The waiting room was quiet, but the energy was anything but calm. Everyone's eyes were glued to the massive screen, watching the tournament grounds, where competitors were showing off their Uncos—sharp, controlled, powerful.
Maverick leaned back, arms crossed, watching carefully. "These kids have everything," he muttered. "Resources, training, the best instructors. It's easy for them."
Amari kept his eyes on the screen. "Maybe," he said, thoughtful. "But that doesn't mean they didn't earn it."
Maverick glanced at him, raising a brow.
Amari continued, voice steady. "I respect how they use their abilities. It's not just about having access to the best—it's about how they apply it. Skill isn't handed to you." His eyes followed the competitors, watching their precision, the techniques that clearly took hours of work to master. "You can tell they put in the effort."
