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itoshi rin

rin has absolutely zero respect for reporters who ask stupid questions. none. 

they're already on thin ice simply because they exist. involving you makes it worse. 

one interviewer smiles way too brightly. "rin, your girlfriend gets a lot of hate online. have you ever thought dating someone less controversial would make your career easier?" 

rin hits him with that deadpan look. "have you ever thought asking better questions would make your career easier?" 

gagged. 

the poor interviewer doesn't even know what to say. 

rin doesn't wait. he simply stands up. "interview's over." and leaves. that's it. 

the clip reaches 10 million views in two days. 

"HE COOKED THEM." 

"reporter retiring after this." 

"rin woke up and chose unemployment for somebody else." 

another time, reporters surround the two of you outside the stadium. they're asking invasive questions, following you, refusing to move, ignoring your requests to be left alone. 

rin immediately notices you're getting overwhelmed. so he grabs your hand naturally. his grip is firm enough to remind you, i'm here. 

someone continues shouting questions behind you. "rin! does your girlfriend deserve all the sponsorships she’s getting?" 

he doesn't even look back. "more than you deserve a microphone." 

and keeps walking. doesn't break stride. 

the reporters are left standing there while social media loses its mind. 

later, when you're home, you quietly tell him, "you didn't have to defend me." 

he looks genuinely confused. "why wouldn't i?" like the idea of not defending you has literally never crossed his mind. "you're mine. of course i'm going to protect you." 

it's the closest thing to a love confession you'll get that week. 

itoshi sae

sae is terrifying because he doesn't raise his voice. ever. disappointment somehow hurts more. 

european reporters quickly learn that while sae tolerates difficult football questions… asking about you is dangerous territory. in fact, it’s where he draws the line. and he makes that very known. 

"your relationship has become quite the headline recently." 

"has it?" 

"people believe your girlfriend’s popularity is benefiting from your name." 

sae tilts his head slightly. "that's interesting." 

the reporter thinks they're winning. then– 

"because i was under the impression she’d built her own career. unless i've missed something." 

the room starts laughing. the reporter turns bright red. sae simply sips his water. 

at another press conference, it happens again: "your girlfriend was criticized for wearing designer clothing to one of your matches." 

"okay." 

"what are your thoughts?" 

"she looked as pretty as always." 

"... that's it?" 

"did you expect me to criticize what someone i love wears?" 

"... no." 

"then we're finished." 

every answer is somehow more humiliating than if he'd actually gotten angry. 

when photographers become too aggressive, sae doesn't shove anyone. doesn't yell either. he simply walks directly beside you, one hand resting against your back, subtly steering you away from the crowd. every camera angle suddenly has him between you and the chaos. 

his security team instantly understands. they create space without him needing to say a word. 

later that night, you mention, "people online say you never show affection." 

sae glances over from where he's making tea. "do you think that?" 

"no." 

he hums. walks over. brushes your hair behind your ear. and then presses a kiss to your forehead. "good." 

because he genuinely couldn't care less what strangers think. only whether you know how much he loves you. 

nagi seishiro

nagi hates interviews. hates cameras. hates talking. but somehow finds the energy to become unbelievably articulate whenever someone is disrespecting you. 

a reporter asks, "your girlfriend seems to enjoy the spotlight a little more than you." 

"mhm." 

"doesn't that bother you?" 

"why would it?" 

"well–" 

"i like seeing her happy. next question." 

another reporter pushes: "some fans think she’s only dating you because you're famous." 

nagi finally looks up from the table. "that's kinda rude." 

everyone stops because his tone is so unusually serious. 

"you don't know her. so don't act like you do." 

that's all he says. but somehow it trends harder than every goal he's scored that month. because nagi never sounds upset. 

another time, you're both leaving an awards ceremony. photographers are screaming. someone's trying to get you to look at their camera. another person starts criticizing your outfit loud enough for everyone to hear. 

nagi immediately wraps an arm around your shoulders and gently pulls you against his side. "don't listen. they're loud today." 

you mumble, "i know." 

"wanna go home?" 

"... please." 

"okay." 

that's literally his only priority – getting you away from people who made you feel small. 

later, he's scrolling through comments and sees another rude post. he sighs loudly. “can i block the whole internet?" 

"i don't think that's possible, sei." 

“annoying." 

but whenever he defends you and ignores rude press, he only earns the respect of his fans and your fans even more. 

mikage reo

reo grew up around the press. he knows exactly how manipulative reporters can be. he also knows how to shut them down without causing a scandal. 

someone asks during an interview, "your girlfriend’s spending habits have been criticized recently." 

reo smiles politely. "is that so?" 

"people think she’s enjoying your family's wealth." 

reo actually laughs. he’s genuinely amused. "that's funny." 

"why?" 

"i refuse to let her pay for anything, even though she has plenty of her own money. now anything else?" 

another interviewer tries: "do you think your relationship helps your public image?" 

