Hey! This is Kusanagi here~ Heh. Yeah, I know, I've been MIA for so long... but hey, atleast I'm back now! A little information; this is a collab fic-each chapter are different themed, depends on what Sai (MedicineSai) and I am interested. It's Vocaloid songs, though, so you guys might know some! The pairings are also randomly chosen, also reader-inserts might come your way, so watch out!

So, to start this, I'll post this one: A Fem!MasakixRanmaru fic... with the song: "A Clingy Boy Sticking For 15 Years" - sung by VY2 Yuuma.

Here goes, I do not own Inazuma Eleven GO or its character. This is Uni!AU, by the way.

Enjoy~


Masaki, I've always loved you, ever since I met you.


The first year, I was still reckless.

I wrote love poems for you, everyday without fail.

"Hey, Kirino!" I heard my friend Shindou Takuto calling me. We were friends as long as I remember and our friendship still last until now. I wonder why he's fine being with me. I was just a major in literature. He's a soccer super star, handsome and all that. He even got marriage proposals a few times by other rich families.

"Hey, Shindou." I replied to him, still scribbling something without looking at the paper itself.

"Are you still writing that…?"

"Yeah…" I replied to his question with a soft voice. He knew that I write this every day.

I turned and looked back at my paper—it was filled with incoherent hiragana and katakana everywhere. But mostly, it says,

Masaki, I miss you.


The second year, I'm still reckless.

Even with my house setting ablaze, it would still fail to catch my attention.

It was a summer evening. I decided to cook something to fill my empty stomach. I admit I wasn't really good at cooking, but at least I tried.

First, I need to boil the water. It takes too long, so I decided to continue writing my poem for you. I'll definitely finish this before it is boiled.

When I was in the middle of writing, I smell something wrong. But then I shrugged it off, seeing as it doesn't affect me either way.

After finishing that one poem, I realized that my clothes is burnt; my whole house ablaze.

Damn.


The third year, I've calmed down.

I'd already reached the pinnacle of literature; my poem was the best amongst the best.

Without me knowing, my poems became the best of the best at college. I wasn't surprised; writing poems for you was one of my life objectives.

So, I tried to publicize my online journal,

And the visitor count soon maxed out and broke.

Are you one of my journal's visitors?


In the fourth year, I wrote for a magazine.

And then, I branched it out to television.

It was my first experience sending my poems to magazines. Sure, internet people said it's good, but we're talking about real life, here.

I put my creation inside a brown huge envelope, and sent it to the magazine.

The magazine accepted my creation. I was proud at myself.

Now, It's time to aim higher, and send it to the television, that program called "Literature's". It's harder, even harder than going into the magazine, because that program is a national program and there must be a lot of people sending their creation there, too.

After that, I decided to release a poem compilation.

These poems I wrote are my manifestation of my love for you, Masaki. Are you listening? Did you read my letters? Why aren't you replying?

Masaki, are you looking at me now?


By the fifth year, I'm already a pro-poet.

Attracting the attention of girls, from 20 to 34.

It's time for my first book signing event. I saw a lot of people coming here; even Shindou, and my old friends from middle school. Though, mostly the people here are girls.

I signed and signed, occasionally smiling at the females.

But even so, I wouldn't fall for any of them. I was and will always be an earnest person.

They look just like pansies in my eyes.


By the sixth year, my body was ruined,

My hands are broken. But I kept writing just for you.

That day was just another ordinary winter day. But somehow, my hand felt numb and I can't write anymore. I called Shindou—and that took almost all of my energy just to do so.

Shindou came and he quickly brought me to the hospital.

The doctor said it was my hand; they were overused, thus why it's broken. I just realized, I've written two thousand poems, just for you.

I also cried that day, lamenting because I couldn't write for you.

Months passed; finally my hand could be used again. I wrote a hundred poems in a day.

I've disappointed you, haven't I, Masaki?


By the seventh year, I'm back in my perfect shape,

That's why, I tried comparing you with things—until the eighth year passed.

Finally I'm back to how I was; perfect health. I thanked Shindou because he paid for my hospital expenses; I told him I'll give him back his money but he said he doesn't mind. Well, I kinda know where he came from. He is ninety nine percent richer than me.

Anyway, I'm back to my house—it was already renovated—and started comparing you to things.

You're sweet but bitter, are you yoghurt?

You're energetic but also a softie, are you an ironing tool?

Those stupid comparatives I made continued until the eighth year passed.

Masaki, are you laughing now?


On the ninth year, I had an accident.

Apparently, I took quite a blow on my head.

The day before, I was taking a stroll on the streets. Everything was nice; the weather are also nice—a really good day to walk around and get some inspiration.

Yet, when I was about to cross the street, I heard a loud klaxon. I turned my head, and I saw a huge truck coming at me.

…Then, everything went black.

I woke up at a white room—the hospital, I believe… yet, I can't remember anything. Not even my own name—who am I?

"Kirino, you're awake." I heard a voice from my right. It was a brown haired male.

"Who… are you?" I asked uncertainly. The male looked at me with sorrow in his eyes, and then he said, "It seems that it's true… you suffered from amnesia." He then continued, "You were hit by a truck."

"Truck…Amnesia…me…?" I asked him.

"Yes. I am Shindou Takuto, and you are Kirino Ranmaru. We're childhood friends, and—"

"Shindou? Kirino? Amnesia? What are you talking about?!" I shouted at him. Everything was like a puzzle piece. Yet I couldn't place even one on the right place. I was lost; completely lost.

"Kirino, I know you're confused. Think things through; I will see you later." He said as he walked out of the room.

I do not know who I am, I'm confused as to what I am before this—yet, I know for sure, that I love a female called Masaki—she was my everything… and I still love her, even though I don't even know myself.


Through the tenth and eleventh year, my memories didn't return.

And yet, I still love you.

I was discharged from the hospital a few months ago. Yet, years passed and my memories didn't return. I'm also in good terms with Shindou now. He was a really good person.

I became frustrated; alone in my house, I felt numb.

I love you, yet I don't remember why I do.

You were a part of me, an inseparable part of me, yet I forgot why you are one.

I'm thoroughly frustrated.

I kept writing for you, it seems writing was the past me's specialty.

I still hadn't lose my touch.

All I'd ever want is your reply, Masaki.


Through the twelfth and thirteenth year, my memories still hadn't returned.

But I still love you. That was the only thing I have.

Five years passed ever since I lost my memory. I've been writing for you every day, until all corners of my house are filled with letters, poems, everything directed to you, as a manifestation of my love.

Even by the fourteenth year, they still hadn't come back.

Every day was frightening and uneasy.

They hadn't come back. My memories are still scattered somewhere. Every day was full of uncertainty. Who was I? I kept feeling as if I'm not myself—everyone out there always asked about what happened to the old me.

I wasn't as cheerful and outgoing as I was before, they said.

I'm sick of this.

You were the only one I have. I wish I could touch you, talk to you, I wish you would hug me. My love for you is the only thing keeping me alive.


By the fifteenth year my memories returned,

And I burst into tears, remembering that,

You died fifteen years ago.