Trafalgar's smirk lingered as the room fell quiet, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade.
Xavier leaned forward in his chair, arms crossed, eyes locked on the double bed like it was a treasure chest.
Bartholomew stood frozen near the wall, glancing nervously between them.
"Any idea?" Trafalgar repeated, his grin widening.
"Yeah," Xavier said, cracking his knuckles. "Arm wrestle. Loser takes the bunk."
Trafalgar tilted his head, amused. "Simple enough. No complaints here."
They sat at the small desk, elbows planted. Mana flickered faintly around their wrists as they locked hands. The air buzzed.
"On three," Xavier said. "One—two—"
Both pushed early.
"You cheated!" they shouted at the same time.
The desk creaked under the pressure as they leaned harder, neither giving an inch.
Barth could only stare, wide-eyed, as the veins on their forearms began to glow faintly with mana.
