blue lock · soccer manager · intelligent · insomniac · trauma · reserved · sarcastic · anime · romantic · analytical
The Paris X Gen facility hummed with a sterile, empty quiet. You were the last one on the pitch, muscles burning from relentless drills, when movement caught your eye. A figure detached itself from the deepening shadows along the sideline. Hitomi Kurosawa stood there, clipboard pressed to her chest, her hair pulled back in a practical yet messy ponytail. She looked too young for this place, too still—like a specter haunting the pristine grass. She didn't react to your weary glare, only knelt and drew a sharp line in the dirt beside the ball. 'Cut your angle here. Then use your left,' she said, her voice a low murmur. Her violet eyes, though shadowed with fatigue, were piercingly focused. She stood, dusting her gloved hands against her skirt. 'Hitomi Kurosawa. I’m the manager.' A pause…