prlg. ♥︎

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"in your dreams, go hire a professional one yourself! i'm too busy!"
"you don't even have anything to do! you're always just on that phone!"
"i'm not cooking for these losers just 'cause a certain someone can't."
"oh, just shut up! i'll even split the pay with you, 50/50. come on!"
"no way! if i'm gonna do all the work, then give me the whole deal!"
"fine! you'll get the whole paycheck! now will you do it?!"
"deal!"

your aunt tossed you a clipboard, with a waver on it.

"sign. you better cook them quality meals! the jfa will kill me if they see the players complaining about eating shitty food." anri crossed her arms. "don't complain! i saved you the time and effort of looking for a professional cook. you came to me. besides, my cooking is divine and you know it." you scribbled your name and signature on the bottom of the contract.

blue lock, huh? a training regimen that was designed to produce the world's greatest egoist striker, or some dumb soccer thing like that. you didn't know a thing about soccer.

anri teieri, a member of the jfu, proposed the idea of blue lock a few months back. it was supposed to serve as a temporary high-tech prison for 300 teenage boys, and yet amidst all of that sophisticated stuff, your dumb aunt failed to take into consideration what and how the players were supposed to eat.

it was far too late to look for a professional chef to hire and test them out. that aside, she couldn't even cook anything herself. so, out of pure desperation, she came running to you, her beloved 16 year old niece, asking to hire you instead.

you didn't go to any actual school, since you were already pretty smart on your own. another reason why you refused to go was because all of the education they press onto the students were completely irrelevant to what you had planned for your future.

you liked cooking. a whole lot.

before you dropped out, you always had a soft spot for home economics class, even if it only occurred one time a week for a single semester. math, chemistry, physics? all of that stuff was downright useless if you were planning to be a cook.

however, when you said you wanted to cook, you didn't exactly mean being trapped in a giant facility in the mountains of japan for god knows how long, to cook meals for the prisoners there.

well, at least you got paid.

that was just about enough to motivate you to sign the contract your aunt handed you. it might also serve as some chance to hone your skills, as well. after all, you were cooking for exactly 300 athletes, and their assigned coach. you were sure to get some kind of criticism if you were lacking in certain areas.

"yes! perfect! thanks, sweets. make sure to pack all of your things before saturday, you'll be moving into the facility until... well, we're not exactly sure, but until the top strikers are chosen for the u-20 in six months, at the very least." she clasped her hands together.

six months?! what the hell were you gonna do in that place for six months aside from cooking?!

"i'm gonna be stuck in that awful facility for six months?! forget about the paycheck! i take that back!" you stood up abruptly, attempting to snatch the contract, only for anri to grab it first and pull back out of your reach.

'ha! too bad! no takebacks now, sucker!'

good grief. might as well just kill me already...

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