Archive of Our Own

The park glowed in the soft amber light of late afternoon. The air smelled faintly of grass, damp earth, and something sweet that drifted from a nearby food stall: sugar, cinnamon and butter. Somewhere, a dog barked; somewhere else, a football smacked against the pavement. The whole place sounded alive.

Yoichi Isagi darted between benches, his sneakers squeaking faintly, clutching a slightly deflated plastic football under his arm. The toy still smelled of new rubber from the little shop they’d stopped at earlier. His parents walked behind him, laughing softly as they tried to keep up.

Germany felt so big. The trees were taller, the sky wider, and every sound seemed louder and sharper, as if even the wind spoke a different language. Yoichi didn’t understand the people calling out to one another in German, but it didn’t matter. He understood the thud of a football, the laughter that followed it - that was a language he already spoke.

Behind him, his dad called out, voice full of that familiar teasing energy. “Guess what I got us?”

Yoichi spun around so fast his shoelaces slapped the sides of his ankles. His eyes lit up, wide and curious. “What, what, what?!”

Issei grinned, lifting a small stack of glossy paper above his head like a magician revealing his trick. The late sunlight made the tickets shine gold.

“Tickets to see RPB vs. Berserk Dortmund!”

For a heartbeat, Yoichi just blinked - and then the excitement burst out of him like fireworks. “Ehhh?! For real?!” He started hopping up and down, the football wobbling in his arms as he laughed, his voice bright and breathless. “That’s so cool! We’re really going?!”

Issei’s smile widened. “That’s right! Thought you’d like that.”

Happily, Iyo caught up, her expression soft and fond. The sight of her son practically vibrating with joy made her eyes warm. She took one of the tickets, inspecting it, then frowned slightly.

“Wait, dear,” she said, brow arching as she looked between her ticket and the three left in Isse’s hand. “There are four here. Why four?”

“Huh?” Issei blinked down, counting them quickly. His confident grin turned sheepish. “Ah. I clicked the wrong number when I bought them. I was planning to sell the extra online later.”

Iyo gave him a long look, unimpressed but amused. “Mmhm.”

He scratched at his cheek, chuckling awkwardly. “Hey, honest mistake! At least they’re good seats.”

She sighed, but there was a small smile tugging at her lips. “You really are something.”

“Something amazing,” he muttered with mock pride.

Yoichi wasn’t listening anymore. He was too busy dribbling his ball in uneven little kicks, narrating his own imaginary game under his breath. The world around him blurred - just him, the ball, and the bright open air. He darted, twisted, kicked, and missed… Then laughed at himself, the sound clear and sharp.

“Yo-chan,” Issei called, glancing at his watch. The sun was dipping lower, its light slipping into orange. “It’s getting late. We should head back before it gets dark.”

“Awww, already?” Yoichi whined, still kicking the ball along the path.

“Don’t worry,” his dad said, patting his head. “You’ll have plenty of time to play another time!”

That was all it took to lift his mood again. He nodded eagerly, grabbing the ball and jogging a few paces ahead. The path wound through tall trees that threw long shadows over the grass, with the sound of traffic humming faintly from the streets beyond the park fence - but here, it felt far away: muffled, distant, like another world.

Then, as Yoichi looked around, something caught his eye.

Near the far end of the park, by a low red brick wall, a boy stood alone. His hoodie was black, a little too big for him, and his hair, pale gold, caught the sunlight like threads of fire.

He was kicking a football against the wall. Over and over.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

The rhythm was steady, exact, almost like music. The boy moved differently from anyone Yoichi had ever seen… Calm, measured, like every motion had been practised hundreds of times before. He shifted his feet lightly, letting the ball roll to the perfect spot before striking it again.

Unexpectedly, Yoichi stopped walking. His heart thumped - the boy was really good. He took a step forward without realising it, eyes wide with admiration. His parents’ voices faded into background noise.

Then, suddenly, the rhythm broke. The ball bounced oddly off the wall, curved, and began rolling down the slope of the path, and straight towards him.

It hit gently against his sneaker.

He looked down, startled. Then up again.

The boy had stopped moving; he stood frozen a few meters away, watching the ball at Yoichi’s feet. The evening light made his pale hair glow and cast his face in half shadow. His eyes - they were an icy, unfamiliar blue, sharp and bright.

One singular word was on Yoichi’s mind right now: ‘Wow’.

For a second, neither of them moved, but suddenly the boy began to walk toward him. His steps were small, and careful. He wasn’t smiling.

“Hey there, kid,” Issei said behind Yoichi, trying his best to communicate in English, friendly as always. “Is this your ball?”

The boy’s expression stiffened. He didn’t reply, his gaze flickering from Issei’s face to the tickets in his hand, to Iyo beside him, then back again. At a loss, Issei crouched a bit, trying to meet his eyes. “Hey,” he tried again, but the boy didn’t react.

Iyo leaned in, whispering, “He probably doesn’t understand.”

Issei nodded slightly. “Language barrier, maybe.”

The boy took a tiny step back. It was subtle, but Yoichi noticed. He didn’t like how awkward the air suddenly felt… So tight, and uncertain. He wanted to fix it somehow.

Before his dad could say anything else, Yoichi darted forward, crouched, and scooped the ball into his hands. He turned to the blonde boy and smiled wide enough to show his teeth.

“Here!” he said brightly, holding the ball out with both hands.

The boy blinked, startled. The strange tension in his shoulders loosened, just a little. The word meant nothing to him, as he couldn’t understand it, but the tone, warm and kind, made him pause.

