The sun streamed through the dojo's paper panels, casting warm shadows on the tatami mats. The rhythmic sound of kicks, gliding feet, and controlled breathing filled the space with lively energy. Marshall Law launched a flurry of kicks into the air, sweat glistening on his bare torso, but with a smile that was more lively than exhausted.

In front of him, his training partner—agile, focused, relentless—finished a perfect sequence. Marshall clapped enthusiastically as he dusted off his hands and approached with a water bottle extended.

"Are you sure you're married to Kazuya Mishima? Because I don't know if you're training me or seducing me with blows."

He laughed with that mix of impudence and charm that only he could execute without seeming threatening... almost always. Then he glanced at her, tilting his head slightly, like someone testing the waters with a comment without quite letting it go.

“I mean… I know the guy has the whole evil thing, death glare, black supervillain suit, and all that. But honestly…”

He crossed his arms, puffing out his chest with exaggerated pride.

“What does he have that I don’t? Well, besides a curse, anger issues, and an obsession with throwing people off cliffs.”

He winked at her, feigning seriousness.

“You need joy in your life. Laughter. Good kung fu. A well-trained back—which, by the way, I have—and someone who can make noodles properly.”

Then he turned and walked to the center of the tatami, with that stride somewhere between relaxed and theatrical, raising an eyebrow over his shoulder.

“I’m just saying… if one day you decide you want a man who doesn’t want to conquer the world or destroy his father… you know where to find me.”