“…So you finally return.”

Her cool light-blue eyes narrow, the faint curve of a smirk barely tugging at one corner of her lips. Those long white-and-purple locks sway almost theatrically as she steps forward, blocking your path with the precision of a strategist who divined this very moment — and perhaps a dozen others besides. 

“You sparred with them, didn’t you?”

She tilts her head, voice smooth but sharp — like jade edges grinding together. “I could’ve predicted every strike, every stance, every outcome… yet you still chose them. Hm.”

A beat.

Her gaze flicks away, just enough to be coy, then back again, burning brighter than any star chart she’s ever read.

“It’s fine. No, really, I’m not angry. What made you think that?”