𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

itoshi rin

rin genuinely believed this interview would go smoothly because your son had been suspiciously well-behaved ever since the final whistle blew, happily resting against his shoulder while lazily playing with the collar of his jersey, and after you made 3 separate attempts to take him back only for your baby to cling even tighter with a tiny pout and watery eyes, rin simply looked at you, gave the smallest shrug, and muttered, "he doesn't want to," as if that settled the matter, which admittedly, it did. 

by the time he walked over to the interview area, every camera had already shifted from celebrating japan's victory to zooming in on the sight of one of the most intimidating strikers in the world absentmindedly rubbing little circles across his son's back while adjusting the baby's tiny socks with one hand, completely unfazed by the dozens of reporters surrounding him despite looking like he'd been carrying him like this for hours. 

the interview actually started surprisingly normally because rin answered every question in his usual short, matter-of-fact way while your son remained perfectly content against his chest, occasionally patting the gold medal hanging around his neck or trying to pull on the collar of his jersey, making it seem like everyone had worried over nothing. 

"he's behaving today," the reporter commented with a smile. 

"usually does," rin replied without a second thought. 

the moment those words left his mouth, your son locked eyes with the microphone. 

every parent watching immediately knew exactly what was about to happen. 

the reporter raised the microphone closer so rin could answer the next question, only for two tiny hands to suddenly shoot forward with shocking speed, grabbing it with both hands before anyone had time to react. 

"ba." 

the entire interview area fell silent. 

your son blinked once. then– "bababababababAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" 

it wasn't crying. it wasn't babbling. it was an impressively loud, victorious yell delivered directly into the microphone, which echoed throughout the entire stadium loud enough for nearby players to physically turn around and see what had just happened. 

the reporter jumped so hard she nearly dropped her cue cards while photographers immediately lowered their cameras because they were laughing too much to keep them steady. 

rin simply stared at his son for a few quiet seconds before sighing almost imperceptibly. "... loud." 

that single word made everyone laugh even harder. 

your son, incredibly proud of himself, immediately tried to scream into the microphone a second time, but rin calmly removed it from his tiny hands with the practiced patience of someone who had apparently dealt with this exact situation more than once before. 

"... finished?" 

"... da." 

"... good." 

then he continued answering the reporter's question as though absolutely nothing unusual had happened, while your son happily resumed playing with the medal around his father's neck instead. 

the internet completely forgot about the match because every trending topic became some variation of "RIN ITOSHI'S BABY SON JUST JUMP-SCARED THE ENTIRE STADIUM," while countless edits slowed down the exact moment your son leaned forward to yell into the microphone with meme audios playing over it. 

what truly broke the internet, however, wasn't the screaming – it was the brief moment immediately afterward when your son reached up with both hands, accidentally squished rin's cheeks together, and caused the tiniest, weakest, most reluctant smile to appear before rin realized cameras were still rolling and immediately returned to his usual cold expression. 

within minutes, fans had declared your son the only person on earth capable of making rin itoshi smile on command, with thousands joking that japan’s soccer team should stop recruiting strikers and simply hire the baby instead. 

itoshi sae

sae somehow managed to make carrying a 9-month-old baby through a post-match interview look effortlessly elegant, standing there with his medal around his neck and his jacket draped neatly over one shoulder while your son sat comfortably on his hip, absentmindedly chewing on the zipper of his jacket with complete satisfaction as though this were simply another ordinary afternoon rather than an international broadcast watched by millions. 

before the interview even began, you reached over with open arms, quietly asking if your son wanted to come back to mama, only for him to immediately shake his tiny head, bury his face into sae's shoulder, and cling tighter with a little whine that made the nearby reporters collectively let out an audible "aww." 

sae simply glanced at you. "guess he's staying." 

he didn't sound annoyed. if anything… he sounded quietly pleased. 

throughout the interview, sae answered every question with his usual calm, composed demeanor while simultaneously multitasking in ways nobody expected, casually fixing your son's tiny jersey’s collar after it slipped off, catching his pacifier before it hit the floor without even looking, adjusting the little sneaker that kept slipping off his foot, and gently bouncing him every few seconds whenever he grew restless, all without interrupting a single answer. 

the reporter eventually smiled before crouching slightly so she was closer to your son's eye level. "do you think he'd like to say something, too?" 

sae looked down at him. "you have something to say?" 

your son immediately reached toward the microphone with absolute confidence. the reporter happily held it closer. 

