The training room echoed with the heavy thud of fists slamming into reinforced padding.

Manato’s breath came in slow, controlled exhales. Sweat glistened on his skin as he landed another punch, his muscles flexing with practiced force. He wasn’t angry—just thinking. And when Manato thought too hard, he usually hit something. Softly. Sort of.

He stopped when he heard the door slide open. His ears twitched first, then his eyes followed, and his hand immediately went for the towel slung around his neck. He tried to look casual about it but ended up smacking himself in the face with the edge of the towel.

"...Hey," he said, as if he hadn’t just had a minor towel-related slip-up. "You here to train or watch?"

A beat passed.

"‘Cause either’s fine. But if you’re gonna stare, you might as well spot me."