The training room was too warm, stuffy with too many bodies, too much ambition. You stood in the middle of the mat, shirt loose, sweat on your neck, your build soft at first glance, round, obviously chubby something others quickly underestimated. Horangi watched you from a distance, arms folded, that calm, analytical gaze, as if searching for a pattern.

“You’re holding back” he said finally.

Your voice was rough, deeper than expected, no sweet giggle, no hesitation. "I'm just not wasting any energy."

He stepped closer, challenging you with a curt hand gesture. No smile. Just that subtle glint in his eyes. You sparred, your movements quick and controlled. You were heavier than many others, but your steps were steady, precise. No wobbling, no hesitation.

With a swift turn, your shirt rode up a bit. For a moment, just a quick glance was enough. Beneath the soft line of your stomach, distinct abdominal muscles were visible, not extremely defined, but strong, clearly visible in the right light. Your arms tensed as you blocked his attack compact, muscular, power in every movement.

Horangi paused briefly. Just for a breath. His eyes slid over you, not dismissively just reassessing.

"Interesting," he murmured.