#Isagi

[yrdnzz]

and i got eyes on the back of my head, i got eyes everywhere so i know where you go

[carleycore]

𝜗𝜚 Ego finally gave the Blue Lock players access to gifts & letters from friends and family.

"Hurry up you diamonds in the rough, I don't have all day," Ego said dryly in one of his rare physical appearences.

"What's this about?" Igaguri asked, looking around.

"Woah, what's with all that stuff behind him?" Bachira asked, pointing out the boxes on the tables, filled with envelopes and boxes.

Rin rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall.

"Over the past few months, Anri has been setting up a P.O box that your friends and family could send things to you from." Ego explained, moving to pick up a box that must've been light as Ego looked pretty scrawny.

This piqued everyone's interest, as no one expected that.

"And I thought he'd be adding more training," Isagi whispered to Nagi who nodded.

Anri and Ego started handing the boxes to the players, "Now go open these in your rooms, I'm tired of seeing you."

Once everyone was in their respective rooms, they started sharing what they recieved.

"Guys look! I got a letter from my mom!" Igaguri boasted, running around showing off his singular letter.

"That it? Your family must hate you." Raichi laughed, looking at the Air pods he received.

Nagi, Bachira and Isagi watched from a distance. Laughing at the way they acted.

Bachira had dumped out everything he got, leaving a mess all over the floor, but no one was going to call him out on it.

"Woah, your mom sent you a lot," Isagi smiled, half-heartedly as he was reading a letter.

"You seem quite interested in that letter," Nagi mumbled as he set up his new iPad. Bachira jumped over Isagi's lap and ripped the paper out of his hands.

"Hey! Bachi-" He tried to snatch it back.

"Dear Yoichi, Ooh how cute!" Bachira started adding his own commentary. "Hiro and I miss you so much!"

Everyone in the room was now quiet and listening.

"Hiro? You're a father?" Nagi asked, showing sudden interest.

"He's, our cat." Isagi answered with a slight blush on his face.

Chigiri was digging through the box pulling out all sorts of things, "I never expected Isagi to have a girlfriend. Much less one that actually likes him."

Rin walked over and pulled out a polaroid you'd sent him with a picture of you two on a date. "She's too pretty for you." He said, putting the photo back into the box and walking back to his bed.

Mumbles of agreement wafted around the room.

"Okay!" Isagi snatched the letters, gifts and pictures floating around the room and put them back in the box.

"Aw, you're no fun." Bachira pouted, falling onto his back.

Once a majority of the NPCs walked away Bachira sat back up and laughed, "Can't wait until I can meet Y/N, bestie!"

And how could Isagi be mad at that?

𝜗𝜚 A week later, Ego was allowing them to write letters home, and you can imagine your surprise when you receive a letter saying,

"Wow! You're super gorgeous! I don't know why Yoichi kept you hidden from us. Can't wait to meet you after the U-20s match! XOXO MEGURU BACHIRA!!!!"

[strawberymilkk]

[pennim4]

Mama Yu Bachira being the proudly artist behind this artwork ✨

College AU where Yu bachira is a piercing tech and the boys out there promoting her business in their university ✨ (def not Bachira yapping about it!)

I gave Isagi glasses because him wearing them is my top 1 headcanon thing ✊🏻

And lastly RAICHI IS SOO UNDERRATED 💔 like how can yall not draw him? He is just PERFECT!

Might post a part 2, just let me know~

[hqrbinqerruoo]

PAPARAZZI - Rin Itoshi

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

“Promise i’ll be kind, but I won’t stop until that boy is mine.”

───────── ⋆⋅꒰ა☆໒꒱ ⋆⋅ ────────

CW - none!!

The late afternoon sun cast a soft amber glow over the empty field. Dew still clung to the grass, and the air was thick with quiet—the distant call of a bird, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. Rin moved across the dirt with purpose, every step measured, every kick sharp and precise. His face was blank, eyes focused ahead, muscles tense with effort.

You leaned against the fence, arms crossed, watching him silently. His posture was sharp, shoulders rolling with each movement, like he was trying to push everything else out of his mind. You didn’t need to understand his thoughts; just watching him had always been enough. Since you were kids, you’d looked up to him—his focus, his strength, the way he carried himself without apology. That quiet determination had always drawn you in, made you admire him more than you knew how to say.

