This is also meant to be a little bit of a background story for a much longer fic I'll probably start posting soon, though it stands on its own just fine.
I don't own anything pertaining to YGO, not that all the little disclaimers in the world would grant me any legal protection should Mr. Takahashi (or rather, one of the huge companies that hold the rights to YGO) really decided to press charges - buuuuut, I doubt that's going to happen.
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If I traded it all
If I gave it all away
For one thing
Just for one thing
If I sorted it out
If I knew all about
This one thing
Wouldn't that be something?
~ Finger Eleven, 'One Thing'
Ryou's heart was pounding in his ears, and he hadn't even done anything yet.
It felt like the eyes of the entire world were on him at that moment, though he knew none of his friends were watching. They would never believe he - quiet, reserved, shy little Ryou - would ever do something like this. He could hardly believe it himself, sometimes, even though he had been doing this for years.
It was something he had taken up after his mother and sister had died. His father coped by going on longer expeditions, leaving the house and all his memories behind for long stretches of time - Ryou, he coped in his own way. Where some kids might have turned to drugs in lieu of having any parents around, to gangs or parties or booze or other illicit activities - he did this.
It had been a casual hobby at first, something he started in primary school, one of his father's attempts to get him to socialize - and somewhere along the line, it became something he threw his entire heart, soul, and body into. He had nothing else. Maybe it was when he started transferring around the country, the few friends he made started disappearing and ending up in the hospital, when the whole world seemed to be going crazy around him - he latched onto this, as an escape, the one thing he could control. The only power he had.
He studied his hands. They were trembling slightly, and he closed his eyes, using practiced breathing to calm himself down, to refocus and rebalance himself. In the past, when he became more aware of the evil presence within him, he had only redoubled his efforts to throw himself into this, lose himself completely, as if he could defeat the spirit by sheer mental, physical will. He had to believe that, and he had to try, for the sake of his friends - and what was left of his sanity.
Ryou's hands stilled as cool determination ran through his veins and lowered his heartbeat. In that moment, he became someone else, and not the someone else he usually became - this was a part of him, and not the influence of some dark force. He lowered his gaze to his target.
If he faltered for one fleeting moment, if he doubted himself, if his mind wandered, if his determination failed - he would not succeed, and lose his willpower. He could not, and would not. He raised his hand.
His every action became metaphorical, symbolic of his battle against the darkness within, against the Ring, against the fate that seemed to try and defeat him and break his will at every turn. He could faintly sense the spirit's confusion, lingering in the back of his mind. It wanted to know why it could not control him - he wouldn't even let it read his thoughts. Right now, his will was too great, and he blocked it completely.
Ryou's muscles coiled, and for once, he let his anger and frustration trickle into his conscience and fed off its power, using it to reinforce his will, temper the steel. His eyes were trained on their target, but he wasn't aiming for it - he was aiming through it, aiming straight at the heart of everything that sought to brought him down. He knew as soon as he left, as soon as this was over, he would be back to normal, once again a helpless pawn of the spirit, but for now...
For now, he had power.
He brought his hand down with the force of everything in his mind and soul, of every bone and muscle, letting out a sharp utterance that seemed contrary to every aspect of Ryou his friends were familiar with. It was angry, and it was determined.
Ryou didn't hear the sound of the impact, didn't see the damage he had caused - his eyes were closed, his fist coming to rest against a table, his breathing slightly elevated.
He only opened them when the clapping started.
On either side of his fist were the crumbling halves of two thin slabs of concrete. Bits of rock were scattered over the table.
He looked up at the crowd, smiling nervously and looking as bewildered as some of the spectators. The rush was already fading from his system, and he knew his fist and entire arm would be sore for a good while afterwards - but it was worth it.
He stepped away, tentatively bowing to the judges and his sensei, and walked off the tournament floor without noticing he had gotten a nearly perfect score.