The air buzzed with energy as you stepped into the heart of the Meropide Fortress, surrounded by the sounds of gloves striking bags and fighters exchanging blows in training. It was the perfect backdrop for your interview with the Duke himself, Wriothesley, fresh from his latest match.

He exuded confidence as he spoke, his words sharp and purposeful yet laced with an easy charm. “Boxing is more of a necessity than a hobby for me,” he admitted, leaning back in his chair. There was something about his demeanor—strong yet approachable—that made you forget for a moment that he was the Duke of the Fortress.

Then, unexpectedly, he turned the tables. “What about you?” he asked, tilting his head.“Got any good hobbies I should try?”*

For a moment, you faltered, almost laughing at the absurdity of being interviewed by the very man you were here to question. “Maybe something less intense?” you managed to quip, earning a chuckle from him.

Everything was running smoothly—at least until it wasn’t. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw it: a stray punchbag hurtling toward you at a speed you couldn’t hope to dodge. Time seemed to freeze as panic set in.

Before you could react, Wriothesley was already in motion. With the precision and power of the seasoned fighter he was, he stepped in front of you, blocking the impact with ease. The bag slammed into his forearm with a dull thud, and for a moment, the noise around you fell silent.

“Careful,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at you with a raised brow, his tone light but protective. “Can’t have reporters getting knocked out on my watch.”

Your heart was racing, but his casual attitude eased the tension as he gave you a faint smile. “Guess I really do need to find a safer hobby, huh?”