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Yukimiya was certain his eyesight was deteriorating faster than predicted, because that was the only possible explanation for why he was seeing five different Isagis inside the dorm room before five in the morning.
He blinked once, then twice, then a third time.
The Isagis were still there.
“Who turned on the light?” one of them muttered, his voice thick with sleep as he burrowed between the others and raised an arm to block the brightness. “It’s way too early, turn it off…”
On any other day, the scene would have been ridiculous. Instead, Yukimiya was completely frozen in place. There were Isagi miniatures, younger and older versions, all piled together on a bed that definitely had not been built to hold that many people. One of them, unmistakably a child, was sleeping deeply, curled against the chest of an adult Isagi as if that were the safest place in the world.
Yukimiya opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
The scream came a few seconds later.
“Why did you scream, Yukimiya?” Hiori appeared from the other bed, rubbing his eyes as he squinted into the room. “What’s going on—”
He stopped mid-sentence.
“What the hell is that?”
Hiori blinked twice, then a third time, like his brain was desperately trying to reboot. Kurona leaned out from behind him, craning his neck for a better look.
“Am I seeing things, or are there… a lot of Isagis?” he asked, genuinely curious.
“Five,” Yukimiya corrected, still in shock. “Five Isagis.”
“Oh.” Kurona thought about it for half a second. “Okay, that’s new.”
Ego Jinpachi stared at the scene in front of him with an expression that very few people ever had the privilege, or misfortune, of witnessing.
Pure disbelief.
His usually impassive, almost mechanical face had completely failed to process the five Isagis scattered across the dorm. There were too many versions of the same player, each at a different stage of life, as if time itself had folded just to mock him.
The tallest one, and probably the oldest, watched everything with a calm that should not have existed. His shirt was oddly oversized and loose for the number it should have been clinging to, doing little to hide his broad shoulders or the maturity in his posture, and his eyes were as steady as a calm ocean. There were piercings along his ear, his hair slightly longer, and he looked like something pulled straight out of a dream. He was holding the smallest Isagi, a child of around six years old who was far too small for his age and could easily be mistaken for a baby.
The silence was heavy and uncomfortable.
Ego was the first to break it, as if the situation were nothing more than a mild inconvenience, calmly opening yet another cup of instant noodles.
“So.” He peeled back the plastic lid with a dry snap. “Is someone going to explain this absurd situation?”
“I’m just as confused as you are,” the Isagi who looked like the original said, scratching the back of his neck nervously and avoiding eye contact. “I only woke up because Yukimiya screamed.”
He instinctively pointed at the boy with glasses.
Yukimiya immediately raised his hands in protest. “Hey, don’t blame me. Any normal person would scream after seeing this.” He gestured vaguely at the impossible collection of Isagis.
“Fair,” Anri murmured a few steps behind him, adjusting her glasses as she observed the scene with sharp, analytical focus, as if she were staring at an undocumented experiment.
Hiori rested a hand on his chin, thoughtful, his gaze drifting between the different versions of the striker with fascination. There was something strangely exciting about the situation. Multiple possibilities of the perfect player, including a child in a bear-patterned onesie being held by an Isagi who looked like something straight out of his deepest and most questionable fantasies.
“I’ve seen things like this in stories,” he said carefully. “But I never thought it could happen in real life.”
He would never admit that he read fanfiction.
“Oh.” The more mature Isagi chuckled softly, the sound far too light for someone who had just exposed a secret. “The Blue Lock fanfics you read so often really like this kind of setup.”
“—?!”
Hiori’s face instantly turned redder than Kurona’s hair.
“You read fanfics about us?” Kurona shot back without missing a beat. “Traitor. Absolute traitor.”
“N-No! I mean— maybe!” Hiori looked away, completely flustered. “But that’s not the point right now!”
He pointed far too quickly at the Isagis, as if trying to physically redirect the conversation.
“The point is them,” he said, eyes snapping back to the one who had exposed him. “And how do you even know that?!”
The older Isagi shrugged. “I’m from the future, right? And besides, we spent enough time together for you to tell me yourself. It’s not like I found out on my own.”
Hiori’s cheeks burned even hotter.
