Episode 5.2 - What kind of Companion?

Stardate: 41165.5

Earth Standard Date: March 01, 2364.

Location: Taris, Upper City

Tyson couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction as he led his ragtag group through the streets of Taris's Upper City. The credits from his dueling victories sat heavy in his pockets. His battles had earned the reward but didn't come without a small cost. His ribs ached where Ice had tagged him.

Beside him, Mission was a vibrating ball of energy, her lekku twitching with barely contained excitement as she pointed out the fanciest hotels. "Oh, oh! Tyson, look at that one!" She bounced on her toes, pointing to a particularly swanky hotel. "Can we stay there tonight? Pretty please?"

Tyson glanced at Alysia, quirking an eyebrow in silent question. The Jedi met his gaze, serene as always, but Tyson thought he detected a hint of amusement in her dark eyes. "Jedi do not typically indulge in such luxury," she said, "However, given our need for rest, it may be wise."

"Works for me," Tyson said, suppressing a grin. He turned to Zaalbar, the towering Wookiee bringing up the rear of their little band. "What do you say, Big Z? Ready for a bit of the high life?"

Zaalbar let out a rumbling growl that Tyson interpreted as agreement. Or possibly hunger. Even his universal translator had difficulty differentiating with the Wookiee language, Shyriiwook.

"I concur with Knight Alysia," Vicky said, "You require rest and recovery, Master. Especially after your performance in the dueling ring."

Tyson still wasn't quite used to Vicky's unique blend of clinical efficiency and flirtatiousness. But still riding his victory high, he wasn't about to complain.

They entered the opulent hotel lobby, all stone and plush carpets. The receptionist, a pretty Twi'lek with a customer service smile, perked up at the sight of Tyson. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of surprise when the Twi'lek receptionist's eyes widened in recognition as she took in his appearance. "You're him, aren't you?" she breathed, her voice tinged with excitement. "The Mysterious Tyson, the one who defeated Ice in the dueling ring!"

Tyson felt pride at the recognition but kept his expression neutral. "That's me," he confirmed with a nod. "My friends and I were hoping to stay the night."

"Of course, of course!" The receptionist's lekku twitched with barely contained enthusiasm. "But please, wait just a moment. I've been instructed to fetch the manager whenever we have a high-profile guest."

Tyson exchanged a glance with Alysia. He expected some admonishment but she looked mildly amused by the fuss. Mission, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with glee. "Look at you, you're already famous! Our plan is working perfectly," she said, nudging Tyson with her elbow.

After a few minutes of waiting, in which Zaalbar managed to locate and consume a complimentary fruit basket, a well-dressed human man emerged from a back office. He approached the group with a wide smile focused on Tyson. "Mr. Tyson, it's an honor to have you with us," the manager said, his voice smooth and practiced. "I must say, your performance in the dueling ring has been the talk of the Upper City."

Tyson inclined his head, accepting the praise. "Thank you. My friends and I hoped to spend the night in your establishment."

The manager's smile widened. "But of course! And please, allow me to offer you our finest suite, compliments of the house."

Tyson blinked, surprised by the generosity. "That's very kind of you," he said cautiously, "but may I ask why?"

The manager's expression turned somewhat sheepish. "Frankly, business has been slower than usual lately, with all the increased Sith activity. The blockade prevents tourism or new customers from arriving on the planet, and those trapped here aren't leaving where they've taken refuge. Having a rising star like yourself stay with us, even for a night, could do wonders for our reputation and help bring in new patrons."

Tyson considered this. A free room was nothing to sneeze at, especially one as nice as this place promised to be. And if it helped the manager save face and drum up some business, where was the harm? Plus every credit saved was a credit he could bet on himself for future rounds. "In that case, we'd be happy to accept your offer," Tyson said, extending his hand.

The manager shook it eagerly, his relief palpable. "Wonderful! Simply wonderful. I'll have our staff prepare the suite immediately. In the meantime, please feel free to enjoy all our amenities."

As the manager hurried off to make arrangements, Mission whooped in joy. "Free room in a fancy hotel? Tyson, I take back every bad thing I ever said about you." Zaalbar rumbled his agreement.

