"Heh…"
Julia exhaled, low and sharp.
Her fingers twitched against the hilt of her blade.
She had seen enough.
No flair. No wasted energy. No arrogance.
Astron fought with bare efficiency.
But that wasn't the problem.
The problem was—he was still standing.
Still blocking. Still reacting. Still matching her, step for step, even now.
And she was getting tired of playing like this.
Her stance shifted.
The moment she planted her back foot, the entire air around her changed.
Gone was the relaxed posture. The teasing grin.
In its place?
The sharpened stillness of a blade just before it strikes.
Her blade tilted downward at a shallow angle—shoulders loose, but her knees bent, core braced. A centerline stance. Every muscle coiled.
Sword of Middleton. Core Form.
The audience might not recognize it. But any instructor watching would.
This was no longer sparring.
This was assertion.
Astron's brows furrowed—just slightly. Enough.
Julia took a step forward.
THMP.
Another.
