Leon stood over six feet tall, and when he rose to his feet, he cut an imposing figure.
And as a Dragon Slayer, he possessed an innate bloodline pressure whenever he faced dragons.
Lar's father was somewhat intimidated, but his mouth remained tough. "What? Want to fight? This is the Principal's office. Hit me if you dare."
"Why do you always talk about fighting and killing? You make it sound like you and your son are such great fighters."
"Bullshit. Your daughter beat up my son. That's a fact. You won't even let me say it?"
Leon sneered. "My daughter is one year and two months old. May I ask how old your son with the broken arm is?"
Lar's father froze, stammering, "Y-You don't need to worry about how old my son is. Anyway, he—"
"I'm seven years and eleven months old..." Lar said quietly from the side.
"Louder! I can't hear you!" Noa looked at Lar, who was curled up on the sofa across from her.
Lar immediately straightened his chest and raised his head, replying in a loud voice, "Seven years and eleven months old!"
The little guy was practically about to stand up from the sofa and salute Noa.
"He said he's seven years and eleven months old," Noa said.
Leon shrugged. "Oh, so rounding up, he's basically eight. An eight-year-old young dragon, together with two Toad Dragons around the same age, couldn't even beat my one-year-old daughter."
"Tsk, tsk. If something that embarrassing happened to me, I'd find somewhere to hide and let it rot in my stomach. I definitely wouldn't parade around with the words 'my son got beaten by a one-year-old' written all over my face like you do."
The Dragon Race was naturally drawn to strength.
The strong ruled supreme. That was