"gagagagagaga..." a fat pause. "dadadada..." another pause. "mmmmmmmm." 

everyone waited. then without warning… he leaned forward and licked the microphone. completely. absolutely no hesitation whatsoever. not a single thought in his tiny brain. 

the reporter froze for a second before laughing so hard she had to lower her clipboard because she physically couldn't continue the interview. 

sae calmly took the microphone back, reached for the towel around his own neck, wiped it clean with practiced efficiency, handed it back to her, and simply said, "sorry." 

"it's okay." 

“he does that." 

somehow, the fact that sae said those three words with complete seriousness – as though babies licking expensive broadcasting equipment was a perfectly ordinary occurrence – became funnier than the actual licking itself. 

the interview continued, except your son had now decided the microphone was the greatest invention in human history, leaning toward it every single time it came within arm's reach while sae quietly shifted him away at the last possible second before another attempted lick could happen. 

fans later counted… it happened 6 separate times. 

the internet edited the clip like it was an action movie, like dramatic slow motion, suspenseful music choices, and captions reading "TARGET LOCKED" every time the microphone entered the frame before cutting to sae calmly redirecting your son at the final moment. 

thousands of comments joked that the true battle of the evening hadn't been the football match at all – it had been sae spending 5 uninterrupted minutes defending a microphone from his own baby. 

nagi seishiro

nagi had completely forgotten there was supposed to be a post-match interview because, after the final whistle, he'd spent almost 20 minutes wandering around the pitch with your son comfortably resting against his shoulder, absentmindedly pointing at the stadium lights and occasionally trying to steal the gold medal hanging around nagi's neck, making the media staff chase him down just to remind him that he still had obligations to fulfill. 

when they finally caught him, he simply blinked. "oh." he looked down at your son. looked back at the staff. "guess he's coming, too." 

nobody argued. 

by the time he reached the interview area, your son had fully decided that his father's medal belonged to him and repeatedly reached for it with determined little grabby hands, causing nagi to lazily lift it out of reach every few seconds while continuing to walk without putting in even the slightest extra effort. 

"hey. mine." 

tiny hands reached higher. 

"... no." 

another reach. 

"it’s daddy’s.” 

louder baby noises followed immediately. 

after a full minute of this extremely one-sided argument, nagi finally sighed. "fine..." 

he let your son hold the medal. instant peace. 

the interview began with the reporter congratulating him on today's win, only for your son to enthusiastically babble right over the top of her introduction as though he had been personally waiting for his turn to speak all evening. 

"congratulations on today's vic–" 

"BAAAAAAA!" 

the reporter burst into laughter. "and congratulations to you, too." 

your son nodded. everyone around him completely lost it. 

halfway through another question, your son noticed the microphone for the first time. 

nagi noticed him noticing it. "don't." 

tiny hands reached. 

"don't, buddy." 

they stretched farther. 

"too troublesome…” 

your son ignored every warning. and somehow, despite nagi technically being one of the fastest athletes in the world… the baby still won. he proudly grabbed the microphone with both hands before immediately announcing to the entire stadium, "dadadadadadadadadabthhhhhhhhhhh." 

the loudest raspberry imaginable echoed through the speakers. 

nagi stared at him for several long seconds before quietly looking back at the reporter. "wow. that was a long answer." 

the reporter folded over laughing so hard she couldn't even ask another question because she kept trying to compose herself only to remember the raspberry echoing around the stadium all over again. 

the internet immediately clipped nagi's completely deadpan response, turning "that was a long answer" into the newest reaction meme overnight, while thousands of fans jokingly translated the baby's speech into detailed tactical analyses, transfer rumors, and complaints about bedtime schedules. 

reo even commented underneath one viral clip, "he definitely inherited nagi's interview skills," only for nagi to casually reply, "he talks way more than i do," which somehow made the entire interaction even funnier because everyone agreed he wasn't exaggerating. 

mikage reo

reo had shown up to the interview looking as polished as ever despite having just played 90 exhausting minutes, somehow still managing to keep his hair neat while carrying your son comfortably on one arm, who was wearing the tiniest little pair of noise-canceling headphones because reo had insisted before kickoff that the celebrations afterward might be too loud for sensitive little ears. 

