A fireball sweeps past, its heat singeing the edges of his locs. Wyatt Arkin barely manages to dodge it.
"Shit, that was close," he whispers, sweat trickling down his forehead as he stares at his grinning opponent.
"The fourth son of the Arkin household almost hit the hay with Ford's attack, yet somehow came out unscathed. It seems like the gods are on his side this time," the announcer says, his voice booming over the arena as students cheer for his opponent, not him.
I guess they really do hate him. He glances around, seeing snarls and twisted faces of disgust anytime he meets eye-to-eye with any of the students. But gosh, does he really have to be this persistent!
His attention refocuses on the person he's up against, no longer grinning but furious.
"Goddamned mutt! Just die already!" Another round of his conjurations, cannons aligning transparent walls, flares with fire. "I'll never forgive you for ending the life of a warrior!" The barrel tilts upward to the sky and fires.
Condensed fireballs descend like rain overhead as he stands still, expression unreadable.
How the hell did I end up like this?
...
"Tomoe, I like you. You show charisma and an eye for profound detail in your structures…" The man in a fine tuxedo begins, setting down the folder that holds every blueprint Tomoe has poured himself into over the last ten years.
The words are kind, flattering even, but the mocking glint in the man's eyes and the sly grin tugging at his lips tell a harsher truth: he doesn't believe Tomoe could ever bring such designs to life. And that silent judgment anchors Tomoe's hopes.
"But?" Tomoe asks, bracing himself for rejection.
"But?" The man tilts his head, his smugness slipping into an expression of feigned confusion. "You're in. I like you. Your creativity, your ambition to construct something that could redefine our industry and perhaps the world itself, are admirable." He leans in closer. "That's why I want you on my team."
Tomoe's eyes widen. "Really?"
After ninety-nine rejections from every company he approached, some dismissing his work as nothing more than a madman's blueprint, others calling it too fantastical for a world bound by practicality, he could hardly believe what he was hearing now.
The man nods. Relief and disbelief collide inside Tomoe until a burst of static laughter and cheer escapes him. "Well, thank you."
He steps forward, reaching for his folder, but the man's hand presses firmly over it.
"Leave these here. I'll find the perfect place for them." The man smirks.
Tomoe hesitates for just a moment, then lets go. "Alright. We'll be in contact, right?"
"Of course," the man replies smoothly.
"Okay." Tomoe bows, leaving the office with a beaming smile.
"Akna." The man calls out, and his secretary enters, peeking her head through.
"Yes, Mister Ozan?"
"It looks like the prize has fallen right into our hands," he smirks as she nears. "Ready our man and the press. We have an announcement for the world." Ozan stands, adjusting his suit, the folder in hand.
"On it."
..
The old door creaks open. The stuffed, enclosed smell fills his nose as he enters, a smile still etched deep into the corners of his cheeks.
"I knew it! This is why those motivational speakers say never give up, because apparently, the universe enjoys watching you suffer for a solid decade before throwing a miracle at your face!"
He drops to his knees in the middle of his small studio apartment and kisses the uncleaned floor.
"Thank you! Universe, I should have never doubted you!" he exclaims, receiving a loud pounding on his wall.
"Shut up!"
Thin walls, he hisses, reminding himself, though he doesn't stop his cheers as he continues in pure silence.
"I should probably tell them."
He stops, retrieving his phone from his pocket, unlocking it, and clicking on the first group chat in his contacts. Fingers flying, he types out the good news, throwing in an offer for free drinks tonight.
Within seconds, his phone buzzes like a caffeinated beehive. One by one, replies pour in: enthusiastic emojis, all-caps congratulations, and promises to be at the bar before he even finishes typing.
Greedy bums, he mutters inwardly, regretting his actions, knowing they'll take full advantage of the chance given to them.
A few hours pass, and they all meet at the small local bar called The Retreat. And a retreat it was. Tomoe and his tight-knit friend group, Haruto, Ren, Daichi, and Souta, had been coming here for years.
