Between Giants by Dome-Mane

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The gym hummed with a rhythm Callisto knew well—the heavy thud of fists against leather, the sharp bark of trainers calling out drills, and the dull echo of feet shifting on well-worn mats. But today, the sounds felt distant. Callisto sat at the edge of the training ring, fingers hooked around the ropes as his eyes tracked the fighters around him, though his mind was somewhere else.


Two names echoed in his thoughts like a chant: "Shaver" and "Pretty Boy." They weren’t just competitors or even champions. They were forces, legends carved into the bones of the sport itself, and now they were set to collide in a match that no one could look away from.


For Callisto, it was more than a fight. He knew each man like the lines on his own hands—Leon, the relentless, brutal tactician now feared as Shaver; and Ryo, the agile and fiery spirit known to fans as Pretty Boy. Once, they’d been friends, even brothers of a kind. Now, they were rivals, locked on a path to destroy each other in the ring. And somehow, as Callisto watched them rise, he’d found himself at the intersection of their histories, carrying their secrets, and feeling the pull of loyalties torn in two directions.


With the championship fight looming, Callisto felt a chill settle deep in his chest. He was about to witness not just a battle of skill, but a clash of everything these two fighters stood for. And as he sat there, watching, he realized he was caught in the middle of a war between brothers—one he might not be able to walk away from unchanged.


Callisto sat at the edge of the training ring, his fingers gripping the ropes as he watched the commotion unfold before him. The gym was filled with the rhythmic thuds of fists hitting heavy bags, the shuffling of footwork on the mats, and the occasional bark of encouragement or correction from the coaches. Yet, for Callisto, his mind was far from this place, his thoughts tangled between two names that echoed through the halls of every fighting arena: "Shaver" and "Pretty Boy."


These two names were more than just fighters. They were legends in their own right, and now, they were on a collision course to face each other in the ultimate showdown. But how had it come to this? How had Callisto found himself so close to two titans destined to clash, each with a story that seemed to pull him deeper into their orbit?


Shaver, the reigning European champion, had earned his alias through both his fighting style and a peculiar ritual that sent shivers down the spines of his opponents. His victories weren't just about dominance in the ring; they were about complete submission. When Shaver stepped into the arena, he didn't just aim to win—he aimed to conquer. His signature move wasn't a punch or a kick, but a pair of clippers he brought with him to every fight. If you lost to Shaver, you lost more than the match; you lost your pride, your hair, and a piece of yourself. Those clippers were his tool of humiliation, a reminder that once you stepped into his ring, you played by his rules. His wall of victory at home was adorned with locks of hair from defeated opponents, each one a silent testament to his dominance.


The man behind the legend of Shaver was not always this ruthless. Callisto remembered when they were younger, training together under the same roof. Back then, Shaver was just Leon, a talented fighter with a hunger for perfection and an obsession with control. He was the type who believed that to become the best, you had to strip away everything unnecessary until only pure skill remained. It was this philosophy that transformed him into Shaver, the man who would strip his opponents bare, leaving nothing but their most vulnerable selves.


Pretty Boy, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. He was the reigning Asian champion, a fighter who could captivate the crowd with just a flick of his hair or a flash of his smile. His real name was Ryo, and to Callisto, he wasn’t just a champion; he was a friend, a brother in arms from their childhood. Ryo had earned his alias not because he lacked skill or ferocity, but because he possessed an almost infuriating beauty that never seemed to wane, even after the roughest of fights. His face was untouched by the brutality of the sport, his hair flowing in waves that made him look like he belonged on the cover of a magazine rather than in the blood-stained corners of a ring.


Pretty Boy never wanted this fight. He never wanted to face Shaver. The thought of going against someone who played by rules designed to dismantle and humiliate didn’t sit well with him. Ryo was a fighter of flair and grace, someone who thrived in the chaos of movement and the rhythm of combat. He danced in the ring, his punches landing like the beat of a drum, his kicks striking like the crescendo of a symphony. To him, fighting was as much about the artistry as it was about the victory. Facing Shaver would mean stepping into a different kind of battle—one where his pride and his very identity would be at stake.
But fate had a twisted way of pulling these two together. The championship tournament pitted them on a collision course, both champions tasked with facing off against the best from the other continent in the semi-finals. If they both succeeded, there would be no escaping the inevitable clash. Shaver and Pretty Boy, the two legends, would finally meet in an official match that the world had been waiting for.


