Part 1 — Bachira’s biggest fan!
Synopsis: You were never really big into football… until you saw his face plastered across your tv screen.
The walk home from school was a long one. Your tired feet pad against the cobbled pavement as you stroll down the usual route back home, music blasting in your ears to occupy you from the boringly windy roads you’d seen a million times before.
Eventually, you round a corner into the slightly run-down neighbourhood you call home. It’s not the worst place to live in the city, but it could definitely use some work; the paint peeling off the aged wooden walls, the water that more often than not gets shut off due to the poor plumbing systems.
Each step up towards your front door reminds you of the importance to focus on your studies, your future—to make sure you get you and your family out of the draining living situation you’re currently in.
Making your way up the front steps, sighing softly, your hand lightly closes around the rusty metal handle—pushing it open and walking inside.
“Bro, I’m home!” You call out, locking the door behind you.
You step into the house, the familiar space around you slightly more comforting than the busy street outside. Dusty carpets, the scent of cigarettes in air; you were used to it all. Blurred childhood photos lined the pasted brick walls, taunting memories of when things used to be much, much simpler.
Your spiralling thoughts are suddenly interrupted by the loud buzz of the old tv your younger brother currently has his eyes glued to.
“Watcha’ watching?” You ask with a smile, sliding your backpack off and resting it on the floor against the worn, tattered couch.
“Football!” His little voice rings out, a little slurred due to his mouth being half-stuffed with popcorn.
Your curiosity gets the better of you, tilting your head as you take a seat next to him on the couch. He immediately reaches out, a tiny hand shaking your arm as the other points directly towards the tv.
“Look, look! It’s the Blue Lock 11 vs Under 20’s Japan! Isn’t that awesome?!” He squeals, eyes sparkling; his young, youthful face practically beaming with excitement.
“Blue… Lock? Isn’t that the crazy project made to find Japan a new world’s best striker…?”
Your 8-year-old brother turns to you with a smile wide enough to rival the Cheshires. “Mhm! The one that’s been in the news all year! I’ve been waiting weeks to watch it!”
His sheer devotion to this one match makes your eyes turn towards the tv. The screen flickers slightly, showcasing the match currently being broadcasted live on the old hunk of technology. Small blue and white dots stand out against the bright green grass of the field, moving and whizzing around way too fast for you to keep up.
The pitch is a whirlwind of activity; players passing the ball between each other, attacks and plays being made to get the tiny sphere of plastic up to the opposite end of the field and into the oppositions goal. The U-20s defence are skilled, a standout being the 6’3, green and blue haired brick wall at the centre of the back line; the name “AIKU” spread proudly across his back. He blocks play after play, leaping high during every corner and deflecting the ball away from his net. ‘He’s a real machine,’ you think. How will Blue Lock’s 11 be able to get past such a man?
You find yourself getting more into the game than you’d expected. Your eyes track every movement on the screen, over-analysing each and every move the players make. The flick of their ankles, the way their bodies move as the ball gets kicked between their feet—they’re certainly skilled, you can’t deny that.
But you find one of them in particular catching your eye more often than the others.
He’s quick but agile, dribbling past the defenders on the opposite team and making them look more like U-10’s than U-20’s. He’s so fast you find yourself being unable to keep track of him, his mind working in tandem with his legs and accumulating some of the most beautiful moves you’d ever seen from a singular person. It’s like you’re being hypnotised, drawn to the flick of his heels and the shift of his feet as he sends yet another opponent to the shops.
Before you know it, a counter attack is in play. The Blue Lock 11 are racing up the pitch, a sea of navy-coloured jerseys swarming in the midfield and bee-lining straight for the U-20s goal box. One, two, three passes between their attackers, and you feel your mind go blank. The gameplay is so fast, you can hardly keep track; and before you know it, that one particular player is bolting towards the penalty area, screaming his teammates name in request (demand) for the ball. The one with the black and yellow hair and the grin so wide it sends chills down your spine.
A flurry of movement, a pass, a shot and a—
“GGGOOOOOAAAAALLLL!!!”
The commentator roars, and the stadium on the tv erupts with cheers so loud you can practically feel it from your house on the other side of the damn country. Your brother leaps out of his chair, running around the room and screaming like a madman as if he were the one that scored the goal.
Cue the camera pointing directly at the goal-scorers face.
“With a spectacular pass from Yoichi Isagi, Meguru Bachira comes bursting through the defence with a magnificent finish! Blue Lock’s eleven are now in the lead!”
Meguru Bachira, what a pretty name.
It’s like the ground disappears from beneath your feet, feeling a little light-headed as you lean back in your seat. This random footballer your brother watches just happens to be the most handsome man on the face of the earth. You feel butterflies in your stomach, your mind racing a mile a minute—did you just fall in love at first sight? To a random footballer you didn’t even know the name of 20 seconds ago?
Your brother finally calms down enough to stop screaming, turning around to head back to his seat. Once he takes in your dazed expression, his little head turns in confusion.
“…Sis?” A tiny hand shakes you back to reality, and your eyes flick down to your brother. He seems worried over the fact you just completely spaced out for a solid minute—but in his 8-year-old brain, he thinks you must just really enjoy the match going on.
Oh, if only he knew it was because you felt your heart do a triple front-flip right there and then.
All over the sight of a certain bee-haired footballer.
Notice: Im well aware Bachira doesn’t actually score in the match between the U-20’s, but let’s just pretend he does okay?
This is the first of a multi-part series! I hope you all enjoyed it, as I just had to make a fic for my baby ofc :)