Page 212 of Celestial Combat

The first round started.

Zane lounged casually, one hand on the joystick, the other tapping buttons with that irritating confidence of someone who thought he’d already won. He got the first hit in – sure – but that was the last clean move he landed. I countered. Sidestepped. Juggled him into a corner with quick combos I remembered from way too many Friday nights in high school arcades.

“Wait –What the helly?” he muttered, leaning in.

I laughed loudly, realizing he’d now started copying the silly little phrases I’d say from the internet. Still, I was too busy decimating him. Final blow, KO. My player stood tall, victorious on screen.

Zane stared at the results like they’d personally offended him.

“You let me win, right?” I teased.

He leaned back in the chair, smirking. “Absolutely not. Rematch.”

The next rounds were closer. He got a few more hits in, even knocked me down once. But I got back up, ducked his rage art, and ended it with a flawless ‘finish him.

When the third KO splashed across the screen, I dropped the joystick with a smug grin. “So… Sacred ground, huh?”

Zane slumped in his seat with an exaggerated sigh. “Damn. You’re ruthless.”

“I know that’s right.”

He chuckled, that golden mischief lighting up his face. “No complaints here. Watching you destroy me like that? Kind of hot.”

I bumped my shoulder against his. “Guess I’ll go easy on you next time.”

“Don’t,” he said, grinning wider. “I like watching you win.”

My heart pulled just slightly at that – at how genuine it sounded. Not mockery. Not ego. Just warmth.

“If I had to lose to someone…” He glanced over at me again, that look settling into something a little softer. “I’d pick you every time.”

I blinked, surprised by the sudden sincerity.

Leaning in, I pressed my lips to his, my hands holding onto his forearm for support.

“Let’s get out of here, champion,” he said. “You’ve got bragging rights to last a lifetime.”

As we walked away, a claw machine blinked in hypnotic, pastel colors – glassy-eyed plushies stacked in a chaos of limbs and fluff. I squinted through the glass, zeroing in on a little tanuki wedged between a grinning octopus and a watermelon-shaped hamster.

“That one,” I said, tugging on Zane’s arm and pointing. “I need him.”

Zane leaned closer, arms folded as he studied the angles like we were planning a tactical mission. “You sure? That tanuki looks trapped. Like… Existentially.”

I erupted in laughter before leaning into Zane’s side. “I believe in him!”

He chuckled, handed me a coin. “Go on, then. Show me what you’re made of.”

I slipped it in, took a breath, and steered the claw over the tanuki with surgical precision. Zane leaned over my shoulder, unnecessarily close.

“You’re gonna miss it,” he murmured.

“No faith,” I said, and hit the drop button.

The claw descended with a mechanical whir, grazed past the hamster, and clamped down on the tanuki’s head with a littleclickof fate. For a moment, it wobbled in the air – like it might fall. I held my breath.Zane did too, though he’d never admit it. Then, with a tiny thunk, the claw deposited it into the prize chute.

I turned around triumphantly and held it up. “Behold. My tiny raccoon son.”

Zane deadpanned. “That thing is the size of my fist.”

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