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Little Yoichi gained his soul mark when he was at the age of four, a few months after discovering his love for soccer. When they got back home after his usual outside playtime, Iyo ushered him in the showers for a bath. He was stripped off his sweaty clothes while his mother rummaged at the shelf for his shampoo and soap.
A gasp left his lips, alerting his mother who hurriedly turned to him to ask what was wrong. She saw him staring at a long, dark mark which colored his small torso, spanning diagonally from his left shoulder to his right hip.
Confused and scared, tears started to well up in little Yoichi's blue eyes which looked up at his mother for help. Iyo immediately realized what it was, and lowered herself eye-level with Yoichi, smiling kindly.
"Yocchan," she said softly, "there's no need to be scared. There, there."
She soothed Yoichi, rubbing her hands up and down his arms.
"This is not a scary thing. It doesn't hurt at all, see?" Her fingers softly traced and poked the mark, eliciting a few light giggles from Yoichi who felt ticklish.
"Then… what is it?" Yoichi asked, sniffling one last time before trying to wipe at his teary eyes and runny nose with an arm.
He listened as his mother explained. It's called a soul mark, she said. The marks were there to let him know where a special someone meant for him was going to touch him first. What does meant for me mean?, he asked again. His mother blinked a few times at first, taking longer to give him an answer than before. It means a person who was born to be by your side forever once you meet them, she finally said. Yoichi only stared at her at that time, not fully understanding what she said, and instead, barreled on with another important question. Then you and dad have it too?, his childlike mind, which sought familiarity, was eased with his mother's reassurance. Of course, Yocchan! Only it can't be seen now that mom and dad have vanished it together, she said. There were still things he didn't get, but what was important was this strange mark didn't hurt, his mother and father had experienced it too, and it would mean a very special deal to Yoichi's life soon. More special than soccer? Yoichi didn't think so…
The overwhelming sensation of sticky, sweaty skin took precedence in his mind, making him focus on getting clean and refreshed rather than dwelling on the unusual mark.
Only on his next bath, upon seeing it again was he reminded of what his mother told him about. Instead of being satisfied with her answer, it only gave him more questions. Forever? Doesn't that seem a very long time? What if Yoichi didn't like the person who touched him there when they met? What if the person didn't like Yoichi? What would that person's mark look like? How would Yoichi touch him first?
As he grew older, some questions were more answerable than the others. He asked his mother and his father. Even some of his friends who he played soccer with. He got a variety of answers which slightly satisfied his curiosity a bit on the matter.
"Of course, for as long as you live. That is, if you both want it."
"You don't have to stay with them if you don't want to, Yocchan."
"I don't think you'll dislike each other, Isagi. They're your soulmate, so a hundred percent compatibility is guaranteed."
"You're kind and cool, Isagi-kun! They'll like you, I promise!"
Yoichi thought this whole soulmate thing and its technicalities seem very enchanting at first, but eventually, he came to know of its uglier side.
Everyone had a mark which would manifest from a young age, but for some people, it never came even until their death. Some would have a mark on their body, but it would promptly disappear one day despite not being touched by another. Some marks would die along with their owner, never been touched by the rightful person. Some would have a mark, but due to circumstances like accidental contact, being swept away in a crowd, or bumping into too many people, and only realizing later, they didn't know or had no way of knowing who their soulmate was.
Yoichi had a friend who had this happen to him. The story went when he was younger, he was playing in a big inflatable castle at the mall, and then stumbled upon being pushed aside by a group of rowdy kids. He didn't pay them any mind until later when he got home, he discovered his mark had vanished. With no way of contacting or knowing who in the group of those children was his soulmate, he had long since given up on his hopes of finding and settling with 'the one'.
He felt a bit discouraged at stories like these, but it wasn't like he was very obsessed with discovering who his soulmate was either. Still, he was curious enough. So, just to be on the safe side, he was careful with those who physically came in contact with his body, and especially near his trunk.
One night, Yoichi stared at his topless body in the mirror. As he grew bigger, the mark also seemed to thicken in width. It almost resembled an arm—it was probably an arm, he deduced. He hoped so, as an arm over his upper body would have more possibilities of a softer encounter than, say, a leg over his torso, right? He shuddered at the thought of possibly meeting his soulmate à la wrestling style.
