82. THANKS, SAID UBERS.

note: hey sigmas. its been a while. um. hellow. not dead. just tired. on break for school now so we get more chapters everybody cheered

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"IF

you're a striker, prove it by scoring goals. It's showtime, Bastard München."

Those were the last words said to you all (though, primarily towards the two hearts of this messy team) from your master and coach. Now, you and the rest of your dysfunctional team were headed towards the main field of the league, silently stalking down the halls in a cult-like motion. 

You don't know how to feel, especially because Mariele is seriously freaking you out. "You look happy," you finally manage to say through a heavy breath. She immediately looks back down to you—brows raised in a slight sign of shock, but soon lowered as your words settled in.

"Yes, I am."

You have a sinking feeling you know exactly why, through her heavy German accent and deep-toned voice, lies an octave of anticipation. "Is it because of that woman?"

Bianca, her name was—at least, you think. You don't know her all that well and you're sure she has no interest in dming you on Instagram anytime soon. Curly hair, a straight nose, olive skin, and a sneer permanently etched onto her pretty face—you can picture it all too well. What you don't understand, however, is how this sourpuss of a woman has landed as a manager of a rowdy football club.

"Bianca..." Mariele says her name with a certain sense of fondness, and from the way she simply begins to speak about her—you can infer that they certainly have a history. "Yes. I am excited to see her again. She is my dear friend, and I wonder what has become of her rowdy team of kings, leaders and their servants."

King...

"Whatever it may be—I'm sure it'll be interesting, right?" You smile, and she spares you a curt nod. 

"Yes, I believe it will."

And that was the end of your minimal speaking—mouth clamping closed and teeth chomping down on the inside of your cheek. 

You look back, to where Hiori is shrugging his jacket on. Your hands itch with the need to do something to keep your mind at bay. You quickly walk towards him, gently pushing the collar forward and catching him by surprise. 

With those big, blue eyes and softly sculpted features, his lips form an o shape as you remove your hand from his shoulder, "Sorry. You just looked like you needed help."

His cheeks flush pink, "All 'Ight... No worries, I did. I jus' didn't really wanna ask fa help with puttin' on my jacket—kinda embarrassing." 

You cover your mouth with your hand and walk slowly beside him, notebook clutched closely to your chest. "Mhm. It's fine."

A stark silence passes by you both and only now do you realise you aren't too sure on what to say to him.

"... It's a shame you weren't chosen to be on the starting lineup this game," you say, ripping off the bandaid that you were sure you were going to be unable to avoid much longer while speaking to Hiori. 

"Your results during training are outstanding," continuing, you wish to say, for somebody who isn't really trying, but you don't. "I'm sure you'll get in next time, Hiori."

He blinks, long lashes fluttering over big eyes as he stares down at you, "Hm...? Oh... yeah... It's 'ight, [name]. I'm not upset 'bout it. I'm not too keen on playin' anyway... I..."

He bites his tongue (either figuratively or literally, you're not very sure) and stops himself before he finishes his sentence. "I'm fine. No need ta apologise. I know ya don't have any influence on this kinda thing, anyways."

He's right. You don't. But it doesn't matter to you right now—what surprises you are his words. "You don't want to play? Isn't that the whole point of being here?"

With your blunt and mildly accusatory words—Hiori seems uncomfortable and slightly hesitant to answer. You immediately retract and internally curse at his unpleasant expression. You clear your throat and speak a little too quickly, "Well... it is your choice after all, there's no use in dwelling on being upset. It's a good mindset to have for this sort of thing. Maybe I'm just being biased since I can't play anymore," you laugh humourlessly.

Hiori looks confused at your words. "Hm?"

"I used to play—but not anymore. I can't. It's just a fact of my life." You shuffle your feet a little as you walk—reminiscing, "I used to be super hung up over it, but I don't mind anymore... I'm free of it, you know?"

Even if you were dumping this all out unprecedentedly—Hiori still looked eager to listen.

"So maybe it's just the small voice inside me that thinks of all that time I spent longing to play this sport, knowing I never would again, that makes me think like this. I don't think it's a great way to think, but I'm sure it'll never change for as long as I live."

"No..." Hiori's voice is soft and quiet. "I don't think it's a bad thing to have such a passion burning inside of you. It's admirable."

