75. A SINKINGLY COLD STARE

note: nobody speak to me bc no one gets kunigami like i do its not even funny.... he licherally is the most misunderstood pookie alive PLEASE no fanfics give him a chance bc he's a bitch now.... ntm on my man

fun fact of the day about bel he was my fav when i started blue lock. obviously that title has been taken by somebody else by the name of yukimiya kenyu now but he's still pretty high up there lolll

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MARIELE'S

face is the first thing you see when your eyes blink awake. Your vision is still slightly blurry and you can hardly see the patterns on the ceiling above her—but her face is completely clear. When she sees the inkling of an opening of your lids—she sports her usual coy grin. "Good morning."

It's not a completely unwelcome sight. She's not bad to look at, and you think her smile is very nice. A flush crawls up your neck.

Your lashes brush against your cheek as you close your eyes once more and sigh. She moves herself away so that you can sit up—you do, and also stretch with a heavy yawn. You smile back at her after, "Good morning to you, too."

You glance toward the large clock in the room. "It's rather late."

She snorts. "Well, you went to bed rather late, hm?"

Your heart bumps pitifully in your chest at the memory and you look away, as if it'll do anything to cover your face. "... You're as coy as always, Mariele."

She looks pleased. "Thank you, [name]. Coming from you—that means a lot." She giggles at your expression. You don't you've ever seen her so happy. "Do you remember what's scheduled for today?"

Your mind comes up with a blank after a few awkward seconds of thought. You did go to sleep pretty late last night. "... No, sorry. Do you think you can tell me while we get ready?" You say, after seeing the bird's nest that is her hair—stark evidence of her waking up not too long ago, either.

She smiles—glowing and radiant like a star—"Of course. I'll relay everything to you, with perfect clarity."

You laugh. "Surely a talent of yours."

"You know it."

This warm and fuzzy feeling has you all set out and ready for the day—ready to take on whatever challenges you may face, along her side.

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"So... Isagi woke up an hour before I did?" You look over at the green-eyed woman with your head tilted to the side. "Is he okay? Were there any injuries we hadn't picked up?"

"You mean injuries that you hadn't picked up? You barely let anyone inside the infirmary." She sends you a playful smile—but then looks away, blonde strands falling over her shoulder. "He's fine. He just fainted. You worry too much. You nearly spent the whole night by his side already, isn't that enough?"

A flush crawls up your neck and you feel a sudden need to hide your face again. "I'm just... doing my job as dutiful manager. Nothing more."

She raises a brow—you can tell she wishes to say something, but perhaps for the sake of your pride, she refrains.

You cough into a balled fist—trying ever so hard to naturally switch the subject, without making things too unbearably awkward—"Did... you finish the evaluation on all the players after the match? Or do we have to do it today?"

Thankfully, Mariele has decided today, she wishes to take mercy upon you and pointedly ignores your pathetic excuse of a conversation change. She taps on the tablet in her arms and points towards a few profiles. 

Several were still unchecked. Two were German players who you did not recognise, another was the Shakespeare-esque man with long blonde hair. There was also Kurona and Ness, and one last...

Your heart sinks. Kunigami. Just seeing his sunken, tired profile picture makes you bite down on your cheek, hard.

"Most of the evaluations have been done, but I couldn't find these guys after the game. You have your own tablet, right?"

Her voice breaks you out of your stupor, and you nod, blinking at her. The blurriness subsides. She continues speaking, staring back down at the bright white screen, "Good. Do you want to do the Blue Lockers, and I'll do the original side of my team?"

You nod again, quiet. You don't have the heart to tell her your stomach is sinking at the thought of being on the receiving end of Kunigami's cold stare.

"You know how to do it, right? Just open that—" She closes the screen and points to an app on the tablet, "—application, and get them to fill out a blank form. Easy, right?"

She sends you a smile, and it's pretty damn hard for you to return it. The one you plaster on your face is small, meek, and utterly pathetic. You nod, grab your tablet from your cooler bag, and stand up. "I'll do that now, then."

Perhaps you wish to escape this conversation before she sees through your disheartened gaze, or perhaps you wished to just get this all over and done with so you could spend the rest of the week alone in your bed, wasting away—whatever the reason was, quick on your feet, you left.

Mariele watches your retreating form with a confused stare.

