Even without Ryoma around, Nakahara Gym doesn't slow down. If anything, the place feels busier than ever.
It's Sunday morning, cold air still lingering from last night's frost, and the gym floor is already packed. The sound of jump ropes slapping against the mat mixes with the rhythmic thud-thud of gloves hitting sandbags.
A group of new faces stands near the entrance, some of them high schoolers from Kamisaka, dragged in by Satoru, grinning like they already belong here. But most are strangers.
Even two junior high boys in oversized hoodies have shown up too, eyes wide as they stare at the ring.
"Too young, kids!" Nakahara says, crossing his arms. "Come back when you're a little older."
"Aw, come on, old man," one of them shoots back. "We heard Ryoma started at our age!"
