自我 • METAVISION THIS, METAVISION THAT. HAVE YOU EVER META GIRL?
Being Blue Lock's Social Media and Communications Manager is a lot more work than Shion Kirigiri signed up for. Good thing Grammarly can help!
we finally have a good cover thank you s...
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MY FIRST THOUGHT when I stepped into the large building was that Blue Lock was an incredibly bad name for a project based around football. My second thought was that I was indeed a different breed of stupid for actually falling for Jinpachi Ego's stupid scheme to get me out of the house.
After stewing in my inferiority complex for a few days, I'd left home without too many things. Ema had packed me a volleyball, Noa had packed me a stash of BL manga, and they'd left it at that and a few articles of clothing, toiletries, and a blanket, plus a bottle of Dior perfume. I was fairly certain that I would grow to regret that decision, but it was fine. Surely, we'd be allowed to leave at times; plus, it was for the greater good that I didn't have much on my person, since apparently, I needed to walk.
I looked at the stairs, and then at my feet. I hadn't walked this much since junior high, what with its endless staircases, but hopefully, my stamina hadn't deteriorated that badly.
And, flash-forward to ten minutes later, as I sat at the top of the thirteen flights of stairs, wheezing, with my head buried in my knees. A lock of hair flopped pathetically onto my face, and I blew it away weakly with what little air remained in my lungs. Oddly enough, this place felt like home – not in a good way, though, it just gave me the air of a tortured Victorian artist who had gone through several divorces, eighteen wigs, and five counts of manslaughter – and wow, it was big for a staffroom.
I looked up wearily. There were a lot of people present, and they were all around my age – actually, some were a bit older. Just how many geniuses had Ego gathered? Geniuses? Genii? Whatever. But thankfully (or perhaps not so thankfully) out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone familiar.
"Seiko," I called, grateful for a friend – or maybe friend wasn't the right word. It had been four years since I'd last seen her; maybe more of an acquaintance, then. Seiko had always been big on Home EC, so maybe she was here as a chef –
She stiffened, turning around. I saw that she'd buzzed her hair short.
"...Hey. Kirigiri." She flashed an awkward smile, not meeting my eyes. I could still see the gap between her teeth. "It's...Raiden now, actually. And, um, I go by..." Trailing off, they finally made eye contact. "...he/him...pronouns."
Oh. Oh.
Quick clarification: I was not transphobic by any means. Contrary to what many in my junior high class might've told you if prompted, I was actually perfectly accepting of anyone in the trans community, and in no way did I believe that it was odd to feel out of place in your own skin. I often felt that way, but that was more due to bodily problems – and allergies – than anything else. Also, I did like women. It was simply that I'd made the situation far worse than it originally would've been. Internally, I despaired – for myself.
I offered him a smile, and hoped that it didn't come off as weak. "That's great." Ah, why did I say that. "Raiden. That name...it suits you. How have you been doing?"
