Slowly, when it's obvious that Morgan isn't going to be getting up, the Boss picks himself up, brushes himself off, and becomes... aware, by increments, by voices on the wind, of just what his victory means.  What it allows him to do.  And what can be done.<br/><br/>He pauses and spits onto the grounds' floor, then wipes his mouth off on his sleeve-- both are bloody, and not a small amount of that blood is his own.  "First things first," the Boss announces.  "I like you.  You got guts, even if you can't take a few dozen punches, so you're at least worth some salt.  Whoever you worked for before now doesn't matter: you're part of the Third Street Saints now, and if you're a Saint, you wear the colors."  He indicates the bright purple shirt he's currently wearing-- or the ruined rags of it, beneath his suit jacket.  "The rest of it-- the rest of yourself-- is yours, so long as you can keep it from anyone else..."<br/><br/>The Boss, at this point in his tournament career, isn't an imaginative person.  He doesn't really know just how much can be done with a thought and the will.  Despite that, he does know what he wants to see in himself in the future and in others, and when he's done working his intention, a change comes over Morgan in subtle ways...<br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Spoiler: Click to Show/Hide</div><div class="spoiler_body"><strong>No adjustment to own stats.</strong><br/><strong>Adjustment to Morgan's stats:</strong> Strength -1, Endurance +1.<br/><strong>No adjustment to own features.</strong><br/><strong>Adjustment to Morgan's features:</strong> Mental-- Considers himself a Saint and wears purple somewhere.<br/></div></div><br/>"You get to earn your keep with my next fight," the Boss finishes, nodding his satisfaction.  "Do that shadow slicey-dicey thing or something on them, eh?"<br/><br/>And then, pfoof: with that, the battle was officially concluded, and they were both back in the Training Grounds, right as rain...