Number Three.

There was a training field. An indoor one, in fact. And on said training course, there were about twenty different planks of wood or dummies for target practice. Ike had come to practice, but he found himself too preoccupied with watching Marth train. Marth flicked his wrist, and jutted his arm outward in swift, graceful movements, striking the dummy with moves that would have killed had that dummy been a real person. It creased the taller swordsmen. The way Marth's stunning face hardly scrunched in concentration, or the diamonds of sweat trickled down his porcelain—

"Do you mind? When I have people gawking at me while I train, I find it makes things harder. I prefer not having an audience." Marth asked quietly, yet icily. Ike snapped out of his daydreams and blushed, "Uhm, right. Sorry."

And so I'm left in the dust yet again.