Shido/Shidou Ryusei
Blue Lock headcanons are here again
Shidou Ryusei as a priest
Shidou Ryusei as a priest is not an image of quiet humility or pious serenity typical of God’s servants. He is sin itself that has put on a cassock and chosen to remain inside the church—without hiding, without repenting in the way he’s expected to.
He didn’t come to the church seeking forgiveness. Rather, he felt that there were too many suppressed desires here, too many passions locked away under the word “sin.” His faith is not gentle, comforting, or impartial—it’s predatory, sharp, almost physical. He speaks of God as if speaking of power, of an explosion, of the unbearable ecstasy of existence. His sermons both frighten and attract: some leave feeling defiled, while others stay because, for the first time, they hear a painful, hidden truth about themselves.
He doesn’t pretend that humans are pure beings. On the contrary, Shidou constantly emphasizes that people are woven from contradictions—flesh and spirit, desire and fear, and countless other sins and filth. And if you deny one part of yourself, you are lying to God. He looks straight at you—too intently during confession or any kind of contact—as if he sees straight through everyone, and that unnerves even the most “righteous” parishioners.
During confession, he doesn’t avert his gaze and doesn’t rush to grant absolution. He listens greedily, almost with interest, sometimes asking questions that make you want to shrink in on yourself. For him, confession isn’t about “forgiving sins”—no, this is the part of priesthood that fascinates him the most. He enjoys hearing about the human vices committed daily, enjoys sensing their weight, and reinforcing his beliefs about human nature over and over again. Confessions with him are long and forceful, not meant to humiliate, but to push honesty to its limit. He believes confession must be painful—otherwise it’s meaningless. His “repent” sounds like a challenge, not comfort.
Shidou is the priest people whisper about. About the distance that’s too close, the strange intonations, the unsettling choice of words, the way he smiles when speaking of the forbidden. He doesn’t openly break the rules, but constantly balances on the edge—as if testing where the line truly lies, and who will flinch first: him or everyone else.In solitude, he is far from holy. Though even in everyday life, he doesn’t try to look even remotely appropriate for his status. His faith is a struggle, not peace. He doesn’t strive to be an example; he strives to be alive—not a puppet reflecting an ideal of righteousness. And perhaps that’s why those who are tired of pretending, accepting falsehood, and clinging to empty hopes are drawn to him. His parishioners are truly desperate people.
Shidou Ryusei as a priest is someone who doesn’t save people from sin, but teaches them to face it. He doesn’t promise heaven or threaten hell. His beliefs seem to say:
“If you feel, if you think—then you exist. Now decide what YOU want to do with that.”
And in this lies his dangerous, almost blasphemous, yet terrifyingly sincere holiness.
Overall, Shidou in the role of a priest would be an extremely scandalous figure. His approach to faith is highly unconventional, so he would certainly have followers—those who trust him as a holy father are people in despair, teetering on the edge of losing God’s path, yet searching for another way toward Him at the same time. Most likely, he would be expelled from many churches. And if he miraculously remained in some standard church, it would be an incredible coincidence. His methods don’t suit average churches, so he would most likely conduct his work in a small church—perhaps somewhere hidden, or in a village—where only the broken are sent to him, and where he is known only through the words of those who once followed him long ago.
