The waiting room smelled like deodorant and bleach, the kind that stuck in your throat if you breathed too deep. Ty noticed it mostly because he was sitting too close to the backstage door, and every time it swung open, someone carried the smell in with them.
He'd been in the same uncomfortable chair for about forty minutes. Maybe more.
Ty shifted, rolling one shoulder, then the other, trying to ignore the stiffness building in his back. His eyes moved up to the small monitor bolted near the ceiling, which he noticed for the first time, was angled slightly wrong, like someone installed it in a hurry and never bothered to fix it. The quality wasn't great, a little grainy, colors slightly washed, but it was enough. You could see the crowd, and that was all he needed.
Yara had warned that these kids were the roughest and he could almost feel it even before the stage was cleared for them. The audience also seemed to know a thing or two about the contestants.
And the battle was already underway.
"My bet is on Superfly Jones," Pete said. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, squinting at the screen like he could force better audio out of it if he focused hard enough. "He's too tall to lose."
Ty scoffed. Sometimes, he wondered if Pete thinks with his butt.
"He's good though," Yara replied, her tone flat but not dismissive. Her arms were crossed tight, head tilted just slightly. She studied the screen the way she studied everything, like she expected to find flaws if she looked long enough.
Ty didn't join in. He just watched.
The kid on the left, Superfly Jones looked familiar. Ty had seen him earlier in the corridor, pacing like he owned the place. Tall, lean, hoodie strings uneven like he tied them without thinking. His face had that calm, unbothered look some people practiced in mirrors. Either it was real confidence, or he was just that good at pretending. Ty couldn't tell yet.
The other guy was shorter, wearing a darker hoodie. His hands were moving constantly like he was playing air drums. Even now, between lines, his fingers twitched like he had too much energy and nowhere to put it.
"You nervous?" Pete asked, still not looking away from the screen.
"No," Ty said. "And why do you keep asking if I'm nervous, when you're a nervous wreck yourself?"
Pete glanced over. "I'm not nervous. I only have sweaty palms."
"Aye. And sweaty brows, and jittery hands."
"I was born that way."
"I see."
Yara sighed, obviously bored of the boys' exchange.
On the monitor, they could see shorter kid step back, just half a pace, and the taller one leaned forward into the moment. The countdown was about to begin. Even through the screen, Ty could see the crowd react. Bodies leaning in, attention piqued.
"Jitters," Yara said quietly.
The countdown began.
Superfly Jones adjusted the mic on his collar, letting the beat ride low for a second. It stretched just enough to build tension, like he knew exactly how long to wait. Then he started.
His voice came out controlled, almost calm, but the words that came out wasn't forgiving.
"...Yo your mama cried at your birth cause she knew you were a mistake
Your daddy dipped at the hospital, couldn't even watch em cut the tape
You grew up eating struggle meals calling ramen a feast
I heard your girl left you for your homie, now you sharing a leash..."
The reaction hit instantly. Not loud at first, but sharp. A mix of gasps and short laughs colliding together. The kind of sound that meant the line went further than people expected.
The crowd got louder. More bodies moving. Someone in the front grabbed their friend's arm, shaking them like they needed confirmation that they heard that right.
On screen, the shorter kid's jaw tightened. Just for a second. Easy to miss if you weren't looking for it.
In the waiting room, Pete let out a low whistle. "Oof."
"He went straight for the personal," Yara said, still no judgment. Just noting it like a fact.
Ty didn't blink.
"...You failed the same grade twice and still ain't learn a thing
Showed up to the battle with a borrowed chain and a plastic ring
Your crew don't ride for you they ride because they got no choice
You the loudest in the room cause silence exposes your voice
You're a fucking pushover
Bet when you get alone with your homies, then you turn around and bend over..."
That one detonated. The room on screen exploded into movement. People doubling over, hands flying, heads snapping back. They howled like a wolf would howl at the moon.
The shorter kid rolled his neck slowly, like he was trying to loosen something that had tightened up inside him. His face went neutral again, but it looked forced now.
"That's a bar," Pete said, sitting up straighter. He was locked in now, no distraction left in him. "That's actually a bar."
Ty agreed. He just didn't say it out loud.
"...I seen your search history homie, yeah the wifi don't lie
You crying in the bathroom every night but you performing outside
Your teeth look like a keyboard with a couple keys missing
Your breath so bad the whole front row started dry wishing..."
That snapped things back into chaos. The front row reacted hard, playing into it, stepping back, pointing at each other, laughing louder than everyone else. They were the ones being addressed after all. Might as well make the most fun out of it.
Ty leaned forward slightly before catching himself. He straightened, pressing his back into the chair again.
Superfly Jones continued, his energy unwaivering.
"...You told your block you was nice but the block been lying to you
Everybody was clapping to your face then laughing when you move
I don't hate you personally I just hate what you became
A walking contradiction with a government name
You started beef with me specifically, that was your first L
Now finish digging homie cause I just rang your bell."
Now Cloaks n' Daggers had gone still. Completely still. Arms at his sides, no movement, no pacing, nothing. Just standing there and taking it.
The crowd erupted in a way that didn't feel contained. People were on their feet, shouting, grabbing each other, phones up everywhere trying to capture something that couldn't really translate through a screen. The energy spilled in every direction.
Superfly Jones just stood there in the middle of it, calm, like none of it surprised him.
Back in the waiting room, the noise felt distant, like it belonged to another world.
No one spoke right away.
"Hell, that was weak. I mumble better bars than that in my sleep!" Someone in the waiting room from the next batch yelled at the screen in annoyance.
"Hey, shut the f--k up! Let a man rehearse in peace," another replied, calling for silence. Ty recognized that voice, although he still hasn't linked a face to it.
Pete finally exhaled. "Okay," he said slowly. "Okay… whoever's going up against that is cooked."
Yara didn't respond. Her eyes stayed on the screen, focused, tracking every movement.
Ty leaned back, letting his head rest against the wall for a second. The chair creaked quietly behind him.
He ran through his lines in his head. Not all of them, just pieces. The opening. The transitions. The parts he thought would hit hardest. He'd arranged them carefully earlier, shifting things around until they felt right.
If he was really going against Tamel, he might as well practice some specific bars for his opponent. But what happens if his opponent was changed? Would the same attacks work for a completely different opponent?
This is the reason Ty didn't want to work himself too hard trying to form bars for a single target. He decided to use Superfly Jones' method of generalized banter, aimed to wreck the opponent regardless of whether there was truth in the bars or not.
'I mean...I could say a lot of shit about your mama even though I don't know what she looks like. It's like "yo mama" jokes. They are never true, but they'll hit you just as hard as bricks thrown by a shotput record holder from a short distance.'
Ty looked back up at the monitor.
Black Gold cleared the stage for Superfly Jones' opponent.
Cloak n' Daggers was moving. His crew were all super hyped, giving their best form of support to their main man. With what damage Jones had wrecked, they needed everything they could to make a win.
The crowd hadn't settled completely, but it didn't matter. The host stepped aside, giving him space without saying anything.
The kid's eyes were different now.
Ty leaned forward, elbows on his knees this time, without realizing he was mirroring Pete from earlier.
The countdown began...