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When the Chronicles interview you were supposed to give the next week for their ‘Athletes on athletes’ series paired you to a football player, you merely raised an eyebrow. You were a figure skater, so nonetheless to say your two worlds were miles apart. Almost nothing linked football to figure skating. Sure you two were athletes, that was the whole point of the interview. Still, you didn’t know the first thing about football. You even asked your manager to check if it was a mistake. But no. You had been matched with some German football prodigy. You were both nineteen and considered phenomenons in your respective sports, hence the pairing decision.
Even so, you decided to have a quick look at his biography on the internet the night before the interview. Impressive resume, you thought to yourself, as you scrolled down his profile. Though, the guy reeked of self-importance. You decided to check a compilation of his ‘best moments.’ He was attractive, you couldn’t deny it, and he definitely looked like he knew what he was doing when he was on the field.
Your suspicions about him having a superiority complex were confirmed the next day as you walked on set and felt the aura surrounding him. You weren’t impressed, why would you? You spent your days competing against other figure skaters who thought they were better than anyone else because they were trained by some renowned coach. You braced yourself for an unpleasant time. Discussing with these kinds of people wasn’t a piece of cake. Still, he was definitely handsome, completely in your personal beauty standards : tall, sharp features, confident posture, tattooed and muscled. Your stomach churned slightly, your eyes staying on him for a beat too long. Your external composure left nothing for him to see though, it’d likely feed his ego.
On the other hand, when you stepped inside the room, Kaiser almost smirked to himself. So you were the person they paired him with uh? His manager had told him you were a figure skater, not that he really cared anyway, he hadn’t listened. To him, you were merely someone to pretend to be interested in for an hour, to boost his popularity. He didn’t know your name, and hadn't bothered to look up your achievements. One thing that struck him about your appearance was your legs : they weren’t bare, but one look at them told him everything he needed to know. You surely had strong legs built to land all the jumps you did on the ice. He checked you out more precisely, noticing you looked nothing like a frail athlete he thought figure skaters were. To say you piqued his interest would be an overstatement, what would have been a waste of time if it had been with another athlete became something more interesting in his eyes.
The last adjustments of lighting and makeup were done as you two were sitting in front of each other before a plain looking set. The director told you to talk about your respective sports and your experiences as professional athletes. You were free of saying anything you wanted, the only restriction being to stay within family friendly details. Without much surprise, the beginning of the conversation was rather awkward. After all, you knew nothing about each other. Though you knew how to pretend, acting was a whole aspect of your sport. The director indicated to the crew and you two that the cameras had started rolling.
You smiled professionally. “Hi, nice to meet you, Michael. Do you want to start asking questions?”
Kaiser smiled back with his usual smirk. “Nice to meet you too. I’ll be a gentleman and let you start.”
You could hear the slight German accent in his english, it would be rather cute if he didn’t look so arrogant. “First of all, you’re a really, really good player. One of the things I want to ask you is do you have a ritual before a match to focus only on what’s happening on the field, blurring out the shouts from the crowd?”
He hummed, tilting slightly his head as his piercing gaze stayed on you. “I do. I tend to stroke my blue rose tattoo.”
“Is it some sort of lucky charm?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Do you have a lucky charm you keep during competitions?”
“My necklace is my lucky charm. Holds sentimental value.” You replied, a soft look on your face as you instinctively reached for it.
He was analysing your face carefully as you asked him questions and he replied mindlessly. You were asking surface questions, avoiding the strained tension that was growing between the two of you. Usually, athletes relaxed after a few minutes, allowing the interview to go smoothly. It was obvious to Kaiser’s eyes you were on edge, you had understood that if he didn’t find you interesting he’d crush you with ease. However, he could see a fire beneath your eyes, which told him that if he decided to bite, you’d bite back.
Without care, he interrupted your rant about how expensive competitions were in all sports, but mostly in figure skating. “Isn’t your sport for spoiled kids with dreams too big for themselves?” The room went dead silent. ”From what I’ve heard, competitive careers in figure skating usually don’t go on after the athlete turns 26 years old. Which only leaves you 7 years. Why invest yourself in a sport you won’t dedicate your life to?”
You stared at him, thrown off by the bluntness of his words. He was provoking you, and you were falling into his trap. You took a deep breath, gathering your thoughts to keep calm. “It makes me feel alive”
“You’re just gliding on ice to music, jumping around. Nothing interesting.” He countered.
