The city's morning light draped lazily across the station's steel and stone, casting long shadows on the tiled platform. Kieran stood near the edge, arms crossed and eyes half-closed, letting the breeze rustle the loose hem of his coat. Beside him, Brock stood hunched over his phone, brows furrowed as he scrolled with the focused intensity of someone reading a classified document. Tanaka trailed behind them, dragging a worn duffel bag that made a soft thud every third step.
"Where is he?" Brock muttered, glancing up from his phone. "The train leaves in, like, three minutes."
Kieran shrugged. "He'll be here. Probably slept through four alarms again."
Before Brock could reply, a familiar figure approached from the far end of the platform. Roy, shoulders slouched, hoodie half-zipped, walked toward them with the dead-eyed expression of someone still bargaining with the concept of morning while yawning.
"You're alive," Brock announced. "Barely."
Roy grunted in reply. That was greeting enough.
They boarded the train and found an empty section near the back. As soon as Roy spotted the window seat, he slumped into it like it was his birthright. His head leaned against the cool glass, and before the train had even started moving, his breathing slowed. Out cold.
Kieran chuckled as he sat across from him. "That man really likes the train, doesn't he?"
"Lucky bastard," Tanaka said, settling into the aisle seat beside Brock. "Wish I could do that."
The train lurched into motion, humming softly beneath them. Outside the window, the city peeled away into suburbs and green belts. It was one of those rare peaceful rides that felt like it suspended time — just long enough for nerves to be soothed and minds to wander.
Tanaka pulled out the tournament bracket sheet from his bag, unfolding it carefully. "Let's see who I'm up against."
He scanned the names, fingers trailing the rows until he stopped. "Tanaka Ewu vs... Ringo Bondigon."
Kieran blinked. "Wait—what?"
"Ringo Bondigon?" Brock repeated. "Are you sure you're not misreading?"
Tanaka turned the sheet around so they could see. "It's real. First match, Block A."
Brock snorted. "Sounds like a brand of bubblegum. Or a rejected Pokémon."
"No, no," Kieran added with a mock-thoughtful look, "It's the name of a budget villain from a rip-off movie."
Tanaka deadpanned, "I'll have the Ringo Bondigon cut." Extra low on the sides."
That got a laugh out of all of them. The tension that had clung to the air slowly lifted, melted down by the absurdity of that name.
"Maybe he fights using sticky fingers," Brock added, still giggling. "Like... weaponised sweat."
Kieran nodded solemnly. "Beware the Sticky Fingers."
Roy didn't stir. Or so they thought.
A few minutes later, the train screeched into its second-to-last stop. The sudden jolt caused the lights to flicker briefly, and it was enough to rouse Roy. His eyes fluttered open. He didn't speak. Just watched the world outside — the countryside blurring into soft pastels under the rising sun.
He didn't move right away. He just watched. The sky was stained with streaks of golden blue, the clouds drifting like paint smudges. There was something melancholic in his silence, the kind of quiet that comes from carrying too much and having no words left to explain it.
Then, suddenly, with the softest tone and zero context, he said, "Are you straight if you like femboys... but you're attracted to their feminine side?"
Silence.
Kieran slowly turned his head. "What."
Brock looked between them. "Was that... what the fuck are you on?"
Tanaka blinked. "When did he wake up?"
Roy finally turned his head, face still resting against the window. "Nothing, I'm just wondering."
Kieran ran a hand through his hair. "Man, give us a warning before you say shit like this."
Brock leaned forward, grinning. "Okay, hear me out — technically, if you're attracted to the feminine traits, and those traits are the appeal... then you're attracted to femininity, not necessarily masculinity. So... maybe?"
"Labels are dumb anyway," Tanaka added, arms crossed. "Just like who you like. Doesn't need to be all that."
Roy blinked slowly. "Fair."
Kieran leaned back in his seat. "Still, strange timing."
"Eh," Roy mumbled. "Just came to my mind. You know?"
"Dude", Brock said, "It's match day. Save the soul-searching for after you beat up some poor bastard."
That brought a faint smile to Roy's lips. Just faint. But it was there.