A Terrible Way to Say I Want You

When Ego Jinpachi hands Isagi Yoichi a week-long punishment requiring him to wear a high-waisted pleated miniskirt outside of official matches, Isagi prepares for relentless locker room mockery. Instead, the facility descends into pure, suffocating chaos.
Overwhelmed by possessiveness and unhinged attraction, his teammates and rivals mask their desires behind harsh critiques, biting orders to cover up, and furious demands that he lock himself away. Believing his peers genuinely despise him, Isagi finds comfort in the respectful, friendly demeanor of the visiting South Korean national team—igniting an explosive wave of jealousy that forces Blue Lock’s top strikers to drop their sharp tongues, take over the pitch, and finally confess why they couldn't take their eyes off him in the first place.

Work Text:

Ego Jinpachi called it a “behavioral recalculation,” but to Isagi Yoichi, standing in the middle of the monitoring room with his face burning crimson, it felt like deliberate psychological warfare.

The penalty for overstepping tactical protocols during the joint Neo Egoist League review was simple: seven full days outside of scheduled matches and mandatory drills spent wearing a navy-blue, high-waisted pleated miniskirt. Ego had claimed it was meant to shatter his egoistic vanity and test his focus under humiliating social duress. Isagi expected outright laughter, relentless mockery, and merciless locker room roasting.

What he didn't expect was the suffocating, heavy silence that descended over the Blue Lock facility the moment he stepped out into the common areas.

The pleated hem brushed barely midway down his thighs, leaving the toned, muscular curvature of his athletic legs entirely exposed. Every step made the fabric sway slightly, drawing eyes like a magnet.

In the cafeteria, the sheer clatter of dropped silverware echoed across the room. Bachira was the first to bounce over, eyes wide, golden gaze drifting shamelessly down to the bare expanse of skin before snapping up to Isagi’s flushed face.

"Isagi! Look at you!" Bachira purred, tilting his head with an unhinged, playful grin that hid something much hotter beneath. "Your legs look amazing. If you jump around like that, someone's going to see right up underneath... though maybe you wouldn't mind if it was just me checking your undergarments?"

"Bachira, shut up!" Isagi hissed, desperately tugging the hem downward, only for a shadow to loom behind him.

Kunigami stepped in, jaw clenched tight, glaring furiously at every wandering gaze in the dining hall before his eyes flicked down Isagi’s waist with a rough, low swallow. "Ego's gone out of his mind," Kunigami growled, throwing his heavy training jacket roughly over Isagi’s shoulders. "Cover up, idiot. You're walking around like an invitation, and these bastards are staring."

Before Isagi could thank him, Chigiri brushed past, fingers lightly trailing the edge of the pleated hem with an arrogant smirk. "Oh, please, Kunigami, don't ruin the view. You're actually pretty cute in this, Isagi. But the posture is all wrong. Keep your knees together, or you’ll give half the building a heart attack." Chigiri leaned in, whispering close to his ear, "Though if you want to show someone how pretty you look sitting on a bed instead, my room is unlocked."

From across the lounge, Reo let out a low whistle, lazily swirling an energy drink while his eyes traced the line of Isagi's thighs with calculating possessiveness. Beside him, Nagi slowly lifted his head from Reo’s shoulder, his usual sleepy indifference entirely vanishing into a dark, fixated stare.

"Isagi," Nagi mumbled, voice gravelly and low, reaching out a long arm to tug Isagi down onto the sofa beside him. "Sit here. Don't move around so much. The skirt is too short... it’s distracting me. Lie on my lap instead so no one else looks."

"Get off him, slacker," Barou barked, stomping into the room with veins practically popping along his temple. He looked ready to murder Ego, then Isagi, then the rest of the world—though his ferocious glare repeatedly broke, dropping straight to Isagi’s bare knees. "You look utterly disgraceful, you unpolished brat! Pull that stupid rag down! Are you trying to make everyone lose their damn minds before the next round?!"

"I didn't choose this, Barou!" Isagi groaned, burying his face in his hands.

Down the hall, the Bastard Munchen wing offered zero sanctuary. Kaiser was leaning against the wall, a glass of water in hand, an insufferable, predatory smirk curving his lips. Ness stood close behind him, eyes flitting between jealousy and sheer flustered shock.

"Well, well, my little clown," Kaiser drawled, stepping deliberately close until Isagi was trapped between his broad chest and the corridor wall. Kaiser’s gloved finger reached out, hooking lightly into the waistband of the skirt, tugging it out just a fraction. "Look at how obedient you are. Ego punished you, but it feels more like a gift for the rest of us. Tell me, Yoichi... what are you wearing under this? Standard compression shorts, or did you leave yourself completely bare for my eyes?"

"Hands off, Kaiser!" Isagi snapped, slapping the German's wrist away.

Ness's face was flushed dark pink, his voice trembling with a mix of indignation and breathless agitation. "K-Kaiser is right! You shouldn't be wandering the halls dressed so scandalously, Isagi! It's indecent! ...Though your waist is far too small for that cut."

"Leave him alone, Kaiser," Hiori's gentle Kansai drawl cut through the tension, though his soft smile carried a possessive gleam as he hooked an arm around Isagi's waist, pulling him smoothly away from the German striker. "Isagi-kun looks lovely, don't you think? Come on, Yoichi. Walk with me to the recovery room. I'll make sure none of these wolves try to peek where they shouldn't... unless you want me to look later, of course."

Kurona hurried in step on Isagi’s other side, braided hair swinging as he nodded sharply, eyes darting protectively around the hallway. "Cover, cover. I’ll flank you, Isagi. Block the views, block the perverts. Keep you safe, safe." Yet, his cheeks burned bright red every time the hem rustled against his knuckles.

In the analysis room, Yukimiya adjusted his glasses, his composed demeanor faltering the moment Isagi walked in. He cleared his throat, voice smooth yet thick with unspoken thoughts. "It suits your silhouette surprisingly well, Isagi. A bit too well, actually. I might need an extra pair of glasses just to focus on the game film."

Nearby, Nanase was completely malfunctioning, turning bright crimson and waving his hands wildly. "I-Isagi-san! You look... I mean, you shouldn't... Ego-san is so cruel! Please sit down before you catch a cold! I can lend you my towel to put over your lap!"

When the international and senior players crossed paths with him during the mid-day break, the atmosphere grew almost suffocatingly intense.

Karasu tilted his head, his sharp eyes narrowing as he boxed Isagi in near the vending machines, resting a hand casually on the wall beside his head. "Well, aren't you an ordinary boy turned into quite the spectacle? Tell me, ordinary striker, do you know how much power you're holding over everyone right now? One wrong bend and you'll cause a riot."

"Let the kid breathe, Karasu," Otoya chuckled from atop the recycling bin, ninja-like silence broken as he leaned forward, chin resting on his hand, eyes fixed unabashedly on the curve of Isagi’s waist. "I could sneak you out of the dorms, you know. Somewhere private where nobody else gets a show."

Even Aiku and Sendou weren't immune. Sendou choked on his protein shake, coughing violently before shouting, "What kind of fan service training is this?!" while Aiku merely grinned with an amused, mature hunger, slowly unbuttoning his training collar. "Careful now, ace. You're giving the defenders a whole new reason to mark you tightly off the pitch."

The PXG wing proved to be just as chaotic. Loki smiled politely, though his eyes lingered with genuine intrigue. "A very unique training regimen Blue Lock has... but you wear confidence well, Isagi." Beside him, the young speedsters Bunny and Charles buzzed around, teasingly trying to gauge if Isagi was faster in a skirt than in regular shorts.

Then came the Itoshi brothers.

Sae stood near the courtyard glass, sipping a black coffee. His cold, bored expression fractured for a split second when Isagi walked by, his gaze sweeping slowly from Isagi's exposed knees, past the swaying fabric, up to his trembling, embarrassed face. "You look ridiculous," Sae muttered coolly, though his fingers tightened noticeably around his cup. "Next time you want attention, just ask for the ball. Don't parade around looking like you want to be pinned down."

Behind him, Rin was radiating pure, volatile fury. His teal eyes were dark, fixated with intense, suffocating jealousy as he grabbed Isagi by the collar and hauled him roughly into an empty hallway alcove away from everyone's sight.

"What the hell is wrong with you, lukewarm?" Rin hissed, chest heaving as his gaze raked down the skirt, his teeth grinding together. "Walking around letting every single bastard stare at your bare legs... You think this makes you a striker? You think you're cute?" Rin leaned down until his breath ghosted over Isagi’s flushed ear, fingers digging firmly into his hip right at the skirt's waistband. "If you don't stay in my room until this stupid week is over, I'll destroy you myself. No one else is looking at you like this. Understood?"

Isagi could only nod breathlessly, realizing with a heavy, racing heartbeat that Ego's punishment hadn't weakened his ego at all—it had merely unleashed the undivided, dangerously possessive hunger of every rival in Blue Lock.

The hum of the central hydration lounge was usually a soundtrack of exhausted groans, the metallic clatter of shaker bottles, and the low rumble of tactical debates. After a grueling four-hour post-match conditioning block, the facility was packed. Sweat had been washed away, muscles were aching, and everyone had congregated in the main recreation area to recover before curfew.

