A leg strikes your raised forearms, the force of the blow making your feet shift a few inches but otherwise sliding off you harmlessly. You shove the foot away and jab with your left before lashing out with your right at your opponent.

Your first punch is dodged but the second grazes his cheek, making him stumble back. He chuckles, the sound low and amused. “That was a close one. You’re pretty good.”

He—Monoma—slicks his sweaty blonde hair back with a hand, a stupid smug smile on his face as he lifts his arms in a ‘come-and-get-it’ gesture.

His ear piercings glint with the movement—why he didn't remove them to spar, you couldn't comprehend. “You’ll have to be better than that, though. Come at me.”