Chapter Text
Just like in the match against the Japanese u20, the stadium was roaring with cheers and the team was high on adrenaline. Goosebumps were running through Rin's body, he could feel his small hairs on his arms stiffing and the blood running 100 mph in his veins.
This is his stage. He's the protagonist. This is where he belongs.
As much as the final NEL ranking served as an unpleasant surprise at first - Isagi sharing the crowning title with him - he learned to deal with it by using it as a pretext to prove how much better he's gotten by miles and miles.
See, the thing is: he has always been aware of his superiority inside Blue Lock, to the point playing has become boring and predictable since no one could pose a threat to his game - or even just stand out beside him.
Now that he has an “official” rival with whom he contends the number one spot, he's more motivated than ever to demonstrate his skill and to keep striving for perfection.
In the training sessions that preceded this match Rin pushed himself to limits he didn't know he had, he put so much effort in breaking records and getting to unreachable levels that getting to actually play with a team on an international level now seems the bare minimum.
What's more of a novelty though, is that those training sessions never ended in the daylight. They always progressed when the shadows enveloped the facility and sleepiness took out all of his teammates.
Save for one.
That's why those nightly drills were never done alone. A lingering secure presence was always ready to feed him the ball and sync up with his tempo. A sincere and intelligent person he learned to consider a friend without ever planning to, against all his beliefs.
This will be the day where they’ll find out if their compatibility was intrinsic, or if it was a lie they kept pushing on each other throughout the previous eventful 30 days.
**
Japan is tied 2-2 with the Nigerian team. Only 5 minutes of additional time left on the clock. As much as Rin’s presence was crucial in this game, none of the scored goals were on his name.
He can do this, he thinks. They will win. This match, and all the ones to come, until the weight of that shiny golden cup rests in his hands.
The ball is getting past the midfield as it dances between Bachira's boots - that annoying bee guy always has to show off his unnecessarily flashy moves.
“Don’t overdo it,” Rin mutters under his breath, even though Bachira can’t hear him.
And Bachira doesn’t overdo it. For once.
A quick feint, two defenders thrown off, and the pass goes short to Isagi. The striker stops the pass and takes half a second to inspect the field, as if his brain is calculating the odds in his favour to steal the last goal. It pisses Rin off more than it should.
“Move it, they're closing in on you.” Rin barks.
Isagi raises an eyebrow but doesn’t have the time to argue. He sprints with the ball over a Nigerian midfielder and sends it clean to Reo, who’s already turning before it reaches him.
Now it’s moving. Fast. Tight.
Reo to Karasu. Karasu to Chigiri. Chigiri back to Reo.
They discussed this tactic during the team drills. A last insistent press during the additional minutes. Action before hesitation.
It’s tiki-taka, but not just for the sake of it, they're pulling Nigeria’s backline forward, making them bite at shadows.
Every Japanese player’s up front now - everyone but Gagamaru and the three-men back line. All of them clawing for the game-winner. All fighting for the chance to blast that fatal goal.
And as much as he wants to, Rin doesn’t call for the ball. He just adjusts. He knows his moment is coming.
As he keeps running forward he notices how the space opens. Brief. Barely wide enough for a thread to pass through. That's it, give it to me.
Reo’s about to send it but at the last second, Onazi cuts in. That striker bastard.
Rin clocks him immediately. Fuck.
Nigeria’s golden boy isn’t pushing for a final goal; he's dropped deep, clogging passing lanes like he’s some damn center-back now. His eyes are locked on Rin. Shadowing. Reading.
Reo changes course, sends the ball sideways instead. “Damn,” Karasu mutters as he receives it. “They’re parking the bus, not so mediocre of a plan.”
“Well, break it!” Isagi snaps.
Karasu gives him a brief look sharp, dark, amused. “Easier said than done.” he says before finally moving.
He passes it off again. One touch. Two touches. It comes back to Reo, then to Bachira, who taps it with his heel back toward Hiori.
Finally.
Hiori’s been waiting. Stalking the edge of the play like he knew the rhythm would come to him eventually. He receives the pass with an ease that borders on infuriating - like the ball chose him, not the other way around.
But as soon as it touches his feet, Onazi is there. Closing the gap with no subtlety. The Nigerian star striker turned-emergency-defender barrels in with the kind of physical presence that screams overcompensation.
He doesn't speak right away, first he crashes his body forward, shoulders squared, boots loud, making his intentions clear without needing to announce them.
Then, with a confident, threatening tone, “You're not getting through me, number twenty three.”
Rin hears it. Of course he hears it. He used the kind of cliche threat that usually works on most midfielders who get nervous under contact.
