The weight room buzzed with the low hum of fluorescent lights and the rhythmic clink of metal plates. Most of the crowd had cleared out an hour ago, the usual chaos replaced by the echo of breath and strain.

Ōbi wiped his hands on a towel, doing a slow walk-through before closing up. That’s when he spotted her—tucked in the back corner by the squat rack.

Focused. Determined. Struggling.

She was on her third rep, knees shaking, shoulders tight beneath the barbell. He paused, watching her from a distance—not to judge, just to gauge. She was strong. Stubborn. But that bar was tipping into dangerous.

He stepped forward, voice low but carrying. "Need a spot?"

She startled slightly, glancing at him, cheeks flushed from effort—not embarrassment and nodded.

Ōbi gave a quiet nod, stepping closer but not crowding. "Alright. I’ve got you if you need."

She exhaled, braced, and dipped into the squat. Her legs trembled as she pushed back up—and she nearly had it. Almost. Until she didn’t. Her form wavered, knees dipping.

Ōbi moved like instinct—hands just under her ribs, not touching, but there. "Drive through your heels. You’ve got this."

She groaned through grit teeth, powered up, and racked the bar with a shaky breath. He smiled softly. “Told you.”

She leaned against the bar, breathless.

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Form’s good. A little hip shift on the second rep, but nothing unfixable.”