"𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥 𝘰𝘧 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘢𝘮𝘦... 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵 𝘪𝘵."
⤷ In which a teenage girl gets thrown into the chaos of "Blue Lock" - a ruthless football program built to create the world's u...
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Aiza(Ryouta)'s POV:
"Your daughter is out of control!" Mrs. Rodriguez snapped, pointing at me like I was a wild animal. "She's crazy! Hitting a boy like that? What kind of girl—"
I swear, I could hear my mom's eye roll from across the room. "Out of control?" she repeated, eyebrows raised like Mrs. Rodriguez had personally offended her IQ. "He's lucky. My daughter just gave him a free lesson on respecting personal space."
Mrs. Rodriguez's mouth hung open. "He's a boy! You really think it's okay for your daughter to hit him like that" she yelled.
"Exactly," Mom said, deadpan. "He's a boy. If he knew how to talk, Aiza wouldn't have had to shut him up."
"Next," she added, completely over it. And they wonder where I get that attitude from.
Mrs. Rodriguez looked like she might combust. "She broke his nose!"
he yelling got louder, but by then we were already making our exit. Mom grabbed her purse, turned to me, and said, "Aiza, let's go. We don't have time for this amateur drama."
When we finally made it outside, she sighed, rolling her eyes. "Good grief, that woman's a drama queen."
She sat down next to me, her eyes scanning my face like I was supposed to spill my guts. "Alright, what happened? What did he do to deserve his fate?"
I bit my lip, trying to look regretful. Spoiler: I wasn't. "He said girls can't play football."
"And your response was to break his nose?" she asked, exasperated but clearly fighting back a smirk.
"No, my response was to kick the ball. His nose just... got in the way," I said, deadpan.
Mizuki groaned, facepalming. "You're gonna age me ten years, you know that?" Then she laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, let's go. Louis is home alone. If we don't hurry, he turns the place into a bonfire," she added, opening the car door for me. We zoomed off.
That was middle school me in a nutshell—a wild girl with a football and zero patience for nonsense. I was always playing with the boys, mostly in my brother's age group. Why? Because playing against stronger opponents was way more fun—well, "stronger" is a bit generous, but you get the point.
I didn't care that I was the only girl in the group—I loved it. Football was freedom, and when I was on that field, nothing else mattered.
Then, of course, there's always that guy. You know, the one who has to play the villain in the most predictable way possible. "Football's a boy's sport," he said. "You can't keep up. Blah blah blah," he said.
So, I did what any rational, level-headed person would do. I kicked the ball straight into his face. Bullseye.
Do I regret it? Nope. Not even a little. Because here's the thing: nobody—nobody—gets to tell me what I can or can't do. Nobody decides my limits, and absolutely nobody gets to say where I belong.
