Tianlong's gaze traveled down slowly—not to undress her with his eyes, more like a general assessing a soldier—taking in her combat stance, the way her weight distributed on the balls of her feet, the subtle tremor in her left calf muscle from overuse.
His eyes lingered for just a heartbeat on the tear in the stone platform, then back to her face.
"Impressive form," he said, that smile never wavering, trying to keep his mind away from guessing her nipple color and focusing on the present. "Though your follow-through leaves you vulnerable for point-three seconds. Against anyone faster than your opponent just now, you'd be countered."
Yuna's jaw tightened. Her tail lashed once, twice, the red fur bristling. "I won, didn't I?"
"You did." Tianlong inclined his head, reading webnovels nearly making him know the psychology of such women. He had just provoked her. "But victory against the weak teaches nothing."
The air got colder.
Someone in the crowd gasped.
