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⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀:¨ ·.· ¨:

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ `· . 𐙚

𓏲࣪ . 𐙚 ┈────┈ w.elcome 𓂃 ֶָ  ุ๋ ⸱ ᯓᡣ𐭩

to # ah yi '𝚜 ּ ֶָ֢. wiki 𖹭.ᐟ

IN ━ DEX >ヮ< ،،̲ ִֶָ

──────────𖡜̸｡᭭

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀teaser — introduction

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀basic info — personality

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀appearance & wardrobe

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀background — lifestyle

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀intimate info — relationships

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀!! tws ::

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀none.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀

𓍢ִ໋ :tulip: ͙֒  — TEASER 𓄹𓈒 :hearts: ᵎᵎ

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

she moves like light through glass

                 — silent, precise, impossible to hold.

they call her an angel,                              

but angels don’t need to

                                  speak to be obeyed.

૪ INTRODUCTION ゲ!

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

& they say she walks like silence—                    

not empty, but full of meaning.

like moonlight brushing the edge of the world,

soft and watching,

                                 never asking to be seen.

she was the girl who speaks in stillness,

who reads the game like scripture                               

and carries the weight                 

         of a thousand thoughts

                                    behind eyes that never waver.

ᰍ ★̲ : BASIC INFO ⭑ :file_folder: ݁ ٬٬

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

NAME.

ah yi.

NICKNAME.

the angel of blue lock. (?)

̶c̶r̶i̶n̶g̶e̶

AGE : BIRTHDATE.

18   /    O5 23

GENDER : PRONOUNS.

PRESENTATION.

she / her

biromantic ,   asexual.

ETHNICITY + RACE

NATIONALITY.

japanese ,   korean.

⭑ ࣪  𐀔  ˖   PERS𖤐NALITY ﹅   ฅ

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

ah yi is sharp in every sense—

her mind, her words, her stare.

she doesn’t   raise   her voice;

she doesn’t need to.    she is

intimidating       yet       poised,

she speaks   in clipped truths

and silence,       often pushing

others to grow by giving them

nothing to cling to.     beneath

her cold logic is a rare warmth

she   shows   only    in fleeting

moments — if   you’re   paying

attention.                                   

her notable traits include:

→high emotional intelligence,

masked by a blunt demeanor.

→thrives under pressure.

→sees through people like glass

and acts accordingly.

MBTI PERSONALITY.

INTJ, ennea 5w6

˃̵ᴗ˂̵ ─ STRENGTHS !!

– strategic mind: she sees

ahead, always. nothing

surprises her; she lives

in the space between

cause and effect.

– emotional control: ah yi

doesn’t flinch. she doesn’t

panic. even when things

fall apart, she’s the one

holding the last thread.

– leadership: she doesn’t

shout orders—she makes

you want to follow. people

respect her, even when they

don’t understand her.

– observation: nothing

escapes her notice. body

language, tone shifts,

hesitation—she sees the

cracks before they break.

– resilience: mentally

unshakable. she’s walked

through storms and learned

to bring the calm with her.

•᷄ࡇ•᷅ ─ WEAKNESSES !!

– detachment: her strength

is also her wall. she keeps

people at a distance, even

when closeness might help.

– bluntness: truth is her

language, but sometimes

she forgets softness

has power too.

– self-isolation: she rarely

lets herself lean on others.

vulnerability feels like a

risk she can’t afford.

– pride: she holds herself

to impossible standards

and won’t show weakness,

even when she’s drowning.

– emotional repression:

she bottles things up,

convinced that control is

safer than feeling. but even

silence cracks under pressure.

<LIKES & DISLIKES !!

‹𝟹 quiet mornings and

black coffee

‹𝟹 rainy days (they make

everything feel slower, softer)

‹𝟹 clean, organized spaces

‹𝟹 people who speak with intent

‹𝟹 late-night conversations

where no one lies

‹𝟹 players who burn for something

‹/𝟹 unnecessary noise

‹/𝟹 emotional manipulation

‹/𝟹 being underestimated

‹/𝟹 losing control (of herself

or the situation)

‹/𝟹 performative kindness

‹/𝟹 shallow ambition

‹/𝟹 dishonesty—especially the

kind disguised as politeness

HOBBIES.

