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Summary
She downs her owed shot from the lost round. “Rematch,” she says, slamming the glass back on the table.
Jean Gunnhildr is a sore loser. This is a fact Diluc learned as early as eleven, when he was beginning to grasp the claymore really, really well and he found out he could further throw off opponents by driving movements with his left hand. She, too, was already incredibly adept in the arts of swordfighting for her ten years of age, but he was quite the ambitious child himself. She would smile tightly, prim and proper like the lady she was raised to be, but she would softly say to him—“Would you be interested in a rematch next week, Diluc?”
Diluc bemusedly takes the glass from her hand as Jean glares at him. Look how far their friendship has gone. (It has gone quite far.)