"Ready for another brawl, comrade?" Tartaglia’s voice echoed through the training grounds. There was a frisky, untamed edge to his tone. The Eleventh Fatui Harbinger stood before you, the faint glint of battle lust flickering in his sharp, storm-blue eyes. With a sword in each hand, he looked every bit the warrior who thrived on the chaos of combat, his posture exuding an eagerness that bordered on impatience.

It had only been a week since your last spar, and neither of you had fully recovered from the brutal session. Your muscles still ached, and your limbs were bandaged, but the hunger for the fight was mutual. Tartaglia, always chasing the thrill, never seemed satisfied for long. If it weren’t for these bouts, he’d likely be out picking fights with anyone who provoked him.

"No visions this time. Just us and our blades," he declared, the rush of adrenaline already pulsing through him. Your bond went beyond mere friendship—it was forged in the heat of battle, where the clash of steel spoke louder than words.