It was nothing new to Solomon to see a speedster approaching him at alarming speeds, speedsters are a stunningly commonplace sight in the Arena. Generally they compete with eachother, seeing which is faster. And then there's always this argument that speedsters are unbeatable, which Solomon never really agreed with. Speedsters aren't particularly dangerous to someone who pays attention, it sort of helps that almost every speedster he's ever met is slower than his eyes can percieve. 

This one was moving just below the speed of sound, about a hundred or so mph less Solomon assumed. The distance between them snapped closed like the mouth of a snapping turtle, this speedster showed respectable ability, though he was only about twice as agile as Solomon. The elderly man looked down upon him, noticing an incredibly flashy outfit. Gold and satin, not the outfit of a fighter, this was the outfit of an upper-classman. Within a few moments, Solomon had already built an assumption of who this boy was.

Upper-classman taught in 'perfect' fighting form, given weapons he was likely not properly trained in, told that he was special, and let out into the world where he would think that he's a great warrior. The superhuman ability may help him along, but one good look at Leetus told Solomon he was little more than a pest nipping at the heels of real warriors.

And then, oh sweet jesus, and then he spoke. The words that left Leetus's mouth were barely coherent, in fact, Solomon could have sworn he somehow replaced letters with numbers somewhere in that sentence. The monk was stunned, his mouth opened slightly to respond but nothing came out. Solomon's right hand rose up to his lips, he placed his index finger's knuckle inbetween his lips. Not a single word came to his mind that would be a proper response to what Leetus said.