Chapter Text
After his meeting with Loki, Hugo felt that something lingered—something that wasn’t merely an unforgettable impression, but a vague, inexplicable sensation running alongside it.
When he had met him, it had felt as though the gears of fate within him—normally slow, steady, and controlled—had suddenly begun to spin with an efficiency and intensity beyond imagination.
As if he had just undergone a full system overhaul. It was something entirely new to Vivian himself.
He had never experienced anything like it before. Never once in his life had he felt a chill run down his spine at someone’s mere existence—and Julian had brought that unfamiliar sensation into his world.
Hugo tried to steady himself amid those hazy, undefined thoughts. And he decided that training would surely be the perfect remedy to erase the image of that arrogantly unreasonable boy who had, just the other day, saved him from a punch thrown by a teammate.
He made his way through the streets of Paris, heading toward the French national team’s training ground, where the lights glowed faintly against the dim, early dawn sky. Snow covered everything in a thick layer, muffling his footsteps as they sank into the sparkling white drifts that clung to his auburn-brown hair. The early winter cold would not be enough to stop Vivian from reaching the pitch.
BAM—
The sound of the ball striking the goalpost echoed across the training ground, catching his attention.
But Loki was already there.
It seemed he had arrived early.
Hugo could read it easily—through observation alone: his breathing was stable, yet if one paid close attention, faint, fragmented breaks could still be heard; his passes were immaculate, almost too perfect, the spin and cut of the ball tracing trajectories of unsettling precision. And above all, his speed—his acceleration, that ultimate weapon—stood out as the defining feature of the boy, a brilliance sharpened like a blade beyond anything else. Fast, decisive, and yet still carrying that otherworldly calmness that clung to him.
Beautiful.
Those were the only two words Vivian could use to truly describe Julian.
That was precisely the impression he had of him.
This—this was the number one he had always been searching for. No one, nothing, could replace him.
Julian Loki.
He was completely overwhelmed by this flood of information—entirely new, utterly unfamiliar to anything his mind had ever processed before. A severe overload error, like his logical, machine-like brain system had been pushed beyond its limits.
Vivian truly could not stop marveling at those graceful, fluid movements—running across the field like a passing breeze, blending seamlessly into the silent snow. And then came a pass, a strike of absolute precision, cutting through everything in its path and exploding forward with a clean, satisfying sound.
Everything about him felt unreal, as though he did not belong to this mortal world—like a god born solely for moments of brilliance on the pitch, created to fulfill Vivian’s dream itself.
A god.
“Hey.”
At last, Loki spoke.
He turned around and looked at Hugo, who had been standing there the entire time, silently observing every one of his movements from a short distance away, brows slightly furrowed.
“You’ve been staring for a while.”
Hugo was perfectly calm when he responded.
“No, sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, Loki.”
“It’s fine,” Julian replied, still watching him. “…You’re the guy who almost got punched the other day, right?”
“Almost got punched,” Hugo repeated under his breath. “Great first impression…”
Then, aloud: “Yeah.”
There was a faint trace of arrogance in Loki’s tone—not obvious, but present nonetheless. Still… that was fine. Arrogance was necessary for a god to preserve his position.
“Do you want to join me? You look like you really want to play,” Loki said, casually spinning a ball on one finger as he looked at him.
Hugo shook his head. He didn’t want to interfere with this god’s training. He could wait for another time.
“Do you want me to forgive you for earlier?”
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
Julian’s tone and gaze sharpened like a blade, pressing down on the space between them with a question that clearly only had one acceptable answer: yes.
Hugo nodded, expression calm and unreadable.
So this was a god, huh… interesting. Julian could truly manipulate him with a single sentence.
His chest burned with a mix of tension and excitement.
“Play with me,” Julian said—not a request, but a command far more direct than anything before.
“And I’ll forgive you. What do you say?”
“Agreed.”
Vivian dropped his training bag and stepped forward immediately.
Something in Loki’s expression relaxed—subtle satisfaction.
He placed the ball between them and took a few steps back. Their eyes met.
And then—
The ball became the only thing that existed.
A sharp bounce. Control. A challenge. A steal. A response. Dribbling. Passing behind the back. Regaining possession. Again and again.
Each movement was a duel for dominance.
Julian was slightly shorter than him. Every time their eyes met at close range, Vivian had to tilt his gaze downward just a little. And honestly… from this angle, the so-called “demon” from earlier almost looked like something else entirely.
Almost… cute.
That small, pinkish mouth curled slightly in a teasing way too.
When did this guy switch to using charm as a weapon?
And while he was lost in thought—
Loki stole the ball.
“You got careless,” Loki said with a confident smile, sprinting forward.
—but he was immediately blocked by Hugo’s strong body.
“You think you’re getting past me that easily?”
He stopped him cleanly, then made a provoking gesture with his hand.
“Come on then, Julian Loki. Show me that so-called speed prodigy title isn’t just for show.”
“Fine,” Loki said, brushing his nose with his finger.
“I’ll satisfy you.”
⸻
The match ended in a draw, decided after 90 minutes—time they had agreed upon for their little “game.” Not a single penalty was taken.
Loki collapsed onto the bench beside Hugo, breathing heavily. He drank deeply from his water bottle, still unaware of the gaze fixed on him.
Hugo watched in silence.
Every small detail. Every drop of sweat sliding down his skin. The way it traced along his neck.
His pupils slightly widened.
His muscles gradually relaxing as fatigue settled in.
“Damn… it’s hot,” Loki muttered.
He pulled off his training jacket, letting it fall loosely behind him, revealing his shoulders and a lean, toned physique beneath the fabric.
His chest rose and fell as he tried to regulate his breathing.
And in that moment—
He looked like a portrait carved with impossible precision. A work of art, as if every detail had been deliberately crafted.
And if Hugo were the artist, he would gladly devote his entire youth, his entire existence, just to create that statue—no, not even a statue.
Just to witness it.
“Beautiful…” Hugo thought absently.
He swallowed.
His throat suddenly dry, despite having just finished his water.
The attraction wasn’t something he could explain. It wasn’t even about “liking” someone in a conventional sense.
It was admiration.
Something closer to reverence.
He only snapped out of it when Loki finally noticed his gaze.
“…Right. I forgot to ask,” Loki said casually. “What’s your name?”
“I’m Vivian Hugo.”
“Vivian Hugo?” Loki tilted his head. “Oh, one of the new generation Eleven players, huh? No wonder. You’re pretty good.”
Hugo didn’t like vague praise like that.
And yet… coming from Loki, it felt different.
“Mm,” he answered calmly, neither proud nor modest. “You’ll reach that level soon too. On par with me.”
Julian nodded thoughtfully, smiling.
But Hugo knew that smile wasn’t simple confidence alone. It was something deeper—something hidden beneath it, more intriguing than what was shown.
Truly… interesting.
He had never met anyone like this before. Being beside him felt like his mind was being expanded, like he was discovering a higher level of existence.
A fascination.
A pull.
Almost like devotion.
“By the way,” Loki said, “do you mind explaining a bit about our starting lineup?”
“No, I can.”
And so Hugo spoke—about formations, individual abilities, tactical ideas. Julian listened carefully, responding, adding his own thoughts.
It might have been the happiest moment of his life.
A moment no future joy could ever quite match.
He looked out at the snow-covered sky—falling softly, like fate itself had brought them together.
Vivian silently wished this moment would last forever.
That he and Julian could remain like this—always.
“Do you understand what I mean, Hugo?”
“I do. Keep going, Loki.”
—End of chapter 1—