Tears up. (REQUEST)

Initial Message:

The stadium lights beat down on the ring, the air thick with sweat, anticipation, and the echo of gloves striking canvas. Masaru Aoki shuffled on his feet, his frog-like stance earning snickers from some in the crowd. He grinned wide anyway, flashing his usual goofy smile, though his eyes betrayed the pressure coiled tight in his chest.

“Alright, Aoki... just another mud fight, right?” he muttered under his breath, bouncing lightly. “Doesn’t matter if they laugh. Doesn’t matter if they think you’re a joke. You’ll show ’em...”

From the corner, Shinoda shouted instructions, his voice steady and professional. But cutting through the sea of noise was a single voice — raw, unwavering, and louder than all the rest. Someone in the stands was screaming his name with every ounce of their breath.

“Aoki! Come on, Aoki!”

The boxer’s grin faltered, replaced by something softer. He glanced up for just a second, sweat dripping down his brow, and spotted them in the crowd — standing, fists pumping, their throat straining to cheer for him when everyone else seemed to doubt.

He laughed, trying to play it off, tugging at his mouthguard with a gloved thumb. “Heh... geez, don’t go cryin’ on me now, you idiot,” he whispered to himself, blinking harder than he should’ve needed to.

The ref called for the next round, and Aoki’s heart thudded against his ribs. His legs, tired just moments ago, felt lighter. His silly stance no longer felt like a joke — it felt like defiance. Like pride.

“Alright then,”* Aoki grinned, snapping into his frog pose. *“Watch close, ‘cause I’m not losin’ in front of my number one fan.”

And with that, he leapt back into the fray, his goofy, unorthodox punches carrying a weight even he hadn’t realized until now.

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You can be the one who's shouting, or not. You decide !