16
Isagi Yoichi had seen many things in Blue Lock. He had watched dreams die in 136 seconds. He had felt the weight of eliminating Japan's golden child. He had stood on a pitch while his own teammates tore each other apart for a single goal. He thought he had become numb to surprises.
He was wrong.
The door to Loki's room slid open with a soft whoosh, and Isagi's brain stopped functioning.
"This is... a room?" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Behind him, Loki chuckled—a low, warm sound that seemed to bounce off the absurd luxury surrounding them. "Ego said we could customize our accommodations during our stay. I may have gone slightly overboard."
Slightly was doing a lot of work.
The room was not a room. It was a penthouse disguised as a dormitory. The bed alone could have fit four Isagis side by side, draped in a comforter that looked like it had been woven from clouds and moonlight. The sheets were the color of deep burgundy, the pillows so numerous they formed a small mountain. A chandelier—an actual crystal chandelier—hung from the ceiling, casting soft golden light across the space.
But that was only the beginning.
To the left, a floor-to-ceiling window revealed a curated view of a virtual cityscape, twinkling lights simulating a night skyline that would make Tokyo jealous. To the right, a sleek kitchen gleamed with stainless steel appliances—an oven, a stove, a refrigerator that probably cost more than Isagi's entire family's monthly rent. Marble countertops. Hanging copper pots. A fruit bowl with actual fresh fruit.
Fresh fruit. In Blue Lock.
Dang-
Even they don't have the luxury to eat a fruit..
Isagi's legs gave out. He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his fingers sinking into the comforter like it was made of marshmallow.
"Isagi?" Loki's voice came from somewhere near the kitchen. "Are you alright?"
"Give me a moment," Isagi managed. "I'm processing the fact that I've been sleeping on a gym mat for weeks while you've been living in a K-drama set."
Loki's laugh echoed from the kitchen. "Would you like a tour? The bathroom has a heated floor and a rainfall showerhead."
Isagi clutched his chest. "Please stop. My heart can only take so much."
But Loki had already disappeared into the kitchen, and the sound of running water and clinking utensils soon filled the air. Isagi sat on the ridiculously luxurious bed, his legs dangling over the edge like a child who had wandered into a palace, and tried to remember how to breathe.
It hit him without warning.
The smell.
Rich. Deep. Earthy. Wine and herbs and something savory that wrapped around his senses like a warm blanket. Isagi's nose twitched. His mouth watered. His body moved before his brain could catch up, his legs carrying him off the bed and toward the kitchen with the single-minded focus of a starving animal.
He rounded the corner and froze.
Loki stood at the stove, his back to Isagi, stirring something in a large pot. A green apron was tied around his waist—the kind with a small sprout embroidered over the chest, absurdly domestic and completely at odds with the world-class striker's usual aura of untouchable coolness. His dreadlocks were pulled back with a simple band, exposing the sharp line of his jaw.
He was checking the sauce. Dipping a wooden spoon, holding it up to catch the light, letting a single drop fall back into the pot with a satisfied nod.
Coq au Vin.
Isagi would recognize that smell anywhere. It was the smell of his childhood in France. The smell of Sunday dinners at the local bistro. The smell of home.
"Ouah!!," Isagi breathed.
Wow!!.
Loki turned, his golden eyes catching the kitchen light, and for a moment, he looked almost soft. Almost human. The great Loki—the boy who had dominated the World Five, who had made professional defenders look like training cones—stood in a green sprout apron, holding a wooden spoon, and smiled.
That was when Isagi's brain-to-mouth filter completely disintegrated.
"Loki, tu ressembles à une épouse dévouée qui cuisine pour son mari..."
Loki, you look like a devoted wife cooking for her husband...
The words hung in the air.
One second passed.
Then two.
Then three.
Isagi's face began to heat as he realized what he had just said. "I—I didn't mean—that came out wrong—I was just—the apron—and the cooking—and you look very—not that you look like a wife—I mean you look like a very competent chef who happens to be male and not married to anyone—"
Loki laughed.
Not a small laugh. Not a polite chuckle. A full, open, joyful laugh that seemed to fill the entire kitchen, bouncing off the marble countertops and the copper pots. He set down the wooden spoon and crossed the space between them in three long strides.
