Bart's entire back and both knees were brimming with arrows; he might need to dive for a few days to recuperate properly. Slowly pulling them out one by one, the blood wouldn't stop flowing, and before he could even bind up with bandages, he saw the schadenfreude on Lawson's face—
Shit.
Even though this was a live broadcast, Bart could barely control the urge to curse.
So should he admit he was wrong?
A man could lose his head or bleed out, but his hair must never be messed up.
What mattered wasn't the hair, but face.
Slapping his own face on a nationwide live broadcast was utterly humiliating.
But... but...
Imagine, with the whole league singing praises, he might be one of the few voices of dissent, and Bart's ambitious spirit was suddenly ignited:
The Buddha said, "If I do not go to hell, who will?"
He should speak out for other rookies; he should play the role of cooling the entire league down; he was the Iron Man—