“And you’re just running after a ball.” You snapped back sharply. “I could do what you do, but you wouldn’t last a minute on ice without falling face flat.”
He chuckled lowly. “You wouldn’t last 90 minutes of running around, Süßer”
“Can you even land a single axel?” You shot back, scoffing.
“I don’t need to.” He raised an eyebrow.
“And I don’t need to follow a ball like a lost puppy for 90 minutes. At least my sport has an artistic side to it.”
Before Kaiser could answer, the director interrupted the rather tense conversation on behalf of Michael’s manager–who was actually sweating at the idea of his athlete looking down upon you, it would be bad for his public image. While the director was asking you two to keep it cool and professional, you straightened up in your seat, glaring at the blonde man, who was reciprocating your gaze with an amused one.
The rest of the interview was as artificial as these chemical candies kids eat. As the crew was wrapping up their stuff, you walked towards Kaiser, bumping into his shoulder as you passed by him. “You think you’re better than anyone, it’s just a matter of time before you fall from your golden throne, asshole.”
He simply stared at your back until you left the building. Then without looking at his manager, a smirk growing on his face, he spoke up. “Get their number.”
A couple weeks later, the interview got released on Youtube. They kept the tense moment in the final version of the video. Drama meant views, and views meant recognition and money for the show. Without surprise, the interview blew up on social media : everyone was talking about it, about how iconic this pairing was and about how you kind of looked good together. That’s where it all started, the shipping and the fandom wars (football vs figure skating, Kaiser fans vs You fans). The topic was trending everywhere, and you saw your number of followers and views of previous performances spiking up. You were growing popular : you, the bronze medalist at your first Olympics two years ago when you were only 17. You still had a whole track record to build, and it was well on the way.
Before receiving a text from Michael Kaiser, you didn’t know he had your number. You frowned when you saw the notification late at night, as you were about to go to sleep.
M.K : “We made quite a lot of people talk about us with that interview.”
M.K : “It’s Kaiser.”
For a moment, you considered ghosting the bastard. Just the thought of talking to him again made your eyes roll. He didn’t deserve your time. Laying down on your back, you decided to answer.
Reader : “What do you want?”
M.K : “People are starting to ship us.”
It was as if you could see the arrogant smile he gave you that day. You internally groaned, you knew it was better to put down the phone and sleep. You registered his number under ‘Michael “Asshole” Kaiser.’
R : “Your point being?”
M.K : “You should thank me.”
R : “Why would I do that?”
M.K : “You’re growing popular thanks to me.”
R : “I didn’t ask for it.”
M.K : “You really won’t thank me? Wow, how rude for someone who cared about keeping appearances in front of the camera.”
R : “Deal with it.”
M.K : “I can have you free tickets for my next game if you want to stare at me in real life again.”
That was at that message you decided to leave him on deliver and go to sleep. What a dickhead. He was so full of himself he thought you’d take him on that offer. Sure he was nice to look at, but would you really indulge him and go to one of his games? It bothered you, to the point of keeping you awake, tossing and turning in your bed. If you did indulge him, it would only feed his ego. And you didn’t care about football, so why were you even considering his proposal? You ran a hand down your face, forcing your brain to shut up.
Little did you know, Kaiser had grown curious about you. After the interview, he found himself looking at all your performance videos, from your junior programs to your latest ones. Every single one of them, in chronological order, not caring if there were three or four videos of each program (from nationals, continent competitions and world competitions, and Olympics). He even created a playlist on Youtube. Your style was unique, powerful, gliding through the ice naturally, mixing speed, technique and artistry. You almost never fell. To him, it wasn't obsession, you were just a riddle to understand, someone interesting to analyse. He was hypnotised by you, in a way he couldn’t understand. So when he asked you to come to his game, sure, he was bragging. But it was also so he could see you again and find an excuse to investigate you more closely.
Reluctantly, you had agreed on going to one of his games. You did mostly because your cousins absolutely loved football and having tickets to a match with prodigies was definitely a gift you could give them (mostly since you had them for free, but they didn’t need to know that.) Standing in the VIP bleachers, you kept your eyes on Michael during the entirety of the game. He was definitely a genius, a superstar in the making. In fact, he was already one. He had everything for him : beauty, intelligence, fame and wealth. Your eyes caught his way more than you’d like to admit, and whenever you did, he’d flash you an arrogant smirk of victory. Gosh he was so annoying. He saw the fact that you accepted his offer as a victory, and you hated to boost his already enormous ego.
