Arturo Chanson looked down at his scroll, watching the live broadcast of the match from the comfort of his hotel's easy chair. This Eddy Midori, how disappointing...he was supposed to be one of the up and coming martial artists to replace him when he retired? Undeniably, the boy was skilled, this duel showed that much. But he disagreed with the columnists comparing their respective merits at the same age. Arturo had never been so confoundingly cocky, and while always giving any spectators a good show, had never pandered to them.
It was childish, really, a minor but noticeable stain on the aura of sportsmanship and camaraderie the Vytal Festival was meant to cultivate. For shame, Mr. Midori, for shame. At least he wasn't the other candidate the papers were talking about for inheriting the Chanson "crown"...
Besides, hadn't Midori harassed Cheri, Miss Acacia, and Mr. Hong the day before Beacon's Fall Semester? He was certain of it. Wonderful, the rogue was a ruffian as well. Arturo snorted derisively. This was a far cry from the Vytal Tournaments of yesteryear, if the competitors were any indication.