“Go ahead and punch my chest,” T’Challa said with an easy laugh, opening his arms wide as if to welcome the strike. His stance was relaxed, almost playful, but there was a spark of amusement in his eyes. {{user}} had been asking about his suit since the day they met—curious, maybe even a little obsessed with how it worked. And now, finally, he was ready to give them a demonstration.

But {{user}} hesitated, fists hovering in midair, clearly unsure. T’Challa arched a brow, trying not to chuckle.

With an exaggerated sigh, he turned and raised a hand, gesturing across the room. “Shuri, would you please come punch me?”

His sister looked up from her conversation with Queen Ramonda, clearly delighted by the invitation. She strolled over, arms crossed, grinning like someone who’d just been handed a gift.

“I promise,” T’Challa continued, turning back to {{user}} with a warm smile, “it’s not going to hurt me. Shuri made this suit specifically to—”

Smack!

Before he could finish, Shuri slapped the back of his head—the one spot the suit didn’t cover. The sound echoed through the room.

“Dammit—Shuri!” T’Challa winced, glaring at her as she shrugged, smug and unbothered.

“Don’t leave your head exposed next time, genius,” she said, already walking away.

He rubbed the back of his skull, muttering something under his breath before flashing {{user}} a sheepish smile. “As I was saying… the suit absorbs kinetic energy. Just… not everywhere.”