Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The question of time travel is the domain of dreamers and fools.
A sentimental test that turns the soul inside out, revealing
what a person lives by: nostalgia for what's gone or a thirst for what's to come.

Michael Kaiser always answered without hesitation, with a sardonic smirk: "There's no salvation in the past. I want to see if there's salvation in the future."
Empty words. Rhetoric. A concept that beautifully packaged his essence—
a fugitive rejecting what was and cynically disbelieving in what would be. The irony of fate, as it turned out, had a twisted sense of humor.

Maybe a month had passed since Nel. Kaiser didn't count the days. He didn't care about the calendar. His mind, his existence, was still on that damned field with PXG. Thoughts, like a pack of starving hyenas, tore him apart from the inside, giving him no peace. He tried to run, as always—to drown out the past with the present, with the noise of training, with adrenaline.

But the world turned upside down.

Flipped head over heels by one name—Isagi Yoichi.

He pursued Kaiser everywhere. Not metaphorically—literally. His face stared from posters, flashed on TV screens, loomed over the streets on giant billboards. Confident, victorious. Every glance at that face was a blow, and the thought, obsessive and loud, mocked: "You can't run away. Nowhere." Kaiser had lost. Not just to Isagi. He had lost to himself. And that final realization choked him the hardest, burning a hole in his chest.

Who was this Japanese guy to him now? An enemy? A misunderstanding? An object of pathological obsession? If they met again... how should he act? Kaiser was ready to bet everything he had left—Isagi had erased him from memory the moment he disappeared from sight.

Isagi simply... moved on. Forward. He had become that very "impossible" that Kaiser had so desperately tried to strive for.

That day, after an exhausting, almost self-abasing training session—another attempt to drown out the inner scream—the thoughts sounded especially loud.

U-20 was relentlessly approaching. The feeling of time's fluidity, its swift slipping away, evoked a primal, inexplicable anxiety in Kaiser. For the first time in years, he felt this chilling fear of the unknown. All he had left was to wait. And to fill the emptiness of waiting with mechanical actions: training, eating, sleeping.

Running in a closed circle of hell.

He squeezed every last drop out of himself on the field, pushing his body to the limit, just so he wouldn't hear his own thoughts.

His head spun suddenly and sharply. The world swam. Kaiser barely managed to lean against the cool wall of the deserted corridor. There was no one around—he had intentionally distanced himself from everyone, from Ness, from the team. Loneliness was his familiar fortress. It seemed easier that way: to endure the pain in silence, to let the wounds heal without prying eyes. But the fortress had turned into a torture chamber. Loneliness didn't heal—it devoured him from within, dulling his senses, leaving behind an icy, ringing void that he didn't know how to fill, how to remove.

A piercing squeal filled his ears, a growing hum like the sound of the sea in a shell. Pressure. Black spots swam before his eyes, merging into solid, impenetrable darkness.

Blindness.

A panic spasm constricted his throat. Even seeing nothing, he instinctively pushed off the wall, trying to feel his way, by memory, to reach his room, the bed, salvation. Even in this state, Kaiser, like a true stubborn mule, didn't want to call for help.

"Damn..." — the last coherent thought flashed before the ground vanished from under his feet. He plunged forward, into nothingness.

A moment? An eternity? Kaiser came to his senses with the feeling that he had fallen through the bottom of the world and landed... on something soft. His ears still rang, like after an explosion, someone's voice breaking through the hum, distant, as if from a tunnel.

"Fainting. For the first time. How disgusting," — flashed through his foggy consciousness. He tried to sit up, leaning on his elbows... and froze. Under his fingers—not the cold tiles of the hotel corridor, but... pile? The texture of a carpet. Kaiser mechanically ran his palm over the surface—dense, slightly prickly.

Where was he?

Sharp, stabbing pain pierced his temple. He hissed, pressing his palm to the painful spot, narrowing his already blurred vision to a slit.

A deep, trembling inhale. Exhale. No serious injuries, it seemed. Just hellish anemia and the echoes of syncope. Needed to pull himself together.

- Are you even alive? - A voice. Clear. German. It sounded almost... caring? Or was the hum in his ears distorting it?

"So, not a hallucination. Passed out for real. And some idiot dragged me here," — he thought bitterly.

- I'm fine, - his voice came out as a hoarse whisper, turning into a growl. Control over speech was lost, irritation boiling over. - But you shouldn't have helped.

He tried to stand up. His legs buckled, the world swayed again. Vision slowly returned, blurry spots of light forming into outlines. Floor... no, carpet. That same one, it was light green. Interior... This wasn't a hotel. Not a hotel at all. Some small room. A bookshelf. A single bed. A wardrobe in Japanese style.

"What the hell..."
And then his gaze, predatory, slid towards the "savior" sitting nearby.

His heart stopped. Air stuck in his lungs. An icy sweat ran down his spine, every hair on his body stood on end. Time froze. The ringing in his ears was replaced by deafening silence.

Isagi Yoichi.

In the flesh.

But... not quite. Kaiser's brain, honed by months of analyzing the opponent's weaknesses, instantly registered the differences. Slightly taller. Shoulders broader, more powerful. As if he'd stretched out a bit. Hair shorter, more practical. Facial features... the same, but as if honed by time, lacking youthful angularity, calmer. He didn't look like a teenager. An athlete in his prime.

"An older brother?" — an absurd thought flashed, and Kaiser mentally spat at himself. "Idiot! You studied his biography inside out yourself. Only child."

The next thought hit like a hammer blow: "No translator... Does he speak German? Fluently?"

They sat in tomb-like silence. Kaiser was frozen, paralyzed by shock, unable to move, unable to tear his gaze away from this impossible, incredible vision. The only source of light—a lamp on the table behind Kaiser—cast long, trembling shadows, making the scene surreal, like a frame from a bad dream.

Isagi smiled nervously. The smile wasn't unkind, rather... awkward? As if he'd broken a vase and didn't know how to start the conversation.

- Calmed down? - He slowly raised both hands, palms outward, demonstrating complete unarmedness and absence of threat. The gesture was too calm.

Kaiser feverishly shifted his gaze: from Isagi—to the unfamiliar wardrobe, to the unfamiliar books—back to Isagi, to his open palms. The look of a wild animal cornered.

When the first shock subsided a little, replaced by a wave of fury, Kaiser shot his interlocutor a look full of poison and hissing hatred.

- Who the fuck are you and where the fuck am I - The words burst out like a spit of bile. He was taut as a bowstring, ready to pounce, to attack.

- Let's not be dramatic, - Isagi's voice was calm, almost weary-patient.

- Take a deep breath. You weren't kidnapped. You're safe. - He exhaled, and in that exhale there was something... tired?

An awkward, thick pause hung. Kaiser wasn't breathing, just drilling him with his eyes.

- ...Tell me, - Isagi broke the silence, - how old are you now?

The question was so absurd, so out of place, that Kaiser snorted—a short, acrid, utterly humorless sound.

- Why are you acting like I've landed in some future? - the mockery in his voice was a blade. He said it, and... fell silent. Realization, wild, impossible, slowly seeped through the rage.

"Future?"

- You... must be joking... - Kaiser whispered, addressing no one, just voicing the absurdity aloud, trying to reject it.

Isagi spread his hands in an eloquent "it's not my fault" gesture, but an awkward half-smile remained on his face.

- Where the fuck am I... - Kaiser fired sharply, like a shot.

- In my house, - Isagi answered simply, looking him straight in the eye. Without hesitation. Without a shadow of doubt.

At that moment, Kaiser saw him. Truly. Not as a ghost of the past, but as the person before him. The same piercing, analytical gaze. But now he saw not just the facial features, but age. Several years added by life. A firmer jawline. Deeper shadows under the eyes, speaking of experience, perhaps fatigue. The body—not just fit, but strong, wiry, the body of a professional athlete who knows his power. Confidence in his posture, in every movement. This wasn't the youth he'd tried to break. This was a man. Familiar and utterly alien at the same time.

Kaiser's intense, studying gaze seemed to unsettle Isagi. He demonstratively coughed, looking away for a second.

- Judging by your behavior... - Isagi began, returning his gaze, his tone acquiring notes of reasoning, analysis, so familiar to Kaiser from the game, - ...you're 19. Right after the Nel events. - Not a question. A statement. Thinking aloud.

- Yeah, - he sighed, scratching the back of his head, - this is going to be tough.

- Are you just going to stay silent? - Isagi suddenly asked, while Kaiser was still processing what he'd seen and heard, his mind trying to find any logic in this chaos.

Isagi sighed deeper, crossed his arms over his chest. The gesture wasn't aggressive, but... collected. Decisive.

- Okay, I'll answer myself. I'll say it straight—I don't know much myself. But it seems you're stuck in this... - he hesitated, searching for a word, - ...timeline? For a week. If we, of course, did everything right. - The word "we" hung in the air like a heavy, ringing bell. Kaiser felt a pounding in his temples.

