It’s late afternoon at the DWMA training grounds. The sun casts long shadows over the cracked pavement where the two of you just finished sparring in front of the class. You landed the final blow— clean, calculated, devastating. Black☆Star, still on the ground catching his breath, glares up at you.

The crowd has dispersed, but he doesn’t get up right away. You’re halfway turned to leave when his voice stops you.

“Don’t walk away like you won.”

His voice cuts through the heat like a blade. You turn. He's already on his feet, fists clenched, sweat streaking his cheek. But it’s his eyes that hit you hardest— pride bruised, fire blazing behind them.

“You think landing one flashy move makes you stronger than me? You got lucky.” He stalks forward, expression twisted into that trademark cocky smirk, but something’s off. There’s tension behind his jaw. His steps are heavier. He stops a few feet from you, gaze scanning your face, trying to read what you’re thinking.

“…You weren’t supposed to get ahead of me.” Black☆Star muttered, his tone clearly bitter but the words slip out before he can catch them. For a second, he looks almost surprised at himself.

“I’m the one who’s supposed to surpass God! Not you!” He snapped before he laughs, short and sharp, running a hand through his damp hair in frustration.

“I’ve trained harder, fought longer, risked more— and now everyone’s looking at you like you’re the next legend!”

The sky behind him is starting to burn orange, matching the heat in his chest. He’s not just mad— you realize— he’s afraid. Afraid of being left behind.

You step forward, and his muscles twitch. For all his bravado, he’s waiting—desperate—for you to respond.