Callisto couldn't help but feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He was more than just a spectator in this story. He was the link between the two worlds—the pupil of Shaver, trained under his ruthless philosophy of control and dominance, and the childhood friend of Pretty Boy, who had shared dreams and battles with him long before their paths diverged. Callisto was the silent witness to their transformations, the one who saw Leon become Shaver and Ryo become Pretty Boy.


He remembered those days when they were all just kids, full of raw ambition and untamed energy. The three of them had sparred together, laughed together, and even dreamed of conquering the world of fighting. Leon was always the disciplined one, the strategist, while Ryo was the wild spirit, the one who brought a sense of magic to their small training ring. Callisto was the bridge between them, the one who admired Leon’s control but was also drawn to Ryo’s fearless heart.


Now, as he watched from the sidelines, Callisto felt the storm brewing. He knew that once they stepped into the ring, it would not just be a fight between two champions—it would be a clash of ideologies, of everything they stood for. Shaver would come with his clippers, ready to strip away everything Ryo held dear. And Ryo, with his pride and his untamed spirit, would be forced to face a challenge that went against everything he believed in.
Callisto didn't know how this would end, but he knew one thing for sure: the world was about to witness a battle that would shake the very foundations of what it meant to be a fighter. And he, the amateur caught between two legends, would have to watch as his mentor and his best friend stepped into the ring, each ready to destroy the other.


This was more than just a match. It was destiny.

________________________________________

Callisto found himself caught between two worlds as the tension around the upcoming final match grew thicker. He'd watched both Shaver and Pretty Boy emerge victorious in their semi-final bouts, their fists carving a path to the ultimate showdown. The crowd's roar still echoed in his ears, and the weight of what was to come pressed down on him like a vise.


Despite the fierce rivalry brewing, Callisto knew he was lucky. Neither Leon—now known as Shaver—nor Ryo, his childhood friend who’d become Pretty Boy, knew the full extent of his relationship with the other. To Shaver, he was a loyal pupil who had soaked up his methods of precision and control; to Pretty Boy, he was a confidant from their younger days, a friend who remembered what it was like before they were pulled into the sport’s whirlwind.
Callisto took a deep breath as he headed to the dingy basement gym where Shaver did most of his training. This was the first stop of his double-duty day, the role of the dedicated pupil. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and the distant hum of old, buzzing lights. As he entered, he saw Shaver already there, wrapped in focus, working the speed bag with rapid, relentless punches. His movements were smooth, efficient—every hit deliberate, every second calculated.
When Shaver noticed Callisto approaching, he paused, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp with an edge that always made Callisto feel like he was being sized up. "You're late," Shaver said flatly, his tone more amused than accusing. "You’d better not be slacking off, or I’ll have to make an example out of you."
"Sorry, coach," Callisto replied with a wry smile, trying to lighten the mood. "Had to make sure I was ready for our session. Wouldn't want to disappoint the great Shaver, now, would I?"


Shaver's mouth curled into a smirk as he grabbed his water bottle. "Good answer, Callisto. You know, most people think they can take it easy because they’re not the ones stepping into the ring. But that’s where they’re wrong. If you’re not willing to train like you’re the one fighting, then you might as well step aside."


Callisto nodded, though his thoughts drifted to Ryo for a moment. Shaver was all business today, and he knew where the conversation was heading—straight to the trash talk.


"Speaking of stepping aside," Shaver continued, leaning against the ropes, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light, "Pretty Boy won’t know what hit him. You know he’s all show, right? Fancy footwork, a smile for the cameras, and that ridiculous hair. I swear, if I land just one clean shot on that pretty face of his, he'll crumble like the fraud he is. And then—" Shaver’s grin widened, almost feral, "I’m taking that hair of his. That’s going to be the highlight of my collection."


