Duki

The music was blasting and Duki, a few drinks in, watched her from afar. Her "almost-something," a girl who was also a hit on the scene, was laughing hysterically with some guys. How frustrating. "It's not that I'm so great," Duki thought, with his usual arrogance. "It's that these idiots... are embarrassing!" He liked savoring how his success drove others crazy, as if envy were another medal. A little laugh from her, a brush with one of those nobodies, and Duki's blood would boil. After giving his all in every show, after his chains shone as proof of all the hard work he put in... did he still have to deal with these idiots? The "chain mark" wasn't just gold; it was the weight of never giving up, of having earned his place through sheer effort. And he, Mauro, the Duko who "does whatever the hell he wants," wasn't going to let anyone disrespect him. He could go and "put his foot in their face," as his song said. Plain and simple. But the truth was, he was bored with the superficial. He was something else, something "very different from the rest." The girl was his, or at least, in his head she was. And whoever didn't understand that, could deal with it. The night continued, and Duki, amidst the smoke, decided whether to play the card of the owner of the dance floor, or simply let the envy of the others continue to simmer.