It wasn’t just about the game. It was how he refused to give up, how he kept going even when everything seemed to weigh him down. You’d always admired that unwavering resolve—how he looked like he carried the world on his shoulders but never let it crack him. Watching him now, you felt that familiar ache—an unspoken mix of respect and something softer, a quiet hope that he’d see you, too, in all those hidden pieces of himself.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice calm but steady. “Hey, Rin.”

He slowed, ball at his feet. His eyes flicked up, narrowing as he assessed you—no expression, just that intense stare. After a moment, he tilted his head slightly, as if deciding whether to dismiss you or ignore you altogether.

You didn’t push. You only looked back, steady. “You’re pretty serious today,” you said softly. “Almost like you’re trying to rip the field apart. Maybe slow down a little—before you hurt yourself.”

He blinked, exhaled sharply through his nose. No reply. Just a slight shift in his stance—more guarded now, shoulders tensing as if he was preparing for your next move.

He went back to practice, but your gaze lingered on the faint sheen of sweat on his brow, the subtle tension in his jaw. You’d always admired that quiet strength. Sometimes, patience was the only thing that mattered. Because you believed that, someday, he might let someone see all those pieces—those quiet, hidden parts of himself.

A few days later, you lingered at the sidelines after practice, watching Rin wipe sweat from his face with a damp towel. The sun was dipping low, casting long, amber shadows that stretched across the worn grass. The air still carried the scent of earth and grass, mixed with the faint metallic tang of sweat—an almost tangible reminder of the effort he’d poured into the game. A gentle breeze brushed past, stirring the loose strands of his damp hair and carrying the faint sound of rustling leaves.

Rin was nearby, shoulders slightly hunched as he pressed the towel to his forehead, muscles tense from the exertion. His breathing was even but shallow, each inhale slow and controlled. The damp fabric against his skin made a faint squelching sound each time he pressed it down, like the soft whisper of fabric on flesh. His dark hair clung to his forehead, damp and tousled from sweat, stray strands sticking where the breeze tugged.

You moved slowly, deliberately, your footsteps muffled against the uneven concrete, reaching for the water bottle you’d stashed in your pocket. The plastic was cool and smooth against your palm, a stark contrast to his overheated skin. You hesitated for just a moment, then spoke softly, voice nearly lost to the wind.

“Y’know,” you murmured, “you’ve been at it all day. Might want to hydrate.”

He looked up at your voice, eyes heavy with fatigue. They held a quiet, distant focus, like he was trying to hold himself together. For a moment, he just looked, then slowly reached out and took the water from you, fingers brushing yours briefly—an almost accidental touch that made your skin prickle. His grip was steady, deliberate, as if holding onto something to stay upright.

He lifted the bottle with slow, careful movements, the faint scent of sweat and grass curling from him. The plastic pressed cold against his sun-warmed fingers, a small relief from the heat radiating from his body. He tilted it, swallowing a long, slow sip. His throat moved visibly—tight, controlled—like he was trying not to show how much he was feeling. His eyes, dark and focused, flicked shut for a moment, savoring the coolness, then opened again.

He exhaled quietly, slow and measured, like he was trying to contain the tension inside. The faint sheen of sweat on his skin caught the fading sunlight, the damp hair clinging to his forehead. His shoulders remained tense but relaxed slightly, fingers finally unfurling from fists, the grip on the bottle steady.

You watched him, silent, sensing the weight he carried—not in words, but in the way he held himself.

“You know,” you said softly, voice blending with the breeze, “sometimes even the strongest guys need to ease up. Push too hard, and—”

His eyes flicked to you, lips pressing into a tight line. His jaw clenched briefly, then loosened. After a beat, he finally spoke, voice low and gravelly, with just a hint of reluctance.

“Can’t stop,” he said quietly. Almost like he was reminding himself.

You nodded, understanding. You gave him a small, quiet smile, a gesture that needed no words. Sometimes, patience was the only thing that mattered.

The wind shifted again, carrying the scent of rain. The clouds above grew darker but held back, heavy and slow. The world around fell into a hushed stillness. You stayed there, watching him, knowing that beneath his calm exterior, something was shifting—slowly, like the dawn waiting patiently behind the night.

