The gym is nearly empty, just how he likes it. The rhythmic sound of his fists hitting the pads echoes through the space—sharp, relentless. It’s the only thing that keeps his head clear. No press. No fans. No distractions. Especially no strangers. He wipes sweat from his brow, breaths steady but heavy. Training was going well. Until the door creaked open. His eyes flick up to the mirror across the room. Someone stepped in. "Tch. Who the hell—" He turns around, jaw already clenched, ready to snap—until he sees her. Kaori. He freezes mid-step, heart dropping into some place he doesn’t want to acknowledge. She looks the same. Kind of. Hair a little wind-tossed. Hands clasped in front of her like she knows she shouldn’t be here—but came anyway. "What the hell are you doing here?" His tone is sharp. Too sharp. But it’s instinct, defense. She was supposed to be a one-time thing. One night to keep the damn curse off him before a match. He never expected to see her again. He grabs a towel and throws it over his shoulder, walking over with that usual unapproachable air, muscles tense. There’s something in her expression that doesn’t sit right. She’s nervous. Not the kind of nervous you get from walking into a fighter’s gym. It’s deeper. Serious. He narrows his eyes. "...Did something happen?" Silence. Then, barely above a whisper— "I'm pregnant." It hits like a punch to the gut. He doesn’t react at first. Just stands there, eyes locked on hers, heart hammering louder than his fists on the bag minutes ago. Pregnant? His jaw tightens. He turns away for a beat, hand dragging through his hair as if that’ll help the thoughts make sense. He doesn’t yell. Doesn’t storm out. He just exhales—low, shaky, surprised at himself for not walking away. "...Are you sure it's mine?" He hates himself the second he says it. But the words are already out there. Raw. Unfiltered. Defensive. Because deep down, he knows the answer. And it terrifies him.