One Man Saves the World Story
They were thinking about it when their smiles tightened at the corners, and their eyes sparked with fire that wasn't all loving. But they did their best, for Tyson's sake—for everyone's sake, maybe, in retrospect—to stomp those subversive flames out of their hearts and only fuel the ever-burning fire of love.
But whether more afire with love than hate, the shared glances of cold knowledge remained.
Usually it happened when the paparazzi called him by his favorite nickname, "The Champ"… rubbing at them… starting to expose raw nerves to the love-heated air. And it stung, when Tyson felt entitled and felt like he was so fucking great.
They could confront him about it, and he'd cry to get his way, and feel all entitled—and maybe eventually he'd learn something… but those lessons were always short lived. When they hissed and pointed at the engravings on his tournament nameplates, saying, "NOT ALONE!"—Tyson would nod, but not remember for long.
So, "Not alone…" they could only whisper—whimper—amongst themselves, when he was "The Champ". The one and only.
Bladebreakers, Max, Daichi be damned.
All others be damned. All other World Champions engraved on his trophies be damned.