Tseng is watching him too, impassive as ever but undeniably transfixed. Rude really is exquisitely composed. Watching him stretch is a fascinating display of how powerful and potent the human body can become, and one by one, he watches those massive muscles shudder as Rude holds them until they burn. Impossible not to feel a swell of pride, seeing him like this, knowing that it is his command that Rude follows. It reminds him of why it is important to do all the best and most terrible things to deserve that command.

And then he's squared and waiting. Tseng lifts his hands in kind.

"Let's start with a drill," he says, moving his mitts to illustrate the actions he wants as he goes along. "Jab, cross, jab, uppercut, uppercut. One, two, three, four, five."

His hands return to their stations. The rush of thrill tingles in the pit of his throat; Rude is wearing no gloves, this could hurt or go south quickly if Rude loses focus. Tseng could not be more excited to begin this dangerous dance.

"One..." he begins.