#ill try to queue the rest of the chapters (if my laptop stops freezing every time i try to format these stupid posts

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ALIEN SKINCARE. v! blue lock/male! reader. originally posted on quotev. masterlist.

CHAPTER II. WHEN THE LOCK IS BLUE AND THE WORLD IS ENDING.

SPOILER WARNING for various characters not yet properly introduced in the anime (all of them appeared in the vs.U-20 arc), for the Hiori light novel (very vague spoilers, you'll probably only notice them if you've read the novel), and for Episode Nagi manga (extremely vague, probably won't notice them even if you've read the source material).

Since that match, you haven’t felt the “spark” again. 

And yet, you had decided to apologize to your team, making sure that they knew that your sacrilegious crime against the spirit of football and teamplay was just an one-off thing and that you weren’t going to go around stomping on your teammates again. No matter that it was you that made the loss seem not as pathetic as it would have been if you hadn’t scored at all. But in the end, the only important thing is that you could keep playing. 

In truth, you’ve never been certain in love, yet you knew that you loved football. 

You also knew that it would be for the best if you completely let go of any hopes that playing football will take you anywhere. No matter how proud the general public was of the team representing their nation, they were … rather unimpressive against other teams on the global level. 

Unlucky you, to be born here. 

The chances of making it big (by your definition) were near zero. You should make peace with that fact.

So why did a simple letter leave you in such a perturbed state?

Never mind you first thought of -who even sends letters anymore?- the crest of the JFU causes a period of wide-eyed gaping. Sayaka, who had informed you of the envelope arriving earlier, looks over your shoulder curiously, as she searches for the name of the sender. “Japan Football Union? How exciting! Come on, open it!” 

You pause. Which is incredibly dramatic, even by your standards. It’s not like whatever is in there is going to bite your fingers clean off or something. You internally roll your eyes at your own behavior, as you rip the paper.

Right when you’re done reading the contents, a cheery jingle coming from your phone interrupts you. You already know who it is -you did change the notification sound for him specifically, just so you could immediately differentiate it from messages sent by your bothersome classmates, since you usually tend to ignore those for hours before you actually reply to them. None of them care most of the time, so no big deal. 

🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

look at what i got 🎶

Sent 1 attachment.

You look at the picture, and lo and behold, it’s the exact same envelope as the one that was addressed to you. What strikes you as more important at the moment is the fact that Bachira seemed to be back to his usual mood, which is nice, since he was rather dispirited earlier today. This tended to happen semi-regularly after matches or practice with his team, so you were left to wonder if those people were sickos or something of similar nature, for making Bachira of all people upset. The fiasco at his recent game was obviously the current cause, though you couldn’t get what the big deal was. They did lose, sure, supposedly due to Bachira’s blunder, but who cares? He was the only person worth anything on that team. If the outcome is that important to them, they should get good. Bunch of slugs, you swear.

Ah, you’re keeping Bachira waiting.

You

I got it too

It’s for some “Player improvement project”

Sent 1 attachment.

🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝 

way to ruin the surprise ú_ù

You

Lol

🐝🐝🐝🐝🐝

so we are going x33

  You

I guess

I’ll think about it

This whole thing seemed very sketchy. The notice didn’t seem to be forged or anything of the sort, but the lack of proper details about what exactly this whole project was about (or just about anything, really, since whoever sent these was very stingy with information) made you doubt the legitimacy of this entire scheme.

Maybe it was some sort of a coordinated kidnapping plan? That would be funny. Though you fail to see what exactly they’d gain from doing that to a bunch of football playing teens, assuming that was their target audience. Force you to kick the ball until you die? Do human experimentation? Lock you somewhere where not even the sun would find you? Would they demand a ransom? Sayaka didn’t have that type of money. But thinking logically, if this invitation was the best the organizers could come up with, maybe it’d be possible to outwit them? Much to think about.

You should consider this carefully.

You considered it carefully. And such careful consideration led you to taking a train from Chiba to Tokyo with Bachira on the date stated in the letter. While Bachira seemed pretty excited (as is the norm for him), you kept all of your feelings internalized. 

