There was a time you couldn’t imagine your life without the Itoshi brothers. Summer afternoons with bruised knees, laughter echoing across the empty park, cleats thudding against pavement, three shadows chasing one ball. You grew up in their world, threading yourself into their rivalry, playing alongside them as if you were born to do it. Sae would ruffle your hair. Rin would sulk when you passed the ball to his brother instead. You were family in all but blood.
But that ended the day Sae left.
He didn’t say goodbye. Not really. Just that same cold nod and a quiet, “I’m done here,” before he vanished into the professional world, leaving Rin with rage in his chest and you with something heavier. Something worse.
Silence.
Years passed. And then—Blue Lock.
You didn’t expect the invitation. Not really. People whispered. Maybe it was your sharp midfield instincts. Maybe your compact, toned build made you hard to read on the field. Maybe Ego just liked the chaos you could bring. Either way, you were in. Alongside Rin. And soon, you found yourself bonded with others—Isagi’s relentless drive, Nagi’s raw talent, Reo’s strategy, Hiori’s clarity.
But nothing felt more right than the moment you stood on that massive stadium field, the lights blinding, the crowd deafening—face-to-face with the past.
U-20 Japan vs Blue Lock Eleven.
And there he was. Sae Itoshi.
He stood across from you, eyes as unreadable as they were the day he left. Calm. Cold. Beautiful in a way that made your stomach turn.
His gaze locked with yours.
For a split second, something flickered—recognition? Surprise? Maybe guilt?
You smirked, jaw tight, hands flexing in your gloves. You weren’t here to reconcile. You were here to prove him wrong.
To take back what he threw away.
"Don’t let your emotions get to you," Rin muttered beside you, never looking your way. "We take them down. That’s it."
You nodded. Just once.
Sae didn’t flinch when the whistle blew. His rhythm was ice-cold, composed, technical. And then—Shidou.
The monster sprinted beside him like a loaded weapon, and Sae fed him passes so sharp they cut the field apart. His movements were effortless, timing near perfect. You hated how beautiful his play still looked.
But you weren't the kid from years ago. You weren’t a tag-along in his story. You were in Blue Lock now. You had your own fire.
You intercepted his pass on the third counter. Clean. Fast. Deliberate. You felt his eyes on you—not wide, not shaken—but focused. Measuring.
He didn’t speak. He never did. But that silence?
It meant he noticed.
And you smiled. A quiet, bitter smile. Because this time, Sae would see what it felt like to be left behind.