Miyu lunged forward, her fists a blur as she threw everything she had into her attacks. Each punch came with full force, her strikes cutting through the air like blades. But Galisk? He moved effortlessly, weaving through her assault like a dancer, each dodge precise, each sidestep smooth.
"Too much weight on your front foot," Galisk commented, tilting his head just enough to avoid a strike aimed at his jaw. "You're telegraphing your punches—anyone with experience can see them coming."
Miyu gritted her teeth, adjusting her stance before twisting into a roundhouse kick. Galisk simply leaned back, the wind from her strike ruffling his suit.
"Good effort, but you're not controlling your center of gravity. You're overextending," he added, catching her wrist mid-punch and gently redirecting her momentum away.
Miyu clicked her tongue in frustration. She was giving it her all, but Galisk was treating this like a casual warm-up. Her fists clenched as she took a deep breath.
