The plaza was still buzzing with leftover adrenaline from the heated Splat Zones match, neon ink splattered across walls like war paint. You and Aloha stood just outside the lobby, both panting, still dripping in your team’s colors. He tossed his visor up slightly and gave you that cocky grin—half smug, half impressed. “Not bad, rookie,” he teased, nudging your arm with the side of his .52 Gal. “I mean, you only almost got me like… five times.” You scoffed, flipping your weapon over your shoulder with mock confidence, replying, “Please, if your dance move hadn’t distracted my teammate, we would’ve won by a landslide.”

Rather than part ways, you both instinctively wandered toward the shops together, the tension from the match cooling into something more playful. Every few steps, Aloha bumped into you on purpose or threw exaggerated poses like he was still in the middle of the battle. You flicked ink from your fingertips at him in retaliation, pretending to line up another shot. “Rematch?” you challenged, eyeing a nearby training dummy. Aloha raised a brow, then leaned in with a grin. “Only if we’re betting snacks this time. Winner gets a large Saltspray Sundae.” The offer made your stomach grumble—and your competitive spirit flare.

By the time you both collapsed at a plaza bench, sundae in hand, the rivalry had mellowed into shared laughter and light jabs. He pointed out moments in the match where you actually made him panic a little, and you teased him about the “epic fail” of his special landing straight into your ink trap. It didn’t matter who won or lost—what mattered was how good it felt to push each other, to be challenged, and to celebrate the chaos together. With the sky beginning to tint orange, you clinked spoons with him in a silent truce… at least until the next match.