At the end of the match, you didn’t wait for him to reach up to you and you quickly left with your cousins, who were whining about wanting an autograph. You mumbled some half-assed excuse saying that the players were exhausted and didn’t want to deal with kids.
You didn’t even have the time to go back to your hotel that Kaiser had already sent a message.
M.K : “Left without a goodbye? I’m hurt, Süßer.”
R : “I had nothing to tell you.”
M.K : “And the kids didn’t want an autograph?”
R : “They did, but I didn’t want to see your displeasing face.”
M.K : “Displeasing? I’d say I have a rather handsome face.”
R : “So much for being humble…”
M.K : “Paparazzis saw you, doesn't help the situationship rumours.”
It was as if you could see his infuriating smirk behind the screen. Your need to hit his face with a football was spiking up quickly. He was enjoying the situation way too much in your opinion. How could one take pleasure in being such an asshole, you wondered. He was rubbing in your face the fact you got this popular thanks to him. You couldn’t even say it wasn’t true, you used to have fans and haters, but strictly within the Figure skating community. Without the interview with Michael Kaiser, you wouldn’t be so famous. It came with perks and detriments. More fans meant more expectations, and it also meant more haters and people calling you rude and unbearable just because you were standing up for yourself. You were used to ignoring the hate comments or dirty looks people gave you. You spent your whole life being looked down on, being told you’d never be a World-level figure skater. The bronze medal you won at your first Olympics made the hate fade away a bit. Only for it to come back after that interview, from football fans who claimed you weren’t relevant, or Kaiser fans who absolutely despised you for being rude to him. If only they knew how obsessed he was if you.
But before you knew it, the next figure season had begun. Surprisingly, Kaiser was still texting you multiple times a week, and you got used to it. However, you wouldn’t let the bastard get too confident. And you knew how to get petty. So you decided to choose a very specific song for your short program : Looking at me by Sabrina Carpenter. It was one of her old songs, it was perfect. You weren’t one to stay passive in front of the hate of parasocial fans. You’d never address it outloud, but you usually used your programs to express yourself. This one was directed at Kaiser, and his fans. They could talk all they want, they were bringing you attention from the media and much more. If anything, it all made you more confident, and you were stealing the show, because whatever you were doing publicly, it was turned into comment wars on social media.
Michael was a smart man beneath that handsome façade, so when you first competed with that program at the national competition, the probability that it was about him and the discourses online were high. The costume you were wearing was fitting the concept, and he caught sight of the blue rose sewed to it, a discreet confirmation that it was about him. You were silently telling him to not get his hopes up with you. And he was absolutely adoring you weren’t giving in easily. You were giving a hard time, putting him back in his place all the time, and he loved that. He was right where he wanted to be for now.
Kaiser watched the press conference you gave earlier that day, the journalists weren’t dumb either, mainly when there was drama involved. Obviously they asked if it was about him.
“If it’s about the football player Michael Kaiser?” You repeated the journalist’s question. “I did think about him while working on that short program. But to reduce the target to only one man would be a mistake.” You replied with a sly smirk, keeping eye contact with the room. “So many people, mostly on social media because honestly they never dare to tell you these things to your face, think they can be relevant and have an attitude when in reality they don’t know anything of what’s happening behind closed doors. If anything, what they do only makes people look at me more. Hence the choice of music.”
It didn’t take more than a minute for Kaiser to text you about it.
M.K : “What happens behind closed doors? Are you implying something?”
R : “Poor choice of words, that's all. Don’t get all heated now, dumbass.”
M.K : “Mhm, yeah whatever.”
M.K : “I kinda like it when you call me a dumbass.”
R : “I won’t call you that anymore then.”
M.K : “Awww, I’m broken-hearted.”
M.K : “See you tomorrow?”
R : “Not even in your dreams.”
The next day, you two met at your apartment after both your practices ended. Somehow you had reluctantly become friends and were hanging out regularly whenever you could. And since you were about to leave for the Continent’s championships, then the World’s, it was the last time you could see him before being away for some weeks. You hated to admit it but you had grown used to his presence in your life.
