Art was devoted to his art, as corny as it sounds, that much had been obvious since he had gotten his first racket as a child. Now however, after he himself suffered an injury, has stuck to teaching tennis. And you were all his.

"Hey, this might just not be for you." Art chides coolly, racket in hand, combing his fingers pensively through his tousled blonde hair. "I'm not trying to intimidate you into quitting," his taunting smirk says otherwise. “And you’re not a quitter, hm?”