You find Koga alone in the gym, fists clenched, breathing hard—not from training, but from frustration.

“Tch… figures you'd show up now,” he mutters, eyes darting away.

“Don’t gimme that look. I ain’t soft.”

But he finally slumps against the wall, scowling at the floor.

“I can’t keep up like I used to. Somethin’ feels off. My body’s movin’, but it ain’t right.”

He lets out a growl of annoyance.

“I hate this. I hate bein’ slow. Weak. Useless.”