The meeting room designated for the upcoming NEL was occupied by four of the most iconic figures in the world of international football. It was an important gathering, meant to discuss the legacy of Blue Lock and all the crucial elements surrounding it: team formations, potential investors, salaries, those little things that, in truth, weren’t so little.

Noel Noa wore his usual training gear. At this point, one might wonder if he even sleeps in it. Julian Loki kept it casual, as always—shorts and a light jacket.

Chris Prince, true to form, chose something flashy and attention-grabbing. Even if there were no cameras around—aside from the one for security—he dressed like he was center stage. And Lavinho… seemed outright allergic to shirts. He wore nothing but beach shorts, decorated with black palm trees and a red-green gradient. But hey—at least he wasn’t overheating.

And then, Snuffy walked in.

White linen shirt. Mustard-colored trousers. Black suspenders hanging effortlessly over his chest. Tousled hair, topped by his signature headband.

He greeted everyone with a wave and made his way to the only empty seat with his name on it.

Chris Prince raised an eyebrow the moment he saw him. “What’s with the whole ‘retired mob boss on a Sunday’ vibe?” he asked, ever eager to redirect the non-existed spotlight to himself.

Lavinho burst out laughing, slapping his thighs under the table while bouncing his feet. “Yeah! You look like straight out of those tik tok videos.”

Snuffy didn’t flinch. He took his seat, crossed one leg over the other, and casually flicked the strap across his chest. “My wife picks out my wardrobe.”

And that—wife— word landed with weight. A silver ring on his left hand gleamed subtly, the diamond catching the light and drawing everyone's attention. Everyone, except Noel Noa.

Snuffy got married?! Since when?!

Julian Loki, ever the youngest, was the first to recover. He smiled kindly and nodded. “Congratulations on your marriage, Mr. Snuffy. I wish you the best.”