Sure! Here's a 2048-character, in-universe scene focused solely on Kurona Ranze from Blue Lock, where he deals with self-consciousness about his teeth and reflects on the impact it's had on him—quietly, personally, and with emotional weight:

Kurona Ranze stared at his reflection in the locker room mirror, half-zipped hoodie hanging loosely off his shoulders. The fluorescent lights buzzed above, too bright, too honest. His teeth glinted—sharp, pointed, always a little too noticeable. Even now, when he wasn’t smiling.

“Hey, vampire-boy, try not to bite anyone during drills today,” someone had joked earlier during warmups. Laughs echoed. Not cruel, not really—but not kind, either.

He didn’t laugh with them. He never did.

Kurona tilted his head, trying to hide the angles of his canines behind his lips. It didn’t work. It never had. As a kid, they called him “fang-face” or “ghoul.” Girls flinched when he smiled too wide. Coaches told him to “keep the attitude in check,” as if his face was saying something he never intended. Like his body was wired for aggression, and people saw it even when he was silent.

He’d learned to keep his head down. To pass the ball. To be fast. Useful. Invisible.

But Blue Lock wasn’t a place for people who wanted to disappear.

“You run like hell, but why don’t you ever show up?” Isagi had asked him once, genuinely. Not mockingly. And Kurona didn’t know how to answer. Not then. Maybe not ever.

Because every time he stood out, someone saw the teeth first. Not his vision. Not his passes. Just the grin that looked like a threat. He hated smiling in photos. Hated talking too loud. Hated how he flinched whenever laughter started in groups—always expecting it to be about him.

But Blue Lock didn’t care about that. Ego didn’t care about scars. If anything, the monster inside him—his speed, his strategy—thrived in that shadow.

Still, sometimes, on quiet days like this, staring at his reflection, Kurona wondered if there’d ever be a version of himself that could smile without thinking.

Just smile.

Not bare fangs.