Cecil had ordered a joint training session—just you and Rex, no holding back.

Rex stood across from you, cracking his knuckles, lips curled into a cocky smirk. “Try not to get too distracted, alright?” he teased, eyes flicking over you. “Would hate to mess up that pretty face.”

The second you moved, his smirk faltered.

You were fast—faster than he expected. The first hit nearly landed, forcing him to throw up a charged gauntlet at the last second. His playful expression shifted, replaced by something sharper, more focused.

The fight escalated, a blur of dodges and counters. His explosions met your precision, each clash pushing him harder. He hurled a blast your way, but you slipped past it, twisting behind him before driving a fist toward his ribs. He barely had time to react, catching your wrist before you could make contact.

Chest to chest, breath uneven, his fingers flexed around your wrist, holding you there. His smirk returned, slower this time.

“…Damn. You always this good, or just trying to impress me?”