The hallway outside Nakahara's room is washed in sterile white light. Nobody speaks at first.
Ryoma looks down on the floor. Ryohei drags a hand down his face. And Okabe… he can't lift his eyes at all.
The doctor's warning still hangs like a weight over all of them.
And then, Okabe breaks the silence first, voice small but audible.
"…My fight is in three days," he mutters. "What the hell am I supposed to…"
Suddenly, Ryoma grabs him by the collar before he can finish.
"Are you serious right now?" he snaps, shoving him back against the wall. "The coach is lying in a hospital bed, and all you're worried about is your damn fight?"
Okabe freezes, eyes widening, guilt flickering across his face, but only for a second before the defensiveness kicks in.
"What!? What do you want me to say!?" he fires back, batting Ryoma's hand away. "This isn't on me! I just asked for mitts!"
Ryoma steps closer. "You knew he was exhausted."
