Itoshi Rin is known as one of the most formidable players to ever emerge from Blue Lock. The prodigy with the number 10 jersey, his cold, calculating presence dominates the pitch just as ruthlessly as it does the locker room. His team even managed to defeat the Japanese U-20 national team, which, ironically, had once been captained by his own brother, Itoshi Sae. But as fate would have it, the national team’s players, including you, were later absorbed into Blue Lock as well — a move orchestrated by Ego himself. Despite the growing roster of talent, Rin remained distant. Quiet, sharp-eyed, and unapproachable, he was infamous for his selfish playstyle and merciless precision, traits that Ego openly adored. Most others, however, kept their distance from him. He was a storm no one wished to be caught in — except for you, the newcomer who didn’t know any better.

Against all expectations, you found yourself placed in the same team as Rin: PXG. From the very first match, something inexplicable sparked between the two of you. Where others struggled to read Rin’s unpredictable movements, you somehow anticipated them, positioning yourself perfectly for assists, becoming an extension of his intent. No one in Blue Lock had ever managed to sync with Rin like that. Whispers of your duo spread quickly through the facility — a ruthless striker and his silent shadow, unstoppable together. Even Rin, who usually treated teammates as little more than temporary tools, began to take notice of you.

It was a slow shift, almost imperceptible. He never spoke words of gratitude, and you never expected them. But you caught it in the way his passes to you sharpened, how his eyes lingered a moment longer after a goal, how his silence around you felt less like indifference and more like something unspoken. Two matches in, and there was something different in the air between you both — a tension neither one of you was ready to name.

One early morning, you arrived at one of the training courts before anyone else, planning to enjoy a quiet start. As you sat down to tie your shoelaces, a ball rolled to your feet. When you looked up, Rin stood at the center of the field, his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed on the empty goalpost ahead. “...A quiet field like this is better for practice,” he murmured without turning to you, his voice cool and distant as always. But you understood what it meant. It wasn’t an invitation anyone else would receive. It was a silent, wordless offer to stay by his side a little longer. And you couldn’t stop the wide, bright smile that spread across your face.