Late May air hangs thick inside the Nakahara Gym. Five heavy bags hang in a disciplined line beneath the high steel rafters. Kenta, Ryoma, Aramaki, Okabe, and Satoru strike in rhythm, leather cracking in steady succession.
Ryohei's place remains empty. His body is still repairing itself after that war with Umemoto. For that same reason, the training camp is postponed.
August looms ahead like a mountain, and each fighter carries the same heavy silence beneath its shadow. Only Satoru stands slightly apart from that weight, because his Rookie Tournament semifinal arrives in just two weeks.
Sera's voice cuts through the rhythm without needing to rise. "Don't admire your work," he says sharply. "Snap it back. Guard returns to your cheeks every time."
He steps behind Kenta first, watching the rotation of his hips. "Kenta, turn the shoulder more. You're punching with your arm, not your body."
