The Emperor caught Isadora's next strike on his forearm, held it there a beat longer than any exchange before it, and simply stopped.
Not staggered. Not forced back. He straightened out of the stance he'd held for the better part of ten minutes, golden light easing off his skin in slow, unhurried waves, and looked at the four Transcendents arrayed around him with the mild, satisfied expression of a man closing a book he'd enjoyed.
"That's enough for today," he said.
Ryuken didn't lower his guard. "You don't get to decide that's enough."
"I rather think I do." The Emperor's tone stayed pleasant, untroubled by the blood still drying along his ribs. "I could keep going. You all understand that, I think, better than most people ever get the chance to. But four Rank 9s making me bleed once is a genuinely excellent afternoon's work, and excellent work deserves to end on its own terms rather than be dragged past the point where it stops teaching anyone anything new."
