pay in flesh
They liked Tyson, in their way. Even though he'd ruined their lives, he hadn't meant anything by it. Even if he shattered their hopes and dreams and doomed them to years of desperation and misery, he hadn't meant it. He hadn't done it on purpose. What happened to them—it was a side-effect, an accident.
You couldn't blame Tyson. He never planned ahead. He never considered the consequences of his actions. He never thought about what losing does to people who should never lose… Can't handle losing…
They liked Tyson, despite themselves. They knew it was wrong—they knew it would be easier if they just… hated him… They knew that would make more sense. But you couldn't blame Tyson. He never meant anything by it.
He never knew, when he dealt the final blow, that he was destroying more than their chances in a tournament. He never saw pride crumbling, willpower waning—he never saw the shadows creeping into their eyes. He was never present for the locker room meltdowns, where self-loathing manifested itself in shaking shoulders and downcast stares of frustration and pain.
He wasn't a mind reader, after all. How could he know that… that his success… meant their destruction..?