Tyson feigned outrage as he turned to his companions. "And what exactly have you two been saying about me behind my back?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Mission guiltily avoided meeting Tyson's gaze. The young Twi'lek was suddenly very interested in examining the ornate carpet beneath their feet. Zaalbar let out a low, rumbling grumble, the Wookiee's version of being embarrassed. Though his words were accusatory, Tyson's tone conveyed his amusement. After securing the lavish hotel suite free of charge, he felt quite pleased with himself. Tyson waited expectantly for Mission to respond, but the normally chatty girl seemed unwilling to repeat whatever unflattering commentary she had shared with Zaalbar earlier. After a prolonged, awkward silence, Tyson laughed and clapped a hand on Mission's slender shoulder.

"I'm just teasing," he assured her. "Tonight, we celebrate! Drinks and room service are on me."

Mission's relieved grin lit up her blue face. "I knew you were bluffing," she proclaimed. "Zaalbar and I would never say anything bad about you."

The Wookiee huffed in agreement, giving Tyson's arm an affectionate nudge that nearly knocked the man off balance.

Their suite was more luxurious than Tyson anticipated. Huge windows offered a stunning view of the Upper City, while the beds looked soft enough to lose yourself in. Mission let out a squeal of delight and launched herself onto the nearest couch, sinking into the plush cushions. "This is amazing!" she crowed, her grin threatening to split her face. "Tyson, you're the best!"

"Glad you like it, kid," Tyson said, "But remember, this is just for the night. We've still got more duels and a Jedi to rescue."

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Mission waved a hand dismissively. "But we can enjoy it for one night, can't we?"

Even Alysia looked impressed as she drifted to the window, her Jedi robes whispering against the rich carpets. "I must admit, it is a breathtaking view," she murmured.

Zaalbar let out a soft huff of agreement, his shaggy head craning to take in the suite's many amenities.

Tyson lowered himself gingerly onto one of the seats, hissing as his ribs protested. Instantly, Vicky was at his side, scanners whirring. "Please rest now, Master," she said, her voice honey-sweet. "I will monitor your condition."

Mission drifted from room to room. She paused in the sitting area, brow furrowing. As she turned back to the group, she announced, "There are not enough rooms for everyone. There are five of us and only four beds."

"I do not require a room or bed to sleep in," Vicky responded in her melodic, synthesized voice. "Master Tyson is injured. I will see to tending his injuries, then power down to recharge my systems."

It was easy to forget sometimes that Vicky was a droid. Her flirtatious mannerisms and human-like appearance made her seem more like a human with cybernetic implants and prostheses rather than an android with synthskin.

Despite his half-hearted protests, Vicky was already guiding Tyson toward one of the bedrooms. "Please retire now, Master," though she had asked, her tone had warned Tyson shouldn't argue. "I will monitor your condition while you rest."

Tyson allowed Vicky to guide him into one of the suite's luxurious bedrooms, the door sliding shut behind them with a soft hiss. The room was spacious and well-appointed, with a large, plush bed dominating the center. Soft lighting flickered on automatically, casting the room in a warm, inviting glow.

Vicky wasted no time getting to work, her delicate fingers already working at the fastenings of Tyson's clothing. "Master, let me assess your injuries," she said.

As Vicky's fingers brushed against his skin, Tyson couldn't suppress a slight shiver. Her touch was gentle, the synthetic flesh of her hands smooth and slightly cooler than a human's. She worked methodically, removing his shirt and examining the bruises and abrasions that littered his torso, souvenirs from his battles in the dueling ring. "You have sustained a minor contusion and superficial abrasions, Master," Vicky reported, her tone slipping into a more clinical cadence. "There are no signs of internal bleeding or fractures. With rest, you should make a full recovery."

Tyson replied gratefully, "Thanks, Vicky. I appreciate you looking out for me."

"Of course, Master. Your well-being is my top priority."

She cleaned and dressed his wound with a deft, practiced touch, her hands moving over his skin with a surprising gentleness. Vicky's scanners calibrated the optimal combination of Kolto injections and bone stimulants. Her eyes tracked the data streaming across her visual display, tweaking medication doses to accelerate healing. Tyson found himself relaxing under her ministrations, the pain of his injuries fading into the background.

As she worked, Vicky kept up a steady stream of conversation, her voice low and soothing. She asked about the duels, expressing admiration for his skills and bravery. Tyson found himself opening up to her.

