SYNOPSIS — Much to the dismay of his Blue Locker friends—you've turned out just like your dad—a giant, big-headed egoist. Your father, Isagi Yoichi, on the other hand—could not be more proud.

note: platonic, father/daughter relationship feat. egoist 4!!. thank you to hina pooks for requesting ur my silly silly in the world ever!!!

this is so mid but whatever guys im home from school and im so braindead bleh

YOICHI ISAGI'S LIFE WAS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN ON THAT FATEFUL DAY.

Pacing through the hospital room like his life depended on it—then, cradling you, a beautiful baby girl, in his arms so gently, like you were the most fragile fine china in the world (and to him, you really were). That day, that fateful day—his world was flipped upside down, for the better.

You looked so much like him. Even if your hair colour, skin colour, eye colour, or everything was different—you still resembled him so scarily, that even his wife thought so. The way you grinned, the way you stared down at your opponent with a fire raging in your eyes, it all resembled him.

There was no doubt—you were daddy's girl. You loved your mom, of course, but there was something about your relationship with your father that felt different—you loved your dad, very, very much, and he would give you world. 

Even now, when he feels you resemble him a little too much, to the point where even his friends—glorified uncles—have something to say about it.

From where they all stand now—on the sidelines of your first, official middle-school match of the new year—it's hard to ignore the attraction that several professional players bring, especially when they're cheering a single child on. Bachira whoops, hands cupped around his mouth and uncaring of the eyes trained on him, "Yeah! Go, lil' [name]! Gettem!!"

Though Isagi is far less vocal than your self-proclaimed fun uncle, he still agreed wholeheartedly with Bachira's words. It gave him a sense of pride—knowing you were killing it out there, all by yourself. You're Isagi Yoichi's daughter—his own blood—of fucking course you're the best.

"She's amazing. Playing like that at her age is incredible," Chigiri smiles, pushing back his bangs behind his ear to get a better view. Isagi, with his sleeves rolled up and arms folded over his chest, nods.

"Of course she is." The prideful tone that follows his smile does not go unnoticed by Chigiri—by his friends—who all unanimously eye-roll at the cocky smirk the striker sports. He hasn't changed one bit, that's something everyone can agree on.

You dribble through a multitude of middle-schoolers, ball touching the tips of your toes when you do scissors and successfully juke them—gasps of shock emitting from the children's mouths—and you don't waste a single moment before you shoot the ball into the goal, scoring your third point of this match.

Bachira jumps up and down, fists pumped into the air—he looks even more excited than you are—and he cheers, a grin stretched wide across his face, "WOOHOO! ATTA GIRL! YOU GET EM'!" The whoops and cheers do not get acknowledged by you—you only smile, clear pride on your face and walk away from the fallen goalie.

Isagi can't help the sudden rush of pride that flits up his veins—a smile spreading across his face when he sees that look you sport—nothing sport of pure ego. It almost brings a tear to his eye—but he doesn't let it fall, because he needs to save all the tears he has for when you, eventually, win the World Cup.

Chigiri blinks. He knows that look all too well. He turns to Isagi, face blank, "How long have you been teaching her?"

Surprised at the sudden question—Isagi's voice comes out uncertain and shaky—his cheeks flush pink and he avoids eye contact suspiciously, "You know... ever since she wanted to learn... maybe like... 3 or 4?"

"Right..." Kunigami continues, face also as blank as the man next to him. "And... say... throughout those years... how many matches of yours has she watched?"

"Uh..." Isagi scratches the back of his neck, blue eyes cast downwards as he tries to remember exactly how many times he's let you watch his games (much to his wife's chagrin) since you were small, "Most of them... since she was five... so that's probably... fifty or so?"

Kunigami lets out a heavy sigh, temple fiddled between his thumb and pointer finger when he speaks, "Oh yeah, that's where she gets it from."

Isagi blinks. "W—What? What does that mean?"

"That super egotistical look," Bachira giggles, leaning up and poking his pointer finger on Isagi's nose cheekily. Isagi was not the only one who hadn't changed since Blue Lock—really, all of them were the same in one way or another. For Bachira—he never lost his childish charm, even after having twins of his own. "Obviously, it came from you, Mr Number One Egoist."

Isagi's jaw drops at his friend's words, and he raises his hands up in defence, "Wh...what?! No way! She's... not like that... yet... There's still a long time until I'll teach her all that stuff!"

"Really?" Chigiri cocks a brow, resting a hand atop his hip—fingers digging into his designer sweater. "'Cause from what I can see here—she's doing this all herself."

"Yeah. Even the coach is yelling for her to pass the damn ball," Kunigami snickers—punching Chigiri's arm lightly when the redhead snorts. Kunigami looks over to Isagi, a sly grin on the hero's face when he speaks, "You taught her well, Isagi. So well she refuses to play with anyone."

