Chapter Text
Kaiser didn’t realize how much he wanted to be loved until he understood how little of it he’d received.
Love wasn’t something he could define. To him, it was a vague concept, more like a shadow than a reality. The closest thing he had to it was the occasional, grudging pride his father showed when he didn’t screw something up. Love, if it existed, was messy, fleeting, and painfully conditional.
Then she appeared.
The Japanese girl next door wasn’t extraordinary. She wasn’t someone anyone would look at twice. Quiet and unassuming, she slipped through the cracks of the world like she didn’t want to exist in it. But Kaiser noticed her. From the moment he saw her feeding stray animals in the street, crouching in an alley with her arms full of stolen food, he couldn’t stop noticing her.
He thought she was stupid.
She could have gotten caught. She could have been punished. She could have used that food for herself, but no. She gave it all away to a bunch of starving cats and dogs, her smile soft and her hands steady even when her fingers were scratched and bleeding.
Kaiser had stolen food too, but it was different. He did it out of desperation, dragging scraps home to appease his father, praying it would be enough. Seeing her risk everything for something so useless frustrated him.
“What are you doing?” he asked sharply one day, his voice cutting through the quiet alley like a knife. She turned to him, startled, her hands frozen mid-motion as she dropped a piece of bread onto the ground.
“Feeding them,” she said simply, as if it were obvious.
“They’re just animals,” he said, his tone harsh. “They don’t care about you.”
She smiled at him, soft, understanding, and infuriatingly kind. “Maybe not, but I care about them.”
It was stupid. She was stupid. And yet, Kaiser found himself drawn to her, orbiting her like a planet pulled into her gravity. He didn’t know why, and it made him angry.
At first, it was subtle, passing remarks that sliced deeper than he intended. Her soft responses and quiet endurance only spurred him on. He liked her, though he didn’t know how to show it. He didn’t know how to regulate the mess of emotions swirling inside him: the sharp pang of jealousy for her gentleness, the strange pull of admiration, the urge to crush her kindness because it reminded him of how much he lacked it himself.
She didn’t fight back. She smiled at him sometimes, even after his words cut her, and that only made him angrier.
“You’re stupid,” he hissed one day when she crouched beside him outside their apartments. He was bruised and bloody, sprawled on the cracked pavement, and she sat there like nothing was wrong, like the world hadn’t just chewed them both up and spat them out.
Her fingers were bleeding, wrapped in torn cloth. He guessed she’d broken a plate, probably earning a punishment for it. Her skirt rode up as she crouched, revealing the edge of a bruise on her thigh, dark and angry against her skin.
She didn’t flinch at his words. Instead, she tilted her head, her smile soft but tired.
It was a strange kind of closeness, one born of shared silence and unspoken understanding. Kaiser never asked about the bruises she tried to hide, and she never asked about his. But he knew. They both knew.
And then, one day, she was gone.
Kaiser had learned to forget her, or so he thought.
When she left for Japan, it wasn’t as if her absence was sudden; he’d known for weeks, heard the whispered arguments between her mother and the landlord in the hallway. He even saw the movers taking away the few pieces of furniture they owned, and yet, the day she was gone, something in him fractured.
He told himself it didn’t matter.
The girl next door, who fed stray animals with stolen food and smiled too much for someone living in hell, wasn’t supposed to haunt him. But she did. Her absence was like a quiet void in his life, one he tried to fill with football, fleeting relationships, and a desperate attempt to escape his circumstances.
He changed.
Kaiser fought tooth and nail to carve out a new identity. He learned to leave behind the bruised boy who crouched in dirty alleyways, lying to himself about how much he hated the world. Football gave him that escape. It gave him fame, recognition, a chance to reinvent himself.
He grew up, became popular, surrounded himself with people who adored him. He had girlfriends, attractive ones who matched the version of himself he wanted to project. He experienced things, learned how to navigate relationships, or at least pretend he could.
But even with all that change, there was a strange emptiness in him, a lingering frustration he couldn’t quite shake. He buried it deep, along with the memories of bruised hands and stolen bread.
And for a while, it worked.
It was a crowded mall in Japan, the kind of place that felt too loud, too alive. Kaiser had been aimlessly wandering, trying to kill time, when a flash of familiarity stopped him in his tracks.
She was there.
At first, he wasn’t sure if it was really her. She looked the same, too much the same. That quiet demeanor, the shy tilt of her head as she browsed through a rack of clothes. Time hadn’t touched her, and that fact sent a wave of something unnameable crashing through him.
He approached her without thinking, his steps hesitant yet deliberate.
As he got closer, memories he thought he’d buried resurfaced, her small figure crouched beside him in the dim light of their apartment complex. Her fingers, bleeding from a shattered plate. The bruises that peeked out from under her skirt. The way she’d looked at him, unwavering even as he spat insults, as if she could see through the anger and bitterness straight to the core of him.
And now, here she was, looking up at him in surprise, her expression open and kind, like nothing had changed.
He studied her, and it hit him like a punch to the gut.
He had changed.
The tattoos on his arms, the confidence in his posture, the success he carried with him like armor, he was a different person. He’d fought to separate himself from the boy he used to be, from the father who had made him that way.
But she hadn’t changed at all.
She was still the same quiet, fragile girl who smiled too much for someone with bruises on her skin. She was still stuck in the same loop, and it infuriated him.
“Congratulations on everything,” she said softly, her voice warm, genuine.
