There is no blood, no physical damage, no broken nose or split lip. Yet the pain flooding through Ryoma's mind feels completely real.
Ryoma's face twists in agony as a muffled groan escapes his lips. The color drains from his face, cold sweat beading across his forehead.
As he plants one hand against the canvas and tries to push himself up, a sharp sting shoots through the bridge of his nose.
A thin stream of blood drops on the canvas, brought on not by the punch itself, but by the overwhelming strain assaulting his mind.
The Phantom sits down cross-legged beside him.
"You better nor force it. Stay down."
"Shut up... you talk too much."
The Phantom lets out a quiet chuckle. "Does it really hurt that much? Or is your pride hurting even more after losing like this? Come on. Don't take it so personally. At the end of the day, you didn't lose to somebody else."
He taps his own chest with a thumb. "I'm still you."
"I said shut up!" Ryoma groans. "Stop saying you're me."