After wasting time (Bachira wanted to look around) and following the map given to you, you finally made it to the supposed location of the project. The JFA building stood proud in front of you two, so you decided to believe that you most likely won’t die or be seriously harmed today. That would cause a real big scandal, for sure.

“This seems to be the place.” you hum as you glance at the paper once more, slightly frowning at the lack of one crucial detail. “But it doesn’t say where exactly we’re supposed to meet.” 

“That means we should go in, right?” Bachira retorts, making it seem rather easy. It seemed like you were the only one overthinking everything. How you envied him, sometimes. Going through life with the carelessness of an amoeba seemed a lot less difficult than whatever was going on with you. Then again, minimizing your existence to the simplest cluster of cells doesn’t even seem that appealing when you think about it twice. You just can never win.

“It’s not like we can go back, now that we wasted money to get here.”

Your companion grins and slaps your back not at all lightly. “It’s always about money with you! Let'so go, let's go!”

You decide to stop the objection before you could vocalize it. Now’s not the time for bickering, even if it’s definitely not “always about money” with you, but whatever. 

When you finally open the door, a considerable number of people turn to face you, which makes you (secretly) bristle in discomfort. Sure, you were an expert at playing a social butterfly, or at least a regular friendly peer, but rooms filled with a crowd of mostly unfamiliar faces wasn’t your ideal setting. You make a quick move forward, making them lose interest and turn to look back ahead. 

As minutes rolled along, it seemed that nothing was happening other than more people coming in. In order to pass the time, you chatter with Bachira, completely discreetly (only on your part) commenting on the boys around you. Some of them looked … rather interesting , so you had to wonder how they leave the house everyday while looking like losers of the genetic lottery. Hell, some of them weren’t even ugly, yet they chose to present themselves in a way that made you wonder if they had a hole in their heads, or at least blindness in one or both eyes. You spot a guy with so much hair gel that the mere fact that he still has any hair is a miracle of global proportions (“Bwahahaha! That guy looks like a turnip!” Bachira observes, to which you laugh very unnoticeably). 

You wish it was enough to distract you from the one thing that you had expected, yet feared, once you realized the group consisted of all teenage boys -the stench. 

You don’t even want to imagine how bad it’d be once you started actually playing instead of standing around. You weren’t even that demanding; it’s not like you were asking them to bathe in holy water every three hours, but some soap would be nice?!

Unexpectedly, someone turns towards you. Before you is a bespectacled guy, with a rather handsome face and a fitting smile to boot. You guessed that there was something beneath that visage. Like an insecurity or an ugly personality facet that deserved to be wrapped in a pretty packaging, tucked away from the public eye. But you were just brainstorming. This guy could be going through the torments of a lifetime and it wouldn't be in your realm of caring. Then, he starts talking to you.

“Sorry to bother you, but do you two happen to be forwards?”

Huh. That’s one way to start a conversation. At least it gave you a small hint on whatever was going on here.

“Yeah!” Bachira replies before you can. “You’re one too?” You add.

He smiles and nods, very pretty and proper. “That’s right. My name is Yukimiya Kenyu, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

You easily slip into the familiar role as you smile back at him, radiating as much of your inner grace as you could while introducing yourself. “It's very nice to meet you too, Yukimiya-kun.”

The door opens once again and everyone predictably turns to look at the newcomers. You hear many whispers about the “Crown jewel of Japan”, but you have no idea who that is so you don’t even bother. You know Bachira doesn’t know either, and you don’t care enough to ask Yukimiya about it. There’s two guys at the entrance, so it’s a 50/50 chance that one’s the jewel and the other is the pebble. Whatever the truth is, you’ll find out if it ever becomes relevant to you. Which is not now.

Right then, your eyes get abruptly violated by the man that takes the centre of the podium. Not only does he wear the look of a freakish horror caricature like it’s second skin, his strange choice of a hairstyle makes him seem like a scorched thumb more than anything. You give him a point for effort, though, since his dead fish eyes and lanky limbs only add to the aesthetic.  He oppens his mouth and talks, unfortunately.

