Chapter Text
After leaving her parents behind, Reo felt something shift inside her. The freedom she had gained from her controlling parents created space she had never known before.
As Reo’s performance continued to rise the media couldn’t help but take notice. A player once linked to Blue Lock, yet thriving outside its rigid structure—Reo's story was too compelling to ignore. Her debut with the U-20s, coupled with her standout moments at Senshuken youth club, became a hotbed of speculation.
Journalists were intrigued. Who was this player whose public image didn’t match the usual “reject” label? Why had she left a project like Blue Lock, only to shine so brightly on a traditional development path?
Esperion acted swiftly and cautiously. They respected Reo’s request to keep her profile low. In a concise statement, they clarified she hadn’t been rejected but had voluntarily left Blue Lock to pursue a position change—a personal decision focused on growth, not failure. The club avoided naming Mikage Corporation entirely. There was no need to open old wounds.
Instead, they redirected all attention to her play on the pitch and limited her media appearances. Reo didn’t crave the spotlight. She just wanted to play.
But one variable couldn’t be managed: Itoshi Sae.
The midfielder, a global name in Japanese football, drew attention wherever he went. And once word got out that he and Reo were seen together—frequently and casually—the media pounced.
At first, it was harmless: two players reconnecting after the U-20 camp. But then came the photos—Browsing through second-hand bookstores in Jimbocho. Late evenings at Sae’s favorite Kyoto-style kaiseki spot in Ebisu. Spontaneous walks along the Sumida River, paper cups of coffee in hand. The public couldn’t get enough.
The story wasn’t just Reo’s talent anymore—it was her connection with Sae. A rare, unexpected bond. A new dynamic in Japanese football.
Esperion’s PR team scrambled to keep control. Carefully worded statements described their relationship as “a supportive friendship built on shared football values.” But the image had already cemented itself in the public imagination: Reo, the enigmatic prodigy, and Sae, the disciplined star—two contrasting forces moving quietly in sync.
And what the public didn’t see was how real that bond had become.
Reo found herself pulled into Sae’s rhythm—not forced, not demanding, just... grounding. On days off, she’d text him impulsively:
“I found a bookstore I think you'd hate. Come anyway.”
And he’d show up, grumbling, but never refusing.
Other times, Sae would drag her to restaurants that didn’t even appear on maps.
“I went here with my brother once. Terrible service. Great food.”
They’d sit in quiet corners, eating without rush, talking about football, Europe, the pressure of expectation. Or not talking at all.
Sometimes, they wandered Tokyo’s festivals like anonymous tourists, trying takoyaki and candied fruit, caught in soft lantern light and warm noise. One such night, as music drifted in the background and the air smelled of grilled squid and sugar, Sae finally brought up Rin.
“He’s... still trying to prove himself to me,” Sae had said, watching children toss rings at a stall. “I think that is because of what I did. I don’t know if that’s good or not.”
Reo just nodded. She didn’t say much. She didn’t need to. Sae looked at her like he knew she understood anyway.
It startled her sometimes, how easily he seemed to read her—without pressing, without asking.
They walked Tokyo like locals with nowhere to be. One weekend it was the aquarium, where Sae quietly admired jellyfish longer than expected. Another time it was the amusement park, where Reo was convinced she’d finally seen him lose his cool—arms flailing on the drop tower while she laughed so hard she had to sit down after.
Reo’s mind had never known stillness. Before football, she could barely focus on anything for long. Even sleep only came when exhaustion forced it. Football gave her something to anchor to—tactics, drills, opponents.
But with Sae, her thoughts just... slowed down. They didn’t vanish, they just softened. She wasn’t trying to figure him out or predict what came next. She was just there.
She hadn’t thought that was possible.
Even the silences between them were easy. They never had to explain the silence—each just understood.
As their friendship grew, Sae started to come to more of Esperion’s matches, taking a particular interest in Reo’s team, especially their forwards. He was curious, having heard so much about their unique style of play. He’d always been a midfielder, with a more analytical approach to the game, but watching Esperion’s strikers, like Yuuma and Yoshitsune, had intrigued him.
He watched their raw energy and the hunger they displayed on the field, something he hadn’t expected from the Japanese youth. Players like Shidou—raw, impulsive, unpredictable—showed Sae a side of Japanese football he’d never believed in. Watching him alongside Reo, he began to reconsider what the future could look like. He started to hope that while he hadn’t made it as a striker, his brother still could.
Meeting Reo had made him hope for the future. Both his and his brother’s.