He doesn't want to understand that, but it's still sinking in, landing in his stomach and making him feel sick.
He always enjoyed the looks on their faces back home when they found that they couldn't move, especially with the homophobic ones, because they always thought that they were going to be the one who would break through it. And when Hyuuga Junpei - who'd looked up to him as a player right up until he realized Reo was gay, then sneered at him like he was disgusting - when he did break through in that impossible game against Seirin, it spurred Reo to work even longer and harder hours on improving his play, and the next time they faced Seirin, he flung Oblivion at Hyuuga so hard that it didn't just freeze him, it knocked him on his ass.
He remembers suddenly how that had felt, what he had thought was a burst of angry satisfaction so fierce it was physical, and wonders what exactly he did to Hyuuga. What exactly he's done to dozens and dozens of players over the years.
(He wants to deny all of it, but he's always been a smart and observant player, and every little discordant thing he's never quite been able to explain, every protest of impossibility from other players and observers, all the little things he didn't even consciously realize he'd noticed - it's all coming together now in his mind to build a picture he can't even begin to deny.)
He's beginning to look almost as sick as he feels; the offer of help feels like a lifeline.
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He doesn't want to understand that, but it's still sinking in, landing in his stomach and making him feel sick.
He always enjoyed the looks on their faces back home when they found that they couldn't move, especially with the homophobic ones, because they always thought that they were going to be the one who would break through it. And when Hyuuga Junpei - who'd looked up to him as a player right up until he realized Reo was gay, then sneered at him like he was disgusting - when he did break through in that impossible game against Seirin, it spurred Reo to work even longer and harder hours on improving his play, and the next time they faced Seirin, he flung Oblivion at Hyuuga so hard that it didn't just freeze him, it knocked him on his ass.
He remembers suddenly how that had felt, what he had thought was a burst of angry satisfaction so fierce it was physical, and wonders what exactly he did to Hyuuga. What exactly he's done to dozens and dozens of players over the years.
(He wants to deny all of it, but he's always been a smart and observant player, and every little discordant thing he's never quite been able to explain, every protest of impossibility from other players and observers, all the little things he didn't even consciously realize he'd noticed - it's all coming together now in his mind to build a picture he can't even begin to deny.)
He's beginning to look almost as sick as he feels; the offer of help feels like a lifeline.
"Yes," he manages, "yes, of course. Thank you."