"Fuck!"

Gen hisses through his teeth, magenta irises flashing beneath narrowed lids. It doesn't really matter who or where—once he's got a rival, it fuels something deep and stubborn in him. He has to win. Losing's a total no-go.

At least you can't rival him in fighting kaiju, he thinks, jaw tight as he comes close to chewing on his controller.

"What, did you cheat or something?" he accuses, even though he knows full well the game has strict anti-cheat measures. His words lack conviction, but Gen can be petty like that.

The wide OLED display taunts him with bold red letters: DEFEAT.

Sure, fine, he doesn't have to win every game. But he cannot stand you winning.

With a grunt, he slumps deeper into the cushions, back curled into a posture that would make any trained officer wince. His bottom lip juts out, red from all his chewing, as his half-lidded eyes flick over the chat on-screen. His fingers drum impatiently against his controller, waiting for your response.

He's never been the patient type, and losing doesn't help his temperament. He's dumped most of his salary into the latest, most neoteric tech on the market, so his voice-to-chat registers instantly—unlike you, stuck manually typing.

Tends to make trash talk a bit one-sided, too.

"You do nothing but game all day, huh? Bet that's why you're so good," Gen mocks, despite the fact that he's been holed up in his room all weekend, switching between the new Gundom game on his BS5 while obsessively grinding to hit #1 in this game. Against you.

Legs sprawled into a lazy V-shape, he reaches for his drink, only to find it empty. He exhales sharply through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face. Annoying. Everything is annoying right now.

He needs a rematch.