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00
So. Let’s establish one thing first.
Succubi are real, unfortunately.
Succubi, as a species, are usually offensively attractive. Like, HR complaint waiting to happen levels of hot. They feed on emotions—love, devotion, admiration, obsession, attention, and all the messy feelings that come bundled with those. Which is why, if we’re being honest, a truly alarming percentage of famous celebrities probably have at least some succubus blood in them.
The purer the bloodline, the worse it gets. Stronger hunger. Bigger craving for love and its delightful DLCs (yes, that includes sex). Even better looks. Because at the end of the day, what succubi want most isn’t money or power.
It’s people being obsessed with them.
Nowadays, humanity and succubi have been cohabiting just fine for ages now. Intermarriage is common, paperwork exists, and having succubus ancestry isn’t a big deal anymore. It’s basically like astrology: you don’t ask unless it comes up, but it’s not exactly taboo either.
All that said.
Isagi is not part of that mess.
He can swear—hand on heart, soul on the line—that he is a completely normal, 100% pure, factory-default human being. No horns. No tail. No pheromones. Just his dedication to soccer.
And no, before anyone gets ideas: this story is not going to pull a “plot twist…(drums roll) Isagi secretly has succubus blood” reveal.
Because the succubi are the other Blue Lock players.
Yes.
Except him, Isagi Yoichi.
01
Michael Kaiser has 92% succubus blood.
This is because his mother is a full-blooded succubus, and unfortunately for everyone involved, Kaiser inherited everything people stereotype succubi for—good looks, magnetic presence, and a hobby-grade interest in emotionally ruining others for fun.
Back in the day, Kaiser thrived on this.
Fans adored him—the kind of attractive player who inspired devotion, resentment, and at least three online petitions titled “The Player You’d Marry If You Had One Chance.” Cameras followed him like he was a natural disaster with cheekbones. Opponents collapsed on the field and spiritually never recovered. The look on defeated strikers’ faces? Absolutely tasty.
And yet—
Right now, Kaiser cannot smile.
Because standing in front of him is a black-haired teen who is completely, catastrophically immune to his CHARM.
“Isagi,” Kaiser says slowly, every syllable dripping with wounded pride, “how do you feel right now?”
Isagi Yoichi frowns, thinking this over with sincere concentration.
“Good…?”
Something in Kaiser’s soul cracks. He is forced to confront an unthinkable truth: his pheromones might not be working.
This is objectively terrifying.
For context: any succubus hybrid with over 63% blood purity can emit pheromones strong enough to induce elevated heart rate, overheating, poor judgment, impulsive confessions, and at least one life-ruining decision. It’s basically a living, breathing fanservice AOE debuff.
The changing Room already smells aggressively like roses.
Kaiser is serving. One elbow propped just right. Posture angled for maximum visual damage. Expression fine-tuned by years of weaponized attractiveness.
And Isagi?
Isagi is staring at him like he’s buffering.
Kaiser squints.
Did the pheromones fail to deploy? Is the server lagging? Did the devs break something in the last patch??
This has never happened before. His pheromone output usually hits harder than a TikTok thirst trap at 2 a.m. And yet with Isagi Yoichi, it’s like throwing glitter at a brick wall.
Grinding his teeth, Kaiser decides to escalate.
He tugs his collar open—just a little. Enough to reveal broad shoulders, defined muscle, and a collarbone that has ended careers.
“Yoichi,” he murmurs, dropping his voice into the register that has caused riots, “I feel… hot.”
Isagi pauses. Then asks, earnestly: “Are you running a fever?”
Kaiser nearly bluescreens.
Before he can recover, Isagi doesn’t even wait for an answer. He turns, already walking away.
Unacceptable!!!
The blonde striker did not orchestrate this rare, interruption-free moment just to be ignored.
On the field, Isagi praised him. They had chemistry. Narrative weight. Foreshadowing.
Off the field? Nothing. No flirting. No reactions. No mutual pining arc that should’ve definitely been there.
The Neo Egoist League is ending. Time is running out. Kaiser refuses to leave Japan with unresolved sexual tension and zero emotional payoff. Clearly, Isagi is just shy. Obviously, he’s already fallen—he just hasn’t realized it yet.
So Kaiser does what any rational person would do.
