The contract signing was tedious. Pages upon pages of legal jargon, liability waivers, confidentiality agreements, and consent forms.

The stack of paper felt endless, each signature a small surrender of autonomy.

Isagi read every line carefully—twice. He had learned long ago that the fine print was where the traps hid.

Reo, beside him, skimmed with practiced efficiency, his business training making quick work of the legalese. Nagi signed wherever he was told, barely glancing at the pages.

It was as expected for both of them.

It was also mentioned that until the project concluded, no contestants were allowed to return home unless special permission was granted or the contestant was eliminated.

"It's quite a hassle," Isagi muttered, flexing his wrist after the final signature.

The contract required a guardian's signature. Isagi had no one. His brother was either dead or in prison—he didn't care which.

His parents were ghosts. But Reo smoothly took the pen and signed in the designated space, his elegant signature flowing across the line without hesitation.

Afterall it was him that took isagi in.

Reo Mikage — Legal Guardian.

"That was annoying," Isagi grumbled as they submitted their paperwork.

Reo just smiled. "Yeah, it sure is."

"Let's move on now shall wr?"

"Yeah".

After the paperwork, they were ordered to pack their bags and board the buses prepared the previous day.

The vehicles idled in a neat row outside the Union building, each one assigned to a different group of players.

The problem became apparent immediately.

"What do you mean we're on different buses?" Reo's voice cut through the milling crowd, sharp with indignation.

The staff member—a young woman with a clipboard—flinched slightly.

"The assignments were randomized. It's part of the program's protocol."

"Protocol?" Reo stepped closer, his presence suddenly looming despite his lean frame.

"I don't care about protocol. Put us on the same bus. Or better yet, we'll take my car. I have a driver waiting."

"Sir, that's not—"

"If you think I'm letting Yo-chan out of my sight in a crowd of three hundred strangers, you're delusional."

Nagi, meanwhile, had already stopped listening.

He was drifting toward the bus where Isagi's name had been called, clearly intending to board it regardless of what his own assignment said.

Isagi pinched the bridge of his nose.

They were causing a scene.

People were staring. Some were whispering—isn't that Mikage Reo? The Mikage heir?—and others were simply watching the drama unfold like entertainment.

If this goes on both Reo and the Mikage corporate's reputation will go downhill.

He could already feel a headache forming.

"Reo." Isagi's voice was quiet but sharp.

"Stop."

"But Yo-chan—"

"Get on your assigned bus."

"Absolutely not—"

"Nagi." Isagi turned to the white-haired boy, who had one foot on Isagi's bus steps.

"You too. Get off."

Nagi paused, silver eyes meeting Isagi's. "Don't wanna."

"If you don't both get on your assigned buses right now," Isagi said slowly, voice dropping to something cold and dangerous.

"I will make sure neither of you gets to sit next to me for the entire first week of this program."

Silence.

Reo's mouth opened, then closed. Nagi's foot slowly lowered from the step.

"Yo-chan," Reo tried, "that's cruel."

"What's cruel is you two acting like children in front of everyone. We're about to enter a facility where three hundred players are competing for one spot. Do you really want to start by looking like entitled brats who can't follow basic instructions?"

Reo's jaw tightened. He knew Isagi was right. He hated it, but he knew.

"Fine," Reo bit out. "But I'm messaging you the entire ride."

"No, you're not."

"Yo-chan!"

"You're going to use the ride to rest and mentally prepare. We all should." Isagi's gaze softened slightly—the smallest concession.

"We'll see each other at the facility. It's not far."

Nagi shuffled closer, his expression still flat but his eyes betraying something like sulkiness.

"What if the person next to you is annoying?"

(Holly prediction Nagi..)

"Then I'll deal with it."

"What if they touch you?"

"Worse"

"What if they try to assault you?!"

"I'll break their fingers."

Nagi considered this. "Okay. That's acceptable."

Reo still looked mutinous, but he finally turned toward his assigned bus, throwing one last look over his shoulder.

"If anything happens—"

"Reo. Go."

"But..."

"Now."

The purple-haired heir went, grumbling under his breath. Nagi drifted after him at a slower pace, shooting Isagi a look that promised this wasn't over.

Isagi watched them go, then exhaled slowly.

Those two are going to be the death of me.

Isagi sat near the window, watching the city blur past as the bus pulled away from the Union building.

The seat beside him was empty, and he allowed himself a moment of fragile hope that it would stay that way.

Then someone dropped into it with the force of a small explosion.

"Yo! You're Isagi Yoichi, right? The guy who told Ego to shove it—metaphorically speaking. That was incredible."

