The announcer said, "The winner of the first round is Ohma, the Berserker!"
The crowd roared.
"Why such the sad expression?" I asked Blemish.
He didn't answer. Instead, he kept his head low while clenching his fist.
"Sorry. That was a dumb question," I said. "Anybody would be dejected if they lost."
"It's fine," Blemish said.
The young man raised his head, showing the tears that spilled down his cheeks.
And yet, he was smiling.
"In the end, I couldn't win this tournament, but I can still save my tribe. Getting in the brackets is a tremendous accomplishment in and of itself, so I'm sure to gain a bunch of sponsors.
Blemish then pointed a finger at me and said, "You may have defeated me, but I haven't lost!"
I raised an eyebrow, having no idea what he was talking about.
"You know, Blemish," I said. "I'm always looking for strong people to join my party."
"Sorry, but I'll have to pass. I only work with Scaum."