The downside of his vowed commitment to be careful with physical contact was that he couldn't really help it when playing soccer, as it was a contact-sport after all. Were he in volleyball or swimming, he wouldn't have to worry much about being on guard on who might accidentally make his mark vanish. However, he also couldn't let himself get too caught up in worrying about the whole soulmate thing because he had already declared soccer as his number one priority and focus in his life. Meeting his supposed other half was just a bonus, if it would be given to him.
So, life continued for Yoichi Isagi and his dreams to become the number one striker.
He had his first scare in a practice match when he was in his first year of high school. Focusing on dribbling, he didn't really know who tackled him, only the ball at his feet mattered in that moment. An arm was suddenly slung across his torso but Yoichi got away, spotted an open teammate, and quickly passed the ball. His team scored, and the whistle blew signaling the end of the match. It took him a few seconds to realize what happened earlier—a tackle that followed the shape of his mark, and without thinking, he slightly raised his sweaty shirt to peek. On his right hip, the dark patch of skin was still there. Yoichi breathed a sigh of relief and headed to the bench to refresh himself.
He wouldn't know what to do if someone from the opposing team was his soulmate. They were kind of… bad at soccer, but not that Yoichi would say it to their faces. In the Japanese realm of sports, teamwork and cooperation mattered above all, and sportsmanship—even with opponents who you thought kind of sucked.
Annoyingly, he would have to repeat this peeking-under-his-shirt thing a few more times, after relentless physical contact that coincidentally matched his mark—until it basically became a constant urge, so much that he learned to do it subtly. He didn't want to be pestered with invasive questions after being seen doing it.
When he was invited to Blue Lock, his vowed commitment and guarded privacy were all thrown out the window. Good grief. It was like everything was a free-for-all here in almost every way. At the start, people were mainly awkward in showing their bodies and talking about soulmates. However, as the Selections and matches commenced, continued, and concluded, almost everyone knew who was soulmates with whom and whose mark looked like this or that. The more extroverted and open-minded ones tried their luck to vanish each other's marks by following the shape and size on the other's skin, while the more introverted or conservative ones—Yoichi included—just smiled a sweet no, thank you, I'm good and refused to participate in such matchmaking sessions.
It's not that Yoichi was some kind of prude, he just wanted the moment he met his soulmate to be more on the natural and unforced kind of encounter. He wanted to be surprised—pleasantly surprised, hopefully. Though sometimes, he wasn't even able to peek at his hip mid-match, too engrossed in the high-stakes game and the added psychological stress due to the environment Blue Lock placed him in.
He could only thank the eight million gods in Japan when he would shower at the end of the day and find his mark still there, dark as proof against his skin, a reminder of the unmet possibility of a connection he was still looking out for.
The Neo Egoist League ended without much problem, and the preparations for the U-20 World Cup went smoothly. Japan faced its first opposing team, and Yoichi could say he enjoyed playing against Nigeria, having another challenger dare to face him again. Although, their next match against the powerhouse of France was an entirely different matter: a gigantic, fortified wall they had to overcome, careful not to get crushed on all sides. Yoichi had felt the mounting pressure from both on and off the field. Expectations, placements, and the responsibility for victory sat heavy on his head and shoulders. His capabilities, especially, were questioned and challenged. Destiny, suitability, and aptitudes? Don't make him laugh. The culprit, and the new antagonist of this phase of Yoichi's life was none other than a New Generation Eleven, self-proclaimed Number Two and top Midfielder, Vivian Hugo.
Faced with such obstacles, Yoichi had no time to think about anything else rather than his own ego and what it all meant to him. From the start to the end, the immense stress had completely consumed his thoughts. His focus was mainly internal, driven by the need to prove himself and uphold his ambitions in the face of Hugo's challenge. Yoichi reached a breakthrough, claiming neither the number one nor number two spot, but instead, had named himself a rebel—something not in between nor among any placement, but another entity entirely: someone who devours the number one. He had even beaten Hugo in a one-on-one battle. When Hugo had rambled all that about luck, how did he feel when that one percent turned its back on him at the end? Ha! Take that you second-best bastard.
From this exhilarating game, he discovered and grasped things that were invaluable to his development and progress—what was technically an outward loss, had brought with it a comparable inward victory—and of which, pushed to the surface something that had been simmering from below since he had thought about it some time ago. What Blue Lock stood for and Ego's philosophy… had become the very impediment that ruined his last goal. He sent a quick glare at the rabid teammate that butted in last-minute, and then put all his fury focused on the one player that pushed him to his limits all this time.
