[Johan's POV]
"You're such a hot-blooded when it comes to fighting, aren't you?"
Johan turned away from Adrian with a pout, crossing his arms. The laughter and a ruffle to his chocolate brown hair made him sulk further into the corner of Adamantine's lounge area. What can he do? The guy just called the art lame, not knowing how many times it saved his life on countless occasions.
With all the blood and tears he shed; the welts and wounds he suffered that now stayed hidden in his tanned skin, he's not going to stand by and let someone with muscles for brain insult the art like that. Although, he'll probably get an earful from their grandmaster, his Grandpa Peter, if he found out he aggressed yet again because of something so simple. Eskrima was not for aggression, but for self-defense.