No one had ever beaten El Grande.
No one had even scratched him.
Except her.
“You… you don’t know—” the orange tabby stammered.
“I know how much I want to be a warrior,” Milady said, cutting him off.
The tabby blinked, then straightened his boots.
“I’m Gato,” he said.
“Of course you’re a cat,” Milady replied, confused.
He chuckled.
“No, no. My name is Gato. It’s just a name.”
He rested a paw on the hilt of the blade strapped to his belt. His eyes softened — just a little.