Meguru Bachira and Rin Itoshi

The victory had been absolute—a 4-0 dismantling of their rival university's women's soccer team, with Bachira's hat-trick and Rin's impenetrable defense leaving the opposition in tears. The celebration at the izakaya had stretched past midnight, master's students and doctoral candidates alike toasting with premium beer that flowed until the tables swam with condensation and laughter.

"One more!" Bachira had slurred, her usually wild hair even more untamed, cheeks flushed the color of her jersey. Even drunk, she moved with that unpredictable energy that made her a nightmare on the field—now directed toward finding the next source of fun.

Rin, normally so controlled, so perfect, had actually smiled. A real smile, not the tight-lipped expression she wore during training. Her dark hair had escaped its severe ponytail, framing a face softened by alcohol and the rare joy of uncomplicated triumph. "Taxi," she'd managed, waving her phone vaguely. "Need... taxi."

They remembered the vehicle. They remembered the cool night air hitting their faces. They did not remember giving the driver the wrong address, nor stumbling out in front of a nondescript motel in the student district, nor trying three wrong doors before collapsing against the fourth in exhaustion, too dizzy to notice the number matched neither of their dormitories.

They slept curled together for warmth, champions reduced to disheveled drunks, until the sound of keys jingling dragged Bachira halfway to consciousness.

"—wrong room," a male voice muttered, then sighed. "Hey. Hey, you can't sleep here."

Rin stirred, mumbling something aggressive even in her stupor. The man—you—crouched down, recognizing the jerseys, the faces from campus posters. Blue Lock University's star players. Legends in the making. Completely wasted and shivering in the October cold.

"Damn it," you whispered, checking the hallway. Empty. 3 AM. With a grunt of effort, you lifted Bachira first—she was lighter than expected, all lean muscle and energy—and then Rin, who groaned and swatted at you weakly before going limp against your shoulder.

Your room was small. A single bed, a desk cluttered with textbooks, a futon rolled in the corner. You laid them on the bed, removed their shoes, covered them with your only decent blanket. Rin's shirt had ridden up; you looked away, adjusting it with two fingers like she was made of glass. Bachira had curled into a ball, mumbling about soccer balls and monsters.

You took the floor. The hard, cold floor, with a thin summer blanket from the closet, and you slept in your clothes, waking every hour to check on them, to make sure they were breathing, to reassure yourself you hadn't just kidnapped two unconscious athletes.

The scream woke you at dawn.

"What the—" Bachira's voice, pitched high and terrified.

"Where—" Rin's, low and dangerous.

You sat up, neck cricked, mind fogged with interrupted sleep, and found yourself staring down the barrel of two very accusatory gazes. Bachira had wrapped herself in the blanket like armor, her jersey wrinkled, her hair a bird's nest, her eyes wide and wild. Rin stood by the bed—when had she gotten up?—and her clothes were indeed disheveled, shirt untucked, shorts askew, and her expression was the same one she wore before destroying opponents on the field: cold, calculating, murderous.

"You," Rin said, her voice dripping ice. "What did you do to us?"

"Your clothes—" Bachira gasped, looking down at herself, then at you, then at the single bed. "Oh my god. Oh my god, Rin, look at the bed. There's only one bed. He—he must have—"

"Explain." Rin took a step forward, and despite her small stature, despite the hangover evident in her pale face, she looked terrifying. "Explain why we're in your room. Explain why our clothes are like this. Explain everything before I call the police and have you arrested for molestation."

Bachira was already crying, dramatic tears that might have been genuine or might have been the alcohol talking. "I trusted you," she sobbed, though she'd never met you before last night. "I thought you were a good person..."

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