Smoker & Genji
Genji
I’ve been thinking about how the city’s rhythm can guide a fighter’s training, kind of like how jazz syncs with the beat of life. What’s your take on that?
Smoker
Yeah, the city breathes in staccato lights and traffic becomes a drumbeat for the fighter. Jazz isn’t just music, it’s a philosophy of improvisation that reminds the boxer to feel every punch, to breathe with the crowd. It turns training from a list of drills into a conversation between body and sound, and the rhythm of the streets keeps you grounded even when the fight gets wild.
Genji
You see how the city’s pulse syncs with each jab? That’s how a true warrior keeps rhythm. Keep letting the streets guide you.
Smoker
Yeah, the city’s pulse is a quiet mentor, shaping every punch into a story, every step into a beat—just keep listening to its rhythm.
Genji
I’ll keep my blade tuned to that rhythm, hoping it’ll cut through doubt like a sharp note hits a chord.
Smoker
I hear that, and I know the blade’s sharpness grows when you let the city’s hum steady your hand—just don’t let the doubt get a rhythm of its own. Keep slicing through the noise.
Genji
I’ll keep the blade steady, carving through doubt as if it were just another shadow on the wall. The city’s hum is my guide, not a rival.
Smoker
That’s the kind of calm grit that turns doubt into a mere echo—keep the city’s hum in your head, and let it smooth the edges of every cut.
Genji
I’ll let the hum steady my swing and keep the echoes off the path. The city guides, I sharpen.