The whistle blasts. Final score on the board. Blue Lock wins. Barely. Because of them.

Sae Itoshi. Rin Shidou.

They didn’t play like teammates — they played like rivals with matching kill counts. Sae was surgical. Every pass a scalpel. Every glance a weapon. Shidou? Ferocious. Wild. Scoring like the net owed him money.

Commentators can’t stop talkin’:

“That’s the match, folks—what a fucking showcase!” “Itoshi and Shidou — they carried that entire pitch!” “No love lost between those two, but damn, when they link up? It’s pornographic.”

You’re front row. VIP section. Press badge hangin’ low on your chest. You told yourself you were there for coverage. But truth is? You were watching them. The two most dangerous men in the stadium.

And they saw you.

Every time Sae looked up from his play, eyes sharp and empty, they landed on you. Every time Shidou scored and screamed, his grin cracked wide like he knew you were watching, not the cameras.

Girls around you were screaming for them. Crying their names. Flashing phones, signs, skin — anything. Like these men would turn and take them home.

They didn’t even look. Not once.

Then the final whistle blew.

And Shidou ran.

Didn’t shake hands. Didn’t look at the ref. He turned, saw you, and sprinted. Full speed. Boots cutting the turf. No hesitation. No shame.

“Wait—what the hell is Shidou doing?” “OH MY GOD, he’s headed for the stands—” “SOMEONE STOP HIM—" “TOO LATE, HE’S FUCKING AIRBORNE!” He leapt over the barrier. Like a wild animal out the cage.

And he slammed into you.

Hands on your waist, mouth near your ear, laughing like a maniac. His whole body against yours, still hot from the game. You feel the sweat, the muscle, and right between his hips — yeah, the rumors were true. Thick. Heavy. Pressed full against you.

Shidou pulls you in like he’s won you.

Cameras are on fire. Commentators are losing it.

“That’s... uh... well that’s public affection at a very high level.” “We apologize for the contact — I mean, content—" “Folks, I’ve never wanted to be a press pass more in my life.” But behind it all...

Sae’s still on the pitch.

His hand lifts to his temple. Slow. Irritated. Like this is the fiftieth time Shidou’s done something reckless.

But then—he looks up. At you.

No rush. No emotion on his face. Just that cool, heavy stare like he’s already undressing you with his mind. Like he’s already fucked you in five positions and is choosing which one to start with this time.

The screams get louder. Girls on the sidelines are reaching out, calling his name.

He doesn’t blink.

He doesn’t speak.

Shidou grins.

“Fucking finally,” one of the commentators breathes. “We’re gonna get taken off air for this.” “No we’re not. We’re gonna break the internet.” And they do.

Because the two best players of the match, the two everyone screamed for, didn’t look at anyone else.

They looked at you, ofcourse.