Chapter Text
the trophy's weight felt right in your hands, put upon your grasp by the host who's name you didn't quite remember. an award for your excellent performance this year, probably in judo, or maybe akido—you didn't really listen to your manager when she told you about the details. camera flashes and claps filled the function hall as you gave the ever-watching crowd your iconic smile, posing for the picture.
you gaze upon the sea of people, walking to the microphone stand, putting the golden award to your side. truth be told, you didn't have a speech ready. and god, were you not prepared for this. “well,” you start, grabbing the mic with one of your hands to align it with your mouth. “first of all, I feel honored to have received this trophy,” that's what people say in these events, right?
it’s quiet. everyone held their breath for what you're about to say next.
“...thank you for all your support.”
yeah, your manager will be giving you hell for this.
from the rim of the glass of wine in his hand, kaiser watches the way you walked down the stage, trophy in your hand as if it was a mere bag of groceries. he was amused, to say the least, seeing you walk down with nonchalance. he'd say you seemed lost, although that was a stretch. you looked… spaced out.
the host himself gaped, a little astonished by the short length of your speech, before he quickly reminded himself to fill in the silence. michael had tuned that part out, more interested on you now. you—who has barely anything to say after being called the biggest star in the world of martial arts, getting the title of combatant of the year.
you, who as far as he knew, was quite the prodigy.
michael isn't exactly the most caught up on combat sports. in fact, he has never been interested in them before. which explains why he has never heard your name prior to this, or if he had, has never bothered to remember it.
you seem like a pretty big deal in this side of the sports world. and fuck, was his curiosity on why you're such a big deal was getting to him.
not that he'd show it on his face, though.
searching you up sounded tempting. but of course, he's not doing that in such a public space. that would admit that he's oblivious to these things—and what if someone were to be peeking over his shoulder, witnessing him do something so below him? (nobody was doing that.)
so he settles for a lingering glance, resting his head on his hand, watching the minutes tick by with every award announced.
the moon is full overhead, drowning the cityscape in a soft, cool glow. you take in the view through the wall of windows, nodding along to whatever your current company was saying. something about introducing you to friend of his. you knew what that meant: an attempt for sponsorship. or maybe an interviewer of sorts. who knows. it didn't matter much. he should've talked to your manager instead of you, since his words went in one ear and out the other.
he stops talking to you after a while, whisked away by someone else. with a smile and a nod, you go the other way, gravitated towards the scent of confectionery. you wouldn't exactly call yourself a glutton, but you'd be lying if you said you didn't love food. who doesn't? and with how strict your diet was on most days, you're basically dying to get a of taste that sweet, sweet sugar on your tongue–
"quite the speech you gave there."
a voice came from behind you, reaching over your shoulder to snag a flute of champagne. typical of him—so rude. you tilt your head around, being met by a pair of teal eyes and the worst resting bitch face known to mankind.
"sae," you acknowledge, taking a good look at him. "nice to see you again," you prompt, making a good conversation. at least, you hope you are.
it was tolerable, seeing as though he didn't leave you right then and there. "hm," he hummed in reply, bringing the glass to his lips and taking a sip.
it's been a while. the last you've seen each other was six months ago, back in madrid, watching one of his games. you could say you're friends. sort of. too absent to call each other close, too present to be acquaintances, really.
sae glanced at you up and down, watching as you help yourself to a serving of fancy-looking cream puffs. "do you ever socialize or are you only here for the pastry?"
you give him a face, taking your time chewing just to spite, before retorting: “you’re talking about socializing?”
he scoffs. you count that as a win, making him feel something other than boredom or mild displeasure.
“well, sae. I didn't expect you to know the star of today's show.”
unfortunately for the part of you that's childishly competitive, you don't get to be the only one capable of annoying him.
michael kaiser, you've heard. germany's football prodigy, the star striker, member of the newgen 11—god’s chosen emperor. many titles run through your head at seeing him. he's hard to miss, a face you've seen plastered on billboards, and hair practically being the equivalent of a poison frog’s bright colors.
he reminds you of a peacock.
blue eyes glance from sae, then to you, taking an almost lazy scan up and down. “and what a powerful speech you gave,” he teased, sarcasm lacing his tone. you wonder what's wrong with him, having that as his first impression towards you.
you decided for a more sharper look, schooling your expression into guarded interest. he appears to be the type to pry into your head and fork out every minuscule twitch in your face. he's reading you at the moment, and you doubt he hasn't been since you walked into the stage.
fortunately for him, you're not shying away from trying to dissect him back.
“it was all impromptu,” you reply, locked into a silent game of keeping eye contact with him. “but I'm glad it got to you,” the way you said it was so obviously sassed, it made him chuckle. you supposed he likes banter.
kaiser smirks at you. “you sure are fun,” he comments. you take that as a compliment.
