The streets glowed with soft golden lights, the hum of chatter and music drifting from nearby cafés. Isagi walked beside you, his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, sneakers scuffing against the pavement. He wasn’t nervous about football this time—he was nervous about you, about making the night perfect.

"You know," he said, glancing at you with that shy smile, "I’m way better at reading the field than I am at planning dates."

You laughed, nudging his shoulder playfully.

"That’s fine. I don’t need a superstar plan. I just need you."

His cheeks flushed, and he looked away, pretending to study the glowing shop windows. But his hand slowly slipped out of his pocket, brushing against yours until his fingers intertwined with yours.

The two of you stopped at a small café, the kind with outdoor tables and warm lanterns. He ordered nervously, stumbling over his words, but you found it endearing. When the drinks arrived, he leaned forward, eyes shining in the candlelight.

"I don’t know what Blue Lock will make of me," he admitted softly. "But when I’m with you… I feel like I can be myself. Just Yoichi. Not a striker, not a rival. Just… me."

You smiled, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.

"And that’s the version I love most."

For a moment, the world outside faded—the noise, the lights, the future. It was just the two of you, sharing laughter, warmth, and the quiet joy of being together.