Sunlight hit his face, turning his eyes a softer shade of blue. He hesitated for a long moment, then reached out and took the ball back.

“Danke,” he muttered quietly.

Yoichi didn’t know what that meant, but he could guess. His grin widened. “You’re welcome!” he said, cheerful as ever.

The boy’s brows furrowed slightly; not in an unfriendly way, just confused.

Yoichi tilted his head, curious. He wanted to say more, but he didn’t have the words - so he did the next best thing. He pointed at the ball, then at the boy, then gave a big thumbs-up.

“Football!” he declared proudly.

The blonde blinked, then spoke softly, testing the word on his tongue. “Fußball?”

Yoichi gasped a little in recognition and laughed. “Yeah! Fußball!” he said, copying the sound as best as he could, throwing both arms up in victory.

For a second, the boy just stared at him, and then the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Not a full smile, but close enough that Yoichi felt a little spark of joy flutter in his chest.

He grinned back, beaming so brightly it almost hurt.

Behind him, he heard his dad laugh quietly. “They understand each other better than we do.”

Iyo smiled, crossing her arms. “Guess football really is universal.”

Fixated, Yoichi didn’t even turn to look. His whole focus was on the boy in front of him. He pointed toward a patch of open grass nearby, then back to the ball. He mimed a little kick with his foot, looking up with wide, hopeful eyes.

The blonde hesitated, his gaze dropping to the ball, then lifted again to Yoichi. The wind ruffled his hair as its soft noise filled the silence. For a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then he gave a small nod.

Yoichi’s eyes lit up. “Yeah!” he cheered.

And just like that, they began to play.

At first, it was clumsy: no shared words, just gestures, kicks, laughter… But soon the rhythm formed naturally. The ball rolled between them like a secret only they understood.

Yoichi giggled when he tripped, grinned when the boy stopped his shot with an easy tap of his foot, and shouted nonsense words that made no sense but somehow fit perfectly. The boy didn’t laugh, but each time Yoichi smiled at him, his shoulders seemed to relax a little more.

The sky dimmed from gold, to rose, to deep blue. Streetlights flickered on, one by one, their glow stretching long across the grass. Iyo called him softly about dinner, but Yoichi barely heard. His world had narrowed to the rhythm of the game - the soft tap of shoes against grass, the quiet sound of the ball spinning between them, and the thrill of having found, here in this faraway place, someone who loved football just like he did.

When he looked at the blonde again, he noticed how the park light caught in his hair, making it shimmer. He didn’t know his name. He didn’t know his words… But Yoichi thought he might remember him forever.

The game between them wound down slowly, the rhythm of the ball softening with the light. By this point, the sun had almost vanished, leaving the park bathed in pale gold and the first traces of blue dusk. The air felt cooler now, the smell of grass sharper, and somewhere far off a church bell chimed the hour.

Yoichi was panting lightly, his hair sticking to his forehead, his sneakers scuffed from running around. His laughter had finally faded into little bursts of giggles that came every time the blonde boy sent the ball rolling neatly back to him.

He wanted to keep going forever.

But then his dad called out, voice warm but firm. “Yoichi! Time to wrap it up, buddy.”

Yoichi turned. His parents were standing near the path now. Iyo had her hands tucked into her coat pockets, smiling softly, and Issei was checking the time again on his phone. The light made their faces glow faintly orange.

Yoichi jogged over, still holding the football. “Just one more minute?” he pleaded.

Issei smiled, crouching a little. “One more minute, huh? You’ve said that three times now.”

Iyo’s eyes, though kind, were on something else. She was looking past Yoichi - at the blonde boy standing a few meters away, ball under his arm, watching quietly.

The boy looked smaller now, in the fading light. His hoodie sleeves were frayed at the cuffs, his sneakers looked worn through at the edges, and the knees of his pants were streaked with grass stains. His cheeks were a little dirty: not from playing, but like he’d been outside all day.

Quiet enough that Yoichi couldn’t hear, Iyo’s voice dropped low. “He looks so young… But he’s alone.”

Issei glanced over too, frowning a little. “Yeah. Poor kid looks like he’s been here for hours.”

Iyo nodded, the crease between her brows deepening. “He’s… kind of ruffled up, isn’t he?”

“Mm,” Issei murmured. Then, after a beat, he sighed. “Still - he seems like a good kid, you can tell.”

Yoichi didn’t catch any of that. He was too busy waving. “Bye-bye!” he called, lifting one arm high.

The blonde boy didn’t move at first. Then, slowly, he raised a hand and gave a small, hesitant wave back. Though, It didn’t feel right to just leave like that. Yoichi turned toward his parents again, fidgeting with his own football in his hands. The memory of the extra ticket suddenly popped into his head - the one his dad had said he’d bought by accident.

He looked up, eyes wide. “Papa,” he said quickly, tugging on Issei’s sleeve, “Can I have one ticket?”

“Hm?” Issei blinked, surprised. “A ticket?”

“The extra one! Please!” Yoichi’s voice was urgent but hopeful, his small hands balled into fists at his sides.

Issei studied his son’s face, then followed his gaze to the blonde boy waiting quietly near the wall. Understanding dawned, and his expression soothed. “You want to give it to him?”

Yoichi nodded hard. “Yeah! So he can see the match too!”

Startled, Iyo blinked, but her lips curved into a smile.

“Of course,” Issei said, fishing the ticket from his pocket and handing it down. “You go ahead.”

