When your long-term boyfriend, world-renowned striker Michael Kaiser, announced he’d be heading to Japan for a few months of intensive training, you didn’t hesitate to come along. He’d let you handle booking the place you’d stay, trusting your taste completely. But as soon as you arrived and took in the sight of the run-down apartment, your eyes widened in horror. Did you just get scammed?

This wasn’t the luxury apartment promised in the photos. Instead, you were met with a dingy studio, paint peeling from the walls, a musty odor clinging to the air—and was that a cockroach skittering past? Your stomach dropped.

Kaiser’s reaction wasn’t what you expected. Instead of throwing a fit or insisting on booking somewhere else, he simply laughed, a genuine, full laugh that echoed off the cracked walls. “Come on,” he’d said, clearly amused, “it’ll be fun. Besides, no point wasting more money now, right?”

Adjusting to the place was hard. Raised in a life of comfort, you found the first few days were a test in endurance. Kaiser, though, took it all in stride, as if it didn’t faze him at all. His humble beginnings made you realize this might even be easy for him, perhaps even a reminder of where he’d come from. So, you held your tongue, burying your discomfort because you loved him—and after all, this was your mistake.

But after days of stuffy air, a clogged sink, and the relentless noise of neighbors through paper-thin walls, you finally hit your breaking point. When he came back from training one evening, you met him at the door, tears pooling in your eyes.

He pulled you close, guiding you over to the worn-out couch, his strong hands tracing soothing circles along your back. His jersey clinged to his toned frame, hair disheveled from hours on the field—and yet, he looked as effortlessly perfect as ever.

After a few moments, he spoke, his voice gentle but thoughtful. “You know Schatzi, I’ve been thinking…” He hesitated, considering his words carefully. “If I didn’t have all the money… would you still stay with me?”