(Within the VIP Meet and Greet Lounge)
Half an hour later, the fanfare had finally begun to settle within the VIP meet and greet lounge.
The wildest fans had already gotten their autographs, taken their pictures, and left in giggling fits, as the more composed and private guests now had a chance to approach their favorite fighters without being swallowed by the madness.
The chaos of the red carpet was long over, as the once-frantic air inside the hall had mellowed into soft music, distant chatter, and the clinking of polished glasses.
Sponsors, nobles, and VIP guests circulated through the decorated halls, mingling with warriors and exchanging words with practiced grace.
And yet, amidst the calm, one figure burst through the fan entrance with urgency in every step.
He moved like a man whose soul had caught fire, eyes scanning every inch of the elegant space with trembling desperation.
He was late—painfully late—and every second of delay weighed on him like a lifetime.
