There's no honor in defeat.
— Bright
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The fabric of his blazer, woven with care and attention to detail, draped elegantly over his form, accentuating his stature while maintaining an air of mystery.
A lightweight summer glove adorned his right hand, a subtle accessory that concealed the injuries beneath while adding a touch of refinement to his ensemble.
With each adjustment, Bright presented himself as a picture of refinement, his attire speaking volumes without uttering a single word.
"Care for a game of chess, Alex?" Bright suggested, offering Benz a graceful exit from his embarrassment.
"Ah, sure thing, buddy. Wohoo!" Benz exclaimed, relieved to shift the focus.
"You always swoop in, analyze the game for a moment, then rescue the loser! Tsk! You're unbearable!" Alex accused, pointing a playful finger at Bright.
