Iral nodded as Jupiter answered his questions, anticipating most of the answers. He was largely disappointed that he wouldn’t be able to reap the rewards of the tournament all by himself. When he was told about the spectators often getting attached to those they cheered for, he grinned. “Oh, they’ll love me,” he commented.

“I do not like ‘Iral’” Jupiter said before telling him his name, which Iral barely paid attention to because his grin immediately faded in response to the other part. He narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth like an animal about to lash out.

“Hey, hey, don’t get friendly with me,” he replied, speaking quickly and clearly trying to control a temper that was at boiling point, but he failed just a moment later. “I don’t give a fuck what you do or do not like!” he spat with enormous distain. “Your name is ‘Jupiter’, yeah, wow, you really are a fairy, huh? I don’t like that name, though. ‘Tinker Bell’ clearly suits you better. You know what else I don’t like? These chains, this collar, these damn bruises, not being able to use the bathroom when I want, but I still have to deal with that crap, don’t I? I lied when I said most people call me ‘Iral’. I was a soldier, a strategist, an adviser and commander before this. You know who called me ‘Iral’? People I respected, people I was close to. There was literally one person in the whole planet that I took orders from—THAT person called me ‘Iral’. You’re none of those things—you’re less than none of those things. I allowed you to call me something that everybody else had to earn, you ungrateful piece of trash. And what in the hell is ‘Pho’? That sounds like garbage Terrans eat all day and get fat off of. Do I look like something weaklings would eat because it lacks the nutrition to make them half as strong as a bug? Do you eat Terran trash? Is that why it came to mind? ‘I breathe light’ What? You blind people? Is that how you got here—you blinded somebody too much? I bet you were somebody’s jester. I bet somebody would snap their fingers and you would blind somebody that person didn’t like on command, and one day you just misunderstood a command like the trash you are and were sent here because you entire planet is full of stuck-up, spoiled weaklings who never had a reason in their lives to earn anything because they were born with it and when they don’t like something they had the option to simply do what was more comfortable for them instead learning or adjusting, like learning how to pronounce A FUCKING NAME!” Iral yelled at the top of his lungs. By now his over-the-top tirade had caught the attention of any other convicts that could hear it. Some looked on in shock or confusion. Some laughed.

“Iral,” he said, with a fake smile and a fake pleasant tone. “Iral. Just try it. Practice makes perfect, buddy. I called you buddy just now ironically. I actually don’t like you.”