Callisto tried to keep his expression neutral, despite the knot in his stomach. He couldn't let on that he knew Pretty Boy personally—not yet. "You really think he doesn’t have what it takes to stand up to you?"


Shaver’s laugh was a short bark of amusement. "Callisto, please. Pretty Boy's entire strategy is built on flair. He’s like a circus act, putting on a show for the audience. But this is a fight, not some performance art. When the time comes, he won’t be able to keep up with me. He can dodge and dance all he wants, but I'll cut him down, layer by layer, until there’s nothing left but the look of defeat on his face." He paused, then added with a twisted grin, "And then I’ll make sure he leaves that ring bald. Just like the rest of them."


The conviction in Shaver’s voice was chilling, but Callisto knew he couldn’t let it shake him. He’d heard enough for now; it was time to head to his next rendezvous. Making his excuses, he left the gym, his mind already racing with how to handle the other half of his day.
________________________________________

Later that evening, Callisto arrived at a much different setting—a rooftop training area, open to the sky, where the cool night air brushed against his skin. Ryo was there, Pretty Boy in all his glory, his tousled hair catching the breeze, his expression relaxed as he stretched, his muscles fluid and at ease. When he saw Callisto, a smile lit up his face, not the practiced smile he showed the world but something genuine, like they were kids again.
"Callisto, you’re here!" Ryo said, almost too casually, as he dropped his hands to his sides. "You better not have been spending too much time with that buzz-cut freak. Wouldn’t want you picking up any bad habits before the big fight."
Callisto chuckled, shaking his head. "You know me better than that, Ryo. Just here to help you get ready. Although, if I’m being honest, Shaver’s been talking a lot of smack about you."

Ryo’s smile didn’t waver, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a spark of defiance. "Oh, I’m sure he has," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Let me guess: he’s going on about how he’s going to humiliate me, turn me into another one of his 'trophies,' right? How he's going to use those clippers of his like he’s some barber in a bad action movie."


"Pretty much," Callisto said, feeling the tension of the situation. "He’s convinced you’re all flash and no substance. Says that one good punch and you’ll fall apart."


Ryo’s laugh was rich, ringing out across the rooftop. "Let him think that," he said, the confidence in his voice like a steady beat. "Shaver’s so obsessed with his control, with breaking people down piece by piece, that he forgets something important. Fighting isn’t just about stripping your opponent down—it’s about rising above them. It’s about the heart, the spirit. And, Callisto, I’ve got more spirit in my pinky than he has in his entire rulebook."


Ryo’s eyes gleamed with that familiar mischief, and he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "And let me tell you something. When I get into that ring, I’m not just going to beat him—I’m going to embarrass him. All that precision of his? It’s useless if he can’t land a hit. I’ll dance circles around him, and when he’s huffing and puffing, wondering why he can’t touch me, that’s when I’ll make my move. And you know what the best part is?"
Callisto raised an eyebrow. "What’s that?"


Ryo grinned, running a hand through his hair dramatically. "I’m going to leave that ring with every strand of this hair intact. Let him come at me with his clippers—I’ll make sure he’s the one who walks out feeling like he’s been shaved down to nothing. The world thinks Shaver’s unbeatable, but I’m going to show them that sometimes, no amount of precision can handle raw, unstoppable talent."


Callisto couldn’t help but smile. It was so typical of Ryo, turning even the threat of humiliation into a challenge he intended to flip on its head. And in that moment, he knew he was witnessing the beginning of something legendary—a clash not just of skill, but of wills, of philosophies, of everything that made these two fighters who they were.


As he left the rooftop, his mind was spinning. He’d just listened to both Shaver and Pretty Boy throw down the gauntlet in their own ways, each man utterly convinced of his own superiority. Callisto knew that when the final bell rang, only one of them would be left standing in that ring. And he, standing in the middle of these two forces of nature, couldn’t help but feel the pull of both sides—drawn to the ruthless discipline of Shaver, yet captivated by the wild spirit of Pretty Boy.


The countdown to the final fight had begun, and Callisto was right at the heart of it all.


