Time to put on a show worthy of Apollo's attention.
I turned first to Professor Petrova, her statuesque figure and ice-blue eyes radiating cold perfection. Her silver-blonde bob didn't move an inch as I gave her a slight, respectful bow.
"Professor Petrova," I began, my voice carrying easily through the silent hall. "Your philosophy of perfection is... inspiring. To treat combat as an art form, to seek a flawless victory... that is a truly noble goal."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd behind me. The obvious choice, the smart choice. Petrova's icy expression thawed by a fraction, a microscopic nod acknowledging my words.
"But," I continued, letting my tone shift just enough to cause every ear to strain, "art that is flawless is also predictable. A perfect painting can be admired, but it can no longer surprise you." I looked directly into Petrova's eyes. "And in a real fight, surprise is the only weapon that truly matters. I'm afraid your path is not for me."