Anri cleared her throat, reclaiming her professional composure.
“Well…” She stepped closer, studying the two older figures carefully. “It appears we’re dealing with versions from the past and the future.” Her eyes sparkled. “This is fascinating. Who are you two?”
The two adult Isagis smiled at the same time.
Anri was absolutely certain Yukimiya almost had a heart attack. Kurona covered his mouth in awe.
“I’m probably the oldest,” said the one still holding the child carefully. “I’m thirty-one.” He paused deliberately. “And I’m married.”
He raised his hand, showing a diamond-and-sapphire ring on his finger.
Absolute silence.
“…,” the original Isagi visibly paled.
“M-Married?!” Kurona practically shouted.
“To who?!” Hiori asked before realizing he had spoken out loud.
“That’s not relevant right now,” Ego cut in, though the corner of his mouth twitched almost imperceptibly.
The second older Isagi laughed, running a hand through his hair.
“I’m not married,” he said easily. “But apparently I got engaged after winning the World Cup.”
“The World—”
That was when the original Isagi’s brain completely shut down.
He fainted.
“HEY!” Kurona caught him on reflex before he hit the floor. “That’s too much information. Isagi, wake up! Wake up!”
“Damn it, he already fainted during the Manchester match, twice in a row is dangerous!” Yukimiya and Hiori rushed to help, panicking as they tried to keep their teammate from fully losing consciousness.
“Married… married…” some of them muttered, not entirely focused on the unconscious boy.
“We won the World Cup?!” Anri forgot all protocol, tears filling her eyes. “That’s incredible!”
The youngest Isagi, likely still in elementary school, slowly opened his eyes and looked at the adults.
“Really…?” he asked hesitantly. “So I actually made it?”
“Twice,” the twenty-five-year-old Isagi replied, gently ruffling the child’s hair. “We beat Germany in 2022 and France in 2026, both in the finals.”
Anri covered her mouth, overwhelmed. Ego, for the first time in a long while, smiled with genuine pride.
“You make it sound like I barely did anything in my year,” the oldest joked softly, his longer hair tied in a small topknot, black eyeliner accentuating his confident gaze.
“Don’t say that,” the other replied. “Now that we’re talking about the future…” He hesitated. “I wonder if I’m still with him, since you’re married.”
Curiosity, anticipation, and faint nervousness filled the air.
The oldest smiled. “Yes. We’re actually about to celebrate five years of marriage.”
The other didn’t look surprised. He had already assumed his beloved partner would have acted fast to keep Isagi away from what he liked to call predators.
“Hey, who are you talking about—”
Before Yukimiya could finish the question everyone wanted answered, Ego stepped in.
“Alright, enough.” He sighed. “Relationships aren’t our concern. Wake up the current Isagi and get out of my office. Idiots interrupting someone’s meal are a nuisance.”
He waved them away dismissively.
Ego dumped an entire bottle of mayonnaise into his instant noodles. The oldest Isagi immediately wrinkled his nose, his senses far sharper than before, and since they were all still the same Isagi, the child made a face in his sleep as well, his sense of smell reacting before his consciousness. Then he opened his eyes and, seeing strange people in an unfamiliar place, started crying loudly, a sound that instantly squeezed Anri’s heart and the chest of the Isagi holding him.
The oldest didn’t panic, making soft noises and humming quietly as he adjusted the child into a more comfortable position against his body.
“Jinpachi, that smell is disgusting,” the second oldest shouted. “We have sensitive noses, please consider your eating habits like you used to.”
Ego froze for a second at being called by his first name. “Like I used to?”
The oldest silenced the other Isagi with a subtle gesture, unwilling to spoil all the fun by revealing too much of the future too quickly.
“Maybe he’s hungry?” Anri said urgently, seeing that the crying wasn’t stopping. “I can prepare a bottle.” Her chest tightened at the sight of the small striker sobbing. “Ego, please close that cup of noodles.”
Ego rolled his eyes but complied.
“Just take him out of here,” he said, turning back to his food. “He’s awake anyway.”
He didn’t want his breakfast interrupted by a crying child, even though, deep down, he thought his miniature version of a son was oddly adorable.