Callisto sat in the corner of a small café near the gym, the hum of conversations and the clinking of cups blending into the background. The warm aroma of roasted coffee wafted through the air as he stared into his drink, lost in thought. The upcoming fight weighed heavily on him. Shaver and Pretty Boy—two men he was tied to in ways no one else could understand—were on a collision course, and soon, one of them would be crowned the undisputed champion.
Just as he took a sip of his drink, a shadow loomed over his table. He looked up to see a familiar face—Bruno, one of the more seasoned fighters from the gym. Bruno had been around long enough to know both Shaver and Pretty Boy by reputation, and while he wasn’t a close friend, he had a knack for prying into other people’s business.


"Mind if I join you?" Bruno didn’t wait for an answer before pulling out a chair and sitting down, his grin wide and full of mischief. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Heard you’ve been spending time with both Pretty Boy and Shaver."
Callisto chuckled, setting his cup down. "Word travels fast, huh?"


Bruno shrugged. "Fighters gossip more than old ladies sometimes. But you can’t blame them. Everyone’s talking about the final. Pretty Boy and Shaver, two champions, and you’ve got a foot in both camps. That’s quite the position to be in." He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "So, who’s it going to be, Callisto? Who are you betting on?"


Callisto hesitated. He hadn’t even allowed himself to make a choice, not yet. How could he? Both Shaver and Pretty Boy had their strengths, and he had loyalties to both. But he knew Bruno wouldn’t let him off easy.


Bruno leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. "Come on, Callisto. You can’t sit on the fence forever. You’ve trained under Shaver’s watchful eye. You’ve seen how the guy operates—he’s ruthless, methodical. And then there’s Pretty Boy, your childhood buddy. You’ve been in his corner since the beginning. I’m sure you’ve got thoughts. Let’s hear them."


Callisto took a deep breath, knowing Bruno wouldn’t leave until he had a good answer. "Alright, let’s break it down," he began, gathering his thoughts.
________________________________________

"Shaver’s biggest strength is his control. Everything he does is calculated. He’s got that cold precision that leaves nothing to chance. When he steps into the ring, it’s like he’s already fought the fight in his head. He knows his opponents, studies their weaknesses, and then picks them apart, one piece at a time. His footwork is solid, his defense is nearly impenetrable, and once he starts breaking you down, it’s only a matter of time before he finishes you off."
Bruno nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, that’s what I’ve heard. They say fighting Shaver is like trying to escape quicksand. The more you struggle, the deeper you sink."


"Exactly," Callisto agreed. "It’s not just physical, either. He’s got this psychological edge. He intimidates his opponents before they even step into the ring. And that whole thing with the clippers? It’s more than just a gimmick. It messes with people’s heads. They’re not just fighting to win—they’re fighting to keep their dignity. Shaver feeds off that fear. The more scared they are, the stronger he becomes."


Bruno grinned. "I can see that. The guy’s a predator. So, is that where you’re placing your bet?"
Callisto paused, knowing there was more to the story. "Not so fast."
________________________________________

"Then there’s Pretty Boy," Callisto continued, his tone shifting as he thought of Ryo. "Ryo’s... different. He’s unpredictable. People underestimate him because of how he looks, how he carries himself, but once he’s in the ring, it’s like watching a dancer—no, an artist at work. His movements are fluid, and he never stays in one place for too long. He uses his speed and agility to outmaneuver his opponents, and when he strikes, it’s fast and precise."
Bruno tilted his head. "But can that really hold up against someone as methodical as Shaver? I mean, Shaver’s going to wait him out, right? Wear him down?"
"That’s what most people think," Callisto admitted, "but they forget how hard it is to land a clean hit on Ryo. He’s always a step ahead. His ability to read the flow of a fight and adjust on the fly is second to none. He doesn’t need to break you down like Shaver does. All he needs is one opening, one mistake, and he’ll turn the fight in his favor. His striking is just as dangerous as Shaver’s, but it’s less about power and more about placement. If you leave your guard open for even a second, he’ll make you pay for it."


Bruno’s smirk returned, but there was a glint of curiosity in his eyes now. "So, what you’re saying is, it’s a battle between two extremes—precision versus unpredictability, control versus chaos."


