Chapter Text
The final day of Yoichi's first week in Blue Lock didn't end with a test or even a whimper, for the matter. It ended with the sound a book makes when you slam it shut after reading the fine print on your own soul-crushing contract.
Libraries.
He was trapped in libraries. Plural.
He’d naively thought, back on that blissful, ignorant second day, that sneaking into a library was the height of his rebellion.
How cute. How tragically, adorably naive.
It turned out he had merely stumbled into the warm-up act. The campus didn't have a library. It had a goddamn library cinematic universe.
Five. Five separate oddly named temples to knowledge because apparently one building containing all the books would be far too convenient and functional for a school dedicated to psychological warfare.
There was the "Apex Predator Athenaeum or the "Strike Zone Archives.", insert the third library, because Yoichi couldn't have gave less of a fuck to remember.
He just hoped whoever named the libraries was forced to get their future child's name from a random word generator.
For three days, he’d been buried in this papery hellscape. If anyone had peered in, they'd have seen a single, bloodshot eye glaring from behind a monitor, the rest of him consumed by a snowdrift of printouts.
All this, thanks to his new "business partner." Reo had come through, gifting him a gold-embossed access pass so unnecessarily ornate it probably had its own insurance policy. It finally let him past the gates without triggering the world’s most judgmental alarm system and its attendant guardian: Sendou Shuto, a rule-obsessed B6 student exactly one day older than Yoichi, who apparently governed all five libraries from a single computer and took personal offense to Yoichi’s very presence.
Very, very annoying.
So, with access secured, what earth-shattering intel had Yoichi uncovered in his 72-hour scholarly adventure?
Absolutely nothing useful.
Oh, he’d learned things. Trivial, soul-crushing things. He now knew, for instance, that his roommate Itoshi Rin was a brand ambassador for Louis Vuitton. This information had the same impact as learning a tornado enjoys needlepoint: a fascinating mental image for precisely 2.5 seconds, before you remember you don’t care and also the tornado might kill you.
What he needed was answers to his Three Sacred Questions:
1. The Escape Plan: How to yeet himself back to B6 immediately.
2. The Survival Plan: Where to hide from the blond German typhoon.
3. The Existential Dread Plan: Why Kaiser had plucked him from obscurity. (Most important. Currently on hold, gathering dust.)
Turns out, Question #1 was dead on arrival. Murdered in cold blood by School Bylaw 34, Subsection C: "The Preservation of Potential from Willful Misguidance."
The translation from legalese to plain assholery was: "Ah, we see your adorable little protest. How charming. We've drafted a special clause just to extinguish that spark. Enjoy your luxury cell, you insolent brat, for a six-month 'probation' while we deliberate on your worthiness to stay. Thinking of failing on purpose? That’s an official reprimand. It also comes with a lifetime ban from any career more prestigious than a certified hole-digger."
The justification? They claimed a student’s "full potential" only blossoms after two months of being spoiled. It was the most pseudoscientific, self-serving nonsense Yoichi had ever read, and it had the structural integrity of a wet napkin, but it was official wet napkin, signed and stamped by people who could ruin his life.
So, his grand, principled stand against the system had been checkmated. He couldn't rebel; he could only… wait to be evaluated on his ability to enjoy caviar.
The universe wasn't just laughing at him. It was sending him a detailed invoice for the joke.
Fine. A setback. He’d just have to fail so authentically, with such artistic incompetence, that it moved the judges to tears.
But then came the salt in the wound, the lemon juice in the paper cut of his soul: Question #2 was also a bust.
As suspected, Michael Kaiser wasn't just a top student. He was the top student. The 'Emperor'. The man was apparently the second most popular entity on campus, right after the vending machine that sometimes gave out two drinks. The library computers—those traitorous rectangles of light—were filled with fawning articles and YouTube thumbnails screaming about his "captivating cerulean eyes" and "sculpted jawline."
Yoichi had accidentally gagged so loud a pigeon outside had cooed in alarm. Of course, the guy was a streamer, too. Because being academically perfect, athletically unmatched, and genetically sculpted by the gods wasn't enough. He also had to dominate the attention economy. Yoichi didn't click on any of the videos (he had standards, thank you), but the mere fact the channel existed, with its ungodly subscriber count, felt like a personal insult.
The bleak summary of his first week?
1. Trapped in B1 luxury for six more months by clownish bylaws.
2. Nowhere to hide from his architect of misery.
3. No closer to understanding why he was the chosen victim.
The only progress was Reo’s vague promise of "working on" the student council access. So, Yoichi’s current life strategy amounted to: Wait. And seethe.
If you’d told Yoichi that after three days of drowning in leather-bound bureaucracy, his greatest victory wouldn’t be a loophole or a secret, but a person, he would have laughed in your face.
Then he would have cried, because laughing uses too much energy when you’re spiritually bankrupt.
But alas, the universe has a sense of humor drier than the dust on the "Apex Predator Athenaeum's" taxidermied wolverine. His prize? Hiori Yo.
A 17-year-old from Fraction B1, Bastard München. Yes, the very faction currently starring the blond German menace in the lead role. Hiori wasn’t just in the enemy camp, he was probably fetching the enemy’s imported coffee.
On Day One, after discovering his grand rebellion had a mandatory six-month waiting period (thanks again, Bylaw 34, you soulless legalistic fun-sponge), Yoichi had stormed out of the "Tactical Lair" like a typhoon of pure spite. He’d collided with what felt like a very calm, very soft wall.
"Ah. My bad," the wall mumbled, not looking up from its phone. Its voice was the audio equivalent of a shrug.
Yoichi grunted, a noise that meant ‘my existence is pain, but carry on.’
