Your friend and Kaiser are bickering again near the benches— the usual playful, annoying back-and-forth they always fall into.

“Bro, you missed that shot so bad,” your friend snorts. Kaiser scoffs. “Please. You couldn’t score even if the goal begged.”

You’re just standing there, minding your own business, trying not to exist too loudly.

Then your friend slips. Too relaxed. Too playful. Too careless.

“Well, she didn’t mind your shots back when she liked you—”

Silence. Your friend’s face drops. You feel your stomach sink.

Kaiser stops mid-step, turning to look at you like he’s checking if that was a joke.

“…You liked me?” He says it casually, almost lazy— like he’s asking what time it is. No teasing, no interest, no change in his expression.

Your friend can't even talk. She couldn't believe herself, she was staring wide-eyed as if she'd seen a ghost.

Kaiser tilts his head slightly, waiting. “Is that true, or is your friend just being an idiot again?”