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2028
NESS (26) - ISAGI (25) - KAISER (27)
Isagi was calling him.
Ness at eighteen would pick up on the last ring, drawl out an insult, and cut the call. Ness at nineteen wouldn’t even get the call—he’d blocked his number for a year at one point—and would return to the engrossing new hobby of editing Yoichi’s German Wikipedia article. Ness at twenty-six picked up on the first ring. Neither of them bothered with a greeting.
“I’m at the store,” mumbled Isagi. He still wasn’t used to superstardom and had never mastered the skill of talking on the phone through a face mask and multiple layers of scarves.
“You know we have people for that, right?”
Isagi bulldozed on. “What’s Michael’s new shampoo brand? I can’t stand to hear him bitch about it being out another night.”
“Alterna. The dark purple bottle, not the light pink one.”
“Okay.” Isagi cut the call.
Ness put down his phone and looked around his apartment. Their apartment, actually; officially, the lease was in his name, but Kaiser and Isagi had gravitated towards it over the years. Old battlefields were scattered all across it—the tasteful Japanese flower arrangements Isagi had set up next to Kaiser’s extravagant, giant Ming-era vase; velvet curtains clashing with delicate light blue blinds, and of course, in pride of place, a jumble of trophies and medals and Man Of The Match awards. It was almost impossible to understand who owned which.
Which brought up another interesting point. This—relationship, for lack of a better word, thought Ness ruefully, had been another power play borne from the egos of young, hungry things at the top of the world. Somewhere along the line, they had landed here, with Ness getting ready to make kintsuba for dinner and Isagi buying Kaiser’s beauty products. How disgustingly sentimental.
He rolled the flour once, twice, three times and then once more to get it to the right thinness. He was getting ready to fry the sweet cubes, when he heard the sound of someone unlocking the front door. It was Isagi—Kaiser always banged it open to announce his return.
“There are paparazzi outside,” hissed Isagi. Ness took a deep breath, wiped his hands on the apron and resisted the urge to laugh out loud at Isagi’s incognito get-up (black face mask, one of Kaiser’s gauzy scarves, and a baseball cap for the Saitama Seibu Lions.)
“You say that,” he drawled, “every single time you go down to the supermarket.”
Isagi pulled down his face mask, frowned at Ness and gently set Kaiser’s shampoo on the side-table. “Some guy was there, and he had one of those fancy cameras. With a separate lens and everything.”
“Münich is a tourist city, Yoichi. And perhaps,” added Ness, stepping out from behind the kitchen counter and undoing Isagi’s scarf with practised motions, “he was just laughing at how ridiculous you looked dressed like this. Hey, maybe you’ll become a meme again!”
“Shut up,” grumbled Isagi, but his brow had lost the furrow he’d sported when he’d entered.
“Make me?” offered Ness, grinning wickedly, and Isagi leaned up to mouth at him with that same ardent fervour he’d hated back in Blue Lock. Funny, he thought, meeting his warmth, how things could change so utterly.
2023
KAISER (22) - ISAGI (20) - NESS (21)
There were posters of Yoichi plastered all over Münich Airport. It felt like a strange, warped version of when the Bastard München youth squad had returned from their flight to Japan three years ago. There had been a giant double storey poster of Noa and Kaiser back-to-back. Germany’s prodigal adopted son and her young heir, Mia san mia emblazoned across their chests. Kaiser had disliked it intensely.
“It’s like,” he’d told Ness, “they don’t even see me as competition for him. It’s his team, and I’m just the safety plan.”
“Give it time, Kaiser,” Ness had said, face leaning conspiratorially close. “Noa’s reign will end soon.”
He’d believed in the waiting game all the way till he’d reached Blue Lock, and then he’d rejected Real’s three million euro contract to gird his loins and spar with Noa for control of the main squad. He hadn’t won. Crucially, though, Noa hadn’t beaten him either. After that year, he couldn’t postpone the transfer any longer. He’d been shipped off to Spain, where he’d won the UCL with Sae Itoshi. It had taken two years, but victory tasted sweet. He felt airy, unbound, weightless, and he was playing the best football he’d ever played until Real exchanged him for Noa.
“Can’t be helped,” Sae had said unsympathetically. “They’re saying it could be his last year. Real wants him to end his career playing for them.”
Kaiser wrinkled his nose. Lorenzo was right; in the end, the sport did turn on the wheels of money.
