The next day, the rhythm of the gym shifts. Ryoma's schedule is adjusted for sparring day. Strength work is cut in half, just enough to keep his body awake, not enough to steal rounds from the ring.
Conditioning stays sharp but conservative. Nakahara wants lungs, timing, and awareness. Not fatigue for its own sake.
By early afternoon, the ring is already occupied.
Aramaki moves across from Ryoma, headgear snug, gloves light. They're working mid-range, measured and deliberate.
It isn't the infighting Nakahara wants yet, but Aramaki has grown comfortable here, too comfortable. His jab snaps out, not heavy, but persistent.
He spears it to the body, then lifts it to the head, then changes the angle with a half-step pendulum that keeps Ryoma busy without ever fully committing.
Then he tries his luck again…
Tud.
The jab grazes Ryoma's skin, more reminder than damage. Ryoma shifts back just in time, distance intact.