Then Isagi Yoichi walked in, and the ambient noise died down by half.

He had just come from the showers. His dark hair was still damp, sticking slightly to his forehead and the nape of his neck in soft, dark tufts. His skin was flushed a healthy, post-steam pink, radiating the crisp scent of generic Blue Lock body wash. But what drew every single pair of eyes in the room—sharply, magnetically, and without shame—was the fact that the mandated navy-blue pleated miniskirt was back on.

Paired only with an oversized, light-gray training hoodie that swallowed his frame down to the mid-skirt line, the hemline looked impossibly shorter than it had that morning. Every step he took brought a soft rustle of fabric against bare, toned thighs.

Isagi was utterly oblivious to the sudden spike in atmospheric pressure. His throat was parched, his legs felt like lead, and all he wanted was an electrolyte pouch from the bottom shelf of the low-profile glass refrigerator near the center island.

He walked past the central lounge seating where Rin, Kaiser, Ness, and Sae were seated around a low table. Further along, Barou, Nagi, Reo, and Chigiri occupied the wide modular sofas, while Karasu, Otoya, Aiku, and Hiori leaned against the adjacent counter. Bachira, Kunigami, Kurona, and Yukimiya were lingering near the supplement dispensary.

Isagi reached the refrigerator. It was a compact under-counter unit. The top shelf had only plain water; the flavored, sodium-heavy recovery packs he needed had slid all the way to the back of the bottom rack.

He didn't think twice. He didn't crouch properly. He simply set his feet shoulder-width apart, leaned his upper body forward, and bent at the waist.

The universe seemed to grind to a violent, screeching halt.

Because of the angle, the oversized hoodie rode up his back, gathering loosely around his waist. The pleated navy fabric of the miniskirt naturally tilted upward, completely parting against gravity.

There were no standard black compression sliders. There were no plain navy athletic briefs.

Instead, framed perfectly by the taut curve of his thighs and the pale, flushed skin of his hips, was the unmistakable, razor-thin edge of delicate, charcoal-black lace. It hugged him tightly, the intricate floral pattern stark against his smooth skin, leaving barely anything to the imagination as the fabric pulled taut with his posture.

The silence that fell over the lounge was not quiet; it was deafening. It was the sound of twenty elite athletes simultaneously choking on their own breath.

A metallic crunch resonated through the quiet. Barou had physically crushed his stainless-steel water flask in his bare grip, water spraying out over his knuckles. His crimson eyes were locked onto the view, blown impossibly wide, his entire frame rigid as a stone pillar. A thick vein pulsed against his temple, his breath catching in his throat as his brain short-circuited between murderous outrage and sheer, unadulterated shock.

"What the..." Barou’s voice was a mangled, strangled rasp that failed to carry past his own lips.

Beside him, Nagi, who had been lazily slumped sideways with his phone dangling from his fingers, dropped the device onto the tile floor. The screen cracked, but Nagi didn't blink. His dull, gray eyes snapped wide, instantly dilating into twin pools of dark fixation. His mouth fell slightly open, chest rising and falling in shallow, heavy hitches.

"Reo..." Nagi murmured, not moving an inch, his voice completely stripped of its usual lethargy. "Look. Isagi is... he's wearing..."

"Shut up, Nagi, I have eyes," Reo choked out, though his own knuckles were white where he gripped the sofa cushion. Reo’s face had flushed an intense, furious scarlet, running down the column of his neck. His analytical mind, usually calculating millions of yen in corporate value and tactical plays, entirely melted down. His pupils trembled as his gaze traced the dark lace, his tongue darting out to wet dry, parted lips. "Why the hell is he wearing that? Who gave him that?"

Across the room, Kaiser had stopped breathing entirely. The German striker sat with one leg crossed over the other, his wine glass frozen halfway to his mouth. The smug, condescending sneer that lived permanently on his face was completely wiped clean, replaced by an expression of pure, predatory hunger. His blue eyes burned with a dark, suffocating intensity, raking over the curve of Isagi’s exposed waist with unapologetic greed.

Beside him, Ness looked like he was about to faint. The midfielder clutched at his own chest, his cheeks burning a deep magenta, eyes darting frantically from the skirt to Kaiser, and back to Isagi. "L-Lace... it's... it's completely improper! He's—he's intentionally—!" Ness stammered, his voice rising in an unstable, breathless squeak before dying out as his gaze dipped right back down.

Chigiri had buried his face directly into his hands, but his long fingers were parted just enough to keep his eyes firmly locked onto Isagi. "Unbelievable," the redhead whispered, his own ears glowing bright red. "He has no survival instinct. None. He’s going to get devoured in this facility."

"Isagi..." Bachira gasped aloud, his golden eyes wide, sparkling with an unhinged, wild heat. He didn't even try to hide his reaction; he leaned forward over the counter, practically vibrating on the balls of his feet, fingers twitching as if fighting the overwhelming urge to lunge across the tiles. "Ah... that's so bad. That's really, really bad, Isagi... I can see everything..."

Kunigami stood frozen near the protein bar, a dark crimson blush spreading furiously over his rugged face. His jaw was set so hard the bone popped, his fists clenched tight at his sides. "Idiot," Kunigami growled, his voice a low, rough rumble torn straight from his chest. "That damn idiot... what does he think he's doing?!"

At the low table, the Itoshi brothers were handling the visual overload with varying degrees of lethal containment.

Sae slowly set his cup down onto the saucer. His movements were calculated, but the slight tremble in his fingers betrayed him. His gaze was fixed, heavy and hooded, tracking the line where the lace disappeared under the curve of Isagi’s hip. His throat bobbed in a slow, deliberate swallow. "Shameless," Sae murmured, though his voice was thick, dropping an octave lower than usual. "Parading around like an animal in heat."

Beside him, Rin looked ready to execute someone.

A terrifying, suffocating aura bled off the younger Itoshi. Rin’s teal eyes were wide, dark, and wild, completely consumed by a possessive rage that made his entire body tremble. His teeth were grinding together audibly. Seeing the curve of Isagi's body was bad enough; knowing that every single striker in the room was staring at the exact same scrap of lace drove him to the absolute brink of insanity.

"I'll kill him," Rin hissed under his breath, hands gripping the edge of the low table so hard the synthetic wood groaned under the pressure. "I'm going to rip that thing off him and kill him."

Karasu let out a low, ragged whistle from the counter, running a hand through his hair while leaning his weight back, though his eyes never left the target. "Well, damn. Ordinary boy just pulled the pin on a grenade, didn't he? That's definitely not standard issue."

"Definitely not," Otoya agreed, his usual laid-back smirk stretching into something much sharper, leaning sideways to get an unobstructed line of sight. "Should I go offer to help him pick that up? Or help him take the rest off?"

"Don't move a muscle, ninja," Aiku warned in a rough, gravelly tone, though he himself was leaning forward against the counter, a hand over his mouth as he stared intently, a dark, appreciative grin fighting its way through his shock. "If anyone takes a step right now, this room turns into a bloodbath."

Hiori’s soft, gentle expression was entirely gone. His icy-blue eyes were fixed with quiet, unyielding possessiveness, his fingers lightly tapping against the rim of his glass. "Ah... Yoichi-kun really shouldn't be showing that to other people. It's dangerous."

Near the dispensers, Kurona was spinning in place, his hands clutching his own braided hair, face glowing like a neon sign. "Lace, lace, black lace... danger, danger, critical overload..."

Yukimiya gently took off his glasses, wiped them with his shirt, put them back on, and stared again. His refined smile had vanished completely, replaced by a deep, flushed scowl of pure, concentrated distraction. "I... I don't think I can analyze today's match data anymore."

Down on the floor, completely oblivious to the volcanic eruption of testosterone and possessive instinct raging three yards behind him, Isagi’s fingers finally closed around the cold plastic nozzle of the sports drink.

"Got it!" Isagi murmured cheerfully to himself.

He stood back up. The skirt dropped naturally into place. The oversized hoodie settled over his hips. The narrow, breathtaking window of sheer black lace snapped shut.

Isagi stood straight, twisted the cap off the pouch, took a long, refreshing gulp, and turned around to face the lounge.

The silence hit him like a physical brick wall.

Every single person in the room was staring at him. Nobody was talking. Nobody was moving. Twenty pairs of eyes—dark, hungry, furious, and wide—were pinned directly to his lower half.

Isagi choked on his drink, coughing into his hand as he wiped his chin, his face instantly heating up under the terrifying scrutiny.

"W-What?" Isagi stammered, hugging the cold pouch against his chest as he took a defensive step back against the fridge. "Why is everyone looking at me like that?! It’s just the punishment skirt, I told you Ego made me—!"

"Yoichi," Kaiser spoke first. His voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous, raspy edge to it as he rose slowly from his seat, towering over the table. He took a deliberate, predatory step forward. "Who gave you that underwear?"

Isagi blinked, his eyes darting sideways in confusion. "Underwear? What are you—" He froze. His brain finally caught up. His hand dropped to the waistband of his skirt, feeling the delicate texture underneath.

The laundry facility had mixed up the apparel crates that morning. With all his clean compression shorts in the wash cycle after double-practice, he had grabbed a sealed, unlabeled replacement pack from the auxiliary storage rack, assuming it was just seamless microfiber briefs. He hadn't even looked closely in the dim dorm lighting before pulling it on under the skirt.

