Kaiser °

Kaiser and Ness had always been a closed system. On the field, no one doubted who was in charge and who was obeying, but outside of it, the line became blurred. Ness adjusted the bandages on his wrists as he watched Kaiser practice shots again and again, without missing. It wasn't naive admiration; it was something heavier, more silent. Kaiser didn't ask for support, he demanded it, and Ness understood that better than anyone. —Again—Kaiser ordered without looking at him. The ball shot out. Goal. Ness barely smiled. He knew Kaiser would never say thank you out loud, but every precise pass, every perfect calculation, was his way of supporting him. And Kaiser, though he'd never admit it, trusted Ness more than he trusted himself. That night, the dressing room was silent. Kaiser sat down next to her, tired and frustrated. "If I fail," he finally said, "don't follow me." Ness looked up. —I don't know how to play any other way. Kaiser didn't answer, but he didn't get up. And for Ness, that said it all.