Meanwhile, the blue corner moves with quiet precision. Hiroshi presses a chilled end-swell against the faint puff beneath Ryoma's eye and the right corner of his mouth; the metal is cool and steady.
Beside him, Kenta works Ryoma's legs with light, measured strokes, just enough to keep the muscles loose, not tired.
"Damn," Ryoma mutters. "I cracked his first trick, and he immediately layered another one on… even blended it into the same rhythm."
Sera's voice cuts in, cool and flat. "If you hang on to that anger, you'll just exhaust yourself faster, and cloud your head."
Ryoma flicks a glance at him, still irritated. But after a moment, he lowers his gaze, closes his eyes, and pulls his breathing down until it's even.
Only then does he replay the round in his head and pick it apart, calm and precise. Once he opens his eyes again, he looks a bit calmer now.