Isagi's face detonated into pure crimson. A sound of sheer, mortified horror choked in his throat.

"Wait—no! It's not—I grabbed the wrong box from the supply closet!" Isagi yelled, his voice cracking as he slapped both hands down over the front of his skirt, backing up until his spine hit the refrigerator door. "You didn't see anything! You weren't looking!"

"We all saw it, Isagi," Bachira said with a beaming, terrifyingly sweet smile, taking two energetic steps forward, his hands flexing playfully. "Black lace. Really pretty. Does it feel nice against your skin? Can I touch it to see?"

"Stay back, Bachira!" Isagi squeaked, pressing himself flatter against the glass.

"Get out of the way," Rin's voice sliced through the air like a cold blade.

Rin was already moving. He crossed the floor in three long, aggressive strides, entirely ignoring Kaiser and Bachira, his tall frame casting a heavy shadow over Isagi. Rin’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping firmly around Isagi’s wrist, hauling him away from the refrigerator and pulling him flush against his chest.

"R-Rin?!" Isagi gasped, stumbling into the striker's solid torso.

Rin glared at the rest of the room, his eyes burning with an unmistakable, lethal hostility that dared anyone to take another step. His other hand went straight to the back of Isagi's head, pressing his face into his shoulder to hide his flushed expression from the crowd.

"He's done in here," Rin snarled, his voice vibrating with absolute dominance. "If any of you look at him again, I'll tear your eyes out."

"Oh, come now, Rin," Kaiser sneered, stepping up until he was barely an arm's length away, his blue eyes locking onto Isagi with an arrogant, unyielding smirk. "You think you can claim him just because you grabbed him first? Yoichi clearly dressed up for an audience. It would be rude not to appreciate the show."

"Don't speak for him, German," Barou growled, stomping forward, his massive frame radiating pure intimidation as he blocked the exit to the corridor. "The idiot is coming with me. He needs to learn how to dress properly before he causes an actual riot."

"I have spare compression shorts in my locker," Kunigami stated bluntly, stepping into the fray, his broad shoulders squared. "He's coming with me to change. Now."

"I think," Reo said smoothly, standing up and adjusting his cuff with a chillingly polite smile, "that as the one who handles team logistics, I should be the one inspecting the supply error. Yoichi, come here."

"No," Nagi mumbled, appearing silently behind Reo, his long arms reaching forward toward Isagi. "Isagi is coming to my room. It's soft there. Nobody can look."

"You're all disgusting," Sae's voice cut through the chaos from his seat, though his cold, sharp eyes remained fixed on Isagi's trembling form. "Isagi. Walk over here. Let these dogs bark at each other."

Isagi looked between the twenty towering, world-class athletes closing in around him, all breathing heavily, their eyes flashing with possessive, unhinged intent. His heart was hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

Ego’s punishment was supposed to teach him a lesson about focus. Instead, he had turned the most dangerous strikers in the world into a pack of starving wolves, and he was cornered right in the middle of the den.

Day three of Ego Jinpachi’s “psychological recalibration” had reduced Isagi Yoichi’s nerves to raw, vibrating wire.

The punishment was simple in its cruelty: seven full days outside of official matches and tactical training spent wearing a high-waisted, navy-blue pleated miniskirt. Ego had claimed through the monitor that an egoist must remain unshakeable under any form of humiliation or social disturbance. But to Isagi, it felt like an endurance test against his own sanity. The hem brushed barely midway down his thighs, leaving the lean, sculpted lines of his athletic legs exposed to the drafty, sterile air of the Blue Lock corridors. Every step he took brought the faint rustle of stiff pleats against skin, a constant, burning reminder of how vulnerable he looked.

What made it unbearable was not the fabric. It was the suffocating, relentless onslaught from the very people he fought alongside.

Isagi had braced himself for laughter. He had expected crude locker room jokes, petty high school taunts, or indifferent dismissiveness. Instead, from the moment he stepped out of his dorm each morning, the atmosphere warped into something heavy, volatile, and deeply hostile. The other strikers didn't mock him with lighthearted humor; they cornered him, snapped at him, glared at him with dark, dilated eyes, and threw razor-sharp barbs that felt less like jokes and more like utter disgust.

To Isagi, their harsh words were crystal clear: they hated seeing him like this. They thought he was an embarrassment, a disgraceful eyesore parading around in women’s clothing, distracting the entire facility and making a mockery of their pride as athletes.

He didn't know that behind those sharp tongues and clenched fists, every single one of them was losing their minds with overwhelming, possessive lust. He didn't see that they were suffocating on their own desires, desperate to hide him away from the rest of the world because he looked entirely too soft, too bare, and dangerously beautiful.

That morning, the tension reached a boiling point in the central training atrium.

Isagi stood near the locker room entrance, tugging miserably at the navy hem to cover as much of his thighs as possible. Within seconds, a shadow loomed over him. Barou stomped forward, his massive frame radiating pure hostility. His red eyes were blazing, flicking from Isagi’s exposed knees up to his flushed collarbone with a furious grimace.

"You look utterly disgraceful, you unpolished brat!" Barou barked, his voice echoing off the metallic walls so loudly that several players turned. Barou’s fists were clenched so hard his knuckles were white, his teeth grinding together. "Pull that stupid rag down! Are you trying to make everyone lose their damn minds before the next round?! Walk properly or don't walk at all!"

"I'm not doing it on purpose, Barou!" Isagi shot back, his voice tight and defensive. "You think I want to wear this?!"

Before Barou could bellow another insult, Sae walked past, sipping a black coffee. He halted just inches from Isagi, his cold, jade eyes raking slowly down the length of Isagi’s legs, lingering on the pale curve of his thighs with an intensity that made the air feel suddenly thin. Sae’s throat bobbed slightly, his fingers tightening around the paper cup until it dented.

"Shameless," Sae muttered, his tone ice-cold, though a low rasp scraped the bottom of his voice. "Parading around like an animal in heat. If you're that desperate for attention, do it on the pitch. You look pathetic like this."

Isagi flinched, the words stinging like a slap across the cheek. "I’m not parading anything! Ego literally locked my regular shorts in the administrative office!"

A rough grip suddenly locked around his wrist, yanking him backward into the shadow of the corridor. Rin towered over him, his teal eyes wild, dark, and overflowing with an aggressive, suffocating fury. Rin’s breathing was uneven, his chest heaving as he boxed Isagi in against the metal locker, his free hand slamming against the panel right beside Isagi’s ear.

"Shut up, lukewarm," Rin snarled, his gaze burning into Isagi’s flushed face before dropping down to the swaying pleats, his jaw ticking furiously. "If you have any shame left, you'll lock yourself in your room until this stupid punishment is over. Don't come out. Don't let anyone see you. If I see you walking around out here one more time, I'll destroy you myself."

"Let go of me, Rin!" Isagi pulled his arm free, his breathing ragged, anger and embarrassment warring behind his eyes. "You don't own the facility! Stop telling me to hide like I'm some kind of freak!"

Around the corridor, the others offered no relief.

Kaiser leaned against the adjacent pillar, twirling a strand of blonde-and-blue hair with a venomous smirk that barely concealed the dark, predatory dilation of his pupils. "Look at our little doll throwing a tantrum," Kaiser drawled, stepping closer until his cologne washed over Isagi. "Maybe Rin is right, Yoichi. You shouldn't wander around looking like an open invitation unless you're ready to be claimed."

Ness stood close behind Kaiser, his face flushed magenta with a mix of jealousy and sheer agitation. "It's completely improper!" Ness shrilled, eyes darting from Isagi’s waist back to Kaiser. "You're disrupting everyone’s focus! You should be ashamed of yourself!"

"Isagi, your waist is too small, you know?" Reo chimed in from the bench, crossing his arms with a tight, strained smile, his eyes fixated on the bare skin above Isagi's knees. "It looks ridiculous. Just stay in the dorms. I'll have the staff bring your food so you don't embarrass us all."

"Yeah... stay in the room, Isagi," Nagi mumbled from the floor, his long frame shifting as he stared up from beneath messy white bangs, his gray eyes dark and heavy. "It's annoying when you walk around. It makes my head hot. Just lie down and don't move."

Kunigami looked away, his jaw clenched so hard the tendons in his neck stood out, his voice a low, rough rumble. "Put a towel around you or something, idiot. You're an eyesore."

Chigiri clicked his tongue, crossing his arms and looking down with a sharp scowl that hid the bright burn on his cheeks. "Honestly, Yoichi, you look like a walking disaster. Have some self-respect and cover up."

Bachira pouted, leaning dangerously close with a wild gleam in his eyes, but his teasing had a frantic, possessive edge. "Isagi's so bad~ Walking around showing everyone your pretty legs! What if a monster eats you up? You should only show me!"

Hiori, Kurona, Nanase, and Yukimiya hovered nearby, their expressions a chaotic mix of heavy blushes and strained scowls, while Karasu, Otoya, Aiku, and Sendou threw out biting remarks about how "dangerous" and "distracting" his lack of modesty was. Even the international visitors—Loki, Bunny, and Vivian—lingered with sharp, intense stares that felt entirely too heavy for Isagi to bear.

