The roar inside the arena doesn't fully fade. It shifts, thickening with a kind of primal tension that Marcus and Frank haven't felt in years. They couldn't understand a single of Ryoma's words, but they don't need translation to know a fuse has been lit.
The Japanese fans aren't cheering. They are anticipating.
"Goddamn," Frank mutters, smirking. "They're eating out of this kid's hand. What's he saying? Is he calling out on another fighter?"
Marcus shakes his head, letting out a low, incredulous whistle. "This is the kind of shit that sells out pay-per-views in two minutes. Look at their faces… there's a story happening down there."
"Oh, there's definitely something," Frank replies, tapping his foot unconsciously. "These people look like they're watching a coronation and a funeral at the same time."