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Kurona hands your tablet back to you with a pointedly empty stare. Not empty in the way where he was glaring, even looked remotely upset—you just could not imagine any thoughts going on behind those bright pink eyes. "Here. Here."

You smile a little, taking the tablet from his outstretched hand and nod, "Thank you, Kurona."

Once you tuck your device safely back under your arm, you spend a few more moments bathing in the silence that has formed between you both. He blinks, froggishly—clearly bothered by this silence, but not knowing how to start up a conversation—so you decide to speak, "Are you satisfied with your performance in the last game?"

This question wasn't on the form you just had him complete—so it wasn't like this conversation was entirely useless. He nods, and the pink braid beside his head bobs with his movements. It catches your eye. "Yes. Playing is fun. But running alongside Isagi so much is hard sometimes."

"I get that. He does move around a lot." You pat him on the shoulder, lightly. You don't have to reach up because he's pretty short. You're thankful for that. "But if you keep it up, you'll surely keep your starting spot on the team."

Kurona smiles a little, "Uh-huh. Right. Right. I look at it through a bright lens. I can play, and that's what matters."

"That's a good attitude. I'm glad at least somebody here has one," Not hiding the way you're throwing shade toward the gym room—you huff, narrowing your eyes at the wall beside you. Kurona watches your expression with a newfound sense of curiosity—head tilted to the side and eyes wide and unblinking.

"Do you dislike Kunigami?"

The question is rather sudden, but not completely unexpected from your snarky comment. Your eyes still widen and your lips still part in unspoken surprise. "I..."

He waits for your answer, patiently. 

You do not what it is. Do you? You can't say you've been too fond of him since you've re-met him for the first time all over again. But you can't say you dislike him, either. No, of course not. How could you? No matter how harsh his glare may be, or how rude his comments are towards you—you could never despise Kunigami Rensuke.

Maybe your mother was right. Perhaps your kindness has come back to get you—on this day, where you find yourself unable to abhor one whom you once loved.

Your heart clenches in your chest, and you can't bear to look into his big, bright eyes when you speak. There is a sense of embarrassment or even guilt—at your petty comment, or even from how embarrassingly cheesy your thoughts had become—that laces your tone. "No... I... I don't. I just... wish..."

What do you wish?

Even you yourself are not too sure. Do you want him to go back to how he was before? A little bit—but you know that really, that might never happen. You have no idea what happened during the whole Wild Card program, but it's an unmistakable fact that it changed him. So, you don't want him to revert right back, because you know it will never happen.

Do you want him to be nice to you? You don't know. It would be nice if he was, but it isn't something you wish for.

Do you want to eat together with him again? Maybe someday. Not now. 

"I wish... Kunigami would talk to me... and I wish... I could meet his family."

Your words ring heavy through your heart—and for a moment, you can hardly believe how you're spilling all this to somebody you hardly know. You swallow—throaty and dry—and quickly gather your composure before you manage to shatter once more, "Sorry, I... said too much. I need to... um—"

You swallow again. "—I need to ask a few more about the post-game evaluation. I'll be going, now. Sorry for dumping this all on you, Kurona, I just—"

You're rambling again, and you suddenly feel really stupid. Your stomach twists when you catch sight of Kurona's face and it is as blank and unexpressive as ever. Maybe he wasn't even listening to you. Then he wouldn't have had to hear how much of a fool you have become. 

Unfortunately, this reality seemed increasingly unlikely as his eyes grew clouded in thought. 

He finally breaks the unbearing stark silence with a few, short words, "Then, then... you should tell him."

It's simple, mostly unsolicited, advice—but you hadn't even thought about it all this time. Even if you did—he would most likely just brush you off—but the gesture Kurona is offering you is sweet, and even you take the time to consider it. Even if just for a second.

Your lips curl upwards into a small smile. "... Maybe. Thanks, Kurona. You're nice. I hope you get a spot on the regulars next game, as well."

Kurona does not smile back, but the twinkle in his big, bug-like eyes is a clear indicator of his delight at your words. "Thank you, [name]. You're nice too. You're a good manager."

You send him one last curt nod of acknowledgement before turning on your heel and taking your leave.

Kurona watches your retreating form with a certain sparkle to him.