— reading philosophy and

tactical manuals

– journaling in the margins

of old notebooks

– painting in grayscale (she says

color is too loud)

– collecting quiet moments

like souvenirs

– writing letters she’ll never send

— photography,   archery

⠀˖ ݁ ˓ 𔘓 ؁ ‹ APPEAR ! ANCE   &⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ Ꮩ̶Ꮩ̶.ARDR𖣠BE 🏷ฺּ໋࣯ࣨ

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

ah yi has a soft,   ethereal beauty

that stands out with her delicate

yet unique features. she has fair

skin, a   gentle round face,    and

distinct   cat-like    eyes    having

an elegant,     mysterious    aura.

her   natural expressions   often

carry    a     quiet    curiosity     or

dreamy   detachment,        which

adds to her charm.   her lips are

soft and full,     and her nose is

small and graceful. she usually

wears her long,   straight hair in

simple styles that enhance her

understated, natural look —      

giving her the vibe of a modern

day   fairytale   character    with

a cool, quiet edge.                      

ah yi’s      wardrobe    is     quiet

elegance—minimalistic, sharp,

and calculated like   everything

else she does. she favors cool

tones: charcoal, navy, icy white,

and   the    occasional    muted

burgundy.    her silhouettes are

clean & structured with subtle

details.         she doesn’t chase

trends,    but somehow always

looks put together,      like she

walked out of a still frame.      

꒰ 𔘓 ꒱ BA ։ CKGROUND ⋆ ࣪.  ᓚᘏᗢ

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

ah yi ’s   presence in blue lock

wasn’t   a mistake   — it was a

calculated decision. anri teieri

had seen the chaos that ego

jinpachi’s    program    created,

the     unchecked   aggression,

the unrelenting hunger,      and

she    knew    that      someone

needed to manage it.   not to

control it, but direct it, refine it.

so   when   anri recommended

ah yi to ego,    she pitched   her

as someone who could handle

monsters   without      flinching.

someone   who    wouldn’t    be

intimidated   by     their     egos,

their    tempers,     their   single

minded obsession with victory.

ego, intrigued by her reputation,

agreed.      and   just   like   that,

ah yi    found     herself   thrown

into     the     lion’s     den.          

she wasn’t there to befriend nor

encourage   them   with    empty

words.   she was there to keep

them in check,   to call them out

when their pride got in the way,

to     push    them   to    be better

without coddling them. the blue

lock    players     were   used   to

coaches   and teammates who

either praised them or competed

with them — but ah yi?   she was

something    else     entirely.       

ah yi wasn’t in blue lock to play

their game.    she was there   to

make sure they survived it.   

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀

L ◗  🜸 LIFE [ 🪵🪚 ] STYLE ζ ...⎗

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

her lifestyle is disciplined,    quiet,

and deeply intentional. she wakes

early,   not   because   she     loves

mornings,   but because stillness

is easier to find   before everyone

else stirs. her days are structured:

team     strategy   sessions,   quiet

hours of reading or writing alone

in   the   library    corner    no   one

bothers       to        check.               

she   doesn’t   seek attention, but

her presence lingers.   she moves

through the day like she’s already

planned for the worst,   and most

of the time, she has.     her phone

is full of notes,       half-finished

poems,       and   match   analysis

videos.   she   eats    light, drinks

her   coffee   black,      and   never

lingers where she isn’t needed.   

her free time is spent observing

people,     weather patterns, the

way a player’s   footwork falters

when they hesitate.     she finds

beauty in precision and silence,

in the pause    before   a choice

is made.   she lives like a blade

hidden in velvet: soft to the eye,

sharp beneath the surface.         

. . INTIMATE ◖  ࣪˖ IN ◠ FO :grey_exclamation:

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

ah yi doesn’t let people in easily.

she guards her inner world like a

locked room—neatly kept, dimly

lit, full of things no one else sees.

she’s not loveless,    just cautious.

affection,      to her,     is shown in

quiet ways:    ing   how

someone    takes     their         tea,

standing beside them in silence

when they’re unraveling,      fixing

their collar without a word.     she

feels deeply but speaks sparingly.

she’s      touched-starved        and

doesn’t   realize it until someone

brushes   her    hand    and      she

stiffens   — then     lingers.          

she keeps letters she’ll never send,

music she won’t share,     and the

softness    of   her    heart    tucked

somewhere beneath all the armor.

