“I’m telling you to stop.” A similar tone, if softer, patient. However Genji thought when he looked at him was a mystery he perhaps didn’t want to solve. He never was one to care as long as he could help, somehow.
He wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t want anything to do with him, though.
“You need to be careful, slowly get used to it. Forcing it never works, alright?”
It was subtle, the twitch of his mouth, his brow falling forcefully. It was there, anyway; hidden between another strike to the air and another one next to that. He had stopped counting out loud.
Were the commander to stand closer, the ‘cutting’ part of this bamboo likeness would hit his head perfectly, straight down, yet barely to bruise forced, even opposite a sharp blade, that would cut cleanly.
On the next, such cut Genji stopped; arms thrown forward, feet moved so quickly with it and ready for another strike as if he had only changed places in the room the way he had been. A heart beat long. The stillness didn’t last. The force, and it sat heavily, unwantedly, in both of his arms, sunk its claws into the imperfections that were, somehow, there. But his persistence must be, Genji was convinced, opposite Morrison’s answer. While he stood still, he was louder. 『 I won’t! 』 A truthful contrast he chose not to see.
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