"Did we get him?" asked a man dressed in nothing but a short bathrobe and a speedo as he landed on the charred crater.
His colleague, wearing a white tank top and cargo shorts, shouted in outrage, "You idiot! We weren't supposed to kill him—we were supposed to catch him!"
"Hey, who are you calling an idiot? You looking to die?" the man snapped back, tossing his bathrobe to the ground. He adjusted the crotch of his speedo, trying to prevent it from chafing his inner thighs.
"Out of everyone I could've brought to chase the kid, I picked you. I must be the idiot," the man in cargo shorts muttered, blaming himself for the poor choice. But there was no time to give it proper consideration—the kid had been too fast, and they only managed to catch up because he'd stopped. He sighed and ordered, "Let's at least bring back his innate curse tool."
