The locker room door creaked open, the hinges protesting from years of use. Roy stepped inside, still brushing a faint smear of dust from his sleeve. His pace was unhurried, his eyes scanning the room with the same detached calm that seemed to follow him everywhere.
The room smelt faintly of sweat and antiseptic, the echo of distant crowd noise still humming in the walls.
Tanaka sat on the bench with his arms crossed, leaning back like he was trying to distance himself from everything in the room. His eyes flicked toward Roy — sharp, narrowed — and then back to the wall, like looking too long would make him angrier.
Brock was hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped loosely together. His head tilted up just enough to meet Roy's gaze.
"You've got to be kidding me," Brock said, his tone somewhere between disbelief and irritation. "You lost to that guy? You didn't even try."
Roy said nothing at first, just dropped his bag on the floor with a dull thud. The sound seemed to linger.
Tanaka let out a scoff, the kind meant to sting. "Weakest guy I've seen in the bracket. You let him walk all over you."
Roy tilted his head, his expression flat. He slowly raised both hands, palms up, giving a lazy shrug. "What can I say? He bested me fair and square." His voice dripped with mock sincerity, each word delivered like a bad actor reading lines from a script.
Brock's jaw tightened. Tanaka's glare deepened.
Roy added a small, almost invisible smirk before turning to open his locker. The smirk vanished as quickly as it came.
Kieran, leaning against the far wall with his arms folded, hadn't said a word since Roy walked in. He studied the exchange with an unreadable expression, his eyes briefly meeting Roy's before flicking away.
Kieran had known from the start that Roy didn't care about the tournament. He'd seen the lack of tension in his movements, the almost bored way he'd been watching matches the previous day. Losing on purpose wasn't a surprise — if anything, Kieran had half-expected him to pull something like this.
The air in the locker room was heavy, thick with the weight of unspoken frustration. But no one pushed the argument further.
Roy sat down and began untying his shoes like the conversation had already ended.
They changed in silence, the only sounds the rustle of clothes and the muffled cheers from a distant match still underway.
By the time they left the stadium, the sun was sinking lower, casting long shadows across the pavement. They made their way to the train station together, but it felt like each of them was walking in their own world.
When the train arrived, they stepped aboard and found seats. The carriage was half-full, filled with the faint murmur of strangers' conversations and the rhythmic clack-clack of the wheels against the rails.
No one from their group spoke.
Kieran sat by the window, his gaze fixed on the blur of passing buildings. Brock had his phone out, scrolling aimlessly, his brow furrowed in a faint scowl. Tanaka slouched low in his seat, hood up, earphones in but no music playing — just an excuse not to talk.
Roy leaned back against the seat, eyes half-lidded, as if the motion of the train was enough to lull him into a trance. He didn't feel the need to fill the silence. If anything, he preferred it.
By Monday morning, the weekend already felt like a distant memory.
Back at school, the social tide had shifted.
Tanaka was more popular than ever. Between classes, clusters of students gathered around him, asking about his fight, his tactics, and his thoughts on the tournament. He answered them with his usual dry sarcasm, which somehow only made them laugh harder and like him more.
Roy, on the other hand, had slipped further into the background. Whispers trailed him down the hallways.
"That's the guy who lost in the first round."
"Didn't even fight back."
"Total waste of a slot."
He heard it all, but it rolled off him like rain on glass. Their opinions didn't matter.
It did bother Tanaka, though.
He didn't understand why exactly. Maybe it was because he couldn't shake the sense that Roy was hiding something. The way he moved, the way he spoke — it wasn't arrogance, but it wasn't weakness either. It was… something else.
Was Roy secretly strong? Brilliant? Both?
Tanaka didn't have an answer, but deep down, he was sure of one thing: Roy wasn't like everyone else. He was different. One in all of humanity, or he might just be stupid.
The day passed in its usual blur until the four of them found themselves back at Kieran's place. The place was quiet, just the hum of the old ceiling fan filling the air.
Kieran was sprawled out on the couch, his phone in hand. He was scrolling through the updated tournament brackets, his expression calm but focused.
"Tomorrow's opponent…" he muttered, tapping the screen to bring up the profile. His eyes scanned the name: Cyrus Valen.
The stats were straightforward — age: 17, height: 5'11, weight: 160 lbs, affiliated with Saint Helmond Academy.
No photo. No recorded Soul Art. Several lines were blacked out entirely, marked as Confidential.
Kieran narrowed his eyes slightly. "Interesting…" he said under his breath.
Brock glanced over. "What's interesting?"
Kieran didn't look up. "Just seems like he's not the type they want you knowing much about."
Roy, sitting in the corner with his legs stretched out, glanced up briefly. "Or maybe he's just boring."
Kieran smirked faintly, not taking the bait. "We'll see about that tomorrow."
The fan above kept turning, slow and steady, as the sun dipped lower outside the windows. Somewhere in the distance, a bell rang, signalling the end of the day — but in the room, the match tomorrow was already beginning to take shape in their minds.