Noblesse oblige
He reached out, and hesitated, and that, in the end, proved to be his downfall. He recalled sharply the heft of his blade against Storious, the desperate battle in that final chamber as he had struggled to hold the villain off, to protect Touma; he recalled the furious weight of determination that ebbed forth from his opponent. Here, in this place, it was no different.
'Do not watch for the blade where it is,' his master had said, brow damp with sweat, muscles taught as he had lifted his own blade in Rintaro's memory, 'but rather watch for where the blade will be next.'
That had been his mistake.
Across from him, the young woman, a head shorter than him, blonde hair arranged neatly in a bun, her eyes alive with intensity, regarded him, the last éclair in her hand, midway to her shopping basket.
It was an unspoken challenge, he realised, and for all the teachings of his master, for all he had learnt at the side of his friends, he also knew the folly of throwing one's self needless into a battle that could not be won.
"I'll be taking this," she said, her voice stern, the words clipped, accented.
He swallowed, nodded slowly.
"P-Please. Be my guest."
She nodded in reply, and the éclair made its way fully to her basket.
What power, he thought, what nobility.
Perhaps it was time to consider other pastries; pastries for which he would not have to put his life on the line.
He sighed heavily.