Now, here’s the thing -you would have liked it if you were able to readily disagree with whatever bullshit this guy’s saying. But it’s understandable bullshit, which is a whole nother thing, so you settle on wearing a pensive and slightly concerned expression, just so you don’t seem out of place. Unlike most of those present, leaving your team behind for this delusional charade … doesn’t seem too bad to you. Perhaps it’s the ultimate hating mindset rearing its head once it senses an opportunity to muddle your thoughts. The whole plan of making the world’s best striker sounded very nice, but you weren’t fully convinced either. Not to be judgmental and superficial (you are) but looking like that and declaring such ideas didn’t leave much space for trust. You share a sideways glance with Bachira.

Then, for some reason, Possible Jewel suspect number One starts talking too. Arguing, mostly. You think it’s a silly hill to die on, but it’s not like you can blame him for thinking the way he does. People treasure their bonds and stuff like that, or so you’ve heard. Unsurprisingly, more complaints pipe up. Most are nonsensical to you, but you do agree with whoever asked why all of you had to live together. Looking at all of them … sharing a living space seems like an idea cooked up by a sadist of the highest calibre. 

Yeah, you … don’t want that. Who knows where all these people have been. 

“Ego’s” response to this is to start this strange contortion performance? Then he talks about the Japanese team and how they’re basically shit-out-of-the-ass bad (which isn’t untrue, but he didn’t have to say it like that), and continues on to quote many world class players, finishing with the principle of “egoism”. 

This “egoism” is heretical against the primary principles of football, ingrained within every regular player who has ever had to share the field with a team.

You, an alien attempting to imitate regularity on a daily basis, find yourself at a loss of words. Transfixed, almost, enchanted even, by this man’s otherworldly philosophy. It feels like home, you realize, cold and empty, but still a memory of the years during which you had felt alive, like an actual being, like someone fitting into the mechanisms of existence. No -you want to bend these mechanisms to your liking. Someone like you is deserving of that.

What a tantalizing offer. You want to reach out and devour every fruit.

There’s a certain swirling darkness within Bachira’s eyes as he gazes at you. You don’t pay attention to it. In the end, you’re the only one that should matter. The center of all, it’s you-the lowest of all scum. 

The gate opens, and the answer is clear. 

After signing the letter of consent, for better or for worse, you find yourself amongst all 300 selected players as you’re led into different vehicles like a flock of sheep. During that time, you were forced to say goodbye to Bachira, since you were assigned different buses, but you assumed it wouldn’t be long until you saw him again. At least the seats are nice, you think as you make yourself comfortable against the window. And it has air conditioning too. Well, it seems like Ego and co. were actually serious about this, since they sunk so much money into it. 

Just as you’re about to force yourself to doze off for the sake of making the trip easier, someone interrupts you. Oh, the joy. You felt like you had enough people time today, but it seems like you were wrong in your belief.

“Excuse me, do ya mind if I sit here? Everywhere else is taken, so …”

Is that a Kansai accent?

The newcomer has a ridiculously cutesy face, complete with the bug eyes of a bizarre size, but the image of daintiness is harshly offset by the boy’s height. Not thinking much of it, you give him a close-eyed smile and a nod as you move your things to give him space to sit. 

“I don’t mind at all! Make yourself comfortable.”

The boy thanks you as he sits down. By the time he’s content with his position, the bus starts moving. For the sake of politeness, you introduce yourself to him, and he returns the gesture, letting you know that his name is Hiori Yo.

“Hiori-kun,” you say like a true conversationalist, “Are you from Kansai, by any chance?”

Hiori nods. “Yeah, I’m from Kyoto. What about you?” 

Feeling glad that you weren’t stuck with someone who made conversations awkward for you, you continue without a hitch. “I’m from Chiba, but I used to live in Kyoto for a bit before going back.”

His eyes widen a bit. “Really? What made you move back?”

“Family matters, nothing much.” As you feel the conversation derailing, you smoothly reel it back. “Say, what do you think about this whole “Blue Lock” thing? It’s all pretty weird, isn’t it?”

“Honestly … when I got the letter, I thought it was some sorta scam.” Hiori admits, smiling when you start laughing. “I dunno, it just seemed suspicious.”

“Right? My friend didn’t think twice about it, but it seemed shady to me. It doesn’t help that the guy who’s supposed to train us looks like that.” You make a few vague hand gestures, hoping to demonstrate your point better.

