About fifteen minutes passed, and after Mrekk had gone first, it was my turn: I was the contestant everyone had been talking about ever since I qualified.
I sat down on the little sofa next to the commentator and… BTMC.
I laughed to myself, holding back a grimace. "The pro player I beat last month is now the one asking me questions. Ironic."
The interview began. The commentator—a woman in her twenties with a professional air—spoke first. "Welcome, Pantera Grigia. We're thrilled to have you here at the Osu! World Cup for the first time. Tell us a bit about yourself for anyone who doesn't know you yet."
"Good morning, everyone," I replied, trying to sound relaxed. "I'm Christian Iori, I'm from Italy, and I only started playing Osu! last year. It's an honor to be here among the top 32."
BTMC cleared his throat. "How does it feel knowing everyone's talking about you at this event?"
I smiled, a little nervous. "I like it, I gotta say. It's growing my channel—more people get to see my plays. But… it puts a ton of pressure on me too. I didn't expect this many expectations, and it's making me antsy."
BTMC nodded, a flash of understanding in his eyes. "I get it, Christian. At my first tournaments I was so nervous I could barely hold the stylus!" He laughed, and I relaxed a bit.
The commentator asked the next question. "How did you manage to climb 200 ranks in under a month? It's an incredible rise."
I thought about it, choosing my words carefully. "I'm not gonna reveal Panther's Sight."
"After the match against Lifeline I learned a lot. I sharpened specific skills, training on increasingly complex maps with higher and higher star ratings," I answered, keeping it vague but convincing enough.
The interview went on for about ten minutes, with questions about my playstyle, how I handled stress, and what it meant to be the youngest competitor.
I said goodbye with a nod and stood up from the sofa. I turned toward the stations and saw Accolibed hooking up his graphics tablet to the computer.
The realization hit me instantly. "The peripherals!"
I had left my Wacom and Wooting on the nightstand back at the hotel. "Shit."
The staff could lend me a tablet, but there was no way I could play on the standard keyboard at every station.
It would never match the performance of the Wooting 60HE, which had cost a fortune and taken over a month to arrive.
Nijiro, who had been watching the interview from a corner of the room—leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and an amused smile—noticed me and walked over.
"Hey, Christian, you okay? Everyone bombs their first interview, don't sweat it," he said as soon as he reached me.
"It's not that," I said, scratching the back of my neck. "I forgot my peripherals at the hotel. I want to use mine for practice, not the ones the staff lend out. But if I call an Uber, the round trip will eat up the whole morning."
Nijiro thought for a second, then grinned. "No problem. I'll drive you to the hotel! My car's parked nearby."
"You sure? Don't you want to watch the interviews?" I asked.
"They only interest me so much," he said with a shrug. "Your problem's more important. Come on, let's go."
"Thanks," I said, feeling a little less like a disaster as I followed him to the elevator.
We walked five minutes to a shopping center near the Taito Station.
We went down to the underground parking on level -2, and when Nijiro pulled out his keys, I couldn't believe my eyes.
"You seriously have a Nissan Skyline R34!?" I exclaimed, staring at the dark-gray bodywork gleaming under the neon lights.
"Yeah, my baby," he said. "I paid 26 million yen for her."
"150 thousand euros? You're doing pretty well for yourself! And this color is insane," I said, circling the car to take in the details.
"That's not all," he added, opening the door. "I had a friend modify her. Street setup—not the best in corners because of the weight, but scary fast."
We climbed in. The interior was all hard plastic, with just two racing seats mounted on exposed rails. No comfort, no upholstery: only what you needed to go fast.
As we merged onto the Shuto Expressway, a question occurred to me. "Hey, Nijiro."
"Shoot," he said, eyes fixed on the road.
"Why'd you modify the car?" I asked, curious—stock, the Nissan Skyline R34 was already plenty powerful.
He smiled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "So I can do this."
He floored it, the speedometer shooting up: 100, 150, 200 km/h, slaloming between cars like a pro in Assetto Corsa.
He was completely focused, hands steady on the wheel, sunglasses slipping slightly down his forehead.
"Okay, I get it!" I yelled, laughing nervously. "Slow down—I don't wanna crash, even if I trust you!"
He eased off the accelerator, laughing. "Relax, I know what I'm doing."
"Do you race or something?" I asked, seeing his driving style and the car's interior. "You're insanely fast—you could win easy."
"Nah," he said with a shrug. "I know people who race on the Touge, the mountain passes. They're the real monsters. I just do it for fun."
In under fifteen minutes we were at the hotel. Nijiro pulled up at the entrance while I ran inside.
I dashed up to my room, grabbed the Wacom and Wooting from the nightstand, and hurried back down.
We were back in Akihabara in a flash—less than thirty minutes round trip. An Uber would've taken forever.
Nijiro drove in a way that reminded me of myself in Assetto Corsa, though he was better, always pushing the limit without crashing.
We rode the elevator back up to the tenth floor. Mrekk was looking around, then spotted us and looked confused.
"Where'd you guys disappear to?" he asked, worried. "I asked Ivaxa, but he didn't know anything, and now you show up like nothing happened!"
