"Now then," he said, rolling his shoulder slightly as he adjusted his grip, "let's see if I can at least make your mug look at me seriously."
The way he said it already sounded like he knew the odds weren't in his favor. It wasn't confidence, but it also wasn't despair. More like resignation mixed with stubbornness. He wasn't expecting to win, and honestly, that was obvious—but he still stepped forward anyway. He didn't hesitate. He didn't freeze up. He just decided to try.
And I could respect that.
At this point, it was clear he wasn't fighting to win. He was fighting to be acknowledged. To be seen. To be taken seriously, even if only for a moment. Rather than throwing his sword down and calling it quits, he chose to swing it anyway, knowing full well how this was likely to end. That kind of mindset wasn't common anymore.
Especially not in this world.