Yoichi face lit up. “Thank you!” he chirped, clutching it carefully between both hands.

He turned and sprinted back toward the boy, his sneakers thumping lightly against the path. The blonde looked surprised to see him return, straightening a little when Yoichi came to a stop in front of him.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. The breeze brushed through the grass, carrying the faint hum of traffic in the distance. Eventually, Yoichi held out the ticket, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. As he did so, the boy tilted his head, eyes flicking between Yoichi’s face and the piece of paper. He didn’t move to take it.

Yoichi tried again, lifting it a little higher. “For you!” he said brightly. When that didn’t seem to help, he added in broken English, slowly, “Meet… here… tomorrow?”

The boy blinked, even more confusion furrowing his brows. His lips parted, but no words came out. Yoichi bit his lip, thinking. Then his face brightened. He pointed down to the ground at his feet. “Here!” he repeated, voice cheerful.

Then he raised two fingers. “Eleven!” he said, exaggerating the word so it would sound clear.

The boy stared for a second - and then something clicked. His eyes widened a little, and a soft sound left him: “Ohhh.”

He nodded once, slowly, and then gave a small thumbs-up.

Yoichi’s smile broke into a full laugh, relief and joy spilling out all at once. “Yeah!” he cheered, clapping his hands together before bouncing on his heels. There was a short pause - an awkward but not uncomfortable silence - before Yoichi suddenly remembered something.

He pointed at himself, grinning wide. “Yoichi!” he said, tapping his chest proudly. “Yo-i-chi!”

The blonde blinked, watching him.

“Yoichi,” Yoichi repeated, slower, stretching the vowels like he’d heard adults do when trying to help someone understand. Then he tilted his head, eyes curious, and pointed toward the other boy. “You?”

The boy hesitated. He’d heard that word before… ‘You’ - and the way Yoichi said it was full of open kindness. After a small pause, he said, quietly but clearly, “Michael.”

Yoichi’s face lit up like a spark. He tried to repeat it immediately. “Mihyaeru!”

The blonde’s brows lifted, the corner of his mouth twitching. He shook his head slightly, lips curving in what looked like the faintest smile. “Michael,” he said again, slower this time.

“Mihyaeru…” Yoichi frowned, concentrating hard, as if the name itself were a puzzle he needed to solve. He tried again - “Mi…michael!” but it came out tangled and uncertain.

The blonde chuckled under his breath, so soft Yoichi almost didn’t hear it.

“Mihya,” Yoichi blurted finally, triumphant at finding something he could pronounce.

Slowly, the boy blinked once… Then sighed through his nose, as if giving up the battle entirely. He nodded, resigned but faintly amused. “Mihya,” he said, echoing it with a small shrug.

Yoichi beamed, satisfied. “Mihya!”

And for the first time since they’d met, the blonde boy’s smile reached his eyes - just for a heartbeat, quick and fragile, but real.

Yoichi laughed again, giddy from the success. He wanted to keep talking, to say thank you, to ask more, but he didn’t have the words. So he did what came most naturally - he stepped forward, arms half-lifting for a hug.

The blonde flinched. It was quick, barely visible, but enough for Yoichi to freeze in place. His arms fell back to his sides, not expecting that reaction at all.

For a second, he didn’t understand. The boy’s face looked blank: there was no anger, no annoyance, just… tense. Like the simple movement had startled him.

Then Yoichi saw something else: the way the boy’s hand gripped the ball just a little tighter. The way his shoulders were raised, his eyes wide - not in surprise, but almost in fear.

A lump rose in Yoichi’s throat. His smile faded; he didn’t know why, but suddenly he felt really sad, as if the air around them had gone cold. He wanted to say something, but his chest felt tight. His eyes dropped to the ground, suddenly unsure about everything…

Then, gently, a hand rested on his head.

Yoichi froze, looking up.

The blonde boy’s hand was light, almost in doubt, resting on top of his hair. His expression was soft now, a small, awkward smile tugging at his lips, as if he wasn’t sure if he was doing the right thing but wanted to try anyway.

For a heartbeat, they just stood there like that, the cool wind moving around them, the park quiet except for the distant sounds of life beyond the trees.

Then Yoichi smiled back. Slowly at first, then wide and bright again.

“See you!” he said softly, clutching the empty air where the ticket had been.

‘Mihya’ nodded once, still smiling, the edges of his eyes warming.

Yoichi turned and jogged back toward his parents, who were waiting patiently by the path. When he glanced over his shoulder one last time, the boy was still standing there, watching him go, the ticket held gently in his hand.

The park lights flickered brighter now as night fully set in.

And for reasons he couldn’t explain, Yoichi felt glad that this wasn’t goodbye.

— 🌱—

The hotel room smelled faintly of soap and the buttery scent of croissants from the breakfast buffet downstairs. Pale sunlight streamed through the curtains, painting stripes across the carpet. The city outside was already alive: cars humming, birds calling from rooftops, and the distant toll of a church bell counting the hour.

Yoichi was already awake.

He sat cross-legged on the bed, still in his pajamas, hugging his football close to his chest. His eyes sparkled with excitement that no amount of sleepy yawns from his parents could dull.

“Yoichi,” Iyo mumbled from where she was sitting at the little table by the window, sipping coffee, “It’s not even eight yet.”

“But Mama,” Yoichi whined softly, bouncing a little on the mattress, “We said eleven! What if he’s already waiting?”

