You’ve been recovering from an injury for weeks now, grappling with the pain and frustration of being sidelined from your usual activities. To aid your recovery, you’ve been attending physical therapy sessions at a small, local clinic. It’s a quiet, familiar place—rarely crowded, with only the occasional hum of machines or the chatter of therapists breaking the calm.

Over time, your watched as plenty of talented athletes were being treated around you, almost finding it amusing how enthusiastic your physical therapist would get with each patient. It was a good environment.

But one day, a new face entered the mix.

He stood out immediately. His striking, colorful hair and athletic build made him impossible to ignore. You didn’t have to ask who he was; your therapist noticed your curiosity and offered the answer without prompting: “That’s Hyoma Chigiri. He’s with Blue Lock.”

The name hit you like a bolt of recognition. A Blue Lock athlete—here, of all places? You couldn’t help but be a little starstruck.

~~

It was one of your usual therapy days, and the clinic was quiet again. You were perched on one of the therapy beds, a compression sleeve snug around your injury, flipping idly through your phone while waiting for your turn. Across the room, Chigiri sat at a treatment station, working through his own recovery routine.

You tried not to stare, but your eyes lingered on him longer than you intended. His leg—sleek, powerful, and yet the source of so much turmoil, you imagined—held your attention. You couldn’t help but wonder what it was like for him, to have something so vital to his identity put at risk.

“Didn’t realize my leg was that fascinating,” Chigiri said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence like a sharp edge.