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The neon lights of the television studio were blinding, reflecting off the polished floor where Jamal Musiala sat. He was dressed in a casual but sharp club tracksuit, his posture relaxed, though his fingers mindedly traced the hem of his sleeve. Usually, these post-match interviews followed a predictable script: the tactical brilliance of the game, his chemistry with Harry Kane, or the upcoming Champions League fixtures.

But today, the air in the room felt different. The interviewer, a seasoned sports journalist with a penchant for viral headlines, leaned forward with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Jamal, we have to talk about something other than your dribbling today," the interviewer started, his voice dropping into a more conversational, gossipy tone. "The internet has been in a literal meltdown for the last seventy-two hours. And it’s not because of a goal."

Jamal knew exactly where this was going. He felt a familiar heat rise in his chest—a mix of pride and a very specific, protective instinct.

"Is that so?" Jamal replied, offering a polite, practiced smile.

The interviewer tapped his tablet, and the screen behind them flickered to life. It was a fan-captured video from a music festival in Seoul two nights prior. Mi, Jamal’s girlfriend and the standout visual of the global girl group SOLAR, was center stage. Her hair, dyed a vibrant, sunset orange that curled wildly around her shoulders, bounced in sync with her movements.

She was wearing a pleated black miniskirt that was, by all accounts, daringly short. As she executed a sharp, high-energy hip-thrust and pivot—the signature move of their new hit single—the fabric flared up. For a fraction of a second, the curve of her lower cheek was visible to the camera. The video had forty million views and counting. The comments sections were a battleground of fire emojis and marriage proposals.

"The 'Mi-fancam' is currently the most searched video on the planet," the journalist continued, grinning. "The fans are calling her the 'Goddess of the Sunset.' How do you deal with the global thirst for your girlfriend, Jamal? Do you ever get jealous seeing the whole world looking at her like that?"

Jamal stared at the screen for a moment. He watched Mi’s focused expression, the way she commanded the stage with a confidence that most people only dreamed of. He remembered her practicing that exact choreography in their living room, complaining that her calf muscles were sore while he rubbed them for her.

He cleared his throat, leaning back into the leather chair. "I think," he began, his voice steady and surprisingly calm, "that people sometimes forget she’s a professional athlete in her own right. The stamina it takes to do what she does for two hours on stage? It’s no different from what I do on the pitch."

"But the comments, Jamal," the interviewer pressed. "Men and women everywhere are... well, they’re being very vocal about her beauty. Doesn't it get under your skin?"

Jamal chuckled, a soft, genuine sound. "If I got jealous every time someone noticed how beautiful Mi is, I’d be the most miserable man on earth. I know who she comes home to. I know who she calls when the lights go out. To the world, she’s a 'goddess' in a miniskirt. To me, she’s the girl who steals my hoodies and argues with me about whose turn it is to walk the dog."

He paused, his eyes hardening just a fraction—the look he gave defenders right before he bypassed them. "But yeah, I see the comments. I think it’s great that people admire her. As long as they remember there’s a line between admiration and disrespect. I’m her biggest fan, but I’m also her boyfriend. I don't need to be jealous because I’ve already won."

---

The flight back from the away game was long, and by the time Jamal stepped into their apartment in Munich, it was well past midnight. The space was quiet, smelling of the expensive vanilla candles Mi loved.

He dropped his gear bag by the door and kicked off his sneakers, heading toward the bedroom. He expected her to be asleep, considering the time difference from her tour schedule, but the glow of a laptop screen illuminated the bed.

Mi was sitting cross-legged, her orange curls tied up in a messy bun. She was wearing one of his oversized Bayern Munich training shirts—the one that swallowed her petite frame entirely.

"You're late," she murmured, not looking up from her screen.

"The press conference ran over," Jamal said, walking over to press a kiss to the top of her head. "I had to defend my honor against a viral video."

Mi finally looked up, her dark eyes sparkling with mischief. She flipped the laptop around. She was watching the clip of his interview. "So, you’re my biggest fan, huh?"

Jamal groaned, falling onto the bed beside her. "I hate that you saw that already. The social media team works too fast."

"I liked the part where you said you've 'already won,'" she teased, crawling over to sit on his chest. Her small hands rested on his shoulders. "Very alpha of you, Bambi. Very protective."

Jamal reached up, tucking a stray orange curl behind her ear. His gaze softened. "I meant it. But seriously, Mi, that skirt? I think my heart stopped for a second when I saw the clip on Twitter before the game."

Mi laughed, the sound bright and melodic. "It was a wardrobe malfunction! The safety shorts were supposed to be longer, but the dance is too intense. I didn't even realize it until I saw the trending hashtags."

"I believe you," Jamal said, his hands moving to her waist. "But you can't blame me for being a little bit human. Seeing millions of guys commenting on your... assets... it’s a test of my patience."

"Are you saying you were jealous?" she whispered, leaning down until their noses touched.

"I’m saying I’m glad I’m the only one who gets to see the rest of you," he countered, his voice dropping an octave.

Mi smiled, a slow, secret smile that she never showed the cameras. "Well, for what it's worth, I spent the whole flight home watching your highlights against Dortmund. The way you moved past three defenders?" She leaned in closer, her lips brushing his ear. "I think the comments under that video were just as thirsty as the ones under mine."

Jamal laughed, rolling them over so he was hovering above her. The orange of her hair was vivid against the white pillowcase, a splash of fire in the dim room. "Is that so? Should I be worried about my safety next time I’m at the stadium?"

"Probably," she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. "But just like you said... I know who you come home to."

Jamal looked down at her, feeling that familiar ache of affection. The world saw a pop star, a viral sensation, a girl in a short skirt who broke the internet. He saw the girl who stayed up late to wait for him, the girl who wore his clothes and made him feel like he was more than just a number on a jersey.

"I think we should stay off social media for a few days," Jamal suggested, his eyes tracing the line of her jaw.

"Agreed," Mi whispered. "The world has seen enough of me for one week."

"Exactly," Jamal said, leaning down to claim her lips. "From now on, the show is for a private audience only."

Outside, the city of Munich was quiet, oblivious to the fact that two of the most famous people in the world were finally finding a moment of peace. The internet would continue to buzz, the fancam would continue to rack up millions of views, and the commentators would continue to speculate.

But inside the apartment, there were no cameras, no miniskirts, and no viral moments. There was just a boy and a girl, orange curls and tired eyes, and a love that was far more interesting than anything a headline could ever capture.

As Jamal pulled the duvet over them, he caught a glimpse of his phone on the nightstand. It was buzzing with notifications—tags, mentions, and news alerts. He didn't even look at it. He simply reached out and flipped it face down, plunging the room into a perfect, undisturbed darkness.

"Hey, Jamal?" Mi’s voice came through the shadows, soft and sleepy.

"Yeah?"

"You really did win," she teased, her voice trailing off into a yawn.

Jamal smiled in the dark, pulling her closer until her back was against his chest. "I know," he whispered. "I definitely know."