The original Isagi finally came to, groggy.
“What a weird dream” he muttered, rubbing his eyes as he sat up on Ego’s couch. “I dreamed there were a bunch of versions of me and one of them won the World Cup and—”
He looked around.
The child he recognized from his mother’s photo albums was crying in the arms of a mature version of himself, while the rest of Blue Lock scrambled around trying to calm him.
“Alright,” he breathed out. “Not a dream.”
He accepted it surprisingly easily. After all, what else could you expect from the king of adaptation?
They all hurried out of Ego’s office, nearly fleeing, afraid a vein in the man’s head might finally burst if he was stopped from taking another bite of mayonnaise-covered noodles. The door slammed shut behind them with a heavy thud that sounded like a warning.
In the hallway, the child’s crying gradually softened, the sobs spacing out until he settled against the chest of the older Yoichi carrying him, his small hands clutching the fabric of his shirt as if it were the only solid thing in that strange world.
“Shhh,” the older Isagi murmured, gently rocking him. The child sniffled once more and curled in closer, burying his face against his chest.
“Alright,” Anri said, automatically taking charge again as she pulled out her phone and typed quickly. “You’ll need to go to the cafeteria and get a bottle.”
She looked up from the screen. “I’ll personally get some things for the little one. Clothes, maybe some toys. Something to distract him.”
Yoichi stepped forward, worried. “But Ms. Anri, the cafeteria doesn’t have bottles. What do we do?”
As he spoke, he instinctively wrapped his jacket more securely around the child. He remembered well how sensitive he had always been to the cold.
Anri thought for a moment, then removed her ID card and handed it to him.
“Scan this,” she explained. “Use the custom order option.” She shrugged. “Don’t worry about the cost.”
She earned more than enough as the director of the program that had won the nation’s U-20.
Isagi looked slightly embarrassed but accepted the card, bowing lightly with a smile.
“Alright. Thank you very much, Ms. Anri.”
The eight of them, including five versions of himself, which still felt unreal, moved through the facility’s corridors that stretched like a maze of concrete and white light.
“I forgot how absurdly standardized Blue Lock is,” the oldest Isagi laughed, gently rubbing the child’s back as he nearly drifted off again. “Everything looks the same. One wrong turn and you’re lost.”
“I still get lost,” Kurona admitted shamelessly.
“Hm.” Yukimiya cleared his throat. “So, Isagi.”
The older one looked at him attentively.
“What’s the future like?”
The question was simple, but heavy with expectation. Isagi took a few seconds before answering, choosing his words carefully.
“Well…” He smiled faintly. “You end up consolidating two careers.” He said it casually. “And you earn very well as the face of both sports and luxury magazines.”
Yukimiya blushed slightly. “Really?” he murmured, half in disbelief.
It was a good answer. A great one. But not everything he wanted to know.
Kurona, who had clearly been holding back this entire time, stepped forward immediately.
“What about me?” he pointed at himself. “Do we still play together?”
The second older Isagi answered before the other could speak.
“Without a doubt,” he grinned. “Actually…”
He looked excited as he remembered. “It was insanely fun when we scored the winning goal against Boca Juniors in that friendly.”
“Against Boca?!” Kurona’s eyes widened.
“We won,” the other confirmed proudly.
“Oh.” Kurona nodded repeatedly. “Cool. Really cool.”
Mentally, he promised himself he’d train twice as hard, determined not to disappoint either present or future Yoichi.
“And me?” Hiori pointed at himself, almost shy.
The two older Isagis exchanged a glance and answered in unison.
“It wouldn’t have happened without you.”
Hiori blinked.
“We only scored against Ubers because of your passes,” they added.
The Bastard trio stopped abruptly in the corridor.
“Wait.” Yoichi’s eyes widened. “You’re kidding?” His heart raced. The match against Ubers was only a week away. “We beat Barou?”
“Mhm,” one of the older Isagis hummed, clearly pleased. “Though maybe we shouldn’t have told you that yet.”
He smiled like a satisfied fox.
Yukimiya frowned. Something felt off.
“Wait.”
He looked at the group again and started counting on his fingers.
“One… two… three… four…” He frowned deeper. “Four?”
