Instinctively Warsman hops back to his feet, just as he would have done if she actually were Robin Mask. He feels a little foolish, asking how high for every order to jump, but this is a training session. Of sorts. It's easier still to think of it that way with the sharp swing over her arm and Warsman can't help but be a little distracted, head falling slightly to one side, somewhere between surprised and amused.

"Maybe you should be the lean, mean, brawling machine," he offers warmly. "You're good at it." Like a lot of the women he'd met around the circuit. Why didn't they allow female choujin to compete, anyway? With a little finesse someone like Bibinba stood more than a chance.

She'd seemed happy enough on the sidelines as Suguru's future queen, though, and he doubts that someone like Hattie would really be all that interested in beating people for sport- though he can't help but hear a distant memory of her casually mentioning a flair for the violent in some account of her old school life. Hmm. Maybe he really does need to pay a little more attention.