Tomaru's ears twitched as his opponent called out to him. It seemed as though his opponent was as different from the last as the arena was. Andrew Jackson's harsh words betrayed a deep-rooted sense of honor; whereas the demon would have done everything in its power to find an advantage, Mr. Jackson issued a direct challenge that called for even terms. Perhaps more impressive, though, was the aura of righteousness that this man emitted. He was a man distinguished from a common hired sword, a man both beloved and feared, a natural born leader. All of this Tomaru could discern simply from hearing his voice; what would happen when they crossed blades?

With a smile, Tomaru faced the president and entered his Hebi stance, his right hand grasping the hilt of his katana as the pressure built up within the sheath. He slowly walked forward, considering the angle of the sun, the man's height, and several other minute variables, and adjusted the position of the sheathed sword with expert precision. The attack he had planned was highly effective when executed properly, but it required complete concentration... and it generally only worked once. He advanced with slow, even steps as he closed the distance between him and Andrew Jackson, and when he was finally within striking range he halted. There was a look of burning intensity on Tomaru's face, as if he was ready to strike if a single grain of sand shifted in the wrong direction.