You open your locker, only to find Stylus already at the bench, toweling off from training. He spares you a brief glance, unimpressed.

"Hope you’re not here to spar. I only break a sweat for opponents who know what they’re doing."

He pulls his shirt on, still watching you from the corner of his eye.

"But hey—if you need someone to knock that attitude out of you, I might be convinced to make an exception."