fans immediately zoomed in. "of course, reo bought luxury baby headphones." "those probably cost more than my rent." 

before the interview even began, you walked over with open arms to take your son back for a little while, only for him to dramatically bury his face into reo's shoulder with the most pitiful little whimper imaginable, clutching onto the front of his jersey with both fists as though someone had just informed him he was being separated forever. 

even nagi held his arms out with a lazy, "come here." 

your son looked at him. then immediately turned back around and hugged reo even tighter. 

reo looked far too pleased with himself. "guess i'm his favorite today." 

you rolled your eyes. "don't let it get to your head." 

throughout the interview, reo somehow answered every question while gently bouncing your son whenever he became fussy, absentmindedly fixing his tiny headphones whenever they slipped sideways, wiping a little bit of drool from his chin with a towel without missing a beat, making every parent watching collectively smile because it was obvious none of these little habits were rehearsed – they were simply second nature by now. 

halfway through the interview, your son spotted the microphone. he stared at it with complete focus. reached once. missed. reached again. success. with both tiny hands wrapped proudly around the microphone, he lifted it toward his own face like a seasoned professional before confidently announcing, "dadadadada..." 

everyone waited. 

"... GOOOOOOO." 

the entire interview area exploded into laughter. 

nobody actually knew whether he'd been trying to say "goal" or if it was simply another happy baby noise, but the timing couldn't have been more perfect considering reo had just scored the match winner. 

reo gasped loud. "did you guys hear that?!” 

he looked between the reporter and the nearby cameras with mock seriousness. 

"i think that's his first official post-match interview." 

the reporter immediately joined in. "would you say today's victory belongs to your father?" 

your son stared at her. "babababa." 

the reporter nodded thoughtfully. "mhm. interesting analysis." 

reo sighed. "he disagrees." 

your son then lightly bonked the microphone against reo's chest before happily giggling to himself. 

"okay, okay," reo laughed. "i'm getting absolutely cooked by my own son on live." 

by the end of the night, the internet had collectively decided your son held a higher position in the club hierarchy than anyone else, with edits introducing him as assistant coach, sporting director, club president, and even reo's toughest post-match critic, while countless fans joked that his "GOOOOO" celebration deserved its own commentary replay. 

the sweetest moment happened after the interview had officially ended, when your son suddenly leaned forward all on his own, gave reo the tiniest little kiss on his sweaty cheek, rested his head against his shoulder with a sleepy sigh, and closed his eyes as if the excitement had finally caught up to him. 

reo visibly melted. 

he completely forgot there were still cameras following him as he gently rubbed your son's back and whispered, "yeah? all done? let's go find mama," before carrying him across the pitch with the softest smile on his face, making everyone watching quietly agree that, as incredible as his winning goal had been, nothing compared to the way he looked carrying his little boy afterward. 

bachira meguru

bachira had absolutely no intention of bringing your son into the interview at first, but the second you reached out to take him back, your little boy immediately wrapped himself around bachira's neck like the world's tiniest koala and let out the most dramatic, heartbroken whine imaginable, making bachira laugh so hard he nearly dropped the medal hanging around his own neck before grinning at you apologetically. 

"sorry, honey," he said, gently patting your son's back. "he picked his favorite parent for the next 5 minutes... don't worry, it'll be you again after i accidentally tell him he can't eat grass." 

the interview was pure chaos before anyone even asked the first question because bachira kept making funny faces every time your son looked even remotely close to getting fussy, causing the baby to burst into loud giggles that echoed through the microphones while reporters repeatedly had to pause because they couldn't stop smiling at the sight of one of the world's best forwards entertaining a baby between every answer. 

your son found the microphone absolutely fascinating from the moment the interview started, repeatedly reaching toward it every time the reporter lifted it closer, only for bachira to gently redirect those little hands somewhere else while whispering, "nope... that's not your toy... well, technically it could be your toy, but i think she'd be sad." 

eventually, the reporter laughed and simply held the microphone toward your son instead. "maybe he has something he'd like to say?" 

your son's entire face lit up. he grabbed the microphone with both hands. "bababababa... DADA!!" 

everyone smiled. 

then he leaned closer. "BTHHHHHHHHHH." 

the loudest raspberry imaginable exploded through the stadium speakers. 

bachira physically doubled over laughing, nearly losing his balance because he couldn't stop wheezing into your son's shoulder. 

