Sad girl

The smell of a hospital was something Michael Kaiser had always despised. It was sterile, cold, and smelled of failure. But as he sat in the plastic chair of the intensive care waiting room, the scent felt like it was physically choking him. His hands, the hands that were meant to conquer the world of football, were trembling.

He had found her just in time. The image was burned into his retinas: Yuki, his small, fragile Angel, slumped against the bathtub with an empty bottle of prescription pills rolling across the tile. She looked like a broken porcelain doll, her skin a shade of grey that haunted his soul.

The doctors had pumped her stomach. They said she was stable. But Kaiser didn't feel stable. For the first time in his life, the "Emperor" felt utterly powerless. He couldn't outplay depression. He couldn't score a goal against the void inside her mind.

When they finally let him into her room, she looked even smaller under the white hospital sheets. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, devoid of the light he had adored since they were children in Germany.

"Yuki," he whispered, his voice cracking—a sound that would have horrified his teammates.

She didn't turn her head. "Why did you come, Michael? You should have let the clock run out."

The words cut deeper than any tackle he’d ever faced on the pitch. Kaiser walked to the side of the bed and dropped to his knees. He didn't offer platitudes. He didn't tell her that life was beautiful or that she had so much to live for. He knew those words were white noise to someone drowning.

Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a velvet box he had been carrying for months, waiting for a "perfect" moment that would now never exist. He snapped it open to reveal a diamond that caught the harsh fluorescent light.

"Marry me," he said.

Yuki finally turned her head, her gaze flickering with a dull shock. "Are you insane? Look at me. I’m a ghost. I don't even want to be here."

"I don't care," Kaiser snapped, his ego flaring up like a protective shield. "Everyone will say I’m crazy. They’ll say I’m insensitive for asking you this while you’re hooked up to a machine. Let them talk. I am Michael Kaiser, and I am the most selfish man you will ever meet."

He took her cold, limp hand in his. "I don't care about your depression, Yuki. I mean, I care that you hurt, but it doesn't change what I want. I want you. I want the version of you that can’t get out of bed, and I want the version of you that wants to disappear. I will keep you alive by sheer force of will if I have to."

Yuki’s breath hitched. "Michael, I'm a burden. I have nothing to give you."

"You give me a reason to come home," he countered, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that brooked no argument. "From now on, you are my shadow. I will take you to every match. I will take you to every training session. I will take you to every gala and every country I visit. You will never be alone long enough to find a way out again. I will be your tether."

A single tear tracked down Yuki’s pale cheek. She looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the desperation beneath his arrogance. He wasn't asking to save her; he was demanding to stay with her.

"You're so arrogant," she whispered, a tiny, ghost-like smile touching her lips. "Thank you. Yes... I'll be your wife."

The wedding was a hushed affair, held mere weeks after her release. It was private, shielded from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. The entire Bastard München squad was there, though most of them looked uncomfortable. Ness looked like he was on the verge of a breakdown, confused by Kaiser’s sudden shift in priorities, while Isagi Yoichi watched from the back with a contemplative, uncharacteristically soft expression.

Kaiser didn't care about the whispers. He stood at the altar in a custom suit, his hand gripped firmly around Yuki’s as if he expected her to evaporate if he let go. She looked ethereal in white lace, a small, delicate figure that seemed to find strength only when leaning against his side.

The transition to married life was not a fairy tale, but it was a transformation.

True to his word, Kaiser became a permanent fixture in her life. When the team traveled for the Neo Egoist League matches, Yuki was there. She sat in the private boxes, wrapped in Kaiser’s oversized hoodies, watching him dominate the field.

One afternoon, during a high-intensity training session at the Blue Lock facility, the cameras caught a glimpse of them. Kaiser had just finished a grueling set of drills. Instead of heading to the showers or gloating to his rivals, he ran straight to the sidelines where Yuki sat on a bench, reading a book.

He knelt in the grass before her, sweaty and breathing hard, and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Did you see that goal?" he asked, his voice loud enough for the nearby microphones to catch.

Yuki looked up from her book, her eyes brighter than they had been in years. "The bicycle kick? It was alright. A bit showy, don't you think?"

Kaiser laughed, a genuine, booming sound. "It was perfection, just like my wife."

The footage went viral within hours. The public, who had previously viewed Kaiser as a cold, narcissistic "Emperor," were captivated by his devotion. The "Kaiser-Yuki" tag exploded on social media. Fans began posting candid photos of them at airports—Kaiser always had an arm around her, or was holding her hand, or was leaning his head against hers while she slept on his shoulder.

The comments sections were filled with adoration: *“Look at how he looks at her! Like she’s the only thing keeping him grounded.”* others wrote, *“He’s so protective. She’s his literal Angel.”*

But the real change happened behind closed doors.

One evening, in their apartment overlooking the city lights, Yuki was helping Michael pack his gear for an upcoming trip to Spain. She was folding his jerseys with a focus that she hadn't possessed months ago.

"Michael?" she called out.

He emerged from the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. "Yeah, liebling?"

"I realized something today," she said, looking down at the blue fabric in her hands. "I used to wake up and feel like my existence was a mistake. Like I was a glitch in the world that needed to be deleted."

Kaiser stopped moving, his expression darkening with concern, but he stayed silent, letting her speak.

"But being with you... being part of your routine... it makes me feel like I have a place," she continued, finally looking up at him. There was color in her cheeks now. "I like being the person who watches you play. I like being the person you come to when you’re frustrated with Isagi. I don't feel useless anymore. I feel like I’m part of your world, and that’s enough to make me want to stay in it."

Kaiser dropped the towel and crossed the room in three long strides. He pulled her into his arms, burying his face in the crook of her neck. He held her with a strength that would have been painful if it weren't so full of love.

"You aren't just part of my world, Yuki," he murmured against her skin. "You are the center of it. The rest of them—the fans, the goals, the glory—that’s just the noise. You’re the music."

Yuki hugged him back, her small hands clutching the back of his shirt. "I think I’m actually happy today, Michael."

"Good," he said, pulling back just enough to smirk at her with his usual bravado. "Because I’ve already decided we’re going to be together for at least another eighty years. I’m far too selfish to let you go any sooner than that."

She laughed, a clear, ringing sound that was the greatest victory Michael Kaiser had ever achieved. He didn't need the World Cup or the title of the best striker in the world to feel like a king. He just needed the small woman in his arms to keep smiling.

The Emperor had his Crown, and for the first time, he knew exactly how to protect it.