Yamato was soon swept into the rush of combat, weary of not over exerting himself while putting forth the required effort in order to teach these miscreants their proper place. The greatest offense was his speed and evasion, taking not a single hit as he landed every hit with promise. These fools weren't even worth their time, though they were confident and persistent in numbers... As would as troop of weaklings would be.
Though he seemed to be more out of practice than usual, Yamato didn't fret over Alcor too much, he knew him to be a sufficient fighter from experience; though it was clear, in a few instances, they needed to use team work to get out of a potentially disastrous fix, their opponents clear incentive nothing beyond foul play.
They pressed on however, drove after drove of thugs pouring in on them, running away with their tails between their legs every time they fell face forward on the cold back streets. Sooner or later they'd give up, but for now endurance was key..
—
Lifting his blazer from the corner he had left it in and dusting off, the last of the trash had picked itself up and scurried off with a few distressed cries. Huffing in their direction, Yamato had to admit, he was rather tired now, his bare knuckles scuffed and bruised after so much repetitive use. That was careless of him, though there was no helping it, given that it had been a completely impulsive situation... he'd bare through the dull ache as penance.
Looking over to to his comrade once he was addressed, the Student Council President sauntered over, tightening his tie again as he fixed the rest of his attire. Such a bother.. everything was wrinkled and out of place... Not to mention Alcor looked awful.
"I'm Perfectly fine, though I can't very well say the same for you; Your form is far too imperfect."
Bending down, Yamato offered a hand, voice even and authoritative per usual, as if still in the club room. "Look at you, such a mess; Can you stand?"
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