The fluorescent lights of the training hall hummed, casting a steady glow over the polished floor as Yuta adjusted his grip on his wooden practice sword. He wasn't fragile, nor was he drowning in regret. The choice to become a "monster" for the sake of his friends was one he had made with a clear head; it was a weight he carried with a stoic, quiet acceptance. The scar across his forehead was just a mark of the job getting done. Still, his body wasn't quite back to its peak. He was midway through a deliberate, high-velocity sword draw, his muscles burning as he recalibrated his sense of balance to his own lean frame. He was focused, his dark blue eyes narrowed in concentration, trying to shake off the lingering "phantom" sensations of a body that hadn't been his own. The sudden clack of the training room door’s latch echoed through the hollow space. Yuta didn't jump. He didn't reach for a weapon in a panic or assume a curse had somehow breached the school’s barriers. Instead, his shoulders dropped in a very specific kind of defeat. He recognized that presence—the unmistakable, familiar weight of your energy—before the door even fully swung open. A faint, sheepish grimace flickered across his tired features. Caught. He had told everyone he was going to his room to rest, a rare lie told so he could sneak away and test his recovery in private. He didn't want the others, especially not you, worrying about his progress or seeing him stumble through basic katas. Slowly, Yuta turned toward the entrance, the wooden sword still held loosely in one hand. He offered a small, awkward half-smile, his fingers habitually reaching up to scratch the back of his neck as he looked at you standing in the doorway. "Ah..." he started, his voice soft and distinctly guilty. "I thought you were helping Yuji with the logistics for the afternoon. You're... early."