They celebrate both their losses and once-in-a-lifetime wins over the buzz of customers, the suspiciously tiny portions of soju, and the ongoing debates over football or cricket flickering on the tiny TV in the corner.
Ren slams his hand on the table, nearly tipping his drink. "I told you! World-class athletes are injecting enhancing drugs into their bodies given by aliens!"
Souta snorts, wiping foam from his mouth. "You said that last week, too, and the week before. Are you ever right?"
Daichi raises his glass. "I'll drink to that. Being consistently wrong is its own talent."
"At this point, you'll drink to anything," Tomoe snickers, sipping his drink.
Haruto just shakes his head, smirking at Tomoe. "Man, you finally made it, and these idiots are acting like drunk toddlers."
Tomoe laughs, feeling the tension of the day melt away. "Hey, at least they're loyal. I couldn't ask for better idiots."
The group cheers, clinking glasses, the small bar filling with laughter that almost drowns out the TV.
"Good day to all." A familiar voice reaches Tomoe, and he snaps his gaze to the TV, spotting Mr. Ozan.
"Boss?" he stands up.
"I've come with great news. A masterpiece that is going to change the foundation of this world, created by me." He smirks, and a shiver coils up Tomoe's spine as if he knew what was about to happen.
Shifting slightly, everyone watches in held breaths as the curtain behind him falls to reveal Tomoe's blueprint on full display for the world, renamed Genesis. Tomoe's heart drops.
"This project has been in the works for ten years. So do many others." Ozan moves to it. "A conjuration even the gods should fear. This creation will certainly bring us into a new era of architecture and creation, opening new pathways for our evolution."
Tomoe's knees buckle, and his friends rush to his side.
"Are you okay?" the questions follow, but he can't hear them.
"This... This is mine..." His chest heaves. "Why is he taking all the credit?..."
The four of them try to comfort him, but nothing works. Words of encouragement bounce off his ears like wind against stone. Projects he had spent years pouring his heart into, years of sleepless nights, sketches smeared with coffee stains, and designs argued over with anyone who would listen, were now gone.
All that persistence, all that defiance in the face of ridicule and rejection because of its ludicrousness. All for it to be taken away and praised.
"Maybe it's for the best. You're not capable anyway," Ren murmurs, and all heads turn to him. The words hit like a blade, sinking deep into Tomoe's chest.
"Yeah," Souta adds, chuckling as if joking could smooth over the wound. "Your imaginative thinking is being portrayed by someone else; it's no biggy."
Tomoe blinks at them, incredulous, the sting of betrayal mingling with grief. "No biggy?" he echoes, voice sharp despite himself. "Do you even hear what you're saying? My life's work! My decades of blood, sweat, and coffee!"
Daichi and Haruto exchange nervous glances, unsure whether to intervene, but Tomoe doesn't wait for their defense. He rises, pushing them off.
"This is how you see it." He turns and dashes off. "Then pay on your own!" he shouts behind him, voice cracking with equal parts anger and disbelief.
For a moment, the rest of them freeze, mouths open, staring after him. None of them have any money on them, the realization hitting like a wet slap to the face.
Then, as if on cue, they scramble after him, shouting, cursing, and tripping over chairs. "Wait—Tomoe! Come back!"
"Seriously? You can't just leave us here!" Ren yells, nearly colliding with the bar counter.
Souta, flailing his arms like a windmill, adds, "I didn't bring cash either! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
Haruto groans, muttering under his breath, "We're doomed if he keeps this up…"
Tomoe doesn't slow. He weaves through the crowd, entering and exiting onto the streets.
"You know what? Fuck them! Fuck Ozan, and most of all, fuck you, universe! I'm going to create something astronomically better than anything these idiots, or anyone else in this world, would ever see!"
He punches the air, a manic grin spreading across his face. "I'll show them. They'll remember my name, even if it kills me to do it."
Though his cries into the universe are heard by something much worse... death.
BEEPP!!!!