[ they're being pit against each other here, which is to be expected at this point. the crowd is definitely a surprise though, as is the strange urge to actually rhyme at each other like it'll do anything.

he shoots a look at rupert as byleth wraps (raps) up, frowning as he steels himself for this. not like... he has any sense of rhythm? but they have to give it an effort, so he forces himself to growl out some words. ]

Big Frumpkin? A joke. A kitten, a munchkin,
Your brain's the only thing about you not shrunken.
A threat? If only. Cold sweat, cat's crony.

Ei$ner—

[ ...actually no, he's not quite worked up enough to insult byleth specifically. he's the whitest man alive and his rap skills are weak, but he does sound very threatening. ]

Each verse worse than the first,
Spitting out prattle—weak rhymes, half notes,
If you've come here to do battle,
You'd better go for the throat.