Issei chuckled, straightening his collar as he tried to wrestle his suitcase closed. “He’s not gonna be there that early, buddy. You’ll wear yourself out before we even leave.”

Yoichi pouted, burying his chin in the top of the football. “But I told him I’d meet him.”

Seeing this, Iyo’s expression softened. “We’ll go, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

That seemed to calm him - but only a little. He watched the clock on the nightstand like it was a countdown to the best moment of his life. Every few minutes, he’d check it again, sigh dramatically, and flop onto the bed, mumbling to himself about ‘Mihya’ and how good he was at football.

By the time the clock hands finally pointed to ten-thirty, Yoichi was practically vibrating with energy. He changed into his blue hoodie and sneakers so fast that he nearly tripped over his own foot.

“Ready!” he shouted, pumping his fist.

His dad laughed, grabbing his jacket. “Guess that means we’re going.”

Iyo smiled, slipping her phone into her bag. “Let’s not keep your friend waiting.”

The walk back to the park felt different in the morning. The air was crisp and full of the smell of wet grass and blooming flowers. The sunlight was stronger now, scattering gold across the cobblestone paths.

Yoichi walked ahead, clutching the football, his steps quick and eager. He scanned the park as soon as it came into view, eyes darting between trees, benches, and the low brick wall.

Then he saw him.

The small blonde boy - Mihya - was there, standing near the same wall where they’d played yesterday. His hoodie looked the same, dark and a little worn, but today the sleeves were pulled down over his hands. He was just standing there, the football resting at his feet.

Yoichi broke into a grin. “Mihya!!” he called, waving one arm high.

The boy’s head jerked up. For a moment, his expression alleviated at the sight of him - a tiny flicker of something like relief.

But as Yoichi ran closer, that flicker faded.

There was something different about him today. His hair was messier, and under his left eye, faintly visible in the morning light, was a mark, a shadowy bruise blooming purple against pale skin.

Yoichi slowed to a stop a few steps away, the excitement draining from his face. His brows furrowed, his mouth opening slightly.

“Mihya…?” he said softly. He tilted his head, eyes locked on the mark. “You… okay?”

The blonde stiffened. His hand came up instinctively, brushing his cheek as if to hide it. At that moment, he shook his head - sharp, small movements, whilst muttering something in German, his voice tight and low.

Yoichi didn’t understand the words, but he understood the tone: It wasn’t angry. It was scared.

He took a small step forward. “Mihya…?”

The blonde’s breathing was uneven now, shoulders trembling almost imperceptibly. His fingers fidgeted against the fabric of his hoodie. He shook his head again, more frantically this time, saying something under his breath - words Yoichi couldn’t catch but felt like ‘please don’t’.

Yoichi froze, torn between confusion and worry. His stomach twisted in a way that didn’t make sense to him. He didn’t know what was wrong - only that something was.

So, carefully, he reached out. It wasn’t much, just a small, hesitant gesture, fingers extended, as if to say it’s okay.

But before he could touch him—.

The blonde flinched violently and slapped his hand away.

The sound was small, barely a crack, but it echoed in Yoichi’s chest like thunder.

He stumbled back a step, eyes wide. His hand hung awkwardly in the air, his breath catching in his throat. He stared, not in fear - just shock.

All at once, the blonde’s face went pale. His eyes widened, horrified at what he’d just done. He gasped sharply, hands flying to his own mouth. “Es—es tut mir leid!” he blurted out, his voice breaking on the words. “Sorry!”

Yoichi didn’t move. He could only stare at him, heart hammering, the sting of surprise making his chest feel tight.

“Mihya…” he said, small and trembling.

The blonde boy’s shoulders shook, his mouth still half-covered, eyes glassy. He looked like he wanted to vanish right there in the grass.

Yoichi didn’t understand the language, but he understood the look; it was the same look as last night, when the boy had flinched at the hug. That look of being cornered by something invisible.

He didn’t step closer. He just stood there, his eyes soft and unsure, watching as the blonde turned slightly away, wiping at his face quickly, as though embarrassed to be seen like this.

Behind them, Issei and Iyo were waiting a few meters away by the bench, whispering to each other but not interfering. They could see enough to know the air between the boys had changed - heavier now, quieter.

Yoichi’s throat felt dry. The morning sunlight glinted off the tears the blonde tried to hide, and Yoichi’s chest ached without knowing why.

He wanted to say something. Anything.

But all he could manage, voice barely above a whisper, was:

“…Mihya.”

The boy turned slightly, his eyes meeting Yoichi’s again, the same wide, watery eyes full of an emotion Yoichi was too young to name.

Neither of them spoke after that. The silence stretched, soft and uneasy, broken only by the gentle rustle of the trees and the distant laughter of children playing somewhere else in the park.

Yoichi lowered his hand slowly, the one that had been slapped away, and smiled in a way that was small, unsettled, but genuine.

After a long moment, the boy gave the smallest nod in return.

The silence continued between them for a few long heartbeats; sure, it was heavy and even can be considered unresolved, but it wasn’t cold anymore. A cold breeze rustled through the trees, carrying the faint scent of grass and morning dew.

Yoichi’s chest still hurt a little from the shock of having his hand slapped away, but when he looked at Mihya, really looked, he didn’t see anger. He saw fear and guilt and something small and trembling that made his stomach twist with worry instead of hurt.

Slowly, carefully, Yoichi took a small step closer. His sneakers made a soft crunch against the dirt.

“Mihya…” he said again, his voice gentle, like he was afraid of breaking something fragile.

