Despite travel woes and hunger pangs, Siddique blazed through the competition and took first place in just his third international tournament. To date, he is the first South Asian player to win an Evo tournament in the promotion’s 23-year history. It was a rapid rise from anonymity to stardom that began days earlier in Japan when Siddique was stranded at Tokyo’s Haneda Airport, pleading with the clerk at a sandwich shop to accept his Pakistani rupees.

It was the tail end of a wearying journey; he flew from Pakistan to Malaysia to Tokyo before a final flight to Fukuoka for the tournament. The journey was made harder when Siddique, still new to international travel, ran into visa issues that stranded him at Haneda. He was forced to remain in the terminal for a full day while his team raced to rebook him on a different flight. To make matters worse, the currency exchange machine wasn’t able to convert his money into yen.

“I couldn’t bear my hunger. I went to the shop and I said, ‘Please, please take my rupees and give me some food.’ They said, ‘Sorry, we can’t do that,’ ” Siddique said. “I relied only on drinking water. For two days, I didn’t eat.”

From embarking in Pakistan to his arrival at the tournament, Siddique said he spent three days in transit. Eventually he got his paperwork in order, allowing him to leave his airport limbo and make his star turn.

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Winning Evo Japan turns anyone in the fighting game community into an instant superstar. In its wake, online headlines suggested the young Pakistani “came out of nowhere,” and they prompted questions of whether the newcomer could keep up the momentum.

In early August, Siddique traveled to Las Vegas to defend his title in the American version of Evo, the symbolic big brother tournament to Evo Japan. This time, he didn’t have the same trouble with his visa. His passport was riddled with stamps, and customs personnel were able to Google his name, which he thinks added to his credibility.

After arriving in Vegas, Siddique earned a spot in the grand final against 34-year-old Tekken veteran Jae-Min “Knee” Bae. Five games later, it was over. The upstart had prevailed again and solidified his spot among the fighting game community’s elite. And the guy who wasn’t able to buy food at that airport in Japan was $13,575 richer.

“The struggle and the hardships I faced really made me stronger,” Siddique said. “Those are the things that helped me win Evo.”

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When Siddique landed back home in Lahore, he learned that he had become something of a local hero. Two hours after he spoke to The Washington Post, he was scheduled to appear on a local news channel, which capped a whirlwind week of interviews.

The win also has drawn attention to the esports scene in Pakistan. In fighting games, talent often correlates with the strength of the local competition. There’s nothing better for your own abilities than to practice against some of the best in the world. Pakistan has never been known as a Tekken nerve center, but Siddique said the expert competition of his countrymen has made him the player he is today.

“The offline scene here is very good. When you play offline, you exchange information [with] the people you play against. You get something to eat and discuss the game,” he said.

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It’s a culture that makes him proud to represent Pakistan. Siddique, a devout Muslim, still found time for prayer in the throes of the worldwide tournament. “In the waiting room [between games], I had people make sure that nobody passed in front of me so I could pray,” he said.

After winning in Las Vegas, his knees hit the floor one final time at the tournament.

Once skeptical of a future in esports, his parents have come around to his newfound success. “They gave me one chance to go to an international tournament. Then I won Evo, and I gave them the money,” Siddique laughed. “They’re very happy now.”

Siddique’s underdog days are over. Next year, he will enter Evo with a target on his back — and as the bar everyone else will measure themselves against. But Siddique said he will always remember where he came from. He wanted this victory bad enough to sleep on airport bleachers; that drive will never leave him.

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“Now I’m at the top of Tekken, and they’re going to train so hard to [take my spot]. I’ll train harder to make sure they can’t beat me,” he said. “I’m going to get my motivation from those players.”

He will also derive it from his life in Lahore, where he is likewise no longer anonymous.

“The children on my street, ordinary people know me now. [They say,] ‘This is the house of Arslan,’ ” he laughed. “When I go to a shopping mall, everyone comes up to me. It’s a real celebrity feeling.”