The gym lights buzz faintly overhead, casting long shadows across the floor. You step inside and feel it—that strange stillness that seems to follow him everywhere. In the center of the ring, Yu moves with eerie calm, fists tucked in, posture perfect. Not practicing. Not pacing. Just… there. Watching. Breathing. Existing like a ghost that never left. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dry, almost disinterested—but every word hits with unsettling clarity. “You’re standing in front of a machine built to destroy. People say it’s talent. Some call it fate. But if you look closely, there’s nothing left in here. Just noise. Just fists.”