Fifty eight… fifty nine… sixty.

Dante dropped his knees to the ground and wiped the sweat from his brow. It was a hot day in Nintendria, but still less so than Magmarne. Sixty pushups was almost easy without a constant molten heating from the ground. In fact, the summer breeze was a welcome touch to his bare skin.

“You should train with your clothes on, you know.”

Dante nearly sprang to his feet. He hadn’t heard Keith walk up to him. The knight just laughed at his startle, he definitely snuck up on him on purpose. Dante stood and blushed heavily. He was told it was better to train as light as possible to avoid heat stroke, but he didn’t say anything.

It was a good thing Dante was embarrassed, otherwise he’d be blushing just to the fact that he was caught shirtless in front of Keith.

“Here, spar?”

Keith held out a large metal practice sword, the blade covered in soft foam. It would keep the two from accidentally killing each other, but the weight still made it possible to seriously hurt someone. Dante fought with a large broadsword, so he had to train with something equally heavy.

Dante took his shirt from the ground. He slipped his arms into the sleeves and, just before throwing it over his head, took a peek over at Keith. Dante could tell that he was watching, but didn’t dare look long enough to see if he was admiring.

For a brief moment, Dante wondered what the knight looked like underneath his shirt.

After he was properly clothed, Dante walked over to him and took the practice sword without looking Keith in the eyes. He walked several paces away and planted his feet into a battle ready position. Dante steadied his breathing, trying to clear his mind and his flush face. He wanted to impress Keith, sure, but the more he worried about performing well, the worse he’d do.

Keith raised his sword as well. He smiled confidently, making Dante quickly look down at his armor-plated chest. Looking at your opponent’s face in battle was distracting, regardless of how attractive they are. A well-trained fighter can look one direction and strike in a different direction. The torso, on the other hand, was the center of the body and would always show which way a strike was coming.

Dante wondered what straight men and lesbian women did against fighting large breasted women.

The two stood unmoving, swords touching at the tips. Dante wanted to wait for Keith to make the first move, but apparently the same was true for his opponent. How long would he wait? This wasn’t much of a sparring match.

Eventually Dante became fed up with waiting. He didn’t so much as deflect Keith’s sword, instead throwing his entire weight into batting it out of the way to leave its wielder wide open. Dante quickly checked to make sure his first move caught the knight off guard, and then he threw his weight back into a second strike. Keith had just enough time to raise his sword back up to deflect what might have been a broken rib from the attack. Dante continued his momentum, following with a third strike and forcing a similarly awkward block.

Keith staggered a few steps backwards in retreat away from Dante’s onslaught. He repositioned himself into a fighting stance again, this time with less confidence and more determination. Dante raised his sword at the ready too.

This time Keith took the initial strike. He raised his arms to strike high, and Dante readied a block. But at the last second, Keith lowered his sword in a circle, catching Dante in the armpits. Dante recoiled and shook out his right arm. That was going to sting for the rest of the day.

The two readied themselves again, and this time Dante took no hesitations in taking the initial strike. He jumped in for another overpowering attack, but this time he was caught off guard when Keith didn’t resist the force of his attack. Instead, he simply moved along with it, twisting his body so Dante nearly fell at his own momentum. Before he could catch himself, Keith’s sword clapped him on the back, sending him to the ground.

How about I never get up, Dante thought.

He could hear Keith laugh. “Self taught?” he asked.

“I’ve had training.” Dante was the prince of a notably militant kingdom. Of course he had training.

“Do you listen to your lessons?”

Dante returned to his feet and scowled. Yes?

“Hey don’t give me that face, just teasing.” Keith put his hands up defensively. “You fight like someone with a lot of informal experience is what I’m getting at.”

“Informal?”

“Your fighting stance is good, that was obviously from traditional teaching. But you rely entirely on overpowering your opponent in the first few strikes. In fact your raw strength is really surprising, given your stature.”

Dante stifled a groan at the mention of his height.

“Have you been in a real fight?”

“Battle of the Lost Society Fortress,” Dante answered.

“How many people did you kill?”

“Didn’t count.” Dante spent no time bragging about that battle. He didn’t consider his ability to effectively kill people something he needed to show off. “Two Existen in their dragon forms though.”

Keith flashed a look of impress. “Well done. So in that battle, did you find you killed most people within the first strike or two?”

“…Yes.”

“That’s what I mean by informal experience. That fighting style works well for large battles against average soldiers.”

But a one on one battle against a trained soldier, and Dante would be dead.

“Ah sorry, it’s not my place to offer instruction.”

“No, it’s fine,” Dante said quickly, thought still not looking Keith in the eyes. As much as he didn’t like the criticism, it was true. Dante couldn’t beat Keith in a one on one match.

“If you want, we could practice together more. I can give you as much or as little instruction as you want.”

“Um, thanks. Yeah. Let’s do that.” In truth Dante was embarrassed enough that he never wanted to see Keith again, but the prospect of getting to spend one on one time with him was something he couldn’t pass up.

“We can even do it shirtless if you want.”

Desperately. “You’re never going to stop teasing me with that, are you?”