This is when REAL TEKKEN begins:

Real Tekken does not begin on higher ranks. Not even online. Real Tekken begins offline, where you lock eyes with your opponent across the arcade cabinet, the sexual tension thick enough to cut with a wavedash. Real Tekken begins when you’re on final, final round at Evo, drenched in sweat, your rival’s shirt clinging to his sculpted torso as he wipes his brow and gives you a smirk that says I’m about to mix your ass into oblivion. Real Tekken begins when the crowd is roaring, but all you can hear is his voice, low and teasing—"Is that all you got?"

Real Tekken begins when you land a perfect electric, and he groans—low, frustrated, turned on. He bites his lip, whispering, “Good punish…” Real tekken begins when you win and barely have time to process before he’s on you, his hands grabbing your face, his mouth crashing into yours. All heat and desperation, the adrenaline—it’s intoxicating. Real Tekken begins when he growls against your lips, “Run it back.” But you both know the only thing getting run back tonight is each other.

Real Tekken begins when you’re tangled in hotel sheets hours later, still arguing over frame data between kisses, his voice husky as he murmurs, “You only won ‘cause I let you.” Real Tekken begins when you pin his wrists to the mattress and whisper, “Then block next time.”

Real Tekken was never about the game. It was about us.