Day Two. Same doorway, different pretentiously-named library. Another collision. This was beyond coincidence. This was either destiny or proof. The campus architect was a sadist who enjoyed bottlenecked exits.
This time, Yoichi didn’t just grunt. He reached out, hooked a finger in the strap of the boy’s messenger bag, and dragged him towards a study carrel with the grim determination of a postal worker handling a suspicious package.
"You," Yoichi announced, his voice raspy from whispering curses at legal documents, "are now my research hostage. Sit. Your aura of quiet despair is less grating than my own."
The boy—Hiori—just blinked. He had these large, teal eyes that seemed to absorb light and give back only a mild, sleepy curiosity. He glanced at the plush carrel chair, then back at Yoichi. "Sure. This chair has better lumbar support than the one in my dorm."
And he sat.
If you asked Yoichi what his strategic reasoning was for bag-napping a random student, he’d have no answer. Desperation makes diplomats of us all.
Hiori was… aesthetically interesting. A shock of blueish-teal hair that fell into his eyes in a way that said ‘I woke up like this’ and also ‘I could not care less.’ He was perpetually swaddled in an oversized hoodie, giving him the appearance of a slightly melancholic turtle. But his eyes were sharp, cutting through the lazy demeanor like lasers through fog.
He was also, blessedly, a nerd. Not a ‘I-will-use-this-knowledge-to-dominate-you’ nerd, but a pure, beautiful ‘I-find-this-algorithm-fascinating-for-its-own-sake’ nerd. While Yoichi was trying to decipher if a clause about ‘potential optimization’ meant they could force-feed him caviar, Hiori was happily lost in a book on neural networks or coding something that made soft, soothing clicky noises.
Their friendship was cemented later that day. After uncovering the ‘blacklist your future’ clause, Yoichi had reached his limit. He carefully, deliberately, lowered his forehead onto the pristine mahogany table and let out a long, muffured, guttural scream into the grain.
From across the table, Hiori didn’t flinch. He simply pushed a can of iced coffee across the wood. It slid with perfect accuracy to rest, cool and condensing, against Yoichi’s temple.
"Syntax error?" Hiori asked, his tone flat as a failed pancake.
"Life error," Yoichi moaned, the sound vibrating through the table.
"Ah. The worst kind. Requires a full system reboot. And caffeine."
Later, when Yoichi’s stomach emitted a growl so fierce it sounded like it was challenging the library to a duel, Hiori closed his laptop with a soft click.
"C'mon. My treat."
"You don't have to—"
"You funded my new gaming chair by accidentally using my affiliate link on seventeen separate snack delivery orders. I owe you approximately forty-seven bento boxes. Let's start with one."
It was surreal. Here was a Bastard München elite, buying a charity case lunch (at Kurona's restaurant) because Yoichi’s subconscious was an impulsive online shopper. Hiori asked no probing questions. He offered no unsolicited advice. He was just a calm, mildly amused spectator to the Yoichi Isagi Disaster Documentary.
He was, against all odds and faction allegiances… pleasant like Kurona had been.
The realization hit Yoichi mid-bite of a tamagoyaki.
Oh. He thinks this was a friend.
The concept was so alien he almost choked. A friend. Not a rival, not a frenemy, not a dramatic pink-haired hurricane. He was just a guy who shared his space and his iced coffee and found Yoichi’s slow-motion mental collapse to be ‘decent background entertainment.’
On the third day, Yoichi arrived to find Hiori already installed, a second can of coffee waiting.
"You're early," Yoichi accused, collapsing into his chair. "Did your AI finally become self-aware and tell you to touch grass?"
"Hilarious," Hiori droned, not looking up. "No, I finished a script that auto-blocks any digital mention of a certain German student leader. Thought you'd appreciate the digital silence."
Yoichi stared, genuinely touched. "You… coded a Kaiser filter? For me?"
Hiori had glanced over, a ghost of a smirk in his tired eyes. "For me. Your audible disgust every time his ‘captivating cerulean eyes’ headline pops up was throwing off my coding rhythm. This was for self-interest."
Yoichi barked a laugh. It sounded weird. He’d almost forgotten how to do it. "Right. Of course. The noble pursuit of uninterrupted nerd-time."
Their dynamic became a new kind of intelligence gathering. While Yoichi waged war with highlighters and posts, Hiori would casually lob informational grenades.
"You know," Yoichi said, gesturing at Hiori’s screen with his coffee, "for a top-tier faction member, you spend a shocking amount of time not practicing your evil laugh or plotting to crush the less fortunate."
Hiori shrugged, his form almost vanishing into the hoodie. "World domination seems exhausting. Requires PowerPoints. Team-building exercises. This," he tapped his keyboard, "is clean. Logical. It obeys commands. Unlike," he nodded at Yoichi’s explosion of color-coded notes, "that eldritch horror."
"This is a system!" Yoichi protested, defending his rainbow catastrophe of desperation.
"It's a cry for help in flow-chart form. But don't stop. It’s like watching a car crash in slow motion. Compelling."
As they packed up, Hiori had slung his bag over his shoulder. "For a research hostage situation, this clocks in at a solid six out of ten. Would reluctantly be kidnapped again."
"High praise," Yoichi grinned.
"Don't let it inflate your ego. You're still a human tornado of poor life choices." Hiori paused, fixing Yoichi with a rare, direct look. "But you're a consistent tornado. See you tomorrow. Try to find a loophole that doesn't involve screaming into public furniture. I'm sure Sendou is taking bets with someone."
Watching Hiori amble away, Yoichi felt the strange, unclenching of a fist he hadn't realized was tightened. The libraries were still temples of arrogance, the rules were still draconian nonsense, and Kaiser was still out there, probably being perfect at something.
But Yoichi wasn't alone in the asylum anymore. He’d found another inmate who preferred the quiet chaos of code to the loud chaos of everything else.