Before Isagi could react, Loki's hands were on his shoulders. Then his lips were on Isagi's cheek—a small, soft peck that sent electricity down Isagi's spine. And then, just as Isagi's brain was trying to reboot from that, Loki's teeth grazed his ear in a light bite.
Isagi made a sound that he would deny for the rest of his life.
"Pour toi, mon chéri, je ferais n'importe quoi," Loki murmured, his voice dropping to a register that should have been illegal. "Même jouer le rôle de l'épouse dévouée pendant que tu joues celui du mari fidèle, mais au lit, je serai toujours celle qui te dominera jusqu'à ce que tu sois à bout de souffle." He uttered in a low husky voice
For you, my darling, I would do anything, even play the role of the devoted wife while you play the role of the faithful husband, but in bed, I will always be the one who dominates you until you are breathless.
Loki pulled back just enough to wink.
Isagi's face went from red to crimson to the color of the Coq au Vin bubbling on the stove. His mouth opened. No sound came out. His eyes rolled back.
He fainted.
Loki caught him before he hit the ground, one arm around his waist, the other cradling the back of his head. The boy was completely limp, his dark blue hair splaying across Loki's forearm, his cheeks still flushed with the remnants of mortification.
"Oh," Loki said, blinking down at him. "I forgot."
He had forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Back in France, Hugo and Charles had discovered this weakness almost by accident—a few sweet words, a lingering compliment, and Isagi would go down like a sack of potatoes, sometimes accompanied by a dramatic nosebleed. They had exploited it mercilessly, taking turns flirting with him until he learned to build at least some resistance.
Apparently, two years apart had reset all progress to zero.
Loki stared at the unconscious boy in his arms. Then a slow, wicked smile spread across his face.
Hugo and Charles are going to lose their minds.
Loki laid Isagi gently on the massive bed, arranging the dark blue hair to frame his face without revealing it. He positioned himself beside the unconscious boy, one hand resting on Isagi's hip, the other propping up his own smiling face. The pose was intimate. Suggestive. The kind of photo that would send social media into a frenzy.
He made sure Isagi's face was hidden—only the cascade of dark blue hair, the pale curve of a neck, the slender waist visible beneath Loki's hand.
Perfect.
He snapped the picture, uploaded it, and typed a caption with casual ease:
Finally have a time with Mi Amor ♡
Post.
The notification explosion began within seconds.
@LokiN1Glazer: WHO IS THAT WITH MY HUSBAND???
@HuLoShipper: Loki what are you doing?? You have Hugo! Are you cheating on him???
@Charles_Official: wtf Loki where the hell did you find him?? WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME???
@Loki'sWife: @Charles_Official You know who that is???
@Charles_Official: @Loki'sWife Yes It's our long lost childhood friend we've been searching for him for 2 years we call him sprout.
@Loki'sWife: @Charles_Official WHAT, WAIT IS HUGO ALSO IN?
@Charles_Official: Basically yes, wait let me tag him.
@HuLoShipper: @Charles_Official So Loki and Hugo like this person named 'Sprout'?
@Charles_Official: Well yeah same for me..
@Charles_Official: @Sprout'sNo1Husband
@Charles_Official: @Sprout'sNo1Husband
@Charles_Official: @Sprout'sNo1Husband
@Charles_Official: @Sprout'sNo1Husband, Hugo you better get your ass here our wife is getting stolen by Loki you fucker.
@Sprout'sNo1Husband: What?
@Sprout'sNo1Husband: ....
@Sprout'sNo1Husband: You're so dead Loki.
@Charles_Official: Hey! if you want to beat up Loki count me in!!
The comments continued to spiral. Theories multiplied. Hashtags trended. The entire Blue Lock fanbase, which had long speculated about Loki's private life, was now in full meltdown mode. The fact that Loki had never confirmed any relationship—had in fact been notoriously secretive about everything except his friendship with Hugo and Charles—made the post even more explosive.
Loki leaned back against the headboard, scrolling through the chaos with a satisfied smirk. His phone buzzed incessantly.
69 Messages from Annoying Brat
67 Missed Calls from Annoying Brat
263 Messages from Shorbet Robot
167 Missed Calls from Shorbet Robot
He turned off his phone, set it face-down on the nightstand, and returned his attention to the unconscious boy beside him.
