Tryston's hand shot forward with impressive speed, slapping the back of his flying companion to arrest the momentum before the youth could crash into him.
Something audibly cracked from the impact—possibly ribs or internal damage—but finally the residual force dissipated. The aggressive youth managed to stabilize his footing, though he swayed unsteadily.
He stared at Vogue with absolute disbelief written across his face, his expression carrying genuine shock mixed with dawning fear.
When had this dual-talent student become so monstrously strong? the youth's thoughts were practically visible in his stunned expression. He was supposedly from a poverty-stricken background in the outer districts, barely scraping by before his trial. How could someone like that develop this level of combat power?
The entire bus had fallen into complete, heavy silence. Every single passenger was staring at Vogue with newfound wariness and calculation.