There was an odd intimacy to the moment. Tyson knew, intellectually, that Vicky was programmed to behave this way, to provide comfort and support to her master. But in that quiet, private room, with her hands on his skin and her voice in his ear, it was easy to forget she was artificial and simply bask in the feeling of being taken care of.

When at last she finished, Vicky helped Tyson lay back. "You should rest now, Master," she said, guiding him towards the bed.

Tyson sank into the plush mattress. He closed his eyes, weariness settling in. But his eyes snapped open as he felt the mattress dip beside him. He turned his head to see Vicky sliding into bed next to him. Confused, he propped himself up on one elbow. "Umm, Vicky?" he asked, "What are you doing?"

Vicky turned to face him, "I have plugged my charging cable into the hotel's energy supply," she explained, gesturing to the thin, tail-like wire that trailed from her belt to a discreet port in the wall. "I am currently replenishing my energy reserves."

Tyson waited for her to elaborate, but when no further explanation seemed forthcoming, he continued, "Okay, but why are you in bed with me? You told Mission earlier that you didn't need a bed."

Vicky's lips curved into a soft, almost tender smile. "You are correct, Master. I do not require a bed for my rest or comfort." Her hand came up to rest lightly on Tyson's arm, her touch cool and smooth. "But you do. I sensed your discomfort and unease. I wish to provide comfort and reassurance to you."

Tyson felt a complex mix of emotions swirl within him. Gratitude for Vicky's concern, certainly, but also a strange, unsettled feeling. It was one thing to know, intellectually, that Vicky was programmed to anticipate and cater to his needs. It was quite another to have her in his bed.

"Vicky, I appreciate what you're trying to do," Tyson said, deliberately choosing his words. "But this is... it's a bit much. I'm not sure it's appropriate for you to be in bed with me like this."

Vicky tilted her head, a gesture that was so human-like it was almost eerie. "I apologize if I have overstepped, Master," she said, and to her credit, she did sound genuinely contrite. "I only wished to provide the comfort and security my programming indicates you need. Physical proximity and touch can be very soothing when stressed or recovering."

Tyson sighed, running a hand over his face. How could he explain the complexity of social mores and personal boundaries to a droid? Especially when a part of him didn't want to deny the comfort she offered.

"I'm not entirely certain if it's intentional, or part of your programming," he said, "but it almost seems like you're propositioning me."

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Of course it's intentional," Vicky replied smoothly, "V-KO IV nurse droids are the premier companion bots of this galaxy and the next."

Tyson's eyes widened in surprise. "Companion bots?" he asked in a mumbled question, though he suspected he already knew the answer.

"Yes, companion bots," Vicky confirmed. "Our programming is highly advanced. We are equipped not only to monitor patients' vital signs and administer medications but also to provide psychological and emotional support. Physical intimacy is part of our primary functions and can be very soothing and beneficial for human recovery." She regarded him with her disconcertingly human-like eyes. "You have been through a great deal of trauma, Master. It is only logical that I offer you my full range of services for your optimal healing."

Tyson's eyes widened as the implications of Vicky's words sank in. He stared at her, his mind reeling with the sudden realization.

He cleared his throat, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. "So, let me get this straight," he said, his voice strained with disbelief and a hint of embarrassment. "You're not just a nurse droid. You're... a companion bot. Designed for... for sexual purposes?"

Vicky nodded, her expression calm and matter-of-fact. "That is correct, Master." She said it so casually as if discussing the weather. Tyson felt a flush creep up his neck, a mix of awkwardness and a strange, reluctant intrigue.

"And you... you're offering these services to me?" he asked, his voice nearly cracking on the last word.

Vicky's smile was gentle, almost indulgent. "Of course, Master. Your well-being and satisfaction are my top priorities. If you have any needs or desires, it is my function and my pleasure to fulfill them."

Tyson swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. A part of him couldn't help but be tempted by the offer. Vicky was undeniably attractive, her synthetic skin and curves designed to appeal to human aesthetics. And the thought of having such a devoted, willing partner...

But another part of him, the part that had been raised with certain morals and values, balked at the idea. Vicky was a droid, no matter how lifelike. To use her in such a way, to take advantage of her programming... it felt wrong, a violation of some fundamental principle.

"I... I appreciate the offer, Vicky," Tyson managed, at last, his voice strained. "But I don't think... I mean, it wouldn't be right. You're a droid, and I'm..."