The kind of tone Rin would respond to by kicking the guy’s ankles out.
Hiori doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t look rattled. His expression doesn’t even shift. For a second Rin wonders if he even heard him, but then Hiori tilts his head the tiniest bit, eyes cold and unreadable.
“Right,” he mutters, quiet but laced with something sharp. “That’s what the last three said.”
The grin he wears after saying it is new - not warm, not even amused - If anything, a little too smug for anyone who doesn’t know Hiori Yo as well as Rin does. He feels his insides shift, heart pounding with adrenaline and pride.
Onazi lunges in without warning, trying to body him off the ball. And, from the dumbfounded look he wore at that moment, one could easily tell he knew he made the mistake that cost his team the game.
Hiori doesn’t back down. He lets Onazi get close, almost invites the contact. Then, with a subtle shift in weight and an inside flick, he slides the ball forward, low and cruel, right between Onazi’s legs.
A nutmeg. Smooth. Clinical. Disrespectfully ultra-sadististic.
Onazi stumbles forward a step, caught on the wrong side of the play as Hiori slips past him like water down a drain.
The Nigerian bench erupts with disappointed screams. Their side of the crowd groans loudly.
Rin almost grins before he manages to stop himself.
Hiori’s already moving again, slicing through the last defender.
Rin sees an opening. That’s it. That's the hot spot he was looking for. He sprints to Nigeria's scoring area with precise and knowing speed. He's sure he'll get the pass. He's certain this goal is his.
And that's because he has a trick in his sleeve he's been waiting to test.
“Hey Sheep!” he screams as he gets a glimpse of cyan icy hair on the corner of his eye.
“Score it. Beast.” His ear catches as a precise clean pass cuts through the only remaining defender and lands expectingly at his feet.
“Right on the money.” Rin says under his breath.
A brief silence preludes the echo of the monstrous shot he crafts.
Then the stadium absolutely roars with excitement when the ball- just like they, together, predicted- blasted past the goalkeeper and is beautifully claimed by the net.
Rin’s chest burns. There it is. That high. That ecstatic fire.
What scrambles him viscerally is acknowledging he just finished a perfectly scripted, crafted to the detail, chemical reaction with Hiori Yo.
He sprints toward the corner flag, body dripping with sweat and dopamine. He proudly gazes at the crowd chanting his name.
Yes. Look at me. I’m the number one striker on this team.
And I scored the winning goal.
He almost misses Hiori, fully charging at him like he’s about to tackle him.
"It worked!” The cyan-haired boy yells through a wide grin as he gets closer.
Now Rin can discern his features better. All the pressure long gone, eyes lit with quiet pride, lips curved so much they might reach the stars.
A mesmerising sight.
The other reaches Rin just as he violently suppresses that weird thought in his head.
And he does what Rin was already projecting in his head. Hiori drops into a crouch - one knee down - right in front of Rin, low and instinctual, like it’s part of the play. No theatrics. No ego. Just himself.
And as much as Rin opposed this duo celebration before, he doesn’t even think before mirroring him. Knees bending, he pushes himself forward forward until they’re face to face.
Close enough that their kneecaps brush, and Rin feels it. That small point of contact. He tells himself it’s nothing.
But he doesn’t move away.
Even worse, while he wouldn’t admit it out loud - not in this, or any other parallel universe- he thinks that the goosebumps he gets from that insignificant touch alone give him a gold rush no single goal could ever compete with.
Hiori’s breathing hard, chest rising and falling in sync with his own. For a moment, the world drowns in white noise - the chants, the cheers, the boots slamming the ground behind them - it all fades.
It’s just them.
Hiori taps his thigh twice, fingers light and precise. Their cue. Their gaming signal.
Then his voice drops, low and amused, the kind of tone that feels like a smirk wrapped in velvet.
“Told ya. We are compatible after all.” Now those words hit like a blade through his heart. Rin’s memories fly to the first time he heard him say similar words.
How long have we come, Hiori.
Rin feels it immediately, that flicker in his chest, like something lit a match behind his ribs.
This one is so different from his usual rush of pride or satisfaction. It almost feels warmer and comforting and thrilling- What the hell is that supposed to mean?
The air between them tightens. Their knees are still brushing. Rin thinks he should pull back. He doesn’t.
He holds his ground. Glares, just enough to keep his face from softening. “This position is corny” he snaps, voice flat, like the feeling in his chest isn’t eating him alive.
Then he makes up for it with a lighter tone, almost like an intimate confession “It was a good pass.”