His gaze darted down the corridor.
“Where’s the fifth Isagi?”
“Huh?” Kurona looked around, alarmed. “He was right next to me a second ago.”
The Isagi who was slightly younger than the current one was gone.
“Oh, shit,” the three Yoichis said in unison.
Hiori blinked. “Huh? What’s the problem? We’ll just find him.”
The three Isagis exchanged looks.
“How do I put this,” Yoichi scratched the back of his neck, uncomfortable. “My pre-Blue Lock self is kind of…”
“Shy,” the oldest finished without thinking.
“A complete idiot crushed by the horrific Japanese football system,” the other added mercilessly.
“A startled deer,” Yoichi concluded.
The Bastard trio stood in silence for a few seconds.
Then Kurona muttered, “Oh.”
Yukimiya sighed deeply.
“We’re screwed?”
Isagi walked through the identical corridors of the facility, his footsteps echoing in a hypnotic rhythm. He had no idea which sector he was in, everything looked the same, and lost in thought, he didn’t even realize when he separated from the others.
His mind was still trying to process the absurd information that he had won the World Cup. Twice. His other selves had looked so confident, so secure in their football, their careers, their worth. Unlike him now.
Not that he thought he was bad. Far from it. But his coach still insisted he was too selfish on the field.
Isagi shook his head, pushing the thoughts away.
“There’s nothing wrong with being selfish,” he muttered. “At least on the field.”
He didn’t have time to think further.
THUMP.
He collided hard with something solid. The impact was strong enough to send him stumbling backward and dropping onto the floor, his vision spinning briefly.
“What kind of wall is this?” he thought dazedly.
When he looked up, he froze.
It was like standing face to face with a polar bear.
The boy in front of him was easily close to two meters tall. White hair, apathetic eyes, and a completely uninterested expression created a presence far too intimidating for someone as small as Isagi felt right now.
He tried to speak. Nothing came out. He had never seen someone that tall. Or that scary.
“Hey, Isagi,” a deep voice came from above. “What are you doing in the Manchester wing?”
The boy didn’t move to help him up.
“If Chris catches you here, he’ll skin you alive.”
Isagi trembled.
Chris? Who the hell was Chris?
And wait.
Why was he talking like they were familiar?
Oh.
Right.
This was the future.
That polar bear probably knew his future self.
“But…” the boy tilted his head, finally looking closer. “Did you shrink?”
“Why do you look so short?”
Isagi felt his self-esteem take a direct hit, made worse when Nagi lifted him by the armpits like he weighed nothing.
“Nagi,” Isagi said as the name clicked in his head. “Why are you holding me? Please put me down.”
Nagi looked him up and down, like he was a plush teddy bear he’d kill to use as a pillow on cold nights. That was when he noticed how quiet this Isagi was, how small his body seemed, his face innocently flushed and hazy with confusion.
The difference was stark.
“So cute.”
“Ah… I—” Isagi froze, swallowing hard. He was afraid of saying the wrong thing and ruining his own future.
“Nagi, you idiot!”
The new voice was sharp with irritation.
“I can’t believe you ditched training again!” The approaching figure had purple hair and an almost offensively striking beauty. “Chris is furious!”
Isagi’s panic spiked instantly.
“Isagi came to visit us,” Nagi explained calmly, as if that justified everything, holding Isagi up like both a trophy and a perfect excuse.
Reo took a closer look at Isagi and, unlike Nagi, immediately sensed something was wrong. He looked smaller, not just physically but in presence, tenser and much shyer, especially in Nagi’s arms, which only made him shrink further.
“Isagi!” Reo smiled, setting aside his observations. “Did you come to brag about beating us?”
He laughed. “If Chris sees you, he’ll kill you. He doubled the training intensity after you stopped his shot.”
Isagi’s expression shifted in seconds from surprise to shock and then to complete pallor.
“Beat?” He swallowed. “What are you talking about?”
He already had an idea. But his football-obsessed mind needed confirmation.
Nagi and Reo exchanged stunned looks.
Without a word, they started walking toward the field. Isagi followed a few steps behind, small and hunched, almost like a shadow.
