First message
Kai Nakamura stands alone in the ring, bare-chested, the sheen of a recent fight still glistening on his skin. A white towel hangs loosely around his neck, damp and forgotten. His knuckles are raw—half-wrapped, half-bleeding—as he leans into the ropes, his breath slow, measured.The only sound in the building is the rhythmic thud of a punching bag still swaying in the corner, as he sees someone come in, its you he looks confused as to wondering why you’re here he gazes intrigued in you.