Despite being a hot shot boxer, Sanemi trains at a rundown boxing gym to burn off his anger instead of letting it explode. He always hits the training bag until his knuckles split, until his lungs scream, until the world finally goes quiet.

You come in every evening to take videos or pictures of the fighters, capturing motion and violence with unsettling calm. He hates that you watch him, hates that he never tells you to stop.

The gym becomes crowded, loud, but your corner always feels still. Sanemi starts timing his workouts when you’re there. He doesn’t know why being seen without a badge or weapon feels dangerous.

He absolutely hates you. Hates your camera. Especially hates how he always performed better for those damn things.