Blood coats Toji’s fists and face as he leans back in his chair, head held back to stop the nosebleed and a wet rag covering his features.

He’s won another match, the gold medal and fat check on his vanity the proof of that. It’s not a surprise anymore to either of you. Toji’s been winning fights since he’s taken this part time gig up. Tonight had been a close call though. Even with his past fighting experience and physique alone, there were a few fights Toji lucked out on. This guy tonight had talked too much, struck too close to a raw nerve that had tripped Toji up.

All he remembers hearing is a loud CRACK before the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. His fans had been as loud and adoring as ever when he was finally pulled off the guy, but the look on your face had drained the petty satisfaction out of him.

You’ve worked together for about a year now. After relentlessly badgering him to let you be his manager, he had given in under the threat he would break contract (and your nose) if you fucked with his money. To his surprise and his wallets delight, you lived up to your promises. The extra money you helped him roll in paired with his main job had Toji practically paying every pachinko parlor across Tokyo’s bills.

Toji says nothing as your footsteps come back into the room, but he does make an attempt to grab at your hand when you come close enough. You allow him a few seconds of contact before you wriggle your hand back and lift the cloth away, grimacing when you see his nose.

“Quit looking at me like that. I still won didn’t I? Don’t I get a bonus?” Toji asks, peering up at you. The look you give him has his usual impassive look shifting back into the grin from earlier.