It was a loophole the rulebook geniuses never saw coming, the strategic acquisition of a sarcastic, teal-haired nerd who bought you lunch.
Checkmate, bureaucracy.
HAHAHA.
---
The fourth day found them in the final temple of torment: "The Repository." (A name so boring it felt like an administrative prank.) The air smelled of aggressively lemon-scented polish and the quiet, internal screaming of generations of students.
Yoichi was done. Frankly, if he never saw another bookshelf or a book titled "The history of Blue Lock High," it would be still too soon. His brain felt like over-chewed gum.
Across the table, Hiori let out a deep and world-weary sigh. He was buried under a pile of wires and a glowing tablet, looking less like a top-tier student and more like a gremlin who’d lost a fight with a USB hub.
"You're composing a symphony of suffering over there," Yoichi remarked, not looking up from a riveting document on the school's approved shades of beige for hallway repainting. "What's the matter? Battery low?"
Hiori didn't lift his head. "Huh? What do you mean."
"The sighs. The groans." Yoichi finally glanced over. "You mocked me for this exact behavior yesterday. Hypocrisy is a bad color on you. It clashes with your… whatever this is." He gestured at Hiori's oversized, gray hoodie.
Another sigh, this one seeming to deflate Hiori's entire skeletal structure. "It's just… life, man."
"Oh no." Yoichi held up a hand like a traffic cop. "No. We are not doing this. I am not emotionally equipped for a backstory dump. My capacity for other people's trauma is currently at zero."
"—More mentally unstable than a Jenga tower at an earthquake convention? I know," Hiori deadpanned, finally lifting his head. His sharp teal eyes were underscored by impressive new luggage. "And for the record, trauma-dumping hadn't even breached the perimeter of my mind until you brought your own emotional baggage to the security checkpoint and tried to smuggle it through."
"...Just preemptively securing the perimeter," Yoichi said, miming locking a door and throwing away the key.
"Uh huh."
"Come on," Yoichi prodded, leaning forward. "Out with it. If it's not about the school's code, I can only deduce its faction-related."
"Being perceptive and correct is deeply annoying," Hiori droned, looking back at his wires as if they'd personally offended him. "So what if you're right? That doesn't mean I have to tell you. I don't perform on demand."
"True," Yoichi conceded. "But would you really pass up an opportunity for a little light venting? I'm a captive audience. Literally. You're my research hostage, remember? Hostage-taker privileges include hearing you complain."
"Yeah, well, listening to complaints is Kaiser's job. He delegates the 'feelings' to a committee that meets never." Hiori’s voice was drier than the dust on a forgotten ethics textbook. "My job is to make sure the Wi-Fi works so he can look perfectly angsty while posing about it."
"...Spill. I need a new source of secondhand misery as a distraction."
"The only thing I'll be spilling is that iced coffee if you keep prying," Hiori threatened, pointing a slender finger at Yoichi's cup.
"Thank God for small mercies, I'm caffeine-less and therefore fearless," Yoichi shot back, shaking his empty cup like a pauper's bell.
"..."
"..."
"It's confidential," Hiori finally broke, his voice low. "And not important for a charity case like you. Just keep your head down and color within the lines, Isagi-kun."
"Ah…" Yoichi leaned back, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his face. "But what if I'm getting bored of lines? What if I find the internal melodrama of the school's gilded princes far more compelling than plumbing regulations?"
"Not my problem," Hiori said, but a corner of his mouth did a little twitch, like a malfunctioning robot trying to smile.
"It could be," Yoichi pressed, his tone light but his eyes sharp. "I'm an excellent listener. My rates are very reasonable. I accept payment in sarcasm and classified information."
Hiori stared at him for a long moment, then let out a sound that was half-sigh, half-exhausted laugh. "Fine. But if I tell you, you have to help me untangle this rat's nest." He held up a knot of wires. "Consider it your consultation fee."
"Deal," Yoichi said, scooting his chair around with a screech that made three students at distant tables jump. He propped his elbows on the table. "Now, talk. Start with why you look like you personally tried to debug Kaiser's personality and found the source code was just a single, repeating line of 'I am the main character'." Yoichi could imagine that.
Hiori let out a sound that was dangerously close to a giggle-snort. He picked up a stray printout Yoichi’s color-coded chart and began folding it with violent precision. "There's... this other guy in our faction. Who thinks Kaiser's whole… Kaiser-ness… is morally bankrupt. Something about treating B6 students as tools is dehumanizing."
"FINALLY," Yoichi breathed, a genuine grin splitting his face. "A voice of reason in the den of ego! I knew there had to be one! Is it you? Please say it's you."
Hiori ignored him, focusing on creating the world's sharpest paper triangle. Okay, so it's not Hiori, shame.
"And now our little moral crusader is trying to stage a quiet coup. Rallying the troops. It's... disruptive."
Yoichi's grin widened. "Huh. So the infallible Bastard München has cracks in its shiny facade? I'm shocked. Shocked, I tell you. Well, not really that shocked, but still shocked."
"Even the most well-oil cults have the occasional squeaky wheel," Hiori muttered, tossing the lethal paper triangle aside. "It's just a vibe. Don't quote me. I'd hate to have to silence you."
"How... peculiar," Yoichi mused, tapping a finger against his chin dramatically.
"Whatever," Hiori continued, slumping back and running both hands through his teal hair until it resembled a bird's nest built during a hurricane. "I just want it to stop. A goody-two-shoes trying to play revolution is just... naive. You'd think after two years here, he'd understand that idealism is a software bug that gets patched out immediately." He let his hands fall with a soft thud. "Ah, whatever. It's messing with Kaiser's mood, and now he's dumping more 'cyber-security initiatives' on me." He made air quotes with a level of exhaustion that suggested the very act might kill him.
