A fierce arrow pierces through the air. It hissed sharply and swiftly stabbed the central mark of the target.
A faint gust of wind surrounds the lone figure standing at the center of the empty arena. Moulin's white hair elegantly flutters behind him. Normally, it was braided. However, Moulin could only sigh because of one overly attentive woman as his typical hairstyle was altered. The side of his head was braided to his scalp. The two braids met at the center of the back of his head, letting the longer part of his hair cascade down his back. Moulin wasn't used to such style. However, he wasn't bothered by it, for his vision would no longer be covered by his bangs.
Moulin rolled his shoulders and reached for another arrow from his quiver, slung against his back. His hand only grasped empty air, and he realized he had used up all the arrows. As his gaze returned to the rows of round targets in front of him, Moulin sighed. Perhaps, he'll take a break.