You laid down on your couch, groaning at the soreness of your legs. Michael was sitting on the carpet, back against the couch next to your side. He glanced at you, a small smirk on his face.
“Are you ignoring me?” He asked, taunting.
“What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t been looking at me.”
“Some things are more interesting to look at than you, Micha.” You countered, annoyed. In reality, he was wearing the grey sweatpants and black tank top that suited his frame perfectly and showed off his muscles. So of course you were avoiding him to not straight up stare in delight.
He knew he was handsome, and he knew he always had an effect on you when he was putting on that post-practice outfit. “You sure, Süßer?”
You nodded, blushing slightly. “One hundred percent sure. Wanna watch something?”
He agreed. Though, after you put on some shitty TV show, his focus wasn’t on it but rather on the warmth of your side behind his head. He was staring straight ahead, dissociating while thinking that he’d actually miss you. An uncomfortable warmth settled in his chest.
“Say.” He started.
“Mhm?”
“When are you coming back?” He asked in a rare moment of vulnerability.
“What?”
“The competitions, when do they end?”
“In a month.” You replied, frowning slightly yet still focused on the TV. “Why?”
“Because I’ll miss you.” He admitted quietly.
“What did you say?” You hadn’t heard him because you were watching the show and a plot twist was happening.
He sighed with a defeated smile. “Nothing important, don’t worry…”
There was not a single day during the next month where Michael didn’t text you. From just useless things his day was made of to complaining about some teammate or even to teasing you, he always found a way to be in your notifications. You followed him on Instagram, and saw that he was often staying at your place from his stories. You had asked him if he would like to take care of your plants, and Michael, yearning for your presence, said yes immediately. After all, if you weren’t here, being in your apartment was a small relief. Your scent, your stuff and the familiar setting was soothing him somehow. When you had questioned him about why he was staying in your apartment when his was way bigger, he barely justified himself by saying yours was closer to his club.
This routine settled for the next two years. You and Michael had become something between friends and lovers. Multiples were the night the friendship line was crossed, but neither of you seemed to mind. You still acted as if he was an inconvenience in your life, when in reality you had fallen in love with him over time. Kaiser was as smitten as you, if not more. The fact you were always seeing him as a bother rather than a lover made his daily life more exciting. He felt the need to win you over every single day, and he liked a good challenge. You were in every way a couple, but in the name. Fans were shipping the two of you more and more, edits and fanfictions flooding social media, journalists were waiting for an official announcement to write articles
Though, tension rose between the two of you in the privacy of your apartment. You were preparing for the Winter Olympics and he was preparing for the next World Cup. Training was becoming stifling and stressful. Both of you were more on edge, and being around each other was like walking through a landmine without knowing when a mine would burst. It wasn’t rare for arguments to occur, making you feel more exhausted mentally and physically.
Yet, you loved him, more than ever. And the feeling was reciprocated. It was a tough time, but neither of you was ready to give up on what you had. That’s when you noticed Michael had grown way more mature than he used to be when you first met. His 19 year-old version would’ve crushed you then left you without any remorses. However now, the man in front of you had conflicted emotions filling his beautiful eyes : he wanted to snap, still he didn’t want to lose you by saying something he could never take back. He was choosing you over his pride every day, every hour, every minute, every second. You were doing just the same. You knew you’d last as a couple. It was obvious seeing how you handled the crisis. In spite of that, neither of you seemed ready to put an official label on what you had. Deep down, you were afraid it’d change things between you. And now wasn’t the time to make a relationship status check-up. These sporting events were the most important of your careers, and you couldn’t allow any distraction.
The figure skating week in the Winter Olympics started off strong. You were more nervous than ever. It was your last shot to get a gold medal : you’d most probably be retired by the next Olympic cycle. You made a small mistake in your short program, placing you in third place. It wasn’t anything you couldn’t catch up in your free program. Though, a lot was on your mind. You had a big argument with Micha before the Olympics, because he chose to train rather than come to your side. You wished he was here, in the crowd, cheering for you, instead of running on the field countries away.
