He can't wait to test it himself in the ring, fighting someone by having the system's assistance in his skull. Almost like co-op with a hidden corner man.
Across the gym, his gym mates are now slumping against benches, gulping water, chatting in tired voices. The skipping ropes are silent now, gloves half-untied, the air carrying only the slow rasp of breath after a hard day's drills.
Ryoma finally pushes to his feet, the sudden motion drawing a glance or two. His eyes lock on Ryohei, lounging near the corner with his wraps still hanging loose around his wrists.
"Ryohei," Ryoma calls, voice steady. "Help me out. I need a spar."
The room freezes for a beat.
Ryohei jerks upright, eyes wide. "Hah?! Now? After you just puked all over the mat? Are you insane?"
His voice cracks with disbelief, sharp enough to cut through every corner of the gym. Heads swivel, conversations die mid-sentence.
