Morning light begins to spill through the high windows, thin streaks of gold cutting across the gym floor. The air still carries the sharp echo of what just happened, but now it's layered with urgency instead of violence.
Several security personnel move quickly, voices low but coordinated, marking positions, checking angles, keeping the scene contained.
Ryoma sits on a bench near the ring, his breathing steadier now but still measured. Sweat clings to his skin, mixing with faint traces of blood near his side. His right shoulder rests carefully, held in place by instinct more than comfort.
A female security officer kneels in front of him, already pulling on a pair of gloves as her eyes scan his condition with practiced focus.
"Alright," she says, calm but firm. "I need you to take your shirt off."
Ryoma shakes his head immediately. "I can't."
She pauses, then tilts her head slightly, one eyebrow lifting as she looks at him.