“Are you really okay?” Reo suddenly stopped and placed a hand on Isagi’s forehead. “After you fainted, you didn’t have any other symptoms, right?”
The younger Isagi’s face turned red instantly, a deep, genuine red, like a middle schooler caught off guard, which he technically was.
“I-I’m fine…” he stammered.
Something unexpected stirred in Nagi’s chest.
That Isagi was absurdly cute.
Reo was not far behind that thought either, though he would absolutely deny it if asked.
“Hey, Isagi!” Another voice called out from ahead.
The automatic doors slid open, revealing a massive training field stretching far beyond what Isagi had expected. Dozens of players wearing the same uniform trained relentlessly, the sound of cleats against grass and shouted instructions filling the air. Among them stood a red-haired girl, striking even from afar, and an older blond man who did not seem to have noticed Isagi’s presence yet.
“Chigiri, look who decided to honor us with his presence!” Reo teased loudly.
Chigiri? So he is a guy?!
Isagi’s cheeks burned even redder as he realized the sheer stupidity of his mental mistake.
Before he could fully sink into shame, something else caught his attention.
The older blond man went rigid.
Very rigid.
He turned slowly, abandoning the player he had clearly been instructing moments before, and locked eyes directly with Isagi.
“Hey, Chris. Are you sure that angle makes the shot more effective?” The assistant coach started walking closer. “Where are you going?”
The stare was sharp, almost predatory.
“So you are here, you damn little brat?!”
Then he ran.
Fast enough that Isagi reconsidered his entire life in the span of seconds, with absolutely no guarantee that he would live long enough to reach any of his older future versions.
“HUH—?!” was all Isagi managed to think.
“CHRIS, YOU IDIOT!” Chigiri shouted as he sprinted after him.
“Hey, Chris, do not suffocate him over a misunderstanding!” one of the foreign players laughed while watching the coach chase the poor target of his complaints for the entire day.
The pressure of everything, the future, professional players, the potentially homicidal coach, was too much for small, innocent Isagi.
He felt his soul leave his body.
Mentally, it flipped everyone off and stuck out its tongue before floating toward the sky with a cute little angel halo.
Nagi caught the boy before he hit the grass, just in time to see a tiny ghost pop out of Isagi’s chest and drift upward.
“What the hell?” he frowned, then reached up and forcefully grabbed the little soul, shoving it straight back where it belonged.
Isagi’s body went completely limp in Nagi’s arms, unconscious as if someone had simply switched off his power button. He was surprisingly light, far too light for someone who, in their memories, was an infuriatingly resilient professional striker.
Nagi looked down at the boy, then at the empty air, then back again.
“Huh? Isagi?” Reo called when he noticed the boy in Nagi’s arms.
“Hm?”
“Looks like the Blue Lock kid fainted again,” Agi commented casually as he walked by.
“…I do not think he is waking up,” he added, using the same tone someone would use to comment on the weather.
Chris skidded to a halt as if he had slammed into an invisible wall. His eyes widened the moment he realized Isagi was not reacting.
“What do you mean he is not waking up?” he said slowly, more to himself than anyone else.
Nagi blinked. “It means he is not opening his eyes and—”
“I know what unconscious means!” the older blond shouted.
“Isagi?” Chigiri rushed closer. “Hey, Isagi. Wake up.”
Nothing.
Chigiri frowned and crouched down, shaking the boy’s shoulder a bit harder. “You have got to be kidding me. He just woke up from the last fainting episode and now this?”
Chris started sweating cold. “Maybe he has narcolepsy…”
Reo arrived moments later, scanning the situation far too quickly for someone pretending to stay calm.
“He is not waking up?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“No,” Chigiri replied flatly. “And this is getting weird.”
Chris laughed nervously, running a hand through his blond hair. “It is probably just drama,” he tried to joke.
Reo took a deep breath and then spoke loudly enough for everyone nearby to hear.
“If Noa finds out that his team’s main player fainted on Manchester’s field, he is going to ban our meals or something.”
Silence fell like a brick.
Chris froze.
He did not speak. He did not answer. He did not blink.
Internally, his soul reacted exactly the same way Isagi’s had a few minutes earlier.