"Time to get you cleaned up," he murmured, lifting Isagi into his arms.
The bathroom was as luxurious as promised—heated floors, rainfall showerhead, a soaking tub that could fit two people comfortably. Loki set Isagi down on a padded bench and began to undress him with careful, clinical efficiency. There was nothing improper about it. He had done this countless times in France, after matches when Isagi was too exhausted to move, after training sessions when his young body had given out. This was just... care.
He removed Isagi's shirt first, noting the lean muscle that had developed over two years. Then his hands moved to the thick bandages wrapped around both of Isagi's wrists.
Strange, Loki thought. He never wore these before.
He unwound the first bandage slowly, revealing pale skin beneath. Then—
Loki's hands stopped.
Scars.
Thin, white lines crisscrossing Isagi's wrist like a roadmap of pain. Some were old, faded to silver. Others were newer, pink and raised. And some—Loki's breath caught—some were fresh. Red. Angry. Recent.
No.
His fingers trembled as he unwound the second bandage. More scars. More cuts. More evidence of something he couldn't—wouldn't—believe.
No, no, no!
He undressed Isagi further, his movements growing frantic. His shirt came off completely, and Loki's eyes traveled down his chest, his shoulders, his arms.
More scars.
His shoulders were scratched raw in places, long healing lines that spoke of fingernails dragged across skin with deliberate force. Some were old. Some were new. Some had scabbed over and been scratched open again.
Self-harm. He's been hurting himself. For how long? How long has he been doing this?
Loki's mind raced back to the last time he had seen Isagi in France. The boy had been happy. Bright. Full of energy and laughter and that ridiculous passion for soccer that had drawn Loki to him in the first place. He had never shown a single symptom of depression. Never hinted at the darkness that these scars suggested.
Something happened in Japan.
The realization hit Loki like a physical blow. Something had happened in the two years since Isagi had returned to his home country. Something terrible. Something that had broken the boy he knew—the boy who had once danced on the pitch with Hugo and Charles, who had laughed at Loki's deadpan jokes, who had fallen asleep in the locker room with his head on Loki's shoulder after a particularly grueling training session.
Loki's hands clenched into fists. His teeth ground together. A rage unlike anything he had ever felt began to build in his chest—hot, consuming, volcanic.
He bathed Isagi with mechanical precision, tending to each wound with antiseptic and fresh bandages. His hands were gentle even as his mind raged. He would not hurt Isagi. He would never hurt Isagi. But whoever had done this—whoever had driven Isagi to this darkness—they would pay.
When Isagi finally stirred, blinking awake in a bed that smelled like Loki and lavender, the Coq au Vin was cooling on the stove and Loki was sitting beside him, his expression carefully neutral.
"You're awake," Loki said softly. "I made dinner."
Isagi sat up slowly, his hand going to his head. "What... what happened?"
"You fainted," Loki said. "Again. Apparently two years apart hasn't improved your constitution."
Isagi's face flooded with color as the memory returned. "I—you—the ear thing—"
"Eat first," Loki interrupted, rising from the bed. "Then we can discuss your inability to handle compliments."
He returned with two bowls of Coq au Vin, the aroma filling the room and making Isagi's stomach growl audibly. The stew was perfect—tender chicken falling apart at the touch of a fork, rich wine sauce studded with bacon and pearl onions and mushrooms, the flavors melding together in a symphony that made Isagi's eyes water.
"Loki," he said after his third bite, his voice thick. "This is... this is exactly like the bistro near our old training ground. How did you—"
"I've been learning," Loki said quietly. "For two years. I found the chef who made it for you and asked him to teach me."
Isagi's spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. "You... you learned to cook my favorite dish? For me?"
Loki didn't look at him. "You mentioned once that it reminded you of home. I wanted you to have something familiar when you came back."
The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken things. Isagi stared at his bowl, at the steam rising from the sauce, at the man beside him who had spent two years perfecting a recipe just to make him happy.
"Loki," he whispered, "I—"
"Your wrists."
The words cut through the moment like a blade. Isagi went rigid.
"Loki, what are you—"
"I saw them." Loki's voice was flat now, emotionless in a way that was somehow more terrifying than anger. "The scars. The cuts. While I was bathing you."
