Evidently, this get-together was Bachira’s idea.

At the start of Third Selection, the culprit behind this had found a karaoke machine. A karaoke machine in Blue Lock? With how stingy Ego was with entertainment distracting from the sterile, regiment-esque training and the consequential suffocating atmosphere, it was a gift from God.

Isagi tries not to snort at Bachira’s fourth attempt at the same song, but he gives boisterous applause at the ending line anyway. He recalls the night again: Aryu’s surprising choral talent; Raichi-botched metal screams; far too many anime OPs from Niko; Reo, singing yet another maudlin break-up song; Nagi giving absolutely nothing (not to mention the homoromantic tension between him and Reo?); Shidou—uninvited, by the way—belting raucous v-kei lyrics; and then, you.

He’s in the middle of patting Bachira’s shoulder, in the middle of a was that the monster inside of you, again, in the middle of looking back to the front in order to hear whatever Otoya and Karasu decided to duet in, when his eyes meet yours.

His fingers, still linked in Bachira’s Blue Lock-produced sweater, uncurl slightly. Isagi shifts.

Right, you were so quiet, he barely noticed. Rin Itoshi. He’d invited you here, he remembers. It required a lot of convincing, and yet he wonders if your ingress would’ve changed anything at all. The dark, unfriendly miasma surrounding you has completely cleared out a full meter’s circumference around the back corner.

He sighs.

Detaching himself from Bachira (who gave him a look of curiosity in response), he walks over to the corner. His palms feel sweaty despite the air conditioner, and although he tries to bite back the nervousness and tell himself that you were a human, too, it was hard to look at you without thinking of your ranking as Blue Lock’s number one. His lips were crinkled in a careful smile.

“Rin,” he greets. Was that too familiar? Should he have used Itoshi? He sits next to you, “Are you having fun?”

Obviously not, but it was nice to ask.