Gon's lips curled into a scoff as he sidestepped the girl blocking his path, her wide-eyed stare grating on his already frayed nerves.
"Move out of the way," he snapped, his voice low but edged with the adrenaline still pumping through his veins from the dueling ring.
His muscles ached, his skin prickled with sweat, but victory burned brighter than the soreness.
He pushed through the crowd, the clink of goblets and hum of voices a dull roar in his ears, until he reached the dais where his parents stood, their presence a quiet storm in the chaos of the hall.
The Duke of Hanan, all broad shoulders and unyielding strength, clapped a hand on Gon's shoulder, the impact jarring but warm.
"Well done, boy," he said, his voice rough with pride, cutting through the noise like a blade. His eyes, sharp as steel, gleamed with approval.