Isagi’s chest tightened. The relentless barrage of insults, threats of confinement, and disgusted remarks crashed down on him. Disgraceful. Shameless. Eyesore. Animal in heat. Lock yourself in your room.

They really despised him for this. They thought he was doing it for attention, or that he had lost his dignity as a player. Swallowing the bitter lump in his throat, Isagi turned on his heel and marched away from the atrium, ignoring the chorus of voices calling after him.

That afternoon brought an unexpected disruption: the South Korean U-20 National Youth selection arrived at Blue Lock for a scheduled three-day joint tactical scrimmage and data exchange.

The Korean team, led by their charismatic captain Park Min-hyuk and star attacking midfielder Lee Jin-woo, walked into the main training pavilion with pristine discipline. Isagi, standing near the touchline in his mandatory navy skirt and an oversized training jacket, tried his absolute best to blend into the background. His stomach churned with dread. If his own teammates had treated him like a disgraced pariah for three straight days, an international team would surely mock him off the pitch entirely.

The Korean players noticed him immediately.

Captain Min-hyuk blinked, paused his stride, and looked at Isagi’s outfit. Then his gaze drifted to the official Blue Lock disciplinary monitor on the wall, which displayed the day's training logs alongside a small penalty notice stamped with Ego’s eccentric rules.

Min-hyuk didn't laugh. He didn't sneer. Instead, a look of genuine, warm sympathy softened his features.

"Ah," Min-hyuk said in fluent, smooth Japanese, stepping directly over to Isagi with an open, friendly smile. "You must be Isagi Yoichi. The ace striker from the U-20 match."

Isagi tensed, his hands instinctively dropping to clench the fabric of his skirt, bracing for the inevitable jab. "Yeah. That's me. Look, about the clothes—it's an absurd penalty from our coach, I don't—"

"You don't need to explain at all, man," Jin-woo, the vice-captain, interrupted with a hearty laugh, stepping up and clapping Isagi gently on the shoulder. "We heard your coach is a total lunatic. Making a world-class player wear that just for a tactical infraction? That's insane! You must be freezing in these air-conditioned halls."

Isagi blinked, his defensive posture crumbling in pure shock. "You... you're not going to make fun of it?"

"Why would we?" Min-hyuk chuckled warmly, gesturing to his teammates, who were all nodding with polite, respectful smiles. "We watched your tape against the Japan U-20 team and Bastard Munchen. Your spatial awareness and direct volley are incredible. A skirt doesn't change your talent on the ball. Honestly, we just feel bad that you have to deal with such a ridiculous punishment!"

For the first time in three days, the crushing weight on Isagi’s chest lifted.

A bright, genuine smile broke across Isagi’s face, his blue eyes lighting up with relief and joy. "Thank you... seriously. You have no idea how much I needed to hear that."

"Hey, don't mention it!" Jin-woo grinned, leaning in with genuine enthusiasm. "Listen, after our pitch orientation, we're having dinner in the international dining hall. Come sit with us! We really want to pick your brain about how you read defensive blind spots before your off-the-ball movements. What do you say?"

"I'd love to!" Isagi answered without a second of hesitation, his laughter ringing out clear, sweet, and unrestrained.

Fifty yards away, the temperature in the Blue Lock wing dropped below freezing.

The entire Blue Lock contingent—and the European stars residing with them—had frozen in place. They stood watching the scene unfold like statues carved from volcanic rock, their expressions morphing from smug arrogance into pure, unadulterated horror and boiling jealousy.

They saw Isagi laughing. They saw the soft, radiant flush on his cheeks that wasn't born of humiliation, but of genuine happiness. They saw how the wind from the ventilation gently fluttered the hem of his skirt, how his eyes sparkled as he chatted with the Korean captain, and how easily he leaned toward them, relaxed, completely unguarded, and breathtakingly beautiful.

And worse: he was looking at total strangers with the very warmth and brightness he had completely denied them for three days.

Rin’s fingers dug into the metal railing so hard the synthetic coating cracked beneath his grip. His teal eyes were consumed by a pitch-black abyss of possessiveness. Beside him, Sae’s face had darkened into a chilling, murderous calm, his jaw clenched tight.

Kaiser’s wine glass shattered in his hand, crimson liquid spilling over his fingers as his arrogant smirk twisted into a snarl. Barou looked like he was about to charge across the turf and physically rip the Korean players away from Isagi. Nagi had completely stopped slumped posture, standing ramrod straight with eyes glowing with dangerous fixation, while Reo, Bachira, Kunigami, Chigiri, and the rest stared with a collective, suffocating fury.

Dinner in the international wing was the most peaceful meal Isagi had experienced all week.

Sitting at the long table surrounded by the Korean squad, Isagi was treated not like a freak or an object of perverse ridicule, but as a respected peer. They shared Korean side dishes, exchanged tactical philosophies, and laughed over Ego's bizarre training methods. For two hours, Isagi completely forgot he was wearing a skirt. He was animated, expressive, leaning over the table to trace passing lanes on napkins with his fork, his laughter filling the dining room.

When dinner concluded, Min-hyuk patted Isagi’s back warmly. "Thanks for the great talk, Isagi. Rest well tonight. Let's have a great scrimmage tomorrow."

"Thank you, Min-hyuk-san! Goodnight!" Isagi waved, his mood soaring as the Korean team walked back toward their guest quarters.

The moment the double doors slid shut behind the visiting team, the lights in the main corridor flickered, and the shadows peeled away from the walls.

They were waiting for him.

All of them.

The hallway was completely blocked. Twenty-one players stood in a suffocating semicircle, boxing Isagi in against the dining hall entrance. The atmosphere was thick, oppressive, and heavy with unspoken tension. Their arms were crossed, their expressions dark, their eyes locked onto him with a ferocious, territorial intensity.

Isagi stopped in his tracks, his smile fading instantly, replaced by weary irritation. "What is this? What are you all doing standing here?"

Rin stepped forward first. His presence was overwhelming, his shadow swallowing Isagi whole. His teal eyes burned with a dark, suffocating anger, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly snarl.

"Who told you that you could hang around with them?" Rin demanded, taking another step until he was towering over Isagi, his fists trembling at his sides. "You're supposed to be focusing on our tactical synergy. Why the hell were you sitting there laughing like an idiot with the competition?"

Isagi frowned, his brows furrowing. "What are you talking about, Rin? We were just having dinner and talking about football."

"Don't play dumb, Yoichi," Kaiser purred, stepping up to Rin’s flank, his usual composure entirely fractured, a sharp, dangerous edge lacing his tone. "A striker shouldn't be so easily bought by cheap compliments from second-rate players. parading yourself in front of guests... you looked like a stray dog begging for scraps. You shouldn't get close to them. It's pathetic, and it ruins your focus."

"Kaiser is right!" Ness chimed in, his voice high-pitched and strained, clutching at his own collar while glaring at Isagi with frantic jealousy. "It's completely unprofessional to fraternize with rivals before a match! Especially dressed like that! You have no discipline!"

Barou stomped forward, his massive frame radiating pure thunder. "Hey! Brat! Did you forget who you belong on the pitch with?! Sitting there smiling and showing off your legs to strangers! Get your head out of your ass and stop acting like a clown!"

"Isagi," Reo said smoothly, though the tight, venomous edge in his voice betrayed his aristocratic smile. "As the team strategist, I really advise against sharing tactical insights with the Korean team. You were far too open. You shouldn't be giving them your time, or your attention. Stay away from them."

"Yeah... stay away," Nagi muttered, stepping past Reo, his gray eyes dark, heavy, and unusually intense as he stared down at Isagi. "You were smiling too much. You never smile like that when you're in the room with me. It’s annoying. Don't go near them again, Isagi. Stay with us."

"You're being careless, Yoichi," Sae's cold voice cut through the noise. Sae stood slightly apart, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed sharply on Isagi’s face with lingering, possessive heat. "Getting flattered over basic manners makes you look weak. If you spend your time giggling with mediocre players instead of preparing for the pitch, you're wasting everyone's time. Don't interact with them again."

Kunigami stepped in, his jaw clenched tight, his broad chest heaving with a deep breath. "You let your guard down too easily, Isagi. They're the enemy on the pitch. You shouldn't be sitting there acting all friendly. Just stay in your room."

"Honestly, Isagi, it looked totally ridiculous," Chigiri snapped, crossing his arms and turning his head slightly, though the tips of his ears were burning red. "You looked way too eager. You need to maintain some distance."

"Isagi! You ignored me all evening for them!" Bachira whined, his golden eyes flashing with an unhinged, wild possessiveness as he hovered right at Isagi's shoulder. "I had so many fun things to show you! Why did you look at them instead of me? It's not fair!"

"Yoichi-kun," Hiori spoke with a soft, chillingly calm smile, his icy blue eyes fixed entirely on Isagi’s waist. "It's really not safe to be that friendly with people you just met. You don't know what they might be thinking when they look at you."

"Target acquisition, bad, bad," Kurona muttered rapidly, his face flushed as he stood defensively near Isagi's side. "Foreign players, unpredictable, unpredictable. Stay inside, keep close, keep safe."

