"Can he pull it off? Will he actually win this time? No—wait, he lost! He lost again!"
The announcer's voice echoed through the arena speakers, carrying an odd mix of mockery and genuine disappointment that made it impossible to tell which emotion was winning out.
"What a shame! The Cyber End Dragon we all had such high hopes for has fallen here after all..."
Marufuji Ryo stood frozen on the elevated dueling platform, his body going rigid as the words washed over him. His hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles went white, nails digging crescents into his palms.
"And with this defeat, our struggling Cyber Style duelist, Marufuji Ryo, has now welcomed his ninth consecutive loss!"
Ninth.
That number hit him like a physical blow. Nine times. Nine failures in a row. Nine matches where everything he'd worked for, everything he'd believed in, had crumbled to dust.
Bitterness flooded his mouth. Humiliation burned in his chest like acid. Anger—at himself, at fate, at this whole goddamn situation—coiled in his gut like a serpent.
The duel disk strapped to his right arm suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. His arm trembled under the weight—or maybe that was just exhaustion. He couldn't tell anymore. Everything blurred together these days: the losses, the disappointment, the crushing realization that he wasn't special after all.
Slowly, against his better judgment, Ryo lifted his gaze and swept it across the arena crowd.
Row after row of faces stared back at him. Some looked genuinely disappointed—those hurt the most, somehow. The ones who'd believed in him, who'd thought he was going to be the next big thing, and now had to watch him crash and burn in real time.
Others wore expressions of barely concealed mockery. Schadenfreude practically dripped from their smirks. Look at the great Kaiser now, their faces seemed to say. So much for the genius prodigy.
As his eyes moved from face to face, drinking in every ounce of disappointment and derision, Ryo felt something inside him break a little more. His fists unclenched. His shoulders sagged. Even the energy to feel angry started to drain away, leaving behind only a hollow numbness.
A bitter, self-deprecating smile twisted his lips.
Failure was terrifying—he'd learned that the hard way. But for someone like Marufuji Ryo, who'd once been called a genius, who'd carried his own pride like a banner... this was worse than any defeat. These faces, these expressions of disappointment and mockery, were more horrifying than facing a billion losses in a row.
They were watching him die. Not literally, of course. But the death of "Emperor Kaiser," the death of the Cyber Style prodigy, the death of everything he'd thought he was—that was happening right here, right now, in front of thousands of witnesses.
"Man, nobody could've predicted this," the announcer continued, his voice taking on that false sympathy that made everything worse. "Marufuji Ryo—the rising star who graduated from Duel Academy not too long ago with the title 'Emperor Kaiser'—would end up in such a state after just one initial defeat..."
Just one defeat.
As if it were that simple. As if that first loss to Edo Phoenix had been an isolated incident and not the beginning of the end.
Ryo's legs moved on autopilot, carrying him toward the stage exit. Each step felt mechanical, like he was a wind-up toy that someone had forgotten to fully wind. His mind barely registered the jeers and whispers that followed him as he made his way through the player tunnel.
Marufuji Ryo.
That used to mean something. Outstanding graduate of Duel Academy. Leading Cyber Style Duelist of the younger generation. The 'Great God of the Cyber Dragon Domain.'
He'd stepped onto the professional circuit ready to set it on fire. Ready to show everyone what the next generation of dueling looked like. Ready to prove that his academy nickname—Emperor Kaiser—wasn't just hype.
And for a while? For a beautiful, shining while, he'd done exactly that.
Fresh out of the academy and onto the pro scene, Ryo had torn through his opponents like a hurricane. Match after match, victory after victory, he'd reigned over the professional arena like the emperor his nickname claimed he was. His skilled dueling techniques, his insanely proficient control of the Cyber Dragon deck—everything had clicked into place perfectly.
Every match was a showcase. Clean, efficient, devastating. He specialized in going second and explosive OTK strategies that left opponents reeling. And the best part? The part that became almost mythical? The legendary luck that let him fuse Cyber End Dragon from his hand basically every single time he went second.
People had started to believe he was blessed by the cards themselves.
With his good looks, his aggressive playstyle focused on those beautiful second-turn kills, the labels of "rookie genius" and "Cyber Style successor" following him everywhere—it was only a matter of time before he became the brightest star in the professional dueling world.
Hell, it wasn't even "only a matter of time." It had already started happening.
