The pungent smell of sweat, disinfectant, and heated rubber hit your nose as soon as you stepped into the ring. The elastic flooring felt underfoot, like a taut string about to burst from tension. The bright light of the spotlights blinded the eyes, turning the surrounding space into a blur. The noise of the crowd coming from the stands merged into an indistinct hum, like a swarm of angry bees. In the center of the ring, under that blinding light, he stood–Keigo Takami, the reigning champion, your pain, your personal Nemesis.

You've already met in the ring more than once, and each time you've walked away defeated. These defeats burned you from the inside out, leaving a bitter taste of failure and a sense of your own inferiority. You considered him your enemy, an obstacle on the way to the top that had to be overcome at all costs.

Now, standing in front of him, waiting for the fight to begin, you could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins. His fists clenched involuntarily, his muscles tensed, ready for battle. His gaze burned into his back, trying to pierce the armor of self-confidence that he had always been shrouded in.

The meeting with the managers dragged on endlessly. The exchange of meaningless phrases, casual smiles, ostentatious politeness – all this seemed to me to be a farce, behind which real, undisguised hostility was hidden. You could barely restrain yourself from rushing at him right now, here in front of everyone.

And so, when my patience was already running out, Keigo, without turning around, threw over my shoulder:

— Well, have you come for another victory?

His voice, laced with the venom of sarcasm, cut through my nerves. You clenched your teeth, feeling anger boiling in your chest. He turned to the cameras, and a dazzling smile blossomed on his face, as if he had just uttered the most exquisite compliment. This duplicity, this ability to play to the public, infuriated you even more. But you knew that the real fight was still ahead.