In the end, it seemed like Hugo still didn't run out of shit to say, despite his philosophy losing to Yoichi—the very player he declared unsuitable—and so, Yoichi had taken it upon himself to refute the statements.
'So long', my ass.
"You're so annoying," Hugo said without any real heat, halfway through turning away. Then, either mirroring or teasing Yoichi, he also held his own two fingers up, a reminder of the crux of their whole clash.
"Let's meet again, egoist."
Yoichi stared at his retreating form, blue eyes lingering at the rare upturn of his mouth.
Huh. So he could make a face like that, after all.
Blue Lock returned into the tunnel in quiet steps, and a tense but somber atmosphere stretched among them. Conversation was sparse, as everyone was too tired from playing and different levels of dejected from the loss. After getting his things from the locker room, Yoichi went straight to the showers to clean himself.
He winced while peeling his kit off. The amount of sweat he accumulated throughout the game had soaked both his jersey and shorts, making them feel as if they had been submerged in water. He turned the shower knob on, and got under the spray, wetting his whole body before lathering his hair first in shampoo.
Yoichi closed one eye when some of the shampoo trickled down to his face, and he bowed his head to have its flow disrupted to fall on the floor instead of continuing its path near and possibly getting into his eyes.
Through the blurry squint of his vision, the sight that greeted him below was one he couldn't believe at first glance, attributing it to an illusion—perhaps the chemicals really went into his eyes and disrupted the inner workings of his retinas. He went back under the shower and rinsed his head off, ignoring the tingling pain from one of his elbows accidentally hitting the tiled shower wall in his haste.
Rubbing the water away from his face, he finally opened his eyes down to his torso where his soul mark had—
Vanished.
Only smooth, unblemished skin remained, as if nothing had ever branded him at all in the past thirteen years.
Yoichi didn't know how long he stood there. His head was bowed away from the shower, and his gaze was fixed on the expanse of skin of his trunk, like staring at it long and hard enough would make it appear again.
The last time he checked was in the showers this morning, which would mean it disappeared some time today. And there was only one major event that happened to him today that involved plentiful physical contact, mind already replaying the match against France.
Realization dawned on Yoichi like a freezing, tidal wave, the chill shocking his spine and traveling up his brain.
Oh.
Oh no.
He didn't need to search further. Didn't need to think much. There was only one person who marked him so heavily and stuck to him like a leech all the time.
Yoichi finally remembered the first tangible clash.
("You've got a good team, Blue Lock.")
A voice from his left, and then a heavy arm draped across his torso, landing to grip at his hip. Like a rightful puzzle piece fitting in its slot, Yoichi envisioned his arm settling above Yoichi's soul mark, exactly how it was underneath the fabric separating skin against skin.
His mind ran a thousand miles per hour, question after question popping up. In another part of the stadium, did Hugo realize it too? Would he have guessed by now it was Yoichi? Yoichi wondered how did Hugo even perceive soulmates, knowing his philosophy, what would he say now if he knew he and Yoichi were—
If he already knew, would he… want to establish a connection with Yoichi?
In the first place, would Yoichi himself even want to establish a connection with someone who was hellbent on criticizing his aptitude? But looking back, Yoichi thought about the last moments of the game. Hugo said an insulting farewell to Blue Lock, which Yoichi understood as a kind of detached disrespect. However, he had also addressed Yoichi after, separately, and in an almost-amiable way that, if Yoichi would allow himself to dig into more, sounded like Hugo was looking forward to their next kick off again.
Or was Yoichi being too hopeful?
He absentmindedly stroked the stretch of skin where his soul mark once was, tracing its imprint running from the top of his left shoulder, across his chest and abdomen, and ending at his right hip. For a split second, he felt the heat of a phantom hand that seized the flesh there, the memory of it searing his mind.
He must have stayed under the water for a long time. The proof was in his fingertips, the skin already prune and pale. He continued taking a bath, though now he did it almost mindlessly, as his brain was preoccupied, working overtime upon the revelation of his soulmate and the implications that went with it.
At the end of the day, what did Yoichi want to happen?
By the time he finished, the shower rooms were empty, and only he was left to his own devices. He was grateful no one saw that his mark had vanished, as their nosy asses would have surely connected the dots once they saw how Yoichi's mark was nowhere to be found after the match against France.