The voice was loud. Too loud. Isagi turned slowly to face his new seatmate.

The boy was tall, with spiky blond and edges of pink hair and eyes the color of fresh blood. His grin was wide and sharp, full of teeth.

Everything about him radiated chaotic energy, like a firecracker about to go off.

"Shidou Ryusei," the boy said, thrusting out a hand.

"And damn, your speech back there? When you said you'd already been through hell? That was hot. Really turned me on, you know?"

Isagi stared at him.

Then he turned back to the window.

"Aw, don't be like that." Shidou didn't seem discouraged. If anything, he leaned closer, pressing into Isagi's personal space with zero awareness—or perhaps zero care—for boundaries.

"I'm being serious! Most of these sheep just stood there shaking. But you? You walked right up to Ego and said 'I didn't come here to pass.' That's the kind of mentality I'm talking about!"

"Good for you," Isagi said flatly.

"You're not much of a talker, are you? That's fine. I can talk enough for both of us." Shidou slung an arm over the back of Isagi's seat, his grin widening.

"So what's your deal? You're not like the other rich kids—well, except for that Mikage guy hanging off you. What's the story there? Business partners? Childhood friends? Lovers?"

Isagi's eye twitched.

"None of your business."

"Ooh, touchy. Fine, fine. We don't have to talk about them." Shidou's pink eyes glittered with something predatory.

"Let's talk about you instead. What makes Isagi Yoichi tick? What drives the man who's already been through hell?"

"Bothersome," Isagi muttered.

"Huh?"

"You're bothersome. People who are too lively exhaust me. You talk too much, you smile too much, and you don't respect personal space. It's annoying."

"Really annoying"

Most people would have recoiled at such blunt rejection. Shidou threw his head back and laughed.

"Man, you're great! No filter, no fake politeness. Just raw honesty." He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.

"I like that. It's refreshing. Most people are so busy trying to be nice they forget how to be real."

"I think we could become reallllll close~"

Isagi turned to look at him fully for the first time. The boy's energy was exhausting, but there was something behind those pink eyes—something sharp and calculating beneath the chaos.

"You're not what you seem," Isagi observed.

"Neither are you, sweetheart." Shidou's grin softened into something almost dangerous.

"But that's what makes this interesting. Three hundred strikers in a cage, and only one gets out. I'm gonna enjoy watching you tear through them."

"Assuming I don't tear through you first."

The grin returned, wider than ever.

"Heheh~"

"God, I love this program."

The facility rose from the landscape like a fortress—imposing, monolithic, and utterly devoid of warmth.

The buses rolled through massive gates and came to a stop in a covered parking bay. Isagi stepped out, blinking against the artificial lighting, and took in his new prison.

Blue Lock.

The others filed out around him, a river of young athletes with uncertain futures.

Staff members directed the flow, voices echoing off concrete walls.

Anri Teieri appeared with a tablet in hand, her professional smile bright against the industrial backdrop.

"Welcome, everyone! Please form a line and submit your personal belongings. Phones, wallets, and other devices will be held for the duration of the program."

Isagi was already reaching for his phone when it was snatched from his hand.

"What the—"

"Sorry, sorry!" Shidou's grin was unrepentant as his fingers flew across Isagi's phone screen.

"Just had to add my number. In case you get lonely in here, you know?"

"Give that back."

"Almost done—" Shidou tapped something and then held the phone out.

"There! Saved under 'Lively Cockroach.' Fitting, right?"

Isagi stared at the screen. Then he stared at Shidou.

The urge to commit violence was overwhelming.

"You have three seconds," Isagi said, his voice dropping to a deadly calm, "to run."

"Before I strangle you to death"

Shidou's eyes widened with delight. "Oh, this is going to be—"

He didn't finish. Isagi's hand was already curling into a fist when something warm and solid wrapped around his waist from behind, halting his momentum.

"Isagi."

"Who's that"

Nagi's voice was soft, almost bored, but his arms were locked around Isagi's middle with surprising strength.

His chin rested on Isagi's shoulder, silver eyes fixed on Shidou with an expression that could only be described as murderous.

So you're the one who touched him, Nagi's eyes seemed to say.

Shidou's pink gaze met the challenge head-on. And what if I am?

The two of them stared at each other in absolute silence, a war fought entirely through glares and micro-expressions.

Isagi could feel Nagi's grip tighten.

"Yo-chan!"

Reo arrived at a jog, his perfect composure slightly ruffled.

"I saw you from across the hall—what happened? Why does Nagi look like he's about to commit a crime?"

