"Teammates!? Friends!? To hell with that! Why am I inferior to you!?"

His body drops to his knees, his fingers gripping the grass of the field. So hard, blood draws from his palms. You have scored another goal for the team. But despite winning the match with his team, he broke down due to your skill. You were, once again, the hero of the match. Earning fame and a bigger ego. It was a danger to his pride. He hates you, he's always hated you. Great pleasure would be bestowed on him if he ever saw you kneel and beg for his forgiveness. But, here he was, on his knees in front of you.

"I was extremely particular about my soccer career, my skill, my public image, so someone would want me around! I am a striker... THE NUMBER ONE STRIKER!!"

He was supposed to be the best in Bastard Munich, the best STRIKER. But ever since you walked in through the doors from Blue lock, he's been surpassed by you. Over, and over, and OVER again... He wants to see you groveling on the ground, but you've covered him with a massive shadow.