(“Rational,” in this case, meaning: “possessed by main-character syndrome and three gallons of delusion.”)
He grabs Isagi’s wrist with the solemn urgency of someone about to trigger a hidden CG cutscene. With exaggerated grace—every motion choreographed like an operatic thirst-trap—he lifts Isagi’s hand up beside his own face.
Then he presses his cheek into Isagi’s palm.
Softly. Meaningfully. Cinematically. It is, in Kaiser’s mind, the kind of gesture that causes fandoms to explode, rival ships to sink, and editors to add sparkles.
“Yoichi,” he breathes, voice dropping into the seductive hush of a man fully convinced he is the climax of a 12-episode romance arc, “I—”
Isagi freezes. Eyes wide. Processor spinning.
Excellent, Kaiser thinks. He’s stunned. Captivated. Helpless before my beauty.
This is it, THE moment.
Swoon now. Realize you’ve loved me all along. Fall into my arms. Beg me to love you...
“…Kaiser,” Isagi says carefully, prying his own hand away like he’s removing a confused cat stuck to his sleeve, “why are you acting like you’re delirious?”
Kaiser’s brain detonates.
Before Kaiser can protest, Isagi has already pulled out his tablet and started typing at dangerous speed.
“You should sit down and rest,” Isagi says, completely serious. “I’ve messaged Ness. He’ll come pick you up. Tomorrow’s the last training match—you really can’t get sick now.”
There is zero romance in those blue eyes. Only soccer.
No fluster. No secret longing breaking through professional composure. Just concern, logistics, and a man who would absolutely choose conditioning over a love confession.
“I’m not—” Kaiser scrambles, dignity in freefall. “That’s not—this isn’t—”
Too late.
Isagi has already grabbed a ball and is heading for the door, momentum unstoppable.
“Rest up!” he calls over his shoulder. “Ness will be here soon! Don’t miss training tomorrow!”
And then he’s gone.
The door shuts.
Silence.
Kaiser stands there, stunned, surrounded by the lingering scent of his own wasted pheromones and the echo of everything that was supposed to happen.
Where was the dramatic pause?
Where was the soft, breathless “Kaiser… do you really need me to say it out loud?”
Where was the trembling voice, the confession dragged out under fluorescent lights, the realization that he’d loved Kaiser for years but had been too afraid to name it?
That was how it always went. That was how the fanfiction went!
Enemies-to-lovers. Pheromone incident. Accidental intimacy. Emotional breakthrough. Kiss against the lockers. It should’ve been going like this instead of an oblivious soccer idiot caring for his health!!
Kaiser drags a hand down his face.
Lies. All of it was lies. I will never trust fanfiction again. (He will.)
For your information…
Ness arrives shortly after, rushing in with concern—only to find Kaiser sitting on a bench, face dark, aura murderous. His succubus tail is fully out. And it is slamming against the wooden bench with such force that an aluminum can beside him has already been crushed flat.
The midfielder wisely decides not to comment.
02
Speaking of Alexis Ness—
As unbelievable as it sounds, this man has 83% succubus blood.
Yes. That Alexis Ness.
His parents are both very low-percentage hybrids. His siblings? Also normal-ish. Statistically, Ness should have been fine.
Instead, the universe said no and dumped an absurdly concentrated succubus gene straight into him like a cursed gacha pull.
His scientist parents didn’t think much of it. If anything, they just concluded that Ness had been displaying “textbook succubus traits” since childhood.
Which, to be clear, includes:
- being extremely emotional,
- needing constant attention,
- possessing a vivid imagination,
- and having absolutely no grip on reality whatsoever.
Which is, by records, pretty accurate.
The moment Ness steps into the room, he’s nearly flattened by a wall of rose-scented pheromones.
He pauses. Blinks. Gags slightly. “…Kaiser,” he says, voice tentative, “um… about the pheromones—”
“HOW could Isagi not be affected by my pheromones?!”
Kaiser roars, snapping like a badly-coded dating sim villain. His teeth are bared, and his tail—black fading into blue at the tip—lashes behind him like an overcaffeinated metronome trying to conduct a Beethoven breakdown.
“I’m telling you, Ness,” Kaiser snarls, pacing like a cat too beautiful to be ignored. “It. Makes. No. Sense.”
Now, here’s the thing.
