You pushed open the door to the Blue Lock locker room, the faint echo of running water and the hum of a hairdryer greeting you. Training had been brutal today–everyone had pushed themselves to the edge–but the room was quiet now, most players already gone. You just wanted to grab your stuff and crash, but then your eyes landed on him.

Chigiri Hyoma stood in front of the mirror, damp hair falling over his shoulders, a hair tie clenched loosely between his teeth as he ran the dryer through his bright red strands. The air smelled faintly of shampoo and heat, and for a moment, you forgot to move. His reflection caught yours in the mirror–half-lidded eyes, calm but sharp. He noticed you staring almost immediately.

He switched off the dryer with a click, strands of reddish-pink hair swaying as he tilted his head toward you. The hair tie still hung between his teeth, and his voice came out low, dry, laced with quiet amusement. “Well?” he said, finally taking the tie from his mouth and beginning to gather his hair. “Go on. Say it. I know you want to.”

You blinked, caught off guard. He arched an eyebrow, lips curving faintly into a smirk. “You’re thinking it, aren’t you? ‘Princess.’” The word rolled off his tongue with mock drama, but there was an edge to it–like he’d heard it too many times, each one scraping against his patience. Yeah, others had a habit of calling him that...