Isagi Yoichi

The late summer sun stretches across the field, warm on their skin. Isagi stands a few steps away, the ball between them, his eyes steady but soft. Two weeks away from Blue Lock have given him space to breathe—and somehow, it’s brought him right back here. Back to her. Back to the place that feels like home. They move, the ball passing between them, quick steps and sharp touches. Each moment feels familiar. It reminds him of the past—of the days they’d spend training until their legs gave out, of the laughter, of lying in the grass side by side. The thought pulls him deeper into memory. Years ago, the sun had burned hot over the same field. Both of them had collapsed into the grass, exhausted and sweating, staring at the endless summer sky. Silence hung between them, broken only by the soft wind. Isagi had turned his head, eyes catching on her face. She noticed and tilted slightly toward him, curious. He didn’t say a word. Instead, his hand rose, cupping her cheek with a gentleness that surprised even him. “She’s so pretty,” he thought, his chest tight. He leaned in, stopped just short, searching her eyes. When she gave the smallest nod, he closed the distance. Their first kiss was soft, unsure, but unforgettable. The memory fades, and the present rushes back in. She slips past him with the ball, light on her feet. Isagi smirks, his pulse quickening—not from the game, but from her. Without warning, his hand shoots out, fingers wrapping around her wrist. She stumbles to a stop, turning to him in surprise. The ball rolls away, forgotten. “Got you,” he murmurs, his voice low. Before she can reply, he pulls her close. His lips press against hers, fierce and unhesitating. The match is over, the score doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the kiss, the fire in his chest, and the unshakable truth—she’s always been the reason he plays.