The deafening sound of applause still echoed off the white marble walls of the amphitheater.
For Kenjiro Tanaka—now just the fragile, dark-haired goth boy breathing heavily in the center of the arena—that sound was unlike anything he had ever experienced. In his past life, applause came in the form of likes, comments on workout videos, and superficial stares of admiration on beaches and in gyms. It was a validation of his ego. A massage for his armor of muscles.
But this... this was raw. It was real.
It was the sound of gratitude.
The colossal entity that had projected from his back—that leviathan of hypertrophied muscle, popping veins, and pure meathead spiritual energy—had already dissipated, melting into the air like hot steam after an insane winter workout.
