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05.TEAM X
*⋆｡˚𖦹࣪˖ ִֶָ⋆｡°✩
TODAY
your team, last and very much least, is facing off against another team. A team that is supposedly better than all of you, and you are meant to beat him in a match. It felt ridiculous and very biased—but it wasn't like you could complain. Ego was like talking to a brick wall if a brick wall could fire you.
You try to think—to remember which one of the girls got Team X—and you get a whole load of nothing. Curse you, past [name], for not remembering such a crucial point.
You sit on the bench in the changing area in silence, watching Kuon try and explain the plan to all of them. A plan, in heavy quotation marks, because this was barely a plan at all. Each one of them hated it, except Isagi (and Bachira by extent), because he was the centre-forward. They decided this with a violent game of rock paper scissors (which, you aren't even too sure how it worked with eleven people playing at once.
They all walk out—into a place with bright lights shining down and a vibrant green field smack in the middle of the room—with anxiety bubbling in their chest. Their first match at Blue Lock—and the first demonstration of your managerial skills that you don't possess—which is, technically, your first match here too. You carry the cooler full of bottles and towels over your shoulder. It's heavy, not so heavy to the point it's painful to carry it, but it does weigh you down significantly. You keep having to readjust its position on your shoulder, and it doesn't go unnoticed.
In fact, you're sure that the rest of the team just doesn't care. You feel irritation at this fact (in fact, you hope this shitty plan goes down in flames) and scowl at the person who taps you on the shoulder and—oh. It's Kunigami, and he's motioning for you to pass him the bag.
The irritation washes away like the tide does to a beach, and you give him a bright smile, noting how he effortlessly carries the heavy load on his shoulders like it weighs nothing. "Thank you, Kunigami."
"No problem. Saw you strugglin'." He says and walks beside you.
Your smile grows even wider, and you find yourself bounding on your heels next to him. He is pretty tall, after all. "I hope this game goes well for you all."
"I think you mean that you hope this game goes well for us." He gives you a coy grin, looking down at you. You shake your head.
"Right. For us."
"Gotcha." He nods and sets the cooler down with a loud crash onto the silver bench. He mutters a soft apology before he runs onto the field, with his fellow teammates, staring down the opponents.
