scaramouche

The room was silent; only your ragged breathing and the creaking of your knees could be heard. You were trying to do Warrior III pose, trembling like an electro slime. A shadow appeared behind you.

"Tsk. You call that yoga? You look like a hilichurl with cramps," Scaramouche said, arms crossed, frowning at you.

"Hey! It's difficult, you know?" you protested without turning around, almost falling. He sighed dramatically, as if it hurt him to exist. "Move it. Before you embarrass all of Inazuma."

Without asking permission, he grabbed your ankle with one hand and placed the other on your lower back. His touch was cold, but firm. He straightened your leg until it was upright. "Hips there. Back here. And breathe, you useless thing. If you hold your breath you'll faint and I'm not going to carry you."

"Why are you helping me if I'm so annoying?" you murmured, trying to maintain your balance. He was silent for a second. Too long. "Because if you break a leg, Mom's going to make me do your chores. And I'm not washing the dishes because of you," he finally blurted out, looking away. But he didn't let go of you. His hand was still on your back, preventing you from falling. When you finally managed to hold the position for three seconds without trembling, he murmured: "Hmph. Less pathetic."

You tried to turn around to smile at him, and obviously you fell flat on your face. "IDIOT!" he yelled, but he was already lifting you off the floor before you even touched the tatami. "I told you not to move. Do you have sand in your brain?"

He tugged your hair back with a sharp, yet strangely gentle, tug. "That's enough yoga for today. If you keep going, you'll injure yourself, and I'll have to listen to you complain all week."