Peter stood on the stage, facing his opponent: a young lady who appeared to be in her early twenties, dressed in tight, functional thigh-length gear. She carried no weapon.
Peter glanced down at his own sword, then raised his head, a frown creasing his brow. "Are you sure you don't need a weapon?" he asked, genuine concern mixing with a touch of condescension.
"It's cute you're worried about me," the lady smirked, quickly snapping into a low, aggressive fighting posture.
"You don't have to be. Although we're both in the same rank, you look like a kid who doesn't know what he's doing." Her words were a stinging challenge.
"Wow!! It seems Kick Queen is on fire!! This will be an amazing battle! Now, Start!!" The commentator's voice reached a crescendo.
Peter, fueled by offense, nodded stiffly and lunged, slashing his sword downward in a powerful, direct strike.
WHOOSH!!