"if anything, my girlfriend’s helping mine." 

cue the internet exploding. 

"HE'S SOOOOOOOO." 

"reo said I'M the trophy boyfriend actually." 

"MIKAGE STOCKS UP." 

at fashion events, galas, charity dinners, reporters constantly try separating the two of you. 

"reo! one photo!" 

"can we get one without your girlfriend?" 

reo immediately replies, "why?” 

"for the article!” 

"my girlfriend is the best-looking part of the picture." he grabs your hand. "she stays." 

he refuses interviews if you're being treated disrespectfully. he refuses photo shoots if they crop you out after inviting both of you. he even refuses magazine covers if they try creating fake relationship drama. 

his PR team has learned not to argue. once reo decides something regarding you, that's final. 

one day you apologize. "i'm sorry if dating me causes trouble with sponsors." 

he looks genuinely offended. "don't apologize for other people's behavior." he cups your face with both hands. "they don't get to make you feel like you're difficult to love. you're the easiest person in my life to choose." 

and if that means correcting reporters, shutting down rumors, or walking out of a hundred interviews… he'll do it every single time. 

no headline, sponsorship, or public image will ever matter more to him than making sure you never have to face the cruelty of the press alone. 

bachira meguru

bachira is sunshine with a microphone. every reporter loves interviewing him because he's playful, unpredictable, and somehow manages to make every press conference entertaining. 

unfortunately for them… they eventually learn there's exactly one way to make bachira stop smiling. 

"bachira, your girlrfriend has received quite a bit of criticism online lately." 

"mm." 

"people say she’s becoming more famous because of your relationship." 

he tilts his head. "that's weird." 

"why?" 

"because i started dating her AFTER i thought she was cool." 

the room laughs. the reporter awkwardly chuckles, too. bachira doesn't. 

"if i wasn't famous, i'd still love her. if she weren't famous, i'd still love her. so i'm kinda confused why everyone else cares so much." 

the smile never leaves his face. 

but there's something almost unsettling about how sincere he sounds. to bachira, love has always been incredibly simple. if he loves you, then that's the end of the discussion. 

another time, reporters swarm the two of you after a charity event. you're smiling politely, answering questions, etc. 

until one photographer says, "can you move over a little? you're blocking bachira." 

before you even step aside, bachira steps beside you. 

"is she?" 

"well... yes." 

"then i'll stay here." he wraps an arm around your shoulders with the biggest grin imaginable. "we're a package deal." 

"but we'd like some solo shots–” 

"you already have plenty. next." 

he completely ignores them after that. 

he also spends the next 5 minutes making you laugh instead. 

the resulting pictures? every single one has you laughing so hard your eyes are closed while bachira looks at you instead of the cameras. they immediately become everyone's favorite photos from the event. 

when you apologize later for "making things difficult," he physically pouts. "difficult?" he pokes your forehead. "you're literally my favorite person. if anything, they're the difficult ones. they forgot manners." 

“meguru…" 

"what? my mama would've scolded them, too." 

shidou ryusei

reporters love interviewing shidou because they know he's completely unfiltered. they also regret it approximately 70% of the time. as for the remaining 30%... they're regretting it before the interview even starts. 

one particularly brave reporter decides to ask, "your girlfriend seems to attract controversy wherever she goes." 

"yeah." 

"doesn't that bother you?" 

"no." 

"why not?" 

"controversy's hot." 

everyone blinks. "excuse me?" 

"means she’s interesting." he shrugs. "boring people don't get talked about." 

another reporter jumps in. "people think she’s hurting your brand." 

shidou laughs so loudly security looks over. "my brand?" points at himself. "have... have you met me? i'm literally ryusei shidou. my brand is causing problems." 

the room erupts. even the moderators are trying not to laugh. 

later, someone crosses the line. you're walking through the mixed zone when a reporter loudly comments on his appearance and blames it on you. 

"you look exhausted today. is your girlfriend struggling to keep up with your lifestyle?" 

shidou stops walking immediately. he slowly turns around while smiling. that's even scarier. then he hits them with the: "say that again." 

the reporter suddenly isn't nearly as confident. "... i..." 

"nah, go on." he takes a step closer. "you were real loud a second ago." 

security is already moving because they know exactly where this is headed. 

you gently tug his sleeve. "... ryusei." 

he looks down and immediately softens. "yeah?" 

"let's just go." 

"... okay." 

he doesn't even spare the reporter another glance. because the second you asked him to leave… everyone else stopped mattering. 

on the drive home, he's still grumbling. "swear they got microphones instead of manners." 

"you almost fought someone." 

"almost?" 

"okay, maybe definitely." 

karasu tabito

karasu is incredibly good with words. it’s exactly why reporters hate arguing with him. they never realize they've lost until the interview's already over. 

someone decides to be bold and asks, "your girlfriend receives criticism for attending so many of your matches." 

