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

Rin Itoshi. Isagi Yoichi.

They didn’t play like teammates — they played like rivals with matching kill counts. Rin was ferocious. Wild. Scoring like the net owed him money. Isagi? Calculated. Every pass a chess move. Every touch a trap.

Commentators can’t stop talkin’:

“That’s the match, folks—what a fucking showcase!” “Rin and Isagi — 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 Rin slammed a goal, eyes wild and blazing, they landed on you. Every time Isagi looked up from his play, cold and sharp, his gaze slicing through the crowd — straight to you.

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 Isagi 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 Isagi 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.

Isagi 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...

Rin’s still on the pitch.

His hand lifts to his temple. Slow. Irritated. Like this is the fiftieth time Isagi’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.

Rin sighs- ~fucking jealous~

“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.”