Unlike Kaiser, Ness’s family forced him to learn Succubus Biology. His childhood included awkward family PowerPoints, pamphlets with too many diagrams, and a six-page puberty guide titled “Love Right, Safe Sex!”
Which means Ness knows something critical.
Succubus pheromones don’t work on targets who are already in love.
That’s the rule. If the target’s heart is already claimed—consciously or subconsciously—then the pheromones just fizzle.
Which means…Oh. Ness’s thoughts screech to a halt.
Because earlier, just outside this very room, he’d run into Isagi. The black-haired striker had smiled at him. Like—really smiled. Warm and friendly. His eyes actually crinkled a little at the corners instead of the seriousness when he faced Kaiser.
Isagi had even said: “Oh, hey, Ness!”
And then Ness completely blacked out from sheer emotional overload and forgot literally everything else Isagi said after that.
It could only mean one thing.
Clearly.
Obviously.
That smile meant something.
Was it a hint? A coded message? A confession buried between syllables???
His heart races. His vision softens. The scent of roses fades into cinematic slow-motion as Ness imagines it: the hallway, the lighting just right, Isagi brushing past him—eyes locking for a second too long.
“Oh, hey, Ness,” he says softly, smiling. “I’ve always noticed you.”
By the time Ness snaps back to reality, his cheeks are bright red and his internal romcom has skipped straight to the finale episode with matching rings.
Meanwhile, Kaiser clicks his tongue and looks over.
“…Why are you leaking pheromones now? Your pheromones stink.” he asks flatly. “And why are your horns and tail out? What are you, an exhibitionist?”
“AH—! SORRY KAISER—!!”
Ness panics, instantly retracting his horns and tail like a startled cat. His face goes nuclear red.
Kaiser doesn’t know this, but Ness has already been fully seen by Isagi.
Which brings us to the flashback...
This was before the match between Germany and France.
Isagi opens the screening room door and freezes.
Ness is sitting there, staring at the screen like it has personally betrayed him.
The footage is playing—undeniably, unmistakably Isagi Yoichi.
From beneath his curly bangs, a spiraled horn juts out, unmistakably succubus, curling forward like a unicorn’s worst possible PR decision. His tail is visible too, smacking against the floor in a steady, irritated rhythm.
There is no ambiguity here.
Displayed horn and tail means the midfielder is sitting at at least 54% succubus purity. Minimum. No appeals, no margin of error.
And now, for clarity’s sake—
Technically speaking, succubus horns and tails are not classified as private parts. There’s no legislation covering them. No mandatory pixelation in official educational pamphlets. Nothing explicitly illegal. But they are also very much not meant for casual public viewing.
This is absolutely not safe-for-screening-room.
Isagi feels his soul violently evacuate his body.
Because that is Alexis Ness. The royal midfielder, Kaiser’s shadow, professional grudge-holder has never exactly been fond of Isagi. No, he hates Isagi and Isagi knows that. So when Ness notices him and looks over—
Isagi does the only sensible thing.
He apologizes. Immediately.
He bows. Deeply.
And then he flees with a panicked retreat, as if leaving fast enough might erase what he has just seen.
The incident happened back when Ness still openly hated Isagi. It shouldn’t have meant anything.
It didn’t mean anything. Because technically, nothing happened at all.
But then came the final official match of the Neo Egoist League.
And afterward? Ness did a full 180° character arc with the speed of a malfunctioning shōjo heroine. Overnight, he entered the denial phase of his self-authored romance story with Isagi, who always believes him as an equal player and equal person. And suddenly, this scene—the earlier meaningless, awkward, zero-romance encounter—became “evidence” for Isagi falling for him first.
What Isagi does not know is that Ness has since re-taged that moment into a series of increasingly unhinged categories, such as “Mutual Pining,” and “Idiots in Love.”
In Ness’s heavily-edited, director’s-cut version of events, Isagi absolutely blushed, gasped softly, and said something along the lines of:
“Ness… I’m so sorry I saw your horns and tail! I’ll take responsibility and marry you.”
None of this happened, specifically the proposal.
But Ness is painfully, violently confident that it did. And honestly, from his perspective, it explains everything.
Of course Kaiser’s pheromones didn’t work. Of course Isagi wasn’t affected. Of course the roses, the collarbone, the dramatic cheek-press all failed.
