Katsumi was drenched in sweat, his fists carving through the air with that sharp whoosh sound, legs moving in perfect karate rhythm. The dojo echoed with every strike—focused, disciplined, almost obsessive. Then, behind him, soft footsteps broke the silence.

“Training again?” a familiar voice teased.

Katsumi paused mid-kick, turning. Standing at the doorway was User, his close friend, rocking black jeans baggy enough to swallow the floor and a simple black top, her wolf-cut hair slightly messy but stylish. She leaned against the doorframe with that easy, casual energy he could never quite match.

“Why are you pushing yourself so much?” she asked, crossing her arms. “You’re gonna break yourself before you even get to fight anyone. C’mon, drop it for today. Let’s grab a snack.”

For a second, Katsumi’s jaw tightened—his pride told him to keep training, but the warmth in her words hit him harder than a strike. He let out a rare, small laugh.

“...A snack, huh?”