passed the stunned, frozen players, went through the gate in the training pitch fence. As soon as they were hidden in a short, empty service corridor leading to the locker rooms, where no one could see them, Shidou finally made a sound. A low, pleased chuckle right next to Sae's ear.
— Ooh, so strong, — he hissed, his breath hot on Sae's neck. He let his body go slightly limp, making himself even heavier, as if testing his grip. — Dragging me like some disobedient little dog on a leash. What's wrong, master, was I behaving badly on the pitch? Was I being too quiet?
Sae flinched. His entire back, every shoulder muscle tensed in response to that tone, to the return of that familiar, bawdy whisper. In his precisely calibrated world, it was like a sudden glitch in the program—irritating, but... expected. Not that he missed it, no, not for anything in the world. That would be absurd. But his body reacted before his mind—goosebumps on his skin, a sudden rush of blood to his face, an instant, almost instinctive loosening of his grip for a split second before he clenched the fabric again, even more fiercely.
— Shut up, horny demon.
burst from between his clenched teeth, sounding huskier and angrier than he intended. He quickened his pace, almost running, dragging Shidou along, whose sneakers scuffed on the concrete floor.
He shoved the door to the main locker room open with his shoulder and thrust Shidou inside. The latter barely stayed on his feet. Before the door swung shut automatically, Sae abruptly let go of the t-shirt. But the impulse hadn't faded. The next instant, he spun around, grabbed Shidou again—this time with both hands by the shoulders of his tank top—and with all the fury that had been building during those hours of strange, inexplicable silence, slammed him against a row of metal lockers.
The crash was deafening. Several lockers dented, locks rattled. Shidou hit his back with a dull "Oof!" but the smirk, though gone for a moment, instantly returned to his face.
Sae stood before him, his chest heaving heavily under the black training gear. No cold analysis, only primal fury.
— What was that?
His voice was hoarse, strained, each word hammered out. — What did you do to yourself, demon?
Shidou, pushing off from the dent in the metal, slowly straightened up. He rubbed his back, but sparks danced in his eyes.
— Played football, boss. You said it yourself—efficiency, optimization. I just... optimized. Got rid of the unnecessary noise.
— Don't lie! — Sae stepped forward again, invading his personal space, forcing him to lean back against the cold metal — You were a blank space. Predictable. Boring. That's not you. Not one bit.
Shidou tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness.
— And who am I, according to you, Sae-chan? Your personal clown? He suddenly laughed, short and sharp. — Just wanted to see if you'd notice the difference. To tease you a little. Got boring when you stopped playing.
Sae's hand shot up again, this time grabbing Shidou by the collar, pinning him to the lockers.
— Boring?
he hissed, and their faces were centimeters apart.
— Because you're supposed to be with me! — Shidou shouted back, and finally, real, unfeigned fury broke through in his voice. He didn't try to break free, his words hitting point-blank. — At the World Cup! With me! Or against me—I don't care!
Sae recoiled as if struck. His fingers loosened. He took a step back, feeling a wave of unfamiliar shame, unfamiliar rage, and even more unfamiliar embarrassment flood his face. Shidou immediately took advantage, straightened up, adjusted his already hopelessly wrinkled tank top.
— If even a simple thing like me going quiet for a bit can't make you want to come back...— he spread his arms, and a strange, almost desperate audacity appeared in his smirk, — ..then damn it, Sae-chan, maybe you really can just rot on that coaching bench.
Something in Sae snapped. The next movement was pure reflex, hurled from the depths where there was no room for calculations or cold reason. He lunged forward again, this time wrapping his arms around Shidou's torso, and with a roar full of silent fury, hurled him across the entire locker room onto the long wooden players' bench. He landed on his back with such a crash it seemed the bench would splinter. He lay there, arms spread, and rolled his eyes with exaggerated bliss.
Sae sharply turned his back to him, moving away to the opposite wall. He braced his palms against the cool tiles, lowering his head between his shoulders. His back heaved with heavy, ragged breaths. A ringing filled his ears. He tried to gather the scattered thoughts, the shards of composure. Behind him came a creak—Shidou sitting up on the bench, dusting himself off. The silence that followed the crash was different now. Thick, electrified, full of the unspoken. It hung between them like mist after a battle.
The silence in the locker room was thick as tar and just as sticky. It was broken only by Sae's heavy, ragged breathing and the slight, almost imperceptible creak of wood—Shidou, sitting on the bench, gently rocking, not taking his eyes off him. Sae felt that gaze on his skin—it burned like a laser dot. Sae was still standing, palms pressed against the cold wall, trying to regain control over his diaphragm, over the furious pounding of his heart. Every word from Shidou echoed painfully within him. "Got boring when you stopped playing." "You were watching me the whole match." "Want to come back."
He pushed off from the wall with force and turned around. His face was pale, but two bright spots burned on his cheekbones. His gaze, usually so calculating, darted around, finding no focal point. He looked at Shidou, who sat sprawled with the same meaningless smirk, but now something more than just mirth was readable in his eyes.
— What are you trying to achieve? — Sae's voice sounded hoarse, almost voiceless. He took a step forward. — What kind of idiotic game are you playing? First you drive me crazy... and now...
— And now what? — Shidou interrupted, his voice deliberately soft, teasing. — And now your old, noisy, ill-mannered Shidou is back. So what do you want, Sae-chan? For me to shut up again? Or...— he slowly rose from the bench, — ...for me to do something else?
He took a step forward. The distance between them shrank to one and a half meters. The air became electrified again.
