After a long string of arguments and insults, the woman finally broke down in tears.
"You're lucky she values you enough to cry like that. If it weren't for her, I'd split you in two right here."
As the argument went on, the man seemed to grow younger, energized almost; his expressions became livelier, and even the smallest gestures gained a sharper intensity.
"Are you sure you want to test me? I don't recall you ever winning before, young man," he said, (let's see what excuse you'll have now).
Disgust twisted Faust's face—though not exaggeratedly, it was almost as if he might vomit. "You? Me? Get lost, don't push your luck. Forget the last time you won—when was the last time you even hit me, or got close?"
"In our last clash, I'm certain I sent you to the other side of the continent. But I guess my old mind starts thinking its own thoughts again, right? If you behave this selfishly and arrogantly, your end will come soon, Faust. Do you want to destroy yourself? You'd better live long; there are people who need you. And if even I can hit you and match you, then in the future, no one will stand a chance against you," the man explained at length. Even though his words directly contradicted Faust's, his face carried an unmistakable calm.
"I didn't want to ruin your morale, but to be frank, I never took you seriously even once. And if I had—"
"Spare me the excuses of not taking me seriously, not trying, not caring. Keep those to yourself, kid. You've got a long way to go."
"I'm doing everything I can to avoid humiliating you in front of your wife, but you're far too eager to destroy yourself. Push your luck a bit more, and unfortunately, I'll have no choice but to crush you. I'm trying to preserve your pride—please don't put me in that position," Faust said, slowly closing his eyes with each word.
"No! Do you think I'd allow a brat like you to show me respect or mercy? You're ruined, broken, not a single thought sticking in your head. Even if there were no one to defeat you, you'd destroy yourself. Who do you think you are, to dare speak and act this way to me?" The man pressed the finger he'd already pointed at Faust's chest.
(F = Aahh—No, no, no—no. I can see where this is heading. Don't do this to yourself, old man, for your sake and hers. If you stop now—I can still forgive you.)
The man gripped Faust's hand tightly. "You've got ten seconds to remove your hand, you little bastard. If you don't respect me? That's on you. But mark my words—ten minutes from now, your body won't even be here." He started counting in his head:
(1… 2… 3… —)
Ignoring the warning, Faust pressed, "Ten seconds? Too long, too long. We're not playing games here, Faust. Let's not waste our time, shall we?"
"Stop it. This is your final warning…"
(6… 7… 8… 9…)
"Then shall we let go, Faust? I. Duel—"
Just as he was about to finish, his wife's trembling voice, heavy with fear and desperation, cut him off:
"STOP!! Don't continue. I beg you."
"Do you even realize what a crucial moment you're interrupting, woman?"
Faust slowly sat back down. "Listen to your wife. Can you believe a woman like her is in the hands of a selfish, useless man like you? The man who invited me here for a meal, who cared about my situation, was on the brink of his own death just to avoid looking weak. Do you realize how pitiful that is?"
The woman looked on the verge of tears, wiping her aged eyes.
"Please, Faust. His mind hasn't been right lately—don't listen to him. I can't yet risk losing him."