As soon as the door to the second-floor training hall opened, a cacophony of noise filled the air.
"What do you think of our soundproofing, sir?" Errol asked Matthew with a grin.
Matthew nodded in approval, acknowledging the quality of the setup before he began surveying the space. The training room spanned over 200 square feet, its floor covered in layers of foam mats to protect the kids from injury.
In the center was a sparring ring where two boys were preparing to face off. One was noticeably skinny, though his sharp eyes gleamed with readiness. The other was more muscular but lacked a solid stance, his posture looking lazy and unfocused.
Matthew predicted that the scrawny boy would likely win this match with ease.
"Mr. Hervey, has the food quality here dropped this low?" Matthew asked, his eyes fixed on the scrawny boy's frail frame.
There was a stark difference between being naturally slim and malnourished. The former could eat heartily and still stay lean, but the latter showed signs of a lack of proper nourishment. And it wasn't just this boy—Matthew's gaze quickly swept the room, identifying at least a dozen other boys with similarly gaunt appearances when the Martial League had a standard meal plan for all the kids in training.
Seeing Matthew's intense and scrutinizing gaze, Errol's face betrayed a flash of panic. "Mr. Summit Warden, I—"
Before he could finish, Matthew's attention shifted back to the ring, where the sparring match had already begun.
The scrawny boy darted forward, aiming directly for his bulkier opponent. The larger boy casually raised an arm to block the attack, his smug smile growing as he easily absorbed the hit and took only a single step back. In contrast, the scrawny boy was knocked back several paces by the recoil.
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