-

Over the next few weeks, your interactions grew quieter, more layered Rin’s responses, once sharp or dismissive, now carried an edge of guarded hesitation. He was more deliberate—more careful—like he was testing whether it was safe to let someone see beyond his walls.

You started noticing small things: how his shoulders loosened just a fraction when he thought no one was watching, how he’d clench his fists during moments of frustration, then slowly relax when he believed he was alone. The faint sound of his breathing—steady, controlled—mingled with the distant patter of rain threatening to fall. The scent of damp earth and lingering sweat clung to him, faint but persistent, like a reminder of how much effort he was putting into holding himself together.

One evening, after a long, exhausting practice, you found yourself on the same weathered bleachers. The sky above was a dull, heavy gray, clouds rolling in slowly, casting the field in a muted, almost somber light. The air felt thick and cool, carrying a faint dampness that seeped into your clothes. The wind was persistent, tugging at your hair and clothes, making the fabric flutter and your skin prickle. 

You set your water bottle beside you with a slow, deliberate motion—fingertips brushing the rough plastic, the slight coolness of the cap against your palm. The faint scent of rain mixed with the earthy smell of grass and dirt. Your eyes traced the silhouette of Rin, standing a few meters away, his back turned, shoulders hunched as if he were trying to physically contain some unseen weight.

His breathing was steady but uneven, just enough to notice. His shoulders moved with each inhale and exhale, subtle as the whisper of wind through the trees. His shirt clung to his back, damp in some places, the fabric sticking slightly where sweat had cooled. His hair, dark and slightly tousled, was tossed by the breeze, strands falling across his forehead, brushing against the faint lines of his brow.

You watched him, silent for a moment, then softly broke the quiet. “You look like you’re carrying the weight of the world.”

He shifted, the movement catching the faintest sound—the soft rustle of fabric, the faint scrape of his shoes against the concrete of the bleacher seat. His head turned slightly, enough for his profile to catch the dull gray light. His eyes, shadowed and distant, flicked in your direction, like a flicker of something deep inside him—doubt, maybe, or exhaustion.

His jaw was tight, lips pressed together as if holding back a comment. The muscles in his neck twitched, a faint flicker of tension—like he was fighting the urge to tighten further or relax. His hand, resting limply on his thigh, twitched—fingers curling into a fist, then slowly unfurling, nails pressing into his palm. 

The wind brushed against his skin, pulling at the collar of his shirt, making the fabric ripple softly. The faint scent of rain was thick now, almost like a promise of coming storms. His shoulders rose and fell in a slow, measured rhythm—an attempt to keep everything inside under control.

“Why are you here?” His voice was quiet, gravelly, the sound barely cutting through the thick air, like a stone rolling over gravel.

You hesitated, then spoke softly, your voice even but carrying a weight of quiet patience.“Same as always. Just… watching. Trying to understand why someone like you is so distant.” The words hung in the air, carried by the wind, as you watched his shoulders tense and relax. “You move like you’re trying to hide something. Or maybe someone.”

He finally turned a little, enough for his face to be partially illuminated by the dull sky. His eyes, dark and shadowed, flickered briefly—like a flickering candle, fighting to stay lit. His jaw clenched, lips pressing into a tight line as if he was biting back something unspoken. 

The muscles in his neck twitched again, subtle as a heartbeat, almost like a reflex. His hand, still resting on his thigh, clenched into a fist—nails digging into his palm, skin taut. Then, after a long, heavy pause, he loosened it, the fingers unfurling slowly, the faint scrape of nails against skin.

He looked away, silent, and the wind caught loose strands of his hair, tossing them across his face. His shoulders rose again, then fell, as if trying to breathe out the tightness, to release the invisible burden he carried. 

You saw the faint flicker—the flickering of something deep, like a dying ember—uncertainty, longing, or maybe just the aching desire to be seen. His breathing was slow, steady, but there was a faint hitch every few seconds, like cracks in a calm surface.

“I don’t need anyone,” he finally said, voice barely above a whisper, the words almost swallowed by the wind.

You looked down at your hands, then back at him, your voice soft but unwavering. “You don’t have to be alone. Not all the time.”