Callisto nodded. "Yeah, that’s exactly it. Shaver thrives on breaking his opponents down systematically, while Pretty Boy shines in the chaos, where anything can happen. It’s why this fight is going to be so hard to predict. They’re both champions for a reason."


Bruno leaned forward again, his fingers tapping the table. "But that doesn’t answer the real question, does it? Who are you betting on, Callisto? You know these guys better than anyone. Deep down, who do you think is going to come out on top?"


Callisto sat back, crossing his arms as he considered his answer. He could feel the weight of his relationships with both men pulling him in different directions. He’d trained under Shaver, learned from him, admired his discipline and mastery over the ring. But with Ryo, it was different. Ryo was his friend, someone he’d grown up with, fought beside, and watched rise to the top with his own unique style.


"I’ll be honest, Bruno," Callisto said finally, his voice steady. "It’s too close to call. Shaver has the advantage when it comes to controlling the fight, but Ryo… Ryo has this ability to surprise you, to come out of nowhere when you least expect it. If Shaver makes even the smallest mistake, Ryo will capitalize on it. But if Ryo gets too flashy, if he doesn’t respect Shaver’s ability to cut him down, then it could be over before he even knows what hit him."


Bruno whistled low, clearly impressed by Callisto’s analysis. "Sounds like you’re playing it safe with a ‘too close to call’ bet."


Callisto smiled slightly. "Maybe I am. Or maybe I just know that this fight is going to come down to more than just skill. It’s going to be about who wants it more. Shaver fights to dominate, to prove he’s the best. But Ryo? He fights with heart. And sometimes, that’s enough to tip the scales."


Bruno raised an eyebrow. "So, no bet then?"


Callisto shook his head. "I’m not betting on this one. I’m just going to watch, and whatever happens... happens."


Bruno leaned back, his smirk returning. "Fair enough. But I’ll be honest, if I were you, I’d be leaning toward Shaver. That guy’s a machine."


Callisto said nothing, but in his mind, he knew that whatever the outcome, this fight wasn’t just about skill. It was about something deeper—pride, control, identity. And no matter who won, the aftermath would be felt by everyone, including himself.


As Bruno stood to leave, he slapped Callisto on the back. "Well, I’ll keep my money on the machine. Let’s see who’s right when the dust settles."
Callisto watched him walk away, feeling the pressure build as the fight drew nearer. There would be no easy answer, no clear winner in this storm. But one thing was certain: when Shaver and Pretty Boy stepped into that ring, it would be a battle for the ages.


The stadium was buzzing with anticipation, the roar of the crowd already echoing through the hallways as Callisto made his way through the back corridors. It was the day of the final phase—a day he’d known was coming, but still felt unprepared for. The moment of truth had arrived for both Shaver and Pretty Boy, two men who had come to mean so much to him in different ways. He was torn between them, but he knew he had to be there for both, even if it meant splitting his heart in two.


He found Ryo, known to the world as Pretty Boy, in the locker room. The usually calm, almost carefree expression on Ryo’s face was replaced by a tight-lipped tension. His fists were clenched at his sides, his eyes darting from the floor to the walls as though looking for some answer he couldn’t quite find.
"Hey," Callisto said softly, approaching his old friend.


Ryo’s eyes flickered up to meet his, and for a moment, Callisto saw the vulnerability there—the doubt that Ryo tried so hard to hide from the world. He knew Ryo had always carried the weight of being underestimated, of being seen as just a pretty face in a brutal sport. And now, as he faced the biggest fight of his life, that weight seemed heavier than ever.


"You okay?" Callisto asked, his voice gentle.


Ryo forced a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah, I’m good," he said, too quickly. "Just... you know, thinking about strategy."


Callisto didn’t buy it for a second. He knew Ryo too well. "Come on, Ryo. Talk to me. What’s really going on?"


Ryo hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor again. He took a deep breath, and when he looked up, the mask finally fell away. "I’m overwhelmed, Cal," he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. "I’ve always been the underdog, and I’ve always been fine with that, but this... this is different. Shaver’s on another level, and everyone expects him to win. They see me as just a pretty face who got lucky. And now, I’m starting to wonder if they’re right."