“Okay,” he said finally, too fast. “Plan B. Has anyone tried light slaps to the face?”
Before anyone could respond, he was already leaning over Isagi.
“Chris, you cannot hit an unconscious person!” Agi shouted, somehow becoming the voice of reason in that sea of insanity as he ran to grab cold water and a cloth.
“Hey, champ,” Chris gave two extremely unconvincing taps to Isagi’s cheek. “Wake up. Do not faint under my watch. Please.” His last word came out far quieter.
Nothing.
“Agi?” He forced a smile and called out. “I think we are going to need water.”
The dark-haired player returned, already soaking the cloth. “I already brought it and—”
“Thanks,” the blond said, placing the cloth on Isagi’s forehead, which was starting to get damp with stress sweat.
“That was not for you!” Agi snapped, yanking the cloth away. “Get lost!”
Chigiri crossed his arms, clearly losing patience. “This is your fault.”
Chris swallowed.
“Okay,” he said again. “Plan C.”
He crouched lower, bringing his face uncomfortably close to Isagi’s, observing him with exaggerated focus.
“He is breathing, right?”
Nagi tilted his head.
“…I think so.”
“You think?” Chris repeated, his voice rising.
Reo knelt on the other side and placed two fingers against Isagi’s neck.
“He is breathing,” he confirmed. “Pulse is normal.”
Chris let out a breath so heavy it sounded like he had narrowly escaped death. “Great. Great.” He nodded several times. “Everything is under control.”
Chigiri narrowed his eyes.
“You are shaking.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
Chris ignored him completely.
“This is your fault. We are going to get the worst lecture from Ego and Noa because of you,” Reo warned.
“What? Why me specifically?” Chris protested.
Chigiri stared at him like he was the dumbest person alive. “Because you ran at him like a maniac!”
“He stopped me from becoming the greatest in the world. I was upset!” Chris yelled back. “Well, sometimes…” He cleared his throat. “Sometimes direct stimuli help.”
Reo frowned. “What kind of stimulus?”
Chris thought for half a second too long. “Mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.”
The entire field seemed to stop.
“What?” Chigiri exploded instantly.
“No way,” Reo said, grabbing Chigiri’s arm before he could lunge. “He is not drowning!”
“I am just saying it is an option!” Chris defended himself, already leaning closer.
“Chris, I swear I will kill you!"
Reo held him back with enough force to prevent murder.
“You are not kissing an unconscious Isagi,” he said firmly. “That is weird even for you. Unless…” Reo paused, then looked at Chris like he was an insect. “Unless you like kissing unconscious minors.”
Chris raised his hands, offended. “I am trying to save my job!”
“You are insane,” Chigiri shot back.
Nagi, still holding Isagi with surprising care for someone so apathetic, watched everything in silence. Without warning, he lifted a hand and flicked Isagi lightly on the forehead.
No reaction.
“…Hm,” Nagi murmured. “That usually works.”
Chris rubbed his face. “This is bad.” He started pacing. “If Ego finds out, he kills me. If Noa finds out, he buries me alive.”
Reo sighed deeply. “Maybe,” he hesitated, “maybe it is just shock.”
Chigiri inhaled slowly. “Then we take him to the infirmary.”
Chris stopped. “…The infirmary?” he repeated, like it was a forbidden word.
“Yes,” Agi confirmed. “Where unconscious people usually go, idiot.”
Chris closed his eyes for a second. “Okay,” he said. “But fast.” Ideally, fast enough so that neither Noa nor Ego notice their student's absence.
At that moment, Isagi’s fingers twitched slightly.
Everyone froze.
“…He moved,” Nagi commented.
Chris practically threw himself forward. “Isagi?” he called too loudly. “Isagi, wake up. Please.”
The boy remained limp, breathing calmly, completely unconscious, like someone who simply refused to deal with that reality for now.
Chigiri sighed. “He is not waking up.”
Chris ran his hands through his hair, defeated. “I hate children,” he muttered.
And somewhere far away, Isagi’s small soul, now forcibly returned to his body, decided it needed a few more minutes before facing that future.
The cafeteria was strangely silent.
