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The neon glow of Shibuya was a heartbeat, thumping with a bassline of a thousand different lives. Hana Jones, her long pink-and-green hair piled into a messy but cute bun, navigated the crowd with a practiced ease. Dressed in an oversized hoodie from a thrift store in Cali and ripped jeans, she was a splash of pastel color against the city's gray concrete. In her hand, a paper bag from a nearby conbini rustled, filled with strawberry milk and melon pan. Comfort food.
She was just cutting through a side street, trying to escape the main crush, when she literally bumped into someone.
"Whoa, my bad!" she said automatically, her English slipping out before her Japanese.
A grunt. "It's fine."
The voice was low, familiar in a way that tugged at a memory from a lifetime ago—from boring classrooms and the smell of chalk. Her head snapped up.
No way.
Standing there, looking just as startled as she felt, was Isagi Yoichi. But it wasn't the Isagi she half-remembered from Ichinan. That guy was all quiet intensity and awkward smiles. This guy... this guy had vibes.
He was leaner, sharper. His blue eyes, which used to just be focused, now held a crazy, calculating glint. He wore his confidence differently now—not loud, but quiet and deadly, like he knew a secret nobody else did. He looked like he'd been through it.
"Yoichi?" Hana blinked, her brain short-circuiting. "Isagi Yoichi? For real?"
Isagi's intense gaze softened with recognition. "...Hana? Hanako Jones?"
"The one and only," she said, a wide, relieved smile breaking out on her face. She reverted to Japanese, the words tumbling out with her usual bubbly energy. "Dude, what are you doing here? I heard you were in, like, some super-secret soccer bootcamp. You just vanished!"
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. "Something like that. It's over for now." His eyes flickered over her. "You... you look the same."
She laughed, a bright, musical sound that cut through the city's noise. "Yeah, well, you don't! You look all... intense. In a good way!" She held up her conbini bag. "Just grabbed some fuel. You wanna hang for a sec? Catch up? Unless you're, like, too cool for school now, Mr. Blue Lock."
Isagi let out a quiet huff, a real smile finally breaking through. It transformed his face, bringing back a ghost of the boy she knew. "I'm not too cool. And... yeah. That sounds good."
They found a low wall away from the main foot traffic and sat. Hana handed him the extra strawberry milk.
"So, spill," she said, pulling her knees up. "Was it as hardcore as everyone says? All 'survival of the fittest' and stuff?"
Isagi took a slow sip, his gaze distant. "Worse. You have to be selfish. You have to want to crush everyone, even your friends. It changes you." He looked at his own hand, clenching it slightly. "Sometimes I wonder what part of me is still... me."
Hana listened, her head tilted. She didn't get the soccer stuff, not really. But she got people. And she could see the weight on him.
"Whoa, heavy," she said, her voice softening. "But look at you. You're here. You made it through. That's pretty legit." She nudged his shoulder with hers. "And for the record, you're still you. A way hotter, way more badass version, sure. But I can still see the guy who used to get flustered when I shared my lunch."
He actually blushed, looking down at his milk carton. "I did not get flustered."
"Uh, yeah you did! Your ears went all red." She grinned, triumphant. "See? Still in there."
He shook his head, but he was still smiling. It was easy, talking to her. There were no expectations, no competition. She wasn't trying to analyze his plays or figure out his meta-vision. She was just... Hana. A blast of fresh, uncomplicated air from a simpler time.
"So, you're back at Ichinan now?" she asked, hope coloring her voice.
"for now."
"Sweet! Okay, you have to sit with me at lunch. I need all the tea. And I'll make you a proper welcome-back bento. None of this conbini stuff." She winked. "My cooking skills have leveled up, just like your soccer."
Isagi looked at her—at her ridiculous, colorful hair, her too-bright smile, her genuine, no-strings-attached excitement to see him. In the ruthless world he'd just left, her kindness felt like a superpower.
"Yeah," he said, his voice quiet but sure. "I'd like that, Hana. A lot."
In the middle of Shibuya's chaos, surrounded by the ghosts of his newfound ego, Isagi Yoichi found something he didn't know he was missing: a connection. And for the first time since stepping out of Blue Lock, the constant, calculating whirring in his mind quieted down, replaced by the simple, warm feeling of being known.