Whoever you are, the first thing I do when we meet is punch you.
We can talk after that!
That day, Klein's name as the naturally strong Grindelwald spread far and wide.
The Bulgarian Quidditch players, who had come brimming with righteous indignation and hoped to bully someone smaller than themselves, paid a terrible price.
The England Quidditch players, led by Gasol, were delighted.
Serves the bastards right!
Did they even have eyes? How could they think they could mess with Boss Klein, when they were nothing but small fry?
"Uh, this..."
This wasn't a brawl. It was a one-sided "massacre."
The Bulgarian Team Leader stared with his mouth agape for a long time, unable to process what he was seeing.
That little runt was beating up a whole group of hulking athletes?
He couldn't believe his eyes!
Could that kid named Klein have Giant and ogre blood?
No, that couldn't be right.
He'd heard the boy had received a First-class Order of Merlin. His intelligence was clearly fine.
"Phew..."
Unlike the Bulgarian Team Leader, Manager William breathed a sigh of relief.
As long as nobody had been killed, it was fine.
Medical care was so advanced these days that a single spell could heal these superficial injuries.
On the pitch, after loosening up, Klein still wore a poker face. He looked as though he'd simply gone out for a stroll after dinner, without a hint of emotion.
Krum clutched his stomach and panted heavily, his eyes red as he glared at the little runt.
"Hey, you there, the one who looks like a rabid dog."
Feeling the hostile stare, Klein blinked, then lifted the corners of his mouth in an exceptionally gentle smile.
"Why're you looking at your mother?"
He said the most savage things with the kindest expression.