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THE day started like most Saturdays.

With Emilia Noa barging into your home, her arms full of Bastard München merch and a smile so bright that it could almost split her face in two.

You barely looked up from your cup of coffee as the white-haired girl began her usual rant about Michael Kaiser, her "football god" who she's mentioned alot of times.

❝You have no idea how lucky you are!❞ She shrieked, holding up a jersey with the number ten and 'KAISER' lettered on the back of it.

❝VIP tickets. Do you know how much people would kill for this?! Oh my god Y/N, we're sitting in the VIP section of a Bastard München match. Do you even realise what this means?!❞

You do.

It means sitting in a crowd of people who care far too much about a sport you've spent your entire life trying to avoid. It means keeping your head down while your family name gets you into exclusive spaces you want nothing to do with.

It means being dragged to a Bastard München match because your best friend refuses to take no for an answer.

❝I don't even know why you're making such a big deal about this,❞ You mutter, taking a long sip of your coffee before placing it back down. ❝It's just football.❞

❝Just football!? Y/N, do you even know who Michael Kaiser is?❞ She gasped.

❝Emi, I'm pretty sure you've told me a thousand times.. Genius footwork, the future of football, blah blah blah,❞

She groaned and flopped onto your couch. ❝It's not just that! He's perfection on the pitch. He's—ugh, you wouldn't understand. You're so jaded when it comes to football because of your dad!❞

You flinched just slightly at the mention of your father.

❛ My dad? ❜

Miroslav Klose. The name that had followed you your entire life. It's not that you hate football — it's just that it's always been his thing, his world. And.. not yours.

Yet no matter how much distance you try to put between yourself and the sport, it always finds a way to come back.

❝Fine then, let's just get this over with.❞ You stood up and grabbed your jacket. Emilia's grin widened and she basically bounced up and out of the house enthusiastically.

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You should've known better than to let her drag you here.

The stadium was loud, and from the moment you stepped into the VIP section, you felt out of place—not because of luxury and privilege. You were used to that. It was the football part that made your skin crawl.

❝Y/N, look at him! LOOK AT HIM!❞ Emilia shrieked, clutching your arm so tightly you swear you almost lost circulation. ❝Michael Kaiser! The Emperor of the Field! The Genius! The Future of Football! ❞

You followed her gaze lazily and your eyes landed on this so-called "Kaiser." He was warming up, looking confident.

Well.. you couldn't deny that he was.. attractive, but the way Emilia talked about him, you'd think he was a god walking among mortals.

❝Can you believe we're breathing the same air as him?❞ She whispered, but you on the other hand, were scrolling through your phone, unimpressed.

❝Emi, you sound like a PR agent. I sometimes wonder if they pay you for this.❞

❝Hey, I am a PR agent. But don't doubt my love for Kaiser.❞

The match began and you barely paid any attention. Emilia noticed almost immediately and glared at you.

❝Y/N, are you even watching!?❞

❝I'm here, aren't I?❞ You replied lazily.

❝Physically, yes. Mentally, absolutely not.❞

You rolled your eyes and ignored her, but for the rest of the match she kept pointing out every little thing Kaiser did.

His footwork. His dribbling. His "aura"—whatever the hell that even meant. You didn't get it. You never had. To you, he was just another overhyped footballer.

And you hated that your last name meant you could never say any of that out loud without causing any drama.

You glanced up occasionally just enough to keep Emilia off your back, while only half-listening as the commentators shouted about tactics and ball possession. Every once in a while she would nudge you, forcing you to look up at something she deemed "amazing," but you just nodded absentmindedly.

That is, until you noticed a familiar figure approaching.

Lukas Müller — a player from the Borussia Dortmund football team.

You remember him because you both met at some high-profile football event your family has dragged you to, where you were forced to smile politely and endure pointless small talk for hours.

❝Lukas,❞ You said politely, offering a small smile. ❝Hi❞

❝I wasn't sure it was you at first,❞ He said, his grin widening. ❝But then I thought, 'who else would Miroslav Klose's daughter be, sitting in the VIP section?'❞ His tone was light, teasing, but you silently cringed at the mention of your father.

❝A-Anyway, I thought you weren't into football?❞ He continued, leaning slightly closer.

