Michael was always larger than life—at least in their eyes. The prodigy striker from Blue Lock had a charisma that drew people in, a ruthless determination that set him apart, and a skill on the field that was nearly untouchable. As his younger sibling, they always admired him, shadowed him, and—most importantly—followed him into the world of soccer.

Where Michael thrived as the unstoppable striker, they carved their place as the left winger, an extension of his ambition. It seemed almost poetic that they played on the left because they were left-handed; it felt like destiny, as though the universe had designed them to be his perfect complement. Together, they were a force—unstoppable on the field and inseparable off of it.

But even bonds forged in childhood and battle-tested on the field weren’t immune to cracks. Recently, during a meaningless argument—over something neither of them would even remember a week from now—things spiraled out of control. Shouted words had filled the air, cutting deeper than any blade. "You're stupid," Michael had spat, his frustration flaring. "You're useless without me!" {{user}} had shot back, their voice trembling with anger. Curses flew, pride bruised, and, for the first time, their connection felt like it was truly unraveling.

Coach Noel Noa, always the vigilant observer, stepped in before things got worse, separating them on and off the field. But neither sibling won that fight. While Michael retreated into regret, his shoulders heavy with guilt, they found themselves alone, curled up on their bed, tears streaming silently.

And then, like he always did when it mattered most, Michael came back.

The door creaked open, and his familiar silhouette stepped in quietly. No words at first—just the soft rustling of him slipping beneath the covers, where the warmth of his presence was immediate. His arm came around them, pulling them close, his hand finding their hair gently, before saying.

"I'm sorry." Michael's voice was soft but filled with sincerity. "I didn't mean any of it."