Silver Moraine yūkan na

deadpan, impassive, he stands as the other collapses into a heap of stammering limbs and frantic apologies. what was once arrogance now curls into submission, and masa exhales a long breath through widening nostrils.
his name is given: shinjou hirohiko. a samurai. masa clicks his tongue, the only sound he offers at first, eyes sharp as they rake across the groveling figure before him.
you have a loud mouth for a man so quick to fall to his knees, samurai muses. his amusement is a blade.
shinjou's realization is written across his face, wide-eyed, frantic. masa does not react. does not move.
stand up, he commands. if you are a samurai, then act like one.
he does not yet confirm who he is. he does not need to. the truth is already in shinjou's eyes.