How Old Are You?

….

“Ow, that stings…!”

“Hold still.”

The sparring match ended with my victory.

I was slathering disinfectant over the spot where Acard’s elbow had been scraped—just barely—when he fell to the floor.

“You can stop applying it now…! Aagh!”

Naturally, a wound this minor didn’t need disinfectant, but I deliberately rubbed the cotton over it as though poking it into the wound, making Acard suffer.

“Ow…. It huuurts….”

Once his elbow had grown damp with disinfectant, I finally let go, and Acard shed a single tear in a distinctly unmanly manner.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you hadn’t lost to me, right?”...