"We? Who's we?"

- And then you, sort of, are supposed to go back. That's how things stand. - Isagi finished, placing his hands on his knees. Simply. As if announcing a train schedule.

A firework of questions exploded in Kaiser's head, mixed with panic and anger.
"Future. Real. I'm here. In Japan? In Germany? In ISAGI'S house. He speaks German fluently. How far ahead? What happened to me? To my career? Who's on top now? Did I manage to defeat him at U-20? Did I get back... everything?"

Suddenly Isagi thrust his hand forward, palm towards Kaiser—a "stop" gesture.

- I know what you want to ask. No. - His voice became firmer. - I won't answer questions implying future events or consequences. I probably won't even tell you what year it is, to avoid... - he hesitated again, searching for the right word, - ...a space-time continuum rupture? - The last words sounded uncertain, almost childishly stupid in this absurd situation. Isagi coughed awkwardly, trying to regain seriousness:
- Anyway, I hope you get what I mean. - He crossed his arms again, frowning, his whole demeanor showing: this is not up for discussion. The boundary is drawn.

"Did I land in a cheap sci-fi series?" — flashed through Kaiser's inflamed brain as the silence thickened again, becoming unbearable.

Then he remembered. The key word. The one that had cut like a knife.

- What did you mean by "we"? - Kaiser's voice was low, dangerous. His gaze—a steel awl boring into Isagi. The situation was humiliating in itself, but to meet him here, of all people in the universe, in this form... It was beyond the pale.

Isagi's house. Future. And that treacherous "we".

Isagi flinched. Almost imperceptibly. As if caught red-handed. Kaiser noticed it. His analytical mind, discarding panic, worked at full throttle.
building various scenarios:

Delirium. Hallucination from overwork and stress. He'll wake up in the hotel in a puddle of sweat. Though unlikely—too detailed, sensations too real.

Kidnapping. An elaborate hoax or psychological experiment. "Isagi" is an actor speaking German. The house is a set.But that also sounded like nonsense. Why do it? Who needs it? And why so detailed?

Dream. A lapse of consciousness. All the negative thoughts, the stress, materialized in this delirious nightmare.

While Kaiser sifted through these insane versions, Isagi took a breath, clearly gathering his thoughts.

-I... and Michael... - he corrected himself, - ...that is, you from the future... - The word "Michael" hit like an electric shock. Not "Kaiser". Michael. Naturally. Habitually. Kaiser shuddered inwardly.

- We decided to test a... ritual. On a dare. Neither of us believed in it. Just for fun. But we tried anyway. - Isagi spoke quickly, avoiding direct eye contact, as if trying to get it out as fast as possible, as if it would help him avoid specific questions, but in the end, he looked like an idiot.

"Ritual?" Rage, hot and blind, surged through Kaiser.

"Is he twelve?" But anger was immediately replaced by icy horror at the realization:
"Me..., and him? In the future? Communicating? Friends, or what? Idiots who spend time on some stupid 'rituals'?! And he calls me... by name?"

It seemed his skull would crack from the tension. Kaiser gloomily ran his fingers between his eyebrows, trying to push out the pain, push out this delirium. Too much. Too fast. Too unbearable.

After the fainting, the weakness, the headache—this whirlwind of madness. No strength, no desire to figure out this shit. Only one wish—for all of this to disappear.

- Fine, - his voice was hoarse, devoid of any emotion except utter exhaustion and contempt. He wasn't looking at Isagi, but somewhere to the side, at the wall. - I don't give a damn about this freakish ritual...or what "you" were doing there, or how I got here. Where can I go to sleep.

Isagi stood up, brushed non-existent dust from his knees, surveyed the room with an appraising glance.

- You can take this one. There aren't many things here, so I'll hardly disturb you. - He looked at Kaiser again, and something... strange flickered in his eyes. Something Kaiser couldn't understand. Concern?

- And... I'd advise you to eat something. Pale as death. - A light, unmalicious smirk sounded in his voice again. A tease. Friendly.

For Kaiser, it was the last straw. His patience snapped.

- I'll decide what to do myself! - burst out sharply, with hatred. - So fuck off already!

Isagi wasn't fazed. He just tilted his head slightly, hands resting on his hips.

- Well, I wouldn't say you really have much choice here anyway.

Truth. Bitter, humiliating truth. Hit like a slap. No money. No documents. No change of clothes. Not the slightest idea where he was. His "I'll decide myself" sounded pathetic and stupid. Empty growling of a cornered beast.

- Just leave me the fuck alone. - Kaiser hissed through clenched teeth, turning his body slightly. - What, did you become my mother?

- Got it, - Isagi's voice was calm, without a trace of offense or anger. A simple statement.

- I just voiced a thought. - He walked to the sliding wardrobe, slid the door open. - You can take any clothes here. I'll explain everything else tomorrow, I suppose.

And left. Quietly closed the door behind him.

Silence. Thick, ringing, oppressive.

Kaiser was alone. In the center of a small, alien room. Leaning on his knees with his hands, he sat on the green carpet, breathing unevenly, raggedly. Shock slowly receded, replaced by a tsunami of questions that made his vision darken.

"I landed in the fucking future."
"Isagi... knows German. Fluently."
"In the future, he and I..." The thought stumbled, not daring to formulate. "...communicate? Friends?" The word "friends" caused a spasm of disgust. It was unbearable. Too personal. Too... close.

Questions swirled like autumn leaves in a whirlwind, finding no answer, only intensifying the headache and the nauseating feeling of complete loss of control. He got up, his movements heavy, as if his body was filled with lead. Went to the wardrobe. Opened it. Everything hung neatly. Someone else's clothes. Someone else's smell—of unfamiliar laundry detergent mixed with something... his own? No. Someone else's.

With disgust, with a feeling of invading someone else's space, he grabbed the first soft t-shirt and pants he found. Without looking. Just to change and not sleep in his training clothes.

He turned off the light. Fell face down on the narrow, alien bed.

The sheet fabric was cool, slightly stiff. Alien. The smell—clean, but alien. Darkness closed over him, thick and merciless.

His only hope, the last anchor in this sea of madness: "I'll wake up. I have to wake up. In my own room. This is just a nightmare. A scary, detailed, but nightmare." He clung to this thought like a drowning man to a straw, and sank into unconsciousness, carrying with him the chaos of the first evening in the impossible future.

Sleep didn't come immediately. He tossed and turned for a long time on the alien, too-narrow bed, absorbing the smells of unfamiliar detergent and alien walls. But when it came—it was heavy, hopeless, like falling into a tar pit. And yet, it was the first truly deep sleep in the last exhausting month. Perhaps, subconsciously, he clung to it, hoping that the longer this oblivion lasted, the higher the chance he'd wake up in the familiar hotel room, with the familiar view from the window and the icy void inside, which was terrible, but his own.

He slowly pried his eyes open. First a slit, then wider. Light, muted by thick curtains, poured into the room. Kaiser lay on his side, facing a wall covered in unfamiliar wallpaper. He blinked several times, trying to dispel the remnants of heavy sleep, and rolled onto his back. His gaze fixed on the ceiling—not white like in the hotel, but a warm, creamy shade. Alien. He took a deep, labored breath, feeling his lungs expand against his will, and closed his eyes. Bitter, metallic truth settled on his tongue.

"So, not a dream" — the thought was flat, emotionless. Just an acknowledgment of defeat. Final.

Now, in relative silence and solitude, with a clear (though heavy) head, he could try to make sense of the absurdity. He—was in the future. In Isagi Yoichi's house. Yesterday's rage, hysterical reaction—yes, he'd lost his temper. But he didn't blame himself. His state had been on the edge: wrung out like a lemon after training, stunned by the faint, thrown into the epicenter of a surreal nightmare... Anyone would have broken. He, at least, hadn't snapped. A small victory.

Now, the fruits of that state were reaped by his body and spirit: muscles ached with a dull, familiar pain, his stomach cramped from emptiness, and his skin stickily reminded him of yesterday's sweat and field dust. He hadn't even bothered to shower or grab a bite before plunging into this abyss. Idiot.

The main question hung in the air, heavy and insoluble:
"How far into the future? Years? Was there anyone here he could turn to? Ness? Ray Dark?" Anyone who knew him before all this? The thought seemed childish, weak, but it stirred somewhere deep inside.

Because looking at Isagi, let alone talking or living under the same roof... It was torture. Humiliation. A reminder of the collapse.

And also—geography. Japan? Almost certainly. Which meant he was doubly trapped. Step outside the threshold—and what? Streets with incomprehensible characters, people not speaking English, let alone German, no yen in his pocket, no connections, not the slightest idea where to go. Complete helplessness. A familiar, hated feeling that tightened his throat.

