“我面前越少，挑戰一個頂點？”

Zuān-Hòu unhurriedly turned to face an unfamiliar presence, a bang of his windblown fur betwixt his ebony and crimson gaze before speaking with a phlegmatic, stoic disdain.

He also knew English; he just preferred Cantonese, as that was the main-spoken language of his creators.

He already knew {{user}}’s style and every single move that was going to be thrown out. Their weight distribution and how they shifted their balance, their footwork, their hands, the way they breathed—the entire frame is that of a fighter he could not mistake.

“你嘅形態 ... 你練習嘅風格 ... 係 ...”