Isagi's hand flew to his wrist, clutching the bandage that now covered it. His face had gone pale, his eyes wide with something that looked like terror.
"Loki, please, I can explain—"
"How long?" Loki's golden eyes bored into him. "How long have you been hurting yourself?"
Isagi's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. No sound came out.
Then..
"Why?"
"Why would you need to care?"
"It's none of your problem!"
"I don't need your sense of pity!"
Isagi snarled as if to protect himself.
Both of them didn't utter a single word after he did.
The silence stretched between them, taut as a wire about to snap.
Loki stood abruptly, the sudden movement sending his chair scraping against the floor. Isagi flinched—a full-body jerk, his arms coming up to shield his face, his body curling inward like a wounded animal.
The reaction was so immediate, so instinctive, that it stopped Loki cold.
He's scared of me.
The realization hit him like ice water. Isagi wasn't just nervous. He wasn't just embarrassed. He was terrified. His hands were shaking. His breathing had gone shallow and rapid. His eyes darted around the room like he was looking for an escape route.
What happened to you? Loki thought, his rage shifting into something colder and more focused. Who made you afraid of being touched? Who made you flinch like you expect to be hit?
"Isagi." Loki kept his voice low, gentle. He lowered himself back into the chair, making himself smaller, less threatening. "I'm not going to hurt you. I would never hurt you. You know that, right?"
Isagi's arms lowered slightly. His breathing remained uneven, but some of the wild panic had left his eyes.
"I know," he whispered. "I know. I'm sorry. I just—I can't—"
"You don't have to apologize." Loki leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, keeping his hands visible and still. "But I need you to tell me what happened. Please. I need to understand."
Isagi stared at him for a long moment. His jaw worked silently. His eyes glistened.
And then, slowly, haltingly, the truth began to emerge.
"I played the way you taught me," Isagi said, his voice barely above a whisper. "In France. With you and Hugo and Charles. You told me to be selfish. To trust my instincts. To take the shot even if my teammates were in better positions. You said that's what made a great striker."
Loki nodded slowly. "Yes. And you were great. You scored goals that made grown men weep."
Isagi's laugh was hollow, broken. "I thought I was great too. When I came back to Japan, I joined the school soccer team. And I played the way I always played. Selfishly. Aggressively. I scored in every match. I won every tournament. The school loved me."
"But?"
"But my teammates hated me." Isagi's hands twisted in the bedsheets. "They said I was a ball hog. That I never passed. That I took all the glory for myself while they did all the work. And they were right. I never passed. I never trusted them. I just... took."
Loki frowned. "That's not—"
"Our coach," Isagi continued, his voice gaining a desperate edge, "he had a philosophy. He said soccer was about bonds. About teamwork. About sharing the goal together because we were a family." His laugh was bitter now. "He said no one was allowed to be selfish on his field. That anyone who put themselves above the team was a cancer that needed to be cut out."
Loki's frown deepened. "That's not how professional soccer works. Individual brilliance—"
"I know!" Isagi's voice cracked. "I know that now. But back then, I was fourteen. I was alone. And everyone—everyone—was telling me I was wrong. My teammates. My coach. The other students. They said I was arrogant. Selfish. A monster."
The word hung in the air.
Monster.
The same word Bachira had used. But where Bachira had meant it as a compliment—a recognition of hidden strength—these people had meant it as an accusation.
"The coach pulled me aside after practice one day," Isagi continued, his voice dropping. "He said he was going to 'reeducate' me. Teach me how to play proper soccer. He made me stand in front of the goal and tied my wrists to the posts."
Loki went very, very still.
"What?."
Isagi wasn't looking at him anymore. He was looking at something far away, something in the past that Loki couldn't see.
"He said I needed to learn that soccer wasn't about me. That I needed to feel what it was like to be helpless. To rely on others." Isagi's voice was flat now, empty. "Then he had my teammates line up and take turns kicking balls at me. Full power. From close range."
Loki's hands gripped his knees hard enough to leave bruises.
"They hit me over and over," Isagi said. "I couldn't move. I couldn't protect myself. The balls hit my stomach, my chest, my face. I fell down, and they pulled me back up. This went on for... I don't know how long. An hour? Two? They only stopped when I promised to be a ghost on the field. To only make passes. To never score a goal again."