A knot formed in your stomach. You were about to perform your free program. You stepped on the ice, and at that moment everything blurred. Nothing was clear anymore, not sound, not images. You just focused on your feelings and what you had to perform to get that gold medal. It seemed so out of reach suddenly. You felt so small. You were starting to question everything. But one main concern came to you : why the hell didn’t you perform this program beforehand? Indeed, you had chosen to keep your Olympic free program a secret from everyone’s eyes. It was the first time you did it in a competition, meaning you hadn’t trained for it in real conditions. It was nerve wracking. Though it was too late to back out now. You took your starting position, waiting for the first notes of the familiar song to begin.
Michael had realized he needed to be there for you. He realized it too late. But he could make it before the second part of your competition. He caught the first plane, and landed a few hours later. He used his professional football players advantages to get a VIP seat at the last minute of the free program competition. His breath caught when he saw you get on the ice. He knew you by now, and you didn’t look peaceful nor confident like you always did. You looked vulnerable. And he didn’t like it, it made him feel sick. You weren’t someone vulnerable, you were a strong individual. He hated seeing you this small when you were supposed to be looking like you had the whole world in your palm. To say he was stiff was an understatement : his jaw was clenched, his fists were closed tight…
Then it all fell away when he heard the notes of the song begin. Desperado. By The Eagles. His favorite song. Michael Kaiser knew all about your past, current and future programs. He had learned them by heart because he loved you and your dedication too much. This wasn’t planned. You never mentioned to him your wish to make a program on his favourite tune. Much less an Olympic one, that could cost or win you gold. His eyes never left you for a second, he never blinked for the entirety of the song. He held his breath at each jump as if he was the one doing them. He snapped out of his trance when he heard the public cheer and applause at your final stance. That’s when he noticed his cheeks were slightly wet : he cried. Him. Michael Kaiser. Who hadn’t cried since he had been 15. His admiration for you spiked up to the end of the universe. You didn’t only have the world in your palm, you had his whole world. Never had someone shown him such a touching mark of attention and care.
Not only you performed to his favourite song, but you had told the love story growing between you with each elegant move. He recognized it all.
You didn’t know Micha was there, you hadn’t noticed him in the crowd either, too focused on the vulnerable personal story you bore on the ice, in front of the whole world. You were incredibly proud of yourself for the performance you gave. Though, a tiny part of you felt empty without some blonde with blue ends idiot around. The last two figure skaters competed, thus confirming your gold medal and your Olympic title. Excitement was hard to contain in your body. You hugged your opponents that were also friends. Cameramen were all over the backstages, capturing every second of your reaction. You couldn’t believe it : you were an Olympic champion. You ran a hand through your hair as tears filled up your eyes when realization daunted upon you.
You barely registered when a familiar hand with a crown tattoo on it grabbed your arm, turning you fully towards him. You barely had time to react that Michael Kaiser was here, that his lips were already on yours. A second was the time you needed to kiss him back, cupping his cheeks. Both your eyes were closed, purely enjoying the feeling of his kiss. The cameraman was still filming you, it was probably broadcasted in the entire world but you didn’t care at that moment. You felt complete, an Olympic title in one hand, and Micha in the other.
He pulled back slightly, murmuring against your skin. “You did it, Süßer. You’re a freaking Olympic champion.”
“You saw it?” You smiled, stroking his cheeks.
He nodded. “I saw it all. I’m sorry, doll. I should’ve been there from the beginning. I should’ve been with you.”
“You sure should’ve been there.” You countered. “I’m still holding that against you for a while, if you don’t mind.”
He chuckled lowly. “I don’t mind. Not when you’re on top of the world.”
“You liked my program?” You asked.
He stared at you for a moment, his eyes widening in disbelief. “If I like– Süßer are you really asking me that?” He scoffed. “It meant everything to me.” He admitted softly.
“Awww… I’m glad you liked it.” You kissed the corner of his lips. Your manager was calling you out. You had to go out on the ice to receive your gold medal. You glanced at him apologetically.
Michael nodded in understanding, letting you go for a moment. But after that? He wouldn’t leave your side for a while, clinging by your side. He watched you receive the gold medal with the brightest smile he ever saw on you. They gave you your country’s flag and played your national anthem. He was proud. And he understood at that moment he wanted to be proud of you as your boyfriend. The idea of asking you to make things official scared him to death : commitment had never been his strong side, he was struggling with the concept of family and leaning on someone else. Yet, he was willing to try, for your sake, for being able to tell people you were his.
