The train compartment was not built for this many eyes.
Roy felt it the moment the doors slid shut behind them. The weight of attention pressing in like humidity. Not physically exactly, but the unmistakable tension of being watched by people who never knew you.
Every seat was taken. Even the standing rail had hands wrapped around it. People were packed shoulder-to-shoulder in the aisle, pretending not to stare while very obviously staring.
At them.
Kieran loved it.
He leaned back against the wall beside the window, arms folded, hair uncharacteristically neat. He had the look of a man entirely at ease with the idea that half the train wanted to either be him or be with him. He smiled easily when someone glanced his way and nodded politely when whispered conversations died mid-sentence as he passed.
Brock, on the other hand, was thriving in a very different way.
He had claimed a seat, somehow, his long legs stretched out just enough to be annoying, arms behind his head like this was a sightseeing trip instead of a pressure cooker. He grinned openly at the stares, not with charm like Kieran, but with the smug satisfaction of someone who knew people were judging him and enjoyed it anyway.
Tanaka stood near the aisle rail, hands in his pockets, posture slouched. He looked bored. Or tired. Or both. His eyes flicked toward people when they stared too long, sharp enough that most of them quickly remembered somewhere else they needed to be looking.
He now started to get annoyed by the fame.
The whispers themselves didn't stop.
"...that's him, right?"
"No way, he's taller than I thought."
"I heard that he can run faster than light."
What the hell? Where did these rumours even come from?
"That's not the one, idiot; that's the other one…"
Okay, who were they talking about? They were talking about Tanaka or Brock, right?
Right?
"That guy's huge; look at him."
"That's Brock Branagon. I heard he signed up three people just to mess with them."
Hold on a sec, so they don't know my name, but they know Brock's name? Bullshit.
Brock's grin widened. "Hey, see? "Reputation
Tanaka sighed. "I'm starting to hate people."
Tanaka thought to himself if he would get the chance to see her again.
He let out a little smile at the thought that he would get to see her. Even just a look would satisfy his urge.
Roy stood opposite him, back to the door, arms crossed. His mask was off, and it made him feel naked for some reason. If anything, the stares slid past him more easily than they did Kieran.
That was fine.
He preferred it that way.
Two celebrities, the papers had said.
One a womaniser whose embarrassed a woman because he loved her
The other, a semi-finalist who shouldn't have made it this far and yet somehow had.
Roy ignored the title. He always did.
The train lurched forward, metal wheels screaming briefly against the rails before settling into a steady rhythm. Outside the window, the city thinned into long stretches of industrial sprawl and distant greenery, the skyline retreating behind them like a held breath finally released.
"You know," Kieran said casually, glancing around the packed compartment, "I think this might be the first time I've ever been famous for not sleeping with someone."
Brock snorted. "Oh, give it a day."
Wait a minute? This guy lost his V-card already? When? Where? Why? How?
Roy snorted before he could stop himself. "Give it time; some accusation is going to come out about you."
A woman standing nearby laughed nervously, unsure if she was allowed to. Kieran flashed her a grin that nearly made her forget how to breathe.
Tanaka muttered, "This is hell."
This guy has been grumpy for a while since he hasn't gotten to see a girl that he only saw like twice.
Roy shifted his weight, eyes flicking toward the compartment door. Security stood outside with tournament officials, discreet but present. More than usual.
That set his teeth on edge.
The Tournament of Richt was always theatrical. Always bloated with spectacle and tradition. But today felt different. Sharper. Like the air before a storm.
"You feel it too," Kieran murmured, quieter now.
Roy didn't look at him. "Yeah."
They rode in silence for a moment, the hum of conversation washing over them. Bits and pieces drifted through, but bets were whispered, odds debated, and names thrown around like dice.
Kieran's name came up the most.
That didn't surprise Roy.
What did surprise him was how often his own followed.
"…the guy over there"
"...Rio wang, or something like that, that one over there…" As he proceeds to point at Roy.
"I heard he doesn't have a soul art."
Roy looked over at Brock to notice if he heard them speaking so he could make fun of them. He was staring away at the ever-changing scenery.
"That must be so sad."
"So was getting this far. I also heard that he is the plaything in that group."
What the fuck? What do you mean, 'plaything'? I don't swing that way. What the hell?
Roy exhaled slowly.
Seriously? Where do these rumours come from?
Brock tugged at Roy's sleeve and motioned him to come closer, and Roy got his ear closer to Brock's mouth.
Brock leaned over. "If anyone touches you without consent, I'll touch them."
"Cheers, man," Roy replied in return and then proceeded to dap him up.
The train sped on.
The arena was already full when they arrived.
No. Overcapacity.
The Tournament Arena of Richt had always been massive, a stone coliseum built to remind the world that power was meant to be witnessed. But today, it felt like the city itself had poured inside.
Every tier was packed. Every balcony overflowing. Temporary seating clung to walkways never meant to hold crowds, and still people stood wherever they could find space. Vendors shouted over one another. Banners snapped in the air.
Something was coming.
They could all feel it.
The group were escorted through the lower corridors, past guarded doors and rune-etched gates, toward the competitors' staging area. The further they went, the quieter it became, the roar of the crowd muffled into a distant thunder.
Other fighters, those already eliminated, were pacing, some meditating, some staring blankly at walls as if trying to burn holes through stone with sheer will. Roy recognised a few.
What were these guys doing here? Honestly, they need to get out if they are not going to participate anymore, but it kind of does make sense since the tournament does provide catering and a bed until the tournament is over.
More than a few watched Kieran with poorly hidden resentment. A few watched Brock like he was a walking headache. Some glanced at Tanaka, frowned, and looked away.
"Man," Kieran muttered, stretching his arms overhead, utterly unbothered, "you'd think I personally kicked their ass."
Roy leaned against a pillar. "You'd probably beat most of them. All of them."
"Fair," Kieran conceded.
Tanaka closed his eyes while walking. "Let's just get this over with."
A bell rang overhead. Deep. Resonant.
The announcer's voice boomed through the arena, magically amplified, carrying with it the practised grandeur of someone who had delivered history before.
And the tournament's end truly began.