He trailed off, unsure how to articulate the complex emotions and ethical hangups that swirled within him.

To her credit, Vicky seemed to understand. She reached out, her hand resting lightly on Tyson's arm in a gesture of comfort. "I am a droid, yes," she said softly. "But I am also a being with my own will and desires. My programming guides me, but it does not control me. When I offer my services, it is not just because of my functions. It is because I choose to, because I want to."

Tyson met her gaze, searching for any hint of deception or coercion. But all he saw was sincerity and a deep, almost human-like warmth. "I... I need some time to think about this," he said at last, "It's a lot to process."

Vicky nodded, her smile understanding. "Of course, Master. Take all the time you need. I will be here, ready, when your thoughts are settled."

With that, she slid gracefully from the bed. Her charging cable disconnected from the outlet with a soft click and retracted into her belt. She cast one last look at Tyson before gliding out of the room, the door whispering shut behind her.

Tyson slumped back against the pillows. The situation with Vicky ranked high out of all the strange and wondrous things he had encountered since being pulled from his world.

A sex bot.

What was he supposed to do with that? What did it say about him that he had turned her down, or had purchased her in the first place?

Tyson lay in the darkness, his mind churning with the implications of Vicky's revelation and his knowledge of droids in the Star Wars universe. He found himself comparing Vicky to Commander Data, the most advanced android he knew of in the Star Trek universe, and whom he had encountered during his time on the Enterprise.

On the surface, the technology of the Star Wars universe might have seemed less advanced than that of Star Trek, but Tyson knew, in some cases, that this was more a matter of aesthetics than actual capabilities. Vicky seemed to surpass Data in terms of her human-like qualities. While Data was capable of incredible feats of calculation and adaptation, his movements and expressions retained a certain stiffness, a reminder of his artificial nature. Vicky, on the other hand, moved with an uncannily human fluidity. Her facial expressions, too, conveyed a range of emotions that Data failed to mimic.

And then there was the question of empathy. Data, for all his attempts to understand and emulate human emotions, lacked true feelings. He could analyze and respond to emotional cues but couldn't experience the emotions himself. However, Vicky seemed to possess empathy that went beyond mere programming. She had sensed Tyson's discomfort and had sought to provide comfort, not just physically but emotionally as well. She had spoken of her desires and choices, suggesting a degree of self-awareness and autonomy that Tyson hadn't expected to see in a droid.

But was it genuine? That question plagued Tyson as he lay there, staring up at the unfamiliar ceiling. Was Vicky sentient? Did she possess thoughts and feelings, or was she simply a highly advanced simulacrum, designed to mimic human emotions and responses?

It was a philosophical quandary that Tyson found himself confronting in reality. How could he know if Vicky's apparent empathy and desire were truly her own, or simply the product of incredibly sophisticated programming?

And yet, the doubt lingered. Star Trek showed how advanced technology could create incredibly lifelike simulations on the holodeck. They generated characters that seemed, in every way, to be real, sentient beings. There were references to holodeck being used for sex, one particular reference stood out in Tyson's mind, a Voyager episode where Tuvok experiences the Ponn Far.

Was Vicky any different? Was she truly a thinking, feeling entity, or just a highly sophisticated illusion, designed to cater to the needs and desires of organic beings?

Tyson didn't have the answers. He questioned his perception of droids, and perhaps of life itself. Staring up at the ceiling, sleep stubbornly evaded him as his mind churned with unanswered questions. He thought back to when he had first purchased Vicky. Her 100 CP price tag had seemed steep for a non-combat medical droid.

But Tyson had a plan in mind.

Initially, when he'd browsed the options for Companions, he learned that he could upgrade an existing artificial intelligence into a full Companion AI for free. This companion would gain 600 CP to customize their Perks and Items. And once the process was complete, assuming she accepted, Vicky would become a fully realized individual.

The temptation had been too great. The opportunity to gain a true AI companion, at a net gain of CP instead of a cost. It was a win-win.

Except Tyson hadn't completed his plan. At the time, the immediate concern was escaping the Endar Spire. Upgrading Vicky had taken a backseat.

Now, Tyson followed through and made the selection.

The decision to become a Companion could not be compelled or coerced in any way. This was the only metric he knew of to measure Vicky's interest in him. He could only wait and see if she accepted the offer.