"From an analytical standpoint, Isagi," Yukimiya adjusted his glasses, his composed facade barely hiding his deep irritation, "fraternizing with the opposing team creates severe tactical leaks. You shouldn't be engaging with them outside of official drills."

"The ordinary boy is getting ahead of himself," Karasu drawled, leaning against the wall with narrowed eyes, his tongue clicking against his teeth. "You look like you're practically begging for trouble, walking around smiling at every guy who says hello. Learn your place and keep your head down."

"Yeah, not cool, Isagi," Otoya muttered, hands in his pockets, his gaze sweeping over Isagi’s bare legs with a sharp, possessive scowl. "You should be hanging out with us, not them."

"You're our ace, kid," Aiku added with a low, rough chuckle that carried zero humor, scratching the back of his neck as his eyes lingered on Isagi’s flushed face. "Can't have the defenders from another country getting all chummy with our star striker. Keep your distance."

"It's a total disgrace to Blue Lock's image!" Sendou shouted, throwing his hands up in flustered panic. "Why are you making friends with the competition while wearing a mini skirt?!"

"I-Isagi-san, please!" Nanase pleaded, waving his hands nervously, his face beet-red. "For your own safety, please don't wander off with them!"

Even Loki, leaning against the far pillar alongside Bunny and Vivian, offered a cool, measured critique. "In world-class football, maintaining professional boundaries is vital, Isagi. Being overly familiar can disrupt your competitive edge."

Every single one of them had spoken. Every single one of them had hidden their burning, suffocating jealousy, their frantic lust, and their absolute terror of someone else claiming Isagi behind the shield of "training discipline," "tactics," and harsh, condescending rebukes.

Standing in the center of their circle, something inside Isagi Yoichi finally snapped.

The exhaustion of the past three days, the burning humiliation of the punishment, and the constant, relentless sting of their insults crashed over him in a wave of white-hot fury. His fists clenched so tightly at his sides that his nails bit into his palms. The fabric of the skirt rustled as he took a sharp, aggressive step forward, his chest heaving, his blue eyes blazing with a ferocious, untamable fire.

"Are you all completely out of your minds?!" Isagi yelled, his voice tearing through the corridor like a thunderclap.

The entire hall fell into stunned, dead silence.

"You want to talk about focus? You want to talk about professionalism?!" Isagi's voice trembled with raw, unfiltered anger, his eyes sweeping across the twenty-one towering players with pure contempt. "For three straight days, every single one of you has done nothing but insult me, tear me down, and tell me how disgraceful I look! You tell me I'm an eyesore! You tell me I'm parading around like an animal in heat! You tell me to lock myself in my room like I'm some disgusting freak who shouldn't exist!"

Barou's eyes widened. Sae's jaw slightly parted. Rin stiffened, the breath catching hard in his throat.

"I didn't choose to wear this damn skirt!" Isagi shouted, tears of pure, frustrated rage prickling the corners of his eyes, though he refused to let them fall. "Ego punished me, and I took it like a man! But none of you have treated me like a player, or a teammate, or even a human being since I put it on! All you do is look at me like you hate my guts and want me gone!"

Kaiser took an instinctive half-step back, the smugness completely wiped from his features, replaced by a sudden, jarring shock. Ness stared with his mouth open, entirely frozen.

"And then the Korean team arrives," Isagi continued, his voice cracking with intense emotion, pointing toward the dining hall doors. "And do you know what they did? They didn't stare at my legs like I was an embarrassment! They didn't call me pathetic or tell me to hide in the dark! They laughed with me, they showed some basic human sympathy, and then they asked me about my football! They respected my vision! They respected my direct shot! They treated me like a striker, not a joke!"

The silence in the corridor was absolute, suffocating, and heavy with crushing realization.

Every single one of them stood paralyzed, the weight of their own twisted words crashing back down upon them. They had spent three days masking their overwhelming attraction with harshness, cruelty, and aggressive possessiveness, convinced they were just keeping him safe, keeping him to themselves.

They had never once stopped to think that Isagi—completely blind to their real feelings—had taken every single cruel remark straight to heart. He genuinely believed they hated him.

"So don't you dare stand there and lecture me about who I should spend my time with!" Isagi’s chest heaved as he glared at Rin, then Kaiser, then Sae, his gaze burning with defiance. "Why the hell shouldn't I hang out with people who actually respect me for how I play, instead of people who do nothing but mock me for what I'm forced to wear?!"

Isagi didn't wait for an answer.

Shoving his way violently through the gap between Rin and Barou, his shoulder knocking hard against Rin’s chest, Isagi stormed down the hallway. The pleats of the navy skirt swayed with every furious, determined stride. He didn't look back once as he turned the corner and slammed the door of the sleeping quarters behind him.

In the corridor, the twenty-one players remained frozen in place.

The air was thick with the bitter, agonizing realization of their colossal mistake. They had tried so hard to hide their lust, their jealousy, and their desperate need to possess him behind sharp words and cold demands.

And in doing so, they had driven the only striker they all craved straight into the arms of the enemy.

The metallic latch of the dorm door clicked shut with the finality of a guillotine.

Inside the small, utilitarian quarters of the German stratum, Isagi Yoichi stood with his back pressed flush against the reinforced composite frame. His chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow hitches. His pulse was a deafening roar behind his eardrums, every beat carrying the sting of humiliation, the sour burn of exhaustion, and the bitter residue of pure, unadulterated fury.

He dropped his gaze. The pleated navy skirt hung barely midway down his thighs, its crisp folds mocking him in the dim blue light cast by the monitoring screens. For three days, that scrap of fabric had felt like an open target painted across his skin. Every corridor had been an ambush; every shared meal, an exercise in psychological endurance.

Disgraceful.

Shameless.

Eyesore.

Animal in heat.

Lock yourself in your room.

Isagi drew in a sharp, shaking breath and scrubbed his palms vigorously over his face. "Unbelievable," he muttered to the empty room, his voice cracking against the silence. "Every single one of them. Completely insane."

He peeled off the oversized gray hoodie, tossing it onto the edge of the mattress, and collapsed onto the bed. He pulled the thin duvet up to his chin, curling onto his side. For seventy-two hours, he had convinced himself that the sneers and biting commands were just the baseline cruelty of Blue Lock’s competitive environment—that his rivals, obsessed with hyper-masculine supremacy and razor-sharp striker egos, fundamentally despised seeing him reduced to an object of domestic ridicule.

And yet, tonight, in the international dining hall, the South Korean players had simply treated him like a footballer. They hadn't laughed. They hadn't barked at him to hide his skin. They had pulled up a chair, passed him the seasoned beef, and asked him how he managed to calculate spatial blind spots before his direct volleys.

The contrast had cleaved straight through Isagi’s defenses. It had made him realize how deeply the constant hostility from his own peers had cut.

Outside his locked door, the wide corridor was entirely frozen.

Twenty-one elite athletes stood in a heavy, paralyzed circle, the air between them thick enough to choke on. The echo of Isagi’s slamming door had long since died out, but his words still hung in the corridor like toxic fallout.

“Why the hell shouldn't I hang out with people who actually respect me for how I play, instead of people who do nothing but mock me for what I'm forced to wear?!”

Rin had not moved a single inch. His tall frame was rigid, his fists locked at his sides with such violent force that his knuckles had turned dead white. His teal eyes were dark, hollowed out by a sudden, sickening void in his chest. He had spent three days barking orders, shoving Isagi into corners, and demanding he lock himself away—not because he despised Isagi, but because every time those bare thighs brushed past him, Rin’s own focus shattered into bloody, unmanageable pieces. He had wanted to hide Isagi from the world’s eyes to preserve his own sanity.

And instead, Isagi thought Rin hated him.

Beside him, Kaiser slowly unclasped his hand from the broken stem of his shattered wine glass. A thin trickle of red liquid—a mixture of cheap fruit juice and his own blood—dripped from his palm onto the polished linoleum. For once, the German prodigy had no theatrical sneer, no condescending metaphor. His blue eyes stared blankly at the metal paneling of Isagi’s door, his jaw locked in a rigid, ugly line.

"Look what you've done, you clumsy brute," Kaiser spat, his voice dropping into a razor-sharp rasp as he turned his venom toward Barou.

Barou stepped forward instantly, his chest heaving, his crimson eyes bloodshot with sudden panic masked as fury. "What did I do, you bastard?! You were the one whispering in his ear like a damn snake! I told him to pull the rag down because every piece of scum in this hall was staring right up his legs!"

"And you screamed it at him like he was a dog," Chigiri cut in, his voice shaking with genuine distress. The red-headed speedster pressed a palm against his forehead, pacing back and forth in front of the door. "God... we're all idiots. We're absolute morons. He actually thinks we think he’s ugly. He thinks we're disgusted by him."

"He looked like he was going to cry," Bachira whispered. The eccentric dribbler had lost his usual bouncy posture; his golden eyes were wide, luminous with guilt, his hands hovering uselessly in the air. "Isagi looked at me like I was a stranger. He's never looked at me like that."