You're caught off-guard and your cheeks flare up with his fond words. Words get lodged in your throat and, after this—you still do not know what to say. 

"Thank you, [name], for helping me with my jacket." Hiori nods his head down towards you slightly and sends you a small smile. "It was nice of you."

You pretend not to notice the way he had steered the conversation away from your questions earlier—and only smile back with a nod of your own, "It was nothing, really."

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"Remember... it's whoever scores the most goals."

Kaiser looks over towards Isagi—their height difference is much more noticeable at this very moment, where you see blonde hair swish down his back and hands on his hips. "Don't run away, Yoichi."

Isagi does not even hesitate with his words, "Right back at you, Prince Shithead."

You wince a little, looking away—soon, your eyes dart towards the image right in front of you. Walking onto the field—it's something that you have done consistently, and yet—it still feels all too surreal. Lights shining down, faux grass green, and the faces of all the players on Ubers staring right back toward you.

Aiku smirks, speaking sultry and low, "Well, well, if it isn't those German puppies. It's been a while."

Niko rolls his shoulder back and his bangs swish over his eyes, "Like we promised, I'm here, Isagi. It's payback time."

Aryu pushes his long hair back with his gloved hand and looks positively ethereal underneath the twinkling light (though, he does seem to have a sparkle of his own), "I'm feeling super stylish and nostalgic today."

You look towards all these familiar faces and smile—sending them all a wave. Aiku winks, while Niko gives an expressionless nod, and Aryu blows a kiss—all actions seemingly in character with them. It's nice to know they haven't changed all that much.

Isagi looks very excited—blushy cheeks and bright eyes as he looks towards all of his friends, "You guys...!"

Sendou slaps his shoulder with a hearty laugh, "Dude, don't forget about me!"

Raichi deadpans as he inspects the boy—arms folded over his chest and a brow lifted, "Who's that guy again?"

Kurona also has a deadpan expression as he fiddles with his braid, pointing towards Sendou, "The guy who went on and on about marrying a gravure idol..." It doesn't seem to ring a bell within Raichi, so he continues, "Uh, he's the former Japan U-20's ace..."

Raichi clicks his fingers in realisation and yells out, "Mandou!"

Sendou snarls at him, angrily forming into a dynamic pose and yelling, "It's Sendou, asshole!"

"We're 9000 short." Kurona hums, while you snort at the snarky reference made by the short boy. 

"Like I said—my name is Sendou, not Mandou!"

Both you and Isagi find yourself laughing at the argument that begins to ensue in front of you—eyes squinted upwards and lips lifted. Behind you—a familiar voice catches your attention, "Yo..."

You glance over your shoulder. 

"I've been dying to go up again you, loser. Now I can finally devo...—"

Isagi instinctively steps forward just as the dark, red-streaked head of hair does as well—a loud clang of two skulls colliding rings out through the room and your eyes widen as your hand darts forward instinctively. Isagi stumbles backward as red blotches form on his head.

While Barou Shoei, on the other hand, grits his teeth hard—jaw clenched and eyes narrowed into a sharp glare, as he spits out, "Kuh—... devour you... I can't stop drooling."

"You... son of a..."

They both clutch their foreheads—you can only watch with wide eyes as Aiku scoffs, now beside you, as he says, "What the hell are you two idiots doing?"

"Seriously, what are you doing, Barou Shoei?" 

A voice you hardly recognise pipes up from behind you—your vision follows behind your shoulder as the feminine voice pipes up once more, "There's no need to drool and make a mess."

Bianca... that's her name. She stands there with a hand on her hip and a blank expression on her pretty features. You feel small compared to her—even with just her short quip, her presence is heavy and looms over you like that of royalty compared to a lower-class citizen. 

You wonder if Mariele feels like this, too.

Aiku snorts at her words while Barou only scoffs, not even bothering to send her a glare. His gaze is fixed solely on Isagi, especially when he points accusingly and yells, "What's up with your hair?! Just cuz you're worth a million doesn't mean you can dye your hair red, king! Narcissist king!"

Barou groans lowly, rubbing his forehead in his large palm and huffs, "Shut up, loser... I put some red highlights to celebrate my 100 million auction value! You're only worth a paltry 50 million! I'm worth twice as much! That's right, I'm worth twice as much!"