"He touched Isagi's phone," Nagi reported, voice flat but loaded.

Reo's expression went cold. "He what?"

"He touched it. And put his number in it. Under a nickname."

Reo's smile was terrifying. "Is that so?"

Someone dared to mess and seduce what's theirs how could they not be mad?

Isagi, still caught in Nagi's iron grip, closed his eyes and counted to ten.

"Both of you. Let it go. He's not worth the energy."

"Energy is exactly what he's not worth," Nagi muttered.

"Give me back my phone," Isagi said, turning his attention to Shidou, who was watching the whole exchange with undisguised fascination.

"Sure, sure." Shidou tossed the phone back, and Isagi caught it one-handed.

"But the number stays. Consider it a gift."

"I'll consider it spam."

"That's cold, sweetheart. Real cold."

"Your going to freeze my burning heart at this rate yknow?"

Isagi turned away, effectively dismissing him.

Reo and Nagi flanked him immediately, their combined glares forming a protective barrier against further intrusion.

The sorting process was efficient but chaotic. Players were divided into teams, assigned to different wings of the facility, and given room numbers.

Isagi watched the names flash across the screen—his own assigned to Team Z—and felt a twinge of something he refused to name.

Separated.

He was separated from them.

"Absolutely not," Reo said immediately, his voice rising.

"This is unacceptable. I won't allow it."

"Reo—"

"I'll speak to the staff. I'll have this changed. There's no reason we can't be on the same team—"

"The teams are randomized," Isagi interjected.

"Ego explained this. Fighting it will only draw negative attention."

"I don't care about attention. I care about—"

"Yo-chan." Nagi's voice was quiet, but it cut through Reo's mounting tirade.

"You promised."

Isagi turned to him. "What?"

"You promised that if we behaved, we'd see you at the facility. We're here. We behaved." Nagi's silver eyes were unreadable.

"Now you're leaving us again."

The words hit harder than they should have.

Isagi looked at them—Reo, tense and frustrated, his usual polished veneer cracking at the edges; Nagi, still and watchful, his silence more damning than any outburst.

They were his. His treasures. His reasons for keeping the darkness at bay.

And they were afraid. Not of Blue Lock, but of losing him.

Something in Isagi's chest tightened.

Then, deliberately, he stepped closer to Reo.

"Yo-chan?" Reo's eyes widened slightly.

Isagi didn't answer with words. He reached up, cupped Reo's face in both hands, and pulled him into a kiss.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't hesitant. It was deep and commanding, Isagi's tongue sliding against Reo's with practiced dominance.

He kissed like he played—with intent, with precision, with the absolute certainty of victory.

His teeth caught Reo's lower lip, biting down just hard enough to draw a gasp.

When he pulled back, Reo's face was flushed, his eyes glassy with shock. A bead of blood welled at his lip where Isagi had bitten.

"Trust me," Isagi murmured against his mouth.

"We'll see each other soon. And when we do..." His voice dropped to a whisper, dark and promising

"I'll make it worth the wait."

Reo made a sound that might have been a whimper.

Isagi turned to Nagi.

The white-haired boy was frozen, his usual blank expression cracked by something raw and vulnerable.

Isagi reached out and cupped Nagi's face the same way, his thumbs tracing the sharp lines of his cheekbones.

"You're going to be a good boy for me, aren't you?" Isagi's voice was low, intimate.

"You're going to go to your team, and you're going to train, and you're going to show everyone exactly why you belong here. And when it's over..."

He leaned in, lips brushing Nagi's ear.

"I'll reward you. But only if you behave."

Nagi's breath hitched. His hands came up, gripping Isagi's wrists—not to pull away, but to hold him there.

"Isagi..."

"Say it."

"...I'll behave."

"Good." Isagi pulled back, but not before pressing a soft kiss to Nagi's forehead.

The tenderness of it was almost cruel, given the circumstances.

"I'll see you both soon."

He turned and walked through the doors to Team Z's wing without looking back.

The silence he left behind was deafening.

Anri stood frozen, her tablet clutched to her chest, her face bright red.

Shidou's grin had vanished, replaced by something between shock and reluctant admiration.

The other contestants who had witnessed the exchange were similarly stunned—some scandalized, some intrigued, all of them suddenly very aware that Isagi Yoichi was not someone to be underestimated.

Reo and Nagi remained where they stood, both flushed, both speechless.

Finally, Reo touched his lower lip, feeling the small wound Isagi had left behind. "He bit me."

"He whispered to me," Nagi said faintly.

"He kissed me."