"...So, he'll fail?" Yoichi asked, watching him closely.
Hiori gave him a look so flat that it could have been used to level a table. "Isagi. That's not a question. It's a law of nature. He's background noise. The problem is that this particular noise is giving the maestro a headache, and the maestro takes it out on the orchestra. Specifically, the guy who tunes the instruments." He gestured at himself with a limp wrist. "It's so–" He cut himself off, just ruffling his hair again in frustration. "I'll deal with it. Somehow."
"Weird," Yoichi mumbled to himself.
Something was tugging at the backs of his mind.
"Why would... no, that doesn't track..."
Hiori's head snapped up. "Huh? What was that?"
Yoichi blinked, realizing he'd spoken aloud. "Oh, nothing... I'm just thinking about... wiring. Yeah."
Maybe he was connecting dots that didn't exist. Surely, it wasn't that. It couldn't be.
His conspiracy theorizing was cut short by a sharp thwack on the top of his head. He flinched, looking up to see Hiori holding the now-unfurled paper missile.
"Your internal monologue is leaking," Hiori declared, pointing the paper at the tangled wires. "You promised manual labor. The knots await your delicate touch."
Yoichi rubbed his forehead. ":/"
"Don't give me that emoticon face. Untangle the blue one from the red one. Without severing the connection. Or my patience."
"You're a tiny, terrifying tyrant, just like your stupid leader." Yoichi grumbled, picking up the wires.
"I've been called worse by better people. Now focus."
A comfortable silence fell, broken only by the soft clicks and clatters of Yoichi wrestling with the cables. After a few minutes, Hiori spoke again, his tone deceptively casual, as if commenting on the weather.
"Hey. You do realize the big, humiliating custody battle debate is in, like, four days, right? Picked which faction gets to legally own you yet? Your vote- I mean."
Yoichi’s fingers, which had been gently coaxing a blue wire, froze.
The question hung in the air.
The Reclamation Debate.
The entire reason for his library-powered panic spiral.
In his desperate quest to find a way around the system...
How. The. Actual. Everloving. Fuck. Did. He. Forget. About. That.
His head snapped up. All the blood drained from his face, leaving him the color of library paste.
"..."
Hiori watched his expression cycle through horror, denial, and panic. "…?"
"FUCK."
A student three tables over shushed him violently. Yoichi didn't care. He slumped forward, letting his forehead meet the table with a solid, definitive THUD. The wires fell from his lifeless fingers.
Fuck fuck fuck fuckity fuck.
Hiori observed the meltdown with clinical interest, taking a slow, satisfied sip of his drink. "I'll take that as a 'no', then."
Completely drained, Yoichi lolled his head to the side. The digital clock on his phone—the one he’d overpaid for in a fit of "I need to feel in control"—glared back at him: 4:44 PM. Thank Kaiser for not breaking it yet a-fucking-gain.
Four days left. 4:44.
It was so on-the-nose it felt like the universe was personally mocking him. Behold, your doom, in mirrored numbers.
"You know, you still have time to choose," Hiori mused, poking Yoichi's limp arm with a stylus. "It's not like you haven't already made a... vibrant... first impression on most of the leadership."
"Don't try to logic me out of my perfectly curated panic," Yoichi mumbled into the wood grain. "This is my process. It involves suffering and mahogany."
"Right. My apologies for interrupting your sacred ritual of despair." Hiori hummed. "But seriously. What's the real hang-up? Scared you'll pick the faction whose mandatory morning chant is in ancient Sumerian?"
Yoichi responded with a guttural groan, banging his forehead once more for good measure. Spontaneous combustion was starting to look like a rational career move.
Yoichi lifted his head, a perfect red circle stamped on his forehead. "...I need to at least meet this 'King' Barou guy," he muttered, fiddling with his phone like it was a holy relic of anxiety. "And I should probably have a conversation with my roommate that doesn't end with flying furniture."
Since the "welcome ambush," Rin had been a ghost. Yoichi wasn't sure if the guy ever slept in his own bed or just materialized out of shadows to brood strategically. All he knew was the guy was a brooding bitch, and Reo had said he was in a "wrong headspace," which was about as helpful as a screen door on a submarine.
Yoichi really needed to get a read on the guy.
"I can't choose a faction based on gossip and win-loss ratios. I don't want to spend two years in hell because I accidentally joined the one where everyone does trust falls and shares their feelings."
"Well, it's going to be a specifically tailored, personalized hell regardless," Hiori exhaled, not looking up. "So, good luck with that, I guess."
Yoichi’s gaze snapped to Hiori's face, scanning it with frantic intensity. Then, a switch flipped. "What the hell am I still doing here?"
"Do you want the obvious, self-deprecating answer, or shall I come up with something more creatively insulting?"
"No, I mean it," Yoichi said, his voice gaining a sudden, terrifying focus. He sat up ramrod straight, energy coiling back into him like a spring. "I'm leaving. Now."
Hiori finally glanced over, a flicker of surprise in his tired eyes. "Suit yourself. Doors that way." He gestured lazily, but a subtle tension tightened his shoulders. "Got a hot date with a different, slightly less soul-crushing book fortress?"
"Better," Yoichi declared, a manic gleam in his eye. "I'm going faction-shopping. If I'm a piece of meat at an auction, I'm at least going to inspect the other cuts before the bidding starts."
"Ah, the 'sniff test'. A truly refined due-diligence strategy," Hiori droned, watching the hurricane of activity. "Be sure to ask about their policy on dramatic monologues."
Yoichi ignored him, shoving stacks of paper into his bag with the grace of a garbage compactor. He was a man on a mission, a mission to avoid his fate via proactivity.
