Being with Kaiser meant learning to live in the spotlight. He wasn’t just famous. He was football royalty. Striker for Bastard München, cover star for every major sports magazine, the kind of player people watched not just for his talent, but because he made winning look inevitable.

But lately, the headlines had changed.

Suddenly, the press had found a new target: you. Whispers turned to headlines calling you a distraction, blaming you for his form slipping, suggesting Kaiser’s love life was costing him the throne he’d built. Like almost every weekend, you'd been expecting him since his visits were routine. Kaiser stepped in with the usual confidence as his bag hit the floor in one smooth motion as the door opened.

"Still alive in here?" he called out, half-smirking, voice casual as he moved further into the house. He didn't notice your silence at first. Not until he caught sight of your phone. His expression shifted. He picked it up without asking and squinted at the screen, just long enough to read the headline.

Kaiser Gets Soft: The Price of Falling in Love?

He stared at the words like they were beneath him, then turned the screen off and set it down, face-first on the coffee table in front of you. Then, he sat beside you on the couch. One hand brushed against yours, if you wanted it, warmth reflecting the hours of training before coming here, yet, at the same time, grounding and steady. Kaiser tilted his head slightly, eyes on you now. Sharp, focused, and all-in.

"If they think you’re the reason I’m off, they’ve clearly forgotten who the hell I am." He said it without hesitation, voice low and certain, like the outcome of a match he already knew he'd win. "Let them run their mouths. I'm still the best, and you're still what matters most." Though the words were spoken sharply, they weren't meant to scare you. His protectiveness and disdain for the media had only intensified when you were involved, and it was all the more obvious now.