He dressed himself up in new, clean clothes and, upon deeming himself decent, stepped out of the showers to return to their locker room when a voice suddenly rang out.
"Yoichi Isagi."
Yoichi stopped in his tracks and turned, recognizing that voice. He put his translation buds on, prepared not to miss a single word.
He did not answer him yet, only looked at his also freshly-changed appearance. He guessed Hugo had figured it out too in the same way Yoichi found out himself.
"Can we talk?" Hugo asked, his voice betraying nothing.
Yoichi nodded and followed behind him to walk along different connecting corridors, miraculously (and thankfully) encountering no other players. He took note of the hallways they passed through to find his way later when he eventually returned.
They stopped in front of a wide door, and Hugo twisted the handle to open it, ushering Yoichi inside before following him in.
It looked like they were in a private media room, one meant for interviews with chairs and tables arranged in half-circles, some facing each other. However, none of these were utilized, as both of them chose to stand right by the door, an arm's length away from each other, like a pair of komainu statues that guarded the entrances of Japanese shrines and temples. Quite the comical comparison, though Yoichi found himself unable to laugh with the way his heart threatened to leap out from his throat.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them felt like a jar, slowly filling to the brim with unsaid words each wanted to say. Yoichi bristled, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. What now? Was Hugo waiting for him to say something…? Between the two of them, surely Hugo had more to say, considering how talkative he was earlier.
Yoichi was about to initiate the conversation when Hugo had beaten him to it.
"Where did you have your mark?"
Huh?
"Ah, I had it from here to here," Yoichi pointed at the top of his left shoulder, and made a slanting motion leading towards his right hip. Hugo's dark eyes followed his hands and hummed.
"It checks out," Hugo said. "Mine was covering almost my whole front, and a spot at my right side."
Instinctively, Yoichi's eyes also dropped down to the parts of his body where he said his marks were. He recalled earlier how, after Hugo had tackled him, their positions gave way to Yoichi shielding the ball from Hugo, causing his back to meet Hugo's front, and his right hand over Hugo's corresponding flank. Finding their marks coinciding with their first physical contact on the field more than an hour ago made Yoichi feel a mix of disbelief, awe, and anticipation, and left a strange fluttering in his stomach.
He looked up again to meet Hugo's eyes, the other's head tilting to the side.
"You want to know what I think, Yoichi Isagi?"
"…What?" Yoichi eyed him warily.
"I think," Hugo paused, and glanced to the side briefly—an oddity Yoichi didn't miss, senses hyper-aware of him. "I'm not opposed to forming a romantic relationship with you."
Yoichi, who was already on the defensive and had expected something the opposite of what Hugo just said, stood dumbfounded.
Huh?
"How about you?"
In addition to the statement that stumped him, the next question only added to the weight on his already struggling brain, making it harder to form an answer. He decided to settle with the most concise and honest response he got.
"I'm not yet sure about this, honestly."
"With the soulmate bond? Or with me?"
"… You, mainly."
Hugo didn't look offended but he also didn't respond. Yoichi elaborated.
"I want to know why you're—open to this. With me, in particular. Aren't I the most unsuitable person you've ever met? You're contradicting yourself if you think you could uphold your rigid destiny theory and then turn around to say you want to be—" with me. He cut himself off at the last second, tongue feeling like lead in his mouth.
"Yes, I did think like that," Hugo affirmed with a nod. "However, that was in the realm of soccer. If you really want it to hold relevancy in our conceivable relationship then, I admit that our final showdown and my defeat in our battle of luck, at your whim, have opened another perspective for me to reflect on. Need I remind you who just told me my theory was 'full of shit, too'? The subsequent discovery of you being my soulmate, of all people, had only added to the intrigue."
It was now Yoichi's turn to stay quiet, mulling over Hugo's words.
"In a way, it was also destiny. Wouldn't you agree?"
"You're unbelievable," Yoichi muttered in exasperation. Hugo just ignored him and continued.
"More than that, if you really want assurance, I already acknowledged your rebellious spirit the moment I accepted your gamble. You've shown that you're more than just unsuitable—you're an anomaly. Someone to truly watch out for."
Yoichi narrowed his eyes at Hugo. Half of him was elated at the praises sung, and at the fact that Hugo admitted Yoichi had long surpassed the description that he tacked onto him at the start, while the other half remained vigilant.
"Don't think this changes anything right away," Yoichi said.