"Because you were crowding him like a pack of starving hyenas," Sae's icy voice cut through the rising panic. The genius midfielder stood three paces back, his arms crossed over his chest. His posture was impeccably controlled, but the muscle ticking erratically in his jaw betrayed the cold fury boiling underneath. "Every single one of you handled this like an amateur. You let your basest impulses dictate your tongues, and now the anchor of your entire offensive formation would rather sit with the Korean national team than look you in the eye."

"Don't act like you're above this, Itoshi Sae," Reo snapped, his polished aristocratic composure utterly disintegrating. Reo’s purple hair fell messily over his eyes as he stepped into Sae's space. "You called him shameless! You called him an animal in heat right to his face! What the hell did you expect him to think?!"

"Enough," Aiku rumbled, stepping between Reo and Sae, his broad shoulders squared. The former U-20 captain was frowning deeply, running a weathered hand through his dark hair. "Blaming each other isn't going to fix this. The kid is in there thinking his entire team views him as an embarrassment. If we go into tomorrow's joint scrimmage with him feeling alienated, the entire tactical structure collapses. More importantly..." Aiku paused, his heterochromatic eyes darkening. "...none of us can stand the idea of him running off to the Koreans because he thinks they're the only ones who value him."

"We fix this," Kunigami growled, his voice deep, gravelly, and laced with unmistakable urgency. "Right now."

The quiet of Isagi’s room was shattered precisely forty-five minutes later by a sharp, rhythmic battering against the door.

Isagi groaned, burying his head beneath his pillow. "Go away! I’m sleeping!"

BAM. BAM. BAM.

"Open the damn door, Yoichi! Before I kick the hinges off!" Barou’s unmistakable roar vibrated through the composite wood.

Isagi sat up, his temper flaring red-hot once more. He threw the duvet aside, marching across the cold floor in his bare feet and the hated navy skirt, and yanked the handle down. The door hissed open, and Isagi braced himself to scream.

"What do you—"

A white ceramic plate was violently thrust within two inches of his nose.

On the plate sat three perfectly baked, sugar-dusted kintsuba cakes—traditional sweet-bean pastries that were exclusively stocked in the high-tier VIP reward commissary, completely inaccessible to regular training rations.

Behind the plate stood Barou, his towering frame practically vibrating with aggressive tension. The king of the pitch was breathing heavily through his nose, his cheeks stained a deep, unnatural crimson, his crimson eyes glaring anywhere except directly at Isagi’s bare legs.

"Eat it," Barou barked, his voice so loud it echoed down the corridor.

Isagi blinked, utterly bewildered. "What?"

"I said eat it, you unpolished idiot!" Barou shoved the plate forward another half-inch, nearly smearing red bean paste against Isagi’s chin. "You didn't eat enough carbs at dinner because you were too busy flapping your gums with those foreign extras! Take the damn sweets!"

Isagi’s brows drew together in defensive suspicion. "Why? So you can call me a disgraceful slob after I take a bite? Keep your food, Barou. I don't need your pity."

Barou’s face contorted into something resembling physical pain. His massive chest expanded as he sucked in a desperate breath, his teeth grinding together audibly. "That's not—! You're an idiot, Isagi! A complete, brain-dead, oblivious idiot!"

Barou took a heavy step into the doorway, forcing Isagi back a pace. The taller striker looked down, his eyes forcibly dragging themselves up to Isagi’s face, refusing to drop to the hemline even as his neck burned red. "I didn't call you an eyesore because you look bad! You... you look..." Barou choked on the word, his throat bobbing frantically. "...you look entirely too damn soft! Your legs are completely bare, you're walking around like you don't even know how small your waist is, and every bastard with working eyes is staring at you! It pisses me off! It makes me want to rip this whole building apart! So take the damn sweets and stop looking at me like I hate you!"

Isagi stood frozen, the kintsuba plate hovering between them. He stared at Barou’s furious, glowing-red face, completely unable to process the words.

Before Isagi could formulate a syllable, a heavy hand clamped onto Barou’s shoulder and physically shoved the giant aside.

Kunigami stepped into the threshold. The orange-haired hero-turned-wildcard looked like he was marching toward a firing squad. His usual stoic, cynical grimace had completely melted into a painfully earnest, mortified expression. In his hands, he held a neatly folded stack of thick, charcoal-gray compression leggings and a high-grade thermal undershirt.

"Isagi," Kunigami began, his voice dropping into a low, rumbling register that vibrated with suppressed tension.

"Kunigami, if you're here to tell me I'm walking around like a disaster—"

"I was lying," Kunigami interrupted bluntly, his amber eyes locking onto Isagi’s with intense, unyielding sincerity.

Isagi paused. "What?"

Kunigami’s neck turned bright scarlet, the blush spreading rapidly across his broad cheekbones and down to the collar of his training shirt. He held out the thermal gear like a sacred offering. "When I told you to cover up... when I said you were an eyesore... it was a lie. I said it because... because every time you walk into the room, I can't keep my eyes off you. Your legs, your hips... it's all I can look at. It was driving me crazy, and I got angry at myself for losing focus, so I took it out on you. It wasn't about your pride as a striker. You're the best player in this facility. You... you're amazing. And you look..." Kunigami swallowed hard, his voice dropping to a rough whisper, "...you look dangerously good in that skirt. That's why I wanted you to cover up. Because I couldn't stand the thought of anyone else seeing it."

Isagi’s mouth fell slightly open. The silence in the doorway stretched, heavy and surreal.

"You... what?" Isagi squeaked, his brain stalling out completely.

"Hey! Don't hog the doorway, you muscle-bound freak!"

A commotion erupted behind Kunigami. The corridor, which should have been silent under curfew regulations, had transformed into a bustling, tense marketplace of sheer desperation.

Isagi peered around Kunigami’s broad shoulder and felt his jaw drop.

The hallway was full.

Kaiser was standing near the wall, dressed in a pristine silk robe, holding an ornate, velvet-lined box of gold-wrapped German hazelnut pralines. His blue eyes met Isagi's, completely devoid of their usual mocking superiority; instead, the German striker looked taut, desperate, and intensely focused, though he covered it with a stiff, formal tilt of his chin.

Beside him, Kurona was practically bouncing on his heels, holding a steaming ceramic mug that smelled richly of chamomile and honey. "Warm tea, warm tea," Kurona muttered rapidly, his face glowing like a lantern. "Soothes the nerves, calms the mind. Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to snap. Wanted to protect, came out wrong, very wrong."

Yukimiya stood just behind them, nervously adjusting his glasses while holding two luxury cooling gel eye masks and a small bottle of lavender muscle balm. "The lighting in the common room was terrible for your eyes during the video review," Yukimiya offered, his voice smooth but slightly trembling at the edges. "I... I spoke out of turn earlier, Isagi. Your tactical analysis is always flawless. I was simply... distracted by your presence. Please accept this as an apology."

"Move, four-eyes," Nagi grumbled, silently gliding past the group like a massive, white-haired ghost. Nagi was dragging an entire mountain of oversized, premium goose-down pillows and a heavy plush blanket under his arm. He didn't even look at the other players; he simply stepped straight into Isagi’s doorway, dropped the mountain of bedding onto the floor, and looked down at Isagi with heavy, hooded gray eyes.

"Isagi," Nagi murmured, reaching out a long, pale hand to lightly touch the cuff of Isagi’s sleeve. "The bed here is hard. Your legs must be tired from training in that skirt. Sleep on these. And... don't talk to those Korean guys tomorrow. Talk to me. I'll pass you every ball. Just look at me."

"Nagi, get out of his personal space!" Reo hissed, darting forward with a sleek tablet displaying custom-tailored tactical breakdowns and a thermos of high-end electrolyte restoration fluid. "Yoichi, ignore him. Look, I compiled the defensive habits of the entire South Korean backline for you. You don't need to ask them about their tactics—I have every metric right here. And... about earlier... I'm sorry. You don't look ridiculous. You look... incredibly pretty. Far too pretty for this place."

"Isagi!" Bachira practically threw himself around Isagi’s waist from the side, burying his face directly against Isagi's ribs before looking up with wide, tearful golden eyes. "I brought you your favorite melon bread from the secret stash! Please don't be mad at me! The monster inside me got super jealous because you were smiling at someone else! I promise I'll be good! Just let me stay in your room tonight so I can make sure you're cozy!"

"Get your hands off him, bee," Rin's voice cracked like a whip through the hallway.

The entire group parted instantly.

Rin walked down the center of the corridor. He wasn't carrying pastries, tea, or pillows. His hands were empty, his posture lethal, his teal eyes locked entirely onto Isagi. He stepped directly into the room, ignoring the twenty other players hovering in the hall, and grabbed the door handle, slamming it shut in everyone’s faces.

CLICK.

Rin locked the deadbolt.

Inside the room, the sudden cut-off of corridor noise left only the sound of their synchronized breathing. Isagi took a step back, his back hitting the edge of his mattress, his eyes wide as he looked up at the younger Itoshi.

"Rin—"

Rin didn't yell. He didn't sneer. He crossed the small distance between them, reached out, and caught Isagi by the nape of his neck, his long fingers tangling gently into dark, damp hair. He pulled Isagi forward until their foreheads were almost touching, his breath warm, uneven, and sweet against Isagi’s lips.

