The flood thing

Bajie smiled warmly, a rare moment of softness breaking through his usual roguish demeanor. He crossed his arms, leaning slightly as they strolled past the recruits. His eyes followed hers, noticing how she was already assessing each potential fighter, instinctively categorizing their strengths and weaknesses.

Ah, see? That right there? That’s why you’re going to be better at this than you think, he said, gesturing toward the recruits. You’ve got the eye. You know what to look for—what’s worth building on, what needs toughening up. And yeah, you’re right. Leading with love is harder. Fear’s the easy path, the quick way to make people fall in line. But love? Respect? That takes time, patience... and more than a few laps. He smirked.

He stopped walking for a moment, his gaze following a group of young recruits struggling to lift practice weapons clearly too heavy for them. He sighed, shaking his head before glancing back at Flea.

Thing is, you’ve already got their respect. They see someone who’s been through the fire and come out the other side still swinging. They might not know the details, but they don’t have to. It’s in the way you carry yourself, the way you look at them like you actually *see* them. That’s not something you can fake.

Bajie turned to face her fully, his expression more serious now. And yeah, they’ll grumble. They’ll curse your name under their breath when their arms are sore and their legs feel like lead. But when the time comes? When it’s their life—or someone else’s—they’ll remember what you taught them. And that? That’s worth every bit of sweat, every bruise, every second you spend out there with them.

He grinned, the playful spark returning to his eyes. Plus, let’s face it—there’s a certain satisfaction in watching them run laps while we sit back and enjoy a nice bottle of wine. You know, for morale.

@Little Flea