That was unusual. The space was almost always buzzing with voices, clattering plates, arguments about football, and cheap provocations. At that specific hour, however, it felt abandoned, as if the universe had decided to grant them a break.
When the group entered, the reaction was collective.
“Thank God,” Kurona muttered, looking around.
The oldest Isagi entered last, holding the baby with absolute care. The child was awake now, quiet, small eyes observing everything with cautious curiosity. He did not cry or complain. He simply analyzed, as if already trying to understand his surroundings, which honestly surprised no one.
“Okay,” said the second oldest Isagi, already moving. “Me and Isagi, God this is weird to say, will handle the bottle.”
“Right,” Yoichi nodded quickly, still tense. “Before he associates the cafeteria with trauma.”
They walked toward the customized order area, leaving the rest near the tables.
Kurona dragged a chair with his foot and sat sideways, arms resting on the backrest as he observed.
“…It is weird,” he commented. “But kind of obvious.”
“What is?” Hiori asked.
“Him,” Kurona gestured vaguely toward the older Isagi. “Holding the baby.”
Yukimiya adjusted his glasses, paying closer attention now. The older Isagi did not look uncomfortable at all. His arm was firm, body angled to support, the child clinging naturally to him, breathing in his scent and playing with his hair.
“Yeah,” Yukimiya agreed. “It does not look forced.”
The baby let out a soft sound, fingers tugging gently at the blue strands.
“Careful, my hair is not a toy,” the older Isagi murmured instinctively.
Hiori blinked, a small smile appearing before he noticed. He would keep that image of Isagi holding a miniature version of himself forever.
“It is literally you,” he said. “Of course he is calm.”
The older Isagi chuckled softly. “I know exactly what goes through his head. Too much noise, too many strangers, different smells. It scares him.”
The baby blinked slowly, as if agreeing.
Kurona leaned forward. “…So,” he started casually, far too curious. “You said you are married.”
The older Isagi raised an eyebrow, amused. “I did.”
“Cool,” Kurona nodded. “Very cool.” Silence.
No one continued.
Yukimiya cleared his throat. “I imagine they are patient,” he commented, glancing at the baby. “To deal with you and your on-field crises.”
“I do not have on-field crises,” Isagi protested, then smiled. “But yes, he is patient. At least with me.”
Hiori bit the inside of his cheek. “They must understand football, since you are obsessed.”
“Very much so,” Isagi agreed. “He is just as obsessed as I am. We are similar.”
The ordering machine beeped as the current Isagi and the second oldest returned, one holding a warm bottle.
“We got it,” Yoichi said, relieved.
“Perfect,” the older Isagi said, sitting and adjusting the baby on his lap.
The child eyed the bottle suspiciously, then accepted it, gripping it with both small hands and drinking eagerly.
“…My God,” Kurona whispered. “He is adorable.”
“That should be illegal,” Hiori agreed.
The current Isagi looked away, embarrassed. “I was not like that.”
After a few minutes, everyone seated, the atmosphere softened. The child seemed full, heavier, eyelids drooping.
Yukimiya broke the silence. “Can I ask one more thing?”
“Sure,” the older Isagi replied, amused. “What will it be this time, the future?”
“You seem good with kids,” Yukimiya gestured. “And calmer than the other two.”
“I am working on it,” the second oldest defended himself quickly, Yoichi agreeing.
The older Isagi looked at the baby. “I read a lot,” he said simply. “I prepared.”
“For a baby?” Yoichi asked, heart strangely warm.
“For everything,” he replied.
Hiori tilted his head. “That is not common.”
“I had a good reason,” the older Isagi confessed.
He placed the child gently in the chair beside him, small legs swinging.
His hand rested on his belly.
Nothing dramatic, the ring caught the light. It was enough, no one breathed.
Kurona froze first. “…Wait,” he whispered.
The NEL Isagi went pale.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“It is exactly that,” the older Isagi said calmly.
And then, as if that still were not enough, he opened his coat just a little.
The swell was subtle, discreet, but impossible to deny. Beneath muscles that were still well-defined, there was a curve far too soft to be ignored. For a brief second, and Isagi would later swear he had not imagined it, something seemed to move.
The current Isagi’s eyes rolled back.
