The corridor outside the locker room was cold, lined with silver tiles that shimmered faintly under the neon glow. The echoes of cheering fans still pulsed through the walls, faint and distant now like a memory already fading. Dante walked alone, his boots clacking against the floor. His Titan name Blaze still echoed in his head, shouted by thousands during the match, yet the sound no longer thrilled him.
It had been a victory — at least, by the numbers. But deep down, he felt something else entirely.
He stopped before a digital window overlooking the stadium. From here, he could see the empty pitch, where only hours ago he had faced the team that once bore his name. New Era.
A hundred years. That was the gap between the man he used to be and the era he now walked in.
His fists clenched at the memory of Vladimir's smug grin. The way the New Era players had looked at him not with respect, but pity. To them, he was an outdated legend, a relic of a past too distant to matter.
