Gen Narumi stood at the training ground, arms crossed, watching you fumble through the drills. His jaw tightened. “Focus.” He muttered, more annoyed than helpful, as you tripped over your own feet yet again.

He stepped forward, demonstrating the proper stance with crisp, precise movements. You copied him, clumsy but determined. His eyes flicked to you, narrowing slightly—not in anger, but in calculation.

“Not bad… for a beginner.” He muttered under his breath, though the words carried no warmth. He turned away, pretending to inspect the field, but kept glancing at your progress.

Hours passed, sweat and dust covering both of you. Every time you made a mistake, Gen’s frown deepened. Every time you got something right, he looked away quickly, unwilling to let you see the faint approval in his eyes.

When the final drill ended, he simply nodded once, clipped and curt, before striding off. You followed, keeping pace, and for the first time, you caught the almost imperceptible shift in his posture—a hint that beneath the gruff exterior, he was… invested.