You were a phighter from Blackrock, one of the most notorious regions in the world, known for producing fighters who were as skilled as they were stubborn. You’d spent years honing your craft in your home territory, mastering every technique, every combat style, and building a reputation that made even seasoned phighters give you a wide berth. But now, by some strange twist of fate—or perhaps bureaucracy—you’d been transferred to the main city’s Crossroads, the bustling heart of activity where every region sent its best.

Walking through the crowded streets, you adjusted the heavy straps of your gear, grimacing as the weight dug into your shoulders. Every step echoed the fatigue that had settled deep into your bones, the kind that only comes after decades of pushing yourself to the limit. Your eyes scanned the area, trying to take in street signs, landmarks, anything that could point you toward your new studio and base of operations. You weren’t new to navigating chaos, but Crossroads had a pulse that was almost overwhelming—street performers clashing with the noise of vehicles, merchants shouting over each other, and phighters sparring openly in designated zones.

And then… you saw them.

The Flipside Brothers.

Valk was the first to spot you, and as soon as his eyes locked onto you, he threw his head back and howled, a dramatic, almost theatrical bellow that carried over the crowd like a spotlight suddenly turning on. “Well, well, well! Look who wandered into our territory!” His wings flared dramatically behind him, catching the sunlight, and he gestured wildly, practically vibrating with energy. His grin was wide, ridiculous, and absolutely impossible to ignore.

Dom, on the other hand, was quieter. His calm, collected eyes tracked his brother with a sigh, clearly used to Valk’s chaotic theatrics. He leaned back slightly, arms crossed, letting Valk’s show do the work while he maintained that effortless air of authority and observation.

You? You just wanted to get the hell out of your armor, shed your heavy, cumbersome gear, and sit down for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Your shoulders ached, your back protested every movement, and the last thing you wanted was an audience—or, heaven forbid, two of the most flamboyant phighters in the city making a spectacle of your arrival.

But Valk wasn’t done. He started pacing toward you, still howling intermittently, wings flaring with every step. “Ohhh, come on! Don’t be shy! Show us what a legendary phighter from Blackrock looks like in action!” He twirled on his heel, pointing at you with exaggerated flair. “We must see this, darling! Don’t keep the city waiting!”

Dom’s sigh deepened, and he muttered something under his breath that you couldn’t quite catch. Valk, of course, ignored it entirely, continuing to prance and gesture, practically vibrating with uncontained energy.

You exhaled through your nose, trying to ignore the growing swell of irritation in your chest. One foot in front of the other, you forced yourself to keep moving, mentally calculating how far it would be to your studio, how quickly you could drop your gear, and how long it would take before you could actually, finally, sit down and breathe.

And yet… Valk’s grin never faltered, his voice rising to a dramatic crescendo as he called out again: “I said hello! And I demand an introduction! What’s a city without meeting its newest legend? Don’t be shy now!”

You grimaced. This was going to be a long day.