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Knocking on the hard gym doors may have been one of the scariest moments you've ever experienced in your entire life. You can practically feel your conscious trying to hold your balled-up fist back—but you pull through, with all your might, and slam your knuckles onto the steel.

(Perhaps you are overreacting, and only waiting in contempt at the eventual interaction between you and the blonde muscle-head.)

It creakily slides open, just as any Blue Lock-grade door does. 

The sight you are met with is something you don't think you should be too surprised to see. Kunigami stands in a black tank top and shorts while squatting with weights over his shoulders—working out and training is all he ever seems to do these days.

He doesn't interact with any of the others. He doesn't use his phone—if he even has it with him. He doesn't join in on game nights. He doesn't do anything except train, eat, sleep and train some more.

It's sad.

You wonder...

"Kunigami." You say his name as quickly as possible—as if it's worrisome to speak it aloud. His attention is clearly drawn to you from the way his weights crash to the ground and he stands completely still—but he does not dare glance your way. You think you feel your stomach twist into knots. "Can you fill out this evaluation, please?"

He doesn't make any sort of reaction to even budge—so you let out a sigh and take the initiative to start walking over to him—the heel of your shoes click against the sleek grey flooring of the gym room.

You stop when you are just a little bit away from him—just at arm's length.

He's always just in reach, you think—but push the thought down as far as it can possibly go. You don't want to think about something like that ever again.

"... Please?" You repeat—albeit, this time, a little quieter. You offer the tablet to him like it's a peace offering. He still does not say a word, and with each passing moment of uncomfortable quiet, a small piece of your composure crumbles.

He takes it from your hand. It's not as forceful or rough as you would've imagined—or perhaps your standards are just incredibly low. Either way, you watch in silence as he taps against the screen. Even from where you're standing, it's glaringly obvious that he's doing the exact bare minimum and not bothering to give more than one-word answers for every single question.

There's no surprise when he shoves the tablet back into your arms after only five minutes—but from the way he rolls his eyes, you'd believe it had been an hour.

"Done." His voice is gruff and deep and it rings through your ears uncomfortably.

You swallow thickly and take the tablet back, tucking it safely under your arm. "... Okay."

You don't wish to stick around longer than you have to—even spending a few silent seconds looking at him is almost too much—so you quickly turn toward the door and begin to walk away.

At least you would've if he had not stopped you in your tracks with such a tone that reminds you of himself. You have no choice but to look over your shoulder, to see if maybe, perhaps, he had been gifted with a sudden change of heart. That hope crushes your lungs from the inside out.

You don't know what you were expecting—but his sharp eyes are still tired and focused directly on the ground.

"Isagi... did... he kill himself?" He says the words quickly and quietly as if he is embarrassed to say so—but his expression is so deadpan you can hardly tell.

To say you were surprised would be an understatement. The only words ever spoken to you were grunts and the occasional insult when you would try and start a conversation—but now, here he was, asking about Isagi's wellbeing as if he had not been cursing him out yesterday.

Still, within that voice (perhaps it is just your wishful thinking, or a sense of nostalgia coming to bite you in the ass) there is a sense of kindness. Worry. Maybe even care, if you really looked into it. 

The first thing you think of, when he says those words, is Itoshi Sae. You aren't too sure why. You really only had one proper interaction with the elder Itoshi—and yet, he still appears in your head like you ever thought about him.

Still—you realise that you have been staring dumbly at him for a good minute or two and you should answer before he forever deems you as a weirdo and avoids you for the rest of his life (you're sure he's getting damn near close to it, with how he's clenching his jaw and clutching the towel wrapped around his neck hard enough to rip).

"Yes—" You nod, blinking up at him with wide eyes. "Yes... Isagi... he's fine. He just... wore himself out during the match... He's fine."

The silence is no longer heavy enough to weigh down your shoulders—but rather, it's normal. Regular, unbothered quiet that is comforting enough—at least, to you, with such a fond memory of him in your mind. You do not know when Kunigami Rensuke gained such a tight hold of your feelings.

He doesn't answer you, and he hasn't even looked at you once since you entered the room—you quickly take your leave after a few lasting moments of this quiet, and the door shuts with a screech behind you.

It does not bother you.

You feel a little bit lighter than air.

Kunigami...

Let's talk to each other, and then, I'll tell you everything that I've been wanting to say since you left.

...

Let's just talk, about anything, and everything, Kunigami.

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