The step didn't slow.
It carried through the training ground, dirt shifting under his foot as he moved into it, body already turning before the thought fully settled. His weight came forward, shoulder following, and the punch went out clean, hips lining up behind it without effort. The elbow came right after from tight range, cutting across the space in front of him, and his leg snapped low toward the thigh, but the moment after that opened up and nothing filled it. The line ended there. His weight stalled for half a beat, just enough for the sequence to lose shape, and he had to step back to find his footing.
He didn't react to it.
Just stepped in again.
Same entry. Same line. The punch landed through empty space, elbow followed, the low kick came in sharper this time, foot digging slightly into the ground on impact, and then it slipped again. That same gap. The next move didn't come. His body held for a fraction, like it was waiting for something to arrive, and when it didn't, the rhythm broke and he pulled out of it.
Roen slowed.
Breathing settled, but his stance stayed.
It wasn't the first step.
That part held.
It just ended too soon.
He ran it once more.
Stepped in harder this time. Punch drove forward with more intent, elbow cut tighter across the line, his shoulder pressing through the space like there was something there to move, and his leg came in low again. He forced the next movement to come, tried to push through where it usually stalled, but it came out rough, late, not sitting right with the rest of it. The sequence stretched instead of flowing, and he felt it immediately. The shape broke again.
He stepped back.
Breathing a little heavier now.
The thought came up on its own.
Yukihiro.
It stayed there for a second.
Then settled.
Yukihiro wouldn't give that space back.
Roen's gaze stayed forward, but the line shifted. Getting in wasn't the issue. Staying there was. That part would come with time, strength, speed, all of it stacking the way it had been. But once he was in, once the gap closed, it wouldn't stop there. Yukihiro wouldn't stall in that space. Wouldn't wait. The next strike would already be there, then the next after that, built on years of doing it without thinking about it.
Nine months.
The number didn't sit long.
Experience didn't close the same way strength did.
The thought ended there.
He moved again.
This time he didn't wait for it to feel right. The punch went out, elbow followed, the kick came in low, and when the gap opened he stepped through it anyway, forcing the next motion to come even if it dragged behind the rest. His body didn't like it. The rhythm felt off, heavier, like he was pushing against something that didn't want to move, but he didn't stop. Another step. Another strike. The sequence stretched out, rough in places, edges not lining up, but it didn't break.
Again.
He stepped in, drove the punch, turned the elbow, cut low, and pushed past the point where it usually ended. His breathing picked up, dirt shifting under his feet as he moved through it, the motions starting to stack even if they didn't sit clean yet.
The rumours flickered once.
Then dropped.
Not part of this.
He kept going.
The entry stayed the same.
The follow-up didn't.
Not yet.
But it didn't stop either.
Roen stepped in again, the movement carrying forward without waiting for it to settle, each sequence pushing a little further past that same point, forcing something to form where there'd been nothing before.