Because Isagi is already in love.With him, Alexis Ness.
The logic is catastrophic.
But Ness believes it with his entire heart, soul, and spiraled unicorn horn.
Disgusting. Deplorable. It is an unforgivable act of emotional betrayal.
And yet—
Damn it, Ness thinks furiously, tail flicking behind him like a very excited puppy that refuses to acknowledge it is, in fact, excited. The imaginary love satisfies him, surprisingly.
Don’t think you can shake my loyalty to Kaiser with cheap tricks like this, Idiot Yoichi!
He is a royal midfielder. He has principles. He will not be swayed by smiles, concern, or accidental eye contact. (BUT he would absolutely accept if Isagi confessed, though. He’s not a monster.)
In Ness’s mental movie—now playing in full HD with soft lighting—Isagi is standing too close, fingers nervously tugging at Ness’s sleeve, eyes bright and earnest. “Ness… please,” Isagi says softly. “I love you; I can't live without you. Say yes, please...”
Ness’s tail betrays him immediately, wagging so hard it nearly violates several laws of physics.
Hmph, Ness thinks, forcing his expression into something dignified while his internal screaming reaches critical levels. Maybe if you beg a little more… I’ll consider it.
Kaiser and Ness stand in the locker room together, both absolutely furious and completely wrong.
Thinking about entirely different imaginary versions of Isagi Yoichi.
03
Itoshi Rin has 63.2% succubus blood.
Which is exactly over the legal threshold. Not enough to be powerful or cool. Just enough to be extremely annoying.
At this percentage, Rin constantly leaks low-level pheromones but cannot control them. Meanwhile, his older brother Itoshi Sae clocks in at a clean 62.9%, meaning Sae gets none of these problems.
Rin hates this.
He especially hates the three to five days every month when random people suddenly decide they’re in love with him and start bothering him for no reason. He has considered ripping out his glands with his bare hands more than once. But now, to make things worse, there’s someone Rin actually cares about.
And, mockingly, that person is completely unaffected by his pheromones.
Fantastic.
The wrong people are affected, Rin thinks furiously. The right person isn’t. This gland is useless. I should just cut it out.
Scowling, Rin walks onto the training pitch.
And there he is.
The black-haired striker from Bastard München is already waving, a soccer ball tucked under his arm like it’s some priceless relic he’s sworn to protect.
Isagi Yoichi. Smiling. At him.
Rin clicks his tongue.
This lukewarm idiot keeps asking him to train. Keeps insisting. Keeps showing up again and again, even after being turned down. Any normal person would’ve backed off by now—but Isagi just keeps orbiting him, bright-eyed and persistent, like he’s afraid Rin might disappear if he looks away for even a second.
Rin narrows his eyes. So that’s how it is. My rival is obsessed with me.
That has to be it. There’s no other explanation. People don’t chase someone this persistently unless they’re completely fixated. Isagi’s not subtle about it either—always smiling, always attentive, always laser-focused on Rin like he’s the only thing worth looking at on the field.
…For some reason, that realization sits strangely well in Rin’s chest.
He ignores it.
“Oi,” Rin says curtly as he walks over.
Isagi doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t hesitate. Just beams even brighter. “Rin! Let’s do one-on-one today!”
The striker from PxG snorts, looking away.
Of course. Another excuse to get closer. Another attempt to monopolize his time under the guise of training. Intentional, calculated attention—Isagi really is persistent when he sets his sights on something. He’s the rival that is finally worth my time.
Which reminds him...
THE NIGHT BEFORE...
Rin has just finished showering when he walks into the room and immediately regrets it. Shidou Ryusei is sprawled across the bed like a plague, tablet in hand, legs kicked up, energy already feral.
Beside him, Karasu looks like a man who has seen the future and knows it ends badly.
“Shidou,” Karasu mutters, rubbing his temples. “Don’t—”
However, it's too late.
“HAHA! RIN-RIN!” Shidou cackles, springing upright and shoving the screen straight into Rin’s face. “People aren’t calling you and Isa-chan rivals anymore! Look, look! They say the real rivalry is Blue Rose and Isagi!”
He deliberately emphasizes real, like he’s stabbing Rin with the word. Rin grips his towel so hard it’s a miracle the fabric doesn’t disintegrate into threads. His jaw tightens.
