It wasn't the manic laughter of earlier, bright with mischief and sharp with defiance. This was something deeper, warmer, tinged with genuine affection for the teacher he was about to disappoint and profound sadness for the lesson that had been misunderstood by both student and instructor. His form didn't struggle against the binding—instead, he simply stepped through it, the divine prison parting like morning mist before the sun, its golden walls dissolving into startled sparks of light that faded like surprised fireflies.
The Buddha's composure cracked, surprise flickering across his features. His binding hadn't been broken or overwhelmed—it had simply been ignored, walked through as casually as stepping through a doorway, dismissed with the gentle certainty of someone who had fundamentally changed the rules by which such things operated.