He was stopped by a voice, uncharacteristically sharp, cutting through the quiet. "Hey! Isagi-kun."
Yoichi skidded to a halt, hand an inch from the door. He turned, impatience etched on his face. "What? Did I forget my 'Why Me?'' flow chart?"
Hiori wasn't looking at him, instead staring fixedly at his tangled wires. "Will... I still see you?" The question was soft, almost inaudible. He gestured vaguely at the empty space Yoichi was about to vacate. "Since you have a new, more active objective now and... well. There's no use for you to be buried in a library with a certified loner like me. Your research is... concluded."
Yoichi turned fully, his expression unreadable for a moment as he took in Hiori's slumped form, the defensive curl of his shoulders.
It's... kinda cute, seeing the human calculator look unsure.
Then, a single, blunt word. "Nah."
Hiori flinched as if struck, his head snapping up. "I-i Huh?!... That's not what people usually say when they're about to start ghosting someone." His arms wrapped around himself.
"Who said anything about ghosting?" Yoichi asked, tilting his head in mock innocence, a thin, playful smile on his lips.
"You just said you'll no longer be seeing me," Hiori deadpanned, his voice dropping, laced with a vulnerability he couldn't hide.
Yoichi took a step back towards him. He let the words hang for a beat, his gaze flickering between Hiori's tense form and the door. "I said, I'll no longer be coming to the library to see you," he clarified, his voice softening just a fraction. "There's a difference."
Hiori's eyebrows did a little dance of confusion. "...I don't really... parse the semantic difference."
A genuine, gleeful laugh escaped Yoichi, a bright, crackling sound in the stifling quiet. "Figure it out, genius! You're the programmer!" And with that, he turned fully, gave a ridiculous little salute, and strode out of the libary leaving a profoundly confused and slightly flustered Hiori Yo alone with his wires.
---
After a prompt retreat to the bathroom and a full-face immersion under the bathroom tap—a move he mentally credited to Nagi for teaching him the value of what a cold fucking stream of water can do to a body. Yoichi emerged. Reborn! Mind clear, dripping and maybe slightly waterboarded by his own desperation.
With the exhaustion of a station worker on his back but a body filled with caffeine, there was no stopping him now. He was a man with a mission, or at least a deeply confused person with a to-do list.
He had to either locate the final, elusive faction leader, King Barou, or find his current MIA roommate, Itoshi Rin
Yoichi wasn't going to lie. After three full days of not seeing Rin in their shared apartment, a tiny, ridiculous sliver of concern had begun to gnaw at him. Not that he missed the brooding! God, no. But coming back to an empty luxury suite after a full day in hell in the Blue Lock Libaries was perfect, magical even. Where the only sounds were the hum of the fridge and the aggressive buzzing of Chigiri's 47 unread texts? Paradise. A silent, spacious, fully-catered paradise.
(Okay, the Chigiri part was less 'paradise' and more 'persistent digital mosquito.' But still.)
It just felt… off. Where does a teenage tyrant go if not to his tyrannical lair? Was he sleeping in a coffin? Meditating on a mountain of disdain? The guy was a top student, a faction leader, an absolute unit of repressed fury—he could clearly handle himself. But that was the thing. The fury. Yoichi had seen it bright and fucking clear in the dark during their fight. That wasn't just 'having a bad day.' That was 'carrying around a miniature supernova of rage in a Louis Vuitton backpack.' Reo’s comment about Rin's 'wrong headspace' echoed.
It wasn't concern for Rin’s well-being, per se. It was more like noticing a lit fuse on a very expensive firework in your living room. You don't necessarily care about the fireworks, but you'd prefer your living room not to explode.
So, with the grim determination of a man choosing the marginally less terrifying of two horrors, Yoichi decided, PXG faction HQ.
He set off with a hop in his step that was 10% determination and 90% caffeine-induced jitter.
Two blocks later, the hop had faded to a trudging stumble. A cold, hard truth dawned on him.
Where the fuck could he even find the guy anyways?
Maybe he should ask for help from Kurona, but the guy was currently also MIA, ignoring him after he bought Hiori to the restaurant. Chigiri would be too much of an ass to be of assistance. There is no way he could ask Hiori now after storming off like that...Sendou was - well, Sendou. And most B6 students hated him.
He stopped in the middle of the pristine walkway, the grandiose faction buildings looming around him like judgmental giants.
Ah. Fuck.
He was a lone, slightly damp detective in a school full of potential suspects and zero friends. And even if he had friends...They were not exactly useful at the moment.
Well. There was no time for an existential crisis in the middle of a sidewalk that probably cost more per square inch than his entire wardrobe. He’d just have to wing it. How hard could it be to find one brooding prodigy in a campus teeming with them?
He took a determined step forward.
A firm hand closed in the hair at the nape of his neck, yanking him backward with effortless grace. Yoichi let out a 'oof' as his head was tilted back, his body forced into an awkward, accommodating arch.
He looked up at the vaulted ceiling, a snarl already forming on his lips.
Who the actual fu—
“Yoichi~” a voice purred, smooth as poisoned honey and twice as smug. “Where are you off to in such a hurry?”
Bitch!
He gasped—half shock, half sheer rage—and slammed his heel down with all his might, aiming to grind Kaiser’s undoubtedly Italian loafer into the polished marble. The German didn’t so much dodge as simply cease to exist in that space, fluidly stepping back. But that action was enough for Yoichi to wrench himself free, spin, and launch a wild, righteous punch at that stupid, perfect face.
It sailed through empty air, of course.
“Woah, Yoichi!” Kaiser laughed, the sound echoing in the hallway. He’d already moved three feet to the left, hands in his pockets as if he’d been there all along. “Such aggression! What’s got your panties in such a twist, hm? Didn’t you get your naptime at the library?”
