Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
SYNOPSIS — Much to the dismay of his Blue Locker friends—you've turned out just like your dad—a giant, big-headed egoist. Your father, Isagi Yoichi, on the other hand—could not be more proud.
note: platonic, father/daughter relationship feat. egoist 4!!. thank you to hina pooks for requesting ur my silly silly in the world ever!!!
this is so mid but whatever guys im home from school and im so braindead bleh
YOICHI ISAGI'S LIFE WAS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN ON THAT FATEFUL DAY.
Pacing through the hospital room like his life depended on it—then, cradling you, a beautiful baby girl, in his arms so gently, like you were the most fragile fine china in the world (and to him, you really were). That day, that fateful day—his world was flipped upside down, for the better.
You looked so much like him. Even if your hair colour, skin colour, eye colour, or everything was different—you still resembled him so scarily, that even his wife thought so. The way you grinned, the way you stared down at your opponent with a fire raging in your eyes, it all resembled him.
There was no doubt—you were daddy's girl. You loved your mom, of course, but there was something about your relationship with your father that felt different—you loved your dad, very, very much, and he would give you world.
Even now, when he feels you resemble him a little too much, to the point where even his friends—glorified uncles—have something to say about it.
From where they all stand now—on the sidelines of your first, official middle-school match of the new year—it's hard to ignore the attraction that several professional players bring, especially when they're cheering a single child on. Bachira whoops, hands cupped around his mouth and uncaring of the eyes trained on him, "Yeah! Go, lil' [name]! Gettem!!"
Though Isagi is far less vocal than your self-proclaimed fun uncle, he still agreed wholeheartedly with Bachira's words. It gave him a sense of pride—knowing you were killing it out there, all by yourself. You're Isagi Yoichi's daughter—his own blood—of fucking course you're the best.
"She's amazing. Playing like that at her age is incredible," Chigiri smiles, pushing back his bangs behind his ear to get a better view. Isagi, with his sleeves rolled up and arms folded over his chest, nods.
"Of course she is." The prideful tone that follows his smile does not go unnoticed by Chigiri—by his friends—who all unanimously eye-roll at the cocky smirk the striker sports. He hasn't changed one bit, that's something everyone can agree on.
You dribble through a multitude of middle-schoolers, ball touching the tips of your toes when you do scissors and successfully juke them—gasps of shock emitting from the children's mouths—and you don't waste a single moment before you shoot the ball into the goal, scoring your third point of this match.