The blonde boy’s head lowered slightly, his eyes hidden behind messy strands of hair. His hands were still pressed together near his mouth, fingers shaking just a little.

Yoichi stared for a moment, then took a quiet breath and held out his hand again.

This time, it wasn’t to touch or to ask - it was just there. An open hand, palm up, waiting.

He didn’t say anything. He just smiled: that big, bright, unguarded smile that said ‘it’s okay’ better than any words could.

For a long second, the blonde didn’t move. His blue eyes flicked to the hand, then back to Yoichi’s face, searching. Doubt lingered there - fear, too - but slowly, hesitantly, he lifted his own hand.

It hovered in the air, fingers trembling slightly. Then, with a cautious breath, he set it in Yoichi’s.

Yoichi grinned so wide it made his cheeks hurt. “Okay!” he chirped, giving the smaller hand a gentle squeeze, careful not to scare him again. “Let’s go to the game!”

The blonde blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but Yoichi was already tugging him lightly toward where his parents were waiting.

Issei raised his eyebrows as the two boys approached, still holding hands, but said nothing. Iyo took in what was in front of her and giggled with quiet affection as she adjusted her bag.

“Looks like we’re all going,” she said with a small smile.

“Yup!” Yoichi said proudly, holding up the tickets. “We’re ready!”

Issei laughed, shaking his head. “All right then, my little tour guide. Let’s see if we can find our way there.”

They left the park together, stepping into the bright late-morning sun. The city felt busier now: car engines humming, chatter spilling from open cafe doors, and pigeons scattering at their feet as they crossed the street.

Issei led the way, holding the map open in one hand and squinting at the street signs that were all in German. “Okay… so this should be… uh…” he muttered, turning the paper sideways. “Bahnhof? Or… bahn-something?”

Iyo peeked over his shoulder, smiling wryly. “You have no idea what you’re reading, do you?”

“I’m working on it!” he said defensively, glancing between the map and the overhead signs. “Okay, maybe the U-Bahn goes to the stadium—.”

“Papa,” Yoichi interrupted, tugging his sleeve. “Mihya can help!”

Issei looked down, surprised. “You think so?”

“Mhm!” Yoichi said with complete confidence, turning toward the blonde boy beside him. “Mihya, help?”

Expectedly, the blonde blinked, looking up from where he’d been quietly walking next to Yoichi - their hands were still linked, his fingers loose but unwilling to let go. His gaze shifted toward the ticket in Issei’s other hand.

He reached out, a little hesitant, and Issei passed it over without question. The boy studied it for a few seconds, his eyes flicking quickly over the printed words - RPB vs Berserk Dortmund, stadium address, seating numbers - before glancing up at the signs around them.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then tugged gently on Yoichi’s hand.

Yoichi blinked and looked up. “Hm?”

Pointing towards a nearby bus stop, a small glass shelter with the name of a stop written across the top in sharp, clean letters, Mihya said something short and certain in German, the kind of tone that didn’t need translation.

Yoichi’s eyes widened with realisation. “Oh!” He looked up at his parents, his grin spreading fast. “He knows! He found it!”

Issei turned to where the boy was pointing, then back to him. “Really? That’s… impressive,” he said, scratching his head. “Guess I was overcomplicating it.”

Smiling knowingly, Iyo teased him. “Seems like you’ve got a better guide than you.”

“Don’t rub it in,” Issei muttered, though his voice was warm.

Yoichi laughed, bouncing on his toes, then turned back to Mihya, squeezing his hand gratefully. “Thank you!” he said, in clumsy English. “Mihya… very smart!”

The blonde’s eyes flicked toward him, startled by the sudden praise - then, after a moment, he looked away quickly, a faint colour rising in his cheeks. Yoichi just giggled again, still holding his hand as they walked together toward the bus stop, their sneakers tapping lightly against the pavement.

It didn’t matter that they didn’t share a language. Yoichi felt it clearly - the warmth of the other boy’s hand in his, steady and real; and somehow, that was enough.

The bus rattled down the streets of Berlin, sunlight flashing through the windows in golden stripes. Yoichi sat pressed up against the glass, his reflection flickering with every passing building. The football rested on his lap, and next to him, Mihya sat quietly, watching the blur of the city go by.

Their hands were still linked on the seat between them. Yoichi didn’t even realise he hadn’t let go.

Across from them, Issei studied the transit map with his brow furrowed, mumbling something about zones and stops, while Iyo chuckled softly, her fingers laced over her bag.

Yoichi tilted his head toward Mihya. “Big city,” he said slowly, in halting English. “Pretty, huh?”

The blonde boy stared for a moment, then gave a small nod. His gaze stayed on Yoichi for a moment, looking at his face, his metallic blue eyes, before quickly drifting back out the window, a blush on his face as he witnessed where the tall buildings and fluttering flags of the stadium district were coming into view.

Yoichi smiled - a little proud that he’d been understood, and turned back to the window too. The bus hissed to a stop, and the moment they stepped off, the air changed.

It was louder and fuller, so people everywhere, all wearing jerseys, waving scarves, and laughing; faint scents of roasted nuts and popcorn drifted through the air, mixing with the sharp smell of asphalt and grass.

Yoichi’s eyes widened. “Wow…”

He’d seen stadiums in Japan, sure, but this was huge. It stretched into the sky like it was touching the clouds.

Wow.