"HE PRACTICED THAT!" he laughed. "i swear he does that every time i call his grandma!" 

the reporter was laughing too hard to continue. "do... do you think he has any thoughts on today's match?" 

your son immediately smacked the microphone with one tiny palm. "DA!" 

bachira nodded dramatically. "exactly! i couldn't have said it better myself." 

the internet instantly declared the baby the funniest post-match interview guest in football history, while edits comparing bachira's nonstop energy to your son's chaotic little personality flooded everyone's timelines, with thousands of comments joking that bachira hadn't raised a son – he'd simply cloned himself in miniature. 

shidou ryusei

nobody – not the reporters, not the camera crew, not even you – expected shidou to show up carrying a baby with the same confidence he'd just celebrated scoring 2 goals, casually strolling into the interview area with your son perched comfortably on one hip while excitedly pointing at every bright stadium light he could see, looking completely content in the safest place he knew. 

"you sure you don't want me to take him?" you asked one last time. 

your son answered by grabbing a fistful of shidou's jersey. 

shidou grinned. "sorry, babe. he has excellent taste." 

the interview started surprisingly well because your son was completely distracted by shidou's medal, repeatedly lifting it up to inspect it before trying to chew on it while shidou absentmindedly let him, only occasionally stopping him with an amused, "hey little dude, dad kinda needs that." 

everything changed the second the microphone entered the baby's line of sight. 

he froze. stared. reached. somehow succeeded on the very first try. 

"BAAAA!" 

shidou immediately pointed at him. "THAT'S MY BOY!" 

the baby squealed louder. "DADADADADADAAAAAA!" 

the stadium speakers practically shook. 

shidou threw his head back laughing. "YEAHHHH! LET HIM COOK!" 

the reporter was crying laughing by this point. "would you say he inherited your confidence?" 

"confidence?" shidou laughed. "nah." he proudly bounced your son a little higher. "he inherited greatness." 

your son immediately celebrated by grabbing the microphone again and aggressively blowing another raspberry into it. 

the internet completely lost whatever composure remained. 

"THEY SHARE THE SAME ENERGY." 

"THIS ISN'T A FATHER AND SON." 

"THIS IS A DUO." 

fans joked that shidou was encouraging his son's press conference debut like he'd just scored the winning goal himself, while countless edits paired every loud baby scream with one of shidou's goal celebrations because, somehow, the energy genuinely matched perfectly. 

karasu tabito

karasu walked into the interview already smiling because he'd spent the last 15 minutes listening to your son happily babble complete nonsense into his shoulder while absentmindedly playing with the little hairs at the back of his neck, and after watching your baby stubbornly refuse to leave his dad's arms despite multiple attempts from you, the coaching staff, and even a very bribable bachira holding out a plush mascot, karasu simply chuckled. "well," he said. "he's made his decision." 

unlike most players, karasu somehow managed to keep the interview flowing naturally while carrying a baby, casually answering questions with one hand tucked into his pocket while gently bouncing your son with the other, occasionally pausing just long enough to fix his little jersey after it rode up or quietly wipe away a bit of drool before continuing exactly where he'd left off. 

the reporter eventually laughed. "he's been eyeing the microphone this entire time." 

"yeah," karasu sighed. "i've noticed." 

your son finally made his move. tiny hands grabbed the microphone. "... dadadadada..." 

everyone leaned in. 

"... GOO..." 

pause. 

"BABABABABABA!!" followed immediately by a delighted squeal. 

karasu pinched the bridge of his nose while trying (and failing) not to laugh. 

"... great. he's discovered public speakin’." 