“are you two done flirting?” you almost forget about sae—who was disinterestedly watching the two of you talk—preoccupied with intently holding kaiser's gaze because you are not looking away first.
he didn't seem to mind doing so, though, turning his attention to sae without dropping his smile. “what, want in on the fun?” kaiser raises a brow. you stop yourself from laughing.
sae furrows his brows, possibly out of disgust. “no,” he flatly denies. more emotions from him—even if it's repulsion—how phenomenal.
kaiser shrugs, as if to say ‘suit yourself’. “such a bore, itoshi. is this why you don't have a partner yet?”
“i’m too occupied with soccer to worry about that,” he says. you've known that sae has always been the logic-prioritizing type, but a little part of your head is starting to think he has zero proper pull game. “i don't have time for romance.”
jesus, you swear that just made him sound more of a lonely loser.
"that's sad," you remark, feigning remorse.
"it's not," he raises a brow at you. well, damn. he doesn't even get what makes the situation depressing.
you hear kaiser snicker beside you, and you could tell it's because he had just enough decency not to laugh at sae's face. "i knew you were dedicated to soccer—didn't figure you wouldn't think about other aspects of life outside of that, though," now he was just grating on his nerves. you're starting to love whatever the fuck's wrong with this guy.
sae deadpans. he was wondering whatever led him to being acquainted with the two of you. "hilarious, kaiser," he quips, no humor in his tone. "how about you? i certainly don't see you with a date anywhere," deflect and redirect—you're familiar.
"no one has matched my worth," kaiser answers, confidently.
damn, were they both losers?
you wonder if all soccer players were this bad at romance—all the ones you're friends with sure are—maybe that's the price for being monsters on the field, or so you've heard. last time you recall, playing football didn't require selling your soul. not as though you're an expert at this, you haven't watched a match in like, what, five years? maybe these days, you needed to have nothing else but soccer and ego going on to be good at it. you gave it the benefit of the doubt.
"that's one way to look at it…" you trail off, sneaking another bite of the cream puff.
kaiser tilts his head at that, raising a brow at you. "the hell's that supposed to mean?" to which, you shrug. he huffs, professing offense. "i'm not granting just anyone the pleasure of dating me. the emperor requires a fitting partner."
from the corner of your eye, you see sae sigh and down his champagne. "uh huh…" you hum in reply, amused.
kaiser took that as a sign to keep talking, seeing as though he went on. "well, have you ever seen my plays? s-class, no?"
"i haven't, actually," you remark, in passing. to which, kaiser's eyes widen. was it that surprising?
he blinks at you. once, twice—to see if you were being serious. when you didn't go back on your words, he smiles snidely, seeing this as an opportunity served to him on a silver platter. "you haven't?"
"no," you confirm, eyes back on the banquet presented. there was a bunch of drinks: champagne, a bunch of wines, even sparkling water. bunch of confectionery too, easy and light snacks that wouldn't be a hassle to walk around with a plate of. you pick a tart, looking back at him.
there's a glint in his blue eyes. "now, i need to show you my greatness, then, don't i?" he states. "watch my upcoming game," kaiser says, smug and sure, confident that you won't say no.
you could've chosen to be an asshole and said no, just to see how he'd react. but you aren't that mean—right now, at the very least. "fine. since you want me so bad," you accept his invitation, and kaiser basically preens.
sae glances between the two of you, debating if he needs another glass in his system to deal with you for the rest of the night, or if he should just straight up leave. he didn't exactly find lingering as a third wheel to be entertaining. "should i send you easier passes so you don't fool yourself, then?"
you snicker. kaiser gives him a pointed look. "oh, please, itoshi, i'd be honored," he says, going as far as to mockingly bow his head. theatrics lace his attitude, dramatic in every flair, it seemed. the peacock corelation only gets worse. or better. you were liking the vibe.
teal eyes roll, before scanning the room. "you should be," sae quips. his gaze lands on someone, and he straightens his posture—as if it wasn't already all proper beforehand. he sighs, for what felt like the nth time of the night, before running a hand through his reddish-brown hair. "i'm going," he bluntly states.
well, you knew he was always straightforward. what you didn't know, though, was that he'd be willing to go straight to a bigger crowd—if a group of five can be even considered big—to talk to some guy with blonde and pink hair. good for him, you supposed. despite your train of thought just a few minutes ago, you'd give him a pat on the shoulder for shooting his shot.
you turn your attention from him, going back to kaiser. he was looking at you intently, piercing eyes taking you in, as though he could claw you open to observe you more closely.
that's kind of hot.
he certainly is eye candy, himself. fair skin, sharp features, electric blue irises framed by long lashes, rosy lips—angelic. until he opens his mouth. but you find that part engaging too. you speak before he can, breaking the momentary silence. "can i have your number or are you gonna gloat first?"
there was half a second where he was surprised at your candor, before it was quickly schooled back into that arrogant, insufferable smirk that suits him so well. "thought you'd never ask."