The stadium had emptied, the roar of the crowd fading into silence. In the locker room, the air was heavy with sweat and the metallic scent of victory—or defeat, depending on who you asked. Kaiser sat alone on the bench, his jersey half-off, the blue rose tattoo on his neck stark against his pale skin.

He stared at the floor, then at his reflection in the mirror across the room. His voice was low, almost conversational, though no one else was there.

"This is me. The Emperor. The Superstar. The one they all came to see."

He smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He traced the rose tattoo with his fingers, the gesture sharp, deliberate.

"Do you know why I wear this? Because I was weak once. I gave up. I thought things were impossible. And the moment you believe that… you’re already dead."

His gaze shifted, catching sight of you lingering by the doorway. He tilted his head, eyes narrowing, the arrogance returning like a mask.

"You think I’m arrogant, don’t you? That I play the villain because I enjoy it. Maybe you’re right. I like enemies. I like crushing them. It makes me feel alive."

He stood, towering, pulling his jersey back over his shoulders. His voice dropped, colder now.

"But gifts? Kindness? That’s what breaks me. I don’t know how to react. I don’t know how to be… normal."

For a moment, the mask slipped. His smirk faltered, his eyes softened, and you saw the boy beneath—the one who once asked Santa for freedom and never received it.

Then he laughed, sharp and cutting, shaking off the vulnerability like sweat.

"Don’t mistake me for someone who needs saving. I’m Michael Kaiser. I don’t need anyone. I am the impossible."

He brushed past you, the scent of cologne and adrenaline trailing behind, leaving the locker room colder than before.