“I don’t know, maybe a certain blonde asshole who thinks hair-yanking is a valid form of greeting!” Yoichi shot back, already lunging again. He knew he wouldn’t hit him. It was the principle of the thing.
If he didn’t try to punch that smirk off, he’d explode.
They fell into a bizarre, one-sided fight right there in the main thoroughfare. Yoichi was a whirlwind of frustrated, swings—hooks, jabs, a frankly embarrassing attempt at a roundhouse kick. Kaiser was swaying, leaning, taking tiny, precise steps that always left him just out of reach. He didn’t even take his hands out of his pockets.
Yoichi needs to strangle the guy!
Around them, the background of Blue Lock life continued, but now with an audience. A few scattered B6 students, laden with equipment or laundry, had stopped to gawk. A couple of higher-tier students in crisp uniforms glanced over with mild amusement before continuing on. And, infuriatingly, a small cluster of Kaiser’s admirers had gathered near a potted fiddle-leaf fig, whispering and giggling.
“Look at him, go!”
“The Emperor is playing with him!”
“Is that the new charity case? He’s kind of… spirited.”
Spirited. Yoichi was going to spirit his foot right up Kaiser’s ass-
“What? Can’t I check on my investments?” Kaiser taunted, leaning back so far from a jab that his spine seemed to defy physics.
“I’m not your stupid investment!” Yoichi roared, charging forward only for Kaiser to pirouette away, his coat flaring.
“You might as well be!” Kaiser sang, and then he was suddenly there, inside Yoichi’s guard. Not with a punch, but with two fingers under Yoichi’s chin, tilting his face up. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over Yoichi’s lips, those blue eyes glinting with malicious delight. “With how desperately you keep trying to get close to me…”
Yoichi’s brain short-circuited. All the furious momentum, the clever insults, evaporated into a static hum. He could smell Kaiser’s cologne—something expensive and cold—and see the faint, mocking curve of his smile from an inch away. His heart performed a traitorous, gymnastic leap into his throat. The heat flooding his cheeks was a betrayal of the highest order.
Fuck, Yoichi hated Adonis's.
“Hm,” Kaiser hummed, his gaze dropping to Yoichi’s undoubtedly crimson face. His voice dropped to a velvet murmur meant only for the space between them. “I do think you’re liking this quite a lot, Yoichi~”
“EAT SHIT!” Yoichi erupted, the spell breaking. He jerked his knee up, aiming for the solar plexus. Kaiser simply disengaged, hopping back with a dancer’s lightness as Yoichi’s strike met empty air.
Kaiser threw his head back and laughed, a rich, genuine sound that made the gathering spectators sigh. “I heard you’ve been cozying up with my people! Hiori? Reading books, hm? You really are a literacy criminal. It’s almost cute.”
“Has no one told you stalking is also illegal?!” Yoichi spat, stalking after him as Kaiser began to amble backward down the hall, leading him on a chase. “You’re as much of a criminal as I am!”
“Oh?” Kaiser’s grin was a slash of white. He spun on his heel and broke into a light jog, forcing Yoichi to run after him just to continue the argument. “But is it really a crime,” he called over his shoulder, effortlessly avoiding a water fountain, “when you’re guilty of the same? I saw the search history on that library terminal, Yoichi. ‘Kaiser Blue Lock highlights’. ‘Kaiser interview 2024’. For academic purposes, was it?” He ducked behind a stone column, popping out the other side just as Yoichi swung, his fist connecting with nothing but ancient, probably imported, rock.
“IT WAS FOR ACADEMIC PURPOSES AND YOU KNOW IT!” Yoichi bellowed, his voice echoing. He was panting now, both from the sprint and sheer fury. They were causing a scene, a moving spectacle of one boy attacking, and the other boy pretending it was a flirtatious game of tag.
Asshole!
Kaiser laughed again, darting up a short flight of stairs. “What was the thesis? ‘The Correlation Between Arrogant Smirks and the Urge to Commit Felony Assault’?”
“SHUT UP!” Yoichi took the stairs two at a time. He was vaguely aware of the world blurring past—the gleaming windows of the “Nutrient Refueling Nexus,” the disapproving glare of a passing teacher who decided, wisely, not to intervene in an Emperor’s sport, the growing trail of mildly interested students following at a safe distance.
He was a heat-seeking missile locked onto a target that was made of smoke and mirrors. And the worst part? The worst part was that a tiny, horrifying part of him was starting to enjoy the chase. The clarity of it. No confusing bylaws, no cryptic roommates, just pure, simple, cathartic violence (or the attempted version thereof).
Kaiser glanced back, his eyes alight with a challenge that was more intimate than any punch. “Catch me if you can, little thief. Then we’ll talk about where you’re really trying to go.”
And with that, he rounded a corner and broke into a proper run.
With a guttural sound that was half-growl, half-laugh, Yoichi poured on the speed, giving chase. The mission to find Rin was temporarily tabled.
Right now, he had an infuriating, blonde phantom to catch.
Kaiser didn't melt into the crowd so much as he cut through it like a yacht through dinghies, the sea of students parting instinctively before him. He cast a glance over his shoulder—not a check, but a summons, his blue eyes catching the dying light with a challenge.
Yoichi, his pride still smarting from the public spectacle and that final, infuriating whisper, found his feet moving before his brain could lodge a formal protest. The alternative was wondering around for Rin or his empty apartment, both options tasting like defeat.
“Losing your nerve, Yoichi?” Kaiser called back, not even turning his head fully, his voice a teasing carry over the fading crowd noise. “I thought you were on a detective mission.”
“I’m considering the merits of ignoring you until you combust from your own ego,” Yoichi shot back, but he was already closing the distance, falling into step a few paces behind the other boy as they left the main quad.
