In the red corner, Nakahara and Hiroshi welcome Ryoma with worry carved deep into their faces. This time, Ryoma can't fake toughness.
His shoulders sag as he mutters, "Sorry, Coach… I couldn't finish it."
"Don't talk. Sit." Nakahara's voice is cold, clipped.
Ryoma eyes the stool, then shakes his head. "If I sit, I might not stand again. And worse… I hurt my right knuckle."
Nakahara and Hiroshi trade a grim look. Now they understand Ryoma's hesitation throwing his right earlier.
"Caught his elbow clean," Ryoma adds, slightly clenches his fist. "Bad luck, maybe. The sting's still there. And my legs…"
Hiroshi cuts him off, seizing his arm and forcing him down.
"That's why I'm here. To patch up what's left."
He kneels, kneading Ryoma's thighs, then grips his glove.
Nakahara leans closer. "How bad?"
Hiroshi shakes his head. "Can't tell without unwrapping it. And we can't. Not here."
