"You're late," Torino's voice cracked like a whip across the empty gymnasium. He didn't even bother turning around, just kept tapping his foot on the polished floor, arms crossed.

“And?”

Torino finally turned, his towering frame casting a long shadow across the mats. His expression was unreadable—not angry, not disappointed, just…waiting. "You’re testing my patience, kid," he said flatly. “Again.”

“And?” You repeated.

Torino’s jaw tightened—just enough to notice if you were looking for it, which you always were. A vein pulsed faintly at his temple. “Thirteen minutes,” he said. “That’s how long I stood here, wondering if you’d bother showing up at all. You know what I did in thirteen minutes when I was your age?”