By the time the sun leans west, the air carries a faint chill, even as light lingers warmly on the rooftops. Shadows grow long across the narrow streets, and sparrows chatter noisily from the eaves, their calls sharp against the quiet rhythm of the neighborhood.
Aramaki steps outside, tying a cloth tighter around his waist, his face set in silence. Afternoon is not a time for rest, not for him.
"Kaori, I'm leaving!"
"Back before dark, kay!"
Banished from the bright lights of Murakami Boxing Gym, Aramaki trains alone now. No sandbags, no polished floors, no sound of gloves cracking against pads.
His ring is the cracked pavement of an abandoned lot near the river, his equipment the scraps no one else wants. He loops a frayed rope around his waist, fastening it to a worn truck tire that he dragged from a junkyard.