Isagi's face flushes bright red. Had he really been coaching you into a mini absolute egoist without even realising it? At the ripe age of 12—you were already playing like it was life or death, and Isagi was to blame.

Maybe he was a bit too intense, he thinks, when looking back to all those times he told you to only play for you—and never let a Kaiser, or a Barou, boss you around, because you're the best on the field. Maybe he had been coaching you to hate Kaiser a little too much.

You run forward with the ball once again—dribbling it with it as fast a middle-schooler could go, and you juke a defender away from you with minimal effort, swerving around them in a move he taught you—that replica of a move that Itoshi Sae pulled on him so long ago—and you blast the ball into the mini goal, cheers erupting around you as you score your fourth point.

You look down at the defender you juked earlier—a girl with snow white hair, honey eyes and a mole on the right side of her face, right under her eye—she's looking up at you with wide, shaky eyes. You don't even crack a smile as you speak, eyes practically glowing, "You better stay out of my way... you donkey."

Isagi thinks he might fall over.

He does, actually, almost fall over, and he would've if Bachira hadn't caught him right before he did so. Isagi stares in utter disbelief and shock—less at you, and more at himself. Had he really let himself teach you this far?

He dares not meet the concerned gazes of Chigiri and Kunigami—hearing Bachira's wicked cackles is bad enough. 

"Holy—" Bachira wheezes, like what he has heard is the funniest thing his ears have ever been blessed with hearing, "—Crap! That's hilarious! She is just like you, Isagi!"

"Isagi..." Chigiri's voice is soft—concerned, which itself is concerning for the stuck-up princess—"What... have you been teaching your daughter?

"I swear I didn't teach her this!" Isagi thinks he may start foaming at the mouth like Raichi if he keeps talking, trying to defend himself hopelessly. Had he really gotten so worked up over training with his daughter that he, unintentionally, made her a mini version of Barou?

"Well, she is daddy's girl, after all." Kunigami shrugs, muscular arms crossed over his chest, and Isagi lets out a sigh at Kunigami's rational way of seeing things. Still, it doesn't stop the ginger from teasing, "Even if daddy is a rotten bastard on the field."

Isagi gasps, "Hey! You donk—"

He stops. Bachira starts cackling like a dying fish once more, practically falling over from lack of sufficient air. He reaches upwards—like he's asking somebody to take him out of his misery of dying slowly and painfully—all Chigiri does is slap his hand away.

"Like father, like daughter," the feminine man lets out a heavy sigh, shaking his head and looking down, as if saying, I'm not mad, just disappointed. "Honestly, would it have been so much of a hassle for her to turn out more like her mother?"

"You sound like Nagi."

"Maybe I'm filling in for him today, 'cause he decided his son and Reo's son's playdate was more important than this."

"Wait... guys, look!" Bachira points back to the game occurring on the field—fingers still shaking from the aftershocks of his laughter seizure, "Time's almost up, but—"

You're still going for the goal. You run forward, down the field at your top speeds, and from where Isagi stands in the crowd, he grips the handlebars and watches intently. He knows you can do it. Everyone in this crowd does. You know you can do it.

You run down, soccer ball in tow and you ignore the cries out from your teammates for you to just pass already! You poke your tongue in the inside of your cheek in heavy concentration—your eyes practically have a glow to them as you race down, sweat dripping down your cheek.

"Go [name]! You can do it, girl!" Bachira screams at the top of his lungs—and at this point, even the obvious hard stares he receives aren't noticed by the rest of the egoist four. "Score!"

As if fuelled by the cheer of your uncle, you start to bolt even faster, juking defenders left and right, and sliding past bigger opponents with ease. You were like a slinky—the way you moved around them without having actually to face them one-on-one—Isagi couldn't help but feel a father's pride when he yelled out, "Do it! Score the last point!"

He cups his hands around his mouth and watches as you fake a shot—throwing off the goalkeeper, who dives down for nothing—then shooting at the top of the net and scoring one last goal right before the whistle chirps, signalling the end of the game.

With a final score of 6 — 2, your team wins by a landslide, and the look on your face is nothing short of pure ego, and Isagi fucking loves it. You look so much like him—and he knows for a fact you're his daughter.

"That's my girl!" He yells out, a grin stretched wide and Bachira cheering at the top of his lungs—but it's barely heard throughout the raging crowd. 

You finally look to where your dad is—and now, he finally gets what everyone is saying. At this moment, with your eyes swirling, and sweat dripping down your face—you have a look of pure, unadulterated euphoria. You look exactly like him.

"Well," Chigiri says after the noise calms down and people are getting up to leave. He gathers his things, taking one last glance at the field, before looking at Isagi, a smirk on his lips. "She's just like her dad, I guess."

Just like daddy!

You think—eyes tilted up in a smile as you give the world a peace sign.