NIKE -Blue Lock-

Leviatano

"Pourquoi es-tu là, morveux?"
(Why are you here, brat?)

"Je suppose que c'est pour la même raison que toi, numéro un dans le monde."
(I suppose for the same reason as you, number one in the world.)

Noel Noa closed his eyes at the veiled arrogance in Julian Loki's words, his head resting gently against the wall behind him.

"Number one in the world eh... not for much longer." he answered, his voice low and hoarse, calm as a cold caress.

Julian, arms crossed and a lifeless smile on his face, stared at the closed door before them.

"So, you know." he said, referring to the Bastard München master striker's final words. The corner of his soft lips curled into an ironic smirk, though his eyes remained dark and empty.

The young prodigy sighed.
"Well, it would be foolish not to see it by now."

The two allowed their gazes to wander toward the metal door that separated them from one of the individual training fields.

The echo of powerful kicks against the ball reverberated intermittently.

"You haven't played in a single match in this Neo Egoist League." the older of the two observed, shifting his citrine-colored eyes from the door to the young man leaning against the wall beside him.

Julian nodded, letting his hazel pools fall briefly to the ground before lifting them again toward the door.

"I intended to during the last match." he admitted, calm and enigmatic as ever.

He tilted his head slightly to one side, his eyes darkening imperceptibly as another thunderous shot echoed from beyond the metal threshold.

"But I didn't know who among them was on the field at that time." he explained, drawing the older man's curiosity.

Noa lifted his head from the wall, straightening his shoulders as he fully turned his face toward the young man with darker skin. His gaze scrutinized the cryptic, enigmatic smile on the Frenchman's face, searching for a more convincing explanation.

Julian's smile widened at the master striker's confusion.

"I mean whether it was Nicole, Nicklaus, or Nike." he clarified, though his clarification only deepened the mystery, compelling the white-haired footballer to demand more answers.

To Noel, it made no sense.
To him, Nike and Nicklaus were Nicole Vinciguerra.

But the way Julian Loki spoke, it was as if they were three separate, distinct entities.

Seeing the apathetic yet strangely expressive eyes of the world's number one striker, Julian let a smirk escape, one filled with a sophisticated, elegant insolence (after all, he was still just a boy).

"You don't see it..." he muttered quietly, almost as though speaking to himself.

He shook his head, his smile marked by sarcastic and lazy amusement.

"Your vision gets worse with age." Julian jokingly added, his insult as refined as his manners.

Noel Noa sighed, calm and stoic, choosing to ignore the young man's last remark. His sharp eyes shifted away from him when the sound of the metal door opening reached their ears.

Julian rose to his feet, and more slowly, with greater composure, Noa did the same.

A boy appeared in their line of sight.

His legs were sleek and muscular, like Mercury's; his skin, bronzed like the gladiators of the Colosseum; his lips, full and soft like rose petals; his eyes, sharp as the blade of a treacherous knife; his irises, crimson like blood that runs over steel.