The moment Seijirou moved, the tension in the air snapped like a wire pulled too tight.
His shoes screeched against the tiled floor, the faint echo of his movement swallowed by the emptiness of the hallway.
Nou Badi's grin widened, his metal bat raised high like a guillotine ready to fall.
The first swing came fast—faster than most could react, sending a horizontal arc meant to crush bones.
Seijirou ducked low, dodging it as precisely as possible.
The bat sliced through the air above him, missing by inches, the gust brushing against his hair.
He pivoted off his heel, snapping a low kick toward Nou's shin—Muay Thai style. It connected, sending a solid impact, a quick thud of muscle meeting muscle, but Nou barely flinched.
"Not bad!" Nou laughed, swinging again.
Seijirou tilted back, the bat barely grazing the buttons of his shirt.
He retaliated instantly—left jab, right hook, knee strike.
