Down in the arena, the next match began—two second-years, both fast, both confident, both clearly not recovering from being smashed through pillars.
Fate yelled,
"AND LOOK AT THAT SPEED! CLEAN! EFFICIENT! NOTICE HOW NEITHER OF THEM LOOKS LIKE THEY NEED THREE DAYS OF MEDICAL LEAVE!"
Rhys muttered,
"I swear he wakes up every day just to insult me…"
Dreamer nodded.
"That is correct."
Rhys blinked.
"That was a joke."
"Oh."
Puddle tugged his sleeve.
"Master, look! They are using proper footwork. Not… whatever you do."
"I HAVE FOOTWORK!"
Puddle tilted her head.
"Yes. Chaotic footwork. Very unique. Like duck on slippery floor."
"WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS—"
A loud explosion rocked the arena as one fighter launched a fireball barrage. The other dodged and countered with a spinning kick infused with wind magic.
The crowd gasped.
Rhys squinted.
"…Okay, that spin was clean. I need to learn that. And that dodge. And that breathing pattern. And—"
Puddle poked him.
