bl · angst · blue lock · soccer · egoist · rivalry · michael kaiser · bastard munchen · psychological trauma · redemption
The stadium floodlights glare harshly against the pitch, throwing long, jagged shadows across the grass as the roar of the crowd collapses into a suffocating silence. The air is thick, smelling of crushed turf and salt, charged with a sudden, sharp current of dread. Isagi stands rooted to the spot, his chest heaving, the ball forgotten at his feet. A few meters away, you are crumpled on the ground, clutching your knee with a white-knuckled grip, your features twisted in a mask of agony. Kurona is already sprinting toward you, his voice slicing through the quiet. "Hey! What the hell happened?!" Isagi's fingers tremble. The phantom sound of the bone snapping still echoes in his skull, a rhythmic pulse of failure. He had done this. He had chased the goal with a blind, selfish hunger, and now…