The trial dragged on, each moment a monotonous blur.
Feng Shen, utterly uninterested, leaned back lazily, a picture of nonchalance amidst the tension.
He absently played with his fingers, tapping them together in a rhythm only he understood, his expression one of pure boredom.
Feng Shen cast an occasional glance at the other participants, their desperate struggles barely worth his attention.
To him, their fights were trivial, a pathetic display of mediocrity that only deepened his disinterest.
Feng Shen's gaze shifted briefly to the center of the platform, where the next match was set to begin.
With a faint sigh, he shifted in his seat and muttered under his breath, "still not my turn..."
Feng Shen's next fight—the final one—was the only thing worth his time, the only thing that could possibly hold even a shred of interest.
