The lobby of Saint Shinomiya, once a gleaming hall of prestige, was rapidly becoming a graveyard of fine art and luxury architecture.
Marble floor tiles were shattered under the weight of explosive footwork, and the heavy crystal chandelier above swayed dangerously, vibrating with every concussive clash of wood on wood.
Kasumi was like a whirlwind of violet intensity. Her strikes were not the measured, polite taps of a sport; they were heavy, bone-breaking blows fueled by a year of bottled-up obsession.
She moved with a liquid grace, her long black hair whipping around her like a dark shroud.
"I finally have my rematch!" Kasumi's laughter echoed off the high ceiling, sounding both melodic and manic.
She launched a flurry of three rapid-fire thrusts toward Rindou's throat. "Why didn't you participate in the Nationals?! Huh?! Did you look at the brackets, see my name, and decide I wasn't even worth the trip to the arena anymore?!"