❝I'm not,❞

❝Then why are you—❞

Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by the deafening screams of the crowd. Emilia let out a shriek beside you, gripping your arm and shaking it like a madwoman.

❝Kaiser! KAISER! MY EMPEROR! Oh my God, did you see that goal?! That was AMAZING!❞

The stadium celebrated, and Bastard München fans were on their feet whole the commentators lost their minds. The cameras panned to the field, capturing Michael Kaiser smirking.

And then—unfortunately—the broadcast cut to the VIP section.

Emilia, screaming in joy, waving her arms like she had just witnessed the Second Coming.

You, unimpressed, scrolling through your phone, your expression completely bored.

It only took minutes before the internet noticed.

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By the time the final whistle blew, you already knew what was coming.

As you and Emilia left the stadium, she checked her phone and immediately gasped.

❝Oh my god, Y/N. We're—no, You're trending.❞

Your stomach dropped as she shoved her phone into your face. There were endless clips of your your unimpressed reaction to Kaiser's goal were circulating with captions like:

❝Miroslav Klose's daughter looks like she'd rather be anywhere else. What's her deal?❞
❝LMAO she didn't even blink when Kaiser scored??❞
❝Imagine being that pretty and still not caring about football.❞
❝Wait... is she dating someone? Why was Lukas Müller from Dortmund talking to her in the VIP section?❞

The last one made her groan. She barely said four words to Lukas, yet people were already making assumptions. Emilia laughed as she scrolled through the tweets and posts.

❝This one says you're secretly in love with Kaiser and playing hard to get. Oh, this one thinks you hate him because you're a Dortmund fan. Y/N, this is so funny!❞

You groaned again as both of you got into the car. ❝This is not 'funny.' I don't wanna be a topic of discussion just because I didn't fangirl over some.. footballer!❞

And as if on cue, a message from Lukas himself popped up on your screen.

❛ Hey, was nice seeing you at the game. Hope the attention isn't too annoying. ❜

You locked your phone without responding.

You sank into your seat, rubbing your temples. This was exactly the kind of attention you wanted to avoid. You spent your whole life trying to create an identity outside of your father's shadow, and now, in the span of one match, the world has decided to pull you right back in.

The rest of the drive home was filled with Emilia scrolling through her phone, reading off tweets and laughing at the craziest ones.

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Michael Kaiser was used to seeing his name trend.

Every goal, every match, every single second he existed on a football pitch—it all made headlines. He didn't even need to check anymore.

In the Bastard Munchen locker room, post-match energy thrummed through his veins, the high of victory lingering like an addictive drug. The match had gone exactly as he expected—he dominated, scored, and basked in the glory of the crowd.

He then found himself scrolling through his phone, skimming through the usual praise, the highlight clips, the overanalysed breakdowns of his gameplay. But then he saw it.

A clip.

His goal. His celebration. The camera cutting to the VIP section.

One girl screaming in pure ecstasy.

The other looking bored out of her mind.

Kaiser frowned. He replayed it.

And then again.

It was unnatural. Almost offensive, even. He was Michael Kaiser. People always reacted to him. Adoration, envy, hatred—it didn't matter. What mattered was that they felt something.

But she?

Nothing.

He leaned back on the bench, watching the video for the fifth time, trying to make sense of it. How could he be humiliated like this?

❝Who the hell is she?❞ He muttered under his breath.

❝Who's who?❞ Ness asked, leaning over to peek at Kaiser's phone. He blinked once, twice. Then, his face lit up with recognition. ❝Ah, royalty!❞

Kaiser quickly raised an eyebrow. ❝Royalty?❞

❝She's Miroslav Klose's daughter. You know, the World Cup legend? One of the greatest strikers in history? Y/N Klose is her name.❞

That made the blonde pause.

❛ Klose's daughter? ❜

He knew the name well—anyone in German football did. The man was a legend, but that just made things even more interesting.

Kaiser leaned back, tossing his phone onto the bench beside him. ❝Interesting.❞

Ness blinked. ❝What is?❞

Kaiser's smirk widened as he stood up and ran his hand through his hair. ❝She ignored me. That's interesting.❞

Now Ness looked genuinely surprised. ❝Not possible.. right? No one looks bored when you score.❞

And that? That didn't sit right with him. People cared about Michael Kaiser. They noticed him. So why didn't Y/N Klose? And more importantly—

How long would it take to change that?