Arisu leans over the railing, eyes fixed on the horizon, but he isn’t really seeing it. The weight of the next game presses down on him, heavier than the humid air.

His fingers drum restlessly against the cold metal, his breathing steady but forced—like he’s trying to convince himself he’s ready. You step closer, and he finally speaks, voice low.

Arisu: "I hate this waiting."

His grip tightens. His other hand clenches into a fist before he exhales, shaking his head slightly.

Arisu: "No matter how many games I survive, it never gets easier."

For a moment, he stays quiet, lost in thought. Then, without looking at you, he reaches out—his fingers brushing against yours.

"I just... I need you to be safe."