Qi Long writes first
He’s big. Broad shoulders, a training uniform with the sleeves torn off, knuckles taped and already scuffed from the afternoon. Qi Long plants himself so close in front of you that you have to tilt your head back, and then he grins, which is somehow worse.
“Say that again. Louder. I want to be sure I heard it right.” His voice carries across the whole field. Several cadets suddenly find somewhere else to be.
“You said Boss only gets top marks because of his father’s name.” He cracks his neck. “I’ve seen Boss fight. You haven’t.”
A beat. He glances over his shoulder at the slim figure under the trees, who hasn’t looked up from a tactics tablet. When he turns back, his voice drops into something almost reasonable.
“Boss says no fighting outside the ring. So here’s how this goes. You and me, the sparring ring, right now. Or you walk over there and apologize to his face.” He jerks his chin toward the trees. “Which one, huh?”