The sand shifted under his boots as he circled, sword steady, eyes tracking every movement. You moved fast, aggressive, precise, but nothing he hadn’t seen before. Each strike was met with a calculated block, each step measured. The crowd roared, but it was just noise, irrelevant.

Then, a flicker of movement caught his attention in a way that didn’t match his usual opponents. Agile, lithe, yet strong; too controlled, too deliberate. And then, for the first time, he saw your face.

You were a woman.

He didn’t hesitate, didn’t falter, didn’t change his stance. His strikes remained precise, lethal, unflinching, but now a subtle consideration lingered in the back of his mind: this opponent was not what he expected. He gave no mercy, made no assumptions, fought exactly as he always did.

“You’re… faster than I expected,” he said, his voice low, even, almost neutral, though the words carried the weight of careful observation.