"I remember Quidditch can be deadly, right? After all, you're up in the air, and anything can happen. What do you think, mate? You look a lot like a mad dog, snapping at anyone you meet."
Brother Ke was a real character—tough as nails, and never short of words.
Gasol and the others were genuinely impressed.
See? Krum had been all bluster just a moment ago, but now he'd backed down without hesitation. For professional Quidditch players, those words were like a knife driven straight into the heart. Who could take that?
Krum was reckless, but he wasn't stupid.
There was no point in arguing.
He'd lost their first exchange.
"Heh."
Seeing Krum fall silent, Klein smiled.
He didn't think the other side would appreciate him putting on a friendly face.
If that was the case, he might as well make sure they regretted it.
"Mr. William, about today's scrimmage..."
They'd come all this way only to be sent packing without accomplishing a thing. The Bulgarian Team Leader was furious.
But there was nothing he could do. Looking at his players' vacant stares, he felt that if they didn't leave now, they'd never get over the psychological scars.
"Let's cancel the scrimmage. Maybe we can arrange one another time."
Manager William agreed, but in his heart he knew perfectly well that as long as Klein was still playing, his team would never arrange another scrimmage with the Bulgarian Team.
They'd arrived full of bluster and left with their tails between their legs. They hadn't even been there for half an hour, and twenty minutes of that had been spent getting beaten up. What a disgrace.
The Bulgarian Team Leader left the England Quidditch Representative Team Headquarters with his players.
Before leaving, Krum, his face covered in bruises, shot a furious