“Like Slender Man?” Hiori supplies rather unhelpfully, actually. Your English is good enough to understand the literal meaning of what he says, but you have a feeling that he’s referencing something, yet you had no idea what. Unfortunately, your free time was usually spent training, so your knowledge of what was outside of your general sphere of interests was … lackluster. But if you were good at one thing (other than kicking a ball), it’s faking it until you make it. Ego is definitely slender, and a man, so that’s a start.

“Yeah!” You snap your fingers with a practiced amount of enthusiasm. Before your talk could get to the point where your ignorance about this so called “Slender Man” put you in a bad spot, you hum and turn to look out of the window. “I wonder when we’re going to get there.” 

Hiori leans in to look to look outside as well. The next few minutes are spent in comfortable silence, much to the delight of you. You like people who knew how to shut up.

Eventually, silence bores you, as well. 

“Why did you decide to come to Blue Lock?”

Hiori blinks owlishly at your sudden question. “I … wanted a change of pace, I guess.” 

Hm. There was obviously something else hiding in there. Well, luckily for the guy, you weren’t interested in prodding at secrets when they held no importance to you. Whatever issues he had, he could deal with them on his own.

The look he’s giving you implies that he wants you to answer your own inquiry as well. 

“That’s nice. I just like to play football.” 

And that’s that. 

As it turns out, the Blue Lock building is in the middle of nowhere. Totally not skeevy. 

Next, you’re supposed to wait until your name is called. Luck seems to be on your side today, since your name is the first one on the list. You wave at Hiori as you move forward, deciding that he’s good company, with his overall calm demeanor and good sense of conversation-silence balance. Talking to him again wouldn’t be the worst thing.

You find out that you’re supposed to give your wallet and phone to the woman waiting in front of the door, which is … weird, but yeah, sure, might as well. It’s not even a kidnapping at this point, since you consented to being here. You just wish you knew you’d be staying somewhere else beforehand, so you could have packed more of your skincare products, and then thoroughly mentally prepared for rooming with a bunch of possible creeps amd weirdos, which would obviously turn your long established and extremely well-planned routine onto its head.

You’ll have to manage. 

You’re definitely not gritting your teeth at the thought.

Just as she hands you your uniform, you remember. “Excuse me?”

“Yes?”

“Will you inform our guardians of this? Or should we do it ourselves?”

“We will notify your parents and guardians, don’t worry.” Anri replies, and proceeds to explain that you should look for the room marked with the letter present on the fabric.

With a quick “thank you” and a smile, you move on, looking down at your assigned uniform.

241

V

Your eyebrows furrow.

When you move onward, Hiori watches you leave. 

As he waits his turn, he can’t help but think about how unusual you are. Not in the way you present yourself, no. The “perfect student” trope, he’s seen it a lot. People who are nice, outgoing, helpful, and so on; there’s a plethora of those. It’s about the intensity with which you fall into the archetype. The wording of every sentence you say, every move you make, the intonation of your voice -it all seems carefully planned out, programmed and running with no bugs or other disturbances. 

So much that it’s unsettling.

In a way, you remind him of Karasu. You’re both rather guarded, he thinks. But the difference is there; you didn’t seem to be trying to analyze him. Sure, you asked him questions, and he answered, but you had never shown interest in digging in further. Maybe you were just being considerate? It could be. The two of you just met a few hours ago, after all, so you minding your business didn’t seem all that unreasonable.

You said you liked to play football. That’s why you came to Blue Lock. That was an unoriginal, even a little airheaded answer, considering the specific situation you all were in. Even so, Hiori has to wonder …

Ah, his name is being called.

Karasu Tabito has always known that he was a rather ordinary person, but the ranking of 252 does sting a little. 

That’s probably why he’s surprised to see that you, out of all people, are carrying the highest number out of everyone in the room. 

Don’t get him wrong, you had this specific, yet common, kind of charm that probably had all the girls swooning. From the way you walked, you looked, you smiled -yep, you fill all the “pretty boy” boxes.

