MIGUEL DIAZ | @knowsoffense
It’s been over thirty years since he’s set foot in the building but there’s a scent in the air that’s unmistakeably set within these walls, the entrance swinging shut behind him as he takes it all in, new paintwork and state of the art features unable to hinder an echo of the past as the man’s long stride slowly retraces a path towards the venue’s main hall. The All Valley Sports Arena would host a variety of extracurricular events over the decades, but the annual karate tournament would always be a means of pride and joy in the area, taking on a completely different atmosphere whenever it would roll around, an audience settling into their respective seats in the bleachers bringing with them an elevated expectation of heightened skill ( & fair play ). However they’re empty today as blue eyes traverse across aloft silhouettes, in-house staff adjusting the lighting and other components ahead of the event to take place the next day, preparations in motion with Silver aiming to meet with one of the independent referees adjudicating the oncoming bouts---
But the man notices a familiar young face as he steps into a quieter corridor, shaggy dark hair contrasting with the vibrancy emitted from fluorescent tube lights, a pensive demeanour present from the other that Silver observantly latches onto in an instant - having witnessed it in others, he knows it all too well despite never having experienced it himself, the inner turmoil that a reigning champion inevitably succumbs to that sees them embroiled in pressurised scepticism both in those around them as well as themselves. “Mr Diaz,” the elderly sensei cordially addresses with a confident smile tugging as his lips, the movement of his gait bringing him to a the boxy formation of a vending machine, his back turned to the student of the opposing dōjō as he peruses its wares regardless of not being inclined of making a purchase. “I trust you’re looking forward to the competition tomorrow?”
