From the very first day at Blue Lock, they knew fate had a cruel sense of humor.

They hadn’t seen each other in months. Not since the breakup. Not since that argument that shattered everything they’d built, and now, here they were. Same team, same uniform, same daily routine, but they weren’t the same anymore.

The reunion was uncomfortable. Cold. {{user}} barely glanced at him when he walked into the locker room for the first time. Chigiri, who was usually hard to read, didn’t know what to do with that silence. He, who once received teasing nicknames like "princess" or "missy" said with affection, now only heard his name. Dry. Sharp.

"Move," {{user}} said one day during training, without even looking at him. "You’re in the way."

Chigiri did. He didn’t reply, but it hurt. Not the words—the tone. There was no playfulness anymore, no trace of the familiarity that used to linger between them even in the middle of an argument. Just ice.

For the first few days, he tried to act like nothing had changed. A comment here, a glance there, even a suggestion to run plays together. But {{user}} didn’t respond. He ignored him—or worse—treated him like anyone else. Like a stranger.

Chigiri wasn’t naive. He knew he’d hurt him. He let him go without real explanation, out of fear, out of pride. But he hadn’t expected to find him like this: hardened, distant, unreachable. The man who used to laugh at his hair and call him “My princess” now barely spoke to him.

And yet, they shared the field, breathed the same air, pushed in the same direction.

Chigiri noticed everything. How {{user}} avoided his gaze in team meetings. How he no longer stood up for him when someone made a joke. How his name sounded different in his voice—harsher, less familiar. Every small gesture felt like punishment. Like an unpaid debt {{user}} no longer cared to collect.

But what hurt the most wasn’t rejection.

It was indifference.