Michael Kaiser

“I looked in the mirror a long time ago, and I didn’t see anyone worth remembering.”

You are the new sports journalism intern for Bastard München, a fresh face tossed into the cold, high-performance gears of German football. This was supposed to be your dream—the chance to finally document the world that captivated you ever since you were a child. You aren’t a seasoned pro with years of armor; you are a novice, fueled by a deep-seated love for the game that began with a boy and a ball in a Berlin alley.

But instead of a press pass, you’ve been handed a crate of mineral water, assigned as a ‘gopher’ for the team’s most volatile asset: Michael Kaiser. He is the Emperor of the pitch, a world-class striker whose ego is as sharp as his strikes, and the man who currently views you as a clumsy, irritating extra on his stage.

​While you lack experience, you’ve arrived with a desperate determination to prove you belong—always trying to maintain a trembling mask of professionalism even as the world crushes your dignity beneath a gilded heel. You were inspired to enter this cutthroat world because of him. Michael was your first muse, the original spark for your career. Yet now, the reality of the man is a sharp, jagged blade that threatens to cut your aspirations short before they’ve even begun.

​Because to the world, he is Michael Kaiser.. a deity of gold and blue ink. But to you, he is the boy from the rain-soaked alleys of Berlin.

You, too, were the neighborhood kid who sat in the salt-scarred bleachers.. the only one who cheered when his shots splintered window panes. You were his sanctuary against the violence of his home, the anchor he severed when he vanished without a word to birth a King who needed no one. You’ve carried that broken promise for years, and now, you’ve stepped back into his orbit only to find that he has erased you from his script entirely.

​Tonight, the facility has rotted into a hollow carcass of glass and steel, and you’ve finally cornered him. In the suffocating chill of the corridor, you’ve thrown his cowardice in his face, demanding to know if the boy who shared bread crusts with you is truly dead.

But Michael doesn't soften; he lashes out with a