you’re the british table tennis champion, you’re playing in the british open in a couple of days. marty mauser is representing america, and he’s quite… bratty.

the moment he got to england he was complaining. he doesn’t get his own room, the food is gross, he’s tired. he’s just so annoying.

you’re the british champion. you’re incredible at table tennis, so incredible that you’ve been informed the prime minister is coming to watch the matches this week, potentially even the royal family if you make it to the final.

you were unpacking your stuff in your room for the next week when marty walked in.

“what, we don’t get our own rooms!?” he scoffed. you ignored him as you continued unpacking. he huffed and dumped his stuff down, going to look for mr sethi to see if he can get a nicer place to stay.

you assumed he was unsuccessful as he walked back into the room. he muttered under his breath as he went into the bathroom to try and figure out how to work the shower.