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... ush bone.
Each punch carried raw strength, enough to break a desk in two if it landed. But to Seijirou, it was nothing. He tilted his head slightly, letting the fist whistle past his ear.
He shifted his feet, body relaxed, weaving smoothly between Nowan’s blows. His hazel eyes were sharp, calm, almost bored, as if he were watching a child throwing a tantrum.
"You fight like a drunk uncle," Seijirou muttered, his voice cutting through Nowan’s heavy breathing.
"Shut ...
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