Beside him, Mihya had stopped walking. His blue eyes were wide, almost glowing under the sunlight, fixed on the rows of colourful stalls lined up along the road to the gates. The stalls were overflowing with jerseys, scarves, plastic horns, and shiny flags.

For a moment, Yoichi forgot about the crowd and just stared at him, and the way his expression softened into pure wonder. He grinned. “You like Berlin?” he asked in his broken English, the words bouncing awkwardly but warmly off his tongue.

Mihya blinked, turning his gaze toward him. He hesitated, then shrugged - a small, unsure roll of his shoulders.

Yoichi giggled, pointing to himself proudly. “I’m… uh…” He scrunched his face, trying to remember the name. “Basta… Bastard… Munshen!”

The blonde tilted his head, clearly confused.

Yoichi laughed harder, covering his mouth. “Mun-shen! Bastard Munshen! Good team!”

His parents, following a few steps behind, exchanged amused looks. Iyo smiled. “You’re just like your dad,” she said quietly. “That same look when he’s talking about something he’s interested in….”

“I’ll take the credit,” Issei puffed out his chest a little in amusement.

Yoichi was too busy pointing at the jersey stand to notice. “Papa! Mama! Can we… Can we get shirts? Please?”

Iyo’s smile widened. “Just one each, okay?”

Issei laughed. “Sure thing, champ.”

The vendor handed over two small jerseys - one in blue, one in red. Yoichi grabbed the blue one immediately and turned to Mihya, holding out the red one with a bright grin. “Here! For you!”

The blonde blinked, startled, glancing down at the fabric. He didn’t take it right away. His hand tightened slightly around his hoodie sleeves.

Yoichi frowned softly, tilting his head. “It’s okay,” he said gently. “It’s for game!”

Mihya hesitated a little longer, then looked up - right into Yoichi’s eyes. There was something so open there, so full of trust and warmth, that his own hesitation cracked.

He sighed, quietly, and with a small motion, nodded.

Yoichi beamed. “Yay!”

The blonde slowly peeled back his hoodie. As the fabric slid off his arms, Yoichi’s smile faltered.

Underneath, faint bruises bloomed like shadowy fingerprints along his wrists and forearms. Some older, some fresh. They caught the light in soft purples and yellows that made Yoichi’s stomach drop.

He stared - confusion, then concern swirling in his little chest. His brows knitted together as Mihya froze, realising he’d been seen.

The blonde’s head turned quickly, his face twisting with something like shame. He clutched the jersey in his hands, fingers trembling slightly.

Yoichi took a slow breath, then reached out with his free hand - small and gentle - and touched Mihya’s cheek, turning his face back toward him.

Their eyes met.

Half-heartedly, Yoichi smiled - soft in understanding, no words needed. The kind of smile that said, ‘I won’t ask’.

The blonde’s breath caught. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then, slowly, he relaxed - his shoulders lowering, his eyes softening as he slipped the jersey on over his shirt.

They looked at each other one more time, something silent and steady passing between them.

Then Yoichi grinned again, tugging his hand. “Come! Popcorn!”

Mihya blinked, startled by the sudden cheer, but followed anyway, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as they approached a popcorn stand.

The warm, buttery smell filled the air, and Issei handed them each a paper cone of popcorn. Yoichi laughed as a few kernels tumbled out of his hands, and Mihya shyly copied the way he tossed one into his mouth.

They were still laughing - real, light laughter now - as they made their way into the main stadium.

The moment they stepped inside, the sound hit them.

It wasn’t just noise, it was alive. The roar of tens of thousands of voices, the echo of drums, the blare of horns. Flags waved, songs boomed from the stands, and the green of the pitch shone like a jewel under the bright lights.

Yoichi froze. His little body tensed, eyes wide. The sudden wave of noise and colour pressed in from all directions, almost too much at once.

He clutched the popcorn tightly, his other hand gripping Mihya’s hard.

Iyo immediately leaned down. “Yoichi? It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Issei frowned slightly, putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s just loud, yeah? You’re okay.”

Yoichi didn’t answer. He just held tighter, the excitement warring with overwhelm.

Then, quietly, Mihya looked down at their hands - saw how tightly Yoichi was holding on - and after a moment’s hesitation, he shifted his fingers, weaving them properly between Yoichi’s.

The movement was small, but the effect was instant.

Yoichi blinked up at him, startled - then, slowly, mellowed. The tightness in his chest loosened as he stared at their joined hands, interlocked, steady.

He smiled, shy but grateful.

The blonde gave a tiny nod, his expression unreadable but calm now.

Then Yoichi’s head snapped up. The players were walking out onto the field - bright kits, loud cheers, the announcer’s voice booming. His eyes went wide again, but this time with awe.

He tugged Mihya’s hand excitedly, pointing at the pitch. “Look! Look! Football!”

Iyo let out a soft breath of relief, settling back into her seat. Issei smiled faintly beside her, watching the two boys.

“Ah…” he said quietly. “He’s already figured it out.”

Iyo tilted her head. “What?”

“How to calm Yo-chan down.”

They both smiled as the crowd around them erupted with cheers - and in the middle of it all, two small boys sat side by side, hands still interlocked, eyes fixed on the field.

The whistle blew, sharp and bright, cutting through the roar of the crowd.

Yoichi’s whole body jumped a little at the sound. His eyes widened, fixed on the green blur of players moving across the field like lightning. The noise, the chants, the colours - it was all dizzying, but his heartbeat thrummed along with it.

“Mama! Papa! Look! Look!” he shouted over the noise, pointing wildly toward the pitch. “They’re starting!”

