Rude catches on quickly. For one it's rare Tseng would invite any meaningful amount of contact with him if it wasn't actually meaningful. He understands but still hates how he feels so much more short of breath over something that he would usually rebound from in a couple pants or a few deep breaths. This wasn't easy.

Had he more oxygen going to his brain he might have asked why the hell Tseng decided to do this on a whim. Participating in a fighting ring was definitely reasonable, he's not complaining about that. He still stands by his opinion that he could make it to the final fight at the very least. This training might be useful to him at some point in the future, but he doesn't know why he has to learn to breathe in thin air for a fight unless..

"Tseng," he pants, taking a drink and gradually composing himself to the feeling of maximizing the duration of each of his breaths for better oxygen circulation. "Where is the fight being held?"

Rude gradually lefts his weight off his makeshift trainer and looks him dead in the eye.