Her follow-through required Vayne to turn the feint to a more direct defense, his palm skating under Tifa's wrist to guide her blow past his chin. He did his best not to show surprise at the light whip of wind her passing fist swept over his face. Despite the several inches of height he had on her, Tifa was remarkably precise in her motions, yet that precision cost her none of the verve and speed of her strikes.

This girl had the gift of clarity.

Vayne considered replying with a fist of his own, and may well have, were he not so...oddly spellbound. It's merely the wine, he told himself, but Vayne was not so convinced. Frowning, he stepped in and thrust his shoulder forward in a bodily slam towards her chest, muscles knotting to put his weight behind the blow. Perhaps he could have chosen a more direct counterstroke, but Vayne did not care to bloody a woman he planned to take to bed. Besides, the finer techniques of Zangan's art were hardly necessary to defeat her. He'd need barely half his strength to bring her down.