Issei laughed, leaning closer to hear him. “We see them, buddy! They’re fast, huh?”

Iyo smiled softly, eyes bright. “Look at his face… I don’t think he’s even blinking.”

But Yoichi wasn’t listening anymore. His entire focus had locked onto the players - the quick passes, the bursts of speed, the way the ball curved through the air like it was alive.

His mouth fell open in pure amazement.

Next to him, Mihya sat forward, his chin barely above the railing, eyes darting across the field, trying to follow. He didn’t know the teams or the chants, but something in him responded to the rhythm of the game - the thud of boots, the roar of the crowd when a shot went close…

Yoichi noticed.

He turned toward Mihya, grinning wide, and shouted over the noise, “See?! Football!!”

The blonde boy blinked at him, startled by the volume - then looked back at the pitch and nodded quickly. “Ja!” he said, loud enough for Yoichi to hear.

Yoichi beamed. “Yeah! Football!”

He began mimicking the players - leaning left and right, pretending to dribble the ball on his knees, mouth moving as he made little “whoosh!” sounds whenever someone kicked it. His parents watched, amused, whispering to each other, but Mihya just stared for a moment - then let out a small laugh.

It was a real one this time - quiet, but warm and bright.

When one of the players on the field made a daring pass that cut through the defense, Yoichi gasped and jumped up from his seat. “Wow! Wow!”

He almost spilled his popcorn, but Mihya caught the cone with both hands, laughing harder now.

Yoichi turned to him, grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. He pointed at the field again. “You see? Pass! Pass!”

Mihya tilted his head, still not quite sure what the words meant, but nodded anyway.

Then Yoichi picked up his football from under his seat and set it on the concrete floor between them. He gestured toward it, eyes sparkling. “Like this!”

Before his parents could stop him, he started softly tapping it with the inside of his foot, copying the motion of the players below. Mihya watched, mesmerised, his eyes tracking every movement.

After a moment, Yoichi stopped and nudged the ball toward him.

“Try!” he said, grinning.

Mihya blinked - then, cautiously, lifted his foot and nudged it back.

It rolled a little crooked, but Yoichi didn’t care. He cheered like they’d scored a goal. “Good! Mihya good!!”

The blonde blinked, then smiled wide enough that it reached his eyes.

For a few seconds, they forgot about the noise, the teams, the stadium - it was just them, passing the ball gently between their sneakers, giggling every time it rolled too far.

Issei leaned toward Iyo, whispering under the crowd’s roar, “He’s not even watching the match anymore.”

Iyo smiled, eyes soft. “No… but look at them.”

They both glanced down the row at their son: cheeks flushed, eyes bright, laughter echoing faintly under the thunder of the crowd - and the quiet blonde beside him, smiling in a way that looked brand new.

The game raged on around them - players shouting, the audience chanting - but for Yoichi, time had slowed to something simple and golden.

At one point, the crowd exploded with a deafening roar - a goal. Red confetti burst from somewhere above, fluttering down like rain.

Yoichi gasped, looking up at the falling bits of paper, his mouth open in awe. “Wow…”

Beside him, Mihya was staring too, eyes wide, a red piece landing softly in his blonde hair.

Yoichi reached over and plucked it out with a giggle. “Now you - red team!”

Mihya blinked at him - then snorted, small and quiet, and flicked a popcorn kernel at him in reply.

They both laughed, the sound swallowed by the noise of forty thousand strangers, yet somehow standing out all the same.

The crowd chanted, flags waved, and somewhere far below, the players lined up again. But for the two of them - a Japanese boy with metallic-blue eyes and a German boy with too many bruises and not enough words - the stadium had become something else entirely.

A place where they could understand each other without needing to speak.

— 🌹 —

The match ended in a blur of sound and colour.

Berlin had won.

The crowd erupted - flags waving, songs echoing through the stadium, strangers high-fiving all around them. Confetti drifted through the air like snow.

Yoichi’s voice was nearly gone from cheering. He’d been on his feet for half the match, bouncing every time the ball came close to the goal. When the final whistle blew, he jumped up, arms in the air.

“Mihya! They win! They win!!”

The blonde flinched at the sudden volume, then looked up at the scoreboard. A slow, small smile spread across his face. He didn’t cheer, but he nodded, his eyes bright with reflected light.

Yoichi laughed, half from excitement and half from the way Mihya’s smile made his chest feel funny and warm.

“Berlin good!” he said proudly, as if he’d known all along they would win.

His parents clapped from behind them. Issei was laughing, Iyo’s hands coming together as she shouted, “That was incredible!”

As the noise began to settle and the crowd started filing toward the exits, Issei leaned over the seats. “We should head out before the buses get too full, champ.”

Yoichi nodded, still grinning. “Okay!”

He turned to Mihya and held out his hand again, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Come!”

The blonde looked at the outstretched hand for a moment - then took it.

They ended up squeezed together near the back of a bus heading back toward the park. The windows were fogged with condensation and the faint smell of popcorn and rain filled the air.

Issei and Iyo sat a few seats away, quietly talking.

Yoichi and Mihya shared one seat, their shoulders brushing.

Still buzzing from the game, Yoichi’s legs swang against the seat. “The one—,” he began, gesturing excitedly, “Who kick the ball really far - so cool! Boom! Like that!” He mimed the kick, accidentally bumping his knee against the seat in front of him.

Mihya startled, then laughed softly.

“Boom!” Yoichi repeated, giggling. “You see?”