"He threatened to reward me."

They stared at each other.

"H-he seduced us?..:

"That bastard," Reo said, but there was no heat in it.

"In public. In front of everyone. He knew exactly what he was doing."

"He always knows," Nagi agreed.

"......"

"How are we supposed to focus now?"

"We don't. We suffer. And then we punish him."

"Absolutely." Reo's eyes narrowed with determination.

"When we see him next, he's not going to know what hit him."

Nagi nodded solemnly. "Public kiss. Public bite. Unforgivable."

"Completely unforgivable."

They both turned toward their assigned wings, their faces still burning, their thoughts spiraling into fantasies of revenge that were less about punishment and more about other things entirely.

Isagi had gotten lost three times.

The facility was a maze of identical corridors and numbered doors, each wing indistinguishable from the last.

He finally found Team Z's room by following the sound of voices, and slipped inside with a quiet sigh of relief.

The room was large, lined with bunk beds and lockers.

Players milled about, introducing themselves with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Isagi scanned the space automatically—exit points, potential threats, faces he recognized from Kira's earlier commentary.

"Isagi!"

Kira appeared from the crowd, his face lighting up with genuine warmth.

"I was hoping we'd end up in the same team! This is great—having someone familiar here makes everything less intimidating."

He reached for Isagi's hands.

Isagi slapped them away.

The crack of skin against skin was sharp and sudden.

Kira froze, his expression shifting from warmth to confusion to something like hurt.

"Don't touch me," Isagi said quietly. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried.

"I don't like physical contact without consent."

"Whoa, easy there!" A boy with a orange hair stepped forward, hands raised in a placating gesture.

"No need to get violent. Kira was just being friendly."

Isagi's eyes flickered to him—Kunigami Rensuke, he would later learn—then back to Kira.

"Friendly or not," Isagi said, "don't touch me. Outside the field, I only allow certain people to make contact. You're not one of them."

Kira's face reddened with embarrassment and a bit of anger.

His ego was hurt as noone had done such a thing to him. Noone.

"I... I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"Now you do."

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut. Isagi could feel the other players watching him, reassessing him.

Good.

Let them.

He hadn't survived this long by letting strangers put their hands on him.

Those dirty hands. That body pressing down on him. The pain, the shame, the helplessness—

Just thinking about it made his stomach churn.

Isagi shoved the memories back with practiced force.

Reo and Nagi had helped him move forward, but the scars remained.

The phantom sensation of unwanted touch lingered on his skin like oil.

Kira retreated, his expression still wounded. Isagi didn't care.

A shirt flew through the air, and Isagi caught it flawlessly, his reflexes honed by years of survival.

"Sorry about that!" Kunigami called, holding up a hand.

"My aim got away from me. You've got good reflexes."

Isagi examined the shirt—a standard Blue Lock training jersey—then tossed it back. "It's fine."

"Kunigami Rensuke," the boy introduced himself, retrieving the shirt.

"I'm not going to touch you without permission, so don't worry. Just wanted to say that was impressive. The catch, I mean."

"Thanks."

"Oh, and watch your feet. Someone's sleeping on the floor over there."

Isagi looked down.

A boy was sprawled across the floor, completely unconscious, his breathing deep and even.

His hair was a black with an under color of yellow, his features delicate, almost pretty. He looked like he'd simply collapsed where he stood.

he almost looked like a bee.

"Who...?"

"Don't know his name yet," Kunigami said with a shrug. "He was already asleep when I got here."

Isagi stared at the sleeping boy for a long moment, then carefully stepped over him.

What a strange place.

Very strange indeed.

They changed into their training gear quickly—the Blue Lock uniform was sleek and black, designed for mobility.

The fabric felt foreign against Isagi's skin, but not unpleasant.

Then the television screen on the wall flickered to life.

Jinpachi Ego's face appeared, pale and severe behind his mirrored glasses.

"Attention, you worthless lumps of flesh. The first selection is about to begin." He paused, letting the words hang.

"Your first trial will be a game of tag. Specifically, devil's tag."

The room fell silent.

Nervousness rippled through the players—visible in the tension of shoulders, the clenching of fists, the quickening of breath.

Isagi simply stared at the screen.

"Rules will be explained at the training ground. Report to your designated field immediately. Those who fail to arrive within five minutes will be eliminated on the spot."

The screen went dark.

The room erupted into motion—players scrambling for the door, pulling on shoes, asking panicked questions.

Isagi rose smoothly, his expression unchanged.

"Okay," he said softly, to no one in particular.

The game was about to begin.