Unnerved by Kahlua's blank-faced reaction to being defeated, you consider your next move very carefully.
"I beat you on a technicality," you say slowly, while bringing your aura down. You do the latter gradually, drawing the energy back into your body as you unravel the mystical links you established between your ki and your magic. Absently, you reflect that you may want to work on that technique - it's useful, but it's also absurdly flashy and wasteful; if you're going to run into opponents like Kahlua in the future, you'll need to be able to fight at that level, and most alike above it, for a much longer time.
Despite dismissing the golden energy, you do not lower your guard. You're aware that it's a bit of an empty gesture, without the enhanced power that was the only thing keeping you even with this deadly little girl, but it makes you feel better. And maybe she'll take it as a compliment, an acknowledgement that she's dangerous enough to merit your wariness.
"...a technicality?" Kahlua repeats.
"That's right. If not for the ring-out or a lucky pin, I think - I know I would have run out of energy before you did."
"So you're saying I could beat you," she says. That spooky mask-like expression is lifting. "In a real fight."
"...yes." It stings your pride to admit that, but it's true. Without the tournament rules holding her back, and without you knowing what she is and how to counter her strengths and exploit her weaknesses, you can't see how even the unusually effective bursts of your aura would be enough to keep Kahlua from kicking your ass if she really wanted to. This forces you to confront a rather frightening truth: despite who you used to be and all the effort you've put into building up your skills, there are still plenty of people and things in this world to whom you'd be nothing more than a bump in the road. You don't really care for this moment of revelation.
It's almost worth it, though, when Kahlua smiles again.
"You should smile more often," you tell her offhandedly as you start to leave the ring.
"I what?"
You shrug, showing an indifference you do not entirely feel due to the fact that she is following you. "You look cute when you smile."
The girl's tan skin darkens in a blush of maidenly modesty. Then she frowns, wrinkling her nose slightly.
"Are you implying that the rest of the time, I'm not cute?" A rather devastating pout begins to form.
Your first response could best be summed up as, "Oh crap, I just upset the super-powered female," with a healthy dose of "Not the sad puppy face," and a touch of "Please stop following me" for good measure. You have the sudden urge to fold like a wet noodle, fall at her dainty white-stockinged feet, and beg forgiveness like the lowly worm that you are.
Then your sense of personal pride and hard-earned social skills step in, giving that impulse to grovel a metaphorical kick in the teeth.
"Honestly?" you say in English, so as to avoid misunderstandings brought on by your limited Japanese. "Dressed up like that," - you give Kahlua and her rumpled outfit a visual once-over - "you're the prettiest girl I've ever seen, hands down. But you come across like one of those little crystal figurines people put up on their mantles," you add as Kahlua preens. "Like a thing to be owned and looked at and boasted about, and not a person to talk to or hang out with. When you smile - and not like you were at the start, just to be polite to a stranger, but when it's like you want to laugh just because you can - then you look like a real girl, and a cute one."
Kahlua doesn't seem to know entirely how to react to that. On the one hand, you did call her the prettiest girl ever, but on the other, you also implied that you didn't like how she was dressed.
"Yes, well," she rallies, "that's your opinion. I happen to think I look spectacular."
"Not arguing that you do," you say.
"Well, good."
The bulk of the crowd have been getting the hell out of your way as the two of you cross the gym. Out of curiosity, which way have you been heading?