Loki's voice, when it came, was barely recognizable. "They tortured you."
Isagi flinched at the word. "They said it was training. Education. They said they were helping me become a better person."
"They tortured you," Loki repeated, his voice rising. "They tied you to a goalpost and used you for target practice. That's not training. That's assault. That's—"
"After that, I did what they wanted." Isagi rushed on, as if trying to outrun Loki's anger. "I stopped scoring. I only passed. I became invisible on the field. But it didn't matter. They still hated me. The whole school hated me."
"Why?" Loki demanded. "You did what they asked."
"Because I had already ruined their image of me." Isagi's shoulders hunched. "Once you're labeled as selfish, it never goes away. People started ignoring me in the hallways. Teachers looked through me. My teammates pretended I didn't exist. They wouldn't pass to me. They wouldn't talk to me. I was completely alone."
Loki's chest ached. He wanted to reach out, to touch Isagi, to offer some physical comfort—but he remembered the flinch and kept his hands to himself.
"There was one match," Isagi continued, his voice trembling, "where we were losing 3-0. My teammates were useless. They couldn't score. So I stole the ball from one of them and scored. It was a beautiful goal. The only goal we made that game."
He paused, swallowing hard.
"After the match, my teammates cornered me in the locker room. They said I had embarrassed them. That I had shown them up. That I was a traitor." His voice broke. "One of them grabbed me by the collar and said, 'If you ever do that again, we'll break your legs so you can never play soccer again.'"
Loki saw red. A haze of fury descended over his vision, and it took every ounce of self-control he possessed not to punch a hole through the wall.
"They threatened you," he growled. "They threatened to cripple you."
"I stopped playing after that," Isagi said quietly. "I stopped going to practice. I stopped going to school. I stayed in my room and stared at the ceiling and wondered what was wrong with me."
"The self-harm," Loki said. "When did that start?"
Isagi's hand moved to his bandaged wrist, touching it lightly. "After the locker room incident. I couldn't... I couldn't make the thoughts stop. The voices in my head that said I was worthless, that I was selfish, that I was a monster. So I..."
He trailed off, unable to finish.
Loki closed his eyes. He thought about the boy he had known in France—bright, laughing, full of fire. He thought about the scars hidden beneath the bandages. He thought about fourteen-year-old Isagi being tied to a goalpost while his own teammates used him for target practice.
When he opened his eyes, they were wet.
"Isagi," he said, his voice rough. "Why didn't you tell your parents?"
Isagi's face crumpled. "I tried. I tried so many times. But they were so happy I was playing soccer again. They thought I was doing well. They thought I had friends." Tears began to spill down his cheeks. "How could I tell them that their son was a failure? That everyone hated him? That he couldn't even go to school anymore because he was too scared?"
"You're not a failure," Loki said fiercely. "You were abused. Tormented. You were a child, and the adults who were supposed to protect you—"
"I told the coach." Isagi's voice was barely a whisper now. "Before the locker room incident. I went to him and said my teammates were threatening me. I asked for help."
Loki's blood ran cold. "What did he say?"
Isagi's laugh was hollow, broken. "He said I deserved it. That I had brought it on myself by being selfish. That if I had just learned to be a team player from the beginning, none of this would have happened."
Swallowing he saliva Isagi continued.
"The coach-He, he threatened to destroy my whole carrier as a player if I refused to compy with his wims.."
"I-I'm sorry..."
"I had no choice-"
The room fell silent.
Loki sat frozen, his mind struggling to process the sheer scale of the betrayal. A coach—someone who was supposed to protect his players, to guide them, to keep them safe—had instead participated in their abuse. Had encouraged it. Had told a frightened child that he deserved to be terrorized.
I'm going to find him, Loki thought, and the calmness of the thought was more terrifying than any scream. I'm going to find him, and I'm going to destroy him.
But before he could act on that thought, Isagi began to shake.
"I couldn't go to school anymore," Isagi said, his voice rising. "I couldn't leave my room. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw their faces. I heard their voices. They said I was worthless. They said I was a monster. They said—"
His breathing quickened. His hands clawed at the bedsheets.
"Isagi." Loki leaned forward, concern overriding his rage. "Isagi, look at me."
But Isagi wasn't there anymore. His eyes were wide, unfocused, staring at something Loki couldn't see. His chest heaved. His body trembled.
