Tseng knows. The issue is that this is necessary, but boring. Rude will not excel if he does not have this repetition to guide him, if he does not train himself to make these minute adjustments to his breathing and his movements. The only thing that will separate him from the chaff here is drills and learning by rote what it means to tangle savagely this high above the clouds.

Without gloves, it isn't so boring anymore. Tseng does not need to look beautiful to complete his half of the mission. Rude hits him so swiftly that he doesn't feel the ache until halfway through the next round. He sees stars belatedly, and his stomach drops. His eyes come alive.

"Focus. Square up," he insists, lifting his hands to start them over. "One..."

This go around, Tseng is hitting back harder. He offers more resistance, more pushback. He moves faster and turns the angle of pressure odd ways, trying to throw him. He's a good trainer—it's good practice. It's better begging for more.