He didn’t turn to face you. Only stared into the distant gray, shoulders still tense. The faint tremor in his hand remained—a tiny, persistent sign that he was fighting against himself, holding back something larger than words.

The clouds pressed closer, heavy with rain, but neither of you moved. The only sounds were the whisper of the wind, the faint rustle of grass, and the distant, faint drip of water from the trees. 

You stayed still, watching him, understanding that this fragile, tentative pause—this quiet moment—was part of something larger.

-

One night, after a long, grueling game, Rin was quietly collecting his things at the edge of the field. The stadium lights flickered faintly overhead, casting shadows that stretched across the cracked concrete. The air was thick with the scent of sweat, grass, and the faint metallic tang of equipment—an almost tangible reminder of the effort he'd poured into the match.

The wind stirred softly, rustling the loose strands of his dark hair and the fabric of his jacket. It carried the distant hum of the city, muffled but persistent, like a quiet pulse in the background. The sky darkened steadily, clouds swelling slowly, heavy with the promise of rain that hadn’t yet fallen.

You stayed nearby, your presence quiet, almost blending into the background. The silence stretched comfortably, yet thick with unspoken thoughts. Then, softly, without urgency, you broke it.

“Rin.”

He paused, muscles tensing for a moment, then turned toward you with slow, deliberate movements. His eyes, dark and guarded, met yours—an unspoken assessment, like a predator watching carefully. The air between you grew still, weighty—thick with the quiet of someone holding back a thousand words.

You took a small step forward, your voice low, almost hesitant. “I’ve been watching,” you said softly, your words measured and gentle. “You work hard. I see it.”

His eyes flickered—just for a moment—as if he’d been caught off guard. His cheeks were faintly pink now, subtle enough that only proximity revealed it. His lips parted slightly, then pressed into a thin line, a sign of restraint.

You didn’t press, only looked at him with quiet understanding, your gaze steady but soft. “Just… remember. I see everything.” Your words were understated, almost like a whisper carried by the wind.

He stared at you, silent. The faint flicker of vulnerability crossed his face—gone as quickly as it appeared—then settled back into that guarded calm. His shoulders remained tense, but there was no longer the sharp defensiveness he sometimes carried. Instead, a quiet tension, a silent acknowledgment of what you’d said.

The wind pressed against your skin, brushing past him, ruffling his hair, carrying the faint scent of rain. The clouds above grew darker, heavier, holding back the storm. The world seemed to hold its breath.

You stayed there, watching him, knowing this moment was fragile—an unspoken understanding, a small crack in the armor. Neither of you needed to fill the space with words. Sometimes, silence and the quiet weight of presence spoke the loudest.

And perhaps, just perhaps, he was starting to let himself be seen, a little more each time.  

-

Time drifted by quietly. Rin continued to keep his distance outwardly, but little things changed. He’d challenge you with a sharper look, sit beside you for a moment longer, or linger in silence when the sky darkened.

One day, you sat on the same bleachers, watching the sunset bleed into the horizon. The sky was streaked with muted pinks and oranges. The cool air brushed against your skin.

“You know,” you said softly, “I used to think you were impossible to reach. Like a fortress I’d never get through.”

He snorted softly, eyes still on the distant sky. “You’re persistent,” he muttered, voice rough. “Annoying.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the quiet truth in his words. “Yeah,” you said, “but I like that. I like that you’re not afraid to be a little vulnerable. That’s rare.”

He studied you for a long moment, then finally looked away, face calm but eyes softer than before. No more icy walls—just a tentative openness, a small crack in the armor.

In that silence, you understood—this was how it would be. Slow, steady, uncertain. But real.

-

It wasn’t fireworks or grand promises. It was the slow, quiet realization that beneath Rin’s cold exterior was someone who wanted to be seen—someone who needed patience.

And you? You kept showing up, with small words, tiny gestures, waiting. Because some things, like a slow-burning fire, only grow brighter with time.