"I forgot my keyboard and tablet at the hotel," I explained.
"And I drove him there," Nijiro added.
Mrekk's eyes went wide. "You got a ride in Nijiro's Skyline? That thing's insane—both the car and the way he drives!"
"I told him that," I said, laughing, "but he says there are drivers way faster out there."
Nijiro shrugged. "You guys have no idea what real speed feels like. You don't know the racing scene."
I walked up to my station, the nameplate reading: Pantera Grigia – Italy.
"Okay, now I've got everything," I said, setting down the peripherals. "Let's play a couple of games and then go eat."
"Perfect," Mrekk said. "I'll make the lobby—you guys join."
We settled in at the stations, and the monitor lit up with the familiar Osu! menu.
The interview tension melted away, replaced by the thrill of going head-to-head.
We picked some 7-star maps—easier than usual to warm up—but Nijiro was struggling to keep pace.
"Fuck, I can barely handle 5 stars!" he said, laughing as he botched a slider.
Mrekk and I shared an amused look, but we didn't rib him. It was already cool that an Apex Legends pro was even giving it a shot.
After about half an hour, Mrekk shut down the lobby. "Alright, break. Time for lunch."
"What do you guys feel like eating? I know a bunch of places around here," Nijiro said.
"Dunno, no ideas," Mrekk said, scratching the back of his neck.
"Same," BTMC said, stretching with a groan.
"Me too," Ivaxa added, rubbing his fingers.
I thought for a second, then it came to me. "If nobody's got any suggestions, I've got one… A while ago I promised my chat I'd hit up a maid café if I ever made it to Tokyo. I'm not super hyped about it, but a promise is a promise."
Nijiro nodded. "Works for me. I know a great spot—good food, cheap prices. If everyone's down, let's go there."
Mrekk, BTMC, and Ivaxa all nodded.
"Anyway, none of us have ever been except Nijiro," Mrekk added.
"You gotta try everything once in life—that's why I've gone," Nijiro explained.
We reached the maid café, just a two-minute walk from the Taito Station.
Outside, two maids were handing out flyers, their black dresses with white accents rustling in the sunlight. One of them—with pigtails and total idol energy—handed me a flyer with a deep bow.
"いらっしゃいませ," she said, her voice bright and chirpy. I blushed, not sure how to respond, and just managed an awkward nod.
"You look lost… she was just welcoming you," Nijiro explained.
"Ah… yeah," I muttered, realizing that even though I had been studying Japanese on and off for over two years, I still didn't know the basics.
I never found the time to study it properly, and anyway, I hadn't thought it was worth it: until a few months ago, I never imagined I would be in Japan before turning eighteen.
We stepped inside and were greeted by two more maids speaking fluent Japanese, bowing in perfect sync.
We let Nijiro handle the talking—he looked as relaxed as if he were in the middle of an Apex Legends match.
We sat at a table by the window, escorted by the two girls, with a view of Akihabara's main street and the Taito Station.
They brought us the menus a moment later, but I could barely make out five kanji. So I opened the app that had saved me the night before—Google Translate—snapped a photo, and translated the page.
I went with omurice, a dish I had seen in a thousand anime and always wanted to try.
The others ordered through Nijiro, who translated with ridiculous ease.
We waited, and three maids showed up with our food, smiling like they had stepped out of a dating sim.
I had no idea what to say or do—it all felt so unreal. "Do people actually come here regularly?"
When one maid handed me my plate, I just managed an "Arigatou gozaimasu", hoping I didn't butcher the pronunciation.
The omurice looked amazing: a golden omelette wrapped around ketchup-flavored rice with chunks of chicken and caramelized onion. On top, a ketchup strip spelled out something I couldn't read. Around the edge, a few parsley leaves and colorful veggies rounded out the plate.
Every bite was a flavor explosion, exactly like I had pictured it.
The others were clearly entertained: BTMC was snapping pics for Instagram, Mrekk was attempting the maids' "moe moe kyun" with zero success, and Ivaxa ate quietly but looked pretty happy.
Once lunch was over, we knew what was coming: a full afternoon of hardcore practice at the Taito Station setups.
Nijiro had some errands, though. "Gotta take care of a couple things," he said. "See you tonight."
"Hey, Nijiro, can I get your Instagram?" I asked before he headed out. "So we can message—using my phone here with international roaming would cost a fortune."
"Sure," he said, handing me his phone.
I checked his profile and my eyes bugged out. "1.7 million followers? You're more famous than all four of us put together!"
Nijiro laughed, taking the phone back. "When you're in gaming and TV, the fans just roll in."
Mrekk nodded. "Catch you tonight, Nijiro. Where you taking us for dinner?"
"Somewhere special," he said, all mysterious. "You'll see."
We headed back to the Taito Station and jumped straight into the setups.
Playing on a 360Hz monitor was on another level compared to my 240Hz at home: every movement silky smooth, every click sharp as a laser.
The afternoon was brutal—a real grind that left me drained, but also stoked about what I had pulled off: I had finally cleared a 9.37-star map.