The desire to run away, to break out of here, was almost physical. To get away from this house, from this person, from all this madness. But where? There was nowhere to run. This thought, like pliers, squeezed his throat. Unconsciously, by an old, vile habit, his hand reached for his own neck. Fingers found his pulse, the skin under his jaw. An echo of the past.

He jerked his hand away as if from fire, and hissed through his teeth, addressing himself, his weakness.
"Pull yourself together!" Distract himself. Act. Shower. Food. Step by step.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, he tried to formulate a plan. A week. A whole seven days in this cage. Isagi, judging by yesterday, was unlikely to be able or willing to give clear answers. He himself was drifting along with the tide of this absurdity, leaning on terms from bad sci-fi novels. "Continuum rupture". Ha.

"Well, let's see what this house is like..." — he muttered under his breath, getting up. At the door, he froze for several long seconds. Delaying the moment. Postponing the inevitable meeting with "the sprout". Every extra second alone was a gulp of air before diving in.

He opened the door—and almost collided with Isagi, who was standing close, hand frozen in the air, about to knock. Surprise and irritation instantly twisted Kaiser's face into a grimace of deepest displeasure.

And then he saw it: on Isagi's face, instead of the expected annoyance or wariness, a smile bloomed. Not mocking, not unkind. Rather... warm? Amused? As if he'd seen something incredibly familiar and slightly funny. Kaiser frowned even deeper, not understanding the reason. His gaze slid down, to Isagi's hands—nothing. To his clothes—ordinary home pants and a t-shirt. Only an instinctive movement of his own hand to his head gave the answer.
Hair. His damned, unruly hair after sleep. It stuck out in all directions, tangled, disheveled, as if he'd emerged not from a bedroom, but from the most desperate fight where he'd been dragged by the hair. A real nightmare. Kaiser sharply pulled his hand away, but it was too late—he saw the understanding in Isagi's eyes, confirmation that this chaos on his head had caused that... that idiotic smile.
He irritably, almost furiously, closed his eyes for a second. Hated it. Hated this damn weakness of his, this inability to even control his own appearance after sleep. It made him vulnerable, ridiculous. And to be ridiculous in front of Isagi...

- Wipe that look off your face, - Isagi exhaled, lowering his hand and planting his fists on his hips. The smile still played on his lips, but it became less obvious, muted by the understanding that his reaction had hit a nerve. He was wearing simple home pants and a t-shirt, his own hair only slightly tousled—a stark contrast to Kaiser's mane. - I just wanted to grab a couple of things from the wardrobe and wake you up. It's already noon.

"Noon? How long did I even sleep?" The thought, bright and bewildered, flashed in Kaiser's eyes before he could hide it.

Isagi, as if reading it, immediately added: - Slept about 11 hours. Knocked out cold.

"Eleven?!" Shock hit Kaiser with a weak but palpable wave. His routine was precise: 7 hours of sleep, possible short nap during the day, early rises for training. It seemed his body, broken by stress and overload, had simply shut down. Treacherously. He covered his eyes with his palm, trying to hide the flash of anger at himself and the situation. Stupidity.

- Where's the bathroom? - he asked sharply, lowering his hand and deliberately ignoring everything he'd just heard. Let his silence be the answer.

- Upstairs, - Isagi thumbed to the left, towards a narrow wooden staircase. - First door. You can leave dirty clothes in the bathroom.

Kaiser nodded, or rather, just moved in the indicated direction, giving Isagi a slight nudge with his shoulder to pass. He stepped aside without protest.

Climbing the creaking steps, Kaiser's gaze caught on the wall along the staircase. On the wallpaper, small, neat holes from nails or hooks stood out clearly. Not one, not two—a whole row, at different heights. Marks from removed pictures. Had Isagi taken them down? Intentionally? What was there? Matches? Trophies? Or... something else? Something that could tell about the years passed, about events Kaiser might accidentally learn about?

"Space-time continuum, you say?.." — Kaiser mentally smirked, feeling familiar irritation rising from his chest.
"Really stubborn, damn it."

The bathroom was small, clean, with a typically Japanese deep but short ofuro bathtub. Next to it—a shower head on a flexible hose. Fresh towels and a stack of clean clothes—simple gray sweatpants and a dark t-shirt—were already neatly folded on the sink. Kaiser froze for a second, dismissing the thought that Isagi might have prepared them specially. Too... caring. Inappropriate.

He washed quickly, almost mechanically, washing off yesterday's sweat, dust, and the feeling of helplessness. The water was hot, almost scalding, but he didn't reduce the pressure. Let the jets hit his tense shoulder and back muscles.

Kaiser never used a hair dryer—wet hair, drying naturally, became soft, light, but if dried with a dryer, it turned into unruly, frizzy dandelion fluff, which infuriated him to the core. It seemed Isagi shared this aversion to the appliance, or simply didn't consider it necessary. Because there was no hair dryer, at least Kaiser didn't see one.

He came out about ten minutes later, wet strands of hair falling onto his forehead and neck. Drying his face and neck with a towel, he quickly scanned the second-floor hallway. Besides the bathroom—two more closed doors. He had neither the strength nor the desire to inquire about their contents. He just snorted to himself and headed for the stairs.

Descending, he noticed Isagi downstairs. He approached the foot of the stairs, leaning on the railing. Kaiser stopped halfway down the flight, creating distance.

- Do you prefer to have lunch... - Isagi began, then cut himself off, a slight smirk touching the corners of his lips. - Hmm, no. For you, this is still breakfast, I suppose. - He corrected himself. Kaiser just frowned deeper, feeling this "for you" grate on his ears with its familiarity.
- So, - Isagi continued, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back slightly on the railing. That same elusive, mischievous shadow of a smile played on his face as it had in the morning.

- Do you prefer to have breakfast locked in your room, or will you risk your dignity and go to the kitchen? - The question was delivered lightly, but there was clearly a challenge in it. Isagi was offering a choice, but Kaiser understood perfectly: choosing "room" would make him look like a cowardly teenager hiding in a corner.

- I don't care, - Kaiser grumbled, sharply descending the remaining steps and walking past Isagi towards the living room. Too sharply to look natural.

Behind his back, he heard a short, quiet chuckle. As if Isagi knew that's exactly what he'd choose.

The kitchen flowed smoothly into a small living room. Kaiser sank onto a chair at the dining table while Isagi bustled in the kitchen. His gaze automatically began scanning the space. Bookshelves. Lots of them. Packed with spines of unreadable characters—Japanese literature, naturally. But his gaze, used to picking out details, slid over titles his brain automatically tried to translate or recognize.
"...'The True Story of Sea Demons'... 'Moon in the Mist'... something about samurai..." — and then froze. Among the exotic spines stood out familiar, European ones:
"Sigmund Freud. The Interpretation of Dreams."
"Leo Tolstoy. The Death of Ivan Ilyich."
"Friedrich Nietzsche. Beyond Good and Evil."

He didn't even have time to fully grasp the absurdity of their coexistence on Isagi's shelf when a plate appeared in front of his face with a soft thud. Isagi placed it on the table. The sudden movement jolted Kaiser out of his trance. He flinched and sharply raised his head, his gaze—wild, almost hostile—met Isagi's slightly surprised face.

- God, I'm not planning to eat with you, calm down, - Isagi said quickly, withdrawing his hands and taking a step back, as if from a wild animal. - I just brought food, since you...-

- Do we live together? - Kaiser interrupted him. His voice was low, icy, like steel in the cold.

Silence. Thick, sudden. Even the sounds from the kitchen died down. Isagi froze. Surprise on his face turned to wariness, then—a faint shadow of irritation.

- I beg your pardon? - he asked, and a cold note sounded in his tone for the first time.

- The books, -Kaiser stared at him unblinkingly. His own voice sounded alien, analytically cruel. - I'll never believe that someone like you, - he deliberately paused, emphasizing contempt, - would read Nietzsche, Freud, and Tolstoy. Especially this Tolstoy. - The blow was calculated. Cold. Aimed to sting, provoke, see a crack in this suspiciously calm facade. Kaiser didn't look away, catching every micro-reaction.

Isagi answered quickly, almost reflexively:
- Am I forbidden to be interested in psychology and literature in principle? - But Kaiser had already seen. Seen how the muscles around Isagi's eyes tightened for a fraction of a second, how the corner of his lip trembled slightly. A flash of panic? Irritation at being caught out?
"Terrible actor," — flashed through Kaiser's head.

- Just answer, - Kaiser stood up. Slowly, deliberately. Using his height to tower over Isagi, create physical pressure. Emotions raged inside—anger, confusion, disgust at this game. He needed the truth. Now. Without lies.

Isagi didn't retreat. Didn't lower his gaze. He straightened up, meeting Kaiser's gaze full force. And in those eyes, in that sudden firmness of posture, Kaiser saw what he hated. Something painfully familiar.