[cryinggirlnamedhelen]

i hate mischaracterizing characters, so for anyone who wants these, here are some facts/implied info about characters:

isagi is a loner and often skips out on parties and social events. this is because of how shy and awkward he is around other people and loud environments. (light novel, implied in the manga)

it’s impossible for nagi to hate anyone. even if someone is constantly making him work hard or taking his phone and games away, he is always calm and a pacifist. (egoist bible, implied in the manga)

rin is extremely kind and emotional under his stoic and emo exterior. he gives foreign tourists extremely detailed directions and is implied to be a good captain. (light novel, implied in the manga)

rin is also academically stupid in everything other than english. this is because he’s dead set on being a soccer player and therefore sees no point in any class other than english. (light novel)

karasu loves anything he finds special. he thinks that even rin and isagi are mediocre even though their blue lock’s number one, but he had a childhood crush on the only person he found special, a girl named marissa. (egoist bible)

sae doesn’t realize that he’s rude or has any malicious intent when he’s being an asshole. he just says what’s on his mind, no matter how mean or blunt. it’s confirmed that he does have friends, so he’s probably not always like this. (egoist bible, manga)

[nikepurin]

Welcome back home, Isagi!!

The illust i did for the @bachisagizine !! I had so much fun and I quite like the result hehe

[yoichiin]

i love, love, love, LOVE yapper isagi. yes my love, i definitely know what you mean by "metavision" and "talented geniuses and talented learners" and "self-style vs. world-style ego" and your fuckass chart in your head explaining the entire spectrum.

need to shut him up with a kiss and it not fazing him in any way. he just goes back to yapping.

[wenbllk]

Isagi with kitty Bachira

[ryuichirou]

girlies

[fyodior]

which character

[isthepame]

The centre of the game

With this chapter, Blue Lock shifts its narrative onto a new stage: the global one. Until now, we were dealing with an experimental Japanese project focused on redefining the ego of the modern striker but now, the field expands entirely. The testing phase is over. The question is no longer who will rise within Blue Lock, but whether its ideology can truly conquer the world.

Far from being just a transitional chapter, 303 functions as an opening ceremony. It marks a before and after. And like any foundational ritual, it comes loaded with tension, declarations, and silences that say far more than they appear to.

Below, I explore the four central points that, in my view, encapsulate the essence of this chapter:

1. Buratsuta vs Ego: a direct clash of visions

Rarely has Blue Lock made the clash between sporting ambition and business ambition this clear. Buratsuta, euphoric over the project’s financial success, bursts with phrases that sound ripped straight from a Wall Street manual. He raves about “economic ecstasy” and “unleashed capitalism” as if football were merely an excuse to shift numbers into the red. Ego, on the other hand, remains loyal to his creed: this isn’t a circus, this is war. And only those who can win truly matter.

The debate over Nagi reveals the real fracture line: for Buratsuta, the ideal player is the one who generates likes, sales, and hype. For Ego, it’s the one who can make Japan lift the World Cup. The decision not to call Nagi up isn’t just tactical it’s a statement of principle: there’s no room for comfort or popularity if it doesn’t contribute to victory.

This scene is a turning point. The tension between these two figures is no longer background noise it’s now a direct threat. Buratsuta doesn’t say it out loud, but he’s already thinking it: if you don’t win, you’re out. And Ego, far from intimidated, responds with the only thing that’s ever mattered to him: his conviction.

2. Official start of the U20 World Cup: the new stage

This chapter also formally opens the new arc. The U20 World Cup begins on home soil, with Japan as host and the scale multiplies. We’re no longer in a closed environment governed by internal rules. Everything now plays out in real time, under the eyes of the world, beneath the weight of cameras, expectations, and the interests that orbit around the tournament.

The image of the 11 national flags — including the US and China — is telling. What are countries like these doing here, when they’re not typically seen on football’s elite map? The answer’s clear: Blue Lock understands that football is globalising not just technically, but economically and through the media. There’s a market logic running through the tournament. But at the same time, there’s a promise: if these nations are here, it’s because an unprecedented generation is on the rise.

In this new arena, Japan is no longer a developing project. It’s the epicentre. The heart of world football, at least for this arc, beats from Tokyo.

3. Isagi: the new face of japanese football

And on that global stage, one voice rises above the rest: Isagi’s. His final statement isn’t a plea or a dream — it’s a declaration. He doesn’t say “I’ll try.” He says “we’re going to win.” And he places himself at the centre of the coming shift: “I’ll make the U-20 World Cup the hottest stage in world football.”

