The guy staggered, his Aura flickering, but Jean didn't press the attack. She stepped back, giving him a moment, almost as if to show that she wasn't in any rush. The smirk was gone from his face now, replaced with something like frustration.
He tried again, this time slower, more cautious. His swings were heavier. Jean moved around him and then released her [Gray Winter] to freeze his legs and stop his movement.
With a final strike, Jean knocked him out, sending his sword clattering to the ground. She stood over him, her sword still at the ready, but she didn't need to do anything more.
The referee called the match. She had won—quick, clean, no wasted movement.
I couldn't help but smile. That was Jean, always one step ahead, never needing to prove anything with showy moves or over-the-top displays of strength. Just precision and control.
"That's my girl-"
