To honor one's supporters is a time-honored tradition among Champions of the Thracian bloodsports and one you have no intention of refusing. Sliding your blade from its scabbard, you cut another notch in the boy's mask as he wears it. As is customary, the blade cuts deep, slightly nicking the boy's cheek. You notice many other fine scars have been left by previous Champions who gave their notch before you. The boy is indeed a dedicated fan.

The rest of the walk toward the Coliseum passes without incident. A lifetime of memories awaits you beyond the stadium gates, some of which were glorious. Many, however, you would prefer to forget.