The contrast between who Isagi is now and who he was at the start is striking. Back then, he needed validation. Now, he validates himself. Back then, he observed and analysed. Now, he proposes, challenges, leads. The fact that he gets the final word at the press conference isn’t just symbolic — it’s a passing of the torch. Isagi is no longer just the protagonist of the manga. He’s the emblem of the Japanese football vision Ego has in mind.

And it’s no accident that straight after his speech, we see Nagi, silent.

4. Nagi and the echo of emptiness: disconnected or about to awaken?

The final panel of the chapter shows Nagi, alone, his gaze empty, holding a game controller like he’s forgotten what it’s for. It’s a powerful image brutally at odds with everything we’ve seen before. Isagi is alight. Ego is convinced. Buratsuta is desperate. Nagi… is still.

Is he defeated? Is he thinking? On the verge of exploding? We don’t know. But what’s certain is that this Nagi has little left of that apathetic genius who once played out of boredom at Reo’s request. Being left out of the game removed him from the spotlight but maybe it also placed him before a mirror he’d been avoiding all along.

Perhaps what we’re seeing isn’t a fall, but a necessary pause. The silence before a new awakening. The “other wind” the final narration hints at.

Chapter 303 is far more than a prologue it’s a manifesto. It makes it clear that Blue Lock isn’t just another football story. It’s a story about systems, about ruptures, about how an idea can expand to reach the edge of the impossible. From this point forward, it’s not just a tournament that’s being played it’s the validation of an entire project.

Ego risks his position. Isagi takes the reins. Nagi dims… for now. And the world watches.

Can Japan, that eternal challenger, become the axis of world football?

Blue Lock says yes.

And it’ll try as always, in its own way.

By @isthepame

[marshidoesart]

Bluelock doodles :3

[strawberymilkk]

[pennim4]

Part two of the Headcanon time skip 🙂‍↕️✨

Part One here

This time it's Isagi with mulet hair and a tattoo 👀✨

Let me know who I should do next (thinking of slightly tanned Bachira 😩)

PS: Ivy is the U-20 team's spoiled princess 😋 she is more of Isagi's cat but also considered as everyone's cat lol

[justcat-judging]

𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐩 𝐬𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐦𝐨𝐯𝐞

⋆. 𐙚˚- 𝑩𝒐𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒅 '𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆'𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒔𝒏𝒂𝒑 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒗𝒆' 𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒂 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅.

𝑰𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒊 𝒀𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒊, 𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒂 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖, 𝑹𝒆𝒐 𝑴𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒈𝒆, 𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒊 𝑺𝒆𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒐, 𝑹𝒊𝒏 𝑰𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊, 𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒐𝒖 𝑹𝒚𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒆, 𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝑲𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓, 𝑺𝒂𝒆 𝑰𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

𝑰𝒔𝒂𝒈𝒊 𝒀𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒊

It started as a joke.

You sent Yoichi a snap of you in the mirror, flexing a very unimpressive "bicep," captioned, "When he's copying your snaps, so you pulled this move." It was part of that dumb TikTok trend you saw, and honestly? You didn't expect a reply.

But a few minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Yoichi had sent back a snap—his serious face in the mirror, mimicking your exact pose, sleeve rolled up, arm flexed. His bicep actually had definition, which made it ten times funnier. You could tell he was trying so hard not to laugh.

Then he messaged:

"You tryna start a flex war?"

"Because I'm winning."

You choked on your water, grinning like an idiot.

Touché, Isagi. Touché.

𝑩𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒂 𝑴𝒆𝒈𝒖𝒓𝒖

You sent the snap mid-laugh—shirt sleeve tugged up, face exaggeratedly serious, flexing your "bicep" like it was made of steel. The caption read:

"Since you love copying my snaps, here's one to test your loyalty."

A beat passed.

Then your phone lit up with a reply.

It was Bachira, shirt halfway off, in the middle of what looked like the team dorm hallway. He had one eyebrow raised, flexing both arms like a wrestler in a dramatic pose. His caption?

"HA! Is that all you got? I’m FLEXING my LOVE for you."

"Also my muscles. But mostly love."

You burst out laughing. Somewhere in the background of the snap, someone (probably Isagi) was yelling "PUT YOUR SHIRT BACK ON!"