For a moment, he didn’t know what to say. The words caught in his throat, tangled up with frustration and something deeper, something he didn’t want to name.
His first instinct was to lash out, to comment on how little she’d changed, how weak she still seemed. But the words died on his tongue as his gaze caught on the bruises peeking through her shirt. She tilted her head innocently, unaware of how much he could see, and he felt that familiar frustration return in full force.
He muttered something, he wasn’t sure what, and before he could say more, a man approached.
The man’s hand landed heavily on her shoulder, and she flinched.
Kaiser’s jaw clenched as he watched her expression shift. The warmth in her eyes dimmed, replaced by something hollow. She lowered her gaze, obediently following the man as he dragged her away, his tone sharp and angry.
Kaiser’s fists tightened at his sides.
Average. She was average.
Below that, even.
That unlucky minority of the world who never escaped their circumstances. Some abuse victims got out; others didn’t. She hadn’t.
And it ate at him.
For days, she lingered in his mind.
He told himself he didn’t care. She was just another ghost from his past, a reminder of a time he’d fought so hard to leave behind. But no matter how much he tried to push her out, she wouldn’t leave his memory.
A few days later, he saw her again.
It was in a quiet café, just before his flight back to Germany. She was alone, staring out the window, a cup of hot chocolate in her hands and a slice of cake on the table in front of her.
Without thinking, he sat down across from her.
She turned to him in surprise, her expression soft, warm.
He studied her, taking in the way her body seemed smaller, more fragile than he remembered. The subtle signs of a life that hadn’t been kind to her were etched into her demeanor, into the way she held herself.
But her eyes, the way she looked at him, with that same unchanging warmth, confused him.
Why?
Why could she look at him like that, after everything?
The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Kaiser wasn’t sure what to say, wasn’t sure why he had even sat down. His instinct told him to leave, to walk away before he got pulled into something he couldn’t handle.
But her presence rooted him there.
“So you're in Japan for training?” she asked softly, breaking the silence.
Her voice brought him back to the present. He stared at her, unsure of how to respond. For years, he’d crafted himself into someone who could talk his way through anything—a charm offensive, quick wit, smooth arrogance. Yet, sitting here across from her, he felt stripped bare.
“Something like that,” he muttered, leaning back in his seat.
Her gaze shifted, her hands curling around the warm mug of hot chocolate. She didn’t press further, didn’t ask about his life or his success beyond what she already knew.
“You’ve done well for yourself,” she said instead, a small smile on her lips. “Blue Lock… it’s incredible. Congratulations.”
There it was again, that warmth. That quiet, unyielding kindness that somehow felt more painful than any insult she could have thrown his way.
He wanted to snap at her, to tell her that congratulations from someone like her meant nothing. But the words wouldn’t come.
Instead, he looked at her more closely, his eyes drawn to the faint shadows under her eyes, the subtle tension in her shoulders. She wasn’t wearing makeup, not that she ever did.
The scars on her hands were faded but still visible, and he wondered how many more there were, hidden beneath her clothes.
“Why are you here?” he asked suddenly, his voice sharper than he intended.
She blinked, startled by the question. “Here?”
“In Japan. In this café. Anywhere.” He gestured vaguely, his frustration bleeding into his words. “Why are you still… like this?”
Her smile faltered, just for a moment, before she looked down at her mug. “I live here now. It’s… easier for my husband.”
The word “husband” hit him like a brick to the chest. He didn’t know why it bothered him, why it made the air in the room feel heavier.
Kaiser scoffed, leaning forward. “Easier for him, huh?”
She didn’t answer.
Her silence was the same as it always had been, infuriating yet unyielding. She wasn’t defending him, but she wasn’t complaining either.
“Does he hit you?” The question escaped before he could stop it.
Her head snapped up, her wide eyes meeting his. For a moment, he thought she might deny it, might laugh it off or brush it aside. But she didn’t.
She just looked at him, her lips parted as if to speak, but no sound came out.
And that was answer enough.
The bitterness in his chest swelled, choking him. He wanted to grab her, shake her, demand to know why she hadn’t left, why she hadn’t fought harder to change her circumstances.
He’d done it. He’d clawed his way out of the abyss they’d both been trapped in. Why couldn’t she?
“You’re pathetic,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper.
Her expression didn’t change. If the words hurt her, she didn’t show it. Instead, she smiled that same small, resigned smile he hated so much.
“I know,” she said simply.
That was worse.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The café around them was quiet, the soft clinking of dishes and murmured conversations blending into white noise.
“I’m leaving soon,” he said abruptly, breaking the silence. “Back to Germany.”
Her eyes softened, a wistful look crossing her face. “That’s good. You’ve done so much already. I’m sure there’s more waiting for you.”
The sincerity in her voice made his chest ache. He didn’t want her to be happy for him. He wanted her to be angry, bitter, something. Anything but this.
“Come with me.”
The words came out before he could stop them.
She froze, her eyes widening as she stared at him.
“What?”
“Come with me,” he repeated, his voice more forceful this time. “Leave him. Leave all of this. I’ll take you back with me.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Her eyes darted around the café, as if searching for an answer in the quiet chaos around them. For a moment, he thought she would refuse. That she’d give him that same soft, resigned smile and tell him she couldn’t.
But then she stood up.
“Michael…” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Say yes,” he pressed, standing too. “Just say yes, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Her hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the table. She looked down, her shoulders tense, her breathing uneven.
And then, finally, she looked up at him, tears glistening in her eyes.
“Yes.”