The arena had gone completely silent.
Jello and Ken stood facing each other, a few meters apart—both still, both focused. No wasted movement. No words.
Just intent.
The crowd had quieted without anyone asking them to. It wasn't the kind of silence that follows a call to attention. It was the kind that falls naturally, instinctively, when something in the air tells every watching eye that whatever is about to happen deserves to be witnessed without noise. Even the ambient hum of the arena's overhead lights seemed to dim, as though the space itself was holding its breath.
Jello kept his eyes fixed forward.
Ken hadn't moved yet—but everything about him suggested he was already in motion. The way his weight had shifted almost imperceptibly onto his back foot. The way his fingers had uncurled, then slowly reclosed. Small things. The kind of things you only noticed if you'd been watching him long enough, and Jello had been watching since the moment they stepped into the ring.
