[ He's still as a statue, not missing a single beat of his story. Roland doesn't even move to take another bite, content to just sit back and watch Tidus destroy his muffin. He's observant enough to know this was a story that meant something to him, something authentic and real. Not his usual jokes, poking fun at Roland's age, none of the jest that he's come to associate with the teen. This mattered to him, more than anything he's seen thus far. ]

Your talent for it runs in the family. [ He looks up, and his hand moves to hook inside the handle of his mug. ] Back home, tattooing things like that on your body was commonplace too. Especially the more well-known athletes. Like a memory engraved on you forever, even after you retire from the game. [ He watches Tidus carefully, eyes quiet and searching. There's something else about what he said that pokes at Roland's intrigue. Thankfully, he levels himself enough to match whatever energy Tidus is granting him. ] Is he the reason why you started playing too? On the same team even?

[ The unspoken thought: did Tidus play to be better than his father, or did he play out of love, to uphold the family reputation? Roland would let Tidus explain that. If at all. ]