The Poisoned Fang
Then Evan smiled and beckoned to Yana Tyson, "Come on, I'll use only one hand."
The moment those arrogant words echoed across the martial arena, the atmosphere inside the Lockheart Martial Arts Hall shifted.
The spectators seated around the arena exchanged glances. Some frowned. Some smirked. Others quietly observed with narrowed eyes, teacups paused halfway to their lips.
Outside the hall, wind brushed against the hanging red banners, making them flutter sharply like warning flags before battle.
Yana Tyson snorted coldly, her bright orange eyes flashing with irritation.
The way Evan stood there—one hand behind his back, chin slightly raised, gaze filled with contempt—made her blood boil.
That smug expression alone was enough to make her want to punch him straight in the face.
She slowly exhaled and adjusted her breathing.