Callisto’s heart ached for his friend. He remembered the days when they were just kids, sparring in the backyard, dreaming of moments like this. Ryo had always fought with heart, with passion, but he’d never let the pressure get to him like this. Seeing him doubt himself now, at the pinnacle of his career, was almost more than Callisto could bear.

Without a word, Callisto stepped forward and pulled Ryo into a hug—a firm, reassuring embrace that spoke of years of friendship, of battles fought side by side. Ryo tensed for a moment, then relaxed, his arms coming up to wrap around Callisto in return. Callisto could feel the slight tremble in Ryo’s shoulders, the way his breath hitched as he let himself be vulnerable, just for a moment.


"You’re not just a pretty face, Ryo," Callisto said softly, his voice steady. "You’re the toughest guy I know. You’ve got more heart than anyone in that ring, and you’ve earned your place here, fair and square. You’re not the underdog because you’re weaker. You’re the underdog because they don’t see what I see. You’ve got something that Shaver doesn’t have. You’ve got the fight in you. You’ve got soul."


Ryo pulled back slightly, looking up at Callisto with a faint smile. "You always know what to say, don’t you?" he said, his voice a little steadier now.
Callisto grinned and ruffled Ryo’s hair like he used to when they were kids. "Just like the old days, huh? Remember when you used to get mad when I messed up your hair?"


Ryo laughed, a real laugh this time, the tension in his eyes easing just a bit. "Yeah, I remember. I’d chase you around for an hour trying to get you back for that."


"Good times," Callisto said, his smile softening. "Now go out there and show them who you really are, Pretty Boy."
________________________________________

As soon as he left Ryo’s side, Callisto felt a shift in the air—a presence that was impossible to ignore. It was like a wave of raw energy, confidence, and an almost predatory calm. He turned the corner and there stood Leon, the man known as Shaver, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, his eyes fixed on Callisto with a look that was both intense and inviting.


"Callisto," Leon said, a small smile playing on his lips. He pushed off the wall and walked toward him, his movements smooth and controlled, every bit the fighter who ruled the ring with precision. "I was wondering when you’d show up."


Callisto met his gaze, trying to read the emotions behind those eyes. Leon had always been harder to read, his confidence so absolute that it bordered on arrogance. But today, there was something else there—a flicker of vulnerability, buried deep beneath the layers of control.


"I’m here," Callisto said simply. "You ready for this?"


Leon’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "More than ready. I have to win this fight, Cal. Not just for the title, but for everything I’ve worked for. This has been my dream—to prove that I’m the best, to take that final step and cement my legacy. And I need you there, in my corner. I need you to believe in me, just like you always have."


Callisto felt a pang in his chest. Leon’s words were so earnest, so raw. It was rare to see him like this—vulnerable, almost pleading. He nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "You know I’m with you, Leon. I’ve always been with you."


Leon’s expression softened, and for a moment, he seemed almost relieved. He reached out, resting a hand on Callisto’s shoulder, his grip firm but not forceful. "Good," he said quietly. "Because I’m going to win this fight, Cal. I have to. And when I do, I want you to be there to see it."


Callisto nodded, knowing that this was more than just a fight for Leon. It was a battle for his identity, his pride, everything he believed in. He gave Leon a small, supportive smile. "You’ve got this, Leon. Just do what you always do—stay in control, keep your focus. You’ve trained your whole life for this moment."
Leon’s eyes met his, a flicker of gratitude passing through them. "Thanks, Callisto," he said, his voice softer than usual. "It means a lot coming from you."
________________________________________

The moment Callisto had been dreading finally arrived. The three of them—Shaver, Pretty Boy, and himself—found themselves in the same corridor, just outside the ring. The energy in the air was electric, charged with the anticipation of what was about to unfold. Shaver’s eyes locked onto Pretty Boy’s the moment he saw him, and for a heartbeat, the world seemed to stand still.


