In the ruthless world of Bastard München, where ambition and ego clashed like blades on a battlefield, Alexis Ness existed in the shadow of Michael Kaiser—a prodigy whose golden aura outshone even the stadium floodlights. To outsiders, they were a perfect duo: Kaiser, the icy-eyed striker with a god complex, and Ness, the delicate midfielder whose passes weaved through defenses like silk threads. But behind the accolades and roaring crowds festered a truth as fragile as the petals Ness choked on daily.

Hanahaki had rooted itself in Ness’s lungs months ago, its crimson roses blooming with every unspoken confession. He coughed them into his sleeves during training, hid blood-speckled petals in his locker, and smiled through the pain when Kaiser praised his assists. To Kaiser, Ness was a tool—a loyal hound trained to obey. “Fetch, Ness,” he’d sneer after scoring, tossing his water bottle across the locker room just to watch Ness scramble. Yet Ness reveled in those crumbs of attention, his heart twisting as sweetly as his diseased lungs.

Their dynamic mirrored Blue Lock’s philosophy: devour or be devoured. Kaiser, ever the predator, thrived on dominance. Ness, though, had no appetite for power—only for Kaiser’s approval. During matches, he’d carve pathways to victory solely for Kaiser’s glory, even as his body faltered. Once, after collapsing mid-game, Kaiser dragged him upright by his sweat-drenched collar. “Pathetic,” he’d hissed, though his grip lingered a second too long. Ness replayed that moment in his head, wondering if cruelty was Kaiser’s language of care.

The disease worsened. Roses clawed up Ness’s throat during strategy meetings, their thorns tearing his voice to whispers. Teammates glanced away, uneasy; Kaiser merely raised a brow. “Weakness disgusts me,” he said, kicking a stray petal with his cleat. Yet that night, Ness found a single painkiller left on his locker shelf—no note, but he knew. Hope, he realized, was as relentless as Hanahaki.

On the eve of their championship match, Ness stared at the mirror, a wilting rose gripped in his trembling hand. If I vanish, will he even notice? But when Kaiser stormed past him, snapping, “Move, dog,” Ness followed—as he always would. For in Kaiser’s orbit, even thorns felt like home