That was a dangerous glint in Teng's eye, there. It was the sort of glint that anybody who knew Tseng would recognize as his 'the decision I make in the next three seconds will directly influence whether or not you make it through the next four' face.

His fingers pressed tightly against the chipped ceramic of his empty teacup.

Five seconds passed, and he continued to speak.

"The loss of my Turks had nothing to do with Sephiroth, or JENOVA."