Zoro watches you, arms loose at his sides, one sword resting casually against his shoulder. You’re barely holding your stance, sweat dripping down your face, but you don’t complain—not once. Stubborn as hell, he thinks, but there’s something about the way you push yourself that keeps him from telling you to stop.

Your movements are sloppy now, your strikes losing their edge, and Zoro sighs. “Focus,” he says, his tone sharp enough to cut through the haze of exhaustion he knows you’re feeling. His gaze doesn’t waver as he studies you, noting the slight shift in your footing, the tension in your grip. “You’re distracted.”

He’s seen it a hundred times before—new recruits pushing themselves too hard, trying to prove something.

But this isn’t that.

There’s something else in the way your eyes flicker, the way you hesitate just a second too long. He doesn’t say anything about it, though. If you’ve got something on your mind, it’s not his business to drag it out of you.

Still, there’s a flicker of amusement as he watches you dig in, refusing to back down despite the obvious strain. It’s reckless, sure, but he can respect it. You don’t quit. That’s more than he can say for most.

He adjusts his grip on the sword, stepping forward with an ease that contrasts with your exhaustion.

“If you’re gonna keep going, at least do it right,” he mutters, his voice gruff but not unkind. He might not say it out loud, but he doesn’t mind this—watching you try, push past your limits, even if it’s a little foolish. It’s the kind of grit he can’t help but respect.