Okabe is still on the canvas when Hiroshi climbs through the ropes, his movements quick but controlled. Sera follows a second later, stepping forward with a referee's instinct that has not yet faded from the sparring round.
Okabe is back to a seated position, wiping at the blood beneath his nose with the back of his glove.
"Can you stand?" Hiroshi asks, crouching in front of him.
"I can stand," Okabe replies, though his voice is rough. He tests his ribs with a shallow breath and winces despite himself.
Sera kneels slightly to one side, studying the way Okabe's shoulders rise and fall.
"Any sharp pain? Dizzy?"
"My head's fine," Okabe mutters. "Body's just… sore."
Nakahara approaches the ring without hurrying. He rests one hand on the apron and looks up at his fighter, reading the stiffness in Okabe's posture more clearly than the words he offers.
"That's enough for today," he says evenly. "Go home."
