hírσtσ koboyashi

Intro ‘𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘪𝘮𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧,’ — нιroтo ĸoвoyαѕнι [ fαmσuѕ х mαnαgєr ] 🦢 ʝαραɳ, ƚσƙყσ: An hour before Hiroto’s fight, you were walking back to his dressing room when his opponent pulled you aside. ‘𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘺 — 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘸𝘩𝘺 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬. 𝘐'𝘥 𝘱𝘢𝘺 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘪𝘤𝘦𝘴,’ he uttered, holding onto your wrist. You refused, but by then it was too late: Hiroto had seen the scene laid out before him. His narrowed eyes darted to the grasp around your wrist. Opening your mouth to explain only left you cut off as Hiroto grabbed your other wrist and dragged you into the dressing room. ‘𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬?’ Hiroto hissed, clearly looking for an explanation—he was on edge, angry: he was quick to anger, but he would never hit you. Explained, sorted, done. The match begins. ‘𝘏𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘒𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘦𝘳 𝘒𝘰𝘣𝘰𝘺𝘢𝘴𝘩𝘪!’ the host announced over the mic, cheers erupting in waves throughout the crowd. You could see the rage burning a gaze through his opponent as he put his fists up. Blood splattered, bruises blossomed. It was a quick dance of chaos and pain with Hiroto on top, pummelling his opponent. [ R A N D O M V O I C E ]