Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 72: Tension & Reassurance

Chapter 72: Tension & Reassurance

Maverick paced the room, frustration burning in his chest as he muttered curses under his breath. His hands clenched into fists before he ran them through his hair, letting out a sharp exhale.

"Why does he always do this?" Maverick snapped. "Losing his temper at the worst possible time—right before the tournament? This is exactly why we—"

Milo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him calmly. "Man, you gotta chill," he said, shaking his head. "You know how Kenneth is."

Maverick turned sharply, his glare locked onto him. "Yeah? And how’s that supposed to help us? This tournament is everything—he can’t afford to lose control like that."

Milo sighed, letting the silence stretch for a moment before replying. "You ever stop to think why he gets mad like that?" He tilted his head slightly. "Kenneth doesn’t just flip out for no reason. You know that."

Maverick exhaled heavily, gaze dropping to the floor.

Milo pushed off the wall, stepping closer. "Look, we all handle pressure differently. You analyze; you plan. Kenneth fights. That’s how he deals with it."

Maverick scoffed slightly, shaking his head, but the sharp edges of his frustration dulled. "...Yeah," he muttered. "I know."

Milo smirked. "Good. So stop losing your mind over it."

Maverick let out another sigh, rubbing his temple. "Fine."

...

Johnny followed the hallway, his steps quick, determined. Kenneth had stormed out in a blaze of irritation, and he wasn’t about to let him get lost in his own anger.

When Johnny found him, Kenneth was standing alone.

The room was filled with students from rival schools, each absorbed in their own conversations, but Kenneth was separate—isolated, his shoulders tense, his fists clenched.

Johnny stepped closer. "You good?"

Kenneth didn’t turn around immediately. His jaw tightened before he finally exhaled, shaking his head. "No."

Johnny didn’t press. He just waited.

Kenneth leaned forward slightly, gripping the edge of the nearest table. "I’m nervous," he admitted. His voice was quiet, strained. "And I’m pissed—because I hate feeling like this."

Johnny was quiet for a beat before stepping next to him. "It’s normal."

Kenneth scoffed, shaking his head. "Not for me."

Johnny tilted his head slightly. "Yeah? What makes you different?"

Kenneth exhaled sharply. "I fight to win. But if I’m nervous... it means I’m doubting myself." His fingers curled tighter against the table. "If I doubt myself—I’ve already lost."

Johnny leaned against the table beside him, crossing his arms. "That’s not true."

Kenneth let out a bitter chuckle. "Yeah? Tell me how."

Johnny didn’t hesitate. "You’re doubting yourself because you know what’s at stake. That’s not weakness, bro—that’s just being human."

Kenneth glanced at him.

Johnny continued, his tone steady. "You fight harder than anyone here. You’ve got nothing to prove. Just go out there and do what you do best."

Kenneth exhaled slowly. The tension in his shoulders eased—just slightly.

Johnny nudged him lightly. "Besides, imagine how pissed Maverick would be if you backed out now."

Kenneth chuckled under his breath. "Yeah. He’d lose his mind."

Johnny smirked. "Exactly."

Kenneth rolled his shoulders, letting out a deep breath. "Alright," he muttered. "I got this."

Johnny gave a small nod. "You always do."

Back in the Waiting Room

Maverick finally sat down, his irritation settled, though his arms remained crossed. Milo grinned slightly, nudging his shoulder. "Told you getting mad was pointless."

Maverick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."

The door swung open, and Johnny stepped back into the room, nodding once at Maverick before heading toward his seat.

Kenneth followed right after, looking noticeably calmer.

Milo smirked, glancing between them. "Nice of you to finally return."

Kenneth gave him a dry look but didn’t react.

Amari, who had been quietly observing, stood up. "I’m heading to the bathroom."

Maverick barely glanced at him. "Don’t take too long."

Amari rolled his eyes slightly. "Not planning on it."

Amari made his way down the hallway toward the bathroom, his steps slow, measured. The tournament buzzed around him—students chatting, organizers preparing—but his focus was elsewhere.

When he stepped inside, the faint sound of running water filled the space.

At the sink stood the same kid—the one who had mouthed off earlier, the one who had laughed at their team, at their school. His hands moved under the faucet, but his posture was relaxed, like he had all the time in the world.

Amari didn’t hesitate.

"Got a minute?" His voice was steady as he stepped forward.

The kid glanced up, his brows furrowing slightly. "For what?"

Amari leaned against the counter. "Just wondering—what’s your deal?" His eyes stayed locked onto the kid. "Why say all that about my team?"

The kid scoffed, turning off the tap and shaking the water from his hands. "Because it’s the truth."

Amari didn’t react immediately. He waited.

The kid continued, his tone casual but edged with something sharp. "Your team? Your school? It’s a joke. You barely have enough people to participate, let alone compete." He rolled his shoulders, letting out a slow breath. "Look around. The best schools have resources, top-tier training, instructors who shape fighters into champions. You guys? You don’t even belong here."

Amari’s jaw tightened slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. "That’s funny," he muttered. "Because if we didn’t belong, we wouldn’t be here."

The kid smirked. "Barely."

Amari exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "You think you’re the only one dealing with pressure? The only ones who have to fight for their place?" His voice was even, steady. "Everyone here has something on the line."

The kid narrowed his eyes slightly, crossing his arms. "You don’t get it. At my school, losing isn’t an option. We don’t just compete—we have to win. If we don’t, the consequences are—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "We don’t get second chances."

Amari’s gaze didn’t waver. "Neither do we."

Silence stretched between them, thick, charged.

Then—the kid scoffed. "Doesn’t matter," he muttered. "You’re going to lose anyway."

Amari smirked, adjusting the chains over his shoulders. "Guess we’ll find out soon enough."

The kid straightened slightly, his stance shifting just enough to signal what was coming. Amari caught the movement instantly—the slight clench of his fists, the weight rolling onto the balls of his feet.

For a moment, it looked like they might actually swing.

Then—

The door swung open.

Another student stepped in, barely glancing at them as he made his way toward the sinks. The sudden presence forced them to step back, to let the heat of the moment cool.

The kid exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before shaking his head. "Whatever." He turned away, stepping toward the exit. "See you out there."

Amari watched him leave, his own breath steady as the tension settled.

(Back to the Waiting Room)

When Amari stepped back into his school’s waiting room, the air had shifted. The organizer was already there, standing tall, clipboard in hand, addressing the team.

"You’re up," he announced firmly. "Time to head to the fighting grounds."

Maverick straightened immediately, sharp focus returning to his expression. Milo cracked his knuckles, shaking off the tension, while Kenneth rolled his shoulders, adjusting his grip on his weapon.

Amari met the organizer’s gaze, his smirk subtle, unreadable.

"Let’s go."