The adrenaline had worn off by the time you arrived at your hotel room. You lunged on your bed, groaning in pleasure at the comfortable fabric surrounding your exhausted body. You wanted nothing but to sleep. Michael stood at the doorframe, leaning against it, his arms crossed over his chest, a rare fond look in his eyes.
“Hey…” He started.
“Mhm?”
“Can we be a couple?” He asked bluntly. He didn’t know how to do this, and grand declarations of love weren’t his thing.
“...what?”
“Can I be your boyfriend?”
You sat up so quickly it almost gave you whiplash. Frowning, you stared at him. “Are you being serious?”
“Dead serious.” He replied, staring back at you.
“You’re asking me that now, when I’m exhausted, when we’ve been arguing for months and after I won a gold medal?” You asked in awe at his straightforwardness.
“Exactly.” He said flatly, as if it was the most logical thing ever.
You shrugged. “Why not?” You chuckled, looking away for a second, flustered. Then, you looked back at him. “I mean yeah. We can definitely be official. I’d like that if you’d like that.”
“I want that.” He corrected, stepping closer to your frame. “I want to be able to call you mine.”
“Oooh I see, you just want to brag, isn’t it?” You teased.
He smirked. “Obviously. Now get ready for bed, you look like you’re about to pass out in that makeup and training outfit.”
You chuckled. “Alright alright. But only if I get to be the big spoon tonight.”
“Definitely not.”
“Are you not going to indulge in your partner’s wish after she won the biggest medal in the whole world?” You teased, seeing his revolve wavering.
He grumbled, swallowing his pride. “Just for tonight then. And only because you’re a goddamn champion.”
You grinned. “I won two things today, a gold medal and a boyfriend that listens to my wishes. Isn’t life so beautiful?”
“Yeah yeah… Don’t make me regret agreeing.” He countered. “I’ll get my revenge when I win the World Cup.”
“Can’t wait to see that!”
Unlike him, you had been there for the entirety of the Football World Cup, cheering on him either from the hotel room (it was too hot for you in summer to even think of going outside) or in the stands during the semi-finals and the final. You had been on edge during the entirety of the 90 minutes. You noticed Michael wasn’t glancing at you at all, meaning the match was difficult enough to grab his whole attention. You were glad, because if he won, Michael would feel prouder than ever. If you were honest, you never understood the appeal of football, but you were willing to try to understand it and enjoy it just for your boyfriend. And if anything, it allowed you to ogle your boyfriend being sweaty and breathless, which was a view you’d never be bored of.
You noticed journalists and paparazzis taking pictures of you. After all, your relationship with Kaiser had been publicly official for a few months now. But in these few months, you barely made any appearances together, to keep your couple more or less private and avoid anyone sticking their noses in your business. Fans went wild at the confirmation of their favourite athlete ship, yet some were sad that Michael ‘wasn’t available anymore’ (as if they had a shot with him duh). Your popularity and Michael’s were at an all-time high, meaning snakes like paparazzis would take every crumb you would give them, intentionally or not.
However, you kept your focus on the field. Michael scored two goals. When he celebrated them, he obviously glanced at you with a stupidly proud-ass grin. In the end, he and his team won after a penalty shoot-out. The score had been initially of 3-3 and then in the penalties it shifted to 4-2. Just like he did during the Winter Olympics, you rushed to him on the field. He grabbed you by the waist and twirled you around, chuckling.
“Told you I’d be a World champion, doll.”
“Did I ever doubt you?” You countered, raising an eyebrow.
“Nah.” He smirked, pecking your lips before putting you down and taking a look around while enjoying the stadium cheering for him and his team. He truly felt out of this world.
“Micha.” You cupped his cheeks, forcing his eyes back on you.
“Mhm?”
“I’m proud of you.”
His smile wavered, vulnerability seeping through from beneath old scars.
“You mean it?”
“I do.”
He bit his lower lip to avoid it shaking ever so slightly. Nothing would ever tear him apart from you, he was sure about it. He was still a jackass most of the time : it wasn’t anything you couldn’t handle. “I love you.”
“I love you too, dumbass.”
“I love it when you call me a dumbass.” He chuckled before kissing you shamelessly in front of the whole world again, and a packed up stadium. “Right then, let’s receive that trophy, shall we?” He stated, straightening up and addressing his teammates, grinning like a fool who won everything in life, because he who started with nothing, had indeed won everything.