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"Shitty Yoichi..."
That was all Kaiser could manage, tormented by the fact that no position in the world felt comfortable. In one, the babies were pressing on his lungs, in another, on his bladder. He even tried sitting up, hanging his head off the bed, but too much blood rushed to his head. So, in the end, he sat, manspreading on the couch, and every now and then checking his phone for a message from the idiot who had impregnated him.
The thing is, Kaiser had renounced the title of Emperor five months ago, and whatever titles he even had, and adopted a new one—a pathetic, knocked-up omega.
It turns out that when he went into heat at the end of NEL and thought it would be a good idea to go fuck Yoichi, it wasn't a good idea. Yoichi seemed like a loser, ready to run around like a hen with one chicken with condoms, just to keep his partner from delighting him with unplanned puppies. But apparently Yoichi was an irresponsible clown. With magical fertile seed.
Kaiser barely remembers the few days they spent awkwardly fucking in rooms that probably contained cameras that Blue Lock had secretly planted in every corner. It's as if he'd been struck by fucking dementia. He remembers Yoichi rubbing against his thighs several times, as if he were in heat. He remembers him trying awkwardly to lick him, unable to find his clitoris, like any loser virgin. Kaiser was certain of the Japanese Striker's virginity; birds of a feather flock together, as the saying goes. The German also gave a disgusting blowjob once, when he even decided to give one, after which he said, "This isn't about you, clown." After that, they abandoned any foreplay. They simply fucked like animals. And while at first the Japanese man tried a bit, changing positions, experimenting with rhythm and depth, it later devolved into sloppy thrusts while the German stood on all fours. And while the defenseless Kaiser tried to hold back his moans and take his cock like a good omega, the vicious aggressor, Yoichi, mercilessly came inside him. As if that doesn't produce children. Moronic idiot.
And most importantly, Kaiser didn't even remember the vile attempts to reproduce on him. He simply woke up one morning. No trace of the alpha. Very rude, by the way. But between his legs it was dry. So Kaiser sincerely thought there was nothing in his womb.
Honestly, he only noticed he was pregnant in his second month. After he'd already played a couple of World Cup matches and even scored three goals, one of which was a hat-trick, throwing up every day and running to the bathroom every hour no longer seemed like a good tradition. So did the constant pain in his lower abdomen. Damn, to be honest, there were a lot of warning signs. So Kaiser made Ness humiliate himself by running to the pharmacy, buying every pregnancy test imaginable. Even some stupid three-star-rated tests that pharmacists handed out to anyone ignorant enough about the swabs used to determine the scale of the mess you were about to plunge into. Then came the testing phase. No one said there were not only jet tests, but also some backwards-looking shit that needed to be placed in jars. So Kaiser couldn't give a damn about all those tests. Just peed on them all, which took an effort. And he got some terrible results—some positive. Some apparently defective. He had to go to the doctor. The doctor was very disinterested. Kaiser expected some dumb support and parting words. Instead, the doctor looked at his muscles, his abs, which would spread into fat in the coming months, and no trace of alpha male scent, and simply said, "You're pregnant. Twins. Identical." After that, the German pregnant man asked about the sex of the babies, to which the doctor looked at him with a disappointed look and said curtly, "It's too early. But I can let you listen to the heartbeats." Kaiser didn't want to listen to any heartbeats. The most he wanted right now was to rip the heart out of the dumb asshole who had impregnated him. Kaiser left the office and began to gently choke himself – to somehow calm himself down. For some reason, the doctors didn't like this and let him out only with a Persen tabloid.
Isagi didn't even have to be found. He was training for another match. Seeing his stupid, cute face, Kaiser debated whether to permanently disfigure him or just something that could be fixed with a couple of surgeries. And then that dumbass said he'd accept the child and take responsibility. What kind of responsibility was he planning to take on at seventeen, Kaiser didn't know. To show his dominance and just a little bit because of the kids, the German vomited all over Blue Lock's trademark uniform. At least this time, the puppies decided to cooperate and gave him morning sickness at the right moment.
So, back to the present moment, Kaiser is still on the couch. The puppies are still renting his body for five months. Yoichi is still who knows where. Or rather, the TV, which plays Blue Lock broadcasts 24/7, shows the Japanese man currently training with Barou. More precisely, Barou humiliates him endlessly in absolutely every form of training. And Yoichi just smiles and talks, looking stupid and adorable. Slut. Anyway, the striker is too busy swallowing ephemeral cocks to answer the call from his pregnant omega. And Kaiser, by the way, is in a life-or-death situation. He's out of cola. And he can't live without it, without this life-giving dose of sugar and dyes—he's already imagined how he'll take care of children with allergies or asthma.