She's mine

Isagi Yoichi stared at the screen of his phone until the blue light felt like it was searing his retinas. The image was grainy, captured by a long-distance lens, but he would recognize that silhouette anywhere. Angel. She was standing outside a high-end restaurant in Munich, her long, straight black hair falling like a curtain of silk down her back.

She looked like a porcelain doll, delicate and untouchable, but Isagi knew better. He remembered the weight of her body against his, the way her doll-like features would melt into something primal when they were alone. He remembered the heat of her skin and the specific, intoxicating warmth of her mouth. They hadn't been "official," but they had been everything. Or so he had thought until the Blue Lock project demanded his total obsession, and the distance between Japan and her global modeling tour became a chasm he couldn't leap.

Now, the headlines below the photo were a knife to his gut: *“The Runway’s Angel Spotted at Kaiser’s Match: Is the Blue Rose Smitten?”*

Isagi felt a familiar, ugly heat rising in his chest. It wasn't the "egoist" fire he felt on the pitch; it was something darker, a toxic mixture of possessiveness and regret. Michael Kaiser. Of all the people in the world, it had to be the man who made it his life’s mission to humiliate Isagi on the field.

The rumors were everywhere. Fans were dissecting every like, every shared location, every blurry photo of Angel in the VIP lounge of the Bastard München stadium. Isagi couldn't take it anymore. He didn't think; he just acted. He knew she was back in Tokyo for a week-long shoot. He knew where she stayed.

He didn't call. He didn't text. He simply showed up at her luxury apartment complex, his hoodie pulled low, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

When the door opened, Angel froze. Up close, she was even more breathtaking than he remembered. Her skin was flawless, her dark eyes wide with a mixture of shock and something that looked painfully like pity.

"Yoichi?" she whispered, her voice like velvet. "What are you doing here?"

Isagi didn't wait for an invitation. He stepped into the foyer, forcing her to back up. The scent of her perfume—vanilla and expensive cigarettes—hit him like a physical blow.

"I saw the news," Isagi said, his voice raw. "The rumors about you and Kaiser. Tell me it's just PR. Tell me you’re not actually seeing that narcissist."

Angel sighed, closing the door softly. She looked down at her manicured hands, avoiding his intense, blue gaze. "Yoichi, you shouldn't have come. It’s been months since we really talked. You were so focused on the league, on being the best in the world... I needed someone who was actually there."

"I'm here now," he countered, stepping closer, his hand reaching out to touch her hair. He missed the silkiness of it between his fingers. "I miss you. I miss everything about us. I know I messed up, but don't do this. Not with him."

Angel looked up, and for a moment, Isagi saw the girl who used to wait up for him after his late-night training sessions. There was a lingering affection there, a ghost of the fire they used to share.

"I really liked you, Yoichi," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "But Kaiser... he’s different with me. He makes me a priority. I’m with him now. Truly."

The rejection felt like a red card in the final minute of a championship. Isagi felt his throat tighten. He tried to argue, tried to pull her into a kiss that would remind her of what they had, but she stepped back, her expression hardening into one of sorrowful resolve.

"You need to go," she said. "Before someone sees you."

But it was already too late.

As Isagi walked out of the building twenty minutes later, his head down and his shoulders slumped in defeat, the rhythmic *click-clack* of high-speed shutters echoed through the night air. Flashbulbs went off like miniature explosions. He didn't look up, but he knew the damage was done.

By the next morning, the internet was in a frenzy.

*“Love Triangle? Isagi Yoichi Spotted Leaving Angel’s Apartment Late at Night!”*

*“Did the Blue Lock Star Try to Score in Kaiser’s Goal?”*

The backlash was instantaneous. In the world of professional football and high fashion, loyalty was a brand, and Isagi looked like a home-wrecker.

Back in Germany, Michael Kaiser sat in his private lounge, scrolling through the photos of Isagi leaving Angel’s building. His jaw was set so tight it looked like it might snap. His pride was wounded, not because he doubted Angel, but because Isagi had dared to touch what belonged to him.

When Angel returned to Munich two days later, the tension in Kaiser’s penthouse was thick enough to choke on. He didn't greet her with his usual arrogant smirk. Instead, he was standing by the floor-to-ceiling window, a glass of wine in his hand, looking out over the city.

"He went to see you," Kaiser said, his voice a low, dangerous growl.

Angel dropped her designer handbag on the sofa. "He showed up unannounced, Michael. I told him it was over. I told him I’m with you."

Kaiser turned around, his blue eyes flashing with a cold, possessive fire. "And yet, the whole world thinks he was inside my woman’s bed while I was away. He’s trying to humiliate me. He’s trying to take what’s mine because he can’t beat me on the grass."

"It wasn't like that," Angel insisted, walking toward him. "I feel sorry for him, Michael. He’s obsessed with his dreams and he realized too late what he lost. But it’s you I want."

Kaiser set the wine glass down with a sharp *clink*. He stepped into her space, his tall frame towering over her petite figure. He reached out, his hand cupping her chin with a grip that was just a fraction too firm.

"If you want me," Kaiser hissed, his jealousy boiling over into an impulsive demand, "then prove it. No more separate apartments. No more 'privacy' for the press to speculate on. Move in here. Today. I want the world to know exactly whose house you return to every night."

Angel blinked, her long lashes fluttering. It was a massive step, one she hadn't expected so soon. But seeing the raw vulnerability hidden behind Kaiser’s arrogance—the fear of losing her to his rival—stirred something protective in her.

"Fine," she whispered, leaning into his touch. "I’ll move in."

Kaiser’s expression shifted from rage to a triumphant, predatory satisfaction. He leaned down and kissed her deeply, a claim staked in the most literal sense.

The news broke within hours. Angel’s agency released a statement confirming that she had officially moved into Michael Kaiser’s residence. To drive the point home, Kaiser posted a photo on his social media: a picture of their intertwined hands on his balcony, the Munich skyline behind them, with the caption: *“Mine. Permanently.”*

The public reaction was a landslide.

The narrative shifted overnight. Kaiser was the romantic lead, the king protecting his queen from a desperate, lingering ex. Isagi Yoichi, once the darling of Japanese football, was painted as the villain.

Online forums were ruthless.

*"Isagi needs to focus on his finishing and stay out of other people's relationships,"* one top comment read.

*"So pathetic. He couldn't keep her when he had her, and now he's stalking her? Kaiser is ten times the man he is,"* wrote another.

Even within the Bastard München locker room, the atmosphere was icy. The German players stood firmly behind their captain. When Isagi walked into training, the silence was deafening.

Kaiser was already on the pitch, lazily kicking a ball. When he saw Isagi, he didn't mock him with words—not at first. He simply waited until Isagi was close enough, then leaned in, a cruel, beautiful smile stretching across his face.

"Thanks for the assist, Yoichi," Kaiser whispered, his voice dripping with venomous glee. "Your little midnight visit gave me exactly the leverage I needed to lock her down. She’s in my bed right now, laughing at how desperate you looked on the news."

Isagi clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. He looked around the pitch and saw his teammates looking away, their expressions filled with disappointment or outright disdain. He was alone.

He had tried to reclaim a piece of his past, but in the high-stakes game of Michael Kaiser’s ego, Isagi had just handed over the winning goal. He had lost the girl, he was losing his reputation, and as he looked at Kaiser’s smug face, he realized he had never felt more like an outsider in his own life.

The "Angel" was gone, tucked away in a golden cage built by his greatest enemy, and the world was cheering for his downfall.

"Get to work, stalker," Kaiser laughed, kicking a ball hard enough that it whistled past Isagi’s ear. "The game is over."