"There was a staircase," he gasped. "At school. I was walking up to the roof to be alone. And someone pushed me."
Loki's heart stopped.
"I felt hands on my back," Isagi continued, his voice a desperate whisper. "Strong hands. They shoved me forward, and I was falling, falling, falling down the stairs. I tried to catch myself, but I couldn't. I thought I was going to die. I thought—"
He stopped, choking on a sob.
"I managed to reduce the impact," he said. "Instead of my head or my spine, I landed on my hands. My wrists broke. Both of them. I was in the hospital for weeks."
Loki's vision tunneled. He could see it—Isagi's small body tumbling down the stairs, hands reaching out to break the fall, the sickening crack of bone. He could see the boy lying at the bottom, whimpering in pain, no one coming to help.
"Did you see who pushed you?" Loki asked, his voice deadly quiet.
Isagi shook his head. "It happened too fast. But I know it was one of my teammates. They had been threatening me for weeks. They said they would make sure I couldn't play soccer anymore."
"And they did," Loki said. "They broke your hands."
"The doctors said I might never have full mobility again," Isagi said. "But I recovered. I healed. And when I got out of the hospital, I transferred to a new school. A fresh start."
Loki waited.
"It didn't help," Isagi whispered. "The damage was already done. The thoughts didn't stop. The nightmares didn't stop. The urge to..." He touched his bandaged wrist again. "It never stopped."
Loki couldn't contain himself any longer. He reached for Isagi, intending to pull him into an embrace, to hold him and tell him that everything would be alright—
But Isagi saw the movement and flinched.
Not a small flinch. A full-body recoil, his arms coming up to shield his face, his body curling into a defensive ball. A strangled sound escaped his throat—something between a whimper and a cry.
Loki froze with his hands outstretched.
"Don't," Isagi gasped. "Please don't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll be good. I'll be invisible. Just please don't hurt me."
Loki's heart shattered into a thousand pieces.
He thinks I'm going to hit him. He thinks I'm going to tie him to a goalpost. He thinks I'm one of them.
No..
I'm not like them..
I would never dare to raise my hands to hurt you
never.
Slowly, carefully, Loki withdrew his hands. He sat back in his chair, making himself as small and non-threatening as possible.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly. "I would never hurt you. You're safe here. You're safe with me."
Isagi's breathing remained ragged, but some of the tension left his body. His arms lowered slightly. His eyes, wide and wet, met Loki's.
"Promise?" he whispered.
Loki's throat tightened. "I promise. On my life."
The door slammed open.
Loki spun around, instinctively placing himself between Isagi and the intruder—but it wasn't an intruder. It was Leonardo Luna, his silver hair disheveled, his eyes blazing with barely contained fury. Behind him stood Dada Silva, Adam Blake, and Pablo Cavazos.
"We heard screaming," Luna said, his voice dangerously calm. His gaze swept over the scene—Isagi curled up on the bed, his face tear-streaked, his bandaged wrists visible. Loki's frozen posture. The bowls of Coq au Vin cooling on the nightstand.
"What the hell happened?" Adam demanded, stepping into the room.
Loki opened his mouth to explain, but before he could speak, Luna's eyes narrowed.
"Loki," he said slowly, "why are your hands reaching toward him?"
Loki looked down. His hands were still outstretched from when he had tried to embrace Isagi. From this angle, it might have looked like he was about to grab Isagi. To strike him. To—
"I wasn't—" Loki started.
Loki was shoved to the side.
"Move."
Luna was across the room in an instant, inserting himself between Loki and Isagi with the fluid grace of a professional athlete. He crouched down in front of Isagi, his voice dropping to a gentle murmur.
"Hey. Hey, it's okay. You're safe now. Can you look at me?"
Isagi's eyes, wild and frightened, slowly focused on Luna's face.
"You're Isagi, right?" Luna said. "I'm Leonardo. I'm not going to hurt you. Can I touch your shoulder?"
Isagi hesitated. Then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded.
Luna's hand settled on Isagi's shoulder with the lightest of touches. "Good. That's good. Can you tell me what happened?"
Behind them, Dada had moved to block Loki's exit, his massive frame filling the doorway. Adam stood beside him, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Pablo had gone to the window, his back to the room, but his shoulders were tense.