By the end of practice, I couldn't even feel my index and middle fingers anymore—the two I use for tapping. But that was the kind of exhaustion that made it all worth it.
By eight that evening, the sun had set and Tokyo was glowing with neon.
We headed down to the underground parking lot of the shopping center, where Nijiro's Skyline and Mrekk's rental car—a Toyota Corolla carrying Ivaxa and BTMC too—were waiting.
I didn't have a license, so I rode with Nijiro, especially since Mrekk looked dangerous just sitting behind the wheel, and anyway, his Corolla couldn't even compare to the Skyline R34.
We were headed to Sumida; the drive was supposed to take twenty minutes, but evening traffic slowed us down a little.
At 8:35 we pulled up to a yakiniku place, a restaurant where you grill the meat yourself right at the table.
The interior was warm and inviting, with dark wooden tables and built-in grills hissing from the heat.
"Relax, tonight's on me," Nijiro said. "Eat as much as you want."
We ordered all kinds of meat: Wagyu beef, pork ribs, marinated chicken.
BTMC and Ivaxa showed me how to cook it properly, since I had never been anywhere like this.
"Don't flip it too soon," Ivaxa said, pointing at the grill. "Let it sizzle for a bit."
After a few tries, I nailed my perfect doneness: somewhere between well-done and rare, crispy crust on the outside, juicy inside.
As I turned the meat, BTMC got serious. "Christian, you seen what's going on online?"
"You mean the stuff between us? People think we're beefing, but I don't care. What matters is we sorted it out ourselves," I said, pulling the meat off the grill now that it was ready.
"Yeah, I know it doesn't bug us much, but we gotta do this for the community. Right now it's totally split," BTMC said, dead serious.
"For instance, earlier when I was interviewing you, Twitch chat was flooded with insults," he added. "The mods told me they had to ban over three hundred people."
"Hmm, you're right," I said after swallowing a bite. "A divided community right before the biggest event of the year isn't good."
"Do a live together and clear it all up," Nijiro suggested—he had been listening the whole time.
"Now?" I asked, kinda skeptical.
"Why not? Everyone would probably tune in right now—no other big Osu! streamers are live," he said.
BTMC fired up a Twitch stream from his phone, since mine couldn't handle it. The viewer count skyrocketed immediately.
We quickly realized the restaurant was pretty loud, but BTMC came prepared: he had brought two clip-on mics and hooked one to my shirt.
With Nijiro and Mrekk tagged in the title too, even more people piled in. In minutes we hit 10,000 viewers and started explaining.
Ivaxa got tagged as well, but he was way less famous than the rest—he barely posted on socials and really only kept up his Twitch, streaming every now and then because he preferred focusing on Osu!.
BTMC, way bigger than me, went first. "Chat, how you guys doing? We're good—eating at a yakiniku," he said, panning the camera over the freshly grilled meat.
The chat blew up seeing me right next to him.
«What are they doing together?!» OnlyBrickss wrote.
«L Pantera Grigia,» wrote the BTMC supporters.
«L BTMC,» wrote my community—definitely the smaller one.
I jumped in too. "Like you probably know, after my match against BTMC the community split—one side backing me because of BTMC's over-the-top reaction…"
"…and the other side my fans, pissed at some new guy in the scene," BTMC added.
"The truth is, BTMC and I have cleared the air. From my side there was never any real beef—and I think he feels the same," I went on.
"Exactly," he said. "This morning when we met up, I apologized because I thought he'd taken it personally, but he hadn't."
"That said, we'd like everyone to knock off the insults. There's no point in staying divided," I said, looking right into the phone camera. "We wanna get back to the united community we had before qualifiers."
"And let's experience this World Cup as healthy rivalry—everyone cheering their player but always respecting the others," BTMC added to close it out.
At first chat seemed thrown by the twist, but slowly the positive messages started rolling in:
«They're right. Let's bring the community back together,» Troparks wrote.
«We can't be trashing each other before Worlds,» Shuroon wrote.
«W community,» Tierra74 wrote.
We ended the stream and finished dinner feeling good.
Outside the restaurant, Nijiro came over. "Nice job—that was a solid speech."
"You think?" I asked, turning to him.
"Yeah," he said. "You reunited the community with just a few words. At your age, I couldn't have pulled that off."
Once the other three caught up, Nijiro revealed the final stop of the night: Tokyo Skytree.
"That's why we came to Sumida," he said excitedly as we walked toward the tower.
We went up to the fourth floor for tickets—they cost seven thousand yen.
"40 euros!? They're insane," I thought, staring at the price sign. "They practically give away food-truck and convenience-store stuff, then charge this much for a tourist spot!"
Even so, I didn't bail—I bought my ticket and followed the group into the glass elevator.
The elevator rocketed upward, and when we stepped out at the observatory 450 meters up, the view took my breath away.
Tokyo stretched out below us, a pulsing sea of neon: lit-up skyscrapers, Shibuya's famous crossing looking tiny from here, the Sumida River glittering."This city is alive," I thought, leaning against the railing. "And tomorrow, I'll show the world who Pantera Grigia is."