The fight had turned into something no one had expected. Vance, once so confident, was now clearly out of his depth. Sweat streaked down the sides of his face, mixing with the dust and faint traces of blood where Misha's strikes had landed. His stance was no longer the proud, calculated posture of a platinum guild heir—it was defensive, hesitant, and desperate.
When the S-Rank observers stepped in to stop the exchange before it turned ugly, Vance's sword lowered a fraction too fast, as if the intervention had been his only salvation. The tension broke like glass under pressure, but instead of withdrawing quietly, Vance immediately began talking—fast, and in a tone that tried to straddle humility and self-justification.