“And,” continued Sae, looking Kaiser up and down, “take this chance to fix your game.”
Fucking midfielders—they loved acting like they knew everything.
“I’ll take that into consideration,” Kaiser said breezily. “Incidentally, your little brother is playing an exhibition in Barcelona. Do you need tickets?”
“Get out,” said Sae, leaving Kaiser to whistle as he made his way to his sedan and set out for his flight.
The first thing he’d seen when he stepped out onto the tarmac was, Welcome to Münich, home of the Bundesliga 2023 Champions!
Something about the way Isagi and Ness stood next to one another on the signboard set his teeth on edge. It seemed only fitting for the scraps he’d walked away from to coalesce together into a new obstacle in his path.
Thanks, he thought, staring up at the Münich skyline. He’d only ever known how to bite back when he was hungry. The full-belly satiation of victory really didn’t suit him.
2022
NESS (20) - ISAGI (19) - KAISER (21)
"What do you do when I'm not here," slurred out Isagi. He'd gotten a wristwatch sponsorship a while back; he was fumbling with the latch. The watch finally clattered onto the sideboard.
Wait for you to come back. The words sat there like bile under Alexis' mouth. This is what he's been reduced to: no Kaiser, no striker, no purpose. No purpose other than being Isagi's landlord, apparently.
Isagi was still prattling away.
"C'mere," muttered Ness. He pulled Isagi into an open-mouthed kiss, more bite than caress. Isagi was clear-sighted when he drew away.
"Hey," he said, "Bundesliga's not the only league in the world." Ness can read between the lines. Kaiser wasn't the only striker in the universe, either, but that was something Isagi would never understand. Isagi had never been part of a matched set. Isagi was selfish, and proud of it, and didn't even seem to understand his own avarice half the time. Isagi was—
"Always so insufferable," mumbled Ness. He pushed Isagi against the wall, caged him in with his elbows. Isagi stared back—head tilted up, his blue eyes coolly focused despite the whiskey on his breath.
"What do you want, Ness?" said Isagi, softly.
"What do you want," countered Ness. He continued, scalding hot anger building in him as he went on. "You know, it was just a game, all of it. Fucking you, moving in—I, I, was always using you as a stand-in.”
Isagi was quiet.
"So," finished Ness, feeling drunk off the hot angry thing inside his chest, "why the fuck are you still here?"
“Maybe I feel bad for you,” drawled Isagi, palms flat against the wall. “Maybe,” he continued, eyes unreadable, “I even like playing football with you.” He grabbed Ness by the chin, forcing them to meet each other's gazes. Something in Ness melted at the touch; he went down bonelessly, hatefully, almost glad to be another victim of Isagi’s mercy.
“I've got you,” murmured Isagi, as they sprawled together on the floor. “I got you, Ness.”
2023
ISAGI (20) - NESS (21) - KAISER (22)
“You need to stop,” said Isagi, violently digging his spoon into his sachertorte. Beside him, Ness primly downed a forkful of his own slice. He was looking down at the tablecloth. Kaiser had eschewed the torte to instead nibble on the complimentary breadsticks. An obnoxiously blue syrupy drink was set by his plate.
Kaiser smiled thinly. “We came here a couple years ago, didn’t we?” he asked Ness, ignoring Isagi entirely.
Ness started, setting his fork down loudly with a clank. “Yes," he said, tremulous smile unfurling. “To celebrate that magazine cover shoot.”
Isagi watched the whole performance, feeling more annoyed by the minute. They’d been doing fine, him and Ness; Isagi had been having the time of his life going for Noa’s throat every match. These days, he trotted out his childhood idolatry of Noa as a cute PR factoid, but he wasn’t the boy who’d collected limited edition trading cards anymore. He was a product of Blue Lock, and he knew deep in his guts he was close to grabbing everything he’d fought for.
And then Kaiser had transferred in, and Noa had transferred out, and all his plans had gone up in so much smoke.
Isagi cleared his throat. Kaiser’s gaze snapped back to him. He was still sporting that ridiculous eyeliner. The violent blood-red of it made Isagi’s gut twist. “We’re not teenagers anymore,” said Isagi, as evenly as he could. “C’mon, Kaiser. Work with us here. Cut the crap out on the pitch.”