And yet, you don’t carry yourself like someone who’s supposedly on the top of the foodchain of this small group. Most guys like you had this strong air of confidence, regardless of their disposition, yet you lacked that entirely. Not that you were cowardly either. You just struck this peculiar kind of balance that seemed in no way natural.

And such artificalness only hid weakness.

Well, finding your weak spot is just another job for the analyst.

And he is given his first clue when a blonde guy walks up to you with stars in his eyes and asks if you were the “Slumbering Angel of Chiba”.

Karasu almost laughs. What kind of cringy title was that?

You seemed to share some of his sentiment, because you look at the other like he had grown another head or said the stupidest shit possible to your face with no remorse (which he possibly did?).

Interestingly enough, you force your expression into something softer, which makes your confusion all the more clear. “I’m not sure I follow …?”

The boy then goes on to retell the story of you scoring some crazy goal against some crazy strong school, and how you stopped some crazy guy from doing just about anything the entire game and whatnot. The more he talks, the more off-balance you seem to become. 

Then, at some point during his rambling, you raise your hands to stop him. “I don’t know where you got it, but … drop that title, alright? It’s misleading.”

Misleading in what way, he wonders. 

The large screen suddenly flickers to life, with Ego’s ugly mug on it.

After a brief explanation of the “Dormitory test”, a ball drops right in front of Karasu, and a cartoonish icon made in his image lights up the screen, along with a timer. 2:16.

 Ah, he thinks, Way to rub salt into the wound.

Of course, everyone scatters like headless flies. He has to thread this carefully. Losing his cool and randomly shooting at people with hopes of hitting someone would be as good as immediately giving up. If he wants to climb to the top, he should at least attempt to eliminate the “king of the jungle” right?

That means Mister Angel is at the top of the hitlist.

You look aware, standing in a stance which would make it easy to move around, when the time comes. There’s even a small smile pulling at your lips. And yet, you’re looking at him impassively, like he’s an actor whose performance wasn’t worth humoring.

Perhaps you weren’t as humble as you initially appeared to be?

1:47.

Shit. Karasu is wasting too much time. Still, if he tries to go after you, there’s no guarantee he’ll succeed, and that will lead to even more wasted time. You haven’t shown any of your abilities yet, so trying to go in blind is difficult. 

Guess I’ll have to pick ya apart next time. 

He kicks the ball.

It flies through the air, heading in the direction of the simple-minded creep, Otoya Eita.

Perhaps it was the very simple-mindedness that allowed Karasu to link up with him and make this play.

“Ooh, flashy.” He says, before kicking the ball back just as it touches his foot.

The slam of it against the face of an unfortunate victim cuts through the air.

Sone Yuto.

1:22.

The poor boy manages to barely scramble onto his feet, with his facial muscles creased in pain. 

Then, begins the rather lackluster period of him trying to hit someone and failing. Karasu almost feels bad.

00:36.

With a flash of movement, against all odds, you come in. 

00:29.

Karasu watches you as you watch the field. The smile nevers withers away, as you roll the leather football against the floor. 

00:21.

It’s almost as if you have everyone holding their breath. Unlike earlier, now you do seem like the strongest of twelve.

00:13.

By now, most people have relaxed, perplexed by your lack of offensive movement. Karasu doesn’t give himself the pleasure. For once in his life, he can’t find anything that would offer him a glimpse into the workings of your brain. 

00:09.

00:08.

00:07.

00:06.

Your smile drops, just for a moment.

00:05.

You move so suddenly it’s hard to detect at first. The ball slams against the wall and returns to you. You raise your dominant leg to welcome it, and while you’re keeping balance on the other, you rotate the upper part of your body as to relocate the trajectory of the ball and send it into the space behind you-

-Right into the torso of the boy who had approached you earlier, who was hiding in your blind spot. The impact is strong enough to force him onto his back.

00:04.

Higuchi Kouki.

00:03.  

Karasu sees you whisper something to the fallen blonde, but he can’t hear what. He thinks he doesn’t want to know.

00:02.

Higuchi still isn’t getting up.

00:01. 

The outcome is obvious.

00:00.

Higuchi Kouki.

LOSE.

Karasu Tabito looks at you, your trademark smile, your relaxed posture, your burning gaze, and thinks-

What a remarkable guy.