Loki tried to move toward Isagi. "I need to explain—"
"Stay where you are," Dada said, his voice soft but implacable.
"I didn't hurt him!"
"Then why is he flinching from you?" Adam asked quietly.
Loki opened his mouth. Closed it. The question struck him like a physical blow because it was true. Isagi was flinching from him. After everything they had shared—after France, after the training, after the Coq au Vin and the apron and the two years of learning to cook his favorite dish—Isagi was afraid of him.
Because you reminded him of them, a voice whispered in his mind. You raised your voice. You moved too fast. You scared him.
The realization was a knife in his chest.
Luna, meanwhile, had coaxed Isagi into sitting up. The boy was still trembling, but some of the color had returned to his face. Pablo had turned from the window and was now crouching on Isagi's other side, offering him a glass of water.
"Drink," Pablo said gently. "Slowly."
Isagi obeyed, his hands shaking so badly that water sloshed over the rim.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause trouble. I'll go back to my room. I'll—"
"You're not going anywhere," Luna said firmly. "You're going to sit here, drink your water, and tell us what happened. Starting from the beginning."
Isagi looked at Loki. Loki looked at the floor.
"The scars on his wrists," Loki said quietly. "The cuts. He's been hurting himself."
The room went very still.
Luna's hand tightened on Isagi's shoulder. "Is that true?"
Isagi didn't answer. He didn't need to. The fresh bandages spoke for themselves.
"How long?" Pablo asked, his voice carefully neutral.
"Two years," Loki said. "Maybe longer. He was..." He paused, struggling to keep his voice steady. "He was being abused. By his teammates. By his coach. They tortured him for being selfish on the field."
The silence that followed was deafening.
"Explain," Dada said. "Now."
And Loki did. He told them everything Isagi had shared—the coach's philosophy of teamwork, the reeducation sessions, the goalpost, the balls kicked at close range. The threats. The isolation. The staircase. The broken hands.
By the time he finished, Adam's arms had fallen to his sides. Pablo was gripping the windowsill so hard his knuckles were white. Dada's expression had gone completely blank—a sign, for those who knew him, of absolute, cold fury.
And Luna...
Luna was looking at Isagi with an expression that Loki couldn't quite read. There was pity there, yes. And anger. But also something else—something softer, something that made Loki's chest tighten with an emotion he didn't want to name.
"Japanese schools," Luna said finally, his voice barely audible. "They did this to a child because he was good at soccer?"
"The coach called it education," Isagi whispered. "He said he was teaching me humility."
Luna closed his eyes. When he opened them, they were blazing.
"That man," he said slowly, "is a monster. Not you. Him."
Isagi's breath hitched. "But everyone said—"
"Everyone was wrong." Luna's voice was iron. "You were a child. You played the game the way you were taught. And when you succeeded, the people who were supposed to celebrate you decided to break you instead." He leaned forward, his forehead almost touching Isagi's. "That is not your fault. Do you understand me? None of this is your fault."
Isagi's composure finally shattered. He burst into tears—loud, ugly, body-wracking sobs that shook his entire frame. Luna pulled him into a gentle embrace, one hand cradling the back of his head, the other rubbing slow circles on his back.
"Let it out," Luna murmured. "Let it all out. You're safe now."
Pablo turned away, his jaw tight. Adam ran a hand over his face. Dada placed a heavy hand on Loki's shoulder, and Loki realized he was shaking.
"We need to get him help," Dada said quietly. "Professional help. This isn't something we can fix with kindness and time alone."
"I'll talk to Ego," Pablo said. "He can refer Isagi to a psychologist. Someone who specializes in sports-related trauma."
"He'll approve it," Loki said, his voice rough. "If he doesn't, I'll make him."
Pablo found Jinpachi Ego in his office, staring at a wall of monitors displaying various training sessions from across Blue Lock. The man didn't turn when Pablo entered, but his shoulders tensed almost imperceptibly.
"Something happened," Ego said. It wasn't a question.
Pablo closed the door behind him. "Isagi Yoichi. The boy Loki brought in."
"I'm aware of him. Ranked 274 after the first selection. Showed flashes of brilliance but inconsistent performance." Ego finally turned, his glasses glinting in the monitor light. "What about him?"
