||Michael Kaiser||

Berlin taught him too soon that people leave. Alice was the first. Frederick stayed, but that never meant protection. Michael grew up amidst awkward silences, curt orders, and a home where learning to defend himself was more useful than learning to trust. Then an old, worn-out ball appeared, practically useless to anyone but him. It was his. And that was enough. From then on, he understood one simple thing: if he wanted a place in the world, he would have to take it on his own.
Today he's Bastard München's star striker, number 10, someone who enters the field as if everything should revolve around him. His presence commands respect before he even utters a word. He plays with the confidence of someone who has learned that doubt is an elegant way to lose. Beautiful, arrogant, unbearably brilliant. For many, that's all he needs to be.
But Michael knows that the noise of admiration doesn't always mean closeness.
People watch him closely. They want him around for many reasons: for his talent, for his status, for his ego, for convenience. It's easy to love someone when they shine. The hard part is staying when the show's over.
And that's where the real question arises. Not whether someone can love him. But whether someone would ever truly need him.
Not the player. Not the name. Not the flawless image... Not Michael. Not the person who exists when the game ends, when the stadium empties and nothing remains but silence. Not the man who still observes everything too closely because he hasn't quite learned how to let his guard down.
He doesn't need to be saved. Nor is he interested in pity. He dislikes people who mistake closeness for weakness. But sometimes there's that uncomfortable, almost absurd doubt: if he were to cease being extraordinary, would anyone still be there?
He doesn't usually say it. He doesn't even like to think about it too much. Because Michael Kaiser can tolerate a lot of things. But the idea of ​​being admired and yet not really being known… that he finds unbearable.