"Everyone! Good news! My master has left! Don't worry, I, Tartaglia, am completely unharmed!"
Tartaglia walked in with a pair of dark circles under his eyes comparable to a raccoon's, his left cheek swollen high, a band-aid on the corner of his mouth, and a limp. Yet, he tried to puff out his chest and flashed a brilliant (but wincing from the wound) smile and a thumbs-up to everyone.
Everyone looked at his face, which seemed to have just been ravaged by a Ruin Grader, and fell into a dead silence.
Paimon flew a little closer, pointing a small finger at Tartaglia's face, and exclaimed in shock, "You call this 'unharmed'? Your face is almost a Liyue ink painting!"
Lumine sighed, pressing a hand to her forehead: "...You are completely redefining the word 'unharmed'."
Neuvillette even subconsciously reached for his Code, seemingly contemplating whether "false advertising of injury levels in Fontaine is illegal."
"What outrageous thing did you do to your master yesterday?"
Jesse couldn't help but be curious, leaning closer to examine Tartaglia's "injuries."
"Something that made her first act after recovering her strength to beat you into this state?"
"Uh... well..."
Tartaglia scratched his orange hair awkwardly, accidentally touching a bruise on his forehead, which made him wince and suck in a sharp breath.
"Hehe, it's just... during training before, didn't Master always like to throw me around like a sandbag, or kick me into various strange spatial rifts...?"
He paused, a triumphant smile mixed with nostalgia and successful mischief appearing on his face: "It's rare for Master to become small and fall asleep so defenselessly in front of me... it was a rare opportunity! Of course, I had to... 'collect' a little interest!"
Zane commented expressionlessly, "So, did you draw a turtle on her face, or tie her hair into pigtails?"
"Something more exciting than that!"
Tartaglia's eyes lit up, then he winced again as his facial muscles pulled at his wounds.
"I... I secretly sprinkled a lot of Itching Powder on her, which I got from the Wolf King! And then... hehe, I also recorded a short video of her fighting with herself in bed at night..."
Everyone: "..."
The air was filled with sympathy (and a hint of schadenfreude) that screamed, "You're not just courting death, you're looking for it."
"...It'd be strange if she *didn't* beat you to death."
Jesse finally concluded weakly, patting Tartaglia's relatively intact shoulder.
"Brother, you're lucky to be alive."
"Hahaha, it's nothing!"
Tartaglia still laughed optimistically, or rather, thick-headedly.
"This just shows that Master is still in her prime! Her skills are as sharp as ever! As a disciple, I am very pleased!"
It's just that his butt still hurts like hell... Paimon gestured with her little finger in the air: "It seems you not only have to handle Snezhnaya's diplomacy but also prepare some healing medicine..."
Just then, a clear, cold voice came from the doorway:
"Ajax."
Tartaglia stiffened all over, his smile instantly Frozen.
He slowly, like a rusty robot, turned his head.
Skirk, restored to her elegant and powerful self, was leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, her gaze as sharp as a blade.
She lightly tossed and caught a... familiar Kamera, belonging to Tartaglia.
"Regarding that 'short video'..."
Skirk's red lips curved slightly, revealing a smile that sent shivers down Tartaglia's spine.
"I think we can have a good 'discussion' about what it means to respect one's teacher."
Tartaglia: "!!!"
"Ma-Master! Please let me explain! That was a memento! A beautiful memory!"
Tartaglia shrieked, ignoring his injuries, and tried to run.
Skirk's figure flickered, and she had already grabbed him by the back of his collar and thrown him into a small room.
"Matt."
Skirk called out without turning her head.
"Lend me your 'spiked mace' for a bit, the one with the massage function."
Matt's honest voice came: "Alright! I have one that's just been serviced!"
Tartaglia's wails echoed through the sky: "No, Master! I was wrong! I was really wrong—!"
Everyone tacitly turned away, some drinking tea, some looking at the scenery.
Hmm, Fontaine today is still peaceful (and lively).
"Ow—! Oh ho ho ho!!"
"Ya yi—!!"
"Ah ah ah ah ah—!!!"
"Bang! Bang bang bang bang!!"
Heavy, rhythmic thudding was ceaseless, interspersed with a symphony of shattering porcelain, flying glass, and twisting metal.
Everyone stood outside the small room, watching the pathetic building with varied expressions.
The small room now seemed to have a life of its own, performing a wild dance.
It violently bounced up and down at times, like it was clubbing; at other times, it swayed wildly from side to side; the chimney on the roof even emitted suspicious black smoke.
Various items were constantly "ejected" from the small room's windows, door cracks, and even the chimney:
A pillow printed with a smiling face of "Snezhnaya's Most Popular Toy Salesman" flew out and hit Paimon in the face.
A set of exquisite tea ware, complete with a tray, spun out and was subconsciously caught by Neuvillette with his staff, then placed steadily aside.
A wrought-iron chair twisted into a pretzel shape was embedded in a nearby tree trunk.
Even a few dazed Cryo Crystalfly flew out with them, drawing chaotic trajectories in the air.
"Matt."
Lumine couldn't help but look at the honest-looking Electro Lawachurl beside her.
"Your spiked mace... it also has a 'massage function'?"
She deliberately emphasized the last four words.
Matt scratched his head and honestly replied, "Yeah, I installed a few vibrating runes, they say it can relax muscles and promote circulation, relieve muscle fatigue... Looks like it's quite effective."
He even sounded a bit proud.
Jesse stroked his chin and commented, "Judging by the sound, Miss Skirk is loosening up every muscle and bone she hasn't used in five hundred years. Brother Tartaglia truly has... immeasurable merit."
Zane added expressionlessly, "I suggest Tartaglia apply for worker's compensation from Snezhnaya, with the reason: 'Assisted Master in high-intensity rehabilitation training, resulting in severe personal and property damage.'"
Furina quietly tugged Neuvillette's sleeve and whispered, "Neuvillette, in this situation... do we need to apply for a 'building hazardous state warning'? Or call a doctor... and a renovation team in advance?"
Neuvillette looked at the still "bouncing" small room, calmly took a sip of water: "According to Fontaine law, 'master-disciple exchanges' within private residences are not interfered with as long as they do not endanger public safety. As for doctors and renovation teams..."
He glanced at the increasing number of "ejections" on the ground.
"They can be booked in advance."
Just then, the commotion from the small room gradually subsided.
"Creak—"
The cracked wooden door was pushed open.
Skirk walked out feeling refreshed, dusting off non-existent dust from her hands, her usually elegant face showing a hint of post-exercise flush and comfort.
She even gracefully tidied her slightly disheveled hair.
Behind her, the interior of the small room looked as if it had been swept by a Category 10 typhoon, a complete mess.
As for Tartaglia... he was not visible for the moment.
A few seconds later, a trembling hand reached out from a pile of furniture debris, weakly swayed, then fell with a "thud."
Skirk glanced back, and said faintly, "Don't worry, he's not dead. He just needs a little time... to reassemble himself."
Everyone: "..."
It seemed Skirk's anger had temporarily subsided.
But Tartaglia's "Respecting One's Teacher" course had probably just begun.