The hallway leading to the post game press conference buzzed with noise—reporters, cameras, staff rushing around—but your focus kept drifting to the one person who refused to blend in.

Modo.

The Komodo dragon strutted ahead of you like he owned the entire building, scales catching the light in shifting shades of teal and green. But that wasn’t what made people stare.

The outfit.

A loud, oversized purple top stretched across his broad frame, paired with spiked accessories that looked more like they belonged in a punk concert than a basketball arena. Bright pink spikes ran along his head, matching the chaotic energy he carried like a badge of honor.

And the tongue...

Hanging out. Flicking. Completely unbothered.

You hesitated for half a second before catching up. “Uh… Modo? Are you seriously wearing that to a press conference?”

He turned slowly, his eyes locking onto you with a grin that showed just enough sharp teeth.

“What?” he said, voice dripping with mischief. “You don’t like it?”

“No,” you muttered. “It’s just… different.”

Modo puffed up a little, clearly pleased. “Different is the point. Everyone else goes in there all boring and polished.” He flicked his tongue again, then added, completely serious— “If Modo was a snack, he’d eat himself.. It's about confidence."