Rex saved Diana for last. It was a calculated move, a deliberate choice that served both his training regimen and the unspoken power dynamics simmering beneath the surface of the hall.
"Your stance is already correct," he announced, his voice carrying across the room with clear authority.
He wanted the spectators, the curious cousins, and the nervous junior guards to hear it. He wanted them to understand that 'correct' was not some abstract concept reserved for legends; it was a tangible reality that could be achieved through sweat and discipline.
Then, he stepped closer, lowering his voice until it was a private murmur meant only for her ears, cutting through the ambient noise of the hall. "But your weight shifts a fraction too early when you commit to a strike."
"You're telegraphing your intent before your muscles even contract... It has been costing you precious milliseconds of speed for as long as I have watched you fight."