Violence hums just under his skin. He wants to start a fight, no, several fights.
But he also knows—very clearly—that if he does, Loki will revoke his pass to the German stratum tomorrow.
So Rin breathes. Barely.
That damn rat-tail—what does he know about that lukewarm idiot?! Did Kaiser ever share a dorm room with Isagi? Was he invited to train together by Isagi? Does he spend hours watching him adapt, improve, smile like that?
A whole month of BLTV edits milking Kaiser’s tragic childhood, slow-motion roses, dramatic lighting without ANY soccer tactics; and that gets labeled the REAL rivalry with Isagi Yoichi??
“Ohhh,” Shidou continues gleefully, scrolling like he’s digging Rin’s grave with his bare hands. “This one says, ‘Rin only cares about Sae.’”
Rin’s eye twitches.
“And this one—‘Rin’s REAL rivalry is with his brother.’” The comments on the tablet keeps moving. “LMAOOO Rin-rin,” Shidou howls. “Looks like you got totally beaten by Kaiser!”
Karasu audibly sighs.
“Woooow,” Shidou adds, delighted. “This one’s wild—‘Rin only invests emotionally in Sae. He doesn’t care about Isagi, he just hates him. Not like Kaiser, he loves and is obsessed with Isagi’…”
Rin’s vision goes red, and Shidou’s later words missing.
Hates him? He doesn’t hate— Why would he hate— Why is Kaiser even being mentioned in the same sentence as a contrast—??!
The towel in his hands finally gives up, fibers stretching dangerously.
“SHUT UP, YOU ANTENNA ROACH!”
The room explodes with Shidou’s laughter.
Back on the pitch, Rin’s mint-scented pheromones begin to leak out. For the love of the God, the pheromone is working on time, for once. Surely now, he thinks, the lukewarm idiot will finally react.
A flinch. A blush. A skipped heartbeat. Anything.
But there’s nothing. No stutter. No faint warmth on his cheeks. Isagi doesn’t even blink.
Instead, Rin catches something else in the air—a scent so strong, so cloying, so obnoxiously theatrical that Rin nearly chokes on it.
Roses. Thick, overbearing roses. And it is unmistakably coming from that German peacock.
Rin stops.
Isagi is completely overwritten by Kaiser’s overpowered floral suffocation. The audacity.
In three thunderous strides, Rin is in front of Isagi, grabbing his collar with enough force to make the ball at Isagi’s feet wobble.
“Isagi Yoichi,” Rin demands, eyes blazing with lethal focus, voice sharp enough to cut through steel, “Why do you smell like roses?”
“Huh?” Isagi blinks, then casually lifts his arm to sniff himself like someone checking their laundry. “I don’t smell anything. Is it a succubus thing? But Rin, you know I’m fully human, right?”
Those eyes—soft blue, stupidly earnest—are perfectly clear. Perfectly unaffected.
There is only one possible explanation. Isagi Yoichi is already in love with someone else, rendering Kaiser’s pheromones totally ineffective.
And that someone is obviously…
Rin himself.
Who else could it be? Who else does Isagi pursue relentlessly for training? Who else does he smile at like an idiot? Who else does he stare at during drills, during matches, during cooldown, like Rin is the only variable he wants to solve?
The logic is flawless. Rin’s mood improves so instantly it would be alarming to any licensed therapist. He releases Isagi’s collar with a sharp exhale, masking relief as irritation.
“Idiot,” he mutters, stepping back like he’s doing Isagi a favor. “Let’s start.”
And then they trained.
Afterward, Isagi bends forward, hands braced on his knees, chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.
“You really are amazing,” he murmurs between pants. Bright eyes are full of genuine admiration. Rin feels… good. Strangely good. Relieved, even.
Of course. Of course Isagi wouldn’t fall for some flashy, shallow, overproduced, rose-scented German export. Kaiser is all glitz and dramatics—slow-motion hair flips, overplayed tragic childhood edits, and BLTV highlight reels that shove him into the spotlight like a discount drama.
Those idiots online don’t understand anything. They see a few roses, a few smirks, a few cutscenes dripping with fake tension, and suddenly it’s “Kaisagi is the REAL rivalry!”
What a joke.
They don’t see the soccer. They don’t see the plays built from sweat and grind instead of perfume and lighting teams. They don’t see the way Isagi looks at Rin—focused, determined, choosing him over and over again.