Kaiser smiled prettily, and opened his mouth to say something that would undoubtedly be infuriating.
“Excuse me,” interrupted a voice from outside their booth. The three of them snapped to attention. A family of three were peering in excitedly. “I’m really sorry, but could we have–?”
“Of course,” said Isagi.
They posed for photos, Kaiser’s arms wrapped across Ness’ shoulders. Isagi crouched down to sport matching peace signs with the little boy. After the family had made their way out, with much nodding and thanks-giving, Isagi turned back onto Kaiser.
He who strikes first, he thought, and set out for the kill.
“I don’t mind bumping heads with you all season,” he began.
“Yes, I know,” said Kaiser. He’d dropped the facade of pleasantry by now; he was staring unblinkingly at Isagi. “I’ve watched the broadcasts. You really gave that shitty master of ours some heartburn, hm?”
Isagi grinned. “We’ve got contracts now,” he drawled, “so I can’t straight up steal your goals even if I wanted to." He leaned back in his seat. "Let's be adults, Kaiser. No bad blood on the pitch. It'd be something to win the Cup this year, dont'cha think?"
"It'd be nice," said Kaiser blandly, "but I think my name on top of the Scorer of the Year trophy would feel better. I might even try for Playmaker this year, just for a change."
“I'll get Playmaker.”
Isagi swivelled his head. Kaiser slowly flicked his eyes.
Ness had polished off the last of his sachertorte. His grip on his fork was white-knuckled, but his eyes were steady as he looked straight ahead.
“Yoichi’s rubbed off on you,” said Kaiser.
Ness shrugged.
“Don’t expect me to be nice,” said Kaiser.
Isagi bared his teeth. “Wouldn’t want you to be,” he said. Ness leaned forward beside him. “Hey, Kaiser,” he said softly, “leave after this season, if you want. But let’s give them a show they’ll never forget till then.”
Kaiser’s face was unreadable. “Look at that,” he said, cracking his neck. “You can teach an old dog new tricks, after all.”
Ness shrugged. "I learned a lot of things while you weren't here," he said. He went boneless against his chair, and then said, decisively clear, "but what I still know is—I want to play by your side."
Kaiser stared at him for one long moment. Isagi could feel something delicate and breakable slide into equilibrium between the three of them; he didn't dare breathe too loudly, for fear that he would shatter it. Kaiser's eyes flicked towards him.
"Fine," said Kaiser, blasé. "A detente for a season sounds fun."
It would probably be pushing it, thought Isagi, to ask for a handshake and a photo to commemorate this moment.
The three of them polished off the rest of their food in an atmosphere that could almost be considered companionable. Maybe this could almost be the start of something new. Isagi reminded himself to not get his hopes up too high—how much could a single season change things, after all?
2030
KAISER (29) - NESS (28) - ISAGI (27)
Kaiser at thirteen had been busily engrossed in fending off the Berlin crows from swooping in and making off with the stale rusks he’d cribbed from the sandwich shop. Kaiser at nineteen had had a full meal everyday, greedily lapped up Ness’ worship for dessert, and toyed with Isagi for fun afterwards. Kaiser at twenty-nine sat docilely in front of his mirror while Isagi efficiently braided his hair into order and Ness bustled around the room.
“We’re almost thirty,” said Isagi, separating blond strands into three different tresses. “Aren't the blue tips getting a bit old now?”
“I like them,” said Ness, emerging from Kaiser's cavernous wardrobe with an eyeliner pencil.
“Alexis understands aesthetics, unlike you, Yoichi. Really, all this time and the only improvement you've allowed is the undercut?”
Isagi tightened the plait strands with slightly more force than required and retorted, “All this time, and you still haven't learned how to be punctual—it's a wonder they still invite you to Berlin Fashion Week!” He stepped back, and Kaiser watched him glare critically at his own handiwork. “Alright, he's all yours now,” he told Ness, and retreated to the corner of the mirror, occasionally sending worried glances to the clock merrily ticking away on the wall.
Ness leaned down and applied Kaiser’s eyeliner with the casual expertise of a decade. He lined one cerulean eye, paused and said, “You could have the stylists do this for you, you know.”
Kaiser shrugged and tilted his head to proffer the other eye. Ness gently slid the tip of the pen across his water line. "I'm glad you still let me do this, though," he mock-whispered. "If you let the stylists do it, I might get jealous."