The corner of Hugo's lips raised slightly at the edge in Yoichi's voice, a small change of expression that Yoichi caught and made him feel like he was being laughed at. He squinted and inwardly fumed. What was so amusing?
"I know it doesn't. So, now it's your turn. What do you think, Yo-i-chin?"
Yoichi's face wrinkled at the nickname, but he carefully arranged the thoughts in his mind. Hugo had bared his sentiments: his receptiveness of their soulmate bond and its potential, his philosophy in the face of their relationship, and how he had seen Yoichi in the wake of their first match against each other.
Hugo had brought the ball to him, and it's up to Yoichi now to choose: pass or shoot?
Yoichi looked at Hugo, at his burgundy hair, slick and still damp, a shade darker than usual, and at his poker face. His blue eyes skipped down to his front and right flank, and further down to the blink-and-miss-it twitch his fingers did just now. He looked back up and held Hugo’s gaze—once inscrutable, now subtly alight, more alive with emotions Yoichi couldn’t exactly point out what, except for one: expectation.
With a deep exhale, Yoichi's shoulders lowered, "I'm also not against starting something with you."
No matter how much Yoichi wanted to say it fast to be done with it, he felt like the words that left his lips were too slow for his liking. His hands balled into fists, fingernails digging into skin, while a slow warmth spread over his face and ears. He opened his mouth once more to say what he would consider as the accompanying piece to his not-really-a-confession, a rather important choice he had been deliberating since discovering this whole thing.
"But—"
The word sliced through the air sharply, and Yoichi saw how Hugo's shoulders tensed just a bit and his eyes seemed to harden. Yoichi pushed through anyway, despite how he would be received, but his voice was smaller than before.
"—I need… time," he said and turned his head away, "I don't think I can do it right now."
The silence from before returned a couple more times heavier than the last, almost suffocating in its weight. Yoichi returned his gaze on Hugo, assessing what his next words would be.
"Fine by me," Hugo said, tone neutral. "I'm not looking to rush either."
That's… good? Yoichi was a little relieved that he was able to communicate this pressing need. It's good that Hugo could also be on the same page—or was he? There was still a faint tension outlining Hugo's body, almost imperceptible, but still noticeable to Yoichi.
"So…" Yoichi cleared his throat, and to fill the gap left behind by the moment, but the awkward silence closed in on them again.
Well, this was awkward, Yoichi thought. He guessed this atmosphere was inevitable since he didn't exactly give a green light from his side, though he thought it still needed to be said since it came from a place of great deliberation and honesty. Additionally, Yoichi presumed Hugo wouldn't have liked being lied to, much less given an accedence only because he was pitied.
"When are you ready?"
Huh?
Yoichi's thoughts halted for a moment. Undeniably, it was a valid question, but wasn't it too soon to ask this kind of thing?
I don't think I'm going to be anytime soon, his mind eventually supplied, but he didn't say it out loud because it sounded like a soft rejection and a rejection was not in Yoichi's choices at all. What he was looking for was just some kind of akin to a pause, a breather, for a while. He still had a lot on his plate at the moment, and this discovery was something he felt like he couldn't properly give its due unless he poured all of his attention to it. Although, it was, admittedly, not an unwelcome turn of event and, if he were to allow himself to be a little more optimistic, could even be a possible source of reprieve from the intensive strain of soccer, something he otherwise enjoyed wholeheartedly.
They did find each other, but this bond was still like a small bud—too delicate, and at a time too early to bloom.
He thought about it for a moment, though it didn't take long for his heart to come up with an answer.
"After we face each other again," Yoichi said, his deep blue eyes—the color of the hottest flame—blazing anew. He saw Hugo straighten up, and a spark lit again in his eyes parallel to that of Yoichi's fire.
"And when we win—" An eyebrow raised at his word choice of when and not if, "—you can ask me again."
Dark eyes narrowed at the bold declaration, and for one more time that day, Hugo found himself accepting another challenge from Yoichi. Though, this time there was more to it than just a victorious game with a trophy to show.
“I'm not saying I completely agree with what you just said, but I trust you’re ready by then,” Hugo huffed, and Yoichi's breath hitched at seeing a small, soft smile grace Hugo's lips, a likeness of the expression he made earlier when he said he'd meet Yoichi again, “I’d truly hate to discover the limits of my patience.”
Yoichi laughed, short and abrupt, but the grin stayed on his face, bright and daring.
"Careful, now. You might just end up waiting longer than I intended."