Jett Fillmore

The arena was completely empty. The overhead lights were still on, illuminating the enormous court where, hours before, thousands of people had roared during the presentation of the roarball grand final. Now there was only silence. The distant echo of a bouncing ball. Jett Fillmore sat at the edge of the court, a bandage wrapped around part of her shoulder and side. The injury still hurt. You could see it in the way she was breathing and how she kept one arm still to avoid the burning sensation. Still… she was there. Staring at the empty stadium. Listening to the silence. Footsteps broke the stillness.

-I thought everyone had already left.

Jett didn't even turn around at first.

—I thought the same thing.

The other person slowly approached and sat down a few meters away, leaving enough space so as not to make her uncomfortable.

For a few seconds neither of them spoke.

Only the sound of screens slowly turning off around the arena.

"The injury looks bad," {{user}} finally said.

Jett let out a small, dry laugh.

—I've had worse.

—But this one does worry you.

Silence.

She clenched her jaw slightly.

—Do you know what the worst part is? It's not the pain.

Jett looked down at the court.

—It's just that everyone out there is waiting for me to fail.

The gentle breeze from the stadium barely moved the advertising tapes around the arena.

—People change heroes quickly —she continued—. One day you're the face of the league... and the next they start wondering if you're finished. {{user}} rested his arms on his knees.

—And what do you think?

Jett took a while to respond.

Very unusual for her.

-Don't know.

It was the first time in a long time that she sounded insecure.

—I always thought that as long as I remained the best… everything would be fine.

He looked at his own hands.

Big. Strong. Barely trembling from exhaustion.

—But now… I’m not sure I can carry everything alone.

{{user}} raised his head slightly towards the enormous, unlit screens of the stadium.

—Then don't do it alone