After just a few wins into his streak, the offers had come rolling in. Commercial collaborations. Image sponsorships. Dueling magazines wanting interviews. Good opportunities practically threw themselves at his feet, one after another, until it became hard for anyone following the dueling scene not to know the name Marufuji Ryo.
Those had been incredible days. A beautiful dream where everything sparkled with possibility. Ryo had genuinely felt like he'd reached the peak of his life, like nothing could touch him up there in the stratosphere of success.
He'd had no doubt—none whatsoever—that he'd just keep winning forever.
Looking back now, that confidence felt almost childishly naive.
They said every duelist recognized by Cyber Dragon, every true inheritor of the Cyber Style, would face trials on their path. Constant struggles, endless setbacks, a life defined by fighting and clawing their way forward through adversity.
Ryo's first trial had come in the form of one crushing defeat.
After getting absolutely demolished by Edo Phoenix—after experiencing his first professional loss—everything had changed. His life trajectory had shifted from a rocket climbing toward the stars to a boulder rolling down a mountain, picking up speed with every passing moment, and he'd been powerless to stop it.
It was like the entire professional circuit had waited for that first loss, then collectively decided to show him what real dueling looked like.
Suddenly, he faced defensive players with backrow setups that made Fort Knox look welcoming. Aggressive players whose offense made his own explosive strategies look tame by comparison, ending games the instant they got a battle phase. Versatile warriors who could adapt to any situation, switching strategies mid-duel with the kind of flexibility that left Ryo's head spinning.
Every professional veteran seemed to have their own unique tricks, their own carefully honed skills developed over years of competition. They had fighting spirit that could weather any storm and patience that could outlast any assault. And worst of all? They each had secret weapon cards—those devastating turnaround plays that, once activated, completely changed the complexion of a match.
Compared to these battle-hardened professionals with their bizarre and unpredictable strategies, with their creative deck-building that pushed the boundaries of what was possible... Marufuji Ryo, who only knew one trick—going second with Cyber Dragons for a massive OTK—was honestly just too damn simple. Too straightforward. Too honest.
That straightforward, incredibly direct combat style worked great the first time. Caught people off guard. Seemed fresh and exciting.
But once opponents had seen it? Once they'd had time to study his matches, break down his patterns, figure out his tendencies? It became nearly impossible to execute successfully.
And so the losing streak had begun.
Match after match, defeat after defeat, until Ryo started wondering if his initial winning streak had been nothing but beginner's luck. Some kind of cosmic joke where the universe let him taste victory just long enough to make the fall hurt more. Had he hit his ceiling already? Was this genuinely as far as his dueling ability could take him?
In the past, Ryo had believed absolutely in deck loyalty. He'd treated his Cyber Dragon cards with unwavering devotion, convinced that only by respecting his deck completely, by cultivating an incomparable rapport with his cards, could he walk the True Path of Dueling.
Back in his youth at the dueling dojo, he'd practiced with almost religious fervor. Every single day, he'd put on his duel disk with a posture of reverence, then draw cards hundreds—sometimes thousands—of times, over and over until even the deck itself seemed to recognize his dedication. He'd practiced until he could consistently draw God hands like 'Cyber Dragon, Cyber Dragon, Cyber Dragon, Power Bond, Limiter Removal' in actual matches.
He'd been that devoted.
But now, after this nightmare losing streak, after watching professional veterans switch between multiple decks and diverse strategies while still maintaining their competitive edge...
Ryo had started to doubt everything.
Was his entire dueling philosophy wrong? How the hell could people play so many different decks, be so flexible with their strategies, and still perform at such a high level? Where was the deck loyalty? Where was the respect for the cards?
Could you really earn a deck's recognition while being that unfaithful?
The question haunted him, but nobody could answer it. Hell, he didn't even have time to properly wrestle with questions like that anymore.
Maybe his philosophy had been shaken by that first loss. Maybe the mental exhaustion from the losing streak had finally caught up with him. Or maybe—and this was the thought that scared him most—he'd always been destined to fail, and the winning streak had just been a lucky fluke before reality reasserted itself.
Whatever the reason, what followed had been the most horrifying period of Marufuji Ryo's entire dueling career.
Dueling was cruel in its simplicity. If one side enjoyed playing Yu-Gi-Oh!, the other side couldn't play at all. One person's victory automatically meant another person's defeat. There was no middle ground, no compromise, no "everyone wins."
The scales of fate had tipped. Marufuji Ryo, who'd once stood firmly on the side of victory, had somehow walked to the opposite extreme. Now he was forever favored by failure, unable to win even a single duel no matter how hard he tried.
