Chapter Text
So you’re Yoshida (F/n), a child to one of the richest and famous couples in Asia- or to be specific, one of the top 3 richest couples in Asia. Your mom, Yoshida Akane, is a serious and strict businessman and the CEO of Yoshida Corporations, a technology company that creates devices, from home appliances to military equipment. She is the one in your family who calls all the shots. Your dad, Yoshida Haruto, on the other hand, is on the more mellow side, but he is… what you’d call different from usual dads.
“(F/n)!!” is the first thing you wake up to on this lovely morning as you hear your room door open.
You groan, a frown etched across your features, before snatching a handful of your blanket to cover your body whole.
“(F/n), wake up!!”
You let out another groan.
5… maybe 10 minutes pass(?) and you don’t hear your noisy dad’s wake-up call, so you relax your body again, quietly drifting back to sleep…
“(F/n). Your dad told you to wake up.”
You snapped wide awake upon hearing a much lower and icier voice, your body shooting up from your bed and sitting in a criss-cross position. You instantly toss your bedsheets aside to face the direction of the voice. Before you was your mother, wearing an annoyed expression on her face.
Oh fuck.
“I’m awake- I’m awake.” You reassure her and your dad.
If there were one thing you were the most afraid of, it’d be your mother. Domineering, stern, ruthless- these were words you would use to describe your mother. But it’s also what made you admire her.
In a male-dominated position and industry, she fought for her company’s success. If she weren’t even half as assertive as she is back then and even now, you wouldn’t be currently sitting in a billion-dollar apartment in the heart of Tokyo, eating from only Michelin-3-starred chefs and restaurants daily. You’d probably be… Yeah, you can’t even imagine it.
“Your dad told you, not once, but twice, to wake up.” Her eyes were scrutinising you.
You shifted your legs, now sitting on your heels. You had your fists balled on your lap with your gaze fixed onto the bed below you.
What a comfy bed you have, how come you’ve just realised this?
“It’s okay, dear. Thank you for the help.” Your dad spoke gently, placing his hands on your mom’s shoulders. Your mom responded by placing a hand over one of your dad’s, moving her thumb to caress his fingers.
“Love birds,” you mentally curse.
Another thing to add about your mom was that she was vehemently in love with your dad. By vehemently, you mean that she was the type to exact revenge upon anyone who dared to lay a hand on him. You were no exception.
There was once when your dad got harshly scolded for accidentally bumping into a stranger, who said things like “watch where you're fucking going!” and “fucking idiot”. To which your mom immediately exploded and slapped the guy black and blue before he scurried away in fear.
So yeah, your mom took 0 shit when it came to her beloved husband. Thus, why you're fucking scared of angering her- not that you’d even try to hurt your dad.
“So, (F/n), I thought of something new for you to get into!” Your dad cheered.
“Ah, again,” you think. Here’s why your dad’s different- while your mom is a complete (girl)boss, achieving recognition in the business world, your dad is recognised for being a professional hobbyist, as you’d call it.
Singing, painting, photography, badminton- whatever professional “hobby"- “professional hobby” being used loosely because he turns every interest of his into a serious profession- has lead to your dad’s countless accolades. You could say he was passionate about anything that didn’t involve entrepreneurship or anything of the like (or, in his words, anything boring), which brings you to your daily life.
How?
Well, he has a tendency to fixate on one hobby at a time before switching to the next. This habit of his has now been projected onto you, his daughter.
As long as you can remember, you’ve been pushed, albeit not forced, to pursue these fixations of his.
Ever since you were born, your dad’s biggest hyperfixation has been to see you pursue his newly fixated hobbies. Long story short, he likes seeing you become Barbie 2.0, with so many different jobs. You never really understood this behaviour of his, but you still gave in to your dad’s requests to do whatever he wanted you to do- maybe he just likes the idea of seeing his kid achieving prestige across different professions, is what you tell yourself.
In fact, you like it when he pushes you to pick up new professions, it makes you feel like he is truly invested in your life and encourages you to expand your horizons, so you went with them.
One of the multiple jobs that stuck with you was modelling. Yes, modelling. Your dad wanted to see you be a commercial model. It was chaotic, seeing him as your manager run around with refreshments, branded makeup, photography props and equipment behind the scenes as you stood before the cameras, posing in whatever abstract or casual form the directors wanted you to.
“I want to see my daughter in action when she’s working,” is what your dad would say when he became your manager. Either way, eventually, from your first gig, your modelling career skyrocketed exponentially.
Now, even you and your face are a hot topic in Japan. Billboards, banners, and posters are all plastered with your face on them across the country. Everyone knows you from your branded endorsements and brand ambassadorship.
You take the time to stare off into space as you recall your modelling experiences.
“-Soccer!”
-And you're brought back to reality as your dad’s chirpy voice reverberates in your ear.
“Huh- what. Soccer?” You raise your brow, confused and stunned.
“Yep,” he nods enthusiastically, “I came across a compilation of Robert Lewandowski’s iconic shots throughout his soccer career! He’s such a great striker!”
You blinked blankly.
“And I want you to see you play soccer!”
It hits you. Great enthusiasm, but one thing is the issue-
“I have never played soccer!” You exclaim, your hands shooting out to express your shock,“Okay, maybe I’ve played a bit in school a few times, but professional soccer is different! ”
Cue your mother’s fierce glare.
You visibly shrink, slumping back to your original position. Your father smiles brightly.
“Don’t worry! Since you're my daughter, there’s no way you won’t excel! Actually, I signed you up for a program so your soccer career will be easy!”
As if. So far, your father has never made you do anything too adventurous until now. Forget modelling, calligraphy, drawing, or whatever else is on the list- we’re talking about a sport that requires a good physique, constant trainings and multiple lessons! This isn’t-
“This isn’t some job where I can just become Cristiano Ronaldo overnight!”
Cue an even harsher glare from you-know-who. You try to ignore it, looking at your father with desperation in your (e/c) irises. He tries to soothe you.
“B-but… It’d be nice to have a soccer trophy with your name on it, right (F/n)? A soccer trophy to keep in our trophy room…” He trails off, a pained look etched on his features from your rejection.
You open your mouth to retort, but your mother interrupts you.
“Enough. If your dad wants you to play soccer, you’ll play soccer. You’re going for the program,” her statement comes out sharp and firm, “after the program, you can quit soccer. But only if you've given it your all.”
Well, you’ve never thought of taking any kind of opportunity half-heartedly anyway. You know you were born with a golden spoon.
However, the other jobs were different. They were easy to get used to because of their routine. Soccer, on the other hand, requires you to be at your tip-top form all the time, with dietary restrictions, exercising, time management, training- even listing it down makes you feel exhausted.
You sigh in resignation, thinking, “you know what, fuck it, it’s not like I have anything interesting thing I’m up to anyway.” You give in, deflating a bit. You always went with your father’s whims.
“Okay, yeah- I agree, so just lay it on me. What do I need to know?” You ask.
Your father beamed at your response, “So I signed you up for Blue Lock! A project by the Japan Football Union…”
His words trail off as you listen half-attentively to his explanation of the project.
“Blue Lock. Well, that’s new,” you think. This “Blue Lock” is a key to your new football career.
"What the fuck is a Blue Lock.”