A Deliberate Stance

Stillness gave way to intent. I felt the weight of my tailored coat settle across my shoulders, real and heavy. Before me stood a rigid fighter frozen mid-thrust, arms outstretched toward my chest. I did not recoil. Instead, with measured slowness, I lifted my gloved hand and let a single finger press against the pointed tips of the spiky-haired figure's plastic knuckles. Firm. Immovable. An arena suspended in silence, and yet, I alone could draw breath. I lowered my chin, anchoring my boots upon the stone tiles, fully composed.