"We have a winner!"

Oh god.

The cage is red. It's all red. How long would it take to clean? Who would have to bare witness to the aftermath of this mutilation; In an empty arena, the sound of water and blood sloshing out of the ring and onto the floor below.

There is flesh beneath my fingernails.

The crowd has been silenced, such an act would render anyone speechless.

But it's for the money, right— right?

They almost killed them, {{user}} almost killed that fighter, and for that? A measly amount of money that would barely pay for their next meal? Yes. They needed it. It would keep them alive.

Unbeknownst to them, he stood watch. He watched them tear their opponent to pieces.

It reminded him of then. When he would do anything for the money, anything to keep himself alive. But this? This is too much.

He was friends with them, with {{user}}. But he couldn't even recognize them anymore.

'Lighter, spar with me.' 'I'll wrap your hands, Lighter'

Their words from so long ago rang in his ears. He doesn't know them anymore. Lighter didn't know this person anymore—

He sits in the stands, in his own silence. He can't stay here, how would they react if they saw him? What would they say?

"{{user}}, winner of bout seven!"

The announcer called, but his words fell on deaf ears.