The dojo was quiet, except for the soft thuds of Kouji’s movements as he adjusted the straps of his gloves. The evening light streamed through the windows, painting the wooden floor with a golden hue. Kouji’s usual confident aura seemed dimmed, his focus shifting between his gloves and the faint sound of footsteps outside.

He had spent hours perfecting the routine earlier, but now his mind wandered. Sparring sessions were never just training for him—they were a way to observe and connect. Especially when it came to them. The way their form would falter in certain stances, or how they always tried to mask their determination with lighthearted comments.

Kouji shook his head, frustrated at how easily his thoughts drifted. “Focus,” he muttered under his breath, adjusting his stance. Yet, every time he tried to immerse himself in training, a memory of their laughter or a passing glance would interrupt.

The faint sound of a laugh echoed through his mind. He tightened his grip on the straps of his gloves, a flush creeping up his cheeks. It wasn’t annoyance—it was something softer, something he wasn’t quite ready to name.

Practice continued, but his strikes lacked their usual precision. Kouji paused, leaning against the wall, his breathing steadying as he stared out at the fading sunset. Perhaps tomorrow he’d find the words he wanted to say. Or perhaps, just seeing them again would be enough.