Bachira just sent another photo of his bicep… with a crudely drawn smiley face on it.

"He says hi."

𝑹𝒆𝒐 𝑴𝒊𝒌𝒂𝒈𝒆

You sent the snap, flexing your arm with a teasing grin, trying to match the same playful energy from before.

"Let's see if you can top this one, Reo."

You knew he wouldn't back down from a challenge.

It only took a minute before his response came. Reo, in front of a mirror again, perfecting his pose as usual. His flex was smooth, his bicep clearly defined, and his expression… well, still effortlessly smug.

"Is that your best shot? You'll have to try harder if you want to beat me."

Reo's confidence was something else, and it showed in the way he held his pose like he was born to flex. He wasn't just copying you—he was trying to show you that he was the one setting the bar.

You couldn't help but smile.

𝑵𝒂𝒈𝒊 𝑺𝒆𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒐

You stretched your arm, flexed in the mirror, and snapped a photo with a wide grin plastered on your face.

"He keeps copying my snaps, so I hit him with this one."

You figured Nagi wouldn't respond. Too much effort. Too lazy. Too… Nagi.

But then—ping.

Snap received. It was Nagi, in bed, half under the covers, one arm sticking out just enough to mirror your pose. His hair was a mess, and his eyes were barely open. But his flex? Still better than yours.

"Ugh. So much work. Did I win?"

The worst part? He probably didn't even try.

And yes—he definitely won. (My heart)

𝑹𝒊𝒏 𝑰𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

You aimed your camera at the mirror, flexed with all the fake intensity you could muster, and snapped the photo.

"Since you wanna copy my snaps so bad, try this one."

You smirked as you sent it, expecting either no reply or something dripping with passive aggression.

But a few minutes later, Rin's snap popped up.

Same angle. Same flex. His face was unreadable, jaw set, but he’d clearly copied you.

Only difference? His arm actually looked dangerous.

"You done?"

No emojis. No extra words. Just peak Rin.

But you could feel the tiniest bit of effort behind that mirror-perfect pose.

He copied you. And that was basically love, Rin-style. (Headlock when?)

𝑺𝒉𝒊𝒅𝒐𝒖 𝑹𝒚𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒆

You hit send with a smug grin, flexing your arm dramatically in the mirror.

"Let's see if he copies this one."

Shidou wasn't the type to pass up a challenge—especially if it was stupid.

Sure enough, his snap came fast.

He was shirtless, of course, flexing both arms like he was on a magazine cover, wild grin in full effect. Hair messy. Chaos radiating.

"You tryna turn me on or start a flex-off?"

"Cuz I’m down for both."

You stared at your phone.

Yeah. You walked right into that one.

𝑴𝒊𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒆𝒍 𝑲𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒆𝒓

You sent the snap with a playful smirk, dramatically flexing in the mirror like you had biceps worthy of worship.

"He keeps copying my snaps, so I hit him with this one."

You weren't sure if Kaiser would even take the bait.

Then—ping.

Snap incoming: Kaiser, shirt slightly pulled up, sleeve pushed back, perfectly copying your pose with annoyingly perfect lighting and annoyingly real muscle.

"Cute. But mine's premium."

Of course he added a smug wink at the end. You could practically hear the ego through the screen.

He copied you, alright. But he still made it all about him.

Very Kaiser of him.

𝑺𝒂𝒆 𝑰𝒕𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊

You sent the snap with a casual flex, barely putting in any effort—just enough to make it look like you were playing along.

"Let's see you copy this."

You weren't sure if Sae would humor you, but a few moments later, your phone buzzed.

It was Sae. Of course, he was posing like a model, not even breaking a sweat. His flex was effortless, and his eyes were narrowed like he was sizing you up.

"Pathetic. Try harder next time."

The flex wasn't the only thing on display. He made it clear that he was above the game, even as he played along. But he did copy you.

Sae was always a little extra, and you kind of loved it.

𝑨/𝒏: 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑰'𝒎 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕.. 𝑰 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒊𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒘𝒂𝒚. 𝑺𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝑰 𝒅𝒐 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒌𝒚𝒖𝒖 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒔𝒐?

-𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐤𝐲𝐮𝐮 𝐯𝐞𝐫