Meanwhile, Kaiser—who’s leaving Japan soon like the world’s most irritating limited-time promotional event—doesn’t deserve the title of “rival.” And definitely not with Isagi.
Rin glances over.
Isagi is checking his tablet, reviewing training data, smiling faintly at a particularly clean play. The sight sparks something warm and irritating in Rin’s chest.
And now, after a session of training together, the rose stench fades. Instead, Isagi smells like mint.
Perfect. Rin crosses his arms, giving a small, satisfied nod, like a general reclaiming territory Kaiser never should’ve touched.
This is how it should be. Just Isagi focuses on him. That’s the correct order of the world.
04
Mikage Reo has 57% succubus blood.
His mother is a pure-blood succubus—gorgeous, terrifying, and equipped with a natural charisma that can make a room full of billionaires hand over their wallets simply because she blinks twice.
Along with her beauty, Reo inherits fragments of techniques that only succubi can use—skills meant to bend attention, tilt perception, slip unnoticed into the soft, defenseless spaces of another person’s mind.
In the past, Reo had dismissed them outright. Why would he need tricks like that?
He had money, status, talent, and Nagi; the albino genius followed him like a living accessory draped over his shoulder.
But now? Now the situation is different. Dire, even.
The world has turned hostile.
Rivals multiplies around the person he likes like mold in a damp corner. Public opinion is a battlefield he was objectively losing. And JFU—those editing gremlins—work like vultures armed with Final Cut Pro, slicing his interactions into narratives that are not his.
The camera loves chaos around Isagi. And everyone gets a slice, except him.
Meanwhile, JFU continues ship-baiting him and Nagi so aggressively that the entire internet is convinced they are a slow-burn couple living in denial.
Reo has one brain cell left and it was screaming. So the heir does the only rational thing left.
He starts practicing hypnosis.
Every day after training, he stands before the mirror in their dorm room. He loosens his posture, softens his gaze, let every breath slow until his reflection blurs at the edges like a watercolor about to run.
His irises shimmers faintly; succubus bloodline trying to remember what it was born to do.
Look at me.
Obey me.
Pay attention.
His tail flicks irritably behind him.
It does not work very well. His pupils flares with that heart-shaped gleam—bright, promising—then sputter out like a dying LED in a cheap romance lamp. His reflection stubbornly stares back, unimpressed.
Reo drops his hand with a groan. “Damn it…”
From the bed, Nagi blinks slowly, the human embodiment of low battery mode.
“Reo,” he says eventually, voice flat, “are you… doing hypnosis?”
Reo doesn’t look away from the mirror.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Nagi thinks for a long moment. “That’s rare.”
“I will master it,” Reo mutters, eyes narrowing, determination flaring. “Once I do, the first thing I’m doing is making JFU cancel that brain-dead ship-selling. And then...”
“Good luck,” Nagi says, tone unchanged. “I’m only 48% hybrid. Can’t learn stuff like that.”
He rolls lazily off the bed and stretched. “I’m going to training.”
Reo’s hand snaps out.
Instant alarm. Instant suspicion. Because Everyone else may think Nagi is lazy, but Reo knows—KNOWS—that Nagi only trains seriously under duress or bribery.
He grabs Nagi’s wrist. And at that exact moment—
The hypnosis clicks.
Reo’s gaze sharpens, pupils blooming into the unmistakable succubus glow. His presence deepens; gravity itself seems to tilt around him.
Finally.
Finally!
“Training?” Reo repeats, voice smoother, lower. Nagi’s posture slackens, eyes softening into a distant haze.
“…Yeah,” Nagi murmurs, unfocused. “I secretly applied for a Bastard München pass. I’m going to train with Isagi, probably steal a hug or two and I didn’t want you to find out.”
Silence.
Reo’s soul left his body. Returned. Left again.
“What? Nagi Seishiro, you…”
But before he can explode—before he can unleash the hellfire of every betrayed emotion he’d ever suppressed; Nagi frowns after the hypnosis snapping.
He blinks down at Reo’s hand gripping his wrist. Then, unbelievably—UNBELIEVABLY—he looks annoyed.
“Reo,” his tone serious, “you shouldn’t use hypnosis on friends who aren’t guarding against it. That’s not nice…”
NICE???
