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Was it always going to be like this, from the very beginning?
Ego wondered. And wondered. And wondered. He couldn’t pin the matter of it all down. On one half, he didn’t give a shit about anything beyond the brats' continuous, explosive growth. As long as they didn’t fall of the side, consumed themselves into weakness, devolved back to the garbage that plagued most of this little country's rotten vision of soccer, than Ego was content to leave them to their personal lives.
And yet.
Isagi Yoichi.
It was you, always.
Ego had screens upon screens at his fingertips, eyes in the shadow of every channel of Blue's Lock's skeleton, expanded into a web of technical beauty only he can work alive. To orchestrate, one must control, must obsess to execute. Ego, even in the stages of nitpicking candidates for Blue Lock's project, was maneuvering and discarding and sifting the precious few gems he could find from the common shit.
And once he'd gotten to Isagi Yoichi, the Undefeated Striker of Saitama, well. It was only right to exhaust all available footage of the boy.
What he'd found—
(The rumors didn’t even come close to the real thing.)
Ego's grin had split across like a fracture in ice, yet the chill bore out of the heat of an erupting star. His heart had pinched, his lungs crushed under the sheer monstrous potential.
Isagi Yoichi was the strangest contradiction between clumsy and cruel. His plays were innumerable in victories, yet could not be described as anything humane. He destroyed with an efficiency that bordered unnatural.
Ego wanted it. To test against it, bend it, mutilate it, chip away at its defense. If possible, he wanted to destroy it, rebuild it, forge a stronger shield.
(Isagi lived to defy. Ego would learn that in the future.)
So, it goes without saying, that while Ego didn’t care for the personal, inconsequential lives and feelings and teenage drama of his priso— Players, Isagi's involvement was too sewn in to ignore the happenings in Blue Lock.
And Ego, even before understanding it, watched Isagi’s influence web and strangle across every poor soul that had the privilege misfortune of being in his line of sight.
It was, unquestionably, the most calamitous thing to be born in Blue Lock.
Perhaps it was another one of the things that remained unexplained about Isagi Yoichi: that ability to unheave peace and break apart the Players’ mind and rebuild them again with a cold-cut, vixen gaze and unyielding hands, to be better.
Ego’s smile widened to a terrible thing.
He’s never believed that hogwash about the limits of dynamics. To him, they were the starting lines of conquering nature itself. It was only the general public, with its mindless consumption of traditional, shit views, that were held back by no one other than themselves.
But Isagi Yoichi… omega he was, but there was absolutely nothing gentle about the way he inspired mania, that delirious sort of devotion.
It was crazy.
(It was Blue Lock.)
Reo hated him.
Isagi had taken the one thing he’d found for himself, a treasure in a lazy, fluffy giant, his heart just outside his chest, and didnt even glance twice as his Nagi went up to him and declared himself his second in command.
Everything. Everything was so effortless for him.
He wasn’t rich like Reo, but he was visibly well off. He wasn’t handsome like Reo, but his beauty had an unmistakable allure to it. He wasn’t social like Reo, yet people flocked to him.
He wasn’t Reo, and he was better off for it.
Isagi could influence people like a dictator, and Reo believed he’d never be one of his little admirers. He’d been so, so sure, so why—
Why does he wonders what it would be like to take a chunk off his neck, why does his eyes fall to him the minute he’s there (as if he were Rin), why does his hands go clammy, wanting to grab him, throw him, force him on his knees and cry—
No, Reo doesn’t wonder. He’s not so weak to let himself be ruled by an omega so shameless.
No, Reo was more than his urge.
(At the sight of that pale, unclaimed neck, Reo’s teeth ached with hate.)
Nagi wanted him.
In more ways than he’d ever thought possible for someone like him.
Isagi was a phenomenon, something occuring outside the realm of normal, like an eclipse you’d see once in you life, and be left aching to relive again.
Nagi couldn’t stop himself from prowling around him even if people begged. Like a whirlpool, Isagi sucked him in, kept drawing him back to those deepsea blue depths, his own void coming apart under that endless pressure of dominion.
(His curiosity was his ego, and it coiled at Isagi. What he was used to filling with temporary platitudes, little knickknacks of information—always a what, why, how—suddenly expanded to something incomprehensible, something that couldn’t be satiated in a single hour, a single day, a week, and Nagi wanted to know why.)
Nagi hasn’t met a ton of omegas, so he doesn’t know, but do they all feel like this? Do omegas make you hungry? Starving? Are they all strong and strange and dangerous, like Isagi? Do they make you want to be better than you are, like Isagi? Do they all feel like a storm that’s just been formed, like Isagi? Are they all so destructively, beautifully unreachable, like Isagi?
It was too much thinking. Nagi didn’t think. Didn’t like doing it. It’s a drag. Too much effort.
So why Isagi?
What about Isagi was so captivating?
Why did Nagi want to dominate him? Ruin him?
(Nagi grunted. Those eyes held the leash of his collar, and Nagi wanted nothing more than to rever them.)
Rin couldn’t forget him.
Even if he wanted to, it wasn’t possible. Isagi Yoichi’s existence had imprinted itself on him since that day, as unmovable as the sky.
He wasn’t the only one to be devastated that day, but his brother was quieter in his ruin. Rin. Rin’s was loud. It shook the world, and tilted it sideways, for good measure.
(Maybe their dream fractured as early as then.)
He’d fought, against his own weakness, his own agony, his own shortcomings, just to show that he wouldn’t get left behind.
By his brother, or Isagi.
Ans then he’d found him again, his slippery, illusive omega trapped in a prison of a madman’s manic design. With him. It was the only place Rin could find and corner him in.
And here, is where Rin’s desire would hollow into something more, a borderline obsession of the most disgusting degree. Isagi Yoichi was tangible, for the first time in years. Rin could touch him.
(That is Rin first victory against Sae.)
Saliva thickened his tongue, a yawning hunger striking him to the core. In his weakest moments, Rin wanted to bite and claim. Damn the consequences.
(Rin swallowed. Isagi’s throat was so tempting, his blood and swollen glands would be beautiful bitten raw against his pale skin.)
Isagi Yoichi was the sort of creature that unconsciously demanded adoration.
It came with everything else, all the things Blue Lock tore out of them. It was how each of them, at varying stages, in conflicting emotions, in the tears and sore muscles and new dreams, when weakness is killed and ego is born, couldn’t stop this kind of sickness from spreading among them.
From the very beginning, it's been like this. Smaller, but there. It’s just now that they can see it for what it is.
It wasn’t anything so shallow as physical desire, it was deeper, darker. It was to take. Earn. Win. Dominate.
Isagi Yoichi’s throne was high, but nothing is unconquerable. Blue Lock is a competitive place for ego and growth, intolerant to stagnent talent, and with monsters in its walls, they were gaining on him every damn fucking day.
Sooner or later, Isagi will be bowing to them.
(Crying from his watery blue eyes, held down, arching so prettily up against them like a bitch in heat. When he finally lost, they were going to drink him in and devour him for the world to see.)