"yeah." 

"is she doing it for publicity?" 

karasu raises an eyebrow. "mate." 

"yes?" 

"she’s attendin’ my matches. that's... what partners do. unless yers doesn’t." 

clocked. 

the interviewer coughs awkwardly. "moving on–” 

"nuh uh." karasu smiles. "finish that thought." 

"well..." 

"because if support suddenly became controversial..." he leans forward. “football's gonna have a real problem." 

every clip from that interview goes viral. 

people in the comments keep saying, "he debates reporters like he's writing a dissertation” or "bro got cross-examined." 

another day, someone corners you alone while karasu is finishing sponsor photos. they keep asking increasingly invasive questions. you're visibly uncomfortable. 

karasu notices from halfway across the room and immediately excuses himself from the photoshoot. he walks over, sliding seamlessly into the conversation, one arm resting around your waist. "everythin’ alright?" 

the reporter brightens. "perfect timing! we were asking–" 

"was she answerin’?" 

"... well–” 

"didn't think so." he smiles politely. "conversation's over." 

then he quietly asks you, "ya okay?" when you nod, he kisses your temple. "good. now c'mon." 

later, he tells you, "ya never owe anybody yer time just because they have a camera." 

it's something he reminds you of often – fame shouldn't mean strangers are entitled to pieces of you. 

kaiser michael

kaiser has spent years dealing with tabloids. he's been criticized, idolized, torn apart, praised. almost nothing surprises him anymore. 

except seeing someone aim that cruelty at you. that's the one thing he still hasn't learned to tolerate. 

a journalist smirks. "your girlfriend seems to be benefiting greatly from dating the world's best striker." 

kaiser smiles calm, yet dangerous. "is that so?" 

"wouldn't you agree?" 

"nein." 

"why not?" 

"because she was already extraordinary before she met me." he folds one leg over the other. "if anything… i simply have the privilege of standing beside her." 

every headline the next morning focuses on that quote instead. 

another reporter refuses to let it go. "surely the criticism affects your relationship." 

"not particularly." 

"how can you be so certain?" 

"unlike strangers..." he smiles faintly. “i actually know her." 

interview over. 

when photographers become pushy, kaiser doesn't lose control. he takes control. 

he'll quietly move you to the inside of the sidewalk, away from the crowd, and rest his hand against the small of your back to subtly guide your pace. 

if someone tries cutting between the two of you, they physically can't. kaiser positions himself with practiced precision until there's no opening. 

every movement is intentional, protective without making a spectacle of it. 

one night you admit, "sometimes i wonder if everyone's right." 

he immediately looks at you, genuinely confused. "about what?" 

"that i'm too much." 

he walks over and gently lifts your chin. "lie." 

"what?" 

"that's not your voice. that's theirs." his thumb brushes your cheek. "don't confuse the two." 

then he kisses your forehead with a tenderness almost no one else ever gets to see. 

the world may know michael kaiser as arrogant. but you know the man who quietly pieces your confidence back together every time someone tries to break it. 

ness alexis

ness is painfully aware of how cruel public attention can be. he knows what it's feels like to have thousands of strangers decide who you are without ever speaking to you. 

because of that… he notices the moment you're uncomfortable. before you even say anything. 

during interviews, he'll keep subtly checking on you from across the room, making eye contact every few minutes. silently asking, you okay? 

if you smile, he relaxes. 

if you don't… he's already finding a way to end the interview early. 

one reporter decides to push. "your girlfriend has become quite the controversial figure." 

ness nods slowly. "... and?" 

"do you think the criticism is deserved?" 

his expression immediately falls. "no. of course not.” 

"why?" 

"because i know her. the internet doesn't." 

the reporter presses further. "but surely thousands of people can't all be wrong." 

ness actually frowns. "thousands of people have been wrong before. history proves that quite often. next question." 

another time, someone rudely interrupts you while you're answering. they keep talking over you over and over. 

ness finally speaks, firmly enough that the entire room goes quiet. "she was speaking. please don't interrupt her again." 

it's such a simple sentence, yet somehow everyone immediately apologizes. it’s the fact that his disappointment is palpable. 

afterwards, when you're alone, you sigh. "i feel bad." 

"for what?" 

"everyone always asks about me instead of football." 

ness stops walking. he turns toward you completely. "listen to me." he waits until you're looking at him. "you never have to apologize because someone else chose to be disrespectful. that's their decision. not yours." 

later that evening, he notices you've been reading comments again. so he quietly takes your phone, sets it face-down on the table, climbs onto the couch beside you, and wraps both arms around you without saying anything for a long time. 

eventually, he mumbles into your hair, "they only know headlines." he squeezes you a little tighter. "i get to know your heart." 

to ness, there has never been a fairer comparison than that.