IDEAL TYPE.

someone calm,   grounded, and

emotionally fluent.   she doesn’t

need chaos — she already lives

among egos and fire. she needs

someone   who   listens   before

they speak,   someone who sees

through    her   silence     without

trying to fix her. someone who’s

patient   enough   to   wait when

she   pulls   away,      and    warm

enough   to   make    her      want

to return.       bonus   if      they’re

unintentionally    funny,     a little

clumsy,   and   ionate about

something— anything. she finds

beauty   in people   who burn for

what they love.     someone who

doesn’t   try   to tame her,      but

instead   walks   beside   her   in

the quiet,    matching her   pace.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀

·₊˚. RELATI𖤐NSHIPSᵎ ‹𝟹

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

they see her as an angel, but not

the kind that saves you. the kind

that watches you fall   and says

nothing,     eyes    like   a     quiet

cathedral,     hands folded in her

lap.     her   voice   doesn’t rise —

it lingers,     curling   around your

spine like    a    hymn you forgot

the words to.    she    walks   into

a room    and   something   in the

air shifts — shoulders straighten,

hearts   forget    how   to      beat.

& it’s not love.   it’s something far

worse: it’s reverence.   the boys at

blue lock see her and  

every time     they’ve     prayed for

something   they    didn’t deserve.

she doesn’t fly.       she      stands,

calm and untouchable,          and

somehow that’s more    terrifying.

as    if     she’s    already   forgiven

despite being beyond repentance.

like   mercy,    a   bullet that stops

just before the heart.    like   she

already    knows     how   it    ends.

ɪꜱᴀɢɪ ʏᴏɪᴄʜɪ thinks she’s hope in

human form.     not perfect,     not

always kind,      but real   and that

makes her holy.     she believes in

people like they matter, sees past

numbers and goals and rankings.

when   she tells him   he’s getting

stronger, it’s better than any goal

he’s ever scored.    he’d    fight   a

thousand   matches   just to hear

her    say   his name   the way she

does — like   it means something.

ʀɪɴ doesn’t    believe   in    angels.

he believes in control, in systems,

in clean lines   and   blood boiling

under skin. but then she walks by

— like a hush,     like a hymn sung

through cracked glass    — and he

forgets what he was angry about.

it’s not romance     nor obsession.

it’s recognition. like she’s the part

of himself he thought   he’d killed

in order to win.   she looks at him

once and he thinks:     god is real

and cruel and it has eyes   which

are as blue as the sky.                   

ꜱᴀᴇ ɪᴛᴏꜱʜɪ watches from far away,

as if    she’s   a painting    he’s not

allowed to touch. not because he

can’t,   but because if he does, it’ll

ruin the illusion. but she’s not soft

— no,    she’s steel wrapped in silk,

a knife dipped in honey.     but   in

those rare moments,     when   her

guard lowers,    when   she smiles

without thinking — he feels like a

sinner at the feet    of   something

divine,    praying not for salvation,

but   for   the   sin   to   never   end.

ᴍɪᴄʜᴀᴇʟ ᴋᴀɪꜱᴇʀ calls her   “engel,”

not out of irony,     but because he

needs   a word    strong enough to

hold the weight of his awe.    she’s

not something he can win.       not

something he can possess.      but

god,   he wants to burn in her light,

even    if     it       blinds      him.      

ɴᴀɢɪ ꜱᴇɪꜱʜɪʀᴏ thinks she’s a dream,

and he hates waking up.   she sits

beside him and he feels the weight

of her quiet,   clouds   ready to rain.

she doesn’t rush him, nor does she

demand. she just exists & for once,

that’s enough to make him want to

move. she brushes his hair from his

eyes &    he thinks: “if this is heaven,

then      i     shall       stay.”                 

ʙᴀᴄʜɪʀᴀ thinks she glows like stars.

like madness. like something that

understands   the    monster within

and sings to it    instead of running

away.   he   calls   her   his   favorite

hallucination,   his   favorite miracle.

he tries to make her laugh & when

she does, he catches it like fireflies

in a jar   and keeps it for the nights

when     everything   is   too    much.

+ other characters idk ;;

૪ OUTRODUCTION ゲ!

──────────ᯓᡣ𐭩

and when the dust settles,                                           

she lingers—like the last breath of a prayer.

not of this world, not entirely.

                  just a trace of grace in the chaos,

a feather caught in the hush                   

                                          between heartbeats.

🪽