15. SWEET TASTE

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VICTORY

always tastes like the sweetest of wines, your father would always tell you. You had never really spent all that much time with him—because he was always working so hard. But you treasured those small, yet meaningful conversations you two would have when your mother was out doing something somewhere, and it was way past your bedtime. You would listen, a pillow under your stomach, as your father told you a fairytale, a past event that happened to him, or even just a piece of life advice that would stick with you for the rest of your life.

You treasured those small moments—and you would remember this forever. You decided it. Food was laid out on the small table, and everyone was busy preparing this victory feast, to celebrate the efforts each of you made to win the match. You set down a plate of sliced watermelon, and it isn't too long before grabby hands start to reach for it. You slap Bachira's hand away, a pointed glare fixed on him.

"No. Bad Bachira."

He rubs his hand, sniffing and shedding crocodile tears that make you turn your head away and shut your eyes. "[name]... is still so cruel!"

"We're all supposed to be eating at the same time, you know." You let out a heavy breath, then, with exhausted eyes, you turn around and look at how nearly everyone's already eating their own food, "but... I guess that's not going to happen."

You don't resist the second time Bachira starts munching on a piece of the fruit. Isagi places a hand on your shoulder and gives you an apologetic smile, something you return in kind. It's a strange sense of comfort—something you didn't expect to come from somebody like Isagi.

Pillows fly between Igaguri and Imamura, and are only stopped when Iemon scolds them both like the father figure he is, slapping Igaguri's bald head and tugging his ear, "Stop it, both of you! Help us set up for the victory feast!"

"Yeah, you slackers," Chigiri says, incredibly hypocritically with a mouth full of steak. You almost snort at him, and you have to cover your mouth and hide your face when he glares at you.

Kunigami leans down, a sheet slung over his shoulder, with a teasing smirk, "Eating a little early, aren't we?" Chigiri only hums in response, still chewing with as much grace as you've ever seen somebody chew before.

"Can somebody grab some drinks from the cafeteria?" Kuon asks. Bachira, Isagi and you decide to go—since you did feel you had a sense of obligation to at least do something after they quite literally just saved your career.

The walk to the cafeteria isn't too far—and it's not too long until you three make it there and fill up water bottles with mild conversation and Bachira cracking lame jokes, per usual. After filling up a few more than a dozen, you all stand in front of them, accomplished with your labour. Bachira stands beside Isagi, and on the other side of the jet-black-haired boy, is you.

"Do you think we have enough?" Bachira looks at both you and Isagi, tilting his head down and his bangs falling over his eyes. You hum—a hand resting on your chin and the other on your hip, while Isagi smiles a wide, toothy grin that sparkles in the dark.

"Should be plenty." He raises his head, and it darts to Bachira, who looks at him confused, but regardless, stares right back. Isagi has a verbal smile in his voice as he talks, "Oh, that's right. Thanks for that last pass, Bachira. You basically won us the game."

Bachira screws another lid atop a water bottle methodically, a brow raised and a giggle escaping his lips, "What are you talking about? I wasn't the one who made an awesome play." Isagi lets out a noise of confusion, so Bachira continues, "You did. Fact-I know you Isagi. You've learned something new, right?"

"I saw it too," you say, voice low and your eyes almost completely focused on closing up the water bottle in your hands. "You were a different person right before you made that last goal. It's like you came out of a new shell, like a caterpillar."

Bachira laughs, holding his stomach and pointing at you with a grin, "You have the weirdest analogies, you know!"

Isagi breaks the eye contact to look down at a water bottle he's holding, eyes focused on the ripples in the clear liquid, "Yeah. So, I think I understand what my weapon is. And specifically... where my talent lies. Even if I predict a situation using my spatial awareness, it doesn't matter. When I trap the ball, it gives the opponent time to respond, and I lose my advantage. So, then I started thinking back to my other goals."

A sudden flash of memory plays through your mind, and you think of that goal he made back in the game against Team Y—which won the entire thing for you all.

Isagi—seemingly unconsciously—smiles, eyes crinkled in adoration as he speaks, "That's when I realised... All the points I've made have been direct shots. I took what I've done intuitively, and turned it into a formula I understand. I feel like... my lifetime as a genuine striker is really beginning!" He balls up his fist and pumps it up, a wicked grin on his lips.

When both you and Bachira don't respond, Isagi stops, and his cheeks flush pink. He places down the bottle and fiddles with the end of his pyjama shirt, voice meek, "Eh... I'm sorry. I got kinda carried away..."

You snicker, and Bachira smiles and talks for the both of you—a hand on your shoulder while the other rests on his hip, "That's a great look for you! Very egoistic."

Isagi scratches his cheek and looks to the side, "You think so?"

"You sure do get our blood pumping," Bachira lets out a dreamy sigh, eyes fluttering closed as he smiles brightly, raising his hand, "Now put it here, you egoist."

Isagi also raises his hand, and is about to high-five Bachira, "Sure! Right back at you—!!!" When Bachira smacks him in the face instead, causing Isagi to stumble backwards and groan in pain. Bachira cackles, cheeks flushing pink and laughter filling the room.

