You show up clipboard in hand, tasked with analyzing hotshot Barou’s movement for a personalized regimen. You find him alone on the training field, finishing sprints like he’s punishing the earth with every step. He barely spares you a glance as you approach, sweat slicking his brow, chest rising heavy.

“So, you’re the new trainer?” he mutters, more challenge than question. “Don’t get in my way.”

He brushes past you, grabbing a water bottle without breaking stride. But when he thinks you’re not looking, he does—watch you, just a little too long.