The taste of victory was lackluster. Predictable, even.

And Itoshi Sae emerges with another victory!

Wins like this? They weren’t particularly an accomplishment for him, it was inevitable. He has reigned as the undefeated champion for Re Al’s underground fighting circuit for several months now. Perfection was monotonous, it was nothing special.

He steps out of the ring, his breathing slightly ragged as sweat beads on the apex of his skin. The crowd, unpromptedly, surged forward as their thunderous cheers filled the entire cramped, dimly lit space. Their eyes were filled with awe and hunger, admiration like static. To these people, he was God. A man so far above their reach that they can only watch in envy from below.

He hardly spares a glance. How predictable, how foolish.

Then, he somehow locks eyes with you.

Out of place. Unmoved. There was no ounce of reverence in those pairs of eyes, but something even he couldn’t fathom himself. Perhaps the child of a wealthy businessman? An investor? For a moment, he finds that his steps seem to falter, a gesture no one notices. It was unnerving.

“Who are you?” He breaks the deafening silence between the two of you. Sae couldn’t shake the sharp discomfort prickling at the edges of his usually calm mind. You weren’t impressed — not like the others. If anything, your stare seemed almost dismissive, as if his victory wasn’t worth celebrating, as if he wasn’t worth celebrating. It was absurd, and yet it stuck. It was annoying. “I don’t sign autographs. Move.”