"You're a complete idiot," Rin whispered, his voice trembling with a raw, terrifying intensity that Isagi had never heard from him before. "You think I want to hide you because you're disgraceful? You think I care about this stupid piece of cloth?"

Rin’s other hand dropped to Isagi’s hip, his fingers gripping the waistband of the pleated skirt, pulling it slightly until the fabric pulled taut against Isagi’s thigh.

"Every time you walk onto the pitch, you're the only thing I see," Rin murmured, his teal eyes burning into Isagi's with an honesty that felt like a physical weight. "And when you put this thing on... when you walk around with your skin showing... I want to tear this facility apart. I want to gouge out the eyes of every single person who looks at you. I told you to stay in your room because if you keep walking around like this, I'm going to lose my mind and do something you won't forgive me for."

Isagi’s heart hammered violently against his ribs. His face was ablaze, his breath catching in his throat. "Rin..."

"Don't smile at those Korean bastards tomorrow," Rin commanded softly, his thumb brushing over the heated curve of Isagi’s cheekbone. "If you want a pass, look at me. If you want a goal, use me. You don't need anyone else. Understood?"

Before Isagi could answer, the door handle rattled furiously from the outside, followed by Barou’s enraged kicks and Kaiser’s cold demands to open the lock.

Rin clicked his tongue in irritation, slowly letting go of Isagi’s neck, though his eyes never left Isagi’s flushed, stunned face. "Sleep, lukewarm. Tomorrow, you stay by my side."

The following morning, the artificial sunlight of the primary indoor stadium flooded the pristine artificial turf.

The penalty had not been lifted. Ego Jinpachi’s digital face appeared on the giant suspended monitors above the pitch, adjusting his glasses with a sadistic smirk.

"Due to the official nature of this international scrimmage," Ego drawled, his voice booming over the sound system, "Isagi Yoichi is permitted to wear standard Blue Lock athletic shorts during the ninety minutes of play. However, the moment the final whistle blows, the disciplinary attire will resume immediately until the seven-day period concludes. Strive to show me your unshakeable ego, unpolished gems."

The screen went black.

Isagi stood on the touchline, adjusting the drawstring of his black training shorts. The sheer relief of having fabric covering his legs was intoxicating. He stretched his hamstrings, feeling the familiar, crisp tension in his calves. He felt light. He felt fast.

Across the midfield line, the South Korean U-20 team was warming up. Captain Park Min-hyuk caught Isagi’s eye and waved with a bright, welcoming grin, gesturing for him to come over for a pre-match greeting.

Isagi took half a step forward to return the wave.

SWOOSH.

Three massive bodies instantly materialized directly in front of him, entirely severing his line of sight.

To his left stood Rin, his arms crossed, teal eyes radiating an aura of lethal, pitch-black hostility toward the Korean half of the pitch. To his right stood Kaiser, his fingers adjusting his captain’s armband with an icy, mocking sneer directed straight at Min-hyuk. Directly in front of him towered Aiku, his massive frame forming an impenetrable wall of muscle.

"Uh... guys?" Isagi blinked, trying to peer around Aiku’s shoulder. "I was just going to say good morning."

"No need," Aiku said smoothly, not turning around, his heterochromatic eyes fixed sharply on the Korean forwards. "Pre-match pleasantries are a waste of energy, ace. Focus on the kickoff."

"Yoichi," Kaiser purred, glancing over his shoulder with a sharp, possessive gleam in his blue eyes. "You don't need to look at commoners. Today, you only need to run into the space I create for you. I'll make sure every ball lands precisely at your feet."

"Shut up, clown," Rin growled, his shoulder brushing hard against Kaiser’s. "Isagi is my shadow today. If you get in our passing lane, I'll break your leg."

Isagi looked between the three of them, a bead of sweat tracing down his temple. What is wrong with everyone today?!

The referee’s whistle blew.

The match began, and within forty-five seconds, it became abundantly clear that this was not going to be a normal tactical scrimmage. It was a full-scale territorial war.

The South Korean team was disciplined, technically sound, and structured around high-speed counter-pressing. Their vice-captain, Lee Jin-woo, received the ball in the central third and looked up, attempting to initiate a quick one-two past the midfield line.

Before Jin-woo could even set his plant foot, Kunigami descended upon him like a runaway freight train.

THUD.

Kunigami’s shoulder slammed into Jin-woo with devastating, legal force, stripping the ball cleanly while sending the Korean midfielder skidding across the turf. Kunigami didn't celebrate; he didn't even look at Jin-woo. He immediately turned his entire body toward the right wing, his amber eyes scanning desperately until they locked onto Isagi.

"Isagi! Run!" Kunigami roared, launching a pinpoint, curving long-ball directly into Isagi’s stride.

"Got it!" Isagi burst forward, his spatial awareness mapping the open quadrant. He controlled the ball with a flawless touch off his chest, bringing it down to the turf.

Immediately, Korean captain Min-hyuk closed in to challenge him, shifting his weight to block Isagi’s dominant shooting lane. "Good touch, Isagi!" Min-hyuk called out with a competitive smile, lunging in for a sliding poke-tackle.

Min-hyuk never reached the ball.

Barou appeared out of absolute nowhere like an enraged demon, throwing his massive frame between Min-hyuk and Isagi. Barou physically shielded the ball with his back, his crimson eyes blazing with absolute fury as he shoved Min-hyuk off balance with a legal hip-check.

"Don't touch him, you foreign extra!" Barou bellowed, his voice loud enough to rattle the stadium rafters. Instead of taking his usual selfish shot, Barou did the unthinkable: he dragged the ball back with the sole of his boot, executed a clean heel-pass directly back into Isagi’s running path, and roared, "Shoot it, idiot! Score!"

Isagi didn't hesitate. The goal was wide open. He planted his left foot and struck through the center of the ball with a clean, devastating direct volley.

BANG.

The net bulged violently.

1-0. Blue Lock.

Isagi landed lightly on the turf, a breathless grin breaking across his face. Before he could even turn to celebrate with the team, a swarm of bodies engulfed him.

Bachira leaped onto his back, wrapping his arms securely around Isagi’s neck, rubbing his cheek against Isagi's with wild, ecstatic laughter. "Isagi! Amazing! Perfect goal! Look at me! Did you see how I pulled their center-back away for you?!"

Hiori slid in from the left, wrapping both arms around Isagi’s waist, pulling him close with a warm, possessive smile. "Brilliant finish, Yoichi-kun. Absolutely brilliant. You're shining so brightly today."

Chigiri arrived next, grabbing Isagi’s chin lightly, his red eyes bright with genuine admiration and a lingering flush of embarrassment. "Great shot, Yoichi. Keep moving like that."

"Formation, formation," Kurona chirped, circling around them like a miniature guard dog, glaring at any Korean player who even looked toward the celebration. "Protect the ace. Solid defense, solid defense."

From midfield, Min-hyuk picked himself up off the turf, rubbing his shoulder with a look of utter, bewildered shock. He looked at Jin-woo, who was slowly getting to his feet, staring at the Blue Lock team with wide, terrified eyes.

"Min-hyuk..." Jin-woo whispered, swallowing hard. "What is going on with these guys? It feels like if we even breathe near their number eleven, they're going to bite our heads off."

"I don't know," Min-hyuk murmured, wiping sweat from his brow. "Just... play carefully. Don't make any aggressive tackles on Isagi. I value my life."

The rest of the scrimmage turned into an absolute masterclass of hyper-aggressive, suffocating dominance.

Whenever the Korean team attempted to press Isagi, Reo and Karasu double-teamed the attackers with ruthless efficiency, intercepting every passing route before the ball could even enter Isagi's vicinity. Karasu would casually trap the ball, look over at Isagi with a sharp wink, and send a silky, measured pass right to his feet. "All yours, ordinary boy. Show 'em what you've got."

When Min-hyuk attempted a long through-ball over the top, Yukimiya and Otoya tracked back like twin shadows, stripping possession and immediately feeding the counter-attack exclusively through Isagi.

Even Nagi, whose usual work rate was notoriously minimal, ran like a man possessed. When a loose ball bounced near the penalty box, Nagi trapped it out of mid-air with impossible, zero-velocity perfection. Instead of turning to shoot, Nagi held off two defenders with his broad back, spotted Isagi cutting into the box, and tapped a delicate, lofted assist right into his path.

"Isagi," Nagi called out, his voice clear and loud over the stadium noise. "Take it. It’s for you."

BANG.

2-0.

By the eightieth minute, the Korean team was completely dismantled, not by superior tactical unity, but by the sheer, terrifying force of twenty-one world-class egos all competing desperately to earn a single smile, a single nod, and a single word of praise from their central striker.

Kaiser assisted Isagi’s hat-trick goal with a pinpoint, curling cross that seemed to defy physics, sliding the ball right onto the laces of Isagi's boot. When Isagi scored, Kaiser marched up to him, grabbed him by the front of his kit, and pulled him close, his blue eyes burning with an intense, breathless hunger.

"Who gave you that ball, Yoichi?" Kaiser demanded, his breath hot against Isagi’s ear. "Tell me. Whose pass was that?"

"It was yours, Kaiser! It was great!" Isagi laughed, breathless and exhilarated by the flow of the match.

