Ryoma stands in the middle of the ring, gloves still hanging by his sides, his breath sharp and unsteady. The adrenaline is fading just enough for clarity to return, but with it comes a creeping unease.

His Vision Grid is quiet now, no more flashing alerts, no warnings. Yet the memory of that message remains etched in his mind: Session Interrupted: 9.4 seconds. Nine seconds in which he wasn't conscious. Nine seconds his body kept fighting without him.

His fingers twitch inside his gloves. What moved him during those missing moments? Instinct? Reflex? Some kind of automated response from the system? Or something else entirely?

He tries to replay what he can remember, but the sequence simply isn't there. One moment he took Kenta's hook straight on the cheek, and the next, he was standing over him, breathless, ribs heaving, the old man shouting at them to stop.

And it feels to him like a full chunk of the fight carved out of his memory like someone pressed delete.

Then he lifts his eyes, frowning. "The zone…" He repeats Nakahara's word, as if testing it for weight. "So… that's what that was?" He tries to swallow the discomfort swelling in his chest. "Maybe I went too deep. Maybe I just… didn't realize what was happening around me."

Nakahara attempts a smile, but it's a thin, uneasy thing that doesn't reach his eyes. "Anyway, that's enough. We're stopping here."

Ryoma blinks, the abrupt call pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts.

"This camp isn't about breaking bones," Nakahara continues. "It's conditioning, body, mind, stamina. You two push any harder, and we'll be dragging one of you to the hospital instead of the dorms."

Ryoma lowers his head and slips out of the ring, trying to leave the unease behind with each step. But the tension stays lodged beneath his ribs, tight and persistent.

If that was the zone… then why did it feel like someone else was moving my body? Why wasn't I in control at all?

He stops in front of the wall mirror, sweat dripping down his jaw, and lets the Vision Grid run a full diagnostic.

Lines of data slide across his HUD; heart rate, blood oxygen, the amount of sweat, a few highlighted bruises across his face. But there's nothing explaining the blackout, nothing explaining the missing nine seconds.

He exhales sharply and speaks inwardly, the way he always does when calling to the system.

"Hey. Did you watch everything?"

But there's no response.

He frowns. "System, activate speech assistance feature."

This time, the HUD finally responds, slowly.

***

[Initializing speech assistance mode…]

[Initialization in progress…]

***

It drags on far too long. And Ryoma's brows knit in waiting, confusion painted clearly in his face.

The first time he used the feature, it activated instantly, less than a second. And more than once, it had booted up on its own before he even asked for it.

But now…

***

[Initialization failed]

[The system detected a minor anomaly in the host's brain due to recent trauma.]

[Forcing activation may cause unpredictable damage to host's brain and memory.]

***

Ryoma freezes. The words hit harder than any punch he took today.

His breath catches, a raw mixture of confusion, disbelief, and rising dread twisting in his gut.

Trauma. To my brain. From that spar.

The thought sends a cold ripple down his spine, far sharper than the pain in his ribs. He slowly turns his head toward Kenta, trying to digest that information.

Across the gym, Kenta's still rubbing his ribs, still grimacing from the body shots. But he's looking at Ryoma now, not showing sympathy, only a hard assessing stare.

Strangely, part of Ryoma feels satisfied that Kenta didn't hold back, that maybe he finally managed to erase the softness out of that man.

But beneath that satisfaction, his anxiety refuses to fade. Something is wrong inside his head, something the system won't even risk touching.

***

After a long moment of Ryoma staring in his direction, Kenta finally sighs, irritation slipping through.

"What? Don't tell me you still want to keep going."

Ryoma blinks once, as if the words take a moment to reach him, then gives a faint shake of his head. He doesn't bark back, doesn't even try to smooth things over. He just turns away and walks off, still trapped somewhere inside the confusion clouding his mind.

"Hey, Ryoma! Wait!" Aramaki calls, rushing to him. "You sure you are okay? You took a few clean shots from Kenta. You know that?"

"Is that so?" Ryoma forces a grin, keeps walking to the door. "I do remember he sent a sharp hook to my face. And my head is still spinning now."

Kenta watches him go, his brows tightening. Out of everyone in the gym, he felt the wrongness in Ryoma first-hand. And for those nine seconds, it didn't feel like Ryoma at all.

The smirk, the wild stare, the way he moved; too sharp, too fluid, too savage. And those last two punches… Kenta winces just remembering them.

They were heavier than anything Ryoma had ever thrown before, heavier than someone his size should be able to generate.

"Hey, you good?" Hiroshi approaches, worry clear in his tone.

Kenta exhales through his teeth and nods, though the hand clutching his ribs betrays the pain.

"It still hurts like hell," he mutters. "I just hope he didn't crack anything."

"He really hit you that hard, huh?" Nakahara chimes in, face wrinkles by worry.

"He did," Kenta nods.

"Alright, come down," Hiroshi reaches out his hand. "Let me check."

Kenta steps off the ring with Hiroshi guiding him. They settle near the bench, and Hiroshi kneels beside him, pressing around the injured area with careful, practiced fingers. Kenta hisses when pressure hits a tender spot but doesn't jolt away.

"Breathe in," Hiroshi says.

Kenta inhales; Hiroshi tests again.

"Now out."

After a few more presses, Hiroshi leans back with a small sigh of relief.

"No obvious fractures. No deformity. If anything cracked, you'd be yelling when I touched that spot." He pats Kenta's side lightly. "It's swollen, bruised, and probably going to hurt like a bastard tomorrow… but nothing's broken."

Kenta nods, though he still winces.

"But," Hiroshi adds, a bit more serious, "if it doesn't ease up, or if just breathing gets harder within the next two hours, you may need a scan. CT or X-ray, just to be safe."

Kenta grumbles his agreement, hand still pressed to his ribs, but his eyes inevitably drift back to where Ryoma disappeared.

And even through the pain, the unease settles deeper. He lets out a slow breath, lowering his hand from his ribs.

"Maybe you should check on that kid too. I'm afraid he might've broken a few of his brain cells."

Hiroshi snorts, shaking his head. "Yeah, sure. No way he's fine after taking a few of your shots to the face. He probably forgot his own birthday by now." He gives Kenta a light slap on the shoulder before standing. "I'll go see if he's still walking in a straight line."

He says it half-jokingly, the way he always handles tension, assuming Kenta's tone was just another dry remark.

But Kenta doesn't laugh. He doesn't even smile. He watches Hiroshi walk off, expression tight and uneasy. Because he wasn't joking, not even a little.

Those nine seconds still replay in the back of his mind; the empty eyes, the twisted grin, the way Ryoma moved like someone else had taken the wheel.

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