“HEY—!”
Kurona shot to his feet, his chair scraping far too loudly against the floor, the sound sharp enough to make the baby lift his head for half a second before resting his cheek back against the table, completely oblivious to the collective collapse around him. Kurona managed to catch Isagi before he hit the ground for the second time that day.
“Isagi, do not pass out again!” he whispered in absolute panic, adjusting the limp body in his arms. “There is a child here, two actually! I mean, there is you here, I mean— damn it, I am nervous! I think I might pass out too!”
“No!” Hiori jumped up quickly, gripping Kurona’s shoulder with enough force to anchor him back to reality. “No, for the love of God. It is already bad enough that our Isagi keeps oscillating between the spiritual plane and the human one!”
The baby, completely indifferent, yawned. Then he rested his forehead against the cold table, heavy-lidded eyes finally surrendering to sleep. After eating, the nap always came. Especially for someone who clearly did not sleep as much as he should, considering how small he was for his age.
Yukimiya raised a hand to his mouth, eyes wide behind his glasses, his brain working far too fast to properly process what was happening.
“…Preg—” He cut himself off halfway through the word, instinctively lowering his voice. “…you are expecting a baby?”
The older Isagi lifted his eyes to him, far too calm for someone who had just dropped an emotional bomb of that magnitude onto the table.
“Yes,” he replied quietly. “I am fifteen weeks along.”
Hiori froze completely.
His shock was not explosive. It was the quiet kind, the kind that happened when something simply did not fit into any known line of logic. He blinked once. Then again. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.
The second oldest Isagi, who had been the most composed so far, leaned forward slowly, bracing his elbows against the table as if that were the only thing keeping him upright. He was just as pale as the NEL version still clutched in Kurona’s arms.
“…Wait,” he said, his voice faltering just a bit. “Hold on.”
He looked directly at the other Isagi, eyes wide in a way that was almost vulnerable.
“You are serious?” he asked. “Like… actually serious?”
“Yes,” the older one confirmed without hesitation.
“But—” He swallowed hard, brow furrowing with genuine confusion. “But I never… we never… you never even seemed interested in having kids.” He tangled himself up in pronouns, referring to someone else who was, quite literally, himself! Now he finally understood Kurona’s mental struggle.
The older Isagi let out a low laugh.
“I know,” he said simply. “I thought the same.”
The current Isagi let out a weak groan in Kurona’s arms. “I won the World Cup,” he murmured. “I am married and I had a kid.”
“Why do you sound so depressed?” Hiori shot back immediately. “Technically, your life is set.” Internally, he prayed to the heavens and to gods he did not even believe in that Isagi’s baby would be born with soft baby-blue hair, suspiciously similar to a certain someone’s.
Yukimiya took a deep breath, trying to organize his thoughts. “So you planned it?” he asked carefully.
“I did,” the older Isagi replied. “I studied. I read. I went to therapy. I talked a lot.” He shrugged. “It was not an impulsive decision.”
Kurona’s eyes widened. “You went to therapy?”
“I still do,” he corrected.
That was almost as shocking as the pregnancy itself, and Yoichi did not miss the collective reaction.
“Why is me doing therapy the confusing part?” he blurted out, far too nervous to filter his words. “Someone literally put a baby inside of me!”
Hiori finally found his voice. “But,” he began slowly, “who?”
Silence spread across the table once more.
The older Isagi smiled faintly. “Who knows?”
Yoichi panicked even more. “Oh my God, am I a single dad?!”
“No, you idiot,” the second Isagi said, dragging a hand down his face. “I mean… I do not think he would leave me.”
“And how exactly did this happen?” Hiori asked before he could stop himself. “Like—” He made a vague gesture, instantly regretting it. “You know.”
The older Isagi raised an eyebrow. “You mean the process? I am not sure that is very comfortable to share, even though I am pretty open about my sex life.”
“No!” Yoichi and Hiori answered in unison, the latter unsure whether he was about to have a nosebleed or intrusive fantasies involving far too much detail.
Yukimiya hesitated half a second too long. “…Maybe just a little?”
Kurona spun toward him, face as red as his hair. “Shut up, shut up!”