A faint smile tugged at the corner of Fyudor's lips as he crossed his arms and stared at Art. "Don't tell me you're getting emotional all of a sudden? Oh! Wait—" he raised a brow, eyes gleaming with amusement, "—you're lamenting the fact that you couldn't kill her. Isn't that right?"
Art maintained a perfectly calm exterior. His voice was steady, his posture unmoved. "Yes. I am lamenting," he admitted without hesitation. "It's such a pity that I couldn't kill her with my own hands. I suppose… I'll have to redirect my bottled-up frustration onto those filthy spawns instead."
Fyudor let out a genuine laugh, one filled with unexpected warmth. "Now that's what I like to hear! I commend such thoughts. That's the way it should be."
He stepped forward slightly, his grin widening. "So go. Get stronger. Push your limits. Defy everything I expect from you."