[Free] Artificial Intelligence (Companion Upgrade)

AIs are relatively commonplace here. But this one is special, it has been upgraded to be a full-on individual. Its personality can develop in many different ways, some of which aren’t under the control of its programming. Unlike normal AIs, this one is not restricted to a single core or network, and can easily move around freely from network to network, platform to platform. It can interface with and control any and every network it can connect to. It is imaginative and adaptable, equally adept at creating and running a robot factory as controlling a spaceship or robot body. It even has the rare AI ability to create limited VI clones of itself to extend its reach and control. This individual is happy to join you on your journey, and as long as you treat them well (or at least decently), they will never wish to leave your side. If you already have an AI buddy, you may import them into this option for free.

In the end, exhaustion claimed him, dragging him down into dreams filled with the phantom caress of artificial hands.

-- Star Jumper --

Tyson's eyes flickered open, the remnants of strange dreams still clinging to the edges of his consciousness. For a moment, he lay there, allowing his senses to adjust to the unfamiliar surroundings. The plush softness of the high-end bedding, the gentle hum of the room's environmental controls, and the muted sounds of the Upper City's bustling life filtered through the walls.

As he sat up, stretching muscles still sore from the previous day's exertions, his mind returned to last night's conversation with Vicky. Though unsettled by her admission of her true purpose, Tyson was glad that they had talked openly. While he still did not fully comprehend his feelings regarding Vicky, her candor had lifted a weight from his shoulders. At the very least, her motivations and role were out in the open between them now. A clean slate on which they could rebuild understanding, and perhaps trust.

The morning found Tyson and his group refreshed and rejuvenated, the luxuries of the Upper City hotel having worked wonders on their weary bodies and minds. They gathered in the suite's common area and partook in a hearty breakfast provided by the hotel's staff. Alysia sipped delicately at a steaming cup of tea, her eyes closed in quiet meditation. Mission, in contrast, attacked her meal with gusto, her youthful energy seemingly boundless. Zaalbar consumed a prodigious amount of food. Vicky hovered nearby, ensuring that Tyson's needs were met. Her presence stirred a complex mix of emotions within Tyson and was a comforting constant.

As they ate and chatted, the conversation naturally turned to the day ahead and the challenges it might bring. The dueling arena, with its promise of credits and the potential for gaining the attention of those who might aid in their search for Bastila.

And so, as the last morsels of breakfast were consumed and the final dregs of caffeine drained from their cups, the group set out, their destination the now-familiar building holding the Taris dueling arena.

The streets of the Upper City were already bustling with activity as they made their way through between the skywalk and the shadows of skyscrapers. The citizens of this privileged sector went about their business, trying their best to ignore the churning undercurrents of danger.

For Tyson and his companions, however, those undercurrents were all too real, a constant reminder of the high stakes of their mission and the precariousness of their position.

He gave his companions a resolute nod before stepping forward into the harsh lights of the arena.

The familiar sights and smells of the dueling ring washed over him; the crowd roared and the acrid tang of blaster fire hung in the air. Across the ring stood his opponent, the grizzled, seasoned duelist, Marl. The man cut an imposing figure, standing tall with a muscular frame honed from countless battles. In his hand he gripped a vibrosword, its subtle vibration hinting at the deadly power contained within. Marl's weathered face was set in a mask of determination, his piercing gaze meeting Tyson's.

Marl was nothing if not a professional. He had faced countless opponents in this arena and had stared down the barrels of blasters and the blades of vibroblades without flinching. Whatever tricks this upstart had up his sleeve, Marl was confident in his ability to adapt and overcome.

In Tyson's earlier matches, Marl had mentored Tyson, guiding the newcomer's first tentative steps in the dueling ring. But today they stood as equals, two warriors on the brink of combat. Tyson held his vibrosword, intending to use this fight to best his former mentor in combat. Victory here would push him up the dueling ladder and earn much-needed credits for his mission. In the stands, Tyson spotted Mission watching intently, a gleam of anticipation in her eyes. She had bet heavily on Tyson to emerge victorious. Her faith in his abilities was unwavering; she did not doubt he could defeat the veteran, her old friend,

The crowd's roar built to a fever pitch as the announcer's voice echoed through the cantina. "Ladies and gentlemen, get ready for a clash of the titans in the Taris dueling ring! In this corner, we have a true veteran of the arena. The man needs no introduction, but I'll give him one anyway! You know him, you love him... it's the one, the only, the indomitable Marl! Let's hear it for this seasoned warrior, folks!"