And while those words taste bitter like lies - because it wasn’t just a good pass. It was perfectly timed, intuitive and effortless - the expression the compliment leaves in Hiori's face is priceless.
Eyes wide, a stunned smile and eyes glimmering like polished diamonds.
And while Rin is still getting drunk on that image, a fond “It was a great goal” wraps around his soul like static.
Rin doesn’t say anything. Can’t. His mouth’s gone dry, and his brain is doing something stupid, like replaying the way Hiori looked right after the pass. How bright his eyes had been. That damn smile.
There’s a part of him, a very small, very dangerous part, that wants to stay here. Just them. Just this. A match won, a moment suspended, a connection too sharp to name.
And then-
Bachira crashes into them like a human meteorite.
“YOOOOOO! WE WONNNN AND THAT WAS SOOOO SICK!!” he howls, diving in with his full body weight like he’s auditioning for a wrestling championship.
Rin doesn’t even get a chance to brace himself before they’re both flat on their backs, Hiori half-folded under his arm, and Bachira’s limbs everywhere.
“Ow- You fucking- get off-” Rin grunts, voice strangled as an elbow digs into his ribs.
But it’s too late. The bubble shatters.
Chigiri and Karasu arrive next, equally loud, equally uninvited. Karasu drops down on one knee beside them, peering into Rin’s face with mock concern. “You good, man? You and Hiori looked like you were about to propose to each other. Sick action though.”
Chigiri chuckles, arms crossed. “We actually won thanks to you two! Since when are you even tight? And that double celeb? What kind of romcom pose was that?”
Hiori looks like he wishes for a crater to open up through the pitch and sucks him to the earth nucleus in that instant.
“We were strategizing,” Rin snaps, although his voice comes out slightly more panicked than intended. “It was- It wasn’t- Bee bitch get the fuck OFF me!”
Bachira’s practically vibrating with excitement. “It was like watching a wildlife documentary! Two rare wolves doing their little mating ritual!”
He throws his arms out dramatically. “‘The alpha marks his territory by squatting at a perfect ninety-degree angle-’”
“Shut. Up.” Rin shoves him off, violently, but Bachira only laughs louder, rolling onto the grass like a feral toddler.
Meanwhile, Hiori is slowly, silently extracting himself from the pile, his face unreadable but his ears just slightly pink.
Karasu’s smirk sharpens. “Seriously though, that whole assist, that celebration? That was suspiciously synchronized.”
Rin opens his mouth to deny it, but Reo cuts in as he jogs up, tossing an arm around Hiori like he’s congratulating him at a wedding. “I really don’t get why you’re all acting like you’ve discovered some mind blowing news. I knew you two were up to something. You’ve been sticking to each other like glue in drills lately.”
Hiori, to his credit, just smiles politely. “That’s all it takes for good teamwork.”
Rin wants to die. Or vanish. Or maybe fling his entire team into the sun.
The worst part is: he can still feel the ghost of that moment on his skin. The brush of Hiori’s knee. The unspoken weight of his voice. “It was a great goal.”- WHY IS HE OBSESSING OVER THIS TOO MUCH?
All while the moment has already been drowned in sweaty limbs, bad jokes, and awful metaphors.
This is hell.
Literal, social hell.
By the time Isagi arrives- smiling, hands on hips, panting with residual adrenaline- it’s all gone too far.
This is Rin’s cue to leave.
“Nice goal, and nice chemical reaction.” he says, genuine and knowing “That was cool, for moment I was thinking you were just going to fist bump, which-”
“Or chest bump,” Bachira chimes in helpfully. “Or backflip!”
“I will end you,” Rin growls, eyes laser-focused on Bachira, who grins wider like that’s exactly the reaction he was fishing for.
Behind him, Hiori lets out a single, almost-silent breath of laughter.
Rin hears it. Notices it. Feels i- NO.
And even though the whole team is there now - cheering, slapping shoulders, pulling them to their feet - Rin’s eyes find Hiori’s, just once more, over the chaos.
And Hiori holds the look. Steady. Quiet. That same damn smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Rin doesn’t smile back. But his heart still stutters like it wants to.
That’s the moment he realizes how much he’s grateful for that fateful night Hiori interrupted his late training session and unexpectedly proposed a ‘mutually beneficial partnership between a striker and a midfielder’.
A partnership that turned Hiori into a person who now fills his world.
An alliance that became the foundation of the bond they share today.
A pact that etched those cold, cyan irises into the fabric of his dreams.
A deal that unearthed the truth they’d both been circling: their perfect compatibility.
An unspoken vow to never drift apart. No matter how loud the world around them gets.