2025
ISAGI (23) - KAISER (25) - NESS (24)
Fucking Kaiser was not part of the plan.
Fucking Ness had started off as a way to feel less lonely in a foreign country, in a strange city, where everyone seemed to know his face, but no one knew him. Ness, at least, was familiar. Even if that familiarity was mostly borne of shared animosity. And then Isagi had figured out that playing with Ness could be fun—they’d won the Bundesliga twice, and the rest was history.
Ness had proffered his apartment’s second bedroom one day; he hadn’t needed to spell it out, but Isagi had instinctively known that that room had been saved for someone else. Becoming Ness’ tenant-slash-fuckbuddy felt like something permanent had slid into its place. Isagi was on solid ground.
“What the hell do you mean you’re moving in?” Isagi’s voice crescendoed in a way that distinctly reminded him of his mother’s reaction when she saw a brand new piece of football merch in their house. Kaiser, unfortunately, was much too large and annoying to be neatly packed away in a box.
“My neighbour got busted for dealing drugs,” said Kaiser boredly. “I can't stand the police trampling up and down my building.”
“Get a new place then. It’s not like you don’t have the mon–”
“It’s just for a couple days,” interrupted Ness. Isagi glared at him. Ness had the decency to at least look abashed. He mouthed SORRY behind Kaiser’s back.
Isagi decided to spend as little time as he could in the apartment. He and Kaiser were coexisting fine on the pitch; in fact, some days, the way they nipped at each other’s heels with a surprising lack of bad blood reminded him of the early days in Team Z, where it was every man for himself, but they all moved in a single file towards success. He didn’t really have any particular desire to test his coexistence with Kaiser outside of the pitch, though.
When he came back after a full day’s workout at the complex’s gym, it was to the sight of Kaiser and Ness making out on the dining table.
He’d expected this to happen, but some part of him still recoiled the way it had that day so many years ago when Rin had picked Bachira during the Second Selection. He tapped his foot against the doorframe; the duo slowly separated to blink at him. They had the temerity to look utterly unembarrassed—it almost made Isagi feel like he was the one who ought to feel humiliated from stumbling onto them. He was feeling hot all over. His mouth was sour. He was thinking of something suave and cutting to spit out—
“Get in here, Yoichi,” said Ness, after a long moment.
“C’mon,” said Kaiser, eyes gleaming. “We got bored waiting for you.”
Isagi slid the door shut behind him. He who strikes first, came the rueful thought; then he dived into the challenge like he always did.
2026
KAISER (25) - ISAGI (23) - NESS (24)
Kaiser carefully arranged his Ballon d’Or, precisely placed to accentuate its shine from the sunlight pouring through the windows. He couldn’t wait to see Isagi’s face when he woke up bright and early for his jog tomorrow. They'd grown desensitised to each other from close proximity over the year, but he was sure he'd be able to tease at least—
He paused.
It wasn't like he’d be in Ness’ apartment this time next year. He had to take the chance to poke at Yoichi while he could. Satisfied with this mental arithmetic, he set out to cut the vegetables for tonight’s hotpot. Ness hated knives, and Isagi got too distracted trying to proportion everything evenly. Imbeciles, honestly, both of them; they’d probably get into kitchen-induced fatal accidents the very week he inevitably transferred out.
Kaiser finished shucking the last of the shallots. Memories overlaid themselves over Ness' seven-hundred-dollar hardwood cutting board. He blinked. From rusk crusts to imported shallots; if only the old man could see him now!
He put the knife down.
Pigeons were cooing outside the kitchen window; the racket annoyed him so much he clapped his hands loudly to shoo them away.
He wouldn't be here this time next year, anyways. This was a hilarious domestic interlude in the morbid joke his life had been so far. If he continued and moved on to slicing Isagi's mushroom shoots for the hot pot, it was only because he'd never seen the vegetable before, and wanted to see with his own eyes what it looked like sliced, diced and slit open.
He cautiously chopped away at the thing the way he'd seen online. Typical of Isagi to pick something inconvenient for hot pot. Kaiser resolved to pick lobster when it was his turn to decide dinner. Let Isagi wrestle with that.