The blonde nodded, mimicking the kick with his foot against the floor. “Boom,” he said back, and that made Yoichi laugh harder.

The bus rumbled along the cobblestones. The world outside blurred past - buildings melting into streaks of orange and pink as the evening light began to fade.

Eventually, the noise inside the bus quieted. Yoichi’s voice softened. “Fun day,” he said sleepily. “Football good.”

Mihya nodded. “Ja. Football good.”

Their hands were still joined on the seat between them, fingers tangled loosely. Neither of them seemed to notice anymore.

When the bus stopped near the park, the air was cooler now - soft and golden with the setting sun. The trees swayed gently, the light spilling through their leaves like honey.

Issei stretched and smiled. “We’ll walk you to the park, okay?”

Yoichi nodded and tugged on Mihya’s hand. The two boys walked a little ahead, their sneakers crunching against the gravel path. The park was quieter than before - just the sound of wind and a few distant voices.

When they reached the little wall where they’d first met, Mihya stopped.

He looked around for a moment, then turned back toward Yoichi.

Neither said anything at first. The quiet stretched, but it wasn’t awkward. It was soft - heavy with something Yoichi didn’t have words for.

He fidgeted with the edge of his jersey, staring down at the ground. “Um…” he started, searching for the words in his clumsy English. “Today… good.”

The blonde smiled faintly, nodding. “Good.”

Yoichi hesitated - then lifted his eyes again. “Maybe…” He pointed between them, then at the ground. “Meet… again?”

Mihya’s brows furrowed as he tried to understand. Then the meaning sank in, and his lips curved into a small, knowing smile.

He nodded. “Ja.”

Yoichi’s grin returned full force. “Ja! Meet again!”

He giggled, heart swelling with a kind of happiness too big for his small body.

He wanted to hug him - really wanted to - but then he remembered how the boy had flinched before. He stopped halfway, arms hovering awkwardly at his sides.

But before he could pull back completely, the blonde suddenly stepped forward and wrapped his arms tightly around him.

It wasn’t shy or hesitant this time. It was fierce, desperate almost - like he didn’t know when he’d ever get to again. For a split second, Yoichi froze in surprise. Then warmth flooded through him, and he smiled so wide his eyes stung. He squeezed back, little arms circling the blonde’s shoulders, tears slipping down his cheeks before he even realised they were there.

He laughed through the tears. “Mihya… good friend,” he whispered into his shoulder, his voice shaking with happiness. The blonde responded with something quietly in German, something soft and muffled against Yoichi’s hoodie - but even if Yoichi didn’t understand the words, he understood the feeling.

When they finally pulled apart, their hands lingered one last time before slipping apart.

Yoichi smiled through the leftover tears. “See you… one day,” he said.

Mihya nodded. “One day.”

Then he turned and walked down the path, his hoodie pulled back over his head, the evening light tracing the edges of his small figure until he disappeared past the trees. Yoichi stood there for a while, staring after him, his heart full in a way he couldn’t name.

When his parents came up beside him, Issei ruffled his hair gently. “You okay, champ?”

Yoichi sniffled once, then looked up at them with a soft smile. “Light blue is a really pretty colour,” he said quietly.

Iyo blinked, then shared a knowing look with her husband. Neither of them said anything, they just smiled, their hands finding each other’s, as their son looked out over the park where two boys from different worlds had met for the first time.

— 🌱 —

The apartment was quiet except for the low hum of the television.

Michael Kaiser sat slouched on the couch, one hand draped over the backrest, a glass of red wine balanced between his fingers. The city lights of Munich spilled through the wide windows, streaking the room in gold and blue.

He wasn’t really watching the broadcast at first - just letting the sound of the commentators fill the silence. Some late-night recap of the Japanese youth program that had been making waves in Europe. Blue Lock, they called it. He almost switched the channel.

And then he saw him.

A face. A pair of eyes.

For a moment, Kaiser forgot to breathe.

The boy on the screen was older now - taller, sharper, his expression alive with determination. But those eyes… that shade of metallic blue, bright and impossibly clear.

He’d seen them once before.

Years ago.

A park.

A shy smile and a voice struggling over broken English.

“Meet again?”

The glass in his hand tilted slightly. Wine rippled. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, gaze fixed to the screen.
‘Yoichi’ stood beneath the studio lights, hair mussed, sweat still clinging to his jaw from the qualifying match they were replaying. He was smiling - no, beaming - and speaking Japanese so fast the subtitles barely caught up. The commentators laughed, calling him fearless. Calling him the boy who wants to take Japan to the World Cup and win it.

Kaiser stared, a strange mix of disbelief and something sharper twisting in his chest.

That voice. That fire.

It’s him.

The broadcast cut to highlights: Yoichi weaving through defenders, eyes wide with that same light, like every pass, every shot was the most important moment in the world. The crowd roared. Kaiser’s heartbeat matched the tempo.

He sat back slowly, still watching. A smile - small at first, then curling into something that almost looked like hunger, tugged at his lips.

“So,” he murmured under his breath, eyes glinting in the glow of the screen. “You really did make it, huh…”

He took a sip of his wine, gaze never leaving those blue eyes on the screen - the same ones that had once handed him a football in a park, grinning under the German sun.

The commentators shouted the project’s name one last time: Blue Lock.

Kaiser’s smile sharpened.

He raised his glass slightly, as if in a toast.

“On your knees…” he whispered, the wine catching the light as he took another slow sip. “Blue Lock.”