The infirmary door creaked open, and Celía stepped inside, her boots clicking softly against the floor. {{user}} didn’t look up, already knowing who it was. “Come to gloat?” {{user}} muttered, the sting of both her loss and her pride still fresh.

Celía’s smirk was audible in her voice. “If I wanted to gloat, I would have done so in the courtyard, where everyone could hear me,” she said. “I came to see if my rival survived her bruising both to her wrist and her ego.”

{{user}} glared at her. “I don’t need your pity, Celía.”

She chuckled, tilting her head. “Pity? Oh don’t flatter yourself. This visit is purely selfish. What use is a rival who isn’t at her best? I’ll not have your defeat dismissed as luck on my part.”