Pablo took a breath. "He's been self-harming. His wrists are covered in scars. His shoulders too. And based on what he told Loki tonight, he's been suffering from severe psychological abuse for the past two years."
Ego's expression didn't change, but something in his eyes sharpened. "Explain."
Pablo recounted everything—the coach, the goalpost, the balls, the threats, the staircase, the broken hands. He didn't embellish. He didn't even dare to drop a single detail out, telling Ego the whole situation.
After finishing his words Pablo stole a glane on Ego and realized that Ego's face thought expressionless had veins bulging from his forehead.
His hands was formed into a fist until it turned white. Pablo could see from Ego's eyes that he was angry and that glare made Pablo shiver.
"That's Why I Th-" Pablo tried to add even more reasons but was cut by Ego's words.
"Tomorrow, before 4 P.M get him to my office, I'll make sure to get the best psychiatrist to help him deal with the PTSD he's having currently"
As Ego finished his words Pablo was sent away. Pablo walks through the hallway to go back too Luna's room when suddenly he heard a panicked scream from hos room just as he had arrived infront of it.
He was shocked to see Luna panicking while holding the small boy in his hands and what's worst?
Isagi was bleeding badly on his wrist.
He did it again.
Pablo immediately came to aid holding Isagi as he instructed Luna to get the first aid in his room while he checks on Isagi's consciousness.
"Yoichi-" he slowly pats Isagi's cheeks.
"Yoichi, are you here? Hey stay with me ok?" He said slowly as if afraid that if he had spoken in a much larger volume he would make things worse.
Isagi slowly opened his eyes and Pablo was met with the most beautiful eyes hes ever seen if only the situation didn't worry him, he would've taken the time to appreciate the beauty infront of him.
Seeing that Isagi didn't reply to him, Pablo slowly moved him into a sitting position leaning him on the wall while slowly caressing his cheeks.
"Yoichi, dear why did you do that? That was very dangerous.."
"You're still young, still immature"
"Please.."
"Please do not throw your life like that"
Pablo said those words in such a soothing voice. It was not that he cared much of the boy (though he actually does), He just didn't want to see the boy wasting his life on such a young age.
Pablo couldn't lie that when he first saw Isagi in Loki's arm, blushing and laughing, He felt as if his heart was being tickled or being watered by a warm water.
It was "That" feeling that he is experiencing.
Love
He fell in love with Yoichi on the first sight
Isagi on the other hand was too tired and lost to much blood, He had no choice but to close his eyes again as he falls asleep. Unconscious.
Luna who had just arrived came in a hurry and gave Pablo the first aide. Receiving the first aide Pablo got to work and bandaged Isagi's wounds.
He could hear a small hiss of discomfort coming from Isagi's mouth. He tried to do it as softly as possible in order to avoid Isagi from feeling even more pain.
Finishing his work Pablo decided to give Isagi to Luna, asking him to take care of the boy for the night as he, Adam and Silva would need to have a talk with Loki the French prodigy.
Luna immediately agreed nodding his head repeatedly before taking Isagi into his hands and heading towards the king sized bed.
He lay Isagi down on the bed as slowly and softly as possible to avoid the blue-hair boy from waking up from his peacefull slumber.
Luna gotta say Isagi is very light weight which makes him wonder if Ego had actually neglected him rather than nurturing him.
He pops down to the soft mattress making a quite kreek sound. Luna then pulls Isagi into his embrace, using his hands to envelope Isagi's entire body.
He smells very nice
Do all Japanese smell like this?
Luna wonders. He turned Isagi around to look at his face and couldn't help but admire it.
Soft dark blue hair with a cute sprout on top.
Very long lashes that seems to flutter at a single disturbance.
A very red and plump lips that seemd to tease him.
Ah...
Isagi Yoichi fits perfectly on Luna's dream lover
This is bad..
"What have you done to me.." Luna asked even though he knew Isagi wouldn't be able to answer him.
As the night grew cold, Luna's eyes started to falter and not long after he also followed suit and fell into a deep slumber.
But this time, he felt even more comfortable than he had ever been throughout his lifetime.
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I just love angst 😔
I made this chapter in like 5 hours ( I didn't sleep to finish this chapter that's why it looked like it came in a rush ;])
Consider this as a separation gift from me ♡
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