From that point on, Ryo had never tasted victory again. The losing streak consumed everything—his confidence, his reputation, his belief in himself. It ate away at him piece by piece until there was barely anything left.
Recently, Ryo had lost so many times he'd started doubting reality itself. Late at night, he was haunted by nightmares where he'd wake up screaming "No! I don't want to lose! I can't lose anymore!" drenched in cold sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to escape.
After a certain match—he couldn't even remember which one specifically, they all blurred together—Ryo realized he'd become genuinely obsessed with losing. Mentally trapped in a cycle he couldn't break.
He'd read the dueling reports and articles about himself. "Has fallen into a losing streak curse and should rest for a while before making plans." The advice was sound. Logical. Obviously correct.
Ryo knew perfectly well that when someone continuously met failure like this, as if cursed, they fell into a chaotic mental state where everything they did was wrong. The best strategy was always to stop, rest, recover, and return to competition only after adjusting your mental state.
The bystander sees clearly while the person involved is confused, as the saying went.
But that advice—"adjust well, we'll wait for you to come back"—was so easy to say and so goddamn hard to actually do. Reality didn't pause just because you needed a mental health break.
In this world where dueling was incredibly popular, countless people aspired to become professional duelists. Countless people wanted to occupy the position Marufuji Ryo currently held. The competition never stopped. The pressure never let up.
Sailing against the current means you either move forward or fall back.
As a newly established professional duelist, Ryo couldn't simply rest according to his own wishes. The machine didn't stop just because one cog was struggling.
Professional points. Season rankings. Commercial contract clauses. Sponsorship obligations. Countless factors were pushing him forward, making it impossible to stop. From the moment he'd stepped into the professional duelist arena, Ryo had known he'd have to keep dueling, keep fighting, keep struggling forward no matter what.
He didn't resent that, actually. Not really. Everyone who chose to walk the Path of Dueling had it hard. Nobody's life was easy in this competitive world.
When Marufuji Ryo had decided to pursue the professional path, he'd made a commitment to himself: respect his opponents, respect victory, maintain elegance and dignity in every duel of his professional career, and show his unique style to the world.
Those principles still mattered to him. He still believed in them.
It was just... the reality of this losing streak was so heavy. So crushing. So absolutely devastating that he'd started questioning everything—even whether respect, elegance, and dueling philosophy mattered less than simply winning.
Maybe none of his principles meant anything if he couldn't actually win matches.
Ryo emerged from the player tunnel into the evening air. He looked up at the sky above—gray and overcast, perfectly matching his mood. His heart felt just as gray, just as heavy and oppressive as those clouds.
Regardless of what he believed, regardless of what choices he made, reality had already delivered its verdict with brutal efficiency. Respect or no respect, philosophy or no philosophy—a loser was a loser.
Nine consecutive losses.
According to professional circuit regulations, if he kept losing, the moment he hit that tenth consecutive defeat, he'd face demotion. Dropped down to a lower tier, stripped of his professional status, everything he'd worked for gone in an instant.
And his next duel? The one that would decide everything?
Marufuji Ryo, who'd fallen into this state of doubting his own existence, didn't have much confidence about it at all.
The media reports about him had turned completely negative. Those investors and sponsors who'd once chatted with him enthusiastically, treating him like the next big thing, had long since changed their tune. Their enthusiasm had cooled to polite distance, and Ryo knew they'd probably start terminating contracts within days.
Most importantly—the thought that weighed heaviest on his mind—if this continued, he'd be saying goodbye to the profession entirely. He wouldn't even be able to call himself a "Professional Duelist" anymore.
The title that had once filled him with such pride would be stripped away, leaving him as just... what? A has-been? A former prodigy who'd flamed out before he'd barely begun?
Ryo lowered his head and walked silently along the path he'd strode down so confidently not long ago. Back then, he'd walked these streets with his head held high, basking in recognition and praise.
Now his eyes involuntarily drifted to the margins—to the rats scurrying between trash cans, to the dark and damp alleys filled with filth and decay, to all the forgotten corners where the city's refuse collected.
Is that where I'm headed?
The thought whispered through his mind unbidden. Is that my future? The gutters and back alleys where failed dreams go to die?
Marufuji Ryo kept walking, but he had no idea where his feet were taking him. He just knew he had to move, had to keep putting one foot in front of the other, because if he stopped moving entirely...
Well, if he stopped moving, he might never start again.
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