Back at the academy hospitals, a conversation between a young greater grandmaster who hides his power and a an old martial master who is just too smart, the Head master.
"You're quicker-witted than I anticipated," Kaidën replied in a hoarse but even tone.
"I'm the Headmaster of the best school in the continent," said Alaric, an eyebrow arching. "If I couldn't determine a faked knockout, I'd be in the kitchen boiling potatoes."
Kaidën smiled dryly. "Could've fooled the rest of us, though."
You did, Alaric admitted. Even a few of the professors. You almost got me. But I've fought in a couple real battles to understand when a person's hurling a swing… and when a person's laying the groundwork.
He pulled a chair next to Kaidën's bedside and sat.
"You let her win," Alaric told her, voice no longer raised. "And changed your own mind. You didn't intend to get hurt—although you understood that the technique would do what you intended. You risked. Drawn the match. Won the result."