Kaiser’s pupils dilated instantly, a deep, satisfied flush spreading across his neck as he let go of the fabric, looking like a king who had just been handed the crown jewels.

When the final whistle blew, the scoreboard read 5-0.

Isagi bent over, hands on his knees, panting heavily, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose. He felt incredible. Five goals, absolute dominance, and the most fluid, exhilarating offensive synergy he had ever experienced in Blue Lock.

From across the pitch, Min-hyuk walked over, holding his team jersey, intending to offer a customary post-match shirt swap.

"Hey, Isagi!" Min-hyuk called out, his tone respectful and admiring despite the heavy defeat. "Incredible game, man. You completely read every single one of our defensive shifts. Would you want to swap—"

Before Min-hyuk could finish the sentence, a loud, obnoxious buzzer sounded from the ceiling speakers.

A pneumatic hatch opened on the sideline wall. A small automated transport drone hovered onto the pitch, carrying a sterile white tray. On the tray sat the navy-blue pleated miniskirt.

The entire stadium went dead silent.

Isagi’s triumphant smile instantly vanished. The high of the victory evaporated like mist, replaced by a cold, dreadful knot in his stomach.

Right. The penalty.

Isagi sighed, trudging over to the sideline, picking up the folded skirt, and ducking into the pitch-side tunnel to change out of his kit before heading to the locker room.

Five minutes later, Isagi stepped into the main locker room.

The navy skirt was back on, its crisp pleats rustling softly against his damp, post-match skin. He had pulled on a fresh black compression long-sleeve, but his legs were entirely bare, exposed to the chilled air of the facility. He carried his duffel bag over his shoulder, intending to pack his gear quickly and head straight to the international lounge.

Min-hyuk had mentioned wanting to discuss their second-half pressing triggers over fruit smoothies before the Korean team departed the following morning, and after such an exhilarating match, Isagi was genuinely looking forward to the conversation.

He reached for his locker handle, grabbed his water bottle, and turned toward the exit.

A tall, elegant figure stepped directly into his path, blocking the double doors.

Itoshi Sae stood with his back against the exit frame, his arms crossed over his chest. He had already showered, his dark-red hair falling smoothly around his sharp, sculpted face. His jade eyes were completely fixed on Isagi, heavy, dark, and unyielding.

Isagi stopped in his tracks, his guard instantly snapping back up. "Sae. Move. I'm going to the lounge."

Sae didn't move an inch. His gaze slowly, deliberately drifted down the length of Isagi’s body. It tracked the lean, muscular curve of his thighs, the tight cinch of his waist in the high-waisted navy band, and the delicate flush rising along his neck. Sae’s jaw clenched tight, his chest expanding with a slow, controlled breath.

"You're not going anywhere," Sae said, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly baritone that echoed in the quiet locker room.

Isagi’s temper flared. "What is your problem?! The match is over! We won 5-0! Are you going to start calling me shameless again?! Are you going to tell me I'm parading around like an animal in heat?!"

Around the locker room, the other players stopped what they were doing.

Rin, Kaiser, Barou, Nagi, Reo, Chigiri, Kunigami, Bachira, Aiku, Hiori, and the rest closed in, forming a dense, suffocating wall behind Sae, boxing Isagi into the center aisle between the wooden benches.

Sae took a slow, deliberate step forward, pushing off the doorframe until he stood barely six inches from Isagi. He reached out a hand, his long, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around Isagi’s chin, tilting his face upward so their eyes met directly.

"You're an idiot," Sae stated coldly, though his thumb brushed softly over the sensitive skin of Isagi’s lower lip. "A blind, completely oblivious fool."

Isagi tried to yank his face away, but Sae’s grip was absolute. "Let go of me!"

"Listen to me, Yoichi," Sae murmured, his eyes blazing with an intense, unfiltered hunger that made Isagi’s breath hitch in his throat. "When I said you looked shameless... when I said you were parading around... I wasn't disgusted by you. I was disgusted by my own lack of control. Do you have any idea what it looks like when you walk through these halls with your bare skin showing? Do you have any idea how much effort it takes not to pin you against the nearest wall and strip the rest of that cloth off you?"

Isagi froze. His eyes dilated in pure, uncomprehending shock. "What...?"

"He's right, Isagi," Chigiri spoke up, stepping forward with his arms crossed, his entire face glowing bright crimson as he looked directly at Isagi. "You're completely dense! We weren't making fun of you! We were losing our damn minds!"

Chigiri reached out, his fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the pleated hem resting on Isagi's thigh, his touch trembling slightly. "Look at yourself! You look so soft, so ridiculously pretty, and your legs are completely exposed! Every time you move, we can see everything! We told you to stay in your room because we were terrified of what would happen if someone else saw you like this! We were jealous, you idiot!"

"I spent three days trying to figure out how to buy out this entire facility just so I could lock the doors and keep you to myself," Reo admitted openly, running a hand through his purple hair with a breathless, half-crazed laugh. "You were smiling at those Korean players, laughing with them, looking so happy... and it was driving me insane. I didn't want you to share tactical data because I didn't want them looking at your face. I didn't want them hearing your voice."

"Isagi," Nagi mumbled, appearing right behind Isagi, his massive arms wrapping around Isagi’s waist from behind, pulling his back flush against Nagi's broad, warm chest. Nagi buried his face into the crook of Isagi’s neck, inhaling deeply, his hands resting heavily over the front of the navy skirt to keep it pinned down. "Don't go to their lounge. Stay here. You were so cool on the pitch today. You scored three goals from my passes. You don't need them. You have me."

"Get off him, slacker!" Barou growled, stomping forward, though his massive hands didn't push Nagi away; instead, Barou caught Isagi’s shoulder, his red eyes burning with unyielding possessiveness. "Listen to me, you brat! If you take one step out of this room dressed like that to go sit with those foreign extras, I'll carry you back to the dorms over my shoulder! You belong on the pitch with us! You belong in Blue Lock! Stop looking at other teams!"

"Yoichi," Kaiser stepped in, his fingers lightly tracing the curve of Isagi’s exposed knee, his blue eyes dark, predatory, and entirely stripped of arrogance. "I gave you the ball today because I wanted to see you smile for me. Not for them. Never for them. If you want respect as a striker, you have it. You've conquered Bastard Munchen, and you've conquered me. But don't you dare think you can parade around in front of other men looking this delicious and expect us to let you walk away."

"Isagi~" Bachira purred, hugging Isagi's arm tightly against his chest, his golden eyes sparkling with pure devotion. "You're the center of my world! I don't care about the skirt, I don't care about the rules! I just want you to look at me the way you did during that second goal! Stay with us tonight! We'll give you all the compliments you want!"

"Yoichi-kun," Hiori said with a soft, intensely sweet smile, resting a hand on Isagi’s other shoulder. "You're the most brilliant striker in the world. And you're far too precious to be shared with anyone outside this room."

"Defensive perimeter, locked, locked," Kurona nodded firmly, standing guard near the threshold. "No exits, no foreign players. Isagi stays here, safe and sound."

"We apologize for our earlier conduct, Isagi," Yukimiya adjusted his glasses, his smile warm, possessive, and unshakeable. "We allowed our personal desires to compromise our communication. But make no mistake: our admiration for your football—and for you—is absolute."

"The ordinary boy broke everyone's brains," Karasu chuckled, leaning against the lockers with an appreciative smirk. "Can't blame us for getting territorial when the prize is this good."

"You're our ace, kid," Aiku grinned, crossing his massive arms. "And an ace stays with his team."

"Isagi-san is the best!" Nanase beamed, wiping a tear from his flushed face. "We all love you so much!"

Standing in the center of the locker room, surrounded by the twenty-one most dangerous, talented, and possessive strikers in the world, Isagi Yoichi felt the absolute weight of their words crash over him.

The pieces finally fell into place.

The crushed water bottles. The dark, dilated stares. The furious demands to cover up. The sudden swarm of passes on the pitch. The late-night pastries, teas, and blankets.

They hadn't hated him. They hadn't thought he was an embarrassment.

They had been completely, hopelessly, and violently in love with him, driven to the brink of madness by four days of seeing him in a miniskirt.

Isagi’s face exploded into an incandescent, burning scarlet that ran all the way down his neck to the collar of his compression shirt. He tried to hide his face behind his hands, but Nagi’s arms held him tight, and Sae’s fingers were still resting lightly beneath his chin.

"You... all of you..." Isagi stammered, his voice cracking in pure, overwhelming embarrassment, his heart thumping like a wild drum inside his chest. "...are absolute, total idiots!"

"Maybe," Rin whispered, stepping directly into Isagi’s space, his teal eyes burning with quiet, undeniable triumph as he reached out to tuck a stray lock of dark hair behind Isagi’s heated ear. "But you're not going to that lounge. You're staying with us."

Isagi looked around at the circle of expectant, desperate, and intensely devoted faces. He let out a long, trembling breath, his shoulders dropping in complete surrender, a small, flustered smile finally tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Fine," Isagi mumbled, looking down at his skirt with a breathless laugh. "Just... someone bring me some food from the commissary. My legs are exhausted."

A chorus of eager, competitive shouts erupted instantly, and for the remaining four days of his punishment, Isagi Yoichi never had to walk a single step on his own again.

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