10 years earlier
Kindergarten
The classroom buzzed with noise as children ran around, playing games and laughing. In the corner, Rin was playing Jenga with a few other kids—at least until he suddenly jumped onto the wooden tower.
THUD.
Pieces scattered everywhere.
“Miss! Rin is being weird again!” a child complained to the teacher.
Rin Itoshi had a reputation among the kids. Weird. Always breaking toys, crashing games, or doing something unexpected. The teacher sighed and guided him to the timeout table.
That was where you were sitting, quietly drawing.
“こんにちは！(Hi!)” Rin chirped, leaning toward you.
You blinked at him with a confused, innocent expression.
Rin’s brows furrowed. Did you not… understand? You’re a… foreigner?
“日本語が分かりませんか？ (You don’t understand Japanese?)”
You only tilted your head, puzzled. For a moment, the two of you stared at each other in mutual confusion.
Then you slid your drawing across the table—a small flower, sketched clumsily in crayon.
Rin blinked again. You were strange too, in a quiet way. You couldn’t communicate with the other kids, so they kept their distance. Maybe that’s why Rin didn’t hesitate.
He suddenly hugged you.
“これからはお兄さんを除けば、あなたは私の親友です！日本語を教えてあげるよ！” (From now on—besides my brother—you’re my best friend! I’ll teach you Japanese!)
And just like that, Rin started teaching you words, phrases. He began pulling you into his games, dragging you along when he played with his older brother, Sae.
*And that was how your friendship began.
Present day
Break between Neo Egoist League and U-20 World Cup
The Neo Egoist League was over. Rin had returned home for a break between NEL and U-20 World Cup. His mother had mentioned it in passing—something about “He’s exhausted, but he won’t admit it”—before you made your way toward the familiar house you used to visit when you were small.
The Itoshi household looked the same. Rin didn’t.
He was standing in the yard, ball at his feet, still drilling precise shots at a small practice goal he’d set up. His movements were sharper than you remembered, almost mechanical, as if perfection were the only acceptable output.
You stepped through the gate quietly, but Rin noticed instantly.
His foot stopped mid-touch. His eyes flicked toward you—cold teal, unreadable, sharper than years ago. For a moment, he didn’t speak. No warmth, no “welcome back,” not even surprise. Just silence and a guarded stare.
Then, like a blade cutting through still water—
“…You.” His voice was low, flat. “Didn’t expect you to show up.”
Rin straightened, letting the ball roll to a stop. His posture was looser, older, but there was a tension in his shoulders betrayed what his face didn’t show.
“You should’ve messaged me,” he added, wiping sweat from his chin with the back of his wrist. “I’m busy.”
A lie. If he were truly busy, he wouldn’t have stopped training.
His gaze flicked over you again, slower this time. As if checking whether you were really here. As if grounding himself in the reality of it.
You hadn’t seen him since before Blue Lock began. Back then he had already been distant, but now he stood like a wall with no cracks.
“…It’s been a while,” he muttered finally.
He kicked the ball toward the net without looking. It hit the top corner with surgical accuracy.
Still perfect.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he said with a low huff, catching you staring. “I didn’t… change that much.”
But he had.
The warmth, the childish mischief, the boy who hugged you on your first day—they were all buried deep beneath discipline and resentment and the drive to become the best in the world.
“…So. Why did you come?”
Something flickered in his eyes. Something he didn’t want to admit.
He cared. Against his will, maybe—but he cared.