"He looks awfully smug," Even with that angry expression, you wish to add. You aren't too surprised that a guy like Barou, who calls himself a king, is bragging about his worth.

"Right? Doesn't suit him." Aiku grins, pearly white. He rests his elbow on your shoulder and looks up, "He's lying, anyway. He put 'em in yesterday."

Niko points at himself, "We helped him out."

Aryu strikes a pose, eyes fluttering shut, "We made him look stylish."

Aiku walks over and swings an arm around Barou's shoulders, a large grin with comically blushy cheeks on his face, "He suddenly said he wanted to pump himself up before facing Isagi! You're such a fashionista, right, Barou-chan?"

Barou snarls like an animal, grabbing a fistful of Aiku's shirt and tugging him forward with an annoyed expression, "That's not the reason I put them in! I wanted to go for a different look."

Aryu sparkles, "Totally like a girl the night before a first date."

"He was so uncharacteristically pumped up," Biance chimes in while poking her head over his shoulder. "Was seething the entire walk here."

"Instead of King, he's now Princess Barou."

Aryu and Niko's heads are now abruptly and suddenly choked—necks trapped in Barou's arms and their bodies are loose like wet spaghetti in his grip as he bellows, "Shut up, you stupid low-lives!"

"Princess Barou..."

"Stylish choke-hold."

"Hmph." Bianca hops away, walking off—towards you. It's sudden and feels strangely predatory—regardless, you keep your head held high and do not break her hard eye contact once. "So you're the girl that Mariele likes?"

... Huh.

Out of all the things she could've possibly said—this was not what you were expecting at all. With her thick, European accent that peeks out even behind her Japanese speaking, it feels hardly real—like a fever dream. You can't find it within yourself to unlodge the words from your throat, so you just stand there, staring at her like an idiot.

She narrows her eyes at you as if examining you. "...Hm. That's fine, I guess." You aren't too sure what that is supposed to mean, but for whatever reason, you think it's not a bad thing. "Didn't know this was her type now. I guess it's been too long. Whatever."

Her defined brown curls fall over her shoulder as she turns on her heel and walks away—posture as cool and confident as you remember her. You didn't even get a chance to get a single word in within the half-hearted conversation she just had with you—it's confusing, for sure. She's confusing.

Perhaps there is a reason Bianca and Mariele are such close friends—you can't seem to get a read on either of them. Over Bianca's shoulder, you get a glimpse of Himara, who's busy enveloped in a conversation with her team's respective coach. A man with a large nose and shoulder-length hair. You think you've seen him on television once or twice, but can't seem to remember his name.

The fleeting thought fades from your mind as quickly as it appears, however—when a face comes into view.

"It's you again." 

Barou Shoei stares down at you, with a lack of that usual glare.

You smile. "It's you again, King." He scoffs at your words, looking to the side with a hand on his hip.

"Don't sound so smug."

"Why not? Look at you... red hair, huh?" You tilt your head to the side and place a finger on your chin. "Not bad..."

Your light tone and small lilt of your voice make him scrunch up his nose, "Don't speak like that. Weirdo."

You smile, once more. "That's not nice. This is how you greet me after so long? Not even the least bit excited to see me again?"

"Not one bit," he groans.

"Hm..." You make eye contact with him—and you immediately know he is lying. "I don't know. You haven't even called me a shitty manager since I've been here... so, it can only mean that you are happy to see me again."

He pauses, brows furrowing downwards—as if you have revealed some sort of groundbreaking secret to him. Then, he turns his head away, arms folded over his broad chest—across his jersey, starkly different to your own. "I... have nothing to say to that."

He pauses again, then continues, "... you shitty manager."

Laughter bubbles out of your lips, and you snort—covering your mouth with your hand and turning around on your heel. 

As you walk off the field—a strange feeling envelopes your stomach—a feeling that makes you wish to fall off the edge of your seat in anticipation of what may happen next.

"An emperor and a king, hm?" Mariele says, with a small smile as you seat yourself beside her. "How tacky."

As the whistle chimes and all eyes are surely focused on them—you can't help but follow, with wonder of what will be made of this game.

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