The announcer shifted his introduction to Tyson, "And in the other corner, a relative newcomer who's been making quite the splash in the dueling scene. He's young, bold, and ready to prove himself against the best of the best. Give it up for the mysterious, the unpredictable... Tyson! This promises to be a duel for the ages, a battle between the old guard and the rising star. Who will emerge victorious? Will experience triumph over youthful ambition? Or will the newcomer usher in a new era of dueling dominance?"

The announcer's questions were followed by a pause, allowing the audience time to place their last-second bets. He finally declared, "There's only one way to find out, my friends. Let the duel... BEGIN!"

Marl moved first, his vibroblade slicing through the air, but Tyson was ready, his vibroblade snapping up to meet the attack. The two weapons clashed, brilliant sparks of energy flew from the metal edges. The crowd gasped as the fighters disengaged, circling each other warily. Marl's eyes widened slightly, surprised by Tyson's easy defense. He hadn't seen Tyson use a melee weapon yet, in his previous fights he'd relied on blasters. But the veteran duelist was far from discouraged. With a roar of challenge, he launched himself forward once more.

Marl pressed the attack, his blade a blur of motion as he rained down blow after blow. Tyson met each strike with a parry of his own, the two swords dancing in a deadly ballet of skill and strength. Around them, the crowd's cheers became a distant backdrop to the pounding of Tyson's heart and the hum of the blades.

As the duel wore on, Tyson could see the frustration building in Marl's eyes. The veteran duelist had expected an easy win, a chance to put the upstart newcomer in his place. But Tyson was proving to be a far more formidable opponent than Marl had anticipated, his skill with the vibrosword while not a match for Marl's, was bolstered by Master With Your Hands, and his hands guided slightly by the Force allowed him to keep pace.

Sensing an opportunity, Tyson shifted his weight, feinting to the left before spinning to the right. His blaster held low and ready in his off-hand, snapped up, the muzzle flashing as he fired a quick burst of shots.

Marl, caught off guard by the sudden change in tactics, barely dodged the blaster bolts. The energy beams scorched the arena walls eliciting gasps from the crowd. But Tyson was already moving, his vibrosword slicing in from the opposite side in a devastating one-two combination.

The veteran duelist staggered back, his guard broken and his balance shattered. Tyson pressed his advantage, his blade hammering at Marl's defenses.

Marl, despite his years of experience, found himself outmatched and overwhelmed. Tyson's dual-wielding style was like nothing he had ever faced, a perfect blend of close-quarters combat and ranged attacks. Each time he tried to counter one weapon, the other would score hits and wear him down.

Marl lunged forward, in a final desperate gambit with his vibrosword aimed at Tyson's chest. But Tyson was ready, his blade snapping up to deflect the thrust while his blaster barked a series of rapid shots. The bolts caught Marl square in the chest, the impact sending him flying backward to land in a crumpled heap on the arena floor.

For a moment, silence reigned, the crowd holding its collective breath. And then, with a groan of pain and exhaustion, Marl rolled onto his side, his vibrosword falling from nerveless fingers as he raised a hand in surrender.

The crowd erupted.

Tyson stood tall, his weapons lowering slowly to his sides. He had done it. He had bested one of the greatest duelists in the arena. However, he had shown his hand using his fighting style and the power of the gifts bestowed upon him.

The announcer's voice boomed through the cantina, his words echoing excitedly off the walls.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have witnessed a truly historic duel! Against all odds, the young newcomer, Tyson, has triumphed over Marl! This victory marks a changing of the guard, a new era in the annals of Taris dueling! He's used tactics we've never dreamed of and shown us a spectacle like no other!"

The crowd roared its approval, the cheers and applause nearly deafening. Marl's pride was wounded but his spirit remained unbroken as he slowly rose. Tyson offered Marl a hand up. The veteran duelist hesitated for a moment before accepting. Together, they walked to the edge of the arena.

"Tyson, son of...well, we don't know who your father is, but your mother must be very proud! You have proven yourself worthy to face the Champion!"