𝐄𝐌𝐎 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 ! 𝐛𝐥𝐥𝐤

10. Phones Out!

There was nothing more that (Y/N) loved than practicing alone, and improving upon the natural talent she was blessed with when she was born. Sharpening her skills so much so that it hurt her opponents, like a knife being stabbed into their back.

With practicing alone came a thrill, one that you couldn't get on a full field.

People are prone to make mistakes. That's why you should never rely on anyone other than yourself. The same goes in football. (Y/N) would need more than just her hands and feet to count the amount of times teammates of the past have let her down. A match played as a team can never truly be perfect.

But, God. Independent practice is like a high to the teen. Because, with no one else around to mess her up, she could perform in a way that would normally be...restricted on the court.

She is an artist, and the game is her painting. Her every kick is equivalent to the graceful swoop of a paintbrush. She creates beautiful movement with every step and glide across the field, like a dancer on a stage.

Anyway, that's why she loves individual practice. She never has to worry about the fucking-of-ups that other people may do. Rather, she can pour her entire focus into honing her own skills.

Standing on the empty Blue Lock court, she grinned wildly as she watched her the ball go in. '45 meters. That's an improvement from last time.' She sighed happily at the revelation, basking in her own glory.

She grabbed another ball from the cart that rested beside her. She messed around with it through dribbling, trying to get a feel for its weight.

Faster than one could blink, she kicked it up in the air, watching as it rose in height exponentially. She pinpointed where it would land a few meters out behind her. She laughed madly. "Perfect!"

She took off with a huge burst of speed, eyes never once leaving the sphere's form. Once she reached where it was predicted to land, she jumped up, whipping her body around mid air just in time for her foot to graze the ball's side.

A powerful shot, she had to admit. One no goalie would want to intercept— its sheer force would land someone in a hospital with a few bruised ribs and a broken bone, at best.

She watched from the air as it was shot straight into the goal. She landed a moment later, resting her exhausted arms on her hips. 'That wasn't bad. But the end shot should have landed closer to the corner than it did.' She shrugged her jersey off, leaving her in a white undershirt. 'But really. It was only a 4 degree difference. I'll survive today.'

"Good work, Daughter. I can see you've improved since I've been gone." Ego appeared on the monitors around the stadium. (Y/N) faced one of the many screens, "Oh, thanks 'Pops." She wiped sweat off her face with a hand towel. "It's good to hear that you think so." Ego hummed, pleased with her response.

He really was impressed with how far she has come. In the weeks he had spent away, he had heard little to nothing about (Y/N)'s well being. He wouldn't say it out loud, but it worried him that she might not be doing well with the sudden change of him being away. Though, seeing her now brought him relief.

He observed her as she talked happily (well, she was more stoic than anything, but he could tell through her subtle mannerisms that she was in a good mood) about her progress in improving as a whole. As she droned on about how she deducted a few points from her own self score of herself because she was "off a few degrees", he could only shake his head amusedly. She had always been like this, so passionate. But she seemed to be even more so as of late. He was glad.