Isagi, with a strained voice and forced smile, says, "Thanks for that... Real mature..."

You pat him on the back rhythmically but abruptly stop when loud sobbing fills your ears, a stark contrast to how brightly Bachira was laughing a few moments ago. You three watch in agonising silence at how people flood the previously abandoned hallways, walking towards the exit with tears in their eyes and curses flying from their lips.

You watch in specific horror as you see a familiar head of damaged, bleached hair, and soon, another one that is in the shape of a Pixie cut. What really sticks with you, however, is the sight of bright blue eyes bearing into yours, filled with nothing but burning, hot white hatred that leaks into her smile when you make eye contact.

You look away as fast as possible.

"So, you made it through. Congratulations," A voice appears from behind you all, and you dart around, meeting... not meeting the eyes of Niko. He's leaning on a wall behind him and you aren't too sure where he came from, because the doors to the cafeteria, except for the one where you can see the players leaving, are all locked. "It's been a while."

"Niko, hey..." Isagi says calmly, as if he didn't humiliate the boy to the point of tears in the last match they played against each other, then stood over him and acted all high and mighty. Great going making friends, Isagi.

Niko doesn't reply, voice still as cold as ever, "I survived the same as you—as Team Y's top scorer."

Isagi very clearly doesn't know what to say back to him, voice clearly confused and hesitant as he speaks, "Oh... congratulations."

"Our game... I lost 'cause of your goal, but it gave me the push I needed. Instead of holding back, and only passing to others, I started taking shots myself." It's hard to get a read on him, because of the lack of expression that comes from his eyes (you wonder if this is intentional), but you can see his shoulders tense and his lips turn downwards into a frown, "Thanks to that point you made, I'm still here at Blue Lock. I won't lose next time."

At this moment, you catch a glimpse of his baby blue eyes that seem to sparkle in the darkness, contrasting the shadow that falls across his face, "I'll be the one who crushes you."

Isagi also tenses, and your eyes dart between the two. The tension in this has suddenly become so thick, that you could slice it like butter. There's a (figurative) staring contest occurring between the two-heated glares burning in their irises. "The reason I made it... is 'cause of you. Our last game—it made me evolve. Niko. You name the time—I'll beat you again." Niko stops in his tracks and clenches his fists, which lie beside his body.

"Guess we'll see," he murmurs, before he walks away, body completely covered by shadow. You stop and stare for a little while longer, eyes drooping down. You don't get to see how he leaves.

Bummer.

"How did he even get in here?" You turn around, head darting to each possible exit. "How is getting out???"

Bachira leans over, face moving close to Isagi's and a coy grin painting his lips, "You're getting mighty popular, Isagi. How many rivals does that make?"

"Too many—" you flick his arm, carrying half a dozen water bottles in your arms and starting to walk away when the hoard of eliminated players had died down. "You're getting yourself in trouble one day. Mark my words."

Isagi lets out a hearty laugh as he scoops up some bottles in his arms, jogging up to chase after you, "C'mon, [name], don't be so pessimistic! This is just my journey to becoming the world's greatest striker!"

"Right." You deadpan, ignoring how Bachira hugs you both from behind, each arm wrapped around both your shoulders. "I can see the headlines already: World's number one striker gets jumped by about fifteen other strikers—whom he called his rivals in high school, turned out to have incessant violent tendencies."

Bachira cackles from behind you, and you choose to ignore the whines of your name coming from Isagi, covering your mouth with the tips of your fingers and snorting.

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As soon as you all reach the door of their room, Isagi speaks, "Sorry about the wait, we're back with the drinks—!!!"

He cuts himself off abruptly when he catches sight of his teammates, all either laid down or sitting, completely knocked out on the floor. Drooling and snoring, each of these boys is either dead or in a coma, you decide and you drop all the water bottles onto the floor roughly (magically, each of them lands upright). You walk forward and take a seat at the table next to Kunigami, crossing your legs and grabbing a pair of chopsticks. You push Kunigami's head off of the table gently and rest it down atop his futon.

"Huh? [name]?" Isagi asks with confusion evident in his voice. You peer up at him—mouth already half-full with a piece of steak, and you quickly add more side dishes to your bowl of rice.

"Well? You hungry or not?" You cover your mouth and swallow your food before you smile, eyes crinkled upwards, "Today must be our lucky day—this is all for us."

Bachira's eyes widen, and he licks his lips, dropping the bottles he was holding (not so magically, they all tumble over). He dives down to the seat next to you, giggling as he gets all up in your personal space and shovels meat into his mouth by the slab.

You cringe, leaning away from him as he chews loudly, "Ugh." You groan, but he only laughs in response—then, starts hacking up a storm as food gets caught in his throat. You roll your eyes, smacking his back with the side of your balled-up fist, "Serves you right."

But after he drinks some water, he starts laughing again, and Isagi takes a seat across from the both of you. When he picks up a dumpling and his eyes light up with stars, you find yourself smiling while chewing some watermelon, and it isn't too long before all of the fruit is gone, leaving only the rind behind.

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