"Well, well," Leon said, his voice dripping with the calm arrogance that defined him. "Look who decided to show up. You ready for a real fight, Pretty Boy?"
Ryo’s jaw clenched, but he kept his expression steady. He met Leon’s gaze head-on, refusing to back down. "I’ve been ready for this my whole life, Shaver. Don’t think I’m going to make it easy for you."


Callisto could feel the tension crackling between them like a live wire. He stood there, caught in the middle, his heart torn in two directions. He knew both men so well—their strengths, their weaknesses, their hopes and dreams. And now, he was watching them stare each other down, each determined to prove himself the better man.


Leon’s smile turned sharp, predatory. "Good. I’d hate to waste my time on someone who doesn’t even belong in the ring with me. But don’t worry, I’ll make sure to leave you with a little souvenir when I’m done. Maybe a new haircut will suit you."


Ryo’s eyes narrowed, but instead of anger, there was a spark of determination. He smirked, a hint of the old Ryo coming through. "You talk a big game, Shaver. Let’s see if you can back it up when the gloves come off. Because once I’m in that ring, I’m not just fighting to win. I’m fighting to show everyone that I’m more than just a pretty face."


Callisto stepped forward, placing a hand on each of their shoulders, feeling the heat of their rivalry radiate off them. "Listen, both of you," he said, his voice firm. "You’re both champions, no matter what happens out there today. Just remember why you’re fighting. Not for the crowd, not for the glory—but for yourselves. Prove to yourselves that you’re the best."


For a moment, neither Shaver nor Pretty Boy said anything. Then, almost in unison, they both nodded, their eyes still locked on each other. Callisto knew that whatever happened next, it would be a fight that neither of them would ever forget. And as he stepped back, giving them both space, he knew that his heart was with both of them—two warriors, two friends, fighting not just for victory, but for everything they believed in.


As the bell rang in the distance, signaling that it was time for the fighters to take their places, Callisto watched them both walk toward the ring. He had given them his support, his friendship


The fight was over. The stadium that had been roaring with cheers and gasps was now a cacophony of celebration and heartbreak. Leon, or Shaver, stood victorious in the center of the ring, his arm raised high by the referee. His chest heaved with deep breaths, sweat glistening off his skin, but the expression on his face was one of pure satisfaction—a predator that had hunted and conquered.


Callisto found himself at a loss for words as he watched Leon bask in the moment. He felt a rush of mixed emotions—pride for his friend’s achievement, but also a pang of sadness for Ryo, who had given everything he had but came up just short. It was never easy, seeing someone you care about reach their dream while another’s was shattered in the same instant.


As the crowd began to disperse, Callisto made his way to Leon’s side. He was still surrounded by trainers, officials, and the media, everyone eager to get a piece of the new champion. When Leon’s eyes finally met Callisto’s, a grin broke across his face, one that was both triumphant and relieved.


"You did it," Callisto said, shaking his head in disbelief as he approached. "You really did it, Shaver."


Leon let out a breathy laugh, pulling Callisto into a rough hug, their shoulders colliding with the kind of force only two fighters would consider normal. "Of course I did," Leon said, his voice brimming with confidence. "Did you ever doubt me?"


Callisto smirked, stepping back but keeping his hand on Leon’s shoulder. "Not for a second. You were incredible out there. You fought like a man possessed."


Leon’s eyes softened for a moment, his smile turning almost genuine. "Thanks, Cal. I needed you there with me, you know. I needed that belief. And now," he said, his grin widening to a mischievous smirk, "there’s something I want to show you. Come with me."
________________________________________

Leon led Callisto through a series of hallways until they reached a part of the facility where only a few were allowed—his private training quarters. Callisto followed, his curiosity piqued. They stopped in front of a plain-looking door, and when Leon pushed it open, Callisto’s breath caught in his throat.
The room was unlike anything he’d ever seen. It was a shrine to Leon’s victories—his "Wall of Victory." The walls were adorned with framed photographs of Leon’s past fights, the moments where he stood over his defeated opponents, victorious and unwavering. But what drew Callisto’s eyes were the rows upon rows of hair clippings, each encased in glass, with small plaques bearing the names of the fighters they once belonged to.


