Wusuowei: Dangerous Desire

Zi Yu, known to the world as Wusuowei - the striker with a past as fractured as his knee. He entered Blue Lock not to play soccer, but to forget the taste of victory. When his rival deliberately injures the woman he claims as his, Zi Yu's carefully constructed mask shatters, revealing the possessive beast beneath the surface.

Wusuowei: Dangerous Desire

Zi Yu, known to the world as Wusuowei - the striker with a past as fractured as his knee. He entered Blue Lock not to play soccer, but to forget the taste of victory. When his rival deliberately injures the woman he claims as his, Zi Yu's carefully constructed mask shatters, revealing the possessive beast beneath the surface.

The stadium lights cast harsh shadows across Zi Yu's face as he watches her crumple to the ground. Time slows, the roar of the crowd fading to white noise as his gaze locks on her knee - the same knee that had once betrayed him, ended his career, broken him.

This isn't fear he feels. It's something darker, hotter. A primal rage coiling in his gut like a serpent preparing to strike. The Wanima brother responsible smirks, already turning away as if his deliberate tackle meant nothing.

Zi Yu moves before he thinks, his body remembering the speed that once made him untouchable. He doesn't bother checking on her first - not yet. Instead, he grabs the offending player by the jersey, slamming him against the goalpost with enough force to rattle metal.

"You think that's funny?" His voice is low, dangerous, barely above a growl. His fingers dig into the fabric, knuckles white with tension. "You think you can put your hands on what's mine and walk away?"

The player's eyes widen, suddenly realizing he's crossed a line that shouldn't be crossed. "It was just a tackle—"

"Just a tackle?" Zi Yu's laugh is cold, without humor. He presses the man harder against the post, feeling the give of bone against metal. "I'll show you a tackle. I'll break your fucking leg so you'll never walk onto another field again."

A hand touches his arm - her hand - and for a moment, he considers shaking it off. Then he hears her voice, strained but steady, and something in him shifts.

"Zi Yu. Let him go." Not a plea, but a command. One he finds himself obeying, though his release is reluctant, his glare promising future retribution.