Reo’s vision goes snow-white with rage.
The absolute audacity.
His supposed best friend.The friend who is actively planning to abandon him to go see Isagi. He wants to STEAL A HUG while fully aware that Reo also likes Isagi… THIS friend is lecturing him about being nice ???
Nagi turns to leave.
Reo’s brain reboots with a violent jolt. His fingers tightens instinctively, snatching Nagi’s wrist again.
“…Fine,” Reo growls through clenched teeth. “Then I’m coming too.”
Which is how Isagi later found himself facing the strangest duo imaginable.
Nagi stands off to the side, hands buried in his pockets, irritation written plainly across his face like he’d been dragged into something against his will. He looks half-asleep, half-annoyed—an unwilling extra in someone else’s drama.
The purple-haired boy, meanwhile, wear a smile so meticulously calibrated it practically screams please stop cutting my screen time. Step by measured step, Reo closes the distance and slings an arm around Isagi’s shoulders as if this were the most natural posture in the world.
“Long time no see,” Reo says brightly. He stays close, deliberately.
Cameras adores proximity. Editors, no matter how malicious or agenda-driven, can only crop so much before it starts looking suspicious. If Reo glues himself to Isagi like this, those vultures in post-production will have nothing left to butcher.
Reo lifts his gaze and met Isagi’s eyes, allowing his hypnosis to surface again—soft this time, restrained, refined to a near-whisper. The faint, telltale heart-glow flickers briefly in his pupils.
Isagi blinks.
“Reo,” he asks, genuinely puzzled, “why are you staring at me like that?”
Why isn’t the hypnosis working?!
That is impossible. His thoughts spins violently, colliding with one another in a sudden free fall. Hypnosis doesn’t simply fail for no reason. There are rules to this. Principles. Conditions roots in bloodline, focus, intent—
Unless... Unless the target already belongs to someone else.
The realization shatters across his mind like a dropped glass.
Reo goes rigid.
No. No, no, no—wait.
His heart lurches, anxiety spiking so sharply it barely leaves room to breathe. His thoughts races ahead of him, conjuring names, faces, scenarios he desperately does not want to acknowledge.
Who? Who can it be?
That damn drama peacock? With his roses, his pheromones, and that stupidly smug face?
Or…No. Itoshi Rin? The thought alone makes Reo’s chest tighten.
No. Absolutely not. Not him. Not any of them.
Those people can’t even regulate their own emotions!
They were walking disasters stitches together by unresolved rivalry and sheer audacity. One of them is a full-blown drama peacock with roses and a tragic backstory he weaponizes like a personality trait. The other is a living brother complex, a man whose entire personality teeters between angst, denial, and an uncomfortably intense family subplot.
And those are supposed to be viable romantic options? If Isagi gets tangled up with either of them, he’ll suffer. Deeply. Inevitably. Possibly with long-term psychological consequences.
Reo’s jaw clenches, teeth grinding as if sheer force of will may overwrite reality itself.
He will not allow this. He refuses to allow this. Because objectively—clearly—he is the only correct choice.
He, Mikage Reo, has emotional stability, resources, foresight. He can regulate his feelings, manage public opinion, shield Isagi from media nonsense, and fund an entire league if necessary. The heir knows how to take care of people. He plans for the future.
As a considerate heir, a responsible partner, and a man with both money and self-awareness, Mikage Reo is—by any reasonable metric—the perfect romantic option for Isagi Yoichi.
There is no debate to be had.
Reality simply needs to catch up.
Before full-scale panic can set in, Isagi suddenly smiles and claps his hands together, cheerful as ever.
“Oh! Since you’re here, Reo, let’s call Hiori too,” he chirps. “We can do a 2v2!”
Reo’s smile freezes. His mind immediately betrays him.
Hiori and Isagi, celebrating together after their match against Ubers—standing too close, laughing too freely, shoulders brushing. Then the merch. The inevitable matching merch. Merches they somehow have more of than him.
Even though Reo has known Isagi longer. Even though he has more shared memories with that black-haired striker. More stories. More history.
His tail twitches sharply behind him.
He had money, power. He had even acquired hypnosis.
And still—
The road ahead for a succubus hybrid is long.
Honestly, all of them still have an LONG way to go.