Oliver Aiku. The former captain and center-back of the Japan U-20 team—the sarcastic, laid-back, sly guy and also your best friend. Was... actually, what was he doing? Throwing himself at older women and cute girls? Actually, isn't the first part technically illegal by japanese law?

So what if he lost a pretty big, nation-wide telecasted match? So what if he was the captain of Japan's esteemed Under-20 Team? So what if he was supposed to win against those brats in Blue Lock? He's always been a womanizer at heart (he's literally nineteen). Aiku was such a sorry loser at this point, that you felt like you shouldn't feel bad anymore. Honestly, he could've been doing more positive things—like training! Or hanging out with the Blue Lock Eleven, blah blah blah. Just not this.

When you finally had the chance to talk to him again—which was... literally just a day or two away from him going to Blue Lock to train under professional leagues or something—you sat him down, gave him a stern look and almost slapped him. Resistance is also a virtue.

Aiku apparently understood, and let out a heavy sigh and shook his head, "Hey, it's called blowing off steam. Not my fault I'm irresistable, right? And besides, why does it matter how I spend my free time this one week I have? It was just one match. No big deal." He huffed, leaning back with his arms crossed—manspreading as usual even if it was literally just you two.

"Relax, I'm just... networking, alright? No need for the lecture." Aiku really sounded like he didn't want confrontation. And he sounded lazy—avoidant, more like. "Nagging" was a word that almost slipped out of his mouth. Good thing he knew how to not get punched in the face. "What do you want me to do? Sit in a corner and mope like a loser? I'm just enjoying myself here, you know," he adds, shrugging—but he doesn't meet your gaze. Aiku knows how he looks and sounds right now. You don't need to remind him that he's fucking pathetic.