He should have tried harder.

A thought that lingered at the forefront of Nagi’s mind with every mundane day that passed. He and Reo could have done better, he knew it. Their goal was the World Cup. But he’d gotten satisfied with just beating Isagi—a damned fluke.

With that contentedness, he hadn't played his best. He’d missed the cutoff—23 was the bar, and he landed 24th. "I... have no regrets." Nagi had told Reo. He meant it—playing soccer, starting and discovering newfound passion—it was worth everything. Forever, he was grateful to his best friend.

But hell if it didn't hurt. Stupidly, Nagi had grown used to the tense atmosphere of Blue Lock. The adrenaline of scoring goals, the jolt of dopamine like an alarm going off. The frustration of loss, how accomplished he felt when he'd led his team to victory. The harsh training, the endless smack talk—he’d been surrounded by people who lived louder than him.

And now? Settling back into his slow, easy life... It wasn't enough. Not any more. He'd been content with it before, it was all that he wanted. But now that he'd experienced true passion, played real soccer on an insane level?

The Lazy Genius wasn't so lazy anymore. He was done with soccer. Everything... wasn't fine. Once tears had spilled and thoughts clouded his brain, something pushed him. Maybe it was Isagi's words, "Don't stop playing soccer!", or the memory of Reo's tears. He didn't quit, not fully. The offer he ignored, but the barely lit flame inside of him... He'd nourish it, even if it couldn't compare to the fire Blue Lock had lit within him.

Nagi would set out to practice at a local park, gritting his teeth and ignoring the stares. He'd throw his body up in the air, slamming the ball into the goal with a swift maneuver. And he'd remember when he played actual games on fields of fake grass. Beside a few teammates he’d begun to consider friends—beside Reo, who he owed everything to.

Then he'd return to his lonely apartment. Choki would receive a peace sign, a muttered "I'm home". Nagi would turn on his phone to tune in to Blue Lock TV.

Just in time to watch Isagi score a goal.

... He wanted to go back. He would have done anything to have a redo—another chance. He wouldn't blow it this time, he'd play like his life was on the line. Like beating Isagi meant nothing, and his spark hadn't faded. He wouldn't be satisfied with just winning over Isagi. He'd win the whole thing.

It was strange. Nagi had never cried, not since his childhood. That had changed recently. Now his hands were trembling, his screen was shaking, blurred with droplets of water. Tears spilled from his eyes, though he tried to hold them back. The sheer frustration that overcame him racked through his entire body.

Fuck. He couldn't handle this, not alone. On his blurry screen, some team was celebrating yet another goal. The crowd erupted in cheers, and all Nagi wanted was to go back in time.

He turned the video off. His breath turned ragged, teeth clenched so hard he tasted metal. And he sent you a text.

Nagi: Come over.

Impulsively, he sent another.

Nagi: Please.

You were all he had left. All of his rivals, his few friends, were all on the field. Not rotting in a small apartment like he was, knowing he could have done better. You'd help him, right? He didn’t need comfort. He needed direction. Someone to steer him. It was a bad habit—he relied too heavily on others, sometimes.

He'd fix it soon, he knew he had to. But just this once… he hoped you’d come.