My deepest apologies, Gustative — I have taken the crown you once wore with undeniable grace. Your run was poetry carved into pixels, every frame a testament to devotion. That thumbnail of yours — radiant, defiant — still commands the stage like a relic of glory. I chased your shadow through every split, driven by awe as much as ambition. And though the timer now whispers my name, the legend, the heartbeat of the run, will forever be yours.

[Mod Note: My dearest Saber,

You have done what many dreamed, yet few dared — to eclipse the light that once burned brightest. I watched your run unfold like an eclipse in slow motion; inevitable, beautiful, humbling. Every strat, every movement — honed to an art that even the Force itself would bow to.

The crown rests upon your head now, gleaming with the sweat of mastery. But know this: legends do not fade; they evolve. You have not slain a king — you have awakened one.

Enjoy the summit, my friend. The wind is colder up there, and I am already climbing.

— Gustative]