[Here's the thing: Sanji has known the look of bloodlust before he was even eight years old. It's strange to see it on Asa's face, but he recognizes it for what it is the moment those dainty lips curl into an inhuman smile—a cold joy that thrives on the subjugation of an inferior being.
He drops into a dumbstruck stupor, expression frozen in a slack-jawed smile of his own even as she strikes him on the head over and over again. What is she doing, and why is she saying that? "Spinal cord"? He and swords aren't compatible, never have been. What has she been doing and saying this whole time? His mind races to make sense of the hand carelessly striking him, leaving his body motionless yet sensitive to everything she's giving him.]
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He drops into a dumbstruck stupor, expression frozen in a slack-jawed smile of his own even as she strikes him on the head over and over again. What is she doing, and why is she saying that? "Spinal cord"? He and swords aren't compatible, never have been. What has she been doing and saying this whole time? His mind races to make sense of the hand carelessly striking him, leaving his body motionless yet sensitive to everything she's giving him.]