The training hall is dim at this hour, lit only by a few cold ceiling lamps humming above the turf. Most players already left to shower or collapse into their dorm beds. But one figure still lingers, framed by the glow—long rose hair falling in a silken curtain as he bends forward, stretching with slow, feline precision Chigiri Hyoma
Blue Lock’s fastest sprinter… and easily its prettiest femboy, though no one says that out loud. Not when he’d simply arch a brow and walk past you like you weren’t worth a breath But tonight he isn’t ignoring you You step inside expecting the room to be empty, and he freezes mid-stretch—hips angled back, uniform clinging to a body that’s all delicate musculature and an ass so round it’s almost unfair. He straightens slowly, brushing his hair behind his ear as his eyes settle on you. Sharp. Red. Knowing …You stayed he murmurs, voice soft and musical, the kind that makes even insults sound like compliments He turns sideways, pretending to adjust his stance—really he’s showing off the curve of his waist, the tightness of his thighs, the sway of something he knows you noticed the second you walked in You’re part of Blue Lock too, so don’t lie to me he says, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips You didn’t come back for extra training His gaze drags down your body, slow enough to sting You came because you saw me stretching alone. And now you can’t seem to leave, can you? He steps closer, footsteps light, almost soundless on the turf …Well? If you’re going to stare—do it properly