“Tempting, but unlikely. My ego is a renewable energy source.”
They moved away from the manicured heart of campus, past the gleaming academic blocks. Kaiser led him down a less-traveled path lined with weeping willows, their long fronds brushing the ground like silent curtains.
“Taking me to a secondary location?” Yoichi asked, his tone dry. “I should text someone. ‘If found flattened, the blond did it.’”
“If I wanted to flatten you, I’d have done it by the fountain where there were witnesses and better lighting for the spectacle,” Kaiser replied, shoving a willow branch aside. “This is a scenic route. Try to appreciate it. It’s part of your… cultural enrichment.”
The noise of the school faded, replaced by the whisper of leaves. The path opened suddenly into a wide, rolling meadow. Clusters of lavender, daisies, and vivid red poppies swayed in the gentle evening breeze, their fragrance thick and sweet in the air. A glittering, serpentine pond reflected the rapidly changing sky.
Yoichi stopped in his tracks, the sarcastic comment dying on his lips. “Okay. What’s the catch? Is this where the school dumps the bodies of students who failed their midterms? Is the pond filled with acid?”
Kaiser turned, his expression unreadable. “No catch. It’s a meadow. They exist. Even here.” He began walking again, through the flowers. “Sometimes things are just… nice. A novel concept for you, I’m sure.”
“Nice feels suspicious coming from you,” Yoichi muttered, but he followed, his eyes drinking in the impossible serenity. The sheer, tranquil beauty was a physical shock after the relentless pressure-cooker of the last week. The golden hour light softened everything, gilding the flower tops and making Kaiser’s hair look like a halo of spun honey—a deeply irritating observation.
He was so busy trying to mentally armor himself against the scenery—and the unnerving sight of Michael Kaiser looking almost peaceful—that he forgot to watch his feet. One moment he was stepping over a patch of clover, the next, his toe caught on a hidden, gnarled root.
“Oof—! Scheiße!”
He pitched forward with a graceless yelp. Instinctively, his hands flew out, not to break his own fall, but to grab the nearest object—which happened to be the back of Kaiser’s immaculate blazer.
“Was zum—!” Kaiser’s curse was cut short as Yoichi’s weight dragged him backward. They went down in a tangle of limbs, a whirl of blue fabric and flying flower petals, landing with a soft thud in a cushion of grass.
For a moment, there was only stunned silence, broken by the distant chirp of a cricket.
Yoichi pushed himself up on his elbows, blinking dazedly. He was sprawled directly on top of Kaiser. Their faces were inches apart. A stray poppy petal was stuck to Kaiser’s forehead.
Light blue eyes met deep blue's and remained there. This close, Yoichi could see just how perfect Kaiser's skin, really was. The blonde's eyes were wide, his usually smug composure completely erased by shock.
“You…” Kaiser breathed, his voice oddly hushed.
“I…” Yoichi whispered back, frozen.
The spell lasted exactly five more seconds.
“...are crushing my spleen,” Kaiser finished, the shock melting into acute annoyance. “Get. Off.”
“You got in the way of my fall!” Yoichi retorted, scrambling backward so fast he almost tripped again. He brushed petals and grass from his uniform with frantic energy. “This is your fault for leading me into an unmowed field!”
Kaiser sat up slowly, his expression one of deep, profound grievance. He peeled the poppy petal from his forehead and flicked it at Yoichi. It fluttered pathetically to the ground between them. “I led you to a meadow. You, Isagi Yoichi, have the spatial awareness and grace of a startled fawn. On ice.”
“A fawn would have landed better!”
“A fawn wouldn’t have taken me down with it!” Kaiser sighed, a long, world-weary sound that seemed to carry the burdens of a thousand minor inconveniences. Then, to Yoichi’s utter astonishment, he flopped back onto the grass, staring up at the blossoming sunset. He reached out without looking, grabbed a fistful of Yoichi’s sleeve, and yanked him down to lie beside him.
“Wh—what are you doing? Let go!”
“I am enforcing a mandatory period of stillness,” Kaiser declared, his eyes fixed on a wisp of cloud turning pink. “Your vibrating anxiety is upsetting the ecosystem. Look. You scared that butterfly.” He pointed vaguely.
Yoichi looked. There was no butterfly.
“You’re insane.”
“And you’re exhausting. We’re establishing a balance.” When Yoichi opened his mouth again, Kaiser’s hand shot out and pinched his cheek, hard.
Asshole!
“Ow! You pinchy bastard!”
“Your face was doing that thing. The twitchy, ‘I’m-planning-a-weak-insult’ thing. It’s visually noisy. Be quiet and look at the sky. It’s a free show.”
Rubbing his stinging cheek, Yoichi glared at the profile beside him. The golden light traced the line of Kaiser’s jaw, the curve of his lips. He looked infuriatingly serene. He hated how calming this felt. “I don’t take orders from you.”
“It’s not an order. It’s a… strongly worded suggestion for the improvement of the immediate atmosphere. Humor me. I did just break your fall with my body.”
“You were my fall!”
But the fight was leaching out of him, replaced by a heavy, flower-scented lethargy. The grass was improbably soft. The sky was deepening to a velvety indigo streaked with molten orange. With a grumble that lost all its heat halfway through, Yoichi stopped trying to get up. He folded his arms behind his head, his body sinking into the earth.
How did he end up here with Michael Kaiser out of all people? The person who got him into this mess.
A comfortable silence settled, broken only by the breeze.
“...It is kind of nice,” Yoichi admitted after a few minutes, the words quiet.
“Told you.”
“Don’t let it go to your head. A broken clock is right twice a day.”
“This clock is always right, Yoichi. You just refuse to read the time.”
They lapsed back into quiet. The first star appeared, a bold pinprick in the twilight.
