Treize's first impressions of Wufei, while holding him at swordpoint following their first face-off.

Assay

You're beaten. You crouch before me in a position of defeat, yet there's no surrender in your eyes. Staring up at me along a length of cold, sharp steel, all you give me is defiance and anger. I could kill you in an instant; spill blood on your pristine clothing, extinguish the flame of your existence as easily as dousing a candle. You know this, and still you're not afraid.

Hatred burns in your heart, apparent in your eyes, your rigid stance, the hard line of your jaw - and not all of it is directed my way. You hate me, of course, for beating you, but you hate yourself equally for losing, for being weak. What's wrong? Did I remind you forcefully that you're not the supreme warrior? That there'll always be someone out there stronger than you, or quicker than you, or smarter than you, and that today that someone is me?

You're beautiful when you're angry; has anyone ever told you that?

More to the point, has anyone ever told you that and lived?

I should kill you, but somehow I find myself incapable of doing so. The truth is, you're beginning to fascinate me; such fire, such hatred and lust for vengeance, trapped and roiling in such a young body. What happened to you, to make you a hardened warrior at this age? I can see it in your face - behind your current frustrated rage, there's an ever-present determination. You'll destroy your enemies and sweep aside anyone who gets in your way in the process. But which am I? A true enemy, or just someone standing in the path to your ultimate goal? And does it make any difference to you anymore - do you even differentiate between enemy and inconvenience?

You still think I'm going to kill you, don't you? Or perhaps you're just hoping I will, so I can spare you the humiliation of defeat, the shameful fate of a beaten warrior. How you wish the blade was in your hand. You wouldn't spare my life - that much we both recognise - and in a way perhaps I'm being crueler by sparing yours. You're going to hate me even more for this; not only did I defeat you, I let you live defeated.

But your hate perhaps I can live with. After all, hate is the polar opposite of love, and its power of attraction is just as great. Your humiliation and hatred will bring you back to me, eventually. Perhaps you'll return stronger and more determined, and perhaps you'll even kill me; but even if you do, I won't regret this moment when I let you live. The world needs fire like yours, to remind it that there are things worth fighting for, worth sacrificing everything for.

Yes, I'm letting you go, but only so I can see you come back, with eyes blazing defiance and skills sharpened by shame. And then?

Well, then we'll see what you're really made of.