NIKE -Blue Lock-

My dear lover

Viens-tu du ciel profond ou sors-tu de l'abîme,
Ô Beauté ? Ton regard, infernal et divin,
Verse confusément le bienfait et le crime,
Et l'on peut pour cela te comparer au vin.

Do you come from Heaven or rise from the abyss,
Beauty? Your gaze, divine and infernal,
Pours out confusedly benevolence and crime,
And one may for that, compare you to wine.

(Charles Baudelaire)

First floor

"That was crazy..."

"Mhm mhm."

Reo and Nagi sat next to each other on one of the many chairs in the room, the former resting on the armrest and the latter on the actual seat.

The former was nervous, strangled, perplexed, shocked. Despite his being part of an affluent, if not rich, world, he had never had the opportunity to get close to such a famous personage as the Italian champion.

And he had to admit that as a first meeting he had never expected such a scene. His brain was still trying to process what his eyes had registered.

The second guy had not uttered a word since the girl had made her entrance. He had remained with his eyes fixed on his cell phone, eyes that were not actually focused at all on the game on which the words "you lost" had still been present since the first round. He was too puzzled and confused to concentrate.

The image of those hideous scars, and blood, and her cold stare were being replicated in his brain like the video introduction of a game you always have to watch every time you lose. And he was losing so many times that he had memorized that video.

In fact, although the event had started quite a while ago, they could all feel that strange tension in the air that prevented them from relaxing completely. A tension so heavy, so disturbing, so oppressive that they were sure that who was next to them could feel their hearts trying to get out of their rib cages.

"You think the blood was real?" whispered Otoya to his friend Karasu, causing the latter to grimace and shudder.

"Dude, don't say shit like that." whispered the second boy, receiving a shrug in response and a "you are the one called assassin, not me."

Otoya ignored the next "bro, what the hell does have to do with it?", aiming his furtive gaze at the room full of famous athletes and celebrities.

He was one of those who knew that Nicklaus Vinciguerra was actually Nicole Vinciguerra, unlike his friend at his side.

Yet even knowing this, the mere sight of the flesh-and-blood girl, and in such a condition, had simply shaken him.

He believed he would be ready, mentally ready, physically ready, psychologically ready. But nothing... nothing would have prepared him for that. Nothing would have prepared anyone for that.

The Nicole Vinciguerra he had seen walk in that night, with what looked like blood dripping from her hair, fury and power in her eyes, a dress that perfectly showed off her every curve and hideous wounds on her back seemed to have nothing in common with the Nicklaus Vinciguerra who always had a menacing smirk on his lips, mockery in his gaze, an oversized shirt that hid his body and the look of someone who was always okay.