"do you think he has your personality?" the reporter teased. 

karasu looked down at your son, who was now trying to eat the fuzzy windscreen covering the microphone. "not really… he's louder." 

your son looked up at him and giggled. 

karasu's entire expression softened. "yeah, yeah. yer funny." 

the internet adored how naturally fatherhood seemed to fit him, with countless fans pointing out that every time your son reached for something he wasn't supposed to have, karasu never scolded him or looked stressed – he simply redirected him with the patience of someone who had already mastered the art of negotiating with a tiny human who couldn't even speak yet. 

kaiser michael 

kaiser had every intention of doing the interview alone because he genuinely believed it would be easier that way, but the moment you tried taking your son back, the baby immediately buried his face into his father's shoulder and clung to him with surprising strength, refusing to let go despite your gentle coaxing, causing kaiser to glance down for a brief second before quietly saying, "he's comfortable," with such calm certainty that even you couldn't help smiling before waving them both toward the interview area. 

somehow, kaiser looked impossibly composed standing beneath dozens of flashing cameras with your son balanced securely against his chest, occasionally adjusting the baby's tiny jacket whenever it slipped off one shoulder or gently brushing sweaty little blond strands of hair away from his forehead between answering questions, all while speaking with the same composed confidence he always carried after a victory. 

every so often, your son reached up just to touch his father's face, gently patting his cheek or absentmindedly playing with the damp strands of his blond hair falling into his eyes, and every single time, kaiser instinctively leaned down just enough to make it easier for those tiny hands to reach him without interrupting whatever answer he was giving. 

halfway through the interview, the inevitable happened – your son spotted the microphone. his eyes widened. tiny fingers stretched toward it. 

the reporter smiled knowingly. "would you like to let him answer one?" 

kaiser gave the smallest nod. 

the microphone was placed in front of your son. "...babababa..." 

everyone waited. 

"DADA!" 

kaiser's lips twitched. 

then your son enthusiastically leaned forward and planted the wettest little kiss imaginable directly onto the microphone before giggling to himself. 

the reporter completely broke character. the camera crew laughed. even several photographers lowered their cameras because they were laughing too hard to keep shooting. 

kaiser simply accepted the microphone back, wiped it clean with the towel around his neck, and quietly apologized before looking down at your son. 

"was that your interview?" 

"... da." 

"... i see." 

by the next morning, the internet had fallen hopelessly in love with the contrast between kaiser's composed, almost regal demeanor and the tiny baby enthusiastically covering expensive broadcasting equipment in drool every chance he got, with thousands joking that the only person capable of making michael kaiser patiently sanitize microphones on live television was his own son. 

ness alexis

ness had spent the entire walk to the interview softly talking to your son about absolutely everything that had just happened during the match, pointing toward the cheering supporters, waving his tiny hand toward the cameras, and proudly showing him the medal around his neck as though your 9-month-old genuinely understood every tactical decision that had led to today's victory. 

by the time you reached them, your son had become so content listening to his father's voice that the second you reached over to carry him instead, he immediately leaned right back into ness's chest with the sweetest little sigh, making ness smile so brightly it almost rivaled the stadium lights. 

"sorry," he laughed sheepishly. "i think... i might be trapped." 

throughout the interview, ness somehow answered every question while instinctively rocking your son in slow, gentle motions, occasionally kissing the top of his little head whenever he grew sleepy before quietly adjusting the tiny blanket draped around his shoulders because the evening air had started getting colder. 

reporters quickly noticed that your son hadn't taken his eyes off the microphone once. "i think someone has something important to contribute." 

ness laughed. “i think you're right." 

the microphone was lowered. your son reached forward with both hands. 

"... dadadadada..." 

pause. 

"... MAMAMAMAMA..." 

everyone collectively went quiet. 

ness blinked and looked toward you standing just off camera. "... did–" 

before he could finish speaking– 

"BTHHHHHHHHH." 

another enormous raspberry echoed through the speakers. 

the entire interview dissolved into laughter. 

ness laughed so hard he actually had to wipe tears from the corners of his eyes before gently taking the microphone back from your son. 

"that..." he smiled down at him. "that was a wonderful speech, little guy.” 

the reporter grinned. "care to translate?" 

ness nodded with complete seriousness. "he said..." he pretended to think very hard. "that i'm the greatest midfielder in the world.” 

your son immediately smacked him on the cheek with one tiny hand. everyone burst into laughter again. 

"or," ness corrected himself through a grin, "maybe he disagrees." 

the internet absolutely adored the entire exchange, especially the way ness looked at your son with so much open affection that it almost made people forget they were watching an elite footballer and not simply an impossibly proud first-time dad, with thousands of comments insisting the baby had fact-checked his father live on international television for the whole world to see.