Nakahara slides the office door shut, careful not to let it slam. The sounds of the gym dull immediately, reduced to a low steady thrum; gloves hitting pads, Sera's voice cutting through.
"Please," Nakahara says, gesturing to the sofa. "Have a seat, Fujimoto-san."
Fujimoto lowers himself into the sofa without comment, hands resting loosely on his thighs. He doesn't scan the room. Doesn't catalog trophies or conditions. Not that there are any trophies to speak of. He simply waits.
Ryoma joins them, pulling one stool instead, and takes a seat.
Nakahara smiles, warm, practiced but genuine. "I heard your grandson was quite taken with today's training. He watched very seriously."
"Yes," Fujimoto replies. "He has been talking about it all the way here."
Nakahara nods. "If he's interested in joining, we can arrange trial sessions. Fundamentals only. We're strict about safety with junior high students."
"That would be appreciated," Fujimoto says.