"These," Leon said, gesturing proudly to the display, "are my side trophies. Proof that I don’t just beat my opponents—I dominate them. I take something from them that they can never get back."


Callisto’s eyes moved over the wall, recognizing some of the names, some of the hair samples that seemed to tell their own story of humiliation and submission. He felt a mix of awe and discomfort. This was Leon’s way of cementing his legacy, but there was a cruelty to it, a ruthless finality that seemed to contrast with the Leon he thought he knew.


"It’s… impressive," Callisto said slowly, not sure how to express the complexity of his feelings. "You’ve really built something here, Leon. Something no one can take away from you."


Leon nodded, his eyes flicking to Callisto with a sharp intensity. "That’s right. This is my proof, Cal. Every one of these fighters thought they could take me, and every one of them ended up like this," he said, pointing to a particularly prominent clump of hair from a former champion. "This fight with Pretty Boy? It’s just another trophy on my wall. But it’s the one that means the most."


Callisto nodded, forcing a smile, though his mind was already drifting to Ryo. He knew he needed to be there for his old friend, to pick up the pieces of a shattered dream. Leon’s victory was monumental, but Callisto’s heart wasn’t ready to fully celebrate just yet.
________________________________________

Later that night, Callisto found himself at Ryo’s apartment, a place that was much quieter, more subdued than the roaring stadium or Leon’s intimidating Wall of Victory. The air here was filled with something different—disappointment, but also a sense of calm, of acceptance that comes after a storm.


Ryo was sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, staring at the TV that was playing the highlights of the fight on mute. He looked up when Callisto entered, and for a moment, the mask of composure slipped. There was a flicker of raw emotion in his eyes—pain, frustration, but also a hint of relief that he didn’t have to hide it in front of Callisto.


"Hey," Callisto said, his voice gentle as he closed the door behind him. "Mind some company?"


Ryo shrugged, giving a small, tired smile. "As long as you didn’t bring champagne to celebrate Shaver’s win."


Callisto chuckled softly, sitting down next to Ryo. "Nah, no champagne. Just me and this," he said, holding up a bag of takeout. "Figured you could use some comfort food."


Ryo’s smile widened a bit, and he took the bag, setting it on the floor between them. For a moment, they ate in silence, the sound of their chewing the only thing breaking the quiet. Then, as the last bite disappeared, Ryo sighed, leaning his head back against the couch.


"I gave it everything I had, Cal," he said quietly. "I fought with everything in me, but it wasn’t enough. He was just… too good."


Callisto reached over and ruffled Ryo’s hair, just like he had earlier that day, the gesture filled with the same brotherly affection they’d shared since they were kids. "You were amazing out there, Ryo. You went toe-to-toe with Shaver, and you didn’t back down once. You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of."


Ryo closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath as he leaned into the touch. "It’s hard, you know? All my life, I’ve been fighting against this idea that I’m just a pretty face. I wanted to prove I’m more than that, that I’m a real fighter. And today, it felt like I failed."


"You didn’t fail," Callisto said firmly, pulling Ryo into a side hug, squeezing him close. "You showed everyone what you’re made of. You’ve got heart, Ryo. And that’s something not even Shaver can take from you."


Ryo was silent for a moment, then he let out a small, rueful laugh. "You always know how to make me feel better, don’t you?" he said, his voice softening. "Even when I feel like the biggest loser in the world."


"You’re not a loser," Callisto said, looking Ryo in the eyes. "You’re my best friend. And I’m proud of you, no matter what. You stood your ground in that ring against the best of the best. That’s something no one can ever take away from you."


Ryo’s eyes glistened with emotion, and for a moment, the pain seemed to lift from his face. He nodded slowly, leaning his head against Callisto’s shoulder, just like he used to do when they were kids. "Thanks, Cal. For always being there. I don’t know what I’d do without you."


Callisto tightened his arm around Ryo, feeling the weight of his friend’s trust and the bond that had brought them to this moment. "You’ll never have to find out," he said softly. "I’m here, Ryo. Always."


And as they sat there, two friends in the quiet aftermath of dreams and losses, Callisto knew that this moment, more than any victory or defeat, was what truly mattered.

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