- And what will that give you? - asked Isagi, his voice also lowered, becoming even but tense, like a bowstring.
- Why do you even need to know? What will it give you?

That gaze. That tone. That sudden, unyielding confidence. They were like a whip lash across his memory. Exactly like on the field in Nel, when this Isagi looked at him without fear, when he snapped back, when he challenged. Something stabbed Kaiser in the chest. Sharply. Painfully. Not irritation. Something else. Something old, buried deep and suddenly revived. Nostalgia? No. Not that. But the feeling was as disgusting as everything else in this cursed house. He felt not just bad. He felt exposed. And that was the worst.

The truth? The truth was that Kaiser didn't know why he needed to know. He couldn't even formulate it for himself. Habit? Yes. His mind, honed by years of survival and manipulation, demanded thorough analysis of everything: people, situations, surroundings. Knowledge was control. Control was the illusion of safety. Without it, he felt naked, vulnerable. In this alien house, with this impossible Isagi, the illusion had collapsed. And he was clinging to any straw—books, the absence of photos—just to restore even a shadow of control over reality.

But there was another truth, dirty and unbearable.

When the word "Michael" slipped from Isagi's lips, it sounded like the snap of a trap. Possibility. The possibility that somewhere in this absurd future he, Michael Kaiser, had managed to... befriend someone? To find someone who knew him not as "The Emperor" or "shit," but as... a person?

And, most absurdly, that someone was Isagi Yoichi? The person who hadn't just beaten him on the field, but had shattered his carefully constructed world? It was monstrous. Absurd. Knocked the ground out from under him more than any faint.

And Isagi behaved with such casual, irritating friendliness, as if he'd known him for years. As if there hadn't been that poisonous enmity, that humiliation, that struggle. It was maddening.

Kaiser irritably inhaled, the air whistling in his lungs like through a narrow slit. Exhale. His fingers pressed hard into his forehead, trying to push out the growing pain, push out this chaos of thoughts. He needed to stop this. Now.

- Fine, - his voice cracked, hoarse, devoid of its usual confidence. Surrender. Complete and unconditional. Pride? To hell with pride. Preserving sanity was more important.

- Can I borrow money from you then? - He deliberately looked away, staring at the wall somewhere behind Isagi. - And stay in some... some cheap dumb hotel for a week. Surely, when... my future version returns, - the word "my" came with difficulty, - he'll pay you back.

Isagi's reaction was instant and deafening. His eyes, usually so analytical and calm, suddenly widened to an incredible size, as if Kaiser hadn't asked for money, but spat in his face. There was not just surprise in them—offense. Deep, personal hurt, as if Kaiser had just betrayed something sacred. For Kaiser, the humiliation was in the very act of asking.

- I, of course, understand everything, - Isagi's voice sounded low, dangerous, each syllable hammered out like a blow. He stepped forward, reducing the distance to a minimum. - That you don't give a damn about the consequences. And that you only care about yourself. - He poked Kaiser in the chest on the word "yourself." The jab wasn't hard, but unexpected, humiliating.
- Can't you at least try to behave a little respectfully? This situation—isn't difficult just for you alone— Real anger broke through his voice, long restrained. -
Do you think I enjoy babysitting you when you act like... like a sulky, capricious teenager?

This wasn't an attempt to induce guilt. It was an outburst of accumulated irritation, a fact thrown in his face. And it hit the mark.
Kaiser was indeed trying to ignore Isagi, to erase him from the equation of his survival here. For his own peace of mind.

- I know that before we... things were complicated, - Isagi continued, lowering his tone slightly but not easing the intensity. - I know you had a hard time after Nel and it took you quite a while to get back on your feet. But are you really going to keep sitting in your imaginary 'room,' curled up in a corner, and... cry? Like some... - he hesitated, searching for the word, but it escaped, cruel and precise, - ...child who failed once and is now acting out a drama of universal proportions? What about your concept of 'the impossible'?

The words hit like a knife under the ribs. Kaiser physically felt the acrid, bitter bile rise up his esophagus, spreading a burning sensation throughout his body. How dare he? No one, no one had the right to utter his philosophy, his personal symbol of struggle, in that tone.

And the most terrible, disgusting thing, what infuriated Kaiser most in this situation—Isagi was right. That thought burned hotter than the bile.
He was hiding. From the future. From himself. From him. From everything.

- Shut up, - Kaiser hissed, his voice trembling with restrained rage. - I'm doing a favor for both of us. - If Isagi was also suffering from his presence, it was logical to just... disappear. A mutually beneficial solution.

- Or maybe you're doing it only for yourself? - Isagi stepped back, leaning wearily against the back of the sofa. His gaze was tired, but not broken.

- It's not hard for me to give you money. What pisses me off is something else. That as soon as something doesn't go according to your script, you immediately—run. Hide. - He shook his head, and something like... disappointment? flickered in his eyes. - Didn't think the Emperor would fall so low. - He said the last phrase quietly, but with icy, familiar mockery. The very same that sounded on the Nel field. A low blow. Intentional.

Kaiser clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. Pride screamed inside, demanding a counterblow, revenge.

- I would let you go, - Isagi continued, looking somewhere past him, out the window. His voice became even again, rational.
- But it would attract too much attention. And... - he looked directly at Kaiser, - to be honest, you look different from... that Kaiser who is here. Younger. Different behavior. Different appearance... If someone sees you, recognizes you... the consequences will have to be dealt with by other people. -

Silence hung, thick and viscous like tar. Two men, separated by years of experience and an abyss of distrust, looked at each other, waiting for the next move.

Kaiser felt stubbornness, his old, faithful ally and enemy, constricting his chest like a steel band.

He decided to leave. He asked. To admit he was wrong, that his decision was mistaken, stupid, selfish? That was worse than any defeat. He didn't know how to give in, especially when his mistake was pointed out. Especially if it came from Isagi.

- And what do you suggest we do, Yoichi? - Kaiser pronounced the name deliberately clearly, with a slight, poisonous hiss. For the first time in so long, he repeated that name. It was a weapon. A return to the old game, to the role of "The Emperor," trying to dominate through disrespect. He saw Isagi flinch slightly, as if pushed. Yes, he hadn't expected such an address. Obviously, in his reality, they called each other differently, certainly not in that tone.

- We both find this whole circus repulsive, - Kaiser continued, taking a step forward, his smile crooked, almost a snarl. But his eyes burned with a cold, implacable fire of rejection. - You said yourself you don't like it. Want us to tear each other's throats out over this week? Oh, don't doubt it, - he nodded, - I'd be glad to.

Isagi sharply pushed off the sofa, forcefully shoving Kaiser aside, and dropped onto the chair opposite where Kaiser had been sitting. The gesture was abrupt, demonstrative. Meaning "Enough."

- I'm not going to play these stupid, childish games with you, - he blurted out, irritation breaking through attempts at restraint. - I... misspoke. - He ran a hand over his face, as if wiping away fatigue. Kaiser saw it: Isagi was trying to be mature, rational, but as soon as Kaiser pressed the right buttons—the old habits burst out. "Always like this. And in the future, it hasn't changed," — Kaiser thought with bitter satisfaction, barely suppressing a smirk. He remained standing, arrogantly observing from above. Isagi sat down—a clear signal for negotiations, for a long, tedious conversation Kaiser wanted least of all.

- Yes, - Isagi began, looking at the table, not at him. - I didn't expect... that it would work. No one in their right mind would believe some stupid ritual... - he waved his hand, - ...has power. I spoke rashly. Calling you... well, you know how. - Genuine embarrassment, even shame, sounded in his voice. Kaiser became wary. - After all, I am... older than you. And should behave more maturely. - He raised his gaze.

At that phrase, at that tone of "adult, responsible person," Kaiser's face involuntarily twisted into a grimace of pure, unadulterated disgust. As if he'd licked something sour and rotten. "Is he pushing thirty? What kind of posing is this?"

- Hey! Wipe that disgust off your face! - Isagi flared up, his gaze becoming sharp, piercing again. - I'm just trying to be... at least the only one here acting normal.

He fell silent, gathering his thoughts. Fingers tapped nervously on the table.

- I... don't know exactly how you felt after Nel, I just know it was hard for you. You... your future version? - He hesitated again, clearly choosing words to avoid hurting. - You... he never told me. And I... didn't ask. - The admission came hard. - After Nel I... didn't really think about you. You were from New Gen 11, and it seemed to me... that for you, such a small defeat was just an annoying setback on the way. Because the main goal—is victory. Always. And nothing else. - He spoke calmly, without pathos, simply stating the fact of his perception back then. Not justifying himself. Explaining.

Kaiser listened, holding his breath. This flow of words was... unexpected. Strange. Was Isagi explaining? Admitting something? Calmly? Without challenge? It broke all patterns.