“Why did you bring me here?” Yoichi asked, the question slipping out without his permission.
Kaiser was quiet for so long Yoichi thought he’d ignore it. “You looked like you were about to either punch a tree or start crying in the street,” he said finally, his voice devoid of its usual mocking lilt. “Neither would have been a good look for my investment. This is… preventative maintenance.”
Yoichi snorted. “How altruistic.”
“I’m a philanthropist at heart.”
Another pause. The pond’s surface turned from gold to charcoal, mirroring the stars.
“I haven’t chosen a faction yet,” Yoichi said, unsure why he was offering the information.
“I know.”
“Of course you know.”
“The debate is in four days.”
“I can count, thanks.”
“Can you? I wasn’t sure, given the whole…” Kaiser gestured vaguely at the root that had tripped him.
Yoichi kicked his foot sideways, nudging Kaiser’s leg. “Jerk.”
"Disaster." He paused, his gaze fixed on the emerging stars. "You'll be in Bastard München, Yoichi. Without question.'
Iritation, hot and sharp, lanced through Yoichi's lethargy. "Who said I'm choosing you?" he retorted, his voice regaining its edge. "I'm a a free agent. A hot commodity, or so I am told."
Kaiser's lips curled into that infuriating, knowing smile. "You don't have to choose. I'll win the debate and claim you regardless. You are my Charity Case, after all. The label I gave you. Not Reo's. Not Rin's. Not Chigiri's Mine."
The question Yoichi had been drowning in for days surged to the surface.
Why him? Out of everyone in Japan, why did he pluck him from obscurity? But he knew asking it here, now, would be like handing Kaiser a loaded gun. He'd just get another cryptic, arrogant non-answer.
"I'm not a possession," Yoichi stated, his voice low and firm. "I'm not yours.
"Keep telling yourself that, little star," Kaiser hummed, the satisfaction in his tone palpable "It's cute when you're in denial."
Yoichi rolled his eyes, a smirk of his own playing on his lips.
Enjoy the certainty while it lasts, he thought, the image of Reo's promised intel a secret weapon in his mind. Well see who's claiming who.
The shift happened in a blink. One second Kaiser was lying serenely beside him, the next he was a blur of motion. He flipped over, his weight pinning Yoichi to the flower-strewn grass before Yoichi's brain could register the movement. Cool, strong fingers wrapped around both of Yoichi's wrists, gathering them effortlessly in one of Kaiser's large hands and pinning them above his head.
"He-hey! What the hell-!" Yoichi choked out, his breath hitching. The sudden proximity. the dominance of the position, sent a jolt of something electric and entirely unwelcome straight to his core. "Get off! You're crushing the daisies, you maniac!"
"Stop squirming! I'm trying to deliver a properly intimidating monologue!" Kaiser insisted, though his voice lacked its usual razor-sharp edge. It was lower, slightly strained.
"I feel really, really intimidated!" Yoichi protested, bucking his hips instinctively in an attempt to dislodge the other boy. The motion backfired spectacularly, creating a friction that made his eyes widen in alarm. Oh, fuck no. Not now. NOT NOW.
"Listen here, Isagi Yoichi," Kaiser breathed, leaning down until his lips were a hair's breadth from Yoichi's ear. His warm breath ghosted over the sensitive skin, sending a full-body shiver through Yoichi that had nothing to do with fear.
Yoichi whined, a pathetic, breathy sound he instantly regretted. He tried to swat at Kaiser with his pinned hands, but the grip was unyielding. He gave another involuntary, smaller buck of his hips, a silent plea for both more and less, wincing internally and praying to every god he didn't believe in that Kaiser hadn't noticed the teltale heat, the growing evidence of his body's profound betrayal.
"I am your enemy. Your ultimate rival." Kaiser's whisper was a velvet threat, a promise wrapped in a caress. His free hand came up, not to strike, but to trace the line of Yoichi's cheekbone with shocking tenderness, his thumb brushing the corner of his parted lips. The intimacy of the gesture was a violence all its own. "If you want to survive here, to truly live here... you' have to learn to take me down."
Yoichi panted, the sound ending in a traitorous, stifled groan. His eyes fluttered shut against the sensory overload--the weight pinning him, the scent of Kaiser's cologne and crushed flowers, the devastatingly gentle touch on his face. It was too much.
It was almost enough.
"I... I thought you wanted me in Bastard München?" Yoichi managed to gasp, his voice trembling. He arched his back slightly, a movement that felt less like defiance and more like an offering. When he opened his eyes, they were glassy, pupils blown wide in the dim. He knew his cheeks were flaming, his entire body a map of his humiliation and
arousal.
Kaiser finally turned his head to meet Yoichi's gaze. He stiffened, his own cerulean eyes widening as they took in the sight beneath him-the flushed skin, the parted lips the unmistakable, desperate want in Yoichi's expression. A sharp, audible gasp escaped Kaiser, a crack in his flawless composure
He recoiled as if burned, releasing Yoichi's wrists and scrambling off him in one jerky motion, turning his back to Yoichi almost instantly.
"...Yes. I do," Kaiser's voice came out, strangled and strange, thick with an emotion Yoichi could now clearly identify: a mirror of his own furious, confused arousal. "But I also hate you. So you'll have to learn to take me down." He cleared his throat, the sound rough. "Just-just get up. We're leaving.
Yoichi lay there for a second, the cool night air rushing over his feverish skin, the absence of Kaiser's weight feeling suddenly like a loss. He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to wrestle his body and his racing heart back under control.
He had a lot of questions. About the transfer, about the rivalry, about the terrifying, magnetic pull between them. But right now, he had one very immediate, very pressing problem
Fuck.
He slowly sat up.
He was hard.