2030
ISAGI (27) - NESS (28) - KAISER (29)
Isagi at fourteen kept his mouth shut in the Ichinan clubhouse; he hated rocking the boat. Isagi at sixteen was teething at Blue Lock, learning just who and what he was willing to bite at. Isagi at eighteen had figured out that maybe his name was always destined to be tangled with Kaiser’s in the history books—the ground zero, salted earth rivalry of their generation.
Isagi at twenty-seven was sprawling over Kaiser’s ridiculous paisley chaise-longue, one arm clasped around Ness, the other holding up his protein shake. Or rather; that was where he wanted to be. Instead, he and Ness were pacing in front of a hospital room door.
“Of all the stupid—” fumed Isagi. Ness lay a hand on his shoulder, and some of the tension bled out of him at the touch. “I'm never letting him go to Fashion Week again.”
They stood there, neon lights blinking down at them. Kaiser had been rushed straight to the Charité Hospital’s VIP ward. They'd watched the whole thing on a YouTube livestream—the sashay, the swish of the plait, and the fall.
Ness had leapt into motion immediately. He had grabbed the keys to Kaiser's Jaguar, and they had raced off, Isagi rapid-fire dialling managers, PAs and Fashion Week bigwigs for updates on the way. On the way, they'd been stopped three times for speeding. Kaiser's narcissistic habit of keeping autograph paper and glitter pens in the glove compartment had come in handy. Superstardom was helpful in smoothing things out with the heavy hand of the law.
“You can go in now,” said a nurse, poking her head out of the ward door.
They burst in with fanfare. Kaiser was prostrated on a hospital bed, one foot upraised and layered over with a cast.
“It's a broken ankle,” said Kaiser, “not a heart attack. Did you know you're trending on Twitter? They caught you morons speeding in my Jag—”
“Fuck the Jag,” said Isagi. “I'll buy you a Ferrari for your birthday.”
“We'll have it done up in blue,” added Ness.
“—just promise we won't have to watch you crash it into a lamp post. Today's incident is quite enough excitement for the rest of the year,” finished Isagi.
2030
NESS (28) - KAISER (29) - ISAGI (27)
“You know,” said Kaiser thoughtfully, “I really thought that season would be a disaster.”
“Near-death experience have you reminiscing?” said Isagi, frowning.
Kaiser nodded once, and said nothing. He was looking around the VIP ward, face unreadable.
Over the years, Ness had coloured in the dots of context he’d picked up from Kaiser’s rarely proffered bursts of personal history. Never going to school. Never trying sachertorte till that day Ness had taken them to Café Athos. First playing with a team at fifteen. The picture it painted was grim.
It was embarrassing, really, to realise you understood so little of the person who stood at the centre of your universe.
Ness at eighteen had thought Kaiser could be the rock he built his life on. Ness at twenty-eight was aware that that rock was brittle and had crevices that ran so deep they might never be mapped; still–he’d made his choice twice over now. And Isagi, well—Isagi had taken the choice entirely out of his hands. Egotistic fucker had a habit of doing that.
Ness yawned. He curled up deeper into his chair. The VIP ward was equipped with plush chairs, but even the general decadence of this place couldn’t wipe out the stink of antiseptic, and the low-grade dread characteristic of hospitals. Something about the inadequately softened severity of the place reminded him of his parents.
Of course, Kaiser had met his family. They both had. Ness had haltingly explained that they were—on bad terms. Isagi had nodded his head as if he could understand at all; Isagi, with his doting parents and his bedroom full of Noel Noa merch. Kaiser had mercilessly teased Isagi the whole time they'd spent there—was it two years ago, or three?
I thought you would’ve ripped up all your posters after the NEL, Kaiser had said.
These are collector’s editions, said Isagi coolly. How could I bear to waste them?
And that was Isagi to a tee, wasn’t it? Waste not, want not. Ness was nodding off now, despite himself. He heard Kaiser mumble something from the bed. He lazily blinked his eyes open to pay attention. He spotted Kaiser sitting up, balanced precariously on his elbows.
“Get back down,” said Isagi, grouchy as he manoeuvred Kaiser into laying back. “Did the painkillers addle your head?”
“I can hear the birds from here,” said Kaiser.
“Birds generally do call in summer,” said Isagi drily.
Kaiser smiled. Ness closed his eyes, lulled asleep by the sound of their voices overlapping. The last thing he heard before slumber took him was Kaiser saying, softly, “Let’s go somewhere this year. Back to Japan? I miss your mother’s beef bowls.”
fin.