Maverick paced the room, frustration burning in his chest as he muttered curses under his breath. His hands clenched into fists before he ran them through his hair, letting out a sharp exhale.
"Why does he always do this?" Maverick snapped. "Losing his temper at the worst possible time—right before the tournament? This is exactly why we—"
Milo leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him calmly. "Man, you gotta chill," he said, shaking his head. "You know how Kenneth is."
Maverick turned sharply, his glare locked onto him. "Yeah? And how's that supposed to help us? This tournament is everything—he can't afford to lose control like that."
Milo sighed, letting the silence stretch for a moment before replying. "You ever stop to think why he gets mad like that?" He tilted his head slightly. "Kenneth doesn't just flip out for no reason. You know that."
Maverick exhaled heavily, gaze dropping to the floor.