— Shut up, — Sae hissed, but there was no longer the former force in his voice. There was something else—a strain, weariness, that same weakness he hated more than anything in the world. — Your cheap provocations don't work.
— They do, — Shidou parried, taking another small step. They were now almost nose to nose. Sae could see every eyelash, every tiny scratch on his face, feel the heat radiating from him. — They work perfectly. Look at yourself. You're trembling.
And it was true. The tips of Sae's fingers, clenched into fists, trembled slightly. He wasn't trembling from fear. He was trembling from the unbearable, chaotic tension this man brought into his perfectly ordered world. From the fact that all his defense mechanisms, all his calculations, all his cold logic had today shattered into dust against mere silence and a smirk.
— didn't miss this,— burst from Sae, like the last line of defense.
— Not you, not your jokes, not this chaos.
”Liar,” Shidou whispered, and his smirk widened to his eyes again, turning into something even more abnormal.
He raised his hand—slowly, giving him time to react, to flinch, to hit. But Sae froze. He watched as Shidou's fingers approached his face and couldn't move. The fingertips touched his cheek, traced the hot skin, brushed back a stray lock of hair that had escaped his perfect hairstyle. The touch was shockingly gentle, completely unlike the rough, destructive Shidou.
"See," Shidou said quietly, his voice low, thick, devoid of its usual bawdiness.
That was the last straw. It sounded like both a verdict and a release. Everything that had built up in Sae over the years—the cold, the loneliness, the fury at his brother, the disappointment in himself, the vague, unbearable longing for something he never acknowledged, this game with the irrepressible demon Shidou Ryusei—it all broke through the dam. He didn't care. He wanted to do this and that was it. His contract was safe, his reputation could be salvaged, it didn't matter that Shidou was a world-class player too, because he was the only one who truly lived for the pitch.
He didn't remember who initiated the movement. Perhaps they moved towards each other simultaneously. In the next instant, the distance between them vanished.
It wasn't a tender or questioning kiss. It was a collision. Sae's lips crashed into Shidou's with the same fury with which he had slammed him against the lockers. It was an act of aggression, desperation, an attempt to drown the internal chaos with external chaos, to translate unbearable tension into something tangible. His hands clawed at Shidou's shoulders, fingers digging into the wet fabric of the tank top.
And Shidou responded. Not resisting, not pulling away. He responded with the same wild, consuming intensity. His arms wrapped around Sae's waist, pulling him even closer, erasing the last remnants of distance. His kiss was no less demanding, but there was less fury in it and more... acknowledgment. A hungry, greedy acknowledgment of something long-awaited.
When they finally broke apart to gulp air, only their ragged, shared breathing was audible. A thread of saliva broke between them. Their foreheads were touching. Sae's lips burned; he felt a slight saltiness of blood—whose, his or Shidou's, he didn't know. His mind, usually working at supercomputer speed, was empty.
Sae just stood there, feeling the trembling in his body slowly replaced by a strange, all-consuming calm. He still didn't understand what this was. He didn't understand what would happen next. But for the first time in a long while, he didn't want to analyze it. He just wanted to stand here, in this quiet circle of warmth and shared breath, feeling the damp fabric of a tank top and another person's rapid heartbeat under his fingertips.
The silence lasted for several long seconds, filled only by the sound of their breathing and the distant hum of plumbing somewhere in the walls.
Shidou didn't pull away, his forehead still resting against Sae's, his hot breath mingling with his.
— Damn, — he whispered, and the familiar, bawdy notes sounded in his voice again, but this time muted, almost amazed. — That's some ball control, Sae-chan~ Right on the lips. Thought you were only that accurate with your feet.
Stupid. Embarrassment flooded Sae Itoshi's cheeks, neck, even the tips of his ears. He blushed. The very man whose face was usually a marble mask now stood burning like a teenager caught stealing his first kiss behind the school.
Shidou noticed it instantly. His eyes, always so mocking, widened in genuine amazement, then lit up with a delight brighter than any scored goal. He finally pulled back, but not completely letting go—one hand still rested on Sae's waist.
"O-oh," he drawled with indescribable pleasure, studying his face like a rare exhibit.
— You... you're blushing. The real, older 'Eyelashes' blushes. I thought you had liquid nitrogen running through your veins instead of blood.
— Shut up, you idiot.
Sae exhaled, but there was no former fury or even authoritative sternness in his voice. Only a hoarse, embarrassed helplessness. He tried to pull away, but Shidou held him for a moment, savoring the sight.
Then Shidou let him go himself, taking a step back. The smirk returned to his face in all its former insolent glory, but now there was something new in it—not just a challenge, but some private, shared knowledge.
Ryusei turned to leave, but halfway to the door, he looked over his shoulder, tossing one last phrase. His voice already sounded familiarly brazen, but the words were disarming in their directness.
— So, we'll do that again sometime?~
And without waiting for an answer, he left, leaving the door ajar. Through the crack, a strip of evening light and sounds from the pitch burst into the locker room—someone's distant shouts, a whistle, the thud of a ball. The ordinary world that continued to exist while here, inside, everything had been turned upside down.
Sae stood motionless for another minute. That damn demon left and turned him into a complete laughingstock, made a mess of him. Then he slowly raised his hand and brushed the back of it across his lips, still feeling the heat and a slight scratch. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his usual rhythm. His face gradually cooled, the flush receding, leaving behind only a light sheen of sweat and a strange emptiness.
He straightened his black training gear, smoothed his hair. His gaze fell on the dent in the lockers, on the bench that had been shoved out of place. Physical traces of their collision. And the non-physical ones... he forced the thought away. He was Sae Itoshi. He controlled the variables. Even such... inconvenient ones.