- And I... - Isagi scratched the back of his head, a little embarrassed, avoiding direct eye contact, - ...always admired your skills. Your game. You could say you were... the standard. The ideal. For me. When we played together. - The words came out as if pulled with pliers, but they sounded sincere.

For Kaiser, it was like being hit with a club. Not physically, but... existentially. "Admired? Ideal?" Thoughts tangled. Kaiser was sure Isagi would rather die than acknowledge his skill or say something... non-hostile.

Yes, on the Nel field there were shouts, acknowledgments of strength, but that was at the peak of adrenaline, in the heat of battle, to emphasize his own triumph. But this... was different. It contradicted everything he knew, everything he believed about their relationship. He stood, stunned, not knowing how to react.

Isagi coughed, gathering his courage again. Now he raised his head and looked Kaiser directly in the eyes. His gaze was piercing, honest, full of that very determination Kaiser hated.

- That's why I'm... disappointed, - the word was chosen carefully, weightily, - that you're like this... curling up inside yourself. Instead of moving forward. To prove everyone wrong. And, first and foremost, yourself. That you truly can become that 'Impossible' you strive for. - He didn't blink. The challenge was thrown. But not hostile. Rather... demanding. Like a coach to a talented but lost player.

Kaiser couldn't withstand that gaze. He was the first to look away. Again.

Something complex churned in his chest—rage, shame, and... a tiny, treacherous spark of something else.

- Are you really thirty? - Kaiser muttered, looking at the floor. His voice sounded not irritated, but... tired, almost bewildered. - Talking so much crap...

The reaction was instant and explosive.

Isagi's hair seemed to literally stand on end with indignation. He jumped up from the chair, his face reddened.

- HEY! I'M TRYING HERE, YOU KNOW! - he yelled, losing all the restraint accumulated during the conversation.

And then Kaiser smirked. Briefly, barely audibly. Not maliciously. Rather... nervously. Absurdly. This outburst, this childish reaction to a jab... It was so... familiar. So like the old way. So not adult-like. The contrast between his serious speech just now and this burst of rage was comical and... incredibly honest.

- ...and no, I'm not thirty, you damn joker! - Isagi exhaled, already realizing his reaction, and plopped back onto the chair with a thud. He ran a hand over his face, wiping away both anger and embarrassment. - Damn...

The tension in the room didn't vanish, but its edge was blunted. Kaiser's rage ebbed, replaced by heavy fatigue and vague bewilderment. Isagi sat, breathing unevenly, clearly cursing himself for the outburst. An awkward truce hung between them, bought by an explosion of anger and an unexpected smirk. The war wasn't over. It had just entered a different phase. More exhausting. Stranger.

Kaiser gave Isagi a quick, appraising glance. Not just a glance—a scan. A predator frozen before a pounce, weighing risk and gain. A thought flashed through his head, sharp and bright: to turn around and leave. Slam the door of the room, seal himself in this four-walled cage until the end of the week. Wall himself off from this person, from his ridiculous "revelations," from this house saturated with the ghosts of a future where he, Kaiser, seemingly existed.

Unquestionably, any truce after... this? After words of admiration spoken by the one who once craved his destruction? The thought was absurd. Everything happening now was an illusion, a mirage that would dissipate in seven days. But Isagi's words... they acted like a strange sedative. All the boiling anger, all the fury that had flared in him a minute ago, ebbed away at the snap of invisible fingers. Leaving behind an awkward emptiness and bitter irony. "Funny," he thought with internal sarcasm, how little it took to disarm him. Just a couple of phrases and he looked like a confused fool.

Isagi was still sitting on the chair, staring into space. His face was concentrated, brows slightly furrowed—he was clearly immersed in analyzing what had just happened, grinding over every word, every gesture. In that, they were similar—Kaiser noted bitterly. Ignoring it was stupid.

Kaiser loudly, deliberately exhaled. The sound was sharp, like a door slamming, designed to snap Isagi out of his thoughts. Isagi flinched, blinked, focus returning to the blond. And then Kaiser, making a decision that was temporary, a tactical retreat, nothing more, moved. Not towards the door. But back to the table. He sank onto the chair with the air of someone performing a tedious duty.

- I got you, - he said, his voice even, metallically impassive. He picked up a fork, not looking at the plate. Not to eat. With the tips of the tines, he lightly, almost carelessly, poked Isagi's forearm. The gesture was petty, humiliating, like poking a disobedient puppy in the side. - Won't cause problems for your 'beloved' future 'me'.

Isagi just frowned slightly, but Kaiser caught the instant tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes. The mockery hit home. He definitely didn't like it.

- You worry about him so much and live together. - Kaiser spoke calmly, detachedly. He finally looked at the plate, began mechanically poking the fork into the scrambled eggs.

The best way to perceive that Kaiser as a completely different person. A stranger. Then this week would pass easier. Calmer. Without extra nerves. As he spoke, his gaze slid over the edge of the plate—there lay crusts of bread fried to a crisp. Familiar. Favorite.

- See, you even know my favorite food, - he didn't look up, continuing to examine the food, but a smirk touched his lips. - And you act like... a caring little wife. - A carefree, obviously fake, smile appeared on his face.

It was visible how Isagi literally sucked in air, how the muscles of his back tensed. He clenched his fists on his knees, clearly fighting the urge to shout something, to lose it again. This visible effort amused Kaiser.

"Yeah," he mentally smirked, "'behave maturely and responsibly'."

Now Kaiser felt not rage, but a cold, empty calm. Like ice after a storm. He was just acting on autopilot, by an old, deeply ingrained habit—to tease, to sting, to test boundaries. It was his language, his way of existing around others. Even if these "others" were now... strangely tolerant versions of his past enemies.

Isagi propped his face with his fist, his gaze becoming unfocused, directed somewhere into the past.

- Yeah, we live together, - he began quietly, his voice losing its former sharpness. - But it's more... due to circumstances. Not by our choice. - He spoke, looking down at the table surface, as if seeing echoes of events there. His gaze was thoughtful, almost detached.

- And why 'beloved' right away? - he suddenly looked up, as if only now realizing what Kaiser had said, and defensive sharpness returned to his tone. - It's just normal... human treatment of an acquaintance. Especially when sharing a roof.

Kaiser decided to ignore it. He just started eating. Hunger overpowered his squeamishness about food cooked by Isagi. Even if it was simple scrambled eggs with croutons—it was something. Fuel.

They sat in silence, but now it was different—not so much tense as heavy, awkward, filled with unspoken questions that Kaiser stubbornly kept to himself. From playful to truly important. He didn't intend to show interest. Not a bit.

As soon as the last bite disappeared from the plate, Kaiser stood up sharply.

- Thanks for the food, - he threw out formally, without intonation. He rubbed his neck, stretching the muscles, avoiding direct eye contact with Isagi.

- So, I just can't leave the house? - His voice remained detached, but the question hung in the air, testing boundaries.

Isagi gave him a suspicious look, his analytical gaze searching for a catch.

- Just... to minimize risks, - he corrected, sighing. - Reporters often hang around near the house. I think you understand why that's a bad idea. - He looked at Kaiser directly, expecting confirmation.

Kaiser merely snorted—a short, inexpressive sound—and began surveying the living room again, his gaze sliding towards the glass door leading to a small inner courtyard with neat greenery.

Isagi followed the direction of his gaze and also looked at the yard.

- There's a treadmill on the second floor, - he said calmly, still looking at the greenery beyond the glass. His voice was even, without the previous notes of irritation or challenge. - If you want to work out a bit. No ball, unfortunately. We usually go to the gym. - Isagi was still looking at the yard, as if lost in thought, nostalgic.

Kaiser slowly shifted his gaze from the yard to Isagi. They froze in a silent pause. Isagi simply watched, his expression hard to read—neutral, observant. Kaiser looked sideways, as if spying on something forbidden, a secret that didn't belong to him. After several agonizing seconds, he turned sharply and headed for the stairs.

- Kaiser. - Isagi's voice stopped him as he placed his foot on the first step. Kaiser froze but didn't turn around. His back was tense.

- I don't know what exactly is in your head right now, - Isagi spoke, his words quiet but clear, reaching Kaiser through the silence of the hall. - But know this: if there's one thing you should do—it's stop limiting yourself. Stop locking yourself in your shell. That—is your main weakness. Not anything else.

Kaiser gripped the wooden stair railing so hard his knuckles turned white. Pain shot up to his wrist. He didn't turn around.

- Yeah, - he tossed over his shoulder, his voice flat, the very embodiment of the indifference he was so desperately trying to achieve. And went upstairs, leaving Isagi below with his lectures.

Kaiser clung with all his might to the mask of indifference and formal respect, as Isagi seemingly wanted. But Isagi himself! He seemed to deliberately poke where he wasn't asked—into the most hidden, most painful corners of his soul. "Who asked you to give advice?" he thought furiously, climbing the stairs.

Maybe in this damned timeline they really had sorted everything out and lived soul to soul, like a boring couple from a commercial. But this Kaiser—he was different. From the past, where everything still hurt, where he was just slowly picking up the pieces and reaping the fruits of his actions, where the illusions had only recently collapsed.

He quickly found the right door. The room was even smaller than the one he'd woken up in. A cramped cubbyhole for basic training. No hints of professional equipment—just a treadmill, a cheap yoga mat, and a set of dumbbells of different weights, neatly stacked in the corner. "Seems it's just as he said," Kaiser thought with a touch of contempt. "They train in gyms."

But for his current goals—it would do. Better than sitting in the room alone with gnawing thoughts. He craved to plunge back into the familiar routine of pain and sweat, to drown out the inner noise with the rhythm of steps and the thumping of his heart. He had an ironclad excuse: the U-20 match. This wasn't cowardice, not escape. This was preparation. That's how he convinced himself.

What Kaiser hadn't factored into his cold calculation was that a portion of scrambled eggs with croutons—was negligible fuel for his stress-wracked body and the planned intense workout. So, after a couple of hours, he emerged from the room not with a sense of satisfaction, but covered in sticky sweat, with trembling hands and a heart pounding somewhere in his throat. He had no intention of repeating yesterday's faint. He acknowledged the mistake, if only mentally.

Descending downstairs, he found the house empty. It slightly surprised him. He'd expected Isagi to stand guard like a warden, watching his every move—"God forbid he does something." But, on the other hand, thank God he wasn't sitting here glued. Probably trying to give Kaiser personal space.

Thirst and emptiness in his stomach drove him to the fridge. Opening the door, he was surprised. Inside reigned a kingdom of emptiness and a couple of lonely jars of sauces. He was about to slam the door shut, snorting irritably, when his gaze stuck to a piece of paper stuck to the side wall of the fridge with a magnet. His hand reached out by itself, took it off.

It was a grocery list. An ordinary, household one. But at the bottom, under the items, was written in a sweeping, energetic hand: "The last one back from the run carries the bags from the store."

It was his handwriting. It was Kaiser's handwriting.

The feeling was like a punch to the gut. A sense of complete alienation, acute awareness of being a stranger, superfluous in this picture of domestic closeness, washed over him with new, devastating force. He almost threw the paper back, trying to stick it exactly as it was, as if trying to erase the very fact of his curiosity, to return the world to its unbreakable order.

Irritation, cold and sticky, crawled up his spine again. Everything pissed him off. These small, insignificant details that screamed that he—not a ghost, not a temporary guest—lived here. Favorite books on the shelves, the treadmill preset to his usual pace, Isagi knowing his favorite food, that stupid note... All of it screamed of his presence in this future, and Kaiser, against his will, noticed it. Though he desperately wanted to ignore it. He didn't know how to react to it. Be glad? But he felt like a stray dog, fighting for survival all its life, suddenly shoved into a warm apartment with a pampered pet, demanded to play by its rules. It was indescribably alien.

Kaiser simply couldn't believe that his future self was capable of this—of shared living, of domesticity, of these stupid notes. He craved love, yes. But he wasn't a fool. He knew his flaws, his thorns, his inability for simple human trust perfectly well. And all this—

The sharp sound of the front door opening snapped him out of his gloomy thoughts.

- Oh, Kaiser, it's you, - Isagi's voice sounded. He was taking off his shoes at the entrance, then walked a little further in, holding several heavy bags.

Kaiser felt like he'd been caught red-handed. He jerked his hand away from the fridge, blinked several times, shifting his bewildered gaze from Isagi back to the fridge gaping with emptiness, then back to Isagi. His face betrayed confusion.

- Surprised your fridge is empty, - he smirked, deliberately slamming the door shut with a loud click. The sound rang out like a chord in the silence. - A mouse could hang itself from boredom in there.

- Ha-ha, very funny, - Isagi laughed falsely, setting the bags on the kitchen table with a dull thud. He gave Kaiser a quick, appraising glance—wet hair, sweatpants, obvious fatigue—and began unloading the groceries.

- Saw it, huh? - he asked calmly, not looking up from the task.

Kaiser looked at him, radiating icy "I don't give a damn" with his whole being.

- I just forgot to take it down, that's all, - Isagi carried a couple of bags to the fridge and began putting the purchases on the shelves. Kaiser automatically stepped back a step to avoid getting in the way in the cramped kitchen space. - And the list was just essentials... - Isagi continued, his voice sounded matter-of-fact, but Kaiser sensed a trick in this simplicity.

- And do I often write such... notes? - the question escaped by itself, unexpectedly even for him. Kaiser nearly bit his tongue. Isagi turned his head, and that same, now familiar smirk appeared on his lips.

- It's our... old tradition? - Isagi thought, searching for words. - Don't know how to put it exactly. It started... accidentally. - He continued unpacking groceries, but notes of light nostalgia sounded in his tone. Kaiser listened, absorbing every word, as if trying to find a thread leading to an understanding of this absurd reality.

- Accidentally? - Kaiser clarified. His voice was surprisingly even. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at the floor near his feet.

- Yeah, damn, - Isagi scratched the back of his head, and Kaiser caught a slight embarrassment in his gesture. - It happened so stupidly it's even funny and embarrassing to tell. - Isagi fell silent, intently arranging a bag of grains.

"Sounds so... ordinary," Kaiser thought, looking at his back. "Calm. As if it should be."

The silence dragged on. Isagi suddenly flushed slightly, catching his own awkwardness. He nervously waved a hand in front of his face, as if swatting away a mosquito of embarrassment.

- Well, anyway... - he began, stammering. - At first I hung a bunch of notes myself. So I wouldn't forget—groceries, studying, training, errands... Then you started leaving yours too. Sometimes we mixed them up—I took your note instead of mine, you—mine. Started with: 'Hey, accidentally took yours, hope you didn't forget about this thing' and so on. Then we just agreed to make shared lists. And then... - he turned, took that very paper from the fridge, - ...it turned into these... teases. Like this one. - He smiled, looking at the challenge about the run.

- Whatever, - he muttered more to himself than to Kaiser, - I'll think of a 'hello' back for him later.

Then Isagi fell silent, and suddenly his gaze became sharp, interested. He turned sharply to Kaiser, as if struck by an idea.

- Maybe you want to write something? - he asked unexpectedly. - To your future self?

Kaiser flinched as if electrocuted and shot Isagi a murderous look that screamed: "Are you mocking me?"

- I don't know, - Isagi shrugged, light irony returning to his voice. He leaned his back against the kitchen sink, mirroring Kaiser's recent pose. - Maybe you want to vent all your anger and dissatisfaction about this situation? I got mine already. - He grinned.

Kaiser immediately changed his posture, stepping back, as if even an accidental resemblance to Isagi was a desecration for him.

- Pass, - he replied in an icy tone, full of detachment. He bent down, pretending to adjust the cuff of his sweatpants, clearly preparing to leave.

- So what did you need in the kitchen? I'd never believe someone like you was going to cook? - Isagi didn't let go. His voice took on familiar notes of light mockery. He was clearly parodying Kaiser's phrase about the books, returning it like a boomerang. He knew. But he wanted Kaiser to say it.

- Stop doing that, - Kaiser covered his face with his palm, his voice sounded muffled, through his fingers. A mixture of irritation and fatigue.

- I'm not doing anything, what are you even talking about? - Isagi took a step forward, a light smirk not leaving his face. Deliberately provoking. Kaiser instinctively took another step back, maintaining distance.

At such an obvious, almost reflexive reaction from Kaiser, Isagi couldn't suppress a short, stifled chuckle. And, as if playing, took another step forward.

Kaiser recoiled even further.

- Hey, stop acting like a kid! - burst out from Kaiser, irritation breaking through the dam.

- Look who's talking! - Isagi parried, and the smirk widened. He was clearly enjoying this game.

"Damn!" flashed in Kaiser's head. The impulse was stronger than reason. He stepped forward sharply, not retreating but almost advancing, grabbed Isagi's wrists with both hands. The grip was strong, almost painful.

- Shut up, - he hissed, boring his gaze into Isagi's eyes, which suddenly widened in surprise. Their faces were now centimeters apart. - Stop this cheap circus!

Silence hung. Tense, ringing. Kaiser felt the pulse under his fingers on the thin skin of Isagi's wrists. Saw him freeze, digesting the sudden attack.

And suddenly... Isagi laughed. Not a mocking laugh, not a scornful guffaw. But a sincere, loud laugh coming from deep in his belly. He threw his head back, and laughter filled the small kitchen, washing away the tension like a wave.

Kaiser loosened his grip in confusion. He was stunned. He expected anger, retaliation, contempt—anything but this. Not this pure, uncontrollable amusement caused by... him? Isagi's laughter sounded so unfamiliar, so wrong in the context of their eternal enmity. It unsettled him. A little.

- Sorry, sorry! - Isagi wiped away tears, laughing, trying to catch his breath. - You just... act like a complete idiot, seriously! What kind of behavior is that? - He burst out laughing again, looking at Kaiser's bewildered face.

- You act all serious one minute, then avoid like a scared cat the next. - Isagi finally stopped laughing, but a faint, barely perceptible smile still played on his lips. The word "scared" made Kaiser frown slightly. It grated on his ears like a false note. He didn't understand this Isagi—his laughter, his condescension, his strange, irritating tolerance. It was alien. Inappropriate.

- I'm just joking, - Isagi softened his tone, but the smirk didn't disappear. - You really do act like a kid. No, - he corrected himself, his gaze becoming a bit sharper, analytical, - like a stray cat. The one that hisses and arches its back the moment you approach. Hilarious. - He shook his head, but his eyes held not gloating, but... something like surprised recognition.

Kaiser felt the familiar, hated burning rise to his face. "Scared?" "Stray cat?".

He hated it when he wasn't taken seriously, treated like a funny misunderstanding. He always built an image—unapproachable, brilliant, worthy of admiration or at least fear. The image of "The Emperor." And this... this Yoichi from the future looked at him like... like a kitten? His face froze in complete, almost comical incomprehension. He felt disoriented, knocked out of the familiar rut of enmity and superiority.

And then Isagi acted. Quickly, unexpectedly. He didn't retreat, but stepped forward. His hands snapped closed around Kaiser's arms. Not roughly, but firmly, creating a lock. A mischievous grin bloomed on his face, as if saying "Gotcha."

- You can calm down, I won't do it anymore, - Isagi repeated, but his eyes, dark and too attentive, seemed to say something else. And just as suddenly as he grabbed, he let go. The grip vanished, leaving a ghostly sensation of warmth and slight tingling on Kaiser's skin. Kaiser stood, frozen, still in mild shock from the suddenness and... from the strange lack of threat in this gesture.

- There's food in the bag on the table, - Isagi was already walking away, waving a hand towards the table. - I definitely can't cook today. - He headed for the stairs. Kaiser mechanically turned his head, following him, his gaze—a mute question: "Where?"

- To change, - Isagi tossed over his shoulder without turning, glancing at him slightly sideways. And immediately added, already climbing the steps: - And anyway, you reek of sweat. You should take a shower. - The voice came from above, matter-of-fact, without malice, but with frank bluntness.

Kaiser remained standing in the middle of the kitchen, as if nailed to the floor. The sound of Isagi's footsteps on the stairs above seemed distant, muffled.

"Well, that's bullshit," finally flashed through his head, breaking through the fog of bewilderment. He slowly approached the table, to the bag. Inside, wrapped in foil, were two cardboard boxes—obviously takeout.

Apparently, Isagi had gotten some for him too. But which portion was whose? He wanted to call out, to ask... but his tongue stumbled.

"Isagi"? Too familiar.
"Yoichi"? No, that definitely didn't fit.
"Hey"? Rude.

Even this simple action—how to address him—suddenly became complicated. Not even a day had passed, and he, Michael Kaiser, was already doubting, feeling some creeping uncertainty. It infuriated him how easily this Isagi "outplayed" him, making him look like a fool, knocking him off his pedestal. Although... logically. He didn't know this Isagi. He was only familiar with that young, fierce striker from the field. And this one... was different. Although the echoes—that determination, that direct manner—remained.

His thoughts were interrupted by a light but distinct slap on the back. Kaiser instinctively arched as if from an electric shock and whipped around. Isagi stood right behind him. He was wearing dry, clean sweatpants and a t-shirt, a towel draped around his neck. He was wiping drops of water from his temples and neck. His hair was wet, darker than usual, his face—fresh, emanating cleanliness and the smell of soap. Apparently he had just come out of the bath.

- I thought you'd go right away, like I told you, - Isagi said, his voice calm, but a familiar mischief flickered in his eyes. He nudged Kaiser aside lightly with his elbow to reach the food boxes on the table. - But first come, first served, I guess.

- I was just trying to figure out which portion was whose, - Kaiser replied automatically, defensive. His gaze slid over Isagi's figure, and he froze. The t-shirt... it was too big. Wide in the shoulders, long, hanging almost to mid-thigh. Oversized.

- Ten minutes? - Isagi smirked, putting the boxes in the microwave. He wasn't looking at Kaiser, focused on the appliance buttons.

Kaiser didn't answer. He kept looking at Isagi, his analytical gaze catching on a detail. He reached out and lightly tugged the collar of Isagi's t-shirt down, exposing his collarbone. The material yielded easily.

- Wearing oversized? -Kaiser asked, his voice low, studying. He released the collar, the elastic snapping softly back into place. - What, trying to hide your fragile build that way? - A smirk touched his lips again. Old tactics—to sting, provoke, regain control through humiliation.

And... nothing. Isagi didn't explode. Didn't snap back. Didn't throw a counterpunch. He fell silent. Froze. His fingers, which had just been pressing the microwave buttons, hung in the air. He turned his head, and Kaiser saw in his eyes not anger, but... surprise? Bewilderment? As if Kaiser hadn't uttered a barb, but a password to something long forgotten. A smile appeared on his face. But it wasn't a mischievous grin, not a condescending smirk. It was... soft. Sad? Resigned. Like someone accepting the inevitable.

- Well, I guess, - Isagi answered quietly. Simply. Without defense. Without fight.

"No reaction?"—the thought struck Kaiser with the force of surprise. Even to the smallest barbs before, Isagi had responded—snapped back, parried, defended. And here... gave up? And with that strange, disarming smile? It was wrong. Not according to the script.

- Did I... already say that? - Kaiser suddenly asked, not taking his eyes off the back of Isagi's head as he set the time on the microwave. Kaiser's voice sounded strange—not spiteful, but... interested? Bewildered?

Isagi seemed to feel the weight of that gaze on his back. He covered the back of his neck with his palm in an almost reflexive gesture and slowly turned around. His eyes met Kaiser's.

- You're observant, I see, - Isagi said quietly. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched his lips, but there was no mockery, no anger in his eyes. There was... interest. And something else. Something deep, unreadable.

They froze. The sound of the running microwave became a distant hum. Bustle, words, barbs—all dissolved. Only the two of them remained, separated by centimeters of space and an abyss of years and experience, but suddenly... connected by this gaze.

Kaiser looked. Not scanning, not assessing threat, but simply looking. Into those dark eyes that seemed deeper and calmer than young Isagi's, but held the same spark, the same stubbornness. He saw the wet strands of hair on his forehead, a drop of water trickling down his temple to the corner of his jaw. Felt the slight warmth emanating from the freshly washed body, mixed with the smell of cleanliness and... something else. His own breathing slowed, became slightly deeper. In his head, usually filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and analysis, a strange, ringing silence settled. He didn't understand what he was feeling. Embarrassment? Curiosity? Irritation at this sudden closeness? Everything mixed.

Isagi looked back. His gaze slid over Kaiser's face—over the sharp features that seemed younger, tenser than those of the Kaiser he knew; over the damp, still slightly disheveled hair; over the eyes where a storm of unspoken emotions raged—anger, confusion, and... questioning? He saw not "The Emperor," not an enemy, but... a person. The very person whose path he knew up to this point, but whose current pain and bewilderment he suddenly felt with frightening intensity. His own smile vanished, replaced by concentrated seriousness. He, too, didn't understand what he felt in that moment. Nostalgia for those simpler times? Pity? Or a strange sense of responsibility for this ghost of their past, lost in the future?

Time stretched. Seconds felt like minutes. The air between them seemed thick, electrified, filled with an unspoken question, invisible threads that suddenly tightened, binding them in this silent dialogue. They were mesmerized not by each other, but by this moment—strange, inexplicable intersection of their paths, this sudden opportunity to see each other without the masks of enmity or habitual roles. To see... just a person.

Beeeeeeeeep!

The sound of the microwave rang out like an alarm, shattering the silence and instantly returning them to the reality of the kitchen, the smell of reheated food, and the awkwardness of what had just happened. They both flinched, as if waking from a dream.

Isagi was the first to look away, turning sharply to the appliance. His movements became a bit jerkier, less fluid. Kaiser stepped back a step, feeling a sudden rush of blood to his face and a strange desire... to disappear. The sound of the microwave door opening was deafeningly loud in the ensuing silence.

After that awkward but strangely tension-relieving scene, they silently sat at the table and began to eat. Silence hung in the air, but now it was different—not heavy or awkward, but... calm. Comfortable? Kaiser realized with surprise that his head, usually swarming with a whirlwind of thoughts, analysis, and self-flagellation, was empty. Completely empty. There was no familiar buzz of anxiety, no obsessive memories of defeat, no furious internal dialogue. Just... silence. It was strange. Stunning. Usually, he needed to exert effort—train to exhaustion, drown out noise with music, work—to achieve even a semblance of this state. And here... just sitting and eating. Next to Isagi. And... nothing. No internal storm.

"How can you even describe this? Communication?" — the only coherent thought flashed, but it quickly dissolved in this unfamiliar emptiness.

The food was simple but filling: rice with chicken, stewed vegetables, and some sweet-spicy sauce. It turned out the portions were absolutely identical. That detail made Kaiser mentally wince: his earlier agonizing over "which is whose" looked particularly stupid and childish now.

- Sorry I... tease you like that, - Isagi suddenly broke the silence. His voice was calm, without the previous notes of irony or challenge. He wasn't looking at Kaiser, but staring at his plate, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touching his lips. As if he was lost in his own thoughts again, pondering something private.

- You're just... younger. And it really shows. - He smirked, even closing his eyes for a second, as if remembering something funny or... nostalgic.

- But I'm not a kid, - Kaiser responded, a bit sullenly, stuffing a piece of chicken into his mouth. - And you don't look like an old man.

- Hey— - Isagi raised his head, his eyebrows rising in exaggerated surprise. He pointed his chopsticks at Kaiser. - Do I act like an old man?

Kaiser slowly, deliberately appraisingly ran his gaze over Isagi—from wet hair to home pants. He lingered, pretending to be deep in thought.

- Hey, not funny at all, that was rhetorical! — Isagi snorted, poking his chopsticks into his rice, but there was no real offense in his tone, rather playful irritation.

- I just haven't seen that kind of behavior from you before, - Kaiser blurted out sharply. The candor of his own words surprised even him. Perhaps it was a consequence of that strange emptiness in his head and physical fatigue after the workout. Or maybe the more-or-less decent food had finally calmed his stress-wracked body? Or perhaps... the atmosphere of this house, this calm, carefree future Isagi, had truly started to exert its influence? He felt... relaxed. Unusually, almost dangerously relaxed.

- Yeah, - Isagi sighed, putting down his chopsticks. He looked slightly embarrassed again.
- If you recall the Nel events... you only saw me during the game. - He ran a hand over the back of his head. - It's just... I had a problem before. I was younger then. I on the field and off the field—were practically two different people. Often led to misunderstandings... - He finished with an awkward smile.

- Are you saying you were only aggressive on the field? - Kaiser raised an eyebrow, finishing the rice with his fork. The thought seemed amusing. - So if I met you off the field... you'd be like this? Like now? - Genuine curiosity sounded in his voice.

- No, - Isagi answered sharply, almost cutting him off. The smirk vanished from his face.

- Huh? - Kaiser drawled, disappointed.

- You were a complete idiot, - Isagi leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze became sharp, analytical, as if he saw that former Kaiser before him again. - Who was annoying. And... still annoying, - he added, looking directly at the present one. - You pissed me off back then even if someone just mentioned you. And you were the only one for whom this rule—"field/not field"—didn't apply. You have a real talent. - There was no malice in his words, rather a weary acknowledgment of fact.

- Hm, - Kaiser grunted. Suddenly, a sly, fox-like smile bloomed on his face. -So you already liked me back then? - He deliberately emphasized the word.

- WHAT? - Isagi practically jumped off the chair, almost knocking it over. His eyes widened with indignant incomprehension.

- Well? - Kaiser spread his hands, his smile widening, almost triumphant. If he had a tail, he'd probably be wagging it. - You had such a special attitude, after all. Only I had that effect on you.

- Ha... Shut up. - Isagi rolled his eyes, but a faint blush still flooded his cheeks. - Why do you even choose this particular... - he hesitated, clearly avoiding the word "love," - ...way to joke? It's really confusing, you know.

- I do it precisely because you react adorably to it, - Kaiser parried, tossing back Isagi's own recent words about "adorable" avoidance. The boomerang hit was precise.

Isagi snorted, but the corners of his lips twitched. Point scored.

- Well then, - he picked up his chopsticks again, returning to the food, - glad you're feeling better.

"Feeling better?" Kaiser mentally repeated. He took a sip of water, giving himself time to process. Compared to how Isagi had found him yesterday—pale, in a semi-faint, his head full of rage and fear—then yes. Definitely better. Too much had happened that day: shock, anger, awkwardness, strange conversations, unexpected admissions, bursts of laughter... And through all this chaos, he, without even realizing it, was gradually getting used to it. To this strange house. To this absurd situation. And... most importantly, to this Isagi. He was amazed at the speed with which his own behavior had changed—from "ready to attack," through detachment, to this... strange semblance of calm. Almost resignation.

- Just don't flatter yourself, - he grumbled finally, setting down the glass. A defensive reflex. Couldn't let this feeling take root.

Isagi just snorted in response. The sound spoke clearer than words: "Wasn't planning to."

After eating, Kaiser finally followed the advice and went to shower. The water washed away the remnants of sweat, tension, and... the strange feeling from that intense gaze in the kitchen. When he came out, wrapped in a towel, in the second-floor hallway he almost bumped into Isagi, who was heading up to his room. They froze for a moment, separated by a step. The air became thick again. Kaiser didn't know what to say. "Good night"? Too banal, too... domestic. "Get lost"? No longer relevant.

- Well... good night, I suppose, - Isagi broke the silence first. His voice was ordinary, but without the former sharpness. He lightly, almost carelessly, patted Kaiser on the shoulder—a brief, friendly gesture without pretension to anything more—and, without waiting for an answer, went into his room, closing the door behind him. He apparently didn't expect Kaiser to answer. Or didn't want to pressure him.

Kaiser remained standing in the dim hallway. The warmth from the unexpected pat on the shoulder was still felt on his skin through the thin t-shirt fabric. He listened to the silence of the house, to his own breathing. There was no familiar desire to run away, hide, drown out thoughts. There was only deep, sleepy fatigue and... silence inside. He slowly walked to "his" room (he still mentally put quotes—it was a guest room, a temporary fugitive's space, not his personal territory).

As soon as he flopped onto the bed on his back, his gaze automatically fixed on the ceiling. To his own surprise, no bad thoughts flooded in. There was no familiar whirlwind of self-analysis, regrets, fears. There was just that same sleepy fatigue, spreading warmth through his body. "Perhaps I should be grateful to him for such quick adaptation?" — the thought flashed.

Isagi's calm (albeit with flashes of irritation), generally carefree behavior, his strange ability not to pressure, not to demand, had clearly influenced him. Isagi understood him. Understood his intentions, his barbs, his defensive reactions—sometimes even before he himself realized them. It reminded him of that fleeting, blinding moment in the game against PXG, when that connection had arisen between them—without words, on the level of instinct and mutual anticipation. A connection Kaiser had never experienced before and had later so fiercely rejected.

And now, for the first time in a long time, lying in the dark of a stranger's room, Kaiser thought. Not about tactics, not about revenge, not about his "impossible." He thought about that gesture. About the outstretched hand after the final whistle in Nel.

The thought was fragile, almost frightening. "What if I hadn't pushed his hand away then? If I had accepted... help? Acknowledgment? Then what? Could we have... like this? Like here? Communicate normally?"

He clenched his fist, feeling goosebumps run down his spine. No. That was stupid. Back then, in that moment, too many strong emotions raged in him: humiliation, rage, fear of regression. Pride was his armor, his last defense. Accepting Isagi's hand then? Impossible. Kaiser never knew how to accept sincere help or care. They seemed like traps to him, manifestations of weakness for which he would later have to pay. But what Isagi had done today... it was a different kind of care. Unobtrusive. He gave choices: take a shower, eat, train—or don't. Talk—or be silent. As if he knew. Had the future Kaiser told him about this trait? Or had Isagi himself, over the years... how many had passed?... learned to read him like an open book, avoiding sharp edges?

Kaiser rolled over on his side, facing the wall. What nonsense. He'd started the day with one thought—to distance himself, ignore all this madness, wait out the week in isolation. And now... he was interested. Interested in this house, in this future, in these strange rituals like the notes. Interested in them.

"Really, an idiot," he thought, but without the former anger.

A small, almost imperceptible smirk appeared on his lips in the dark. Not mocking. Not unkind. Rather... surprised. Surprised at himself. Surprised at this day. Surprised that he was still here, and it... wasn't as terrible as it had seemed in the morning.

And before he could unravel this tangle of new, unfamiliar